Chains rattled as I shifted, beginning to stir from my slumber. A groan left my lips as senses slowly returned. Cold stone pressed against my back, causing me to shiver. My eyes blinked open, blurry at first, only to readjust to find myself staring at a dark gray stone ceiling.

Blood filled my nose, and as I moved, pain surged through my body. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to sit up. Looking down, I saw that my snow-white fur was stained with dried blood. My blood. Slashes lined my coat from my attackers trying to end my life, but failing to do so.

I would have laughed at their poor attempt to snuff out my life if I wasn't in danger. A silver shackle was clamped around my ankle, and the chain was connected to the stone wall to my left. Tugged on it only rattled the chains; they were too strong to break with sheer force alone.

Not that I was very strong to begin with. I was just a goatt; a weak, useless goatt with no home or family left. All because of them.

The Monarchors. The Gods of the lands.

My blood boiled just thinking about those bastards. They weren't fit to rule, much less call themselves gods. They were sum; monsters that took what they wanted, did what they wanted, and no one dared to stand up to them out of fear.

Anyone who stood up to them met the swift end of a blade or arrow. I scowled at the thought, once again pulling at the chains, even if I knew it was pointless. I refused to die by their hands. I survived too long for it to all end now.

Throwing the chain back onto the ground, I leaned against the stone wall with an annoyed huff. My gaze drifted to the ceiling once more, glazing over as I became lost in my own thoughts.

Would my people be proud of me? Would they be disgusted with me? I had never been like them; never once to fear what most goatts did. I was an outcast in a way, but still loved by my village. With the fleeting number of our people dwelling day by day, all we had was each other, looking out for one another to ensure we survived were others fell.

The elders always boosted about how we were stronger together than when alone. So long as we stayed together and followed the rules laid out for us, we would thrive. We would survive this genocide, and live to see a new age for goattkind.

A lot of good that did. They had just spewed lies to try to avoid panic and fear taking over the villages. Their rules didn't matter at the end of the day. It only served to get the whole village slaughtered at once by the hunters that were all too pleased to strike down my people in the name of their gods.

The feeling was mirrored when I took a few of the damned hunters down for their hellish acts. Trained to be a warrior for my race, I wasn't going to sit by and allow them to get away with it. If I died, I would be taking them with me.

What did bother me, was the fact that I was allowed to live. Why didn't they kill me on sight rather than capturing me? Was there a reason behind it I didn't know about? Weren't they looking to slaughter all the goatts in the land? That couldn't happen if I was still breathing.

This was the Monarchors after all. There was always a reason for them doing whatever they did, even if it was utter bullshit. I didn't understand why they wanted to kill my people as they never bothered to explain why, though they had no reason to. Gods didn't need to give reasons to mortals for their actions. They were supreme beings; all mighty creatures that were above those who served under them. What reason did they have to give any reasoning for themselves?

It wasn't going to make a difference anyway. They could—and did—do whatever they wanted. No one stood up to them, and any who dared was cut down swiftly to show what happened to those foolish enough to stand against their gods. I scowled all the same.

One day, they would get what was coming to them, and I hoped I was alive to see it. But that was unlikely to happen. I wasn't stupid, nor a naive fool. I knew that my fate was sealed. It was only a matter of time before I met the end of a blade like the rest of my kind.

When would it happen? Surely, they wouldn't want to keep a beast here for very long? They would want to strike me down as soon as they could, to avoid anything going wrong. The gods were smart, and those under them just as much. They would take care of any blight swiftly. They always had.

The thought kept repeating in my head. Why keep me alive? Why not just kill me? I didn't understand it. Not when they butchered my kind without a second thought. What made me so different? Did they get some sort of sick enjoyment out of my suffering? I wouldn't have put it passed the damn bastards.

My train of thought was shattered when footsteps echoed against the stone ground. Standing in front of the bars of my prison was a cloaked figure, only crimson eyes being visible.

“It is time, beast.”

I sneered at the hate that filled the creature's tone, it being mirrored. More came to join the first, and my cell door opened. They stepped inside, swiftly shackling my arms behind my back, and a metal collar clamped my throat. Being pull roughly to my hooves, I was shoved forward.

“Get moving, goatt.”

It took the bastards stabbing me in the back with their spears to get me to move, determined to make it as difficult as I could for them. I nearly fell on my face when one of the hunters took the chain connected to my collar yanking me harshly to get a move on, but I glared with a fire in my eyes.

“Get a move on, you worthless heretik!”

“Bite me,” I snarled back, pulling my lips back to bare my teeth at my lead captor.

“I look forward to our Lords wiping that smirk off your demon face.”

“And I look forward to you getting your ass kicked.”

Growling, my captor nearly choked me with the collar, before leading me to my death. The stone gave away to the darkened woodlands around us. Night had fallen over the land, leaving shadows that seemed to be alive falling over us.

The hunters blocked any exit, making sure that I didn't escape. They shoved my forward, and a stone path greeted me. Glaring back at them, they raised their weapons as if daring me to disobey, less I find myself with fresh wounds to add onto what I already sported.

Holding my head high, I walked forward. I wasn't about to appear weak and frail in front of them. If these were going to be my last moments alive, I was going to hold myself high and proud.

As I walked along the stone path, the sharp smell of death hit my nose. Lining the way were skulls. Ones that made my stomach twist into knots just looking at.

They were goatt skulls.

All around me were the remains of my people. Small ones, big ones—a never ending line of death—and it left a sour taste in my mouth. If I was able to, I would have tightened my hands as anger boiled in me. The disrespect for my kind was clear to me, and the way they were tossed away to rot, made me snarl.

Before I could dwell on it further, a sharp pain made me yelp, earning snicks from my captors. Glaring back, one had stabbed me with his knife, crimson eyes staring me down.

“Move.”

Another snarl tore from my throat, and the bastard was lucky I was chained, or I would have tackled them right then and there, no matter what punishment I faced after.

“Burn in hell,” I spat.

“Not before you do, monster.”

Growling, I turned back around, stomping off away from the fucker. The more skulls and bones I saw, the more my rage grew. Goatts were a peaceful race; and while we were trained to fight and defend ourselves if we ever needed to, we never went out of our way to harm anyone. Not unless they deserved it, at least. We valued life above all else, as farmers, and those who worshiped the land we walked on. To see my kind tossed away by their murderers, left to rot and decay without a bit of respect, made me see red.

Bastards. One day, you'll pay for this, I vowed, tearing my eyes away from the broken remains of the fallen goatts as a new sight greeted me.

The pathway opened up to a small area made of stone like the rest. In the center was a platform that had a five-pointed star paved in crimson in the middle. To my right, stood a large burly creature cloaked in long black robes. They were a mask on their face, only their crimson eyes able to be seen. Clutched in their right hand, was a large, bloodied axe.

But that wasn't what caught my attention. It was the five towering figures that stood at the edge of the clearing, standing in front of the large crowd that had been forced to gather by their commands. My fur bristled at the sight of them, and I glared with teeth bared.

The Monarchors.

They were cloaked like those that followed them in robes that blended in too much with the shadows to properly see. Crimson eyes filled with disgust glared back.

“Before us stands the last of its kind. All others have been hunted down and put to the blade.”

“And with this final sacrifice, we will be free. The final beast shall be slayed, and the world will rest easy.”

I scowled as they talked like I wasn't even here standing before them. The world being at peace with my death? Hardly. They were cowards that were afraid of my kind for some reason, and they would do anything to snuff that out as fast as they could.

“The prophecy will end, and we shall continue our rule.”

Prophecy? That was the first time I was hearing of that. What did they mean? Was this destined to happen? Was my kind meant to be butchered by them and the hunters?

“Anyone who stands against us shall pay the price.”

“And that is death.”

“All traitors shall be dealt with so no one gets it in their heads to stand against us. Look on, faithful followers, as this one stands before you as a traitor to us all. Someone who wishes to ruin all that we have built. It must be dealt with, no longer able to torment you or the land. You can rest easy with this final act of the last scum that plagued the world.”

Voices echoing agreement sounded around me. The one on the far right glared down at me.

“Step forward, beast.”

I stood my ground, refusing to move at the order. I gazed back at the gods, my eyes burning with a deep seeded hatred that was fueled by what I heard. I growled, ears folding back, as I stood tall against my captors.

Pain surged through me as I made contact with the stone ground, a grunt escaping me. One of the hunters pressed down harder onto my back, digging their heel in as they snarled.

“You have no right to look your masters in the eyes, traitor!”

Growling, I jerked my head back, headbutting the hunter. They yelped, loosening their grip onto me. I rolled to my hooves, ready to ram into the bastard with my horns, even with my legs chained, before I was tackled to the ground a second time.

“Foolish, goatt! You dare attack one of us?! I shall strike you down where you stand!”

“Do it then,” I challenged, snapping my jaws at the hooded animal. “You don't have the guts.”

The hunter snarled, raising a knife to stab into me, when a booming voice stopped the deed.

“Enough!”

My attacker flinched, before moving off me. They kept their head bowed, avoiding eye contact with the Monarchors.

“Enough of this foolishness. Get the monster on the pentagram, now!”

Not wanting to anger the gods further, the hunter that attacked me yanked me to my hooves. I was shoved onto the pentagram, forced to kneel before the royals and their slaves.

“Do you have any final words, beast?”

“One day, you will come to regret your actions,” I said, voice loud enough to be heard by all in the clearing. “When that day comes, you will fall, and the land will be freed from your corrupt control. You rule with fear and power—and I can only hope others will stand up for this wrong and those left to come by your hands.”

I looked out at the gathered crowd, seeing some with looks of disgust on their faces, some with horror, and others with protests on their tongues, but were held in.

“Off with his head!”

The axe wielder steeped over, looming over me. The weapon raised in the air, before coming down with a massive downward swing.