Beastlord: Tribal System

Xuan darted through the chaos of the tribe, his black fur blending into the shadows of the crumbled structures and the fierce battle between beastmen and invading beasts. His small stature and dark coat rendered him almost invisible amidst the larger, more prominent combatants.

He knew venturing out was a dangerous gamble, but he also understood a grim truth: the sub-beasts and younglings who were escorted to safety had merely been lucky to encounter beastmen not preoccupied with fighting. In this chaos, no one had the luxury to search for those scattered across the tribe.

With Father-Beast and Uncle Yang absent, no one else would look for An'an and Chiyan. If Xuan didn't act, they'd be left to fend for themselves.

From the age of four, Xuan had known he was stronger than most of his peers, giving him the confidence to navigate the battlefield. He dashed through the shadows of trees and ruins, avoiding the beasts that prowled around. His sense of smell was overwhelmed by the mingling scents of blood and violence, so he relied on his sharp eyes to guide him.

First, he headed home, but there was no sign of Chiyan's scent.

They weren't there.

He immediately turned and bolted toward Chiyan's home, situated on the outskirts of the tribe—dangerously close to where the beasts had breached. The mere thought of what might have happened made his chest tighten painfully.

Moving cautiously, Xuan weaved through the ruins and crossed the central square, keeping to the shadows to avoid detection by beasts and fighters alike. When he arrived at Chiyan's home, the sight before him turned his blood to ice. The house had been ravaged, its remains a chaotic mess.

Xuan rushed inside, calling out, but there was no answer. Neither Chiyan nor An'an was there, and thankfully, there was no blood to suggest they had been injured. His sharp senses picked up faint traces of their scent leading away from the house. He followed the trail, his small form darting through debris and ducking under cover whenever a beast came too close.

Several times, he narrowly avoided being spotted, using his knowledge of the terrain to shake off pursuers. For a beast to catch a twelve-year-old beastman was already difficult, and Xuan was no ordinary eight-year-old.

But as he tracked the scent further, it grew fainter, eventually overwhelmed by the stench of blood and death. He had reached an area where a massive battle had taken place, the air thick with the mingling scents of beastmen and beasts alike. Here, the fighting was most intense, and Xuan hesitated.

He crouched behind the rubble, his heart racing. Beyond this point lay the main battlefield. Charging in recklessly would be suicide. He clawed the ground in frustration, searching for another solution.

Then, the returning hunting party arrived.

The air was suddenly filled with their fierce roars, a chorus of fury that seemed to shake the very sky. The embattled beastmen still fighting in the tribe heard them and roared back in response. Even the younger beastmen's cries joined the call, filling the atmosphere with renewed strength and hope.

Xuan's spirits lifted. The hunters were back, and their reinforcements would soon drive the invaders away. But he knew the fight wasn't over yet, and there was no guarantee his family was safe. Steeling his nerves, he climbed to a higher vantage point, scanning the chaotic scene below for a flash of red hair.

Then he saw them.

Near the tribe's food storage, Chiyan was lying on the ground, shielding An'an beneath him. A massive gray-black beast stood over them, its sharp claws lazily toying with Chiyan's limp form as if testing his reaction.

Xuan's heart clenched at the sight. The beast's claws had already left deep gashes across Chiyan's back. Blood soaked his once-proud red hair, yet he clung desperately to An'an, shielding him even as his strength waned.

The beast seemed to revel in its cruelty, wagging its tail with excitement. It was in no hurry to end Chiyan's life, treating him like a plaything.

Chiyan made several desperate attempts to rise and flee with An'an, but each time, the beast struck him down, biting into his back or legs as punishment. Before long, Chiyan's body was a bloody mess, yet the beast showed no signs of finishing him off.

Xuan's eyes turned blood-red with rage. A guttural growl escaped his throat as he charged toward them. His roar of fury cut through the noise of the battlefield, startling the beast enough to momentarily halt its torment.

But then, it tilted its head and glanced provocatively in another direction. Losing interest in Chiyan, it delivered a swift, fatal bite to his neck.

"No!" A soul-piercing roar erupted from behind Xuan as Yang charged into the fray, his beast form launching at the gray-black monster with reckless abandon.

The beast deftly avoided Yang's attack and swiped Chiyan's lifeless body aside. The corpse landed near the grisly pile of dead sub-beasts and younglings, An'an still clutched tightly in Chiyan's arms.

Xuan stood frozen, watching as Yang attacked the beast with everything he had, his grief and rage fueling each strike. But the beast was toying with him, evading his blows with cruel precision.

Helpless to intervene, Xuan did the only thing he could: he howled. His desperate cry for help echoed through the ruins, reaching the ears of nearby beastmen.

Summer and three other hunters arrived shortly after, their expressions hardening as they took in the scene. Without hesitation, they joined the fight against the gray-black beast. Despite being outnumbered, the creature's strength and cunning were unlike anything they had ever faced. It took all five of them to gain the upper hand.

When the beast finally showed signs of retreating, it feigned a weakness, taking two hits before breaking away and sprinting toward the forest. Summer, relieved to see it go, began issuing orders to secure the area. But Yang wasn't done.

Ignoring his injuries, Yang pursued the beast. Summer's shout to stop him came too late.

Xuan, meanwhile, had run to Chiyan's body. Seeing his uncle's lifeless form, he whimpered in anguish, nudging him in vain. Then, a faint breath stirred his whiskers.

He froze, staring at An'an's pale face. His little brother was still alive—but barely.

Carefully, Xuan extricated An'an from Chiyan's rigid grip, mindful not to damage their uncle's body. An'an's injuries were severe: a head wound, and deep bite marks that exposed bone. Xuan licked his wounds desperately, willing him to hold on.

By the time the last of the beasts were driven out, An'an's breaths had grown weaker. When Summer and Autumn Leaf arrived, An'an was cradled in Xuan's trembling paws. But it was too late.

An'an passed away in Autumn Leaf's arms. Summer, though stoic, clenched his bloodied fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. The air hung heavy with grief.

That night, when Yang was brought back—broken but alive—the tribe learned of Chiyan's final moments. It was a night no one would ever forget.

And for Xuan, it was the night that changed him forever.