Feros turned away from the shattered window and back to the bleeding girl on the floor and the crowd of horrified socialites watching them. He'd acted rashly. It would've been smarter to have slain the president outright. Leaving him alive would create problems. No matter. A simple mortal could never overcome him.
Feros turned, ignoring the sobs behind him. "If any among you have skill in medicine, you have my permission to attend to her," he spoke in a disinterested voice. "If not, remove her so she may die in peace." The life of one girl did not matter in the grand scheme of his conquest, but he saw no need to ensure her death.
The crowd murmured to each other. He'd deal with them later. Each man and woman would have a wealth of resources for him to use in his conquest, but it would take some time to fully assess them. The world had changed much since his exile. It was necessary to fully comprehend it before going to war with the other nations.
As he strolled away, Feros projected his thoughts outwards, forming a link with the head of his followers, Cyrix Metallik. "Metallik," he ordered, "Have my Children storm the palace and take my captives into custody. Send your forces into the streets. I want to be in control of hospitals, police stations, and all forms of long-distance transport. Tonight will be a night of conquest. Teach anyone who resists why they should submit to my reign."
"You've got it." Metallik's voice came back. "The boys are gonna like that command."
Feros smiled as he severed the link. Very soon, all would know why he had been called the god of death.