Chapter 3: The Dog

A scream.

That was how it began.

That is how it always begins. Yet that scream... he would never forget it. Its weight, its truth, its agony - everything belonged to him.

A motion to the left.

Nothing.

A shadow to the right.

No one.

Something rushes ahead.

It doesn’t matter who, or why.

He must break through the dark, tear his way out. He must save her.

Long, yellow, blood-slick claws gleam in the half-light. Horror laughs; a high, lilting tune too monstrous to describe. Fear grabs at his chest, but he forces himself forward.

It's too late.

Her body lies shattered, like a broken porcelain doll. Blonde hair clings in blood-soaked strands. Dark eyes stare wide and unblinking, fixed on death descending, and the torment that awaits behind the clouds. She lies naked on a bed no mortal ever felt warm upon. A deep, brutal cut splits her belly open. All he ever loved lies exposed now, a tangle of wet flesh and disgusting fluids.

Between the claws of the creature dangles a small, writhing bundle, still bound to her torn entrails. He runs. He thinks - he hopes - there is still time to save what remains.

The laughter stops, but its macabre song lingers, vibrating through the space between them. A single claw slices the cord in triumph. The bundle does not move. No breath. No cry.

Time freezes. For a heartbeat. Then begins again.

A scream.

So it begins and so it ends.

Always.

This time, it is his. He feels it swell in his lungs. Climb his throat. Rip through his vocal cords, shredding the raw meat of his voice.

The creature turns. Its teeth drip with her blood. He cannot bear to look at it. The guilt is his alone. He had led her here. He thought it would be the perfect trap, until in the end, he was the one caught in it.

The bundle disappears into the beast’s embrace. He lunges, but it's too late. His machete crashes against stone. Everything is gone.

Only one thing remains.

A scream.

A muted scream, swallowed before it's heard.

A scream of guilt, carrying within it the endless accusations of the world.

It delivers the truth - the only truth. But none will hear it. Humanity still clings to hope, still blind to the reality of that cursed song, the sound of claws across the blackboard of existence.

But he knows. He hears it in every step he takes from that night forward.

There is no hope.

Only survival.

He hesitated, shifting uneasily in his shoes, toes curling with anxious anticipation. His face was damp, and a hot breath rumbled beside his ear. Instinct snapped awake, flooding him with the familiar, sharp and sweet rush of adrenaline. Only then did he realized he had stepped beyond that sickening nightmare.

He jolted backward lifting his hands up before his face like a makeshift shield. He had no idea what he’d stumbled into this time, what could have caught him so completely off guard. For a few long seconds, before he dared to look, all he could hear was a deep, ominous breath and the frantic pounding of his own heart.

"What the…” he murmured - his lips and tongue still numb from the paralytic poison of the Erinyes. He peered cautiously from behind his fingers. A long, furry muzzle hovered just inches from his face. Two gentle, wet eyes studied him without blinking. When the large dog realized the voice was adressing it, its tail began to wag furiously, brimming with excitement and anticipation. Then, suddenly, it barked and the man noticed dark blood dripping from its mouth.

"Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” the man whispered, forcing the words from a throat too tight from fear and confusion. Then, just as urgently, he reached for the animal’s neck. "Come here."

To his astonishment, the large creature obeyed at once, lowering its head in quiet submission. It leaned softly into his hands, and he, still trembling, bent forward to examine the dark stains across its gray muzzle. His eyes flicked between the animal and his own body, searching for fresh wounds. No, this blood was not his. Nor was it the dog’s; its muscular frame bore no mark of injury.

Confused and perplexed, he wiped a smear of the dark liquid and sniffed it. Decay hit his empty stomach like a fist. His fingers stuck together. This was no ordinary blood; thick and clinging like honey, yet cold and black as tar.

He cast a quick, bewildered glance around the dark basement. And then he saw it: the source of the strange blood. A stinking, tiny, wrinkled body still bled the same disgusting ichor at the base of the stairs. Seeing it lying there, understanding finally dawned in the man’s mind. He shifted his gaze between the Erinys’ corpse, riddled with savage bites, and the calm animal still watching him expectantly. He could hardly believe his luck: if it hadn’t been for that dog, he would never have opened his eyes again.

He tried to rise from the worn floor, but his legs wouldn’t hold him, and he sank back down. He wiped the dog's saliva from his face, struggling to lift his hands and freed the sack from his back, opening it carefully. Inside were a small leather pouch and an even smaller bundle, wrapped in a foul, frayed cloth. These were the last of his supplies: a few dried, bitter roots, and two slices of cured meat already turning to mold.

"Hungry?” he growled at the dog, teeth barely apart, voice low and tired. The animal kept staring, as if it could see the whole world in his face. Its amber eyes caught a faint glimmer of hope the moment the smell of meat filled the air. His stomach growled sharply. Before he hesitate, he tossed one of the slices to the dog. "Here, it's yours. Thanks for the help… and for not eating me, I guess…”

The creature swallowed the slice before it even touched the ground. He, meanwhile, chewed his own slowly, trying to fool his hunger. The gray wild dog moved closer, waiting for a sign. The hooded man gave it a hard glance, but finally relented. He rested his rough, knotted hand on the dog’s broad head, ears standing tall, and began to stroke it. Time passed in that quiet moment. He ate the last of the dry roots, sitting on the floor, stroking the dog.

That memory would stay with him for a long time.

But as minutes went by, his body demanded action. Idleness dragged him toward thoughts long buried. He had neither the will nor the courage to face them. They haunted him every day, though luckily, he rarely had time to dwell.

He wished he never would.

"You’re good company, buddy, but I have to go,” he admitted to the animal and rose to his feet. He staggered toward the stairs, the dog staying behind, whining softly. When he glanced back, it didn’t hesitate. It leapt to its feet and followed, tail held proudly upright.

"No… don’t even think it,” he said firmly, wagging a finger before its muzzle. But the animal ignored him and began climbing ahead. By the time he reached the top of the stairs, the gray stray was waiting patiently at the entrance.

"You’ve got to be kidding me…”

The dog barked happily.

"Shhhh! Quiet!”

He crawled through the hole that led back to the ordinary world - or Hell, depending on perspective - and surveyed his surroundings. Everything looked exactly the same. Motionless. Silent. Dead. Believing this calm was real would be the worst mistake. It was an illusion, a carefully crafted trap, and nothing more. That was why he preferred to move alone. He carried no one’s weight and so bore no fear of being dragged into trouble. He had no desire for a four-legged creature with the mind of a toddler trailing him. The dog, however, seemed to have a different opinion.

It hurried forward, sniffing him thoroughly, then stood alert before him. He exhaled in frustration at its persistence but said nothing. He passed the dog’s wet, expectant eyes and stepped onto the street. Time had already been lost, and he could not afford a standoff. Still, he could not help noticing the cheerful footsteps trailing him.

"Fine… if you want to come, come. But don’t expect me to save your ass if you get into trouble,” he whispered, keeping himself as hidden as he could. The dog wagged its tail enthusiastically, as if agreeing. The man sank deeper into the shadows of his heavy hood, feeling his body finally awaken fully.

Moments later, his lips moved on their own forming something that might almost be called a smile.