Author's Note: Hello lads and ladies

Coming in sooner than expected don't we? A little thing about this chapter is that I wanted to say that the religious themes in this work are all completely fictional. I might riff on one or two things but I don't in any way want to religion bash. We all have our own views and what a character things about something doesn't mirror my own feelings towards something. We all got our own beliefs, and that's fine. As long as you don't hurt anybody, your grand in my book.

Editor: SuperAverageFoxyboy
Enjoy!
-Portal

Chapter 12: The Canine Spirit

The music club was never quiet. Even if the band wasn't practicing or recording something, the chattering of band members or the fumbling and adjusting of music equipment never stopped.

Bill normally didn't frequent this club, but today his mood was once again at a low. He had woken up moody and had decided to accompany Ellen on a visit to her friends in the music club.

The music club had three zebra members, and per the instinct of zebras feeling safe in ranks among their own, the group was friends ever since joining the school.

The trio of siblings: Martin, Mary, and Max. A peculiar bunch that all three played the electric guitar in wildly different styles. The specifics of each style were lost on Bill. He might like to listen to music from time to time, but the specifics were a mish-mash of words and chords that just didn't stick to his memory.

Ellen greeted her friends and had already sunk into deep gossip-like chattering that felt more like a one-on-one time than group talk. Bill himself had made his presence known by waving but afterward tended to himself, listening to the neverending sounds of guitar strands being tugged, vocals being rehearsed, or the drum set being beaten. The tiger's eyes caught the familiar white and brown shade of fur of a certain Saint Bernard.

Barkley sat behind the drum set, timing the hits of his drumsticks to a specific beat in concentration. Bill leaned against the wall, spectating the dog playing music in a rapid fashion. He was pretty sure that dogs held energy that was exclusively owned by them. Joy in the simple things that rivaled even his best days with ease. Barkley explosively hit the snare as the last beat of the current song, breathing heavily as his arms landed on his knees.

"You're good. Getting better from last time," said Bill. The dog looked at him, smiling when he recognized the tiger's face.

"Oh? You think so? I thought I was a bit slow, really." He placed the drumsticks on the front drums, resting his hands on his knees, energy flowing back into him.

"No, you seemed right on time. In sync with the beat. It sounded great." The encouragement immediately traveled into the dog's cheeks, raising his lips into a smile.

"Thanks. What are you doing 'round here now? Not that you're unwelcome, but what brings you here?" Barkley asked, getting up from his seat, walking towards the stairs off the stage.

"Oh, I thought I would just come around. Go along and see some of Ellen's friends, Listen to the band practice, and just chill out a bit." Bill crossed his arms leaning back against the wall.

"So just taking a calm one, ey? Can't blame ya. Everyone's just stressing out about everything. Ain't good for my heart."

Bill's eyebrow shot up at the mention of his heart while Barkley made his way towards the icebox behind the stage.

"Ice-cooled soda?" the dog offered.

"Sure. Thanks."

Barkley handed him the can, taking a big gulp from his own.

"So you're still taking pills for your heart? I thought the doc said your a-ok."

Barkley shook his head, taking another swig. "Doctor's say a whole lot of things. My heart will never be ok. It just gets better from time to time… or worse. And stress isn't helping it. Dad nearly chewed the poor skunk's ear off when he heard that his boy needs to take pills again."

"Damn, sorry to hear that." Bill took a sip and then looked at the content list printed on the side of the can. They suddenly held deadly meaning, each gram of sugar tasting like a gram too much.

"Stuff happens. In the end, it doesn't matter anyway." The dog took another swig while Bill contemplated his own thoughts.

Barkley was certainly the laid-back type. Accommodating and yet chilled out about most proceedings of the smaller cosmos of school life and the large universe of politics and public relations. Bill thought that the small smile that never seemed to completely leave the dog's face looked like one of peace with the process of living. Laidback and undisturbed. Truly calm.

"Well, how else are you doing? Has life been good to you? Besides the heart thing." Bill asked. Barkley brushed through his hair, looking over at the group of zebras in the middle of the room.

"Me?" His eyes shifted in front of him, trying to think of a proper answer.

"I'm good. More stress because of the… you know… D-E-V-O-U-R, I'm not gonna say the word." Barkley's face turned into an uncomfortable emotion of slight but noticeable irritation. The irritation broke away into a calm short interval of sadness. And yet the slight hint of a smile breaking through everything else still remained.

Maybe that's just his resting face. Bill thought to himself.

"But other than that, I'm al-right-y. What about you? You normally don't ask about things like that."

This is absurd. Am I the sentimental and emotional one all of the sudden? Get a grip, you dumbass tiger. Bill reacted to the question with inwards turned anger that boiled against the cold disturbance to normality.

"I'm ok. Asking for no reason at all. Just checking by." Bill leaned back against the wall with a stoic expression. Barkley scanned the tiger, doubting the tiger's honesty.

"You seem under the weather is all I am saying. Stressed out." Bill sighed. Barkley was more observant than Bill thought he would be.

Dogs were of the more easily believing flock. The general animal that never interacted with canines before would call them naive, but anyone with canine friends understood that it was something much deeper than objective naivety. Any naturally social species was inherently good in conversation. Casual, easy to talk to, and approachable. And being good in conversation meant you were just as good at telling when the other side was lying.

Dogs were aware of the lies one might say here nor there, but they actively wanted to believe that either you didn't know any better or that you had reasons for concealing the truth. To come of good heart meant that dogs typically just believed what you said because they wanted to believe with all their might, that you were good too.

To have Barkley call him out could only mean that his worry was stronger than his innate need for conversational peace.

"Truth be told, I am not so well at all… This tension between us and the herbivores lately… It's making me miserable." Bill sighed, throwing his chances aside, knowing that he would only really say what he wanted to express. No pressure from anyone would change that. He wanted to talk to someone about it. He needed to. The Saint Bernard looked at the tiger, his eyes piercing through him like sunlight shining through a piece of paper.

"You're not beating yourself up for that, are you?" Bill's shoulders sunk as the dog's question pierced through him, reading him like an open book.

"Why should someone like me feel bad about that, hmmm? Why should I care." His tone was thoroughly monotone, his body language being slouched and exhausted. "Why should a large breed carnivore care, huh? Why should someone like me care about anything at all? I don't have to fear being attacked by a carnivore at any moment because even in the unlikely case that it might happen, I can at least defend myself." He raised his tone to irritated complaining, Barkley still listening.

"I've got nothing to fear," Bill continued. "I really don't have anything to cause me to worry in the slightest. And yet, I still do. I stress out, and I worry when that piece of shit-"

In a fit of anger, Bill hurled his soda can towards the trash bin. The strength of his throw bringing the trash bin itself to tumble on impact, nearly falling over.

"-is going to strike again because… Because… Ah man, I got no goddamn clue."

Barkley watched the tiger express his disappointment, his eyes drifting downward.

"You got herbivore friends. That's what it is, am I right?" Asked Barkley, attempting to interpret Bill's frustrations.

Bill shrugged.

"A part of the reason why. I'm sure of it. But it's definitely not everything… I just feel… so useless in this. I feel like all the friends I have are afraid of me in some way, and a part of me feels guilty for that. I have eaten meat, and I don't exactly plan on stopping. It's my nature. But I ask myself if I can give myself the right to eat it when I can't even protect my closest friends. The ones at risk of being violently brutalized in any small accident…" Barkley's hand landed on Bill's shoulder. The resting smile blooming fully on his face.

"There's nothing wrong with feeling bad about it. The best of us do. Just show your friends that you're there for them. That you can help them in need, spend time with them, or that you can listen when they feel down. We always focus on our weaknesses, and we criticize the smallest errors in the bigger picture. But we should never forget the ways we can do something about it." The saint Bernard's hand felt warm on his shoulder, like energy and life force itself emitting from the dog's inner core, vibrating power outwards.

"Keep your head up, Bill. Stay there for them and show them what it means to be a carnivore. That monster roaming around? That isn't a true carnivore. That's a demon claiming to be one of us." Bill started to feel like he was talking to an angel in disguise. As if Barkley knew about all things from an outsider's perspective, viewing the deeds of the earth in pure neutral objectivity.

The Saint Bernard looked through the high-placed windows in the room, a few tree top's creeping over the sky. Purity now emanated from the hand on his shoulder. Bill felt exposed, all of the walls around him being pulled away as a light looked deeply into him. Before Bill could react to it, Barkley took his hand away and smiled again.

"To be a carnivore means so much more than just being a meat-eater. To me anyway, to be a carnivore means to respect life and be aware of its value. How precious it truly is. Don't let that demon roaming around convince you that your instincts control you. You control your instincts, not the other way around."

Bill looked at the brown and white dog, the two exchanging a glance that kept up for a few seconds. Bill chuckled suddenly, not knowing how to react any better.

"Did you practice that?"

Barkley looked at him with confusion.

"What?"

"Did you practice that 'Holier than thou, what it means to be a carnivore, do not trust the demon' speech?" Bill laughed, feeling relief in him when Barkley reacted with bashful shame.

"You could tell?" Bill burst out laughing at that. Holding his stomach as it felt like it could pop out if he didn't hold it. Barkley held his face in shame, wishing to maybe have taken another approach.

"It was good. Very good. Though your drumming skills are still better." Bill laughed again, this time Barkley smiling too.

"It cheered you up, after all, didn't it?" Barkley asked, the tiger grabbing himself, the last laughing finding a resounding end.

"It sure did… Where did you learn that from?"

"My father. His New Testament Bible… I thought it fitted the moment." Barkley's cheeks were still burning in shame. Bill smirked back.

"I certainly enjoyed the laugh. I didn't even know stuff like that was in the Bible."

"New Testament, that is. You should take one of the world religion courses that they offer here. It may sound boring, but Professor Linus really explains it well. And surprisingly, it does hold some truth. I know, I know it sounds kind of boring- scratch that kind of, it just sounds boring- but it's really interesting if you give it a chance." Barkley sputtered practically.

The excitement had jumped to the foreground as the angelic force sipped into the background. Only remaining in the tips of his hands and the corner of his mouth, endlessly turned upwards in a never-ending smile.

"I'll take a look. Maybe it's the thing to take my mind off of this whole devo-" Barkley winced as he heard the first letters of the word. Bill quickly skipped it. "-culprit debacle."

Barkley straightened his posture and smiled at Bill.

"I'm glad to be of help." Barkley looked at the large clock on the wall.

"Well… I probably need to practice some more. The New Year Ball needs a band to play at it." Bill patted the dog's shoulder, even after just a small touch feeling the energy coming from the frame that held almost angelic power.

"I won't disturb you any longer, probably will go visit a different club now. See ya" The two waved at each other, and Bill left the room.


Barkley's clock now read 3:15 pm in the afternoon. The Saint Bernard had seated himself at a small table a hallway down from the advanced classrooms.

After a day full of activities, the dog liked to help manage the timetable for the advanced classes with the teachers of the last period. Like any other dog breed, order and structure made him feel accomplished and satisfied. And once he helped set classes in a way they didn't intervene with anyone else's classes, Barkley would spend hours cross-referencing data in his free time so that he remembered the other student's schedules with remarkable ease.

Barkley sat down at his little table in the hallways to enjoy a snack.

His mother cooked meals three times a day and insisted on him taking at least two of her meals per day which she would deliver herself by car or have his brother Mike bring them on his free schedule.

"You're not eating that cafeteria chow. You could just as well eat cardboard. You'll take some good healthy food from home." She would say. And as Barkley had quickly understood, the youngest of the bunch never got first picks. His brothers had already moved out, Michael studying in psychiatry, and Frank working at the city's waste disposal, taking care of his wife and child.

As the current youngest of the bunch, his mother expecting a little girl soon enough, he had accepted his parent's rules as they were. Once little Sally would be home, he would be looking outwards towards his own job choices and living outside home. But for the time being, he enjoyed his mother's steak all the same.You never turn down good food, was a motto his family lived by.

Barkley asked himself when the next big family meal would be. His father was an accountant in the inner city, working for a branch in Nook Banking and Finances. The banking firm tends to practically the entire middle class of Edobutsu. It would often be weeks in which he wouldn't be back, sleeping in a small one-room city apartment in order to save the gas he would have used on the way back. Barkley and his mother, plus little Sally on the way, lived in one of the apartment blocks, near the hill that Cherryton was placed upon.

His brothers were much easier to get to attend a meeting even though both Frankie and Mike lived miles further away. But his father was much more inclined to his work. Every living luxury had an expense. And for the long work time, their rooms were decked out with toys. For every absence his father ever had, he tried to make up for it by a surprise gift. And the gifts were always thoughtful, but still away from his actual presence, which was rare. He made a mental note to ask his mother when they would meet as a family again, but that was for another time.

Barkley glanced down the hallway, a golden dog approaching with an expression of helplessness.

"What's up, Jack?" The Labrador stood in front of the table, fidgeting his fingers and drifting his eyes aimlessly through the hallway.

"Hey, Barkley. May I take a seat here? I… got a little problem, and I need your help."

"Sure thing, buddy. Go right ahead." Barkley motioned towards the seat opposite from him. The labrador sat down carefully, still fidgeting his fingers in nervousness.

"I-… ugh." Jack's hands landed in his lap, frustration apparent in his body language. "Legosi has been having a few problems lately. And I've been looking into getting him a therapist that would help him with the issues he has, but… nothing matches him or his needs. I've spent probably most of my day browsing any kind of health care, therapist, or medical domain, but they are either completely out of town, in a different district, or herbivore only physicians."

Jack listed off the problems on his fingers. Now his face replayed the emotion he had while having the idea of asking the Saint Bernard for help, enthusiastic eagerness.

"And then I remembered you telling me the story of your brother. How your mother looked night and day for a therapist against his panic attacks at school. How efficient that therapist was and how short the way to him was. But I couldn't remember his name. That's what I'm here for. If you could just tell me that guy's name."

Barkley's smile halted, a grim memory spreading In his head. As the alarm in Barkley started to show, Jack reacted with the same alert.

"What's up? Can't you remember?" Jack's nervous question elicited a laugh from Barkley that had no humor in it.

"It's not that… but I first want to know how much you remember from that story."

Jack reacted with a dumb-founded expression to the obscure statement from the Saint Bernard.

"Uhhhh…. It was about your brother that uh… suffered panic attacks in school, and the therapist was the best there is in cases such as his… Legosi's been having nightmares and-"

"You don't remember what caused these panic attacks, or are you implying Legosi is suffering from the same kind of… ordeal… as Micheal was?" Barkley broke him off, the question leaving the dog to draw blanks in his head.

"What are you talking about?" Jack asked back, wanting an answer to the weird stress reaction of the Saint Bernard. The Saint Bernard in question leaned back, sighing loudly, trying his best to think of the best way to answer Jack's question properly. He leaned forward again, brushing over his head, sighing again.

"Micheal… he suffered from panic attacks because he had eaten his first meat a few nights prior. And he… had quite a strong reaction to it." Barkley looked down the hallway, the memory of his older brother when he came back home that night haunting him.

Distraught and helpless, his hands and maw full of blood that wasn't his own. Babbling and stuttering as he desperately tried to get out the phrase: "It wasn't me."

"He was meat crazed… After he had tried to keep himself under control in school, he couldn't when he left… No one died… but that goat never walked without a limp again…" He stopped shortly, looking at the labrador that was now looking at him in pale shock.

"I really don't think Dr. Gouhin is the right doctor for Legosi's case. At least I damn hope he isn't…"

Jack looked ahead, shocked and now even a bit afraid. He looks desperate, Barkley thought, the labrador not looking too much unlike himself during a test handout that didn't go nearly as good as it could have.

"Oh well… Damn I don't know what in Rex's name to do." Jack leaned forward, resting his head against his hand while the thoughts in his head circled that damned wolf. "Could you at least give him a call?… I understand what you mean but… I gotta take chances. Legosi has been beside himself. I really, really don't know what to do. I… I was searching for therapists or a psychiatrist as much as I could. I browsed for nearly four hours last night… But I didn't find anything… I just… Can you please call for me? I really need to help him."

"I could of course… but I don't know if he takes normal cases. Dr. Gouhin normally only takes care of meat crazed cases." Barkley suddenly lowered his voice to a whisper. "His clinic is in the black market."

Jack gave a look of surprise.

"Who makes a clinic in the black- oh wait, right next to his patients I suppose. Kind of brilliant, actually." Jack shook his head. The labrador looked at the Saint Bernard, who looked back at him with a curious glance.

"Barkley. I looked everywhere I could get my hands on- your kind of my last resort before I call it quits. I just need to find that wolf some therapy… he desperately needs it."

Barkley sighed. Jack looked as helpless as desperate as one could look.

"I can't guarantee anything. Like I said, it's not his field, I don't think, but I can try."

"Thank you!" Jack's tail wagged as his frustration seemed to at least dissipate partly.

"I'll do what I can." replied the saint Bernard, not having any clue how the conversation with the doctor would turn out.


The sun set earlier than just a day prior. The shadow grabbed at his forehead, feeling a shrieking jolt of pain rocking through his temples. It had been a week since he had indulged in his instincts, and they were humming in a hypnotic rhythm outside of the cage that locked his senses away. He drew an arm over his maw, drool falling to the floor.

Hunger growled in his stomach as it lurched and gaped for meat to fill it. It had been too long since the last refilling of its insides. Of contents that resembled actual food that wasn't plant-based lies served on the table of make-believe society. You tasted it once, you never stop. He drew the bottle in his hand to his mouth, drinking the liquid inside with eagerness and impatience. After crunching it in his grasp, he threw it to the floor, the words on the label have lost any and all resemblance, being nothing but a letter salad to his inebriated mind. Another grumble in his stomach, his instincts now chanting an open chorus of freedom.

He staggered down the hallway, bumping against the wall. He swayed as he walked, his vision drawing walls and pathways into squiggly lines that gave way when stepped upon. The doors to the outside swung open, the smell of the air sharped his senses. He smelt something. The air was heavy with dirt and wet particles. He looked down, his ears now picking up the sound of the footsteps making resounding stops on the dirt pathways.

"...?" The subtle noise leaving the otter's mouth was a low hum in comparison to the chant of his instinct, singing ritualistic songs from the inside of his eardrum. The tone of a question sounded out either way. This otter was recognizable, being someone that he knew, but that didn't matter now.

"..." He could hear himself reply in the same hum of the otter. Nothing he could recognize. He smiled at the little friend, the otter himself smiling back. His own gaze lowered as he staggered forward. His mind could not form coherent thoughts. He was driven by need. The need for compassion.

"… ? … ?… ?!" He stretched out, the hum of the otter growing louder as it squealed in what he could only recognize as delighted joy as he closed his arms around it in a hug. He could hear sounds emitting from his throat he still couldn't recognize. He breathed in its scent, feeling the squirm of pure life in his grasp

"!" The squeal gained in strength, as did his embrace, the seconds of delight ticking by in never-ending bliss. The ritualistic chorus sang songs of respect, of love, of climax as the hum from the otter's lips bled into the song of his instincts rejoicing at another win of life itself kissing him on the cheek.

"!?!..." The chorus ended with a roaring finale, the hum stopping completely. His hearing returned to normal, sounds of crickets and the buzzing of lamps returning to his sense base.

He felt the dead weight in his arms, the otter laying completely limp in his embrace, blood staining its and his uniform. The otter's handprints were on his sleeves, arms, and vest. They had gripped fur with all their might but didn't cause the slightest harm to him.

And with a bleeding body in his arms, the grasps of struggle on his uniform, and the stench of blood ticking off every carnivore in a 500 yards radius, he chuckled. He remained chuckling even as the first bite of flesh entered his mouth, only pausing to swallow. He chuckled as the blood stench flew up and about into the nearest buildings, crawling around corners, into hallways, and under doors. He chuckled because he had missed the taste of meat, and he chuckled because it tasted as good as it was with the first friend he ever had. It reminded him of a sweet alpaca that was the nicest of the bunch. To him. Because Tem knew what a true friend was. And Tem valued him for what he was. For the true carnivore, he was.

Male dormitory

Bill suddenly jerked upward, smelling the thick and dousing aroma of blood. He had fallen asleep while browsing on his laptop in one of the community rooms. The smell had reached his nose and caused alarm bells to ring in his head. To smell blood on the carnivore floor was maybe not so uncommon, but not on a Monday, not on the community floor, positioned right above the male herbivore dormitory.

He laid his laptop down on his seat and stood up, walking quicker down the hallway than he planned to. Aoba and his fellow avian roommates came down the stairs. Their room was closest to the stairwell.

"You smell that too?" A black owl behind Aoba asked.

"I do." Bill looked down the stairs, the trail of the scent laid out in his mind, leading his memory to the outside of the house.

"This doesn't feel right." Bill was still intently staring down the stairs, feeling the fur on the back of his neck stand upright. The scent trail drifted over the dirt path to the forest opening by the benches.

"Bill?" Aoba stepped closer to the tiger, now hearing audible footsteps from the stairs. A third-year gazelle student looked up at them, looking surprised at the collection of carnivores atop the stairwell.

"Are any of you drinking blood again? It's reeking in the entire block." Bill's eyes widened as his suspicions were proven right by the gazelle.

"Simon, call admin right away. Aoba, follow me. The rest of you, get whoever you deem trustworthy enough down here to protect the herbivores!" Bill was descending the stairs, the gazelle sprinting to the office at the end of the block. Aoba followed quickly after the tiger, running down the stairs.

The double doors at the side entrance burst open, the tiger and eagle marching outside towards the direction of the smell. The entire male block flooded with light, shadows crowding in windows as they looked outdoors.

The two made their way down the pathway, walking along one of the tree lines that engulfed the little bench areas and made it harder to spot into them, a small cove for the forest animals.

Bill couldn't register what was happening around him. His mind's sole purpose being to finding the source of that wretched, instinct awakening smell that only caused destruction. In the back of his head a truth already stood out in the open, but he didn't react to the thought. Perhaps telling himself that he was too focused to act on it. But in reality, he just couldn't care. If that monster is still there, I will kill it.

"The smell is still strong." Aoba waved his hand in front of his face to wave at least some of the stench that enclosed them thoroughly. Bill remained quiet, still marching onward to the place of origin of the thick smell.

They entered the cove from the small entrance between two oaks that were surrounded by thick berry bushes that bloomed in the summer. They stopped dead in their tracks as they saw the sight in the lines of trees, a lamp shining circular light that seemed to shine from heaven itself onto the poor victim's body, giving it all a look of art.

The otter was lying there alone. His expression could be mistaken for one of gracefully falling asleep if his torso hadn't been reduced to a pile of ripped apart meat. The dark shadow of a perpetrator was gone, just as the otter was. Although the dark shadow lived on somewhere else, waiting for the next time its instincts grew too loud to bear. Tragedy struck Bill as he realized that he recognized the face laying on the ground.

Bill stepped closer to the creature on the ground and felt the cold chains of guilt swinging around his mind as they named a new prisoner. This otter had a large family, having more than six siblings. His parents loved them to death, him being one of the students that visited home the most of all students. He was in a relationship with a raccoon, the small female being ecstatic about him.

But the feeling of tragedy wasn't coming from the knowledge that he had been ripped away from his family. Or that the sweet and cute raccoon would cry bitter tears about his death. It was that Bill couldn't remember his name.

"Goodnight, buddy..." Bill took a few steps back, Aoba still observing the body with an expression of muted emotion. Shock in the slightest form it could give. Avians were regulated when it came to their emotions.

"Can you smell anyone else?" No, Bill couldn't. He shook his head while still watching the body on the ground.

"The blood reeks too strong. My nose isn't trained." Bill answered with a stoic voice. It was the tragedy that would follow that wreaked havoc in his mind. It blocked out his other senses. Such as the faint smell of sweat as the shadow had run shortly before they had arrived…

The police arrived a short while later. They bombarded Aoba and Bill with questions they couldn't answer. Questions that didn't reach Bill either way. He gave superficial answers as rage brewed under his skin. The otter was dead a good ten minutes before they arrived, the smell having taken way too long to reach the building.

The wounds were the work of a large breed carnivore, as in all of the other cases. Bill and Aoba had to spit into tubes, making sure that their saliva didn't contain any residual blood, ruling both out as suspects.

The police closed off the area and went to work. Bill, Aoba, and all the other carnivores that watched from the building and curious on-lookers all returned to their quarters per instruction. Bill laid in his head tonight with a new emotion brewing under his skin.

He had had enough of this. He had had enough of the murders, enough of his friends being scared of him, and enough from hating himself for what species he was born with. Before he drifted to the very little sleep he would have that night, the thought settled down in its immense hatred. If monsters can read minds, then so hear this. I will find you, And I will kill you myself.