For the past thirty years, Zakaria Robertson was just another Wild Man. Nobody other than the Wild Men knew they even had names, but of course, none ever matured enough to tell anyone that they had names. Growing up in the Wild Man Colony, you heard stories about Wild Men who once rivaled Gods like Animarum and the Light Eater. You heard them, marveled at them, then disregarded them. Wild Men couldn't grow. They couldn’t evolve to reach the strength of Gods. Many have tried, and none succeeded.

Zakaria refused to suffer such a demeaning fate. He’d grown up hearing stories about the strength and potential of the Wild Men and dreamt of surpassing them one day. Each time he’d voice his intentions, his peers would mock him.

“He’s young. Let the kid dream!”

“What you want and what the world allows you to have are wildly different things.”

“You’re delusional.”

What the Wild Men lacked, Zakaria felt, was ambition. They’d gotten so used to being bottom rung. Too weak to survive outside of this patch of forest between Azuma Saikyou and Burnchester yet too close to the Oni to ever be considered for a Contract. Why form a Contract with a Wild Man when the Oni were right there? That’d be like choosing a pebble over a mossy rock! What Zakaria lacked in cosmic luck he made up for in sheer desire.

When Zakaria reached his fifteenth year of evolution, he’d learned how to talk like a human from a local General after persistent begging. At eighteen, he learned how to manipulate “Orrah”. At twenty-eight, he’d been offered a position as General himself. He declined it for now, instead choosing to focus on his advancement. Why settle for such a small position when there was so much more?

Zakaria learned what “more” was in his twenty-ninth year. It was the year he ventured off the beaten path for the first time and left the colony. He hadn’t known where he’d been going, simply just… walking. Eventually, he’d stumbled into a man deeper into the forest. The silver-haired man sat on a tree stump dressed in black robes that opened to slightly expose his chest, which for some reason had some sort of glowing circle on it labeled with marks he couldn’t comprehend. Zakaria pursued knowledge, and that pursuit led him here.

The man introduced himself only as “Ares”. No “sirrnayme”. He leaned on a tree, reading from a black book with a wistful smile on his face. Without looking up, the man called out.

“Zakaria Robertson.”

Ares knew Zakaria’s name. His full name! They hadn’t met before, had they? Zakaria wasn’t sure what to feel. The man had an overwhelming amount of orrah, something that Zakaria envied, yet something about Ares was so… enticing. This was what Zakaria wanted to be. The effect he wanted to have on people! Ares was who the Wild Men were supposed to be like!

“Yes?” Zakaria answered.

The man closed his book, though Zakaria made sure to peek at it before Ares slipped it into the opening of his robe. He was confused to find that it hadn’t been a book. Not one he understood anyway. All it had were a bunch of pictures of Ares except much younger. No older than an 8-year-old human. Were all gods this egotistical?

“Your home will be destroyed within the year,” Ares said softly. “Destroyed by a man with no desire other than to see you dead by his blade.”

Zakaria froze. “What?”

Ares approached Zakaria, his words growing more venomous with each step. “He wants to kill you. Every last one of you. He wants to rid the world of the legacy of your people and replace it with the milquetoast, manufactured drivel that humanity preaches to its children. No one will know of your slaughter, and no one will care.”

“Why…?” Zakaria managed to say.

Ares stood over Zakarai. “Pride.”

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That’s it? There was someone out there who’d kill him, destroy his way of life, end his pursuit of power over pride? That was foolish! Zakaria, the Wild Man who dared to dream farther than his peers, refused to accept that. He knelt before the god Ares.

“Tell me what I need to do,” Zakaria said. “Teach me how to… duffend my people, and I will… dew it!”

Ares, the god Ares, knelt in front of him! He placed an arm on Zakaria’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “The only way to appease that man is by taking on another force. He is the God of Conquest. Prove to him that you are capable of conquering a foe, and you may be spared.”

Zakaria’s eyes lit up. The Wild Men shared the forest with a different Myth species! They could do this!

“Oni Village!”

Only when the words came out of his mouth did he realize how foolish this plan truly was. The Oni would crush the Wild Men like bugs. Kill Zakaria before they ever made contact. Show him how far from power Zakaria truly was. They’d be the proof of his peers’ words.

“Oni Village…” Zakaria said again, the words now coming out as a mere whisper.

“You are smart for choosing them as your prey,” Ares nodded. “Your ambition is admirable, Zakaria Robertson.”

Tears threatened to escape from Zakaria’s eyes. He’d been acknowledged… by a god! The heavens, the very heavens his ancestors once presided in, recognized him! He couldn’t hold his emotion back any longer. He wept. Ares grabbed Zakaria’s shoulders and pressed his forehead into Zakaria’s as the Wild Man sobbed like a baby.

“Thank you!” Zakaria cried.

“Don’t thank me,” Ares responded. “I simply presented the idea. It was you who chose your target.” He stood, helping Zakaria to his feet. “Oni Village is certainly a safer target for conquest. You’d be safer within the bounds of these familiar forests over the metropolitan sprawl of Minashire.”

“But,” Zakaria stammered. “They… the Oni… they’ll kill me! Even if they don’t, the Wild Men will abandon me the moment someone stronger or smarter comes along. I can’t do this by myself. I need your help, or at least, your guidance.”

Ares shook his head. “No, Zakaria, you don’t. Oni Village is a small tribe operated by two brothers. Surely a combined force trained by the legendary Zakaria Robertson will be more than enough to take them down?”

“...Legendary?”

“Even if you aren’t, conquest doesn’t start or end with defeating the leaders. You can kill the weak, the disabled, those incapable or not strong enough to fight against you. What good is a king without people to rule?”

“But… that’s…”

Ares’ eyes went wide. “With Oni Village conquered, your people will have a larger home to call their own. And why stop there? Generations of Oni studies exist within their archives. Train the Wild Men. Turn them into creatures far more fearsome than the Oni. Conquer larger civilizations. Noroi Village. Saikou. Harrowstead. Miyafokuu. Minashire. Wild Men are the sole species on this planet with boundless potential! You’ve impressed me with your ambition once. Do it again!”

“So much deff…” Zakaria muttered. “So much war! I don’t know if I can–”

“They’ll praise you,” Ares interrupted. “Praise you as the man who gave ambition to the Wild Men.”

Zakaria paused as images of his peers praising him flooded his mind. He’d sit on a golden throne atop the highest point in Minashire. He’d be paraded around city streets, carried by the very peers who doubted him. He’d have a harem of “chamber mades”, a slew of accomplished children, and enough power to do whatever he wanted!

But no. Zakaria was better than that. He needed to be better than that. Above that kind of thinking. The Wild Men were a peaceful society, using combat only to defend themselves and hunt for food. Who would he be to upend the status quo and turn Wild Man society on its head?

“They will love you. Worship you. You’ll be their king… no… their God!”

Zakaria was above that. He was above that. He was! He was…! And yet…

I’m doing this for my people. We deserve to be more than we are!

“Train me, and I will do it. I will lead my people in the war against Oni Village.”

“Ambition rivaled only by the Demogorgon.” Ares smiled. “I look forward to watching you grow.”