What if to rival the powers of Excalibur the first Lucifer had created a blade, during the Great War. What if a young brunette had gotten it? What if he was not of any of the three factions but just a mere human. How would it change the dynamic betw...
After a long recovery, my health finally returned to normal. I came out the other side, refreshed, and ready. However, when my physical strength returned, I encountered an unexpected problem with writer's block. I stared at the blank pages until the time that seemed like an eternity. This depressing anxiety prevented me from sharing many of the thoughts and stories that had accumulated during my retirement.
I woke up with the most agonizing scream I had ever heard, echoing through the house. The intensity of the scream jolted me upright, reminiscent of a terrifying memory I had tried to forget. Instinctively, I rushed down the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest. At the bottom of the staircase, I saw Mom, her face a mask of horror, standing with a spatula clutched in one hand while the other pointed shakily at a figure in the hallway.
As I approached, the source of her terror became clear. There, in the middle of the hall, stood the embodiment of her worst nightmares: a small, adorable black-furred dog. The sight of it transported me to another realm of thought. The dog's presence was captivating, as enchanting as the tales I had heard of the Hindu God Krishna. My reverie was shattered only when Mom shook me vigorously, as if trying to awaken someone trapped in a deep sleep.
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I snapped back to reality, immediately noticing the dog's injured leg, blood trickling from a deep wound. The dog whimpered softly, the sound tugging at my heartstrings. Without hesitation, I dashed toward it, scooping it into my arms. The dog responded with unexpected affection, curling into my embrace as if finding solace in my presence. Carrying it into the hall, I couldn't ignore the terror etched on Mom's face. Her lifelong fear of dogs had her retreating in panic.
Dad, roused from unconsciousness by Mom's earlier outburst, groggily emerged from the fallen sofa. His eyes quickly focused on the dog's bleeding leg. Without a word, he rushed to get the first aid kit. I gently placed the dog on the coffee table, anxiously awaiting Dad's return. He came back swiftly, handing me the kit. I carefully cleaned and dressed the wound, noticing an unusual aura surrounding the dog, hinting at something supernatural.
Despite the oddity, the dog's endearing nature compelled me to continue bandaging its leg. Once done, I carried him to my room, closing the door and windows to provide a safe, quiet place for him to rest on my bed. Heading back downstairs, I overheard my parents discussing the dog's fate.
"What are we going to do about it, honey? Issei is not going to let the dog go," Dad said as I descended the stairs.
"No way we are keeping it. It is impossible. It is bad enough it is staying till his leg heals. No longer," Mom countered firmly.
