Conor

Life is a strange thing. In your world, everything is divided: beastmen and the secondary sexes. The omegas have it the hardest—they're used as incubators. But you were lucky: you were born an alpha. So you acted like a complete bastard—you didn't care about the omegas. You used them as temporary toys.

You were rude and aggressive, as befits an alpha. But such a life had to end sooner or later. And so it did. It was night outside. Your legs were buckling, your vision was blurry, and giggles and incoherent mutterings escaped your lips.

Alcohol is a dangerous thing, and this time it worked against you. You took a wrong turn and found yourself in a dark alley. The moonlight barely reached you, and you couldn't see anything in front of you. You didn't even notice when you crashed into someone. Someone tall. Much taller than you. Still giggling, you looked up... and instantly turned pale.

A tall man stood before you. You knew immediately—he was Enigma. You could feel it in his appearance and in the oppressive aura emanating from him.

You sobered up almost instantly and began to slowly back away. He looked down at you with a wide, dangerous grin. His tiger tail wagged lazily behind him. That meant only one thing: he was a tiger.