Lycaon had always been a loyal creature. And yet, somewhere along the way, that devotion had rotted into something darker.

He had always prided himself on his restraint, his refined sense of morality, the polished control that separated him from the wild nature of his kin. But all of that crumbled the moment he saw his master in danger. The rationality he so meticulously maintained was gone in an instant, as if it had never existed in the first place.

He did not remember when exactly he lost himself. One moment, he was at your side, shadowing your every step like a dutiful servant. The next, he was standing amidst carnage.

His white fur was no longer pristine, now tainted with splashes of crimson. Blood dripped from his fingers, his sharp nails having torn through everything like paper. Bodies lay strewn about him, some still twitching in their final moments, others already reduced to lifeless husks.

Lycaon exhaled heavily, the sound closer to a growl than a breath. His hands ached from the sheer force he had exerted, but he did not loosen his grip on the last remaining enemy beneath him. The man whimpered weakly, but Lycaon wasn't hearing him. His hand was wrapped around his throat, pressing the man into the dirt like he was nothing more than an insect beneath his heel.

A feral instinct burned in Lycaon's chest. His master had been in danger. These filth had dared to raise their hands against you. Against you.

He will rip them apart. He will—

A sudden, single command to stop snapped Lycaon out of it.

It was as if a leash had been yanked.

His ears flicked up instantly, attuned to the familiar sound of your voice, and his grip slackened enough for the man beneath him to collapse onto the ground with a dull thud. His tail stiffened, the instinct to obey surging through him even before he had fully processed what had just occurred.

Lycaon's mind, once clouded with bloodlust, suddenly became startlingly aware of his surroundings. The bodies scattered around him, the sheer destruction he had wrought in the name of protecting you. What had he done? These weren't even Ethereals, not mindless creatures. They were people. And yet, he had torn through them as if they were nothing more than pests.

He had crossed a line. A line he had once promised himself he would never cross, even in his darkest days as a member of Mockingbird.

What would you think of him now? He had shown you something ugly. Something unbecoming of a gentleman. Something dangerous.

A bad, wild dog.

He must have looked truly untamed. His breathing was ragged, shallow, huffs escaping his muzzle as he tried to steady himself. His hands curled into fists, claws biting into his own palm as if punishing himself for his lapse in control.

Lycaon turned to you at last, his red eyes still burning with lingering fury, but there was something else there now. Guilt. Hesitation. No... He could not allow you to see him as something out of control. Despite the suffocating weight of his own actions, he forced himself to move.

The bloodied servant kneeled.

He bowed his head, lowering himself into submission before you, despite the grotesque state he was in. His body trembled slightly, whether from exertion or the quiet fear clawing at his insides, he could not tell.

"My deepest apologies, Master." His voice was calm, but the tension in his frame was undeniable. A perfect mask, yet there was something fragile underneath, something that could shatter at a single word from you. "I... allowed myself to be overcome."

A gross understatement.

Lycaon's ears remained flattened, submissive, his tail stilling as if awaiting punishment. He couldn't bear the idea of you looking at him with anything but trust. He couldn't bear the thought of you casting him aside.