Mirkhm dashed across the rolling plains with long strides. His feet were so light he seemed to be skating across the fluttering grass.

His heart was a castle built of paper, because he was headed home.

The clouds stood as tall as mountains in the sky behind him, hinting at the storm to come. And so Mirkhm ran, pushing his body to the limit. He breathed in through his snout and then out through his mouth, tasting the air with his tongue as he did so. Outside of the city, he felt so loose and free. He need not worry others would notice his… peculiarity.

Because Mirkhm Geistfire had a secret. One that burned in his heart, made him flush with shame when mentioned, one that sometimes he wondered whether should matter at all and other times made him look at the slaughtered monster corpses left in the wake of a patrolling warband and shiver.

Mirkhm was a proud citizen of the Sandsteppe Empire, ruled and populated by beast people. Different religious organizations disagreed on the exact details of the origin of beast people, but they possessed the superior physiques of monsters while also utilizing the natural stoppage provided by the Class Advancement Quest, giving them the opportunity to hone their Skills. They had immense pride in their capabilities.

Except sometimes, the second element wasn’t present.

Mirkhm Geistfire didn’t have a Class. He evolved like a monster. His Skills were tagged Species and not Class.

Thunder rumbled overhead, the first sign that the storm had finished building and was now ready to break. The wind grew cold against his back. Mirkhm lowered his head and increased his speed.

Your Skill (Species) Vigor has grown to Level 39.

Your Skill (Earned) Wind Steps has grown to Level 26.

In the Sandsteppe Empire, it was known that occasionally a ‘monster’ child would be born between two beastperson parents. Rumors abound about these children, who were surly when young and then grew abruptly more powerful as the natural wildness corrupted their minds. People whispered their monster blood would take over during their evolution, filling them with bloodlust. They would slay their kin, unable to suppress their instincts.

Mirkhm had never felt the urge to hurt the people around him. He had just felt afraid.

Afraid of being found out. Afraid that he was broken, secretly flawed while everyone else lived normal lives around him.

Because, i the truth came out, nothing good could come of it.

At best, these wild monster berserkers would be pressed into service in the Emperor’s armies. At worst, they would be incarcerated and then eventually put down. After all, a very common Quest to be promoted to Tier III involved hunting and slaying a monster at a higher Level. So Viziers in every city were interested in trapping and weakening Level 25 ‘monsters’ for their Level 24 heroes to hunt.

Your Skill (Species) Wild Intuition has grown to Level 15.

Mirkhm sensed the first drops of rain the second before they hit his lightly furred skin. He knew it was a useful Skill. But this one, especially, forced him to acknowledge what he was: more monster than person.

I’ve now been gone for half a year… will I still be the same? Has my wild blood grown stronger, away from civilization…

Mirkhm squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn’t liked to be alone for so long, especially when he couldn’t truly hunt monsters, lest his Level grow too quickly. He had been able to lie his way through his effortless breezing through the First Growth Threshold, claiming an easy Quest and average first Class of Warrior. But when he had reached Level 24-

He had told his friends and family, as well as his instructors at the Military Institute, he had received the Quest to head deep into the Wildlands and hunt a hundred and one beasts. He resolutely left. To give him time away, to hide his rapid Leveling, to excuse the inevitable physical changes that resulted from his Species evolution.

Only his best friend and foster brother, Brayk, had known the truth. The tawny-haired young man had looked at Mirkhm with such sadness, the night Mirkhm had departed. “You are not a monster.”

“Maybe now,” Mirkhm had offered a smile, salted and bitter as preserved fish. “But that is the magic of evolution, Brayk. I will be changed and remade into something new. Who knows what I will become?”

“It is just like a Class,” Brayk insisted. “Who you aren’t won’t change. That’s not how it works.”

But deep down, Mirkhm had suspected they both wondered if that was actually true.

The rain began to fall with a bit more determination, fat drops splattering against his back. Mirkhm flashed his teeth and leaned forward.

Your Skill (Species) Bestial Surge has grown to Level 9.

Your Skill (Earned) Wind Steps has grown to Level 27.

Your Skill (Species) Vigor has grown to Level 40.

The muscles of Mirkhm’s body quivered and then exploded with the monstrous potential lurking there. The ground exploded beneath his first step and then he truly seemed to fly forward. In the distance, he saw the settlement of Riggiam.

Mirkhm, after half a year, would be home.

Will I suddenly feel it, when I see people? Will I want to sink my teeth into their throats…?

His heart almost stopped when he reached the gate, his foxfur soaked through by the sheets of rain. He looked more like a drowned rat than a dangerous monster trying to slip back into civilization. The guards waved him right through, perhaps simply due to his traveling leathers and being unwilling to step out into the rain themselves.

The same wind that had blown in Mirkhm had brought the first spitting rain, so the streets of Riggiam were a flurry of activity to find shelter as he passed through. Vendors ripped down their stalls with Stat-enhanced rapidity, turning an array of gleaming trinkets into a fist-sized bundle in only a few moments. Those with handcarts shouted and cursed as they raced away, making for cover.

Through them all, Mirkhm stepped with sinuous fluidity. It wasn’t until a woman gaped at him, pirouetting around her urn-holding form, that he realized how it might look. Mirkhm flushed and tried to run with a bit more steadiness in his steps.

Is this how it begins? The change?

Because monsters had one distinct advantage over the civilized Class System: occasionally, Species evolutions provided additional Stats.

Mirkhm, shameful of his prowess, looked at his Status Screen.

Name: Mirkhm Geistfire (???)

Species: Spitfire Foxkin (Deviation: Grey)

Level: 25

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Health: 405/416

Stamina: 19/100 (4/s)

Deity Patronage: None

Stats: (Base) Constitution: 17 (Base) Strength: 14 (Base) Agility: 26

(Species) Attack: 10 (Species) Grace: 15 (Base) Perception: 17

(Base) Wisdom: 9 (Base) Faith: 2

Skills: (Species) Grey Claw Lvl 34, (Species) Vigor Lvl 40, (Species) Vicious Bite Lvl 14, (Species) Wild Intuition Lvl 15, (Species) Bestial Surge Lvl 9

(7/10) (Earned) Street Fighting Lvl 31, (Earned) Sharp Eyes Lvl 37, (Earned) Wind Steps Lvl 27, (Earned) Graceful Dance Lvl 6, (Earned) Prey Stalking Lvl 25, (Earned) Basic Cooking Lvl 24, (Earned) Active Recovery Lvl 23

(Language) Verbal Communication Lvl 10

When Mirkhm evolved into a Grey Deviant Spitfire Fox, he had earned not one but two special Stats beyond his Base six. The first was the always-useful Attack, which would simply increase the damage dealt in all cases. But he had also obtained Grace, a Stat he understood as a concept but never had heard of as a Stat.

It had been hard, even for a fearful Mirkhm, to imagine Grace being the concept that would transform him from a civilized creature into a bloodthirsty demon, especially when his one pleasure during the lonely nights in the Wildlands were practicing dance moves alone, but now, seeing the shock in the woman’s face…

Mirkhm lowered his gaze and ran forward. His feet pounded against the ground as more and more rain fell around him.

Then, all at once, he stood before the gate of his home. The slightly scuffed golden sign proclaimed this to be the ancestral origin of the Geistflame clan. Mirkhm, feeling an immense nervousness drumming his heart, raised his hand and knocked.

After several seconds, he had to admit that he had probably knocked so quietly it could not be heard over the pounding of the rain. So he knocked again.

Still, no one answered.

He could picture his irritated aunt, waving her wooden spoon. “Next time, shout a bit so I know you are stuck out there, fool boy.”

Mirkhm coughed, working up his voice to shout. When had he last spoken aloud? After all, when the slightest thing could set off his dormant bloodthirstiness, even raising his voice a little bit was a risk. But he forced himself to bark out the words. “I-I’m home!”

Only rain answered him.

Mirkhm considered using his newfound Grace to simply scale the wall when a voice shouted at him from behind. “You!”

Mirkhm jumped like the voice had known his trespassing intentions and had arrived to punish him. “Y-yes?”

When he wheeled around, he faced two turtlekin guards. Behind them, a procession approached, hurrying through the rain. The two guards eyed Mirkhm up and down, looked at one another, and then smirked. The first guard strode forward. “You, make way for Lord Usurper’s palanquin. Your kind aren’t welcome here.”

“I just live-” Mirkhm jerked his head back before he could even provide an explanation. Because the first guard hadn’t waited. He had lunged forward and swung a haymaker of a punch at Mirkhm.

The blow passed harmlessly through the air.

The guard’s face flushed when his surprise attack missed, and by such a comically large margin. “Oh, a wise kin, huh?”

“No, I-”

Again, Mirkhm could only jerk backward because the second guard had pulled out his quarterstaff. His steps splashed in the puddles as the guard swaggered forward and thrust out the weapon. Without even really thinking about it, Mirkhm swung around the weapon’s blows.

Your Skill (Earned) Street Fighting has grown to Level 32.

Your Skill (Earned) Graceful Dance has grown to Level 7.

This guard also seemed infuriated by Mirkhm’s resistance and released a shout. He hopped a step forward an swung his staff horizontally in an attack that was quite a bit more rapid than the previous salvo.

Mirkhm felt the world slowing down as he categorized the threat.

Your Skill (Earned) Sharp Eyes has grown to Level 38.

Your Skill (Species) Bestial Surge has grown to Level 10.

Feeling more like a wraith than a body, Mirkhm kicked off the ground and drifted forward. He flexed his legs and brought his shins and feet up, so the guard’s attack passed harmlessly beneath him. When he landed, Mirkhm’s balance was perfect and the guard’s wasn’t.

Especially considering Mirkhm had limited himself in killing enemies, his fights had taken on a desperate quality. Now, however, Leveling didn’t matter. He raised his hand-

No!

Mirkhm screeched to a stop, horrified he had almost slashed at the guard’s throat with an empowered Grey Claw. Sure, this guard had antagonized him for no reason, but that didn’t mean he could just-

His Wild Intuition flared, but his horror kept him from heeding the warning. A stone struck Mirkhm’s temple. His muscles loosened; He dropped and hit the ground. He felt woozy until reality slammed back into him in the form of the guard’s kick. For a few more seconds, he curled up on the ground, dizzy and painful and soaked and clobbered as the guards vented their frustrations on him.

Then a voice hissed: “Hold him still. The Usurper has arrived.”

A guard grabbed Mirkhm’s arm and kneeled on his back. Gasping and spluttering, the foxkin twisted and bucked to keep from getting his face pressed into a puddle and drowning. He could only barely manage it, feeling a muscle in his neck tighten and throb from the extension. But from that position, he could see up at the passing palanquin.

Despite the rain, the silks were rolled up. So Mirkhm could just make out a bored-looking lion kin, not even focused on the present, golden mane and unfocused, bright emerald eyes. An expensive velvet cape wrapped around his shoulders and kept away the chill of the rainstorm.

“Brayk?” Mirkhm whispered, wondering at how his childhood friend’s face had become so cold.

The guard shoved the foxkin’s face into the puddle. “Do not speak.”

In that moment, like in most moments in Mirkhm’s life, he had been too quiet, too shocked and skittish to grasp for attention. So the palanquin passed by, entering the gate of the Geistflame estate without noticing his presence. With their supervisor gone, the guards kicked Mirkhm a few more times and then threw him into a nearby alley.

For a long time, the grey fox lay in the muddy alleyway and just stared up at the ceiling.

“What if… while I was away trying hard not to change…” Mirkhm blinked. “You did, Brayk? How could you have become… a Usurper? Is this real?”

The rain ignored the whispered word, but Mirkhm felt like the world did not. His skin tingled, independent of the aches of his beating. The sky wept, mourning in advance for the bloodshed that would soon erupt.

*****

The three-headed Kami To and Fro the River Wanders left the gathering of its chosen champions and approached the mud beach North of its temple. Because with the pulse of announcement had touched up against six powerful beings in its domain, in addition to the three strange Chimera Cores.

But only five had attended.

With each passing day, more of the Kami’s power came free. When the duck took a step, the land shifted beneath it. In only three steps, it stood amongst the mud mounds of beach and looked up at the monster in front of it.

Five Horned Bloat Toad Broodmother Lvl 22

“Child, I noticed you stayed away from the summit,” the central head said.

For several seconds, the Toad didn’t respond. Its front legs moved slowly, reinforcing a dome of mud in front of it. It scooped, patted, and smoothed.

Almost as soon as its warty legs moved away, the mud began to deform from within.

“Apologies, Kami. I meant no disrespect,” The Broodmother spoke in a surprisingly soft voice for her bulk. “However… I cannot leave this little one alone.”

The Kami’s left head pursed its lips in distaste as it sensed what lurked beneath the mud. “That is not a child worth protecting.”

The toad inclined her massive bulk at the statement but didn’t cease her activities.

The right head attempted to speak. “The way of the world is to struggle and die. There is no cruelty in allowing natural developments. We are aware that you allow many such accidents to occur on a daily basis. Why is this one different?”

“I would agree, had this been a fight.” The Broodmother said, still patting down new layers of mud to restrain its progeny. “However, there was no conflict. This child simply ate a seed of power, hoping to change its fate. Are all monsters not struggling against the limits of our species? Some of us even embrace Corruption. I cannot hate him, for overestimating his capabilities. For eating a seed… and instead being used as soil.”

All three Kami heads fell silent, considering the surging malevolence buried beneath the mud. The central head cleared its throat. “It will not remember this kindness. Some day, it will attempt to devour you.”

“Even so,” The Broodmother said. “I do not bear the moniker of broodmother lightly. This one… I will not allow it to die.”

The Kami’s felt troubled as it left the beach and allowed its physical body to dissipate and its spirit to sink into the land. Undoubtedly, the arrival of the Chimeras had brought change to its domain.

However, that change became harder to understand the longer it developed. The Kami could only watch, hoping the scars left on the land by those three’s growth would not be too deep.