“Should we do something about that? There’s more dots than usual. Ah, here.”

A grey tendril placed a brightly coloured red card on top of a tiny pile of coloured cards. Its owner, what one might describe a mass of similarly grey goo covered in wriggling appendages, snuggled back in its position on his favourite squishy bean bag while studying the fan of cards held in its other hand-tacle with an extruded eyeball.

No sooner had the card left his grasp however, than it was plucked from where it lay by his colleague Yupun, the sole other crew member employed at Zachary Altair’s home away from home.

And although they were both members of the same species, Yupun felt that his associate could be a little… slow on the uptake at times- as evidenced by his inability to absorb the relatively simple rules of the game they were currently engaged in.

Yupun handed the red nine back to his co-worker, but the blob refused to accept it, turning his one eyeball to stare indignantly at him, silently but pointedly requesting an explanation for this outrageous action.

“You can’t do that, Poyun. It isn’t the same colour or symbol.” Yupun clarified, trying to return the card to the fan, which was sharply yanked out of his reach.

“Well, how am I supposed to know that? It’s close enough; so it’s fine.”

Yupun sighed, flipping the card over and carefully highlighting a distinct line drawn below the numeral with his tentacle.

“That’s why there’s a line here; to differentiate between the human number six; and the human number nine. Now you’ll have to draw till you have a card that corresponds to the color of the card I played, or the symbol on its face.”

“I hate this game.” Poyun grumbled, reluctantly accepting the card. “Let’s go back to the one with the tiny people. Chess?”

“You only hate the games when you’re losing. Plus, you ate the tiny horses last time. I can’t be bothered to generate new copies, so we’ll just have to make do with Uno. Which incidentally, I am now declaring.”

Poyun plopped his fifteen card hand on the table, sulking.

“I don’t want to play anymore. Let’s end mandated interaction time for today. Actually, before that…”

He jerked a tendril at the glowing monitor in the background.

Yes, it was a barely disguised attempt at changing the topic; but also an honest question. There had always been a solitary red light on the display in the four millennia or so of their time working here, but recently the once single dot had multiplied to hundreds. Poyun felt that this was a reasonable enough query that his colleague wouldn’t take offense to and nag him about.

“You haven’t answered my question, Yu. What are we going to do about the dots?”

Yupun threw the monitor a casual glance, but resumed the collecting of the playing cards soon after, entirely unconcerned. He wasn’t even about to dignify the question with one of his long winded explanations. Just another one of Poyun’s dumb questions.

“Nothing, I’m guessing. Just leave it. He told us not to touch anything. Dust once in a while. Other than that, we’re free to do whatever. You were there when he said it too. I don’t know how much more clear I can make it.”

“Is that alright? I mean, the Z-man stationed us here for a reason. That monitor’s supposed to be tracking his essence values, right? So there should only be one dot at any time. Maybe we should, I dunno, get in touch with him?”

Yupun scoffed. He was wrong; this did require one of his long winded explanations.

He stopped shuffling the deck of Uno cards and turned to face his dim-witted colleague.

“Poyun. You do know who we’re working for, right?”

“No, I’m just saying, if we look at the manual-“

Yupun waved a tentacle around the room, gesturing to the numerous artifacts on the shelves surrounding them. Every single one of those items were objects of great power, snatched from their place in the Reality Stack and displayed in their employer’s base. And no, they weren’t replicas. These were all originals; the Soul Harvester, the Nightmare Inducer, Amalgam Recombinator and so on.

“Just look at all these. And these. Oh, and these. Even if you were to disregard all of these, remember; he’s someone capable of pulling two – count them – two Jonum slug-minds from their home reality and deposit them outside all of creation.”

“And instead of being grateful to this individual for pulling you from your dull and entirely too lengthy existence in the Jonum swamps, you insinuate that he might have… blundered in some monumental way, as to need our help?”

“That person?” Yupun mockingly repeated the question, daring the other Jonum to refute him. “That’s the person you’re talking about? The same one?”

Poyun laid back on his bean bag, sulking.

“Fine, it was a stupid question. Forget it.”

And so it was decided there and then to let the dots be.

If this had been any other cycle, Yupun the Jonum slug-mind would be entirely correct. Zachary had proven time and again to be entirely undefeatable. Invincible against all manner of beings. Immortal even by the standards of the Jonum, who could reproduce via self-replication, transferring their consciousness from their ailing bodies to an entirely fresh and young one.

Why would they expect that pinnacle of strength to be in any need of assistance?

~

Zachary secured the straps on his newly acquired leather armor. The Beastkin villagers hadn’t returned yet, but they might be mere minutes away from discovering his all too blatant lie, so he had to be quick if he wanted to ransack the place for equipment and supplies. This was going to be his only chance in days to prepare, so he had to make the most of it.

After a bout of hurried looting of the surrounding huts, and greedily scooping up whatever looked useful in his arms, he carried all of it back to the chieftain’s hut and spread out his findings on the large table; a bunch of mismatched trinkets and tools.

To tell the truth, it wasn’t a great haul. This village didn’t exactly specialise in producing potions of healing or magical scrolls; they were simply an out-in-the-sticks settlement that still relied on hunter-gathering to feed themselves.

Plus, he could only carry so much, so only the most essential of essentials would come along on his journey. And for that matter, nothing that would make him stand out; he was effectively public enemy number one any time he came anywhere close to Beastkin. So while he did want to bring something to protect himself, slinging a spear over his back would be a no go. It would invite unneeded questions like if he was some sort of warrior, then about what feats he might have achieved in his career. Then the conversation would slowly drift towards what he looked like, and at that point it would be game over.

“Ok, dried rabbit jerky for rations… small stone dagger just in case… flask of water… map to closest village… cloak… couple of coins… what else do I need… what else… think that’s it. Cool. Time to bolt.”

Zachary took a hasty step towards the door, placing his hand on the doorknob, but paused right before turning it. He’d noticed something wrong – something plainly visible. Bringing the back of his bare, hairless hand up to his face, he realised the obvious problem.

His current appearance.

It was clear that wherever the humans of this world were, they’d be quite a ways away from Beastkin civilisation, so this journey was more akin to a prolonged hike. Zero chance he’d be able to make it in a day or two; a month or two was a better estimate. In other words, there’d be a need to make occasional pit-stops at different towns to resupply.

Pit-stops where he might be identified as a human.

And this time there was a high chance that he’d be instantly gutted on the spot by a hostile beastperson, reducing all his hard work up to this point back to nothing. He certainly didn’t think that he could bear having to reacquire food and water in the forest once more.

Disguises!

That was what he needed – a disguise. And not just some flimsy cloth cloak like the one he had acquired in this village; that would be easily defeated by the flip of the hood. It needed to be something more substantial, more devious.

Back when he was Demon Lord Masquerade he had acquired the Disguise skill, a handy tool in his arsenal. And sure, if he could have obtained it in this world, it would already be present in his Status Page – who wouldn’t want something like that?

But that wouldn’t be possible here. Normally, that skill would require someone who had already learnt it to impart it to you, and failing that, advanced skill levels in Thief Mastery or Assassin Mastery would automatically unlock it for you. It was a reward for putting in the legwork to polish one’s skills to the highest level, a versatile skill that allowed one to take on the appearance of anyone they so choose.

Demon Lord Masquerade had cheated; he’d borrowed a skill – a couple, actually – from one of his other Masks, the Hoarder. Magic Generation, Potion Generation, Bladed Weapon Immunity, Pain Reduction (High); all belonging to Hoarder.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

He still missed Pain Reduction (High). You could have your fingernails peeled off and needles inserted into the nerve endings beneath yet feel nothing but a barely noticeable poking sensation.

Well, I’m not going to just… randomly find a Beastkin thief or assassin around here. Certainly won’t be able to get them to teach me Disguise out of the goodness of their hearts. And if they were so skilled as to have a high level of mastery in either one of those specialisations, I’ll probably be murdered just for knowing their profession.

He swept his gaze back over the leftover assortment of items on the table. Was there anything here that could be used? He started to pick up and examine each of the various knick-knacks present, assessing their usefulness at concealing his identity.

Something caught his attention in the corner of his eye; something that he had dismissed at first as being irrelevant to his journey to find the Humanity of Aphelia.

It was a pot of adhesive glue.

And so Zachary had a little thought about what he could do here.

~

The small town of Hartan.

That was where Zachary now found himself, after following a couple of barely legible scribbles on the map that he had. Unlike Brolk, this bustling town saw significantly higher traffic as a transit hub, with carriages heading out to major cities in the world on a daily basis. It was exactly what Zachary needed; transportation away from this remote location and further into the world of Aphelia.

Unfortunately, their status as a transit hub also meant a proportionate increase in security. Where Brolk only had a single guard, Hartan had a whole unit of trained Beastkin to keep order. And as Zachary was now standing in a long line of humanoid animals waiting to be allowed access to the town proper, he would be bumping up against those very same trained Beastkin. Beastkin that could easily rip him to shreds simply with sheer stats alone, without so much as touching any of their skills.

Zachary pulled the cloth hood of his cloak down lower over his face.

The disguise he had whipped up wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny, so he still had to be careful. But it would definitely withstand a routine examination; helped along by a fanciful lie or two about a supposed “condition” of his.

This would work.

“Next.”

Zachary stepped forward to the zebra guard clad in full plate armor. The guard started with a standard boilerplate question, hiding a yawn. This was definitely a routine examination for him. He had to be seeing, what, hundreds of Beastkin a day?

Just play it cool, act normal, and everything would go smoothly.

“Purpose of visit?”

“Just passing through.”

Then, outside of Zachary’s expectations, the zebra motioned a flip with his hoof, drearily supplementing the mimed action with a verbal command.

“Hood off. Need to see your face.”

Crap.

“I have a… sort of skin condition; can I… not show you?”

“Hood. Off.” The insistent tone implied that he wasn’t about to budge on this one point.

Zachary hesitated, hands hovering over the edges of his hood. But he finally relented, complying with the request. If he refused here, it would make him more suspicious; provoke an aggressive response from the guard.

This was the moment of truth; it all hinged on what the zebra would do when seeing the results of a few applications of glue and a hastily assembled Beastkin makeover. He pulled the hood back, firmly locking eyes with the guard as he did so.

The zebra hadn’t meant to show his reaction outwardly but he did, flinching in disgust and involuntarily drawing back from the hideous… thing he was now looking at. The visitor was trying his best to hide the extent of his disfigurement with a golden mask, but that was basically a futile gesture. The discoloured fur beneath the mask and in visible clumps all around the facial accessory, was bloodied and off-white. There were patches of pink skin peeking out from under it that seemed to imply that as this Beastkin’s condition progressed, his fur had sloughed off and resulted in splotches of skin where fur would permanently be absent.

It was apparent that the Beastkin before his eyes had seen better days. Could be some sort of skin disease, or hereditary condition. But either way, he couldn’t stand continuing to keep the image of this ugly animal in his eye line.

“Ugh. What’s wrong with you? That better not be infectious. Get that hood back on.”

Success.

Zachary flipped the hood back on obediently.

“Last thing now. Need to Inspect you. Not a problem, I assume?”

“By all means, officer. Inspect away.”

“Oi. Don’t get snarky with me, freak. Inspect.”

Name:

Bonnie Brolk

Race:

Beastkin (Rabbit)

Level:

22

Overall Animalisation:

75%

HP:

523/523

MP:

55/55

Attributes:

LVL

STR:

82

DEF:

96

INT:

23

SPD:

164

LUK:

34

Skills:

LVL

Spear Mastery (Low)

2

Brolk-Style Defensive Arts

2

Beast Form

-

The zebra looked over the blue screen, diligently scribbled down the name of the incoming Beastkin, stamped the pass, and handed it over to Zachary.

“Keep that with you at all times; present it when asked. Welcome to Hartan.” The guard droned, a well-practised line that he was used to saying to everyone allowed entrance into the town.

Then, adding a little more disdainfully, he continued, “Now get out of here. Better not let me see your ugly mug around here again.”

Zachary nodded in gratitude, and left the guard post in a quick jog. He had looked back a couple of times, and was relieved to see that no sentry was following him as he made it in to the town proper.

That had went a lot better than expected, actually. He’d come up with an entire backstory that he didn’t get to use; about how his village had been attacked by vile humans that had poured experimental concoctions over his face, burning away parts of his fur permanently. Which was why he was now on a journey to find the humans that had done this to him – and take revenge for the cruel treatment of his personage at their hands.

Hadn’t even managed to get the first line out.

A waste of a perfectly good backstory.

It’s okay, Zachary. You’ll get some use out of it soon. There’ll be a bar or something that you can swap stories at! Just need to get settled into an inn so that you can reapply the glue on these damned rabbit skins.

He scratched at a particularly uncomfortable patch of rabbit skin just as he was thinking that. Once again, his quarry from his days spent living in the wilderness had come in handy yet again; by trimming off identifiable bits from the hide of the rabbits like ears and such, he was left with a perfectly good bit of fur that one could barely see as being part of a larger hide.

Sure, it wasn’t like the Disguise skill.

But if it fooled the guards; who cared if it wasn’t?

The innkeeper – a bored looking gorilla – took the requisite copper coins from Zachary and passed him his room key, before returning to what looked to be a crossword puzzle. Once within the privacy of his own room and ensuring that the door was definitely locked, Zachary proceeded to tear off every inch of rabbit skin currently clinging to his own, breathing a sigh of relief after they had all been peeled off.

This could not go on.

Yes, the first hour or so was fine.

The next few hours were alright.

Then he began to sweat. Then the adhesive began to loosen.

And the fur, no longer secured tightly to his skin, started to tickle and irritate every body part he had decided to attach them to. It was lucky that they had stayed on long enough to pass the inspection; but it would be hell if he had to do this for a whole month, or however long it would take to come into contact with the cult of Humanity.

Well, I’m already in the town. Any possible chance I can get around wearing a bunch of dead rabbit skins as I look for someone to bring me further from my spawn point? I think some of them are starting to rot and smell.

As usual, the answer wasn’t the one he wanted to hear.