“I have no idea how I missed this.”

A few uneventful hours later, Zachary was now standing at the edge of the forest he had been in these past few days. The trek back wasn’t as gruelling as the first time through, thanks to his increased STR stat and the Wilderness Survival Mastery (Low) skill he’d gained. He tore off a piece of lukewarm rabbit breast with his mouth, chewing as he unblinkingly observed the tiny village that had been the objective of his search, making sure to confirm that he was still hidden by the treeline.

You could never be too careful when encountering new races – more so when you had a single digit Level.

The huts of this settlement were constructed with felled trees, apparently. Logs were roughly thrown together to create sturdy walls, and lashed together with ropes of what looked to be some sort of white substance similar to twine. But despite its shabby appearance, the village was encircled by a tall fence of sharpened spars, almost twice Zachary’s height. The imposing barrier was tightly packed together, with only miniscule gaps between them.

Why do all… this? Hardly looks like the village is wealthy. Is there something they need defending against? I didn’t see anything remotely dangerous while I was in the forest.

There was even a guard wielding a stone-tipped spear at the only entrance to the village, standing sentry at the sturdy wooden gate.

“Ok, so that’s how the average native looks, then.”

The person in question served as a valuable reference for what Zachary could expect going forward. He had been correct in his earlier half-baked guess after all – animalisation was something that the natives integrated into daily life.

For the protector he was looking at had a head not dissimilar to that of an Earth lion; and large paws which it was currently using to shoo away an annoying fly.

A standing lion, anyways.

Wearing leather armor.

“Inspect.”

Name:

Quaor Brolk

Race:

Beastkin (Lion)

Level:

34

Overall Animalisation:

75%

HP:

846/846

MP:

76/76

Attributes:

LVL

STR:

175

DEF:

182

INT:

35

SPD:

203

LUK:

75

Skills:

LVL

Spear Mastery (Medium)

6

Brolk-Style Defensive Arts

3

Berserker’s Rage

3

Beast Form

-

Zachary whistled quietly, in mild awe.

It was an impressive array of stats at a mere Level 34, for what looked to be a normal beastfolk of this world. Sure, you could argue that his position as village guard might have been due to him being the strongest of the villagers, but the point still remained; that this Quaor fellow was rather capable.

It stood to reason, therefore, that this world’s elite would be at least five times as strong as this. If Zachary had to engage them, first would be exploiting their low INT. So trickery, deception; keep them on their toes and systematically remove their advantages one by one until-

Stop that, Zachary chided himself. That was a bad habit of his. This cycle isn’t about subjugation or fighting. It’s all about building up power and surviving till I can get a message back to my base. So think buddy-buddy, not genocidal maniac.

“Hold on, the Animalisation bar isn’t 100%? Even for that thing? Huh.”

Was there a reason for that? From just a cursory glance, increasing Animalisation provided stat boosts not unlike that of levelling up – why not have it be 100%? An inherent limit? Or were there detriments to exceeding that cap?

“Something to weasel out of them later, I guess. Ha! Weasel. For now… should I just walk up to them and introduce myself?”

That seemed to be the only move he could make – diplomacy. He needed information and with his current diminished state, he’d lose any fight he were to pick.

“Let’s hope I’m not making a big mistake here.”

~

For Quaor Brolk, it was another day. Guarding the tribe of Brolk was a task handed down from father to son over eight generations now, and he was proud to do it.

That, and it wasn’t like there was anything else to do in this backwards dump, anyways.

It was boring, sure; but necessary.

Protect the Beastkin from those that would seek to harm them. Fail, and your precious family, friends and loved ones would end up chopped up, seasoned with various spices, and boiled into a gruesome stew for those evil… things. That was why the walls of the village were necessary. To keep them safe from the monsters that lurked out in the world.

Or so he’d been taught from young.

The truth was, Quaor the Lionkin didn’t really believe in those tall tales. What, he was supposed to accept that in the world of Aphelia existed naked apes devoid of the strength of Beastkin, with nary a coat of fur or razor-sharp claws; yet could create contraptions beyond his wildest imaginations with their over-developed “brains”?

Ridiculous nonsense.

He didn’t say out loud what he thought, though. The first and last time he questioned the archaic scripture of the village, he was hog-tied and whipped until he ran out of tears to cry. He quickly learnt to keep these blasphemous thoughts to himself.

Just shut up and do the work.

Swing your spear. Train your body. Stop worrying about the life you could have had and live the one you do have. Swing your spear. Stab that hog. Bring it back to your village. Get married to the Lionkin girl your parents matched you with. Have two precious little boys that you’ll train to take over your job after your inevitable demise.

Stop thinking about travelling out to see the world.

This is the only world you will ever know.

And today was just another one of those days. A slowly ticking clock, counting down to his eventual death. A depressing, inescapable march towards his-

“Hello there! I’m not sure how exactly to address you- oh! How about I introduce myself, then? My name is Zachary; what’s yours?”

His thoughts rudely interrupted, Quaor turned lazily towards the silhouette of the person talking to him, eyes still blurry from his short nap. It was probably just that wandering Beastkin trader, looking to enter the village. There was always one that came about around this time, and without fail, they always tried to pawn off second-hand stuff on Brolk.

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Damned traders.

Just because they were in the countryside, it didn’t mean that they were easy marks. He’d shoo this stranger away quickly, then get back to the important work of feeling sorry for himself.

“Go away, trader. Brolk doesn’t need your wares here. We’re perfectly fine all by ourselves.”

“Ah, so this is the village of… Brolk, is it? You don’t need to be so uptight, really; I just want to have a look around! Tell you what, you can have a couple of rabbit skins, all for free-“

This stranger wasn’t taking the hint.

Quaor took a step towards him, bringing his fierce gaze to meet the eyes of the foreigner. Lionkin were intimidating enough without having one train their eyes on you, but hardly any of the village kids would stick around if he did lock eyes with them. In fact, he’d made one of the Jackalkin brats piss themselves right on the spot once.

“I told you already; leave. We’re self sufficient. Brolk doesn’t… need… your… your…”

His voice trailed off slowly as he finally took in the image of the person standing in front of him. His mouth was now bone-dry as a chill overtook him, even in the pleasant mid-summer weather.

It had finally dawned on him who this was.

Pink, naked skin, with nary a coat of fur on it.

Paws, stick-like and absent of razor-sharp claws.

And from the way this foreigner was now smiling at him innocently; a capacity for wiliness and evil surpassing even that of the slimiest Snakekin, supported by an advanced, evolved brain.

“…s-stop right there… ‘uman…”

Quaor’s voice had left him; he was only able to force out barely audible words as he shakily brought the business end of his spear down to face the interloper. It was just like the stories; the human scourge had come to ravage the village! And as its protector, it was up to him to ward off the threat to the Beastkin tribe – or they’d all end up as stew!

“Woah, no need for that, my furry friend. Let’s keep things civil, okay?”

The naked ape raised his hands in surrender and nervously motioned at Quaor to lower the weapon while still attempting a cordial conversation. But Quaor kept the spear pointed directly at his chest, struggling to keep the edge steady.

The words once sternly recited by his grandfather were now echoing madly in his ears, punctuated only by the loud thumping of his heart.

If you let them speak, they’d confuse and befuddle.

If you let them go, they’d return and slaughter.

All humans must be killed on sight!

“…g-go away, ‘uman…”

Unfortunately for him, recalling the scripture had done quite the opposite on Quaor’s mental state. Every line that he had once dismissed were now rushing back in a flurry, every half-remembered legend and myth freezing the blood in his veins and paralysing his body.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that; did you say something about your mane? Oh, is this like a greeting thing? Do I need to groom your mane and then we’ll be friends?”

No, this was too scary.

He couldn’t do this alone. He needed his village’s help. They needed to work together to beat this foe.

So inhaling deeply, Quaor the Lionkin raised his head high into the sky and roared.

“THERE’S A HUMAN HERE!”

~

Zachary did not expect this.

He expected perhaps a few disapproving stares, sure; maybe a curious animal child pulling at his weird pink skin to watch it stretch; but not this.

After the lion one had yelled, he’d been quickly bound by spider silk (which was quite a marvel to watch spun live, actually), summarily marched into the largest hut of them all and now he was sitting face to face with a stern humanoid cheetah, flanked on both sides by another two heavyset beastfolk; one the lion from earlier, and the other a grumpy panda.

Zachary had wanted to chortle (the village was basically a live-action set of Zootopia) but the atmosphere didn’t seem appropriate, so he suppressed the urge, keeping up a stony façade instead.

Both sides were silently eyeing the other, waiting patiently for the other side to make the first move.

“Human. That is what your cult calls yourself, yes? Humanity?”

The female cheetah was the first to speak, addressing Zachary with a grave tone.

Naturally, she had her concerns, or she would have started talking the moment the human was sat down in front of her. They were mostly superstitions which related to the sermons that she’d attended weekly for five decades now, and it was hard to shake the teachings of her elders. But in an interrogation one needed to have the upper hand, and she judged that by being the one to initiate conversation, she’d be able to take control of the room.

“Who, me? Nah, never heard of ‘em! What’s a human?”

She snarled at the flippant response, slamming her paw into the wooden desk in front of her with great force, claws on the end of each fuzzy finger scratching out tracks in the wood grain.

“Don’t play games with me, trickster; are you telling me that you were born like that? Only the fanatical cult of Humanity on the far side of Aphelia sports skin like yours. Now… we’ll have you spit out your true intentions here and now…”

She brandished her claws, bringing them inches from Zachary’s cheek.

“…or we’ll have to rip it from your body.”

Alright, Zachary thought, side-eyeing the cheetah paw. They’re not buying the whole meek-and-weak shtick. Which y’know, I assumed would actually work, given that I actually am a lot weaker than them. Let’s see if a little old-fashioned bluffing’ll get me out of this mess.

All at once, the atmosphere around Zachary changed. The lady cheetah stared wide-eyed in surprise at the shift in demeanour, instinctively shrinking back from the masked individual. The two beastkin accompanying her retreated slightly as well, the hairs on their coat standing up stiffly out of fear.

The human, despite having both his arms bound and outwardly presenting no threat, was now smirking.

He continued to talk, voice suddenly a lot deeper than his first jovial one, a tone that seeped with malice.

Though she might not know it, the female cheetah was now speaking to the feared and despised Demon Lord Masquerade.

“Yep – you got me. Dead to rights. Yes, yes, the cult of Humanity sent me. Geez, I really thought I could have slipped in and out real quick without anyone of you filthy animals realising who I really was. Slipped up there, didn’t I?”

Laura Brolk, Cheetahkin chieftain of the Brolk tribe, could scarcely believe what was happening here.

It was as if the human had shed an invisible skin that was masking his true form, moulting it to become an entirely different being.

One that oozed wickedness.

Her instincts was screaming at her to get away from him – to run as fast as she could from the fabled human boogeyman; but her position as chieftain forced her to remain where she was. A bead of cold sweat rolled down her forehead. What was necessary now was to keep him talking. To extract as much information as she could from him.

It.

Then get rid of it as quickly as possible.

Preferably by having Quoar do it. It was his job, after all.

“What do a bunch of instinct-denying cultists want with us? We’re just a small village out on the outskirts of Beastkin civilisation.”

The human leaned forward, the wide, unnatural grin never leaving his face.

“Haven’t you heard? We’re close to the end, now.”

The… end? Whatever that ominous phrase meant, it couldn’t be anything good.

She involuntarily gulped.

“W-what do you mean by that? The end? What does Humanity intend to do?”

The grin widened.

“Why, the end of your kind, of course! Go run to your shelters, cower in your bases, gather your armies – it doesn’t matter! You’ll all be wiped out soon enough, anyways. You haven’t heard about the serum, have you?”

The… serum?

“W-what serum?”

The human spoke, in the barest of whispers. His taunting smirk now seemed to be a prideful declaration of victory.

“The one that makes human pheromones toxic to beasts, of course.”

Immediately as the human’s last words were spoken, Laura Brolk scrambled from her seat, hurriedly bursting out of her office in a mad dash to get to the village center, Quaor the Lionkin and Plun the Pandakin in tow.

As she ran, she began to yell as loudly as she could muster.

“EVACUATE! EVERYONE GET OUT OF THE VILLAGE NOW! THIS IS NOT A DRILL! THERE HAS BEEN A DANGEROUS AIRBORNE ATTACK ON OUR VILLAGE! EVERYONE OUT!”

In about seven minutes, the only living person left in the once lively Beastkin village of Brolk, home to forty-seven different Beastkin…

Was Zachary Altair, human.

Who was incidentally still tied up pretty good.

He sighed, getting to his feet and wobbling to the door.

“Wonder if there’s one of those pointy spears somewhere around here.”

~

After liberating his arms from the bindings of spider silk which he promptly stashed away in his pocket (you never know when you’d need lightweight and flexible threads with high tensile strength, after all), Zachary started to peruse the shelves of that cheetah lady. His rummaging produced a tightly bound leather volume simply titled, “The Human Threat”.

Flipping through it provided him with insights that he had already gleaned from the conversation with the cheetah.

That humans in this world were not a common sight, but that they definitely still existed in some form; even if it was in religion. There probably was, however, a real-world equivalent of these fairy-tale humans; after all, she seemed convinced by some random yarn Zachary had spun up about the Cult of Humanity.

Humans chopping Beastkin up for lunch, humans chopping Beastkin up for dinner, yadda yadda… more of the same… stuff about how evil humans are…

Zachary slapped the religious text shut. It was evident that the ancestors of these Beastkin wanted to relay the dangers of interacting with humans down to their descendants, and had done so via the medium of folklore and legend.

Or so he hoped.

Let’s pray that this isn’t a word for word description of how humans in this world really are. At least let them be intelligent enough to talk to; because I’m not too sure I can get much out from the Beastkin side.

He had learnt enough from that short encounter, however. It was something the cheetah had said; instincts. Giving in to baser impulses would progress the Animalisation bar, and indulging in whatever you desired would eventually lead to you to become as indistinguishable as the natural Beastkin.

Still not sure how it works, though. I mean, obviously they’re born like this, no doubt; but do normal humans get to pick which specialisation to level up? Is it a hidden trait assigned to you as you spawn in? Because it would be great to pick and choose.

Zachary closed his eyes in deep thought as he lounged in the chieftain’s chair, chin on fist. It was unlikely that any Beastkin in this world would help him build up power if they couldn’t even look past their indoctrination to see him for what he truly was; a weak Level 7 that would easily perish if they were to simply blow in his direction.

What to do… what to do…

He slowly opened his eyes, the beginnings of a plan germinating in his mind.

The answer was simple. Well, it always was.

If the animals wouldn’t help him…

Surely the humans would?

“Alrighty then! It’s settled! Guess it’s time to find one of Aphelia’s humans!”