"Now stay still."
With both hands stretched across the line of ten beings, he let blue light gather in his palms.
"This will hurt less than the pain you are already in."
The glow intensified.
Their silver skin became transparent almost instantly.
Their forms shifted—
reforming—
stabilizing—
becoming more humanoid.
…Except the last one.
That one collapsed inward and hardened into something else entirely.
A broken egg.
Human-sized.
Jagged at the edges.
"Hm."
The difference caught both of them off guard.
The others responded to the restructuring command.
That one did not.
The Beastkin Butler stepped toward it, cracking his knuckles.
"May I break it, my Lord?"
A heavy sigh escaped him.
He glanced at his daughter, still asleep in the living bushes beside him.
Peaceful.
Unbothered.
For now.
"I'll fix him last."
He turned his attention back to the others.
Scanning.
Reading.
Measuring what remained of them beneath the damage.
Interesting…
They all possessed the same aptitude across the magical spectrum—balanced, adaptable, acceptable for modification.
But more surprising than that…
Each of them still carried remnants of a space meant for a system within their spiritual core.
Their Diatan.
That changed things.
"What should I make you all into," he murmured, "for you to be useful?"
Knowing his Master would be occupied for some time, the Beastkin retreated toward the sleeping girl.
As he moved, his suit dissolved.
His body shifted.
Dropping to all fours, fur spread over him in thick striped layers. His muzzle lengthened, ears sharpened, and in moments he had returned fully to his tiger form.
He curled against the bushes beside Kyrniz.
She instinctively leaned into the warmth.
Then, with sleepy contentment, climbed onto his broad back and settled there with a faint smile.
Her father watched for a moment.
Then turned back to his work.
He studied the eight transparent figures before him, then glanced once toward the large egg and muttered to himself.
"Let's see… ten beings. Four per squad works best. Tank. Scout or assassin. Healer. Damage dealer."
He paced slowly.
"I can make two balanced squads…"
A pause.
"That leaves two unassigned."
His eyes drifted toward the egg.
"…And one of them is an egg."
Then he looked at his daughter again—sleeping safely atop the tiger.
An idea formed.
His eyes narrowed.
"…Challenge accepted."
The First
The first being retained four arms, two thick legs, and a broad frame.
"A natural support type."
He added Healing, Defense Shield, and Mana Recovery properties.
Its shape shifted smoothly, stabilizing into a sturdier, balanced form.
"A Silver-Spotted Pandoid."
The first was now stable.
A healer.
The Second
The second being had lightning-shaped legs, large paws, and a thin, aerodynamic torso.
He restructured the arms to match the flexibility of the legs while increasing range of motion and precision.
Then he added High Agility, Wind Manipulation, Shadow Manipulation, and Sonar.
"A Silver Cheethoid."
The second was now stable.
A scout.
The Third
The third had four large legs and four thinner arms.
He drew the limbs inward, weaving and condensing them into a more functional structure—two thick legs, two powerful arms, broad paws, retractable claws.
Then came High Regeneration, Earth Manipulation, Fire Manipulation, and Friend-or-Foe Radar.
"A Silver-Furred Beariod."
The third was now stable.
A tank.
The Fourth
The fourth was mangled from the waist down, almost arachnid in its disorder.
He stared at it for a moment.
Transportation.
Adaptability.
Utility.
He reformed its lower body into a smooth, armored arachnid structure supported by six strong legs. Its upper torso remained more humanoid for control and precision.
Then he layered in additional properties:
Stealth. Wind. Shadow. Healing Shields. Regeneration. Shadow Path Travel. Scale Transformation.
Its skin resembled smooth, fragile flesh, but beneath it was armor. Soft strands along its body could be mistaken for hair—until they moved like whips.
"A Dark Silver Spiduran."
The fourth was now stable.
The Fifth and Sixth
The fifth and sixth looked at him with the same expression.
Twins.
Or near enough.
So he made them mirrors of one another.
They became slender, predatory figures with long armored arms, dagger-clawed fingers, and strong legs lined from knee to paw with downward-facing scales. Two pairs of razor-sharp wings draped behind each like capes.
Their heads took on an insect-like elegance—sharp pincers, large patterned eyes, and forward-hanging armor around the face.
Then he gave both of them the same elemental range:
Fire. Wind. Water. Earth. Shadow. Holy.
That should have been enough.
But then—
something shifted on its own.
Unexpected.
One's lower limbs and forearms darkened into deep blue, while the other's became dark red. Their auras ignited in opposite intensity—one white-hot, the other almost black.
Their wings and eyes inverted the same pattern.
The blue one carried red in its gaze and wings.
The red one carried blue.
He studied them in silence.
"…Interesting."
"Red and Blue Silver Alatesterz."
The fifth and sixth were now stable.
Damage dealers.
And more than that—
versatile enough to serve as jack-of-all-trades.
The Seventh
The seventh was taller and thinner than the others.
At first glance it looked almost wormlike.
He frowned.
Then glanced toward Kyrniz.
A random memory surfaced—
A butterfly in her hair.
His eyes widened.
"Ah."
He snapped his fingers.
The shape changed instantly.
Its upper arms lengthened into segmented, needle-like limbs with smooth hands. Its lower body divided into two sturdy furred legs. A humanoid torso emerged. Long silver antennae flowed backward like hair, while two wide pale wings unfolded from the shoulders and two smaller wings from mid-back.
Beautiful.
Delicate.
Deadly.
He paused.
Then yawned from the creeping exhaustion.
"The Roads of the River Holes are unstable if left untamed…" he murmured. "And her core is still unstable…"
He looked at the unfinished being.
"What does she need in order to survive?"
The Beastkin, half-asleep beneath Kyrniz, answered without opening his eyes.
"Safe food. Drinkable water. Protection."
A quiet huff.
"…And aren't those little chaos-makers still running around?"
The Master froze.
Then trembled with sudden anger.
He remembered.
His daughter as a toddler.
A group of drunken teenagers, fresh from their first real power unlock, rampaging through forbidden sectors. Locking up Elders. Stealing unfinished creations. Treating ancient work like toys.
He looked back at the sleeping, newly stabilized blank slates.
The first eight no longer seemed to be in pain.
Good.
That meant they could be shaped further when needed.
Then his attention shifted to the ninth.
And he paused.
The ninth was wrong.
Not broken in the same way as the others.
Complicated.
One side of its body bore the same strange electrical tattoo across all three arms—mystical, active, deliberate.
The other side was bare.
Incomplete.
Or divided.
It stared upward.
Toward the sky.
Then—
the entry portal opened.
Like thunder.
Gone as quickly as lightning.
A small dark shape fell from it, cloak whipping wildly in the air.
Fast.
And yet strangely slow.
The Master turned toward the Beastkin.
The tiger had lifted his head now, fully awake.
He stared at the falling figure, then looked at his Master.
"…Were you expecting someone?"