The dog was the mastermind.

Such was the annoying trope often used as a “gotcha” reveal in quite a few media franchises, despite the consumers’ most common response being “gotcha, it makes no sense and you guys absolutely suck at this”.

There was a reason for such lukewarm reviews, of course.

After all, would you accept some random side character who got less than 1 minute of total screen time being the wolf in sheep’s clothing, pulling its wool under everyone’s nose?

That kind of climatic revelation would feel unsatisfying at best and borderline pretentious at worst, given how authors loved to gloat about all the “subtle clues” and “background details” which 99% of audience would simply skim over.

Sigh…

That said… My rant aside, I still had this stupid trope to thank for.

After all, the random idea of someone so miniscule in the grand scheme of things actually turned out to be a big bad had become the first eureka moment for me.

What did I mean by this? Well…

D’a W’eenes – a Darwinist who was betting his bloodline on the “winning horse”.

Mary Stew and Gary Stool – the unfair, super OP Mary Sue and Gary Stu…

Kine Olde Mann – literally meant Kind Old Man, plain and simple.

Did you see the pattern?

Now, after having glimpsed a piece of this world’s inner workings, could anyone guess what D'heeche R'osnace stood for?

Yes? No? Maybe? Well, I would tell you anyway.

It meant Treacherous Snake.

This realization, combined with all the background lores of Fantasia, was what led me down a terrible rabbit hole with seemingly no clear resolution in sight.

… Hm?

You were curious about such, “lores”, huh?

Alright then…

Curiosity killed the cats… But, fine…

Buckle up, for you would now learn the tale of how catkins came to be, and the evil that they’d unknowingly brought upon this world.

[ | | ]

Once upon a time, in some faraway planet called Fantasia, life was terrible.

The selfish whims of those most powerful dictated what was “right”. And, given that “might made right” was already the norm, things only got worse thanks to the existence of magic.

Magic bent rules that should have made the world grounded.

Magic meant that the impossible, became possible.

Thus, a swing of the fist could split several oceans, a blast of fireball could unleash hellfire hotter than the sun… Those capable of such feats and beyond were warlords without peers, reigning from their cruel thrones with an iron fist.

This was the First Pantheon – with gods and goddesses now forgotten, having long been slain by a certain light mage…

Yet, among the defeated deities who were at death’s door, some decided to give the future Goddess of War their final, biggest fuck you.

And so, a sea of darkness flooded out from the abyss, amidst cruel laughter and sounds of cracked skulls.

This event, known as Darkness of Vengeance, would become the catalyst of a great many evils. One of which, sadly, included how wildkins were driven to terrible acts that earned them the infamous title of “beastmen”, as well as the creation of a new class in their cruel hierarchy – the thralls.

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As darkness overwhelmed Fantasia, the first apocalypse began.

The harsh world became even more dangerous, with monsters prowling in darkness while civilizations huddled around pyres of fire and light.

Yet, some clearly had it better than others.

Humans could count on light magic and the goddess’ miraculous protection. Their survival was all but guaranteed.

Elves could retreat to their ancient glades, relying on mythical magick to shut out the darkness.

Dwarves could close off entrances to the underworld, ignoring the horrors above ground completely.

Dragons remained on top of the food chain, undisturbed by the teeming sea of terrors in the dark.

Even orcs, halflins and halfbloods had their own lands or refuges to retreat to, eking out a livable existence against all odds.

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But, what about the wildkins?

Wolfkins, lionkins, bearkins, rabbitkins, ratkins… For every kind of animal, there was a wildkin tribe, numerous and wary to all those that didn’t share similar look and appearance.

Thus, while the other races set aside individual differences to shelter their own, wildkins began warring amongst themselves for an ever-dwindling hunting ground. Leading to what my followers proudly dubbed Survival of Strongest, where… well…

Let’s just say that very-bad, not-good, incredibly horrendous things became the norm as a result…

… What? You… you still wanted details?

…

Fine…

Uhm… Remember how this morning, my followers snacked upon some wildkin slaves – or thralls, as those from the tribes insisted – and gained a major powerup?

You could already see where I was going with this, right?

...

... I really hated that you still made me spell it out.

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Similar to the ancient races, wildkins possessed a unique ability of their own: the power to devour and call upon the strength of their own kins, no matter how fleeting.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

In times long past, when life was harsh but plentiful, warriors from the tribes would feast upon the flesh of those vanquished. This, to them, was a sacred ritual, both to honor the dead and not letting their meat go to waste.

When the first apocalypse began, clashes of clans became commonplace, and so was such a practice.

Then, as time passed and resources ran low, a dark whisper could be heard.

“Why not?”

Wolfkins could see in the dark, letting them raid all day long. So, shouldn’t rabbitkins chow down on prisoners of war and gain the same advantage?

Rabbitkins were numerous and fast to flee… Eating the meat of rabbitkins could allow slow-moving tribes to live and fight another day…!

This kin gave this advantage, that kin had that advantage.

It wasn’t long until someone had a “bright” idea…

“Let trade!”

At first, it was those who couldn’t, had no potential, or could no longer provide for their own tribe that got the short end of the stick.

After all, it meant less mouths to feed, and less reasons for bloodshed when everyone already had monsters to worry about.

Eventually, as time passed and relations improved, another “brilliant” idea got passed around.

“All these weaklings, let them breed, their young give power to us strong!!!”

And thus, those known as thralls were born.

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Weak wolfkins devolved into guard dogs, known as dogkins.

Shackled rabbitkins became a shadow of their former self, called bunnykins.

Ratkins just fled to humans’ land and managed to avoid this entire clusterfuck. So, uh, good for them, I supposed…

Anyway, while the thralls were plenty and numerous, one group stood out in particular, for they would go on to shatter the newly united Horde as retribution for the crimes inflicted upon them.

As you could already guess, it was the rejects of lionkins – now infamously known around the world for their sadism, the catkins.

[ | | ]

My status as a “doomsday prophet”, despite being unwanted, had still proven useful times and times again.

After all, like it or not, while an ever growing “cult” would make countless wary, some might still find a “seer” amusing enough to summon for a chat.

Thus, it was how I first came into contact with a catkin noble, having a glimpse into the catkins as a whole and, most importantly, getting to hear about their side of the story.

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It had been a thousand years since the first apocalypse began.

As centuries passed, the tribes’ rejects degenerated into what the strong sneered at and called “thralls”, becoming extra muscle at best and emergency power snack at any other moment.

Yet, while weaklings like bunnykins wept and cried… while traitors known as dogkins wagged their tail to the “masters”… a group of thralls never once wavered.

The Horde might have chained the catkins in body, but not their spirit.

“There will be retribution”, whispered one in the dark.

“A reckoning draws near”, echoed another.

And so, they endured, biding their time.

Waiting, and waiting, and waiting…

Until…

He arrived.

The messiah…

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Perhaps, it would be best that I continued this part using information combined from all possible sources, especially given how the catkins’ account tended to both exaggerate and downplay “unimportant details”.

Regardless, I would still bring up the various convictions that the catkin noble – as well as catkins in general – so fervently believed in. Whether or not they were true or even justified would be up to debate, of course. Though I supposed you would soon be the judge of such…

Right, so, to make a mythical and highly controversial origin story short, the First Eagle was the one “delivered” to the catkins.

Why “First Eagle”, you might ask? Well, let’s just say that after the messiah “landed” down to the catkin’s rescue, he would go on to reclaim his rightful “perch” as the “first emperor” of the entire world, uniting all races in the process.

Oh yeah, said savior might have also made another sun in the sky and banished the darkness somewhere along the way as well. That properly helped convince people he was legit.

(The above was a simplified record from the catkin’s side, in case you couldn’t tell)

Ahem. That said, while humans, elves and even dragons had always tried to add their own two cents regarding this mythical, godlike figure, I would also like to throw my own theory into the ring.

Okay, real talk here.

By this point, we all knew the First Eagle/first emperor/whatever, was an isekai’d protagonist, right?

While modern inventions and ideas being available in this fantasy world was already a huge red flag on their own… The fact that said fella called himself Alexanzer the Greatest and had eagles as his symbol just made me cringe with second-hand embarrassment, for crying out loud!

Seriously, how much more obvious could you get!?

Ugh… First Eagle? More like Bloated Ego…

… Anyway, we weren’t here to talk about that cheater, so let’s just get back to the main topic.

After all, you must be curious as to how the First Eagle and his catkin allies came into contact, and how the latter shaped a lot of the former’s actions for decades to come, no?

[ | | ]

Even as wildkins united into a single Horde, there was still an enemy too great for them to overcome.

No claws could cut down this invisible foe, no fangs could resist the allure left behind in its wake.

After all, such was the terrible monster known as hunger.

And the Horde would go on to commit dark deeds, in order to satisfy said inner beast…

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The solemn tone of archpriest Kyne truly shook me, back when I asked him about the Wild Horde. Perhaps, as one of the few faithful who actually lived through such dark times, his retelling could be considered one of the most vivid and compassionate, even to the aggressors’ side.

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Around three centuries ago, before the First Eagle made his descent, life was truly hellish.

The ever-night had left a deep scar upon both the world as well as its people. And, perhaps, wildkins truly did suffer most out of all races.

Lacking an affinity for any kind of magic, wildkins had to cut down forests for firewood without end, just to keep the darkness and its dangers at bay.

Without divine miracles from a departed goddess or rejuvenating power within secret glades, the tribes had no choice but to feast upon corrupted monsters - unpurified and unclean.

Worse still, eventually, there were just too many mouths to feed, yet no longer any wood to hunt in...

And so, the Horde turned its gaze to the east, where flickering dots of light could be seen.

Now that their goddess no longer remained, the fierce, yet scattered settlements of men were simply lambs to ravenous wolves.

Thus, countless tribes rushed forward, forever earning the title of savages for their brutal deeds…

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I supposed that there was no easy way to say this, but as you could already tell, beastmen used to raid humans for food.

I also wished that they only stopped at livestock and grains, but… well…

Desperate times could drive people to unthinkable acts, and this wasn’t just me defending my followers here.

Anyway, while different sources would claim contrasting things about Emperor Alexanzer’s background, including the birth name he once had, the catkins’ much embellished account ironically felt most plausible.

After all, whether heavens wept when its angelic child fell down from the sky; whether a lone, captured woman did bring her son into this world before vanishing in hungry maws; whether some runaway thralls found an abandoned child in the deadly night and raised him as their own… None of that actually mattered.

What couldn’t be disputed, however, was the way every catkin exalted this mysterious boy as the “messiah” in wishful stories of old, before raising him as one of their own.

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When the masters came to check, dozens of young catkins had long cut off their ears and tail, just to hide the human in their midst.

When warriors looked at the growing champion with ravenous hunger, someone else would always volunteer to take his place.

When the savior could no longer hold back his wrath, wizened whiskers would pat him down, telling him to wait.

And wait.

And wait…

Until…

A divine ray of gold split open the night, signaling everyone their long awaited moment had arrived.

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None could fight against the ripened might and magic of a fighter that could rival deities of old, let alone protect their rear as catkins launched rebellions everywhere, demanding vengeance and retribution.

From this point on, accounts once again differed as countless claims contradicted themselves, despite the miracle of honesty being employed.

That said, in the end, everything indeed changed forever.

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Another sun appeared in the sky, golden as it was mysterious.

Bunnykins and the like vanished without a trace, dogkins were “dealt with” to the last, leaving catkins as the sole ally of a new demigod.

The old order remained no more, and so were those in power.

For the catkins, grinning cruelly at their former “masters”, had now become masters of newly made slaves in turn…

[ | | ]

Even now, I couldn’t bring myself to truly hate, or condone, the catkins’ actions.

Theirs was a tale of vengeance and retribution, only to inflict the same pain upon those that once wronged them as well…

Catkins claimed that their punishment to the beastman slaves – direct descendants of their first masters - would only stop once it reached the thousand-year mark, similar to the suffering their people endured. Even to this day, it had only been a bit over three centuries since that statement was loudly declared…

In the end, though, not even this mattered.

Hatred bred hatred, and an endless cycle of vengeance would be doomed to repeat itself. This, I knew all too well, even without real life examples thrown into the mix.

After all…

The enslaved beastmen’s loathing and resentment, the dogkins’ dying curses, the withered Horde’s promise of revenge… Such an unholy combination had long managed to manifest itself into the physical world, raring to cut down its nemesis to the very last.

And thus, I gazed upon the monstrosity that now called itself D'heeche R'osnace, swallowing one heavy gulp in preparation for what was to come.