Christmas Day, 2023...
Is he gone?
I can't hear him anymore.
Where's mum and dad?
The little kid cowers in his closet as he hears another crash from outside. That had to be Him. His parents would never intentionally trash their own house. Outside, he can hear the song they were playing earlier blasting at full volume like the party was still going on. He couldn't understand a word of it, but it sounded pleasant to the ear and that was all that mattered to him.
"Last Christmas, I gave you my heart..."
Another crash. That had to be something large. Maybe the TV?
He starts to hear footsteps coming up the stairs. The thudding is loud and heavy. They sound like they're soled with a metal of some kind.
His ears fold down and he cowers even more as he hears the door to his parents' room explode open. He must have kicked it down. The boots walk into the room, and settle down on the carpet near the bed.
"Gesicht eines Liebhabers, mit einem Feuer im Herzen..."
("Face of a lover, with a fire in his heart...")
He hears a voice sing along with the song playing downstairs.
It's Him.
It has to be Him.
The kid hears hears the carpet rustle. He's getting closer. The kid covers his muzzle with his hands and begins to cry as quietly as he can. He doesn't want to die. Not to Him. Not to anyone.
Where is his mum and dad?
"Where are you, junger mann..."
The closet door opens. The kid can't bring himself to look up.
He's staring at him.
It's over.
His piercing blue eyes eye the kid down. They appear to glow with whatever energy He harnesses. He begins to approach the kid, and eventually stops short of his muzzle.
The kid can see His boots. They're steel-capped and are stained in crimson red blood.
One of the boots kick him hard in the face. Before the kid has a chance to fight back, He kicks him to the ground and stomps his head over and over, on the muzzle and on his forehead.
The kid never stood a chance.
Not against Him.
...
"Disgusting little sh*t." Trace turns around and takes one last look at the mess he made of the little wolf pup. Its breathing is staggered, raspy and shallow. Its jaw is slack and its mouth froths with blood pooling at the farthest edges.
Agonal breathing, a sign that someone is about to die.
He leaves the closet and heads back downstairs. It's a mess down there, with body parts and entrails strewn everywhere, and now the room has a potent and acrid smell of blood and death. The Christmas song is still playing in the background, as jolly as ever.
Trace heads to the music player in the room and ejects the disc. The cover art is in Valish, but he can still perfectly understand it.
Wham... Last Christmas.
He stashes the disc into his pocket and exits the house.
