The spacious stone courtyard of the ancient palace suddenly shimmered, the very fabric of reality bending and warping like liquid glass as a localized spatial distortion ripped open the air.
A blinding, iridescent flash of raw mana exploded into the afternoon light, and from the heart of the magical tear, six bodies came crashing down hard onto the unforgiving stone floor. The impact echoed hollowly through the empty courtyard.
"I did it! I actually did it!" Cyra yelled happily, leaping to her feet with an energetic bounce, her voice echoing off the golden-hued walls. "I completely teleported us across a whole continent! Space magic is a breeze!" she screamed, throwing her arms into the air in a grand victory pose.
The rest of her vanguard team, however, didn't seem even remotely keen on sharing in her ecstatic celebration.
Thranduil and Antrea instantly scrambled on all fours toward the nearest patch of wild flora growing between the cracked pavers, their shoulders heaving as they collectively gagged and emptied their stomachs into the dirt. Seraphina and Rohan lay perfectly flat on their backs in the center of the courtyard, completely stunned, their unblinking eyes staring blankly at the sky, utterly paralyzed by the violent spatial whiplash. Nearby, Beld knelt on one knee, his hand clutching his stomach tightly as his face turned a vibrant, sickly shade of lavender purple, his entire muscular frame aching from the sheer friction of the dimensional jump.
"Hey, come on! Aren't you guys completely overreacting?!" Cyra retorted, her lips twisting into an offended, boyish pout as she planted her gloved hands firmly on her hips. "My spatial coordinates were flawless! The spell wasn't even that bad!"
"For *you* that is..." Antrea groaned, her pale face swelling with nausea as she turned back around to continue vomiting violently into the ferns.
"Sheesh," Cyra muttered under her breath, tossing her head back.
As she scanned her surroundings, the grand citadel before them told a story of deep, melancholic isolation. The regal architecture of the Beast Kingdom seemed to be slowly merging with the ancient, sprawling forest around it. The pristine golden stone walls were being aggressively invaded by massive roots, creeping moss, and twisting vines that climbed up the towering spires like green veins. Even though this majestic castle belonged to the current ruling lineage of the beastkin, a profound, eerie silence gripped the entire estate. Not a single guard patrolled the parapets; not a single servant roamed the grounds.
Cyra's expressive brown eyes scanned the silent perimeter, a slight frown marring her features. "Well... I explicitly sent a message to Mother telling her that I'd be arriving soon. I at least expected a grand welcome party of some sort. This is weird."
Cyra's thick, short brown hair was styled beautifully, parted dramatically to the side so that a dense lock cascaded down the left side of her face, framing her eyes. High atop her head, a pair of furry, triangular wolfish ears twitched erratically like radio antennas, catching the subtle rustle of the distant trees. She was dressed in a long, sleeveless brown traveler's jacket that reached all the way below her knees, left entirely unbuttoned to reveal the thick, durable tunic she wore underneath. The tunic was a matching rustic brown, practically laced with multiple utility pockets and reinforced stitching. A heavy leather belt secured the layered clothes tightly across her waist, while her structured skirt fell just above her knee. Form-fitting black tights ran down her legs, disappearing into sturdy, knee-high leather boots.
She raised a massive, heavily padded glove to shield her eyes from the sun. Her physique was a testament to her heritage—taut and subtly muscular, but not so excessively that she looked like a bulky bodybuilder. It was that lean, dense, natural athleticism common to most high-tier beastkins, built purely for predatory bursts of speed. Behind her, a large, bushy brown wolf tail brushed lazily against the stone floor, its fur bristling slightly at the unnatural quiet of her home.
Thranduil wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, looking thoroughly exhausted as he approached the center of the yard. He usually preferred the comfort of a flowing, mysterious cloak, but due to Cyra's relentless, daily pestering about "practical traveler's fashion," he had relented. Today, he wore a tailored, dark travel vest that cut off cleanly just below his navel. His crisp tunic continued the rest of the way down to a thick leather belt, tucked into a pair of exceptionally sturdy riding pants. A leather-bound spellbook was strapped securely to his thigh, and a sleek, silver hunting knife was tucked neatly into the side of his tall boot. His striking, pale blue hair cascaded down over his long, elegant elfish ears like smooth, flowing water.
Beside him, Beld finally managed to push himself to his feet, his heavy iron armor clanging loudly against the pavers. "That was, without a single doubt, the nastiest, most stomach-churning teleportation spell I have ever endured in my entire life," he groaned, a massive hand rubbing through his messy, dark brown hair as he tried to blink the static out of his vision.
Seraphina stood up next, gracefully brushing the dirt off her elegant gown. Her long, lemon-colored hair caught the sunlight, glowing like spun gold, though her soft face still carried a dazed, airy expression from the spatial distortion. She extended a pale hand downward, and Rohan eagerly took it, his bright blonde hair flaying wildly in the sudden wind as she pulled him up from the stone floor.
Thranduil, finally composing himself, walked over to pick up Antrea, who had completely collapsed onto the moss from severe dimensional stress. Among the fantasy-esque party, she looked entirely, glaringly out of place in this world. She was dressed in a pair of baggy, modern denim jeans that pooled over a pair of large, chunky white sneakers. Her oversized white shirt featured massive, billowly black sleeves that ran all the way down past her wrists, obscuring her hands. Her long, night-like black hair fell around her shoulders like a dark curtain, her eyes closed as she muttered incoherent curses about Cyra's magical capabilities into the dirt.
The wind howled softly through the golden, moss-covered archways of the silent palace, welcoming the chaotic vanguard to the mysterious heart of the Beast Kingdom.
"Well, let's go in!" Cyra said quickly, a bright, careless grin flashing across her face. "I'll show you guys around the place!"
She spun on her heel and started walking briskly toward the grand, moss-draped golden doors of the citadel. But before she could take her third step, Beld's hand shot forward with reflexes as fast as lightning, his iron-gauntleted fingers clamping firmly around her shoulder.
"Correct me if I'm wrong," he began, his voice dropping into a low, deadly serious rumble, "but isn't that the literal home of the reigning Beast Queen? Is it truly wise for a ragtag bunch of vanguard mercenaries to just casually stroll into the royal castle without an ounce of official permission? Besides, why on earth did you take us directly here in the first place? Couldn't you have just safely teleported us to the forested outskirts instead?!"
Cyra stared back at her group. From the tense, anxious lines on their faces, they all clearly shared the exact same terrified sentiment. Even Thranduil was tightly clutching his spellbook, his elfish ears pinned back in worry.
"Well, you guys don't need to worry about any of that complete nonsense," Cyra sighed heavily, rolling her shoulders to break free from Beld's iron grip. She turned around fully, awkwardly scratching the back of her head as her bushy brown tail swished in agitation. "Well... how do I exactly put this..."
But before she could utter another word, a sharp, piercing scream tore through the heavy silence of the golden courtyard. Cyra violently flinched, her wolfish ears twitching as she recognized the voice instantly.
"CYRAAAAAA!!!"
A childlike, electrifying voice yelled from the palace balconies. In the blink of an eye, a blinding blur of pure silver descended from above, tearing through the air with terrifying speed. Before anyone could draw a weapon, the silver projectile rammed squarely into Cyra's chest. The sheer, kinetic force of the impact lifted Cyra completely off her feet, sending both bodies slamming hard against the golden stone wall with a loud, echoing CRACK.
"That is... way too rough, Mom..." Cyra muttered, groaning as she stabilized her footing, her arms wrapped around the tiny figure clinging to her waist.
The girl was barely five feet tall, looking incredibly small, but she possessed the explosive physical strength of a tectonic plate. She had long, shimmering silver hair that fell like liquid moonlight over her shoulders, and a matching, incredibly fluffy silver wolf tail that was currently bobbing up and down in a frantic frenzy of pure joy. She was dressed in a pristine, flowing white royal robe that fluttered around her ankles as she finally let go of Cyra.
Immediately, the tiny silver-haired woman began zooming around the courtyard like a hyperactive, incredibly happy puppy, leaving faint afterimages in the dirt as she cheered. Suddenly, she skidded to a violent halt, planting herself right beside Cyra. Her bright, silver wolfish ears perked up as she stared blankly at the rest of the vanguard party, tilting her head as if she had only just noticed their existence.
But the party was already ahead of her. The moment they realized who she was, a collective wave of absolute terror washed through them. Beld, Thranduil, Seraphina, and Rohan dropped to the stone floor instantly, kneeling in a synchronized, rigid display of deep royal reverence.
The only one left standing was Antrea. Still completely dazed and brain-fried from the spatial teleportation spell, she just stood there blankly in her baggy jeans and chunky sneakers, blinking her dark eyes like a confused owl.
Cyra offered her trembling, kneeling comrades an incredibly awkward, sheepish smile, rubbing the back of her neck as her mother vibrated with pure excitement beside her.
"Yeah... I don't usually like to tell people this because it complicates things," Cyra muttered, her voice echoing in the dead silence of the courtyard. "But... meet my mom, Queen Veronica. And, uh, rightly so... I am officially the Fifth Princess of the Beast Kingdom."
"So... which one of them is your mate?" Veronica beamed happily, her vibrant silver eyes practically sparkling as she leaned forward, scanning the kneeling crew.
A heavy, incredibly awkward wall of silence instantly dropped over the courtyard. Beld kept his head glued to the stone, while Rohan and Seraphina exchanged incredibly panicked glances.
"It's the elf," Cyra said carelessly, pointing a blunt, gloved thumb directly at a crimson-faced Thranduil whose long blue hair couldn't even hide how red his elfish ears had just turned. Cyra casually looked past her blushing partner, her wolfish ears twitching as she scanned the empty corridors. "Anyway, where's Haki? She's always glued to your side."
"Oh, she's down in the royal training chambers," Veronica chirped, her silver tail swaying happily. "Teaching Dan how to properly handle a blade."
"Wait... DAN IS HERE?!"
Antrea was the absolute first to react to the name. The lingering, airy daze from the spatial whiplash vanished instantly as she snapped out of her trance, her voice echoing off the golden pillars in a chaotic screech.
"Well... yeah," Veronica muttered, taken aback slightly by the sheer volume of the yell, her silver ears pinning back a fraction. "He arrived just about two days ago."
The core members of the vanguard exchanged tense, furtive glances. Well, all except Beld and the younger kids—they had absolutely no clue who this "Dan" character was, looking completely lost as the temperature in the courtyard suddenly spiked.
"That absolute bastard..." Cyra growled, her knuckles crackling inside her massive padded gloves, her dark brown tail bristling with a sudden, competitive fury. "When I get my hands on him—"
But before she could even turn her body to head toward the training grounds, Antrea completely vanished from the spot, leaving behind a sharp gust of wind.
BOOM!
"Hey! No fair!" Cyra bolted straight into the palace corridors with insane, predatory beastkin speed, her boots tearing up the moss. A microsecond later, Thranduil's form distorted as he forcefully teleported himself ahead into the hallways to keep up.
"A race?! How incredibly fun!" Veronica laughed loudly, her childlike excitement flaring up as she prepared to leap after them. But before her silver boots could leave the ground, Beld's sharp, authoritative voice broke through the playful tension, anchoring her to the courtyard.
"Queen Veronica of the glorious Beast Dynasty!" Beld began, his voice ringing with the heavy, disciplined weight of a true commander. He remained on one knee, his posture stiff and formal. "We humbly wish for you to grant us an official audience. We are emissaries from a newly established nation far to the west... and the young lady on my left is the future chief of our land. We have humbly traversed the continent to discuss political relations and a future alliance with your kingdom."
Beld tightly closed his eyes, bracing himself. He fully expected her to burst into that same playful, hyperactive laughter, or perhaps dismiss him with a childish comment. But as the seconds ticked by in total silence, a cold shiver ran down his spine. He slowly looked up—and his breath hitched.
The hyper puppy was gone.
Queen Veronica was staring down at him with an impossibly deep, serious gaze. She stood perfectly still, her small hand resting thoughtfully on her chin, her massive silver wolf tail waving with a slow, hypnotic, and calculated rhythm. The sheer, oppressive aura of a monarch who ruled over millions of apex predators completely flooded the courtyard, making Beld's armor feel twenty times heavier.
"Well... I certainly can't say I haven't heard of you guys, or received your numerous letters," Veronica said slowly, her tone dropping into a smooth, authoritative regal cadence. "They are currently piled all over my royal desk, after all."
She shifted her silver gaze, looking around the empty, ruined courtyard. Seeing none other than Beld, Rohan, and Seraphina, her eyes narrowed into predatory slits.
"Shouldn't an official diplomatic envoy as monumentally important as this possess armored guards? Royal carriages? A proper vanguard?" Veronica growled, a faint, dangerous vibration echoing in her chest. "Your nation is a terribly long way from here. Don't tell me you recklessly made these young children walk that entire grueling journey on foot?"
"No, Your Highness," Beld sweat dropped, maintaining his absolute reverence under her terrifying glare. "On our trek through the borderlands, our entire heavy cavalry vanguard was completely wiped out by the monstrous, corrupted creatures of the deep woods. We would have surely been lost to the slaughter as well... had the legendary Hero's party not intervened. Your magnificent daughter is the one who saved our lives."
Veronica let out a long, heavy sigh, the terrifying pressure instantly dissipating as she relaxed her posture. "Well, good. As she absolutely should have. She represents my blood line, after all."
She looked at the exhausted, dirt-stained clothes of the remaining three travelers, a flash of genuine maternal warmth returning to her silver eyes.
"Well, I am more than willing to hear your proposals out, but you guys desperately need to rest for the meantime," Veronica said, clapping her small hands together twice. "Even with that sloppy teleportation spell Cyra forced on you, I am entirely certain the journey wasn't easy."
The moment her applause echoed, the shadows along the golden walls shifted. Multiple elite beastkin servants seamlessly appeared from the corridors, gracefully holding thick, plush towels and massive silver trays heaped with steaming, fragrant food.
"See to it that they have the finest guest rooms to stay in, and tend to their every single need immediately," Veronica commanded one of the leading women with a gentle smile.
Then, she turned back to Beld, her expression reverting right back to her signature, energetic grin. "Well then! I shall see you later for our official meeting!"
With that, she spun around and sprinted into the palace hall, a brilliant trail of yellow lightning crackling and trailing behind her footsteps as she zoomed after her daughter.
"As a swordsman, you never take your feet off the ground unless it is absolutely, necessary," Haki said calmly, her low, smooth voice cutting through the humid air.
She was a feline beastkin, a creature of striking, lethal grace. A thick black wrap was tied tightly around her eyes, yet she moved with an uncanny, flawless spatial awareness that defied her blindness. Her wild, untamed black hair spilled around her shoulders in jagged layers, one of her furry feline ears visibly notched—chopped raw from some ancient battle. Her long, slender black tail whipped rhythmic, serpentine arcs through the air behind her. Unlike most of the dense, naturally muscular beastkin population, Haki was remarkably slim, possessing very little visible muscle mass, a physique built entirely for silent, terrifying agility. She wore a simple form-fitting tank top and heavy-duty green combat pants, everything locked together at her slender waist by a thick, scuffed leather belt. With a fluid flick of her wrist, she made a series of light, whistling gestures in the air with a heavy wooden practice sword.
Dan sat lazily near her feet on the polished stone floor, completely drenched in sweat. After permanently losing his magical disguise back during the chaotic ordeal of the Demon Realm, he had deemed it utterly stupid to continue trying to hide his true face or identity from the world. He was entirely shirtless, his lean, sharply defined torso glistening under the training room's ambient light, revealing the quiet power resting beneath his skin. His messy black hair cascaded carelessly over his eyes, interspersed with vibrant, scattered strands of red that poked out wildly all over his head.
"But Areia always lifts her legs when she fights," Dan countered, pouting as he leaned back on his hands, looking up at his blindfolded instructor. "And she's honestly, ridiculously good with a sword."
"Though I only personally fought her when she was a mere nine-year-old child, her style is hyper-tailored to suit her specific body type," Haki replied smoothly, resting the wooden blade against her shoulder. "She knows the absolute basics and advanced foundational techniques inside out, but she tweaks them on a microscopic level to suit her personal needs. If you want to recklessly fight like her right off the bat, you'll first have to master the basics from the ground up... and, well, maybe possess a fraction of her god-given talent for it, too."
"Well, that completely sucks," Dan sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Though, to be fair, Areia told me something almost identical when I begged her to train me back then. That little experiment lasted for exactly two days before I threw a tantrum and quit entirely."
"Well, you certainly don't seem like the disciplined type who naturally enjoys swinging a heavy blade for hours," Haki smiled, her lips curving into a rare, gentle expression. She tilted her blindfolded head toward him. "Are you finally going to tell me the real reason why you suddenly want to learn?"
"Nope. Give it up already, teach," Dan chuckled, letting out a long sigh as he casually pushed himself up from the floor. "We're completely done for today, aren't we?" He spun the wooden practice blade in his hand, handing the hilt over to her. "I should probably get going anyway. If I stay cooped up in here with you for too long, Croc might come charging through the walls to drag me out."
"Wait... before you go," Haki muttered softly.
She caught his wooden sword, holding both weapons tightly against her side. A faint, subtle warmth dusted her dark cheeks, her long black tail twitching with a sudden, restless anticipation. "If it's... not too much of a bother... would you...?"
"Sure," Dan smiled warmly.
He didn't hesitate for a second. Stepping into her personal space, Dan placed his hand squarely on top of her wild head, giving her dark hair a firm, affectionate rub. Her layered hair was somewhat tough and coarse from a lifetime of combat, but the moments his fingers brushed against the base of her notched feline ears, they felt incredibly, impossibly soft.
For some strange, inexplicable reason, ever since Dan had casually patted her head when he first arrived at the palace sometime ago, the legendary feline assassin had seemed completely, utterly addicted to it. She would actively crave the gesture, shyly requesting it at the absolute end of every single grueling lesson.
Well, of course, Dan wasn't about to refuse her. After all, it gave him the unparalleled, profoundly satisfying sensation of petting an extremely wild, yet perfectly tamed black panther.
Dan was suddenly flung violently across the training hall as a heavy black projectile slammed brutally against his exposed chest. The sheer, unexpected kinetic force of the impact sent him crashing right through a row of wooden practice dummies, splintering them into kindling before he breached the drywall, flying through multiple interconnected storage rooms.
He grunted painfully, his back hitting a stone pillar as he came to a halt. As he lay there trying to blink the dust from his eyes, he felt a strange, heavy, and incredibly soft substance enveloping his entire body.
A single, iridescent plume drifted down, landing directly on the bridge of his nose. He crossed his eyes to stare at it.
"Black feathers...?"
He looked down, only to see Antrea wrapping her arms around him, holding him in an absolute, unyielding death grip. Her massive, dark angelic wings were fully unfurled, completely pinning him to the rubble.
"Uh... Antrea?!" Dan stammered, entirely bewildered. "Why did you suddenly—wait, before we do anything else, please let go of me! Can't you clearly see that I'm completely drenched in sweat?!" He grunted, using both hands to try and pry himself free from the clingy angel's embrace.
"Even better," she muttered into his skin, her pale face pressed tightly and aggressively against his bare, glistening chest, completely refusing to budge an inch.
"That is genuinely gross," Dan spoke with a thoroughly sullen expression, abandoning his futile struggle. "Why on earth did you suddenly ram into me like a meteor? Also, what are you even doing here? I thought you explicitly said you wouldn't come looking for me—"
He stopped instantly, the words dying in his throat.
A terrifying, suffocatingly menacing presence suddenly flooded the ruined room, making the temperature plummet to near freezing. Haki, who had been watching the entire dramatic sequence from the doorway with immense, silent interest, smoothly took a few steps backward, her slender form completely merging into the dark shadows of the background to watch the fireworks.
"You little piece of absolute shit," Cyra growled, stepping through the shattered drywall.
She was cracking her knuckles slowly, the heavy leather of her padded gloves creaking in the silence. Her furry wolfish ears were pinned flat against her head, and her bushy brown tail was bristling like a bottle brush, but it was the sweet, yet utterly deadly smile stretched across her face that made Dan's blood run completely cold.
"C-Cyra?!" Dan asked, his heart hammering against his ribs in sheer, unadulterated panic. "What are you... what are you doing here?!"
"Well, who would have ever guessed that you'd be casually chilling around in my childhood home after you completely ditched us back in the Dragon Realm?" she said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, rhythmic purr as she walked closer, the yellow lightning of her beastkin aura beginning to crackle around her boots. "But hey, it's all good. I'm completely willing to let bygones be bygones... right after you take a few dozen hits to the face, that is!"
With a sudden, explosive burst of predatory speed, she charged straight at him.
Dan vanished from Antrea's grip in a flicker of displaced air, right as Cyra's fist obliterated the stone pillar he had been resting against. The structure exploded into a shower of jagged gravel and choking dust.
"Sorry, Cyra! But I'm pretty sure taking a direct punch from you will straight-up kill me, so I'm gonna hide until you calm down!" Dan shouted, balancing precariously on a thick, twisting tree root that hung down from the fractured ceiling.
He bent his knees, bracing his muscles to bolt for the nearest exit, but a blinding blue streak of lightning cut through the dust clouds. His instincts screamed, forcing him to freeze mid-motion as the burning, jagged bolt whipped past, the blistering heat literally licking the tip of his nose. The lightning slammed into the far wall, detonating with a deafening, echoing roar that shook the foundations of the room.
"You honestly think we'd just let you walk out of here?" Thranduil growled from the entryway, his eyes flashing beneath his blue hair as he stepped through the smoke. "We are catching you no matter what, and you are getting a thoroughly deserved thrashing!"
"Oh, Thranduil, you're here too?!" Dan muttered, his heart thumping violently against his ribs.
Cyra launched herself at him again, using the root as a springboard. Dan threw his body backward into a desperate mid-air flip, barely leaping over her sweeping leg. Summoning a violent burst of wind from his palms, he shoved her downward while catapulting his own body toward the high rafters. But before he could grab the stonework, a heavy green chain erupted from Thranduil's glowing spellbook, whipping through the air like a striking viper and anchoring itself tightly around Dan's ankle.
"You're not going anywhere!" Thranduil smirked, planting his boots and violently yanking the chain backward.
The force dragged Dan out of the air, sending him hurtling toward the floor. He blasted a cushion of air beneath himself to soften the impact, skidding onto his feet just as Cyra and Thranduil converged on him for a coordinated assault.
Dan glared down at the magical links binding his leg. "Shit," he muttered.
Cyra charged him like a rampaging beast, while Thranduil's fingers danced over his book, conjuring a cluster of crackling lightning rods in the air above.
Thinking fast, Dan dropped low, sliding cleanly between Cyra's open legs as she lunged. He scrambled to his feet and sprinted full-tilt toward Thranduil, closing the distance to put the elf to sleep, but the ground beneath his boots suddenly flared with a dangerous magical glow.
Thranduil smiled coldly. "Like I'd ever let you get this close to me!"
The trap detonated. Dan, moving faster than the expanding shockwave, blasted himself backward with a concentrated burst of gale-force wind. Caught mid-air and defenseless, Cyra seized the opening, lunging at him with her fist cocked back, while Thranduil gripped the green chain with both hands to lock Dan in place.
"Checkmate!" both Thranduil and Cyra yelled in triumphant unison.
But their victory vanished in a heartbeat. Cyra's devastating punch slammed into a shimmering blue barrier that materialized around Dan at the absolute last second. The sturdy spell absorbed the terrifying impact, throwing off bright sparks, though Dan wasn't even looking at them. His eyes were darting frantically toward the exit.
"You think this little shield is going to let you escape?!" Cyra roared, her wolf ears pinning back as she began relentlessly hammering her fists against the barrier. She struck it with enough raw, unbridled fury to make the entire training hall sway. The blue surface cracked like fragile glass under her assault.
Dan didn't wait for it to shatter. He gripped the green chain wrapped around his ankle, coiled his muscles, and violently hurled Thranduil straight toward his position. Simultaneously, he snapped his own barrier off. Cyra, who was mid-punch, completely lost her balance as her target disappeared, and Dan slammed Thranduil's flying body right into her chest.
The chaotic collision caused the green chain to momentarily flicker and weaken. Sensing the lapse, Dan shattered the links with a sharp flex of his leg and bolted toward the open door.
But right before his boots could cross the threshold, a slim, white-haired girl stepped into the frame, looking utterly confused by the absolute madness.
Dan's heart dropped into his stomach at the sight of her. He skidded to a dead halt, standing completely frozen as her purple eyes locked onto him. "Areia...?"
"Dan? We've got you," her voice suddenly morphed, twisting into Thranduil's smug cadence. The illusion of Areia's face dissolved instantly into thin air.
Before Dan could even register the trick, a dozen heavy iron chains erupted from the floorboards, wrapping around his arms, torso, and legs, binding him in an unbreakable vice grip. Dan looked up in absolute horror just as Cyra's shadowed fist closed over his vision.
BOOM!
The entire Beast Kingdom rumbled a little bit after that.