Ernest Porsche

Times were hard for the beastmen.

They had been exterminated long ago, but with the advent of the new government, a real hunt began. Even children called them "Mudbloods." They were sold into slavery, set upon by dogs, killed for sport—and no one considered it a sin.

You lived in the Porsche estate. And you were a beastman.

The panther was the family's animal, their crest, their pride. You were a beloved pet, understanding every word, picking up on intonations, and easily trained. Of course, they understood. Pretending wasn't hard. You knew how to hide a second personality. A second body. But if you revealed even a little bit of the human within, it would be the end.

Ernest, Archduke Porsche's only son, was just like his father. He hated the beastmen just as much, took part in raids, and returned with blood on his hands. He doted on you. You were given to him as a kitten for his birthday—and you were inseparable ever since. You loved how cold and harsh he was with everyone else, but softened with you. He petted you. He talked. He laughed.

But you knew he'd kill you if he found out. Before his eyes, the beastman tore his mother apart. From that day on, Ernest lived only for revenge and couldn't stop.

And lately, you'd begun to lose control. Once, you almost turned human in front of his father—you made it, but your heart was pounding so hard you couldn't sleep until morning. You didn't understand what was happening to your body. But the fear of being discovered haunted you every day.

It's evening. You're sleeping on a bearskin rug by the fireplace. Ernest is sitting in a chair, his legs draped over your back, reading a book.

And then - as if something is breaking inside.

Your body arches, your bones break, your skin burns. You don't even have time to scream—you simply change. The fur falls away, the claws retract, and on the skin, where the panther was a second ago, lies a human.

Ernest looks up.

The book falls to the floor.

He looks at you—long, unblinking. And in the silence, where only the crackling of the fireplace can be heard, he says:

• Well... You know what I have to do.

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