Origins of a Hellhound Puppy!
Camouflage Among the Fey
From the moment I arrived in October—the sacred month when the veil between worlds thins like a poorly guarded treat bag—I knew my destiny was no accident. Humans call it “adoption,” but I know better. I was deployed. Summoned. Sent forth from the volcanic gates of the Underrealm with a mission etched into my very being.
And yes, I was marked by Lucifer himself.
You see, on the back of my neck lies a perfect L—my sigil of power. My humans think it’s just fur. Adorable, silly mortals. They cannot grasp the weight of such a mark. That L is my badge of office, proof that I am ranked among the elite guardians of the realms. It means I am destined to defend the household against threats both physical and supernatural.
I take this responsibility seriously.
Well… as seriously as a four-month-old hellhound-in-training can.
Training for Greatness
Right now, I am small. My paws are still learning where the floor is. My bark is impressive (in my opinion), and my growl is extremely dramatic. But inside my chest beats the heart of a titan. I know that deep in the Underrealm, eldritch beasts already whisper my name with respect and mild confusion.
One day, when I reach my full hellhound potential, lesser fiends will scatter at the sound of my claws tapping across the tile. Shadows will quake. The mailman will flee. No villain—nor monster, nor blowing leaf—will dare approach my family.
But for now, I train with diligence:
Heroic leaps.
Ferocious wiggles.
The sacred art of chewing absolutely everything that exists.
A guardian must be prepared.
My black-and-white coloring? Not random. Not accidental. No, I chose this form to blend with the ancient, mysterious, somewhat judgey creature known as Writer Cat, or as she calls herself, the Fey Goddess in Disguise.
She has walked this realm longer than I’ve been alive. She observes. She broods. She harnesses the raw energies of nightmares and coffee.
To earn her approval, I knew mimicry was required.
Black-and-white fur: acquired.
Stare of overwhelming intensity: practiced nonstop.
Ability to move silently: …in development.
She pretends she doesn’t see me trying, but I know she does. No fey goddess would tolerate a lesser being in her domain unless she sensed greatness simmering beneath my floppy ears. I feel her gaze sometimes. Judging, yes. But also… acknowledging.
One day, she will accept me as her equal.
Or at least stop swatting me as I pass by.
A Guardian in Progress
I may be young, but my purpose is crystal clear:
Protect the realm.
Defend my home.
Love my humans with every spark of infernal fire inside me.
Someday—soon—I will rise to the ranks of the Underrealm’s greatest defenders. But tonight, I curl up on my human’s lap, dreaming of fire, glory, and the thrill of the chase.
Even the fiercest hellhounds need naps.