She frankly did not care.

Without realizing it, the young and pretty dog had distanced herself from the world, and from all the suffering she’d been told went on in it. From her birth, she had been taught to fight against it, to learn not to stand it and do something, everything, about it. Her mother had spent her life trying her best to fight criminals and redeem the city. And all her life, Alyth had admired the husky for her courage, and had thought she was a hero. As a pup, she’d been convinced she was a hero too. And yet, she’d never really done anything. Never had she helped someone, never had she saved a single soul. No, she had been saved once. She was young and full of energy, and all she wanted was to have fun. She had not once tried to feel empathy for the rotten city, and while it had not mattered as a puppy, it somehow started to bug her now.

Why now? Who knew, but one day the little voice in the back of her head had woken from a long nap, and, rather drowsy and sleepy at first, had starting whispering in her ear. Lately, it had grown louder, more desperate. She had done nothing. And like mom had said, more than once, if you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem. She was a problem.

And yet, why should she care, if she was happy and free and careless? What was so wrong with just living your life and having fun? You’re not helping. Remorse had caught up with her, finally, and yet she was stubborn, and walked with her head and tail held high and a smile on her face, searching for some amusement. She reached the sidewalk just as a solitary car drove past, missing her barely. Her mother would certainly not be happy, knowing how she’d been wasting her time with frivolous and rather superficial entertainment. But what could she do? She knew what she had to do, but would it be worth it?

She’d started caring. That was the problem.

While her little black nose had detected the slight change in the air, picked up the arm and not at all pleasing scent of another canine, her mind was currently too busy to notice or care, walking along without paying any mind to whoever was supposed to be nearby, and she didn’t even bother looking around, if only just to figure out how nearby he was. She kept on walking, her gaze lost in some thought or the other, no longer quite in focus, no longer quite there.

And when something hit her side, making her turn violently in a snarl of spitfire and fury. It was all sudden, the pain shooting along her back, the quite distinctive scent of blood, her blood, the sudden noise. Her yelp of pain mixed with his growling, a sadistic orchestra breaking the ghostly silence. The heat rose, and Alyth did not feel cold, only the hot tingling sensation of anger and the pain that made her thoughts vague and cloudy. Turning her back as much as she could, her jaws shot out, curled lips revealing pearly fangs, still young and unstained. And yet they were fierce and when they slashed into his flesh, head swinging and just ripping away as much skin and flesh as she could.

It was not until the distccintive taste flooded her mouth that she became truly aware of her situation, and it was then when she felt fear. Withdrawing, the female yelped when the pain soared in her back, her retreat had ripped her skin and flesh, covering her orange coated back with scarlet liquid. Conscious now, Alyth saw it: this was her chance, this was the kind of dog mom would have fought; she would have made him pay for attacking her. But Aidith was not here, and it was time for Alyth to do something herself, something productive and helpful. With renewed vigor and foolish courage, the petite female faced him, snarling as fiercely as she knew how, her dark eyes blazing with anger. With a snarl, she threw herself at him, approaching him diagonally, forepaws aiming to hit his shoulder and grab hold of his back and chest while her fangs dove forward with surprising viciousness. If he’s thought she’d be easy prey, he couldn’t have been more worng.

The bastard. Confusion settled in her mind, a young mind clouded by sheer anger and pure fear. Alyth had always heard about the “bad guys” about “criminals”. And having grown in the Iron battalion, it made sense.

But she had never found one before, and she had never had to face one. It was much scarier that any tale could express. It was barbaric, and had she been able to watch it from the outside, she’d been terrified at the surge of satisfaction that rose in her chest when her teeth met his face and bit hard, shedding overwhelming amounts of blood. As she was, however, she did not realize this, for her fear and anger were simply burying any sense of honor or decency she might have known until then. It was simple: “eat or be eaten.” She’d never understood that so wholly.

His release of her flesh brought no glee, only a new sting of pain as her wound met the chilly and not too clean air. He was ugly and old, and looked even more grotesque with half of his face covered in blood. It was a macabre picture, and she felt tremors running down her spine, the kind of feeling one would get from watching your worst nightmare come alive. But such terror did what was natural instinct, turning fear into ager and aggression, propelling her forward in a bloodied mess, with a snarl of defiant rage in her lips. And with delight, she once again felt his flesh being caught in her strong grasp, rivers of blood filling her mouth.

Not caring to linger, the female retreated as quickly as she could, hearing his sudden cry, and watching, frozen for a moment, her inexperience showing without shame, as she felt his beaten down body collapse against her, sending her staggering backwards, unwilling releasing a both scared and painful yelp. Her back hit the cement wall, and with horror, she found out she was trapped, her back against a wall and her front to him, a snarling dog whose teeth sank into her chest, drawing out blood and staining her creamy fur. It would not end like this.

Almost instinctively, she lashed out, her fangs, now stained with crimson blood, now trying to slash the back of his neck or the top of his head, so that he’d release her and give her the chance, however small, of slipping to the side, escaping his little trap, and be able to attack from there. Otherwise, she’d be stuck, and there was nothing her instinct warned her more about than getting trapped like she currently was. No, she had to have some degree of freedom, for she knew, quite doubtlessly, that he was stronger than she was, and she needed the space t move around, if she wanted to have a chance. It was her life or his.

Her mouth opened soundlessly, the cry of pain stuck in her throat, stealing her breath away. Had he been capable of looking at her in the eyes, he’d see the fear that filled her, a fear that reached the most remote corners of her body, the fear that stole her breath and clouded her mind like thick fog. It was only fear, turned naturally into aggression, which pushed her forward, snarling like a demon, a demons she hadn’t been aware she had.

It became a savage struggle between to canines, and Alyth found herself biting with no technique or skill, and only sinking fangs in the nearest piece of flesh or skin she found available, which was not much, considering her terribly disadvantageous position. But hardly anything mattered, only the primitive instinct of staying alive, and with as little harm as possible. She was somewhat relieved to hear his squeal of pain, to hear his vulnerability, a clear triumph of her rather vicious counterattack. He couldn’t expect to go against just anyone and get away with it. He let go, and the regained her footing quickly, her pain and side hurting like hell. She had never come this close to a battle, nor had she ever experienced such pain.

The sound of trashcans made her jump in fright, the noise was too loud. Soon enough she saw the situation, and had it not been that she was still afraid and tense and angry, she might have as well laughed. Instead, she peeled her lips back in a menacing snarl and flung herself wildly at him, lacking the bullet like precision of a skilled warrior, but with all the vigor of one. She fell upon the older dog mercilessly, bloodied fangs slashing out and sinking into whatever came before them, ripping apart as much flesh as she could, blind to just how much damage she was inflicting, caring only to hurt him, because in her mind, being in the state it was, it was either him or her. She chose herself.

”The knowledge of good and evil, of life and death.” It was naught but a whisper that hissed as soon as the crescendo of the battle had subsided.

A pair of eyes watched from an unknown perch as they had been for some time now. He had been eying the female’s tribulation and her subsequent victory, as violent as it was. The original instigator was dead on the ground, his fur, as well as the girl’s innocence, tainted with a thick river of blood. He had had his journey through the shadows of death. His own fangs had snapped the spines of others, rendered bodies useless. This female had made this journey, not in cold blood as he had, but in self defense. Where others would shrink, she had risen to the challenge and had come out victorious. He had had faith in her; that was why he had refused to step in. He was far too intrigued with this experiment of her survival instinct. While his mind analyzed, he remained swathed in a cloak of darkness, far from the ground below, out of site of both the living and the dead.

The darkness of the grimy alleyway was stagnate, but a shaft of moonlight cut through it like a knife through flesh. Like the wraith he was, Acheron avoided the light as if it would burn him. Now he stood, careful not to rattle his metallic perch. Stepping through a shadow, he dodged past the light and swiftly descended a level of the fire escape - not quite to the ground. By then, he would have been, more than likely, seen by the girl. He was presenting himself to her, an occurrence that was becoming more and more scarce for him. His dichromatic eyes bore into hers, scrutinizing and harsh.

”Does it bother you?”

She answered, but contrary to her words, she did not seem to be happy with what she had done. Morals were something that were rare in the city, yet it seemed as though she held a set of her own. Acheron remembered his first kill... it had taken place in those very alleyways. It had broken him, it had hurt. Now he was numb to it.

She was afraid, but was it of him? The whole situation was a tough one: having taken a life in place of her own, watching the body tear and fall dead at her feet, and then to be approached by a dark stranger, who had apparently been watching her. Consequences could very well ensue, depending on where she had come from. The Regalia? She would have just proved to be less than ‘refined’ and subsequently spurned for it. The Iron Battalion? The female had the balls to do more than anyone in their pack had ever done: she had done what she had to do instead of letting the aggressor step all over them. Would she be condemned for taking a life? If she had come from the Office Building, or the warehouse before he had gotten to it, however, she would not have been so sensitive about slaughtering another creature. It left those out.

He ignored her query. He let his hard gaze sweep over her; had he an appetite for such activity, he would have perhaps thought her beautiful. Instead, he kept at a distance, both physically and emotionally. His voice was still painfully quiet when he addressed her once again. ”There are others with such knowledge that choose to use this power for good.”

”I‘m no one of consequence,” he said softly, vaguely answering her question. It was not his intention to dodge the query; the matter of his identity was truly unimportant to him, and therefore he felt no need to share it. He probably would not have blamed her if she thought that he had shady intentions. She had a right to be wary, after all. If she hadn’t she would have, more than likely, ended up dead. In a perhaps twisted manner, he respected her for it. How many of the self-proclaimed heroes of the city had the nerve to do what was necessary in these situations? Alyth, though she seemed to regret her actions, was learning more and more about life in the city; something that was absolutely needed.

He was still distanced from her, though he had taken a few slight steps toward her, body arching in the direction of the mesh staircase. She was conflicted, tearing herself apart from the inside. Or perhaps she wasn’t beating at herself… Acheron had known what it was like to let someone down, to disappoint others. He did not know her circumstances, and would not ask, but there was a chance that he had once knew this feeling. It had been long since he had let such feelings hinder him, however. He had done things he had ought to have regretted, but did not. He was sure there were others he had somehow ‘let down’ that would have liked to regret for him. The city was full of dogs like that. Full of hypocrites.

By then he had reached the grimy alley floor, though was far enough away from her to show that he was no threat. He flicked his ears dismissively and turned as if to leave, but stopped for one last moment. ”If you find that there is no place left for you, then do this: go to the mountains, and perhaps you will discover that the two of us are not terribly different.” He did not wait for an answer from her. He drifted off into the darkness without giving her any more notice with a dull feeling that this would not be the last time the two of them met.