Weaves of Ashes

Chapter 141: Chapter 136: The Price of Pride

Location: Dark Forest

Time: Day 571/210 (Subjective/Actual) - Late Evening

Realm: Lower Realm (Doha)

Thirty minutes later, Takara finally moved.

Everything hurt. His pride hurt worse.

But delaying wouldn’t make this easier.

With trembling metaphysical hands, he reached out to Fahmjir.

[M-my liege...] His mental voice was small, broken. [I... I need to report...]

[Takara,] Fahmjir’s voice rumbled through dimensional barriers. [Why are you contacting me so soon? You should be establishing yourself as their adorable companion by now.]

[...There has been a slight problem getting close to those females.]

[What problem?] The growl in Fahmjir’s voice promised creative punishment if the answer wasn’t satisfactory.

[My lord, it’s those females! I did exactly what you told me to do—shapeshifted into cute forms—but they nearly killed me!] Takara wailed, all dignity abandoned. [Not once, not twice, but THREE times! The human tried to stab me, then she shot an arrow at my head, and then the dragon swatted me like I was garbage!]

[Impossible.] Fahmjir’s voice carried absolute conviction. [No female can resist a cute animal. This is a universal law. You must be doing something wrong.]

[I swear on my name and service, my liege—they are NOT normal! These females are defective!]

[What creatures did you change into?] Fahmjir asked, dangerous suspicion creeping into his tone.

Takara swallowed hard. [Well... first it was a Hellbat, and that crazy human nearly took my head off—]

[A what?]

[—then it was a Death Squirrel, and the human nearly shot me through the skull—]

[You didn’t.]

[—and finally it was a beautiful Centipede Cat, and the dragon hit me so hard I flew over the treetops!] Takara was warming to his grievances now, pain and humiliation overriding survival instinct. [Do you know how terrifying that is?! I thought I was going to die! I saw my whole life flash before my eyes! Five thousand years of loyal service, ending because a dragon used me as a projectile!]

[Did you say,] Fahmjir’s voice went very, very quiet, very dangerous, [that you changed into a Hellbat, a Death Squirrel, and a Centipede Cat?]

[Yes, my liege!] Takara confirmed enthusiastically, some part of his battered brain still believing this would help his case. [I chose carefully! I deliberated! I consulted experts! And they nearly KILLED me for my trouble! You have to understand—]

[ARE YOU A FUCKING IDIOT?!]

The roar shook dimensional barriers. Startled birds three realms away took flight. Essence currents reversed direction. Reality itself flinched.

In his crater, Takara’s six eyes went wide with shock.

[M-my lord?] he asked in a very small voice.

[How in ALL the gods’ names,] Fahmjir bellowed, his voice carrying enough force that Takara’s ears started ringing across dimensional space, [did you EVER come up with the idea that those creatures were CUTE?!]

[But... but my liege... large ears are appealing, and big eyes trigger protective instincts, and felines are universally—]

[THOSE CREATURES ARE ABOMINATIONS!] Fahmjir’s fury made the Upper Realm tremble. [Hellbats are what demons use to torture souls! Death Squirrels are literally named DEATH! Centipede Cats are classified as nightmare-class beasts! What part of any of that suggested ”adorable companion” to your apparently nonfunctional brain?!]

[I... I thought...]

[NO! Don’t tell me! You’re a fucking idiot! It’s no bloody wonder those females nearly killed you! They showed remarkable restraint, not finishing the job!]

Takara could actually feel Fahmjir shaking his head through their bond.

***

[This,] Fahmjir sent with the kind of forced patience one uses when explaining basic concepts to very small children, [THIS is what humans consider cute.]

With that statement, Fahmjir sent Takara a mental image.

When Takara saw the creature his liege wanted him to transform into, his heart—all of them, he seemed to have several in this form—dropped straight into his stomach.

His mouth fell open. His upper lip curled in absolute disgust. All six eyes blinked in horrified synchronization.

It was small. Fluffy. Had big, round eyes that looked innocent rather than useful. Its claws were tiny, decorative. Its teeth were barely visible. There was nothing intimidating about it. Nothing impressive. Nothing that said ”I have five thousand years of combat experience.”

It looked... helpless. Defenseless. Like something that would die if a strong breeze hit it.

His lord couldn’t be serious. He was supposed to walk around—in front of potential subordinates who might see—shaped like... like that?

No. No no no no NO.

[My liege, you can’t be serious?] he asked hopefully, desperately, prayer in every syllable. Please, oh please, oh PLEASE don’t be serious!

[Takara,] Fahmjir said with the finality of a judge pronouncing sentence, [you WILL change into this form. You will accompany those females until such time as I summon you back. You will protect them with your life. And you will NOT let me down. Do I make myself absolutely, perfectly, crystal clear?]

[But my lord—]

[DO. I. MAKE. MYSELF. CLEAR?]

[...Yes, my liege.]

[Good. And Takara?]

[Yes, my liege?]

[If I hear you’ve chosen another nightmare creature because you thought it looked ”cute,” I’m demoting you to latrine duty in the deepest pit of the Lower Realm for the next ten thousand years. Understood?]

[...Understood, my liege.]

And with that terrifying statement, Fahmjir cut the mental link.

***

When the connection severed, Takara collapsed completely, all six eyes staring at nothing.

His lord really was that cruel.

Bringing up the image again—that soft, fluffy, defenseless thing with useless tiny claws and barely-there teeth—Takara shuddered with his entire being.

No! I can’t walk around in that form! If any of my subordinates see me like that, I’ll never be able to lift my head again! My reputation will be destroyed! They’ll tell stories!

Desperate for salvation—for ANYONE to save him from this fate—he contacted his master one final time.

[Master, please, you have to save me!] he howled into the void.

Master Kioshi was enjoying a peaceful evening meditation when his student’s mental cry of pure anguish shattered his concentration.

[Takara, what in the realms is wrong?!] he asked, genuinely alarmed. He’d never heard Takara sound like that—not in battle, not facing realm-ending threats, not even that time he’d accidentally insulted three different deity-class beings in one conversation.

Takara quickly, frantically explained everything—Fahmjir’s impossible orders, the three catastrophic failures, the humiliating form he was now supposed to take.

[Takara, calm down,] Master Kioshi said reassuringly, though he was mentally reviewing exit strategies from this conversation. [It can’t be as serious as you’re making it out to be—]

Desperate to make his master understand, Takara sent him the image Fahmjir had provided.

[THIS is the form he wants me to use!] Takara sent with pure despair.

Master Kioshi saw the form.

And shuddered so hard his meditation cushion fell over.

Oh gods. Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods. My poor, poor student.

[Takara,] Kioshi said firmly, pulling himself together through sheer force of will, [you are the head of the elite guards for Fahmjir. It is your HONOR to carry out your lord’s requests, no matter how... challenging they may be.]

Although he was trying to calm his student down, privately Kioshi felt horrible for Takara. He was also incredibly, profoundly grateful that he’d left Fahmjir’s active service decades ago, and that this nightmare assignment hadn’t fallen to him.

[But Master, that form—]

[Shows great trust from Lord Fahmjir!] Kioshi interrupted desperately. [That he would give you such a... unique... mission shows how much faith he has in your abilities!]

[Master, can’t you talk to him? Explain that there must be another way? I could protect them invisibly! I could—]

[Takara,] Kioshi interrupted, mentally slamming doors on this conversation before it dragged him in further, [you are my top student. You MUST complete this mission. I have absolute faith in you!]

Sorry Takara. Your master cannot, will not, REFUSES to intervene on your behalf because if I do, that insane beast lord might make me take over this disaster instead.

[But Master, look at it! That creature is so soft and fluffy, it has no sharp teeth—the teeth are basically decorative! And look at those claws! They’re pathetic! Useless! I’ll look like some pampered pet instead of an elite warrior!] Takara wailed.

[I know, Takara,] Kioshi said, genuine sympathy bleeding through despite his determination to escape. [But look on the bright side—it’s still a feline. You’ll still have that dignity.]

[DIGNITY?! What dignity?! It looks like something humans would dress up in ridiculous outfits and coo at!]

[Do us all proud, Takara!] Master Kioshi said quickly, severing the connection before his student could rope him into this catastrophe any further.

***

After ending the conversation, Master Kioshi stood up, shook his fur violently, and immediately began activating his most powerful isolation wards.

Closed-door meditation. Starting NOW. For the next month. Maybe two. Possibly three.

He would stay behind closed doors until Takara had finished this cursed mission, emerged victorious, or died trying. And if anyone asked where he was, they could check back in a year.

***

While Takara cursed his fate, his lord, his master, his subordinates, and every deity who’d failed to smite him before this moment, Jayde slept peacefully in her cave sanctuary.

Completely unaware of the comedy of errors occurring in the darkness outside.

Tomorrow morning would bring surprises.

Tomorrow morning would change everything.

But tonight, she rested.

And somewhere in the forest, a very depressed, very injured Lightning Panthera stared at the image of a fluffy kitten and contemplated the absolutely cruel twists of fate that had brought a five-thousand-year-old elite warrior to this humiliating moment.

He lay in his crater for another hour, cycling through denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally—grudging, bitter—acceptance.

This is happening. This is actually happening.

Slowly, painfully, he pulled himself out of the crater. His Centipede Cat form was battered, bruised, and thoroughly humiliated. But he was still functional.

Barely.

Looking at the image Fahmjir had provided one more time, Takara felt his soul die a little.

Small. White. Fluffy. Round blue eyes that looked perpetually surprised. Tiny pink nose. Ears that were proportional rather than magnificently oversized. A tail that was just... a tail. Normal. Boring. Utterly lacking in centipede appendages or any interesting features whatsoever.

It was the most aggressively harmless-looking creature he’d ever seen.

If I’m going to do this, Takara thought with the grim determination of someone who’d accepted their doom, I’m going to do it right.

Which meant looking pathetic enough that even the aesthetically-challenged human would take pity on him.

He couldn’t just show up perfectly healthy in an adorable form. That would be suspicious. Humans took in injured creatures. Helpless things that needed rescue.

Fine. If I’m going to be humiliated, I might as well commit completely.

***

With slow, deliberate movements, Takara began shapeshifting.

The transformation hurt in ways he hadn’t expected. Not physically—he was a master shapeshifter, could become anything with ease. But emotionally. Spiritually.

Watching his powerful form melt away. Feeling his consciousness compress into something so small, so weak, so fundamentally nonthreatening.

The world grew larger around him. Sounds became sharper. Scents more overwhelming. Everything felt bigger, more dangerous, more threatening when you were shaped like prey rather than predator.

When the transformation completed, Takara looked down at himself.

White fur. Soft, fluffy, pathetic white fur that would get dirty immediately and offered zero protection against anything.

Tiny paws. Pink paw pads. Claws that could barely scratch leather, let alone pose any threat to actual enemies.

He tried to growl. It came out as a mew. A kitten mew. High-pitched and adorable and completely devoid of intimidation.

I hate everything.

***

But he wasn’t done. Oh no. If he was going to sell this performance, he needed to look the part.

Takara deliberately began getting himself injured by low-level forest creatures.

He found a thornbush and walked through it, letting thorns catch in his pristine white fur. Found a mud puddle and rolled in it, matting the formerly fluffy coat. Let a minor forest beast—something that wouldn’t have even registered as a threat in his true form—take a swipe at him, opening shallow cuts across his flank.

Each injury hurt. Not because they were serious—they were barely scratches by his standards—but because of what they represented.

Five thousand years of combat experience. Five thousand years of being elite. Five thousand years of respect and fear and recognition.

And now he was letting himself be scratched by creatures he could have annihilated with a thought, just to look pathetic enough to fool a teenage girl.

This is my life now, Takara thought as another thorn caught in his fur. This is what five thousand years of loyal service has earned me.

He added a limp to his gait. Nothing too dramatic—just enough to suggest injury without being obvious fakery. Let his kitten ears droop slightly. Made his blue eyes as wide and pitiful as possible.

By the time he was done, he looked exactly like what Fahmjir had ordered: a small, injured, helpless kitten that any human with a shred of compassion would want to rescue.

He caught his reflection in a puddle and nearly vomited.

Mud-matted white fur. Scratches bleeding slightly. One ear bent at a sad angle. Those big blue eyes looking perpetually terrified and lost. The tiny pink nose smudged with dirt.

He looked like someone’s abandoned pet that had been surviving in the wilderness through sheer luck rather than skill.

Perfect, he thought bitterly. Absolutely perfect. Master would be so proud. Lord Fahmjir would be delighted. And every single one of my subordinates would laugh themselves sick if they could see me now.

***

Takara limped toward Jayde’s cave, each step feeling like a walk of shame that would echo through eternity.

He was done fighting this. Done trying to maintain dignity. Done pretending this wasn’t the most humiliating assignment in his long, distinguished career.

If his lord wanted him to be an adorable pet, then fine. He’d be the most convincing adorable pet in the history of pets. He’d protect that battle-crazy woman and her psychotic dragon companion, complete this cursed mission, and pray that none of his subordinates ever, EVER learned what had happened here.

The cave entrance loomed ahead. He could sense Jayde sleeping inside, exhausted from the day’s events. Reiko curled beside her. The dragon’s presence in some dimensional pocket nearby.

Takara took a deep breath—which came out more like a tiny kitten wheeze—and prepared himself for what came next.

I hope Mother Doha appreciates this, he thought. I hope EVERYONE appreciates this.

Because I’m never living it down.

With as much dignity as a mud-covered, injured, adorable white kitten could muster—which was to say, none whatsoever—Takara limped the final steps toward the cave entrance.

Tomorrow morning, Jayde would wake to find a pathetic little kitten mewing pitifully at her cave entrance.

Tomorrow morning, the most humiliating mission in Lightning Panthera history would officially begin.

But tonight, Takara allowed himself one final moment of mourning for his lost dignity, his shattered pride, and the reputation that would never quite recover from this particular assignment.

Five thousand years, he thought mournfully. Five thousand years of being feared and respected across multiple realms. And it ends like this. With me shaped like a fluffy toy, covered in mud, pretending to be helpless.

He settled himself near the cave entrance but not too close—injured strays knew better than to presume. Close enough to be discovered at first light. Pathetic enough to inspire rescue. Helpless enough to seem completely nonthreatening.

This is fine, he lied to himself. This is completely fine. It’s just a mission. Missions end. Eventually.

Eventually being the operative word, since Lord Fahmjir hadn’t specified an end date and might very well leave him in this form for decades out of sheer vindictive amusement.

I hate everything, Takara thought one final time before forcing himself into light sleep—the kind of sleep where he could maintain the helpless kitten act while still monitoring for threats.

Absolutely everything.

The forest settled into quiet around him. Night sounds drifting through trees. The gentle breathing of the sleeping girl inside, who had no idea that a five-thousand-year-old warrior was currently shaped like her future pet.

Tomorrow would bring new humiliations.

But tonight, Takara mourned the death of his dignity in peace.