I had almost finished the last of the army, covered in blood and out of breath. Inhabiting a mortals body was worse than just doing it in my own. I walked slowly to the last man standing and raised my blade ready to end his suffering.

He throws a small creature at me in desperation. It was fluffy almost like Cerberus but much much smaller in size. I could see it was just as scared as the fat man who threw the poor thing but it stood its ground. It let out a small howl to the best of its might.

I was surprised it could do so. The closer I looked at it, the more I realized it was a howl of pain and not aggression. It was thin and malnourished, and had scars everywhere. This only made me more furious. I dashed to scoop the little thing into my arms, in doing so plunging my blade into the heart of the previous owner.

I took the small hellhound back home with me, tended to her wounds, and made a connection with her. I then took her to get a new collar and named her Samaria and she is now my battle hound.