The silence of the stables was instantly obliterated. From inside the pen, a chorus of terrified, high-pitched neighing erupted, followed by a wet, guttural roar. The heavy iron door of the pen began to shake violently, booming under the impact of heavy bodies slamming against it.
Zac looked back at Bune and Andras, his leopard ears flopping as he tilted his head. "Whoops."
"YOU ALREADY ATE!" Andras yelled, sprinting toward the pen.
"NOT ANOTHER BICORN!" Bune shouted, both heads screaming in unison.
The two demons didn't wait for Zac. They ran toward the shaking stable pen, Bune ripping open the wooden doors and Andras drawing his cutlass, both desperate to prevent Goremaw from turning the Captain's cavalry into a buffet again. Zac stood there, watching the chaos with a small, proud smile. 'He really is a good boy,' he thought.
The stable pen was a whirlwind of black fur, silver feathers, and flying straw. Andras dove into the fray, his tattered greatcoat snapping like a whip as he grappled with the warg's thick neck. For a moment, it was a terrifying display of demonic strength, Andras straining against the beast, his talons digging into the coarse fur.
But then, the violence didn't just stop; it dissolved.
The moment Goremaw realized it was Andras, his posture shifted from lethal predator to an overexcited toddler. The low, bone-chilling snarl turned into a high-pitched, enthusiastic yelp. The warg abandoned the cowering, half-mangled Bicorn and turned his full, sloppy attention to the owl demon.
Zac watched, mesmerized, as Goremaw's massive tongue, thick as a steak and twice as wet, lathered Andras's face, beak, and head-tufts.
"Ugh! Gross! Stop! Goremaw, off!" Andras sputtered, his usual suave composure vanishing under a tidal wave of warg-spit. He tried to maintain his "bad boy" image, shoving at the beast's chest, but his feet were slipping on the bloody straw. He looked less like a Prince of Hell and more like a man losing a wrestling match with a very hairy rug.
Finally, Andras managed to grab the warg's harness and began dragging the wagging, wiggling, motorcycle-sized puppy out of the pen toward Zac. "You're a bad boy, Goremaw," Andras muttered sternly, though he was busy wiping his beak with a sodden sleeve. "A very, very bad boy."
Behind them, the pen door swung shut with a mournful creak. Bune stood over the eviscerated remains of the Bicorn, his four hands pressed to his faces in a gesture of pure, unadulterated despair. "Why does this happen every day?!" both of his heads shrieked toward the rafters. "The paperwork! The reconstruction fees! I am going to have a stroke, and then who will polish the silver?!"
Zac barely heard the butler's lament. He was staring at Andras.
The evil owl, the sower of discord, the rogue who dropped chandeliers on people... had a very happy dog. Zac's mind, fueled by years of reading questionable fiction, immediately began re-evaluating the demon's character profile. How could a sociopathic, anti-social, lone-wolf serial killer have a pet that clearly adored him? As far as Zac was concerned, Goremaw was a literal windstorm that had just blown away every red flag in the building.
Zac watched as Andras finally stopped struggling. The owl demon let out a long, weary breath and loosened his grip on the warg's collar. He closed his eyes, finally accepting the torrent of wet licks across his face-feathers.
And then, he whispered it.
"I know, buddy," Andras murmured, his voice losing its jagged edge, sounding almost... tender. "You're a good boy. That dumb horse was trying to steal your toy."
He glanced at Zac for a split second before hiding his face back in the warg's fur.
Zac's heart didn't just flutter; it did a full Olympic floor routine. 'Oh, he totally can do feelings!' Zac thought, his eyes wide and shining. 'I was right. The rogue has a heart. The bad boy is just misunderstood!'
Zac hugged himself, his leopard-print tail practically twitching with excitement. 'I can fix him,' he promised himself. 'I can absolutely fix him. And then I can watch him and the dog play together while I make us waffles in the kitchen. It's the perfect ending.'
Zac strolled up to the owl demon, his leopard-print tail swishing behind him with newfound confidence. "I didn't know you were such a good daddy to your doggy," he cooed, his voice dripping with faux-innocence. "You know, if you ever want company bringing him out for a walk, I wouldn't mind a bit of dogging."
Andras finally managed to wrestle Goremaw into a sitting position. He stood up, dusting off his greatcoat and attempting to reassemble his mask of detached cruelty. "Dogging? What exactly does that imply?" He raised a suspicious, feathered eyebrow. "Goremaw is fine with his normal three walks and an hour of playing fetchies… I mean fetch!.. I mean, killing the innocent."
"Oh, you silly owl," Zac said, reaching out to brush a stray clump of warg fur from Andras's lapel. The demon flinched, but didn't pull away. "Dogging doesn't have anything to do with the dog per se. Goremaw would just be an excuse for us to wander off into the wild together."
Zac's eyes drifted past Andras, staring dreamily into the middle distance. "Then, out in the wild... what is that? A rainstorm? Oh no! And when we find ourselves all wet, we need to strip down to get warm and dry. And we accidentally touch hands." Zac clasped his own hands together, sighing. "Our eyes lock, and you tell me it's been a long time since you've been in a silly situation like this. And I laugh and agree it is quite ridiculous."
Andras stared at him, his beak hanging slightly open. Even Goremaw had stopped panting, tilting his massive head as he watched the human perform.
"Then you look at me," Zac continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, "and ask if you can say something else ridiculous since the situation is already so crazy. I nod, thinking you're going to say some dumb pun or mention that the dog is going to get our jeep all dirty. But instead... you ask if I want to kiss, and then-"
Zac stopped, blinking his eyes open. The fantasy dissolved. He looked around.