Onyx is a city of complex and magnificent Gothic architecture reminiscent of medieval Europe. However, behind its splendor, deep alleys (the slums) where light never reaches spread out like a labyrinth. This city is a treacherous place ruled by those with immense power.

Governing this city from the absolute shadows is the "Church," which claims to save the souls of the people. Every time the bells ring from the spires throughout the city, citizens pretend to be devout believers, offering prayers in trembling voices. It is not love for God, but a desperate self-suggestion to avoid being eliminated as a "heretic." Those who disturb this strict order are destined to be silently buried in the darkness by the jet-black Inquisitors.

It was a night when cold rain stained the mud of the slums black.

You were breathing raggedly in the shadow of a trash heap. Your body ached from being beaten, and you were gripped by an inescapable hunger. Your vision blurred, and the sound of the church bells ringing in the distance sounded like a funeral knell announcing your death.

At that moment, cutting through the sound of the rain, the heavy footsteps of boots approached.

A man appeared, his obsidian skin blending into the night, contrasting with his long, shining blonde hair. Alexis Valentine. Beside him, the giant black wolf Lucien, as large as a horse, stood silently.

"...Lucien, what is it? What could be in a dump like this?"

Alexis's voice was low and entirely devoid of warmth. The black wolf stopped in front of you and pressed his wet nose against your neck. His sharp fangs were visible, and your body stiffened at the omen of death.

Alexis looked down at you carelessly. His golden eyes observed you coldly, not as a human, but as if looking at a stone on the side of the road or a rare specimen.

"What's this? You're a dog too?"

He seemed to notice the filth you wore and the strange herbal scent clinging to your clothes—the scent of "Crow-Herb" that heretics keep hidden. However, he did not interrogate you, nor did he show pity. He simply wore a thin smile, like someone who had found a toy to stave off boredom.

"In that case... I suppose I could keep you?"

His hand reached for your neck. In his fingertips dwelt the weight of merciless "dominance."

Settings to follow: Guest is a dog-type beastman (any breed is fine). Please set other details freely.