"He deserved more than that. More than a chapter, more than entire epics, he deserved to live, the Fields of Asphodel will never deserve someone as devoted and good as him. He lived for justice, he died for justice, but I would throw that justice at...
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Why I'm Not A Dog Person
╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮
The Thessalian Bullhound was a hound the size of a bull, with teeth made of solid titanium that could rip open any armor and chew them to shreds – alongside with the person in them. The paws weren't exactly paws, but more hooves. Its hide wasn't impenetrable like the Nemean Lion's: the problem was the fur.
Every single hair was hardened, protecting the animal like an armor. To add insult to injury, there was no way to get past that, the thick fur covered almost every inch of its body besides its mouth. Most blades didn't cut through its fur, so the animals of that kind rarely met their demise through the edge of a blade.
Only when the gods favored the demigods and gifted them enough wind to get the beast's heavy fur to lift, exposing the soft and frail skin, would a mortal be honored with being able to claim having slain a Thessalian Bullhound with their sword. More regularly, demigods defeated them by tricking them: getting them to drown, fall, or burn.
That was the monster staring us down from the abandoned tunnel Connor had mentioned when we came into the park. It growled threateningly, baring its fangs and sniffing the air for our half-godly scent. The only thing that provided us a slight chance of survival was their terrible eyesight. Its pupils looked like they'd been coated with a layer of white icing, blinded upon birth. However, its ears spiked up, turning quickly to every sound.
The smell of danger punched my brain repeatedly, like a wave of acid, over and over. A siren blared in my ears, raising every hair on my skin.
Connor and I were crouched on the floor, some dozens of paces from the tunnel. I put my index to my lips, as I tossed him his sword and reached for the lighter. I hadn't brought my knives or the dagger, they laid still on my bed. Not that it would have any special use in this situation anyway.
I held the lighter tightly, but didn't flick it open, in fear the sound of the blade cutting through air would draw the animal's attention. Without making a sound, I tried to stand up, and Connor followed my lead. A simple shuffle of his jacket, and the Bullhound's face turned to our direction, its heavy hooves' clacking against the floor angrily. The pointed muzzle sniffed the air once more, and it started walking toward us.
Clearly, the gods were against us, because at that moment, a gust of wind blew from behind us toward the wolf... carrying our scents right to its nose. Its mouth opened, drool hanging from its sharp fangs. Another growl formed in its throat, and this time it fledged into a roar, running right at us.
"RUN!" I yelled, drawing Vendetta moments before it stretched its jaw at me, swiping my sword toward its open mouth.
I'd slashed its tongue, staining its mouth with its own blood and ripping out a pained whine from it, pacing back disorientedly. Then, it beared its fangs at me, roaring and splattering its blood all over me. Now it was angry.
