{Conciousness log dump from Wargod 334}

I heard it before I saw it. A thin, pitiful howl rent the air, interspersed with snarling. “They had uncaged some beast against me,” I thought. It took the scouter eyepiece a while to even find the new threat. A tiny war dog, smaller than a rabbit, was darting towards me on tiny legs. “Dog”, of course, was being generous - the little bug eyed freak looked like a mutant rat had been shaved.

The scouter eyepiece beeped, displaying the puny thing’s vital stats and breakdown and threat level. Some dogs were “herding class”, others “guardian class” or “battle class”. I had seen one rich noblewoman’s dog be titled “useless class”. This one gave me pause. The screen listed it as “Chihuahua: Demon Class”. The emotional readout oscillated between “fear and tremble” to “seething burning white hot rage”. The AI presented a threat level of “extreme”. Surely it had to be an error. Demon class? The scouter was useless!

The beast left a trail of urine as it darted under my foot nipping at my ankles. It’s tiny furious attacks did no damage. I brought my war boot down to punt the yipping fiend back to its maker, slipped in its pee, and as I fell to the ground accidentally launched the tactical Mark XXI nuke missile into the air as I fell.

My face! The biting demon was now in my face - a whirling ball of madness as it went for my eyes. How could so much sheer hatred be contained in such a tiny body? I knocked it loose and stood up, blood pouring from my lip. I really should have sprung for the full helmet, but as a god of war I have laid waste to whole empires - planets have fallen to me - and nothing has managed to hit my face like this. Live and learn, I guess. The demon dog hung suspended in midair from my gauntleted hand, furiously growling painful death threats as it tried to sever my fingers, it’s body shaking as if possessed as it angrily worked on my hand.

A soft beep from the scouter. An incoming missile was approaching my position. In growing horror, I realized that the missile had fired while locked on the scouter’s target. The target that was still firmly attached to my hand. The missile was homing in on that blasted dog and the dog was attached to me. I was about to die by my own weapon zeroed in on my current position. I could see the point of light of the incoming missile- why is the shield not up? I might survive if I can get the shield up in time…. And then I remember - the shield generator controls are on my hand. Of course the little bug-eyed freak has been chewing through the controls while it was suspended in midair. Of course the controls are ruined. Sigh.

Demon class, indeed.

{Log termination}