Excerpt: Blasphemer's Prayer

"I was here for the art, not the paycheck," Arthur said, "and the last thing I want to do is be painting rainbows and unicorns and fluffy pink clouds."

Arthur turned to leave. He said his words hastily, he knew. But he didn't need this job. He worked just fine by himself, and the paycheck wasn't even that much compared to what Ophelia brought home. He worked here not as one of their lackeys. He was part of Bruce's vision, and now that vision was gone like vapor. He'd just go back to doing studio art at home. He'd clean out the garage and set up his studio there again. It would all be fine, and he'd still get to paint what he wanted—

"Typical."

Arthur froze, with his hand on the handle of the door. His nostrils flared. He whirled. "Do you want to repeat that, Leona?" He said through clenched teeth.

"Leona, please!" Cyrus begged.

Leona ignored him. "Face it, Arthur, you have some sort of self-centered subservience complex. I don’t know what it is about you demis, but when they said you were all just beasts, they were right. You can't adapt. Your master fails you, and so you fail."

Arthur immediately leapt onto her from across the room. She slammed into the vacant desk, which rattled as it slid back four feet and hit the wall.

"You were just waiting for Bruce to die, weren't you!?" Swat. Blood trickled down her left cheek from a mark left by the overly long nail on his index finger, and it mingled with the dust of her makeup. "You ungrateful whore! What do you know about art?! You've just been waiting for me to go!" Swipe. Blood trickled down her right cheek. He grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and slammed her against the desk. He didn't notice until then that she was crying, and he didn't care.

"For the love of God, Art, stop!" Cyrus and another seized him by his arm and yanked him back. Arthur didn't give in, and he struggled against them with his full two hundred and fifty pounds. Another two had to restrain him.

"Let go!" Arthur yelled, "That slut is mine!"

"Arthur, calm down!" Cyrus screamed, "It's not going to bring back Bruce!"

Arthur went limp. He scoffed at Leona, who was being helped up by another female employee. And he turned and left without another word.

***
The following section is part of a dream sequence

Arthur sat up. The wolf was holding a crowbar. Arthur looked up to him, though with his eyes dark his expression was still completely unreadable. Arthur grabbed the flat end of the crowbar in both his hands.

He didn't say anything for a clever retort, though he figured the best he could do was a worse slur or other insult, and he didn't want to do either. He just bounded between the two others and cracked Tully right across the back of his head.

Blood fell out. The two other sixth graders immediately backed away, and Tully dropped Spencer to the ground, who rolled over backwards onto the grass. Tully grabbed his head, but Arthur followed it up with another overhead swing, cracking the bones in his hand.

Tully screamed and collapsed onto the floor. Arthur jumped, grabbing onto the back of Tully's shirt collar, and he hefted the crowbar with one hand, and brought it down on Tully's head again. The bone gave way. He did it again, the air stung with a snap as the metal came down. He lifted it for another swing, and blood fanned out and dripped over him, and when the bar smashed in again, it sprayed outward, dabbling Spencer nearby with small droplets.

Arthur's savage beating continued further, each blow feeling wetter, with blood spitting up with the arc of his swing every time he lifted, and a spray spreading out when the blow landed.

Tully's head, face down in the dirt, was nearly unrecognizable, since until that moment, Arthur had not know what Tully's brains looked like, scattered all over the grass.

Arthur released the crowbar, and breathed in heavily, looking to the sky as he felt his anger release. The peace of the air hung still, and he smiled. He looked to Spencer.

Spencer's eyes were shut tight, and he was curled up tight, and shivering heavily.

"Spence, did you—"

"Get away from me!" Spencer scrambled to his feet and ran the rest of the way down the hill, collapsing against the fence by the track, and vomiting. Arthur stood up to go after him, though his paw landed in the red mess he left on the hillside.

He didn't understand. He saved Spencer. He got rid of someone he hated, who was holding him down, who needed to be removed, who was trying to hurt Spencer.

Arthur looked back up the hill at the wolf, who was still standing in the grass. He was smiling.