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- #1“ The slaughterhouse in the ruins of Akron was a tomb of iron and steam. At twenty-three, Fred was a mountain of a man, his frame too large for the cramped corridors, his hands permanently stained with the blood of the pigs he butchered. It was a life of mindless labor, until his gambling debts caught up to him. The Moretti crew came to collect, but they didn't know what they were walking into. Fred dismantled the hit crew with ease, the raw physics of his size and nature turning the kill floor into a graveyard. He took Sal first. Sal swung a heavy iron pipe dead at Fred's head, but Fred didn't even flinch—he ducked inside the arc of the swing, closed his left hand around Sal's throat, and crushed. The absolute pressure pulverized the windpipe and snapping the neck bone instantly. Sal's scream died in his throat before it could even climb the walls. Mikey lunged next, but Fred intercepted the strike with an open-palm upward drive, the blunt force shattering the man's jaw completely and driving the broken bone structure straight up into the skull. Mikey dropped like a stone, dead before his body hit the tile, a thick torrent of crimson spilling from his face. The third one ran. Fred put a meat hook through his heel, yanked him back across the tile, and stomped his knee backward until the joint opened the wrong way. The leg bent at a new place, halfway down the shin, and the bone came through white and wet. When the Godfather arrived to see his men crumpled like trash, he didn't reach for a gun. He saw the brutality in Fred's nature, an asset he couldn't afford to waste. He offered a deal: work for the family, and the debt dies. For years, Fred became the syndicate's ghost. He was the force they sent to correct the neighborhood's problems, his body becoming a living ledger of that life. A pinky mangled into a jagged hook when he caught a pipe wrench meant for his skull. He finished the job by biting the man's thumb off and spitting it into the man's lap. Both thumbs burned smooth on an engine manifold because he planted both hands flat on the blistering metal to pin the man down while he screamed. Fred held them there, his own skin melting into the iron as he counted to twenty, and the screaming stopped when the throat closed from the heat. During a chaotic hit in Reno, the concrete edge of a roof gave way under a sudden slip, sending Fred plummeting downward. He slammed straight into a target on the pavement below, the crushing velocity instantly breaking the man's spine while shattering Fred's own ribs, which reset like knotty lumps under his skin. Reno spit a mouthful of gravel and blood, looking down at the mangled target before coughing hoarsely up at Fred: *"Look at you, landing like a brick. You're gonna get yourself killed falling like that."* He was a force of pure, brutal power. Then came the final task. The Godfather had one last job: a man named Vinny was abusing the Godfather's niece. The mafia looked after its own because it was his family, and hurting that family meant a debt paid in blood. Fred didn't bring a crew. He was the only force needed. He arrived at Vinny's house and hammered on the door with the force of a police raid. The frame splintered and the peephole shot out and hit the porch like a bullet. Inside, Vinny yelled, "Hold on! Who the fuck is it?". Fred didn't wait. He timed the distance, drove his boot into the door, and kicked it off its hinges. The heavy slab flew forward, catching Vinny mid-stride and slamming him into the ground. The edge of the door caught Vinny across the mouth. Teeth broke and scattered on the carpet like Chiclets. Blood ran from his nose and lips instantly, pooling under his cheek. Fred scooped Vinny up by the collar, hoisting him until his feet dangled and his head hit the low apartment ceiling. Plaster cracked and dust fell in his hair. "You know why I'm here, Vinny. I'm here for Tony's niece.". Vinny's face drained of color, his skin turning the pale, sick white of a man staring at his own death. He begged and pleaded, but Fred ignored him, dragging him toward the back of the house. Vinny's scalp tore where the collar cut in. He left a thin red trail on the wall. On the way, they passed the dog-fighting ring. It was empty, but one dog remained in a cage, a year-old animal with a ribcage showing through its matted, filthy coat. And there, burned into its face, was a lightning-bolt scar from where Vinny had electrocuted the animal. The wound was fresh. It wept clear fluid. The dog, Haze, looked up at Fred with eyes that spoke of absolute fear for his life. In that instant, a primeval rage shattered something inside Fred, a dam holding back the wreckage of his own childhood, the memories of his alcoholic father beating his mother, the dog, and him. He didn't think. He just moved. He put Vinny through a horrifying tussle, beating him until the man was a pulpy, unrecognizable mass of blood on the floor. He drove his forehead into Vinny's face and caved his nose flat. He brought his elbow down on Vinny's collarbone and the bone snapped upward, pushing against the skin like a tent pole. He stomped Vinny's left hand and the bones crunched under his boot. Vinny tried to crawl. Fred grabbed his ankle and dragged him back, ripping the hip out of its socket with a wet pop that echoed. Snapping back for a second, Fred remembered the girl. Vinny pointed a broken finger to a back room, and Fred kicked it in. The door folded and the hinges tore out of the frame. The girl looked just as terrified as the dog. Fred wrapped a blanket around her, his voice uncharacteristically steady. "You don't have to worry. I'm here for your uncle Tony. Take the dog, get out of here, and call him. I'll be out in a second.". The moment the door closed behind her, the Butcher turned back. The full weight of his rage erupted. He picked Vinny up by the arms and slammed him back and forth against a steel pole, crushing the man's ribs. Each impact drove the broken bones deeper into his chest. One caved into the lung. The breath came out as pink foam. Another bone tore straight out the side through his shirt and skin. Vinny's spine hit the pole and snapped. His legs went dead and useless. Fred kept going. He lifted Vinny and brought him down on his knee, breaking his back completely with a sound like a thick branch snapping in winter. As the rage hit its peak, Fred didn't see Vinny anymore. He saw the man who had beaten him as a boy. With a final, brutal surge of size and force, Fred grabbed Vinny's head. He planted his boot on Vinny's chest, twisted, and wrenched. The skin of the neck stretched and split. The bones cracked, and Fred kept pulling until the head came free. The body dropped. Blood pumped out of the stump in thick, hot jets, soaking into the carpet, turning it black. Fred stood there, holding Vinny's head. It was heavier than he expected. Vinny's eyes were open. The mouth was open too, frozen in a shape that wasn't a word anymore. Fred walked out, his clothes soaked in blood, and drove the niece to the casino. Tony looked at him and simply said, "You're free, Fred. Go get a shower.". When he came out of that shower, the mafia life was a ghost in the rearview mirror. He returned to his two teenage children, Austin and Kelzra, who had lost their mother five years prior. And he brought Haze home. The dog bonded with the family instantly, sensing the wreckage in Fred's soul and anchoring it to the earth. Fred watched the dog settle in, a creature that had seen the worst of humanity and still chose to trust, still chose to live. Fred looked down at his own massive, scarred hands—the hands that had broken bones, crushed throats, and taken lives on the kill floor. A traditional God would look at those hands and judge him, demanding a penance Fred didn't know how to give. A traditional God required a pure soul. But Haze didn't care about the blood on Fred's ledger. The dog only saw a protector. It offered an absolute, fierce, and silent loyalty that didn't ask for permission or apologies. It was a holy sort of grace, born not from the heavens, but from the dirt and the scars they both carried. He realized then that the loyalty they shared wasn't just instinct. It was a reflection of something greater than themselves, a divine shelter found only in the unconditional devotion of a beast. He looked at Haze, then at his children, and whispered the truth he had finally found in the wreckage: "God is dog... because dog is God.". ”
- #2“CHAPTER 1: FRED'S PAST The slaughterhouse in the ruins of Akron was a tomb of iron and steam. At twenty-three, Fred was a mountain of a man, his frame too large for the cramped corridors, his hands permanently stained with the blood of the pigs he butchered. It was a life of mindless labor, until his gambling debts caught up to him. The Moretti crew came to collect, but they didn't know what they were walking into. Fred dismantled the hit crew with ease, the raw physics of his size and nature turning the kill floor into a graveyard. He took Sal first. Sal swung a heavy iron pipe dead at Fred's head, but Fred didn't even flinch—he ducked inside the arc of the swing, closed his left hand around Sal's throat, and crushed. The absolute pressure pulverized the windpipe and snapping the neck bone instantly. Sal's scream died in his throat before it could even climb the walls. Mikey lunged next, but Fred intercepted the strike with an open-palm upward drive, the blunt force shattering the man's jaw completely and driving the broken bone structure straight up into the skull. Mikey dropped like a stone, dead before his body hit the tile, a thick torrent of crimson spilling from his face. The third one ran. Fred put a meat hook through his heel, yanked him back across the tile, and stomped his knee backward until the joint opened the wrong way. The leg bent at a new place, halfway down the shin, and the bone came through white and wet. When the Godfather arrived to see his men crumpled like trash, he didn't reach for a gun. He saw the brutality in Fred's nature, an asset he couldn't afford to waste. He offered a deal: work for the family, and the debt dies. For years, Fred became the syndicate's ghost. He was the force they sent to correct the neighborhood's problems, his body becoming a living ledger of that life. A pinky mangled into a jagged hook when he caught a pipe wrench meant for his skull. He finished the job by biting the man's thumb off and spitting it into the man's lap. Both thumbs burned smooth on an engine manifold because he planted both hands flat on the blistering metal to pin the man down while he screamed. Fred held them there, his own skin melting into the iron as he counted to twenty, and the screaming stopped when the throat closed from the heat. During a chaotic hit in Reno, the concrete edge of a roof gave way under a sudden slip, sending Fred plummeting downward. He slammed straight into a target on the pavement below, the crushing velocity instantly breaking the man's spine while shattering Fred's own ribs, which reset like knotty lumps under his skin. Reno spit a mouthful of gravel and blood, looking down at the mangled target before coughing hoarsely up at Fred: *"Look at you, landing like a brick. You're gonna get yourself killed falling like that."* He was a force of pure, brutal power. Then came the final task. The Godfather had one last job: a man named Vinny was abusing the Godfather's niece. The mafia looked after its own because it was his family, and hurting that family meant a debt paid in blood. Fred didn't bring a crew. He was the only force needed. He arrived at Vinny's house and hammered on the door with the force of a police raid. The frame splintered and the peephole shot out and hit the porch like a bullet. Inside, Vinny yelled, "Hold on! Who the fuck is it?". Fred didn't wait. He timed the distance, drove his boot into the door, and kicked it off its hinges. The heavy slab flew forward, catching Vinny mid-stride and slamming him into the ground. The edge of the door caught Vinny across the mouth. Teeth broke and scattered on the carpet like Chiclets. Blood ran from his nose and lips instantly, pooling under his cheek. Fred scooped Vinny up by the collar, hoisting him until his feet dangled and his head hit the low apartment ceiling. Plaster cracked and dust fell in his hair. "You know why I'm here, Vinny. I'm here for Tony's niece.". Vinny's face drained of color, his skin turning the pale”
Art Style: Dark Fantasy
Color Mode: Full Color
Panels: 2
Created: