Zylo's Bio

:Bestowed Name: Zylo

:Species: Wolf (previously), Eldritch abomination

:Underside: Sire

:Sexuality: ——

:Aged: Almost six, at transformation

:Date of Birth: Unknown

:Aliases: ——

:Occupation: ——

:Hobbies: Aimlessly drifting through the woods and attacking anything that comes near.

:Stench: Blood and horror

:Matriarch: ???

:Patriarch: ???

:Kin: ???

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:Belongs to: No one

:Fathered: None

Neutral Traits

Negative Traits

Rare Traits

Notes:

Was dubbed the name Zylo by the young daughter of one of his keepers at the center.

Story

All monsters have their creation story, Zylo is not exempt from this and he follows a bit of a heartbreaking tale.

A beloved canine companion, as a pup he was rescued by a team of wildlife experts after illegal hunting left him an orphan. Zylo was a wolf back then, but that would change before long. But, for now, he would be sent into a rehabilitation center where he’d live out the next three years of his life goofing off with his caretakers and being a fun-loving pup. He loved to play, and playing tricks on his keepers was the hallmark of his days at the center. He had a fun time toying with them, doing little things like keeping his toys away and running off when they tried to grab them from him; he had a good life there, and he knew he was loved. His past didn’t bother him much thankfully as he was too young to recall much of the event, and with his caretakers now, that was all he could ask for. He was happy.

Two years later at the turn of his 5th birthday celebration at the center, he would get an unexpected guest he couldn’t have foreseen. His scent was different from the caretakers there, and he had no fur on his head like his other keepers. He didn’t recognize him and this made him suspicious. When they came and brought out his muzzle, he was even more suspicious. They never used his muzzle unless he was to be taken somewhere far from the center, and he never liked it much because he always got poked at the place they took him to. They pulled him out against his fighting, and it wasn’t long after he was shoved into the back of one of their moving homes, the furless man’s to be exact.

For a long while, they rode in this contraption of the man’s, but it felt like a whole lifetime for Zylo. When it finally came to a stop, he was far gone from the center and in some strange place he didn’t recognize with an even stranger man who came around and took his muzzle off; he could relax his jaw at least. Forests in the horizons encompassed a traversing landscape, and in the centermost part of it set a large home. This was the beginning of his new life.

For the first following months, he kept his distance from the furless man and studied his strange routines. Sometimes he would leave to his moving home again and wouldn’t return for hours. When he returned to him, he had a strange foresty scent attached to him and always carried some large stick that smelled funky on his shoulder. Unlike other sticks he used to fetch in his youth, this stick smelt weird and metallic. Whenever he tried to chew on this stick the furless one always yelled at him. He couldn’t understand why, but after a while, he lost interest in it anyway after he gnawed on it once and it left a gross taste in his mouth. Tangy.

Other times he came back with a large animal over his shoulder, these were good times as he was allowed to it, what the man shared with him at least. And it was far tastier than what he’d ever had at the center. It took him some time, but as those few months passed he realized the furless man had become his new keeper, and he was alright with that. If it wasn’t for the fresh meat then the head pats were nice too. He was settling into life with his new keeper, but he would soon learn those good things never last forever.

If you asked him now, he couldn’t tell you much of what happened that night. One reason being anymore he lives for the instinct to survive, and to survive he has to kill. The second reason is he doesn’t remember, at least not a lot. Something drove him that night to leave the furless man’s home and leave into the woods. It wasn’t the first time he’d left out to them. The man had one of those dog doors set up for him he could leave anytime he wished, but what made this venture different wasn’t because he wanted to go willingly, but rather was driven by some unseen force. Like he was being called to the woods in a bad dream he couldn't stop; he knew what was happening, but there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

And when he got there, his fate was set.

Before him manifested what he can closely recall as a demon, but what it truly was surely was more frightening than even the likes of a demon. He’d heard of demons before, malicious creatures who prey on the souls of the living, but, when he was in the presence of this abomination, he felt like he was standing before not a demon but a god. And this god was by no means gracious. Zylo could feel the fiend’s desire for death and torment as if their bodies were interlinked and what the god felt would flow through him as well. Even after what he assumed was the god let go of his grip holding him in place, Zylo wouldn’t move, overpowered by this feeling that grasped him firm and wouldn’t shake off.

He felt his body morph from the inside out. Like a butterfly and this was his metamorphose, but what would come out wasn’t anything beautiful unless one adds killer to the end of beautiful. Cracks and snaps echoed throughout the forest as his bones would break down to allow his body to stretch into something much larger than it ever was before. It was a painful process, but for some reason, he couldn’t make a sound, perhaps because deep down he knew it felt right in an odd sense, or maybe it was the demon god’s hold on him causing him to become mute and feel these things.

In the next phase came the eyes. Sprouting from his body like they’d been waiting to bloom for centuries, finally meeting the light, from his stomach he felt a tear. His abdomen ripped like he was being eaten from the inside. It was at this moment he felt the pain. Catching up to him and searing through him, he wanted to cry, but when he tried nothing came out, but he felt what seemed like water dampen his coat. He was crying, but not from where he expected. His many new eyes shed their first tears, but his old eyes had been lost to the transformation.

When it was over, he looked like an eldritch horror, unrecognizable from the friendly canine he once was and now long to return to. He was in pain, excruciating pain that even words would fail to express. His stomach torn had grown a new functional mouth. His body felt different, aside from the pain he was much taller than before. Then there were the eyes, all moving in sequence when he looked a way. Soon he’d forget these things, these trivial things of pain and longing would all be washed away with the memories of who he once was. But for the moment, he had one last thing he needed to do before his mind was completely shattered.

He began his trek back to his home of almost a year where his new keeper lay. In sleep in his bed, he took caution not to wake him as surely if his keeper saw him like this he would be afraid. A nuzzle to his head, he would bid his last goodbye before he took off into the night. From then, it was only a matter of a couple of hours until every last bit of himself, his memories, his keepers, would be gone. Erased like chalk on a chalkboard and diminished back to dust. He was a demon. But maybe in somebody’s world, he would be an angel where one day he could experience love and joy again he held so deeply to in his past that, before he had enough time to cherish it, it was gone from his grasp.