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there was a rather pleasant smell hanging in the air, one that made the hellhound's jaws part in a grin and acid drip from rubbery lips. serpentine tongue flicked out, running a circle around his maw as his nostrils flared to further pinpoint the scent.
anger. burning, bright anger. something that triggered fury in him as well so naturally he did what had been beaten into him: he got gleefully angry, feeling the urge to kill. he shook his head no, he had a status, he couldn't do something like this. so he ran, to the border, sat down, chest heaving, breath coming out in quick pants as he regained composure, the skin on his stomach gluing itself to his ribcage in an almost sickening way.
the anger was still there, even after he had run the frustration away. then he began thinking, the world a kadioscope of thoughts that assaulted his brain, digging splinters into his mind and tapping at the strings. his wife, now dead. that was something to be pissed off about. he had gone through a phrase of depression after she had been killed, swearing never to love again, and had hidden himself from the world like a pussy would do. crisscrossed teeth gnashed together as muzzle bunched up in displeasure and he heard a voice, a familiar voice. deep, gruff, one that assaulted his ears many times as the owner assaulted his body "for fun".
his back straightened, shoulders pushing back with narrowed eyes turning cold, alabaster washing over the lime colors. a male, tall, huge, silvery lion, whitened with age, appeared in his peripheral. he turned, posture still stiff and a snarl burst from his throat, the fur on  the  back of his neck standing up and flaring out.
"control your anger, сука." came the voice, the voice that had tormented him for years. anger ticked him off too far, way too far and damion stood up, every muscle in his body tensing up. "semion." there was no 'father' here, no endearments, ever. he wasn't allowed to address him as if they were a family, at least not from the moment he turned old enough to rise in ranks. he studied his father, narrowed optics, noting with glee his age. that made him weaker, easier to take down. of course damion was going to take up that offer, he loved easy kills, especially taking one with the end result of pleasure.

no words were needed to be exchanged, only blows as the two leapt for each other, grappling immediately for eyes, throat, jaws. his father was old, but that didn't mean he was weak. damion had age to back him up, semion had experience. but did the hellhound care? no, he didn't. he had suffered so much abuse, anger from his father ever since he was a pup and it grated on his nerves that he was so easily pushed around. this time he would be the boss. the hound felt the skin that wrapped around his windpipe tearing, heart going cold as he realised his father was coming in for the kill. so he retaliated. retaliated with a roar that split the sky and caused acid to burst from the pipe in the back of his throat, dotting him harmlessly in the face but making the enemy cough.
the enemy, his father. that was new, he mused and ducked as claws came swinging for his cheek. he ducked, mouth snapped against the flesh hanging dangerously loose against his lobes until it latched on and he screamed and  batted at his attacker's chest with thudded paws, bursts of snarls ripping lose from wounded lungs.

semion yudkovich mogilevich took one last shuddering breath, glaring at his son with hatred written his those yellow optics before them going blank as jaws crushed his windpipe with a snap.


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