HIS HEAD LAZILY turned toward the unexpected, masculine response. The stonewalls of his cave were non-existent, replaced by chain link, mortar and concrete. Looking around, he decided that he was not sure of where he was. There was something comfortingly familiar about it though, so he determined that it was a home of sorts to him. The large beige male across from him was entirely unfamiliar though, and so this made Icarus feel that his solitude and housing had been intruded on, and put him on edge. Only after sorting through all this information, and making judgments on each important crossroad did Icarus even recognize that Nazi had spoke.

BY THE TIME the word “daughter” connected to his mind, the husky-like dog was taking in a harsh breath, his eyes were lighting up an accusations spilled from his mouth in a hateful torrent. The bronze mongrel pushed his cropped ears back, shifting his bare-legs further apart to widen his stance. His paws were scabbed from constant gnawing and itching, as well was his right eye swelled shut for the same reasons.

IN HIS FEVERED fog, it took him some time to attach meaning to each event, so even as he tried to conjure the words to introduce himself, the object of his fruitful search came bounding into view. He first noticed that she had gotten bigger, filled out into her lanky puppy legs and the oversized paws of youth. Then he noticed that she was angry, standing in front of him and snarling menacingly at her father. By now his thoughts had cleared, and the words from her mouth were much more concise, and his reaction better timed. ”No, he didn’t do anything,” Icarus corrected her. His attempt at being soothing ended up in failure, as he sounded bleak, almost emotionless, due to exhaustion.

HIS PALE YELLOW eyes focused on Nazi once again, and he felt conflicted. Coming between family members, especially a father to his children, was a big no-no according to his code of conduct. There were rules about this sort of thing, and even if he had spent time raising Melee, he could no surmount the authority that was rightfully claimed by her father. But Napoleon’s words of contradiction had been whispered in his ear on many dark nights, and the seeds of destruction that had been sewn by moonlight were now breaking the surface of his mind and starting to bloom. Napoleon’s message was simple: no limitations. A life without rules was the only way that living made sense. Up until now he had so many rules to keep him in check, but where had they gotten him? Burned, banished, disfigured, disgraced, angry… alone. He wanted Melee by his side, and had it in his mind that Nazi would try and deprive him of her. The old Icarus would have allowed this without a fight—but he had changed in the dark depths of the kennels. He saw something he wanted, someone who would take it from him, and all he could think to do was to reach out with his fangs and secure his every desire.

A LIFE WITHOUT rules. That’s what he lived now. With a narrowed, but glazed stare Icarus stared down the other brutal, scarred figure. A snarl did not lift on his lips, but with a huge red scar over his face and a palpable desperation radiating off of him, he was menacing enough without a show of teeth. ”I am Icarus… and you have no business with her, not anymore.” A hoarse growl soon followed the airy rasp of his short speech. The sick dog took two steps forward, refusing to let his eyes stray away from Nazi’s, and almost completely unaware of Melee’s presence. His next statement was blunt, and quiet, and were it not for the silent void in this dank basement he probably would have been completely inaudible. ”I want you to die.”

NAZI’S SHOUTING WAS starting to bring the groggy dog around, but his vision was still blurred and he was still unsteady on his feet. Although he could see the other male charge forward, there was little time for him to will his weary muscles to move. So he glared on, intent on accusing the other male with his eyes instead of his fangs, and to take the pain unflinching—but his chance never came. He wasn’t certain how it had happened, but in front of him was a mass of pale fur, scuffling with Nazi and finally stumbling backward when released. He had stepped forward, and she had fallen back into him some, enough to he was within sight of the wounds her father had inflicted on her face.

HER RIGHT CHEEK had been torn into. She had not been senselessly mangled or disfigured, and he knew that the wound would heal, but it still distressed him greatly. They were in a fighting ring, just as he had been when his face had been permanently deformed, and the last thing he wanted was for her to befall the same fate. He moved around her, looking up helplessly as Napoleon announced his presence. The words were ones he had wanted to hear since his birth (although not from the black dog) but he could not focus on them. He was too busy circling around his apprentice to get a better look at her injury, frowning all the way and paying little mind to Nazi as he convulsed on the ground.

FINALLY HE LOOKED back up to Napoleon, only because Melee addressed him harshly, and the scarred male shook his head slowly. ”No Melee… he is Napoleon.. He is here to help, don’t worry,” he tried to assure her, never seeing her quite like this. He was uncertain how reasonable she was, and so had purposefully put his body between her and Napoleon, just in case she tried anything… stupid.

ICARUS’ ATTENTION FOLLOWED that of his young apprentice, so when she poked the prone body of her father, his own eyes settled on the larger male. He had a score to settle with Nazi, but now was not the time. He was too weak, and too uncertain with himself to trust himself to judge the situation properly. So he fell to weakness, and turned his pained visage back to the dog whom had been his caretaker for weeks. ”Napoleon… what should I do?” Absently he leaned on Melee, his body instinctually seeking relief from the strain of holding himself up, and his brain too fogged to control himself.

HIS OLD SELF was battling with the new, and it was evident in the creases of his forehead as he stared down at Nazi. ”This dog has never done me wrong… I have never even met him before today. He has caused me pain but… indirectly, accidentally.” He paused in his train of thought, pale yellow eyes sliding back to Melee, as if he just realized that she was there. It was her father, so she should have at least some say in what to do. When he spoke again, his raspy voice cracked and his eyes fell shut in exhaustion. ”What do you want to do? You think it be best to leave, for now?”

The female did not appreciate his advice. She faced him defensively, bristling as if she thought she could do anything against him. Perhaps she was capable, physically, but it was not in the nature of a damsel to assault her betters. Of the many things that had hurt him, none had ever been feminine. ”I am-” But, no Icarus beat him to the introduction. What was his classical greeting, the “I am Napoleon” that every beast heard before the contemplated their value, the scared beast had just robbed her of it. The black dog cast him a sideways look of reproach, but Icarus did more to pave the way for future influence than even Leon’s detached simplicity could have hoped.”Yes.” If it kept him where he wanted to be, he would ‘be there to help’. ”And, no, he is not.” The convulsions proved as much.

Nazi came back to himself prematurely, prompting Leon to shuffle a foot or so aside, and arch his neck around his shoulder with a scrutinizing narrowness in his eyes.”Your death will suit equally,” was his deadpan reply, as if the insult had truly been lost on him. After all, the dog had gotten near enough to inhale Icarus’ very rot. If any, he and the female were the prime candidates for plague. And all beasts with plague suffered. This he knew, and so it could only be estimated that the other dog’s pride was hindering his foresight. But that was just as well, considering that the Regal had only aimed for his eventual demise. The interaction progressed into a flurry of revelations and inner questions, the only one to which Napoleon attributed importance being Icarus’ self-questioning. The problems between the female and her sire were their own, and considering that he daily faced the machinations of a daughter he imagined they were both taxing and trivial.

”There is no ‘best’.” Morality, how he loathed the term. ”Do what pleases you, tear his throat or offer him yours.” But that was not what he wanted, of course. The aim was not to turn Icarus to a martyristic worldview. It was Napoleon’s misfortune that he was not nearly so calculating as many thought. He was lucky, more often than not, and it was his utter lack of regard for social decorum, as well as his difficulties with lying, which got him the things he wanted. ”My opinion of what is right is worth no more than his, or yours, or hers. You should embrace your power.” But, ah, he was still weak. Still weak, and still being kept in that delicate balance between recovery and death. Though Leon had worked tirelessly to maintain this, the opportunity to watch his own finely-crafted being set himself upon another- and for all he knew Nazi may easily have been an innocent passerby- was too riveting. Icarus would need help in deciding to go forward.. Napoleon smirked. This was another great fault in his character- he was impossibly impulsive.

”Though you should consider that he would take your female.”