The Beast King

"Should we lose this day, not only will our kind cease to be, but we will forever be remembered as the ones who deserved it. We will win because we must, not only for our kinsmen, but for our honor." - General Itoum

"General Itoum, what is the status of the rebellion?"

The light-brown Hawkin narrowed his eyes in displeasure, the mention of the rebels ruffling his feathers. "My King, the rebel foxfolk have been found conducting rituals for the dark gods. We were able to eradicate them, but I request a detachment of kitsune or lamia to cleanse the area of foul corruption."

King glared at his servant. All four of his eyes scrutinizing his soul. King trusted Itoum to everything. An idol of nobility, honor and justice, a beastman undeserving of his vile ruler. Even then, the mention of the old gods made him question his servant, scouring his soul in search of taint. Pleased with the search he responded. "It shall be done, find General Kallae have her personal priestesses cleanse the area. The minotaurs of Illian are too important to lose to taint."

"Yes my King." Itoum replied raising from his bowed state and leaving the room.

After the oak doors shut behind his general King sighed heavily. There was so much work to do and oh so little time. He swore to his father to save all the beastmen he could at the end of times, but their stubborn refusal to unify only made the preparations that much harder. That's not even mentioning the beasts that desperately cling to the old gods.

The old gods had no intention of saving his kindred from the gods of man. The only way the beastmen could pave the path towards the future was through soul magic, and the gods of old laid claim to the souls of mortals. Unacceptable. Soul magic, volatile and cruel as it was, it is the only option.

King raised his hand, channeling his spirit to peer once more into the past. The magic slowly corroding his spirit, he looked to his father. The frail, blind mage smiled somberly at his son. "You'll fulfill your destiny and deny the man-gods, and I will always be here to guide you down that path."

Tears began to stream down his muzzle. "How am I supposed to do this father? There is only one moon unto the eclipse. The favored children encroach everfurther into our wilds and many beast still refuse me."

Pulling all of his strength King sought his fathers resonance. There was only so much of his soul left unskattered, only so much King could pull from his father. The souls of the living are easy to find and empower, but those that had already crossed the veil were so difficult. Especially so with a favored child such as his father.

"Hehehe search your soul my little lamb." Father cackled as the aberration flicked and faded. King burning his soul further forcing him to stay in his incorporal form, refusing his father an escape to the void.

"This is serious father, I'm running out of time." King retorted and was greeted with that same mischievous smile father always gave when he sought awnsers.

"And what kind of father would I be if I just gave you the awnser? Although, for a hint. I suppose, our conversation right now is part of the path to your success." Father replied cryptically.

King sighed as he released his grip of father. The strain on his soul lifted and his question went unanswered. Just like the wicked old mage, seemingly incapable of giving a straight awnser. King sank further into his throne. He couldn't waste time with this. The man-gods would awaken soon and the and foxfolk still refuse to submit.

King grabbed his iron helm, well, more of a mask. His horns prevented him from wearing any proper helmet. The helmet was largely unnecessary as his magic is what protects him, but appearance is important to the beastmen. Strength, or the illusion of strength has been what's gotten King this far.

Weakening his corporal form King headed for the shadow passages. If he had any hope of combating the gods the beastmen needed to be fully unified.

"UTIMAAAARRRRRR!! GET OUT HERE YOU COWARD!"

The cry of Strongheart shaking the very earth inspired the taurs behind him. Each and every one of the bullmen stomping and chanting in triumph, the cries bolstering their resolve, resolve bolstering their strength.

Strongheart smiled at the resolve of his taurs, each and everyone of them clad in hand made Minotaur steel. To think only mere decades ago his kin were little more than savage animals like the foe he faced this day.

Turning to the wooded fortress which permeated the foul aura of the dark gods he could see his misguided brethren slink out like the cowardly filth they were. Ten on them with Utimar leading the pack. The sickly thing, fur matted in piss and shit, crawling on all fours, bite marks and scars adorning what should have been a glistening coat. It disgusted Strongheart to think that this was how the beastmen would be fated to die were it not for his most glorious king.

"You're a fool if you think we'll abandon the gods which watch over our kind Strongheart." The filth ridden beast snarled. If it weren't for his disgust, Strongheart would pity the arrogant fool.

"Your gods lay claim on your soul and leave you weak." Strongheart chided, the depraved state of his kin revolting him. It was clear from the wild look in his eyes that Utimar would not yield easily, may not even yield at all. The gods of old prevented the beastmen from using their true magic, what belonged to them and them alone. Utimar falsely thought that the gods were what gave him strength when in truth the gods crippled them.

"If you are so strong without the gods then prove it!" Utimar growled before lunging at Strongheart, fangs barred. Utimar targeted his unhelmed head, fangs striking the fur of his neck as the beast's claws made a flurry of undisciplined attacks.

The other foxfolk cheered for their wretched leader as the savage beast made his unrelenting attacks. That is until they heard the laughter of the bull. His trunk of a hand encompassing the head of their leader. The bull lifting the fox over his head and slamming him into the ground all while his cohort cheered the bull on. And the foxkin looked in fear at the lage creature only to find his form was left unperverted.

"HAHAHAHA YOU THINK YOU COULD FACE ME TRASH? I AM SIR STRONGHEART THE BOLD! I AM THE CHAMPION OF THE BEAST KING AND FILTH LIKE YOU COULD NEVER HOPE TO TOUCH ME!"

The accompanying roars of his soldiers shook the very earth, the foxkin trembled in terror at the sight of the laughing minotaur. The bull seemingly grew, appearing as if he were a mountain. They didn't understand. Utimar said the resistance against the beast tyrant was going well, he said the gods would protect them and that they were fated to win. And here they were looking upon their fallen champion seeing a twitching mess of filth and failure. What hope did they have?

"Theatrical as always Sir Strongheart." Came the malignant voice of a horrible shadow creature. The darkness peeling of of the creature like a lizard's skin only revealed something more horrible to the foxkin... the beast king himself had appeared.

"Only for glory my king. In spirit is strength, so my shows' show my might." Strongheart flexed, laughing in the face of the king, the aura of dread not affecting him at all.

One of the foxkin began to slowly crawl to his fallen hero while the king and his champion distracted themselves in idle conversation. If he could only get Utimar to the shrine, then the gods would truely bless him in their time of need. Grabbing his hero he ran to the fort, he knew his pack would understand and give themselves for the cause.

As he ran the rest of the fox assaulted the heathens to cover his escape. He never looked back, he already knew their fates.

"Should we chase those two down? The littler one is carrying Utimar." Strongheart asked wiping the blood and gore off of his fists, clearly confused as why he was allowed to leave. The confusion likely caused by the nature of our enemies, easy to kill in the open, difficult to root out of their holes.

"Those beasts won't submit as long as they belive their gods will save them. We will give them hope, only to rip it from their sick and wretched hearts." King lectured. After all, war wasn't just about killing, it was about perception. Of all the beastmen tribes that fell before King, never did they stay loyal unless they had absolute certainty in the rule of King or, at the very least, faith in his strength.

The two watched as the whelp scampered off to his hobble. King always liked to think that he felt bad for them, that they didn't deserve it. If he said those things aloud, his tounge would light aflame as the lie left his mouth. The truth is, he enjoyed crushing these vermin beneath his hooves.

To willingly choose damnation at the hands of the man-gods. To live in filth and depravity. King did enjoy destroying them. Like clay he would mold them. Carve out the imperfections, turn the savage creatures into something respectable.

King smiled as the malicious aura of the gods spread there influenced through the enemy fortress. The ritual was complete, it was time for his performance.

King trotted as elegantly as he could as Strongheart followed. The taurs behind him cheered as the two leaders entered the battlefield, the foxfolk gathering outside of the wooded fortress in what could be assumed to be the hundreds, if it weren't for the illusion. King could only assume they were numbered at one hundred at the most, with a few dozen "sneaking" into the forest to flank.

King and Strongheart headed straight for the lines of fox with Utimar nowhere in sight. King strode forward so the foxfolk would see him in all of his hatred, in all of his strength.

"AAAAUUUUUUUGGGGHHHHH"

Tuning at the cry King saw a blacked paw sprouting from Strongheart's chest. The look of shock and terror drawn on his friends face like a haunted man's canvases. The moans of pains he squeaked silenced by the other claws of the assassin.

As Strongheart fell his slayer emerged. A giant fox with blackened fur and vile green eyes, claws sharp enough to slice solid rock, boney protrusions emerging from its flesh and venom dripping from the creatures jagged teeth.

"You see King? This is the strength of the gods. Your foolish champion lies dead by my claws and you're next!" Utimar cackled wildly with a voice as distorted as his body was corrupted. All while the demon cackled to himself King could only thank the vile filth for putting up such a fantastic show. The foxfolk saw his "strength" they believed their gods would save them, overflowing with hope. This show would only serve to destroy them completely.

King lunged out at the demon, willing a Nami into his hand, slicing through Utimar's right arm, severing it completely. Utimar let out a vile ear piercing shreak. Grasping desperately to his arm before honing his hatred upon King. The demon roared and charged wildly at his prey. King mearly watched as the beast charged before sidestepping it and with two swift motions he cut offo its remaining arm and one of its legs.

As the monstrosity fell he felt the fear and desperation from his kin. King smiled. It was time for the final act.

He channeled his magic to give the demons soul a incorporal form. Black sludge began to rise from the still living corpse. The sludge grew and meshed into a true monstrosity. Towering over King Utimar became an idol of the old gods, a representation of all their strength, a becon of hope for the rebel savages.

The only thing wrong with his strength, was his soul. For the 'strength' the gods gave him, it had cost him his soul. King revealed his incorporal form to the degenerate filth and they trembled. It was clear for all to see which of the two was superior. Kings spirit dwarfing Utimar's, kings sheer presence burning the demon at the spot. Rasing his hand he forced his soul upon Utimar's, shattering what little remained and burning the shards.

As Utimar's incorporal form was eviscerated from existence he could feel the weak and cowardly souls of the foxfolk submit. They belonged to King in their entirety now.

Returning to his corporal form King walked over to Strongheart's still fresh corpse, the soul lingering still. He forced his will unto the corpse, forcing it to seal its wounds. Not long after his old friend began to stir.

"Hehe and you call me the theatrical one?" Strongheart chuckled weakly as he reached his arm out for support. King lifted him up laughing.

"You of all beastmen know the importance of a good show." King chuckled as Strongheart glanced over his body, stopping at his abdomen. King looked down and saw the blackening sploch of flesh. Annoyingly he must have used to much magic on that insect. He'd have to take it easy for a few hours.

"So how many strongholds are left? I need these rebels dealt with yesterday." King asked absent-mindedly plotting his next steps in besting the man gods.

"Oh, uh, about that," Strongheart began, "There are at least a dozen left, and we don't know where the last one is located."

"Gods damned it."