Shedder

Shredder was a Black Pomeranian. Being a terror, there was not an ankle that was safe in New Orleans if she was around. The Terror needed a walk, and she made a fuss to her owner Xyizan. The Necromancer finished putting the powder she had made into an Amulet of Protection. She placed it with the others for sale.

As Xyizan got the leash, Shredder would dance around. Once on the leash, she led the way to the door.

“Okay, just a second, Shredder,” she said, opening the door.

She and the cute dog were walking down the sidewalk in Jefferson Parish.

Joyee stopped playing his licorice stick clarinet and said, “Y’at has your beastie shredded any dude’s ankles lately?”

She laughed and said, “You volunteering?”

“Oh, Hell no.”

Shredder sniffed a few good spots before she did her business. While Xyizan walked back to her cozy house, some young punks in a black coop stopped and got out.

The big one said, “What the F you got there hole, a trained rat?”

They all laughed.

The big one walked over to the little dog and bent down. Shredder growled once and bit his hand as he reached for her.

Xyizan was horrified as the punk whipped out his Glock and shot the dog multiple times. Then, he pointed the gun at her. Firing shots at her, she ran. She had to run around the closest corner she could find. The punks all laughed uncontrollably, got back in the car, and left.

She cried for Shredder for hours. As she wept, it concentrated her Powers on those who had caused the great pain. She took one of the bullets, the poor dog’s body, and went to her shrine. She called on every animal that had ever been killed in such a way for vengeance, to rise up, and express its rage at such cruelty. Her intense ache reached into the Universe, and the Powers responded to her Outrage. The response flowed into our realm. Shredder’s body glowed vivid green. As it got brighter, the body flashed, and it was gone.

As Xyizan chanted a prayer, she could feel the awesome power surge through her.

The black coop was parked on the street. Four images of Shredder tore apart the tires and the auto alarm blared. Each tire was ripped to pieces. The owner came out and saw what had happened. He was furious.

He said, “I’ll kill whoever did this.”

There was no one around. As the gang banger went back to his apartment, he could have sworn he heard a set of dog tags jingle, but when he turned, there was nothing there.

He sat down in his chair.

One of his buddies said, “Homie, what be the happs?”

“Some fool be "F"ing me. He be dead by morning.”

From the bathroom, there was a growl and the sound of little toenails tapping on the tile.

He got up to look. All the toilet paper was shredded and was a huge mess all over the bathroom.

He said, “What the F. Who did this shit?”

One of his posses said, “What you talking ‘bout?”

They got up and looked.

One said, “Not me, homes.”

There was a sound from the kitchen. You could hear the garbage pail being knocked down and the trash being gone through. They all rushed to the kitchen, only to see the mess was everywhere.

He said, “Some fool be dead. Dead!”

There was a growl and the sound of cloth ripping in the main room. They sprinted back to where they were. Not only was every seat in the front room tore open with padding everywhere, but all the white powder in the baggie they were smoking was spread like a fine white dust all over everything.

“Someone is dead!" he said, as he got his gun with the big, oversized clip.

There was a growl from the master bedroom.

“Oh, no! This shit stops here.”

He burst into the room. Fifteen images of a glowing Shredder stopped ripping up everything they could get and looked at him. He started shooting. Bullets went everywhere. People in the apartments next to him had bullets fly through the room. They called 9 1 1. The images of Shredder jumped at him. They all picked a place on his body and started chewing. One hung on his hand and ripped into his flesh as he tried to shake it off. The badass screamed. He danced around like a frightened six-year-old trying to throw the dogs off him.

His homies ran from the scene. He continued to try and shake the biting dogs off him. As he shot at them, one of his posse fell and did not move. He just kept shooting until the extended magazine was empty. The walls, cars, and trees around him had lots of bullet holes. He was a bloody mess, and the little dogs kept chewing off pieces of him. He screamed and ran outside. The dogs just kept chewing on him. He fell and tried to fight with the many images of Shredder. They attacked everywhere. One bit his throat. He could not breathe anymore. He flopped about for a minute as he struggled for a breath. Then, he stopped moving. His homies ran, but little invisible dogs were shredding their ankles. Trashing expensive tennis shoes. The squad screamed and ran down the street. No one else could see the dogs, just the bite marks. When the badass gang members ran about the street screaming for no apparent reason, everybody laughed at them.

When most of them fled New Orleans, it dissolved an entire gang. Their turf was never claimed. When someone tried to take over the real estate, their ankles would get mysteriously shredded.