As far as he knew, he had no mother and he had no father. He had no family to call his own or a place he considered home. He was taken in by a ragtag group of degenerates. Those who were kicked from the pack, who have considered murder and theft, those who were too ill-fit to be part of society. It was not out of love or affection that they took him in. It was not pity. It was convenience. Sorry saps had a soft spot for pups. Pups can get into places with no questions asked or squeeze into tight spaces. It was the perfect trade, in their mind. In exchange for keeping him alive, he would be required to work for them. And he did.
He had conned countless of lives, taught to take advantage of their weaknesses, dig his teeth and claws into their most proverbial vulnerable spot. But he had never killed. Up until adolescence, he had not even seen a murder up close. The aftermath, he has seen many times. Cold dead bodies completely looted, sometimes skinned. But never a murder until the mutiny that occurred in the pack. And then, it went downhill from there.
It had been brewing for months, murmurs whispered vehemently in dark areas, shifting eyes and tension ringing through the air. There had not been any obvious rebellion at the time. It had just been the beginning, where things were beginning to stir up. Some were against certain killings while others were completely indiscriminate. It seemed murders had their code of conduct as well. It had been a minor disagreement and whenever the tasteless executions would happen, there were only looks of disgust and disapproval from the members who opposed. There were similar reactions from the opposite side when a mother or a young one was set free.
Eventually, the distrust and rift grew and grew. Until it swallowed the entire pack. Bahati’mguu woke up to the screaming, to the guttural cries of betrayal, to the howls of rage. Sleep still muddled his mind, confusion set deep as he stumbled into the moonlight, where he could only slightly see. It was near a new moon. Dark shapes dashes in the night, shadows clashing, shadows howling. Shadows falling to the ground and remaining silent. A sharp stench tainted the air, he could taste it on his tongue, knew what it was. Blood. As his mind made the connection, his paw hit something. Eyes made contact with one of the members, a grizzled canine with enough scars to equal twice the pack’s. Despite his appearance, he had been one of the ones against immoral killings.
Bahati’mguu felt sick. Someone had gone to his side, had shoved him towards the thicker part of the trees, snapped at him to leave. Someone else had also gone by his side, only to take down the first male. He ran. And he was pursued. That night had been his first murder. And his first death. Even as he ran from the fray, hours later, the memory haunted him, stuck to him like the blood coating his fur, his coat, his muzzle. His tongue. He died inside. He had avoided killing as much as possible. And now, he has. He could not escape it now, blood was on his paws.
Escaping had only been the beginning of his troubles. It was much more difficult to hunt without a pack. Without a leader directing the path to the nearest resources. Or to the nearest pack to loot. Finding water was just as difficult. He was going to die. From either dehydration or starvation. At least, he thought. But his nose had caught the scent. The scent of food. When following the scent, he came upon an unsuspecting dog. Near water. With food next to her. He was crazed, starved, desperate. And his slow decline in morality began to steepen. It was hard, looking at the lifeless body after his stomach was full and thirst quenched. Regret settled into his stomach. But it got easier and easier each time.
That was, until he came upon the healers. He did not know they had a son. The kid must have been hiding or gone out somewhere. They had herbs that he needed, that he could trade. He just needed to take them. But apparently, they were not going down without a fight. He did not know why they were so desperate to cling to life, why they fought so hard. They seemed weak. Most of his targets were stronger and did not put up as much as a fight as the couple had. He was losing. His sight was failing him, lethargy coasting through his body. His steps were unsteady and he felt his fur around his neck matted. He was sure there was a gash. But the two bodies were not moving anymore, their chests stopped falling. He nearly laughed, cackle, howl with craze. He was going to die. What a joke. This was how he was going to meet his end, at a draw between him and two healers. Bleeding out. He coughed instead of laughing. And the froze.
His vision was blurry but… he saw something. There. A pup. His stomach sunk. They had a kid. Of course they had a kid. No wonder they fought so hard, for so long. They had a pup. And he had killed his parents in front of him. He nearly laughed again. There was no saving someone like him. He wanted to cry. Never pups. He didn’t want to know who his nameless victims were. He didn’t want to think about the families they had. But now he was face to face with the reality of one. A pup who had just become orphaned. Like he was. Because of him. He continued the chain, became something he never wanted to be. His eyes closed. When did it begin? The lady by the watering hole? The mutiny? When he was adopted? When he was born? When did he become so corrupt? Consciousness began to fade.
