~Nicø~

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The bishop strides across the city, his red cloak billowing out behind him.

This city is his city, and he will teach its inhabitants the ways of truth for as long as he lives.

He comes to an abrupt stop. There, lying on the ground, wrapped in blankets, is a child. A tiny, tiny, baby.

"How did you get here, little one?" Nico murmurs.

He stoops down and picks the baby up.

The baby stirs and begins to cry.

The bishop gently brushes his hand against the child's forehead. A streak of black paint appears on it. 

Nico smiles, satisfied. 

"Welcome to your new home, child." 

He needed a name. 

Clancy, Nico thinks. 

Son of red warrior. 

The rest of the nine would approve. 

"Hello, Clancy," Nico says softly. "We'll take care of you here..."

The bishops shakes off the memory.

He's dead. And it's a good thing.

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