FLOOOF and WaterBreathing

The little puppy bares its small fangs at me and starts furiously barking while backing away.

I notice that under its large white coat, the little puppy is extremely malnourished. It has very visible ribs and bite scars all over its body. The little pup also seems to be constantly shivering, despite the fair temperature of the canyon. In between its barks, the dog lets out high-pitched whines.

I take out a piece of meat, lay it on the ground, then slowly back away.

The white puppy slowly stalks toward the piece of meat, then quickly grabs it and runs into the grove of Sakura trees, its tail tucked between its bony legs.

THAT IS THE CUTEST THING IN ALL OF EXISTENCE, and I need some company. The old man is fine, but only speaking with him for so long is taking its toll, even for an introvert like me.

Not that I think that a dog is much of a conversationalist, but I'll take what I can get.

I will find a way to gain that dog's trust, probably through bribery. I already have a great name for him, FLOOFY.

(Because he is floofy.)

With my plans to gain a new companion in place, I direct my attention to finding a place to stay while I train a new water spell and coax the Dogito into becoming comfortable with me.

After searching for a couple of hours, I find a small cave on the side of the cliffs surrounding the alcove. The cave is small, about the size of a van. Water droplets fall from scattered stalagtights on the rocky canopy, and a scent of humid sediment fills the air.

I deposit my things into the cave, taking with me only my weapons, and decide to use the rest of my day directing my attention toward training a new water spell.

Gravel crunches under my feet as I stroll over to the massive waterfall, which flows from the top of the tall cliffs into the river below.

I want to develop a saber spell, or I should say weapon technique, based on the water-breathing style from Demon Slayer (because I'm a massive nerd.)

My plan for developing this technique is to literally cut water from waterfalls. It's a training method that was only mentioned in one sentence of an old Zora text in Uncle Rhoam's cabin, but for some reason, it stuck with me.

My technique-building starts at a tiny little thing, barely enough to be called a waterfall on one of the side streams of the river.

I leap below the trickle of water, my objective being to use my saber to cut through the water and deflect it.

If I get even a single droplet of water on me, I have to wait till my mana refills and try again.

My first attempt is seemingly successful for about twenty seconds, but my mana quickly dries up, the reason being I am just pumping my body and mind with internal mana, making me able to brute force this training for about twenty seconds. But this defeats the whole purpose of this unique style of training, and it won't hold up when I get to larger waterfalls.

For the rest of the day, I focus on the feeling of cutting through the water, becoming hyperaware of the edge of my blade, and I experiment with moving water mana into and around my saber.

By the time night falls, I am completely drenched, having long ago taken off my clothes. I am suddenly very grateful that there are no other humans in the canyon to a butt-naked pre-pubescent body swinging a sword at a waterfall.

After drying off in the sun, I don my clothes and check for Floofy in the spot where we first met before retiring to my cave for the night, like the little hermit I am.

Sitting in my cave, I try to form a simple water slash technique with my saber, but, like usual, I fail again.

There is something different this time, though. Instead of a barrier, the imagery in my mind turns into a dam: my training, a powerful river, slowly eroding away at the aquatic barricade.

I am happy with this shift in mentality and fall asleep, thinking of slaying monsters with badass flourishes of water.

The next morning, I check for Floofy in the same spot once more and become elated to see that he is there, waiting for me. What a smart dog!

I set down a fish, but this time, instead of backing thirty feet away, I stand twenty feet from the food.

The pup looks at me, his eyes flashing from the fish to me, weighing the pros and cons of going for the meat.

Eventually, hunger wins out, and Floofy darts for the fish, holding the fresh trout in his mouth before bolting into the bush.

My days are spent feeding Floofy and slicing waterfalls.

After spending a lot of time observing the little white dog, I notice that he has a bit of a spark to his eyes, a sliver of Intelligence that I have never seen before in a dog, but this just makes me want him to be my companion even more.

Eventually, I am able to give the white dog meat from my hand, but I notice something peculiar, despite giving the dog ample food every day, he remains skinny.

After feeding him, I decide to follow the dog after giving him his daily fish.

I track the little dog on the treetops, and after a thirty-minute journey, we reach a small hill with a hole in the side of it.

Out comes a pack of wolves that surround the smaller mammal. Floofy immediately drops the fish and rolls it towards the largest wolf, who gulps it down in one go before growling at my little pooch.

Whelp, I've seen enough.

No one fucks with my pooch.

Two shots ring out across the alcove, and two bullets leave the smocking barrel of my revolver, finding their way into a cozy new residence of the alpha wolf's brain.

The wolfs are startled, and Floofy runs to the den to seek cover while the other members of the pack look toward me.

Wolves from my old world would just run away, but these ones aren't as smart.

The five remaining mutts run towards me, salivating in my direction once they see how small my body is.

The first two die to the Throngler piercing through their torsos and slamming them to the ground.

The next beast turns into a beautiful medium rare from a full-powered electric grasp, and the fourth receives a custom decapitation experience from my saber.

The last jumps at my head, but I reinforce my body with mana, and the much heavier beast is stopped in its tracks by a gauntlet to the throat.

A simple squeeze of my hand separates the wolf's larynx from its body.

I wait patiently for five minutes, and a little white snout pokes out of the den. Floofy's eerily intelligent eyes survey the bloodbath, then fall on me, covered in wolf organs.

The puppy runs over and jumps into my arms, licking my face, its tail wagging at a supersonic speed.

I happily hug my new pet and speak to him in a gleeful tone, "Who's a demented murder dog? You are! Yes, you are!"