Capítulo 43: Chapter 43
Max had always done exactly what his master told him. Through the years, he'd been loyal, quiet, never questioning. His owner had never spoken much. There was only the hand that petted him, the scent of his clothes, the tone in his voice. Max had known nothing else.
But today, something was wrong. His master was gone.
Max waited by the door, pacing, ears back, eyes searching. The room smelled empty, different. His master's scent was weak in the house now. There were no footsteps on the floor. No door creaking open at the end of the day. No voice calling his name.
Hours passed. Max went from room to room, sniffing every corner, every piece of furniture. The house was still, like it always had been. But now, the stillness was a trap. The shadows behind the furniture seemed darker. The silence seemed louder.
Max didn't know where to go next. He tried the streets, the alleyways, the old shop he'd always followed his master into. No sign of him. The scent that had been with Max for years was gone, replaced by something strange. Something... wrong.
A smell lingered, one he'd never noticed before: decay. Max's body tensed as he followed the trail, paws padding through the streets, the wind biting his fur. The scent led him farther, down a path into the woods. The trees seemed to close in around him, the air thick with dampness.
At the edge of the forest, he found it. The body.
His master's body.
Max's heart thumped in his chest. His master lay face down, blood staining the earth beneath him, eyes wide open, staring at nothing. Max sniffed around the body. There was nothing. No pulse. No breath.
His master was dead.
The shock hit Max harder than any command he had ever received. But his body didn't freeze. He didn't hesitate. The scent of death filled his nose, and he felt something burning inside him, something wild, untamed. Something that had been buried for too long.
Max left the woods and made his way through the town, his eyes fixed ahead. He had a purpose now.
He found the first person at the edge of the street. A man with a long coat, standing by a dumpster. Max didn't wait. He jumped, claws raking the man's face, tearing at his throat. Blood splattered on the ground as the man struggled, but he never stood a chance. Max ripped him apart like a ragdoll, only stopping when there was nothing left but a pile of flesh.
He moved on.
The next victim was a woman, a neighbor who always smiled at him. Her screams filled the air as Max tore through her chest. He felt nothing.
One by one, Max hunted them down, those who had wronged his master. He didn't care. Their faces didn't matter. They were nothing but pieces of meat in his path.
When the town was empty, Max stood in the middle of the square, blood dripping from his mouth. His body was covered in gore. He had done it. He had avenged his master.
But it didn't feel like victory.
Max turned, eyes dull, and dragged himself home. His paws left prints in the dirt, a trail of death behind him. The house stood quiet. No door opened. No scent of his master greeted him.
Inside, Max curled up in his bed, still drenched in blood, and waited for his master to come home.
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