The Quest Is Simply To NTR All The Heroes

Jacky raised his hands, pointing them at Luke, who sat frozen like a deer staring down the headlights of a runaway truck. Fear had him locked in place, and hell, you couldn't blame the guy.

Anyone who had seen the Bloodhound General up close would be shitting their pants too. That bastard didn't just change the rules—he obliterated the entire playbook.

One visit from the General, and suddenly the beastkin went from offering humans food and shelter like good little hosts to hunting them for sport, throwing their customs out the window as casually as tossing a used condom.

Whoosh—Four blood darts zipped out from Jacky's fingers like the world's most twisted game of darts, nailing Luke in the shoulders and knees.

Whoosh—

Four blood darts zipped out from Jacky's fingers like the world's most twisted game of darts, nailing Luke in the shoulders and knees.

His scream was the kind that made you wince, pure agony and humiliation dripping from it.

"You stay right there, pretty boy."

Jacky sneered, walking away like he hadn't just turned Luke into a cat pincushion.

"I'm making you my personal maid. A sweet little thing like you will look damn fine scrubbing my floors in nothing but chains."

He laughed, already imagining it.

But playtime was over. Jacky had to step up, get serious, or risk losing the entire battle to these flea-ridden cats. He cracked his neck like a guy about to hit the gym, then turned to his crew with a fresh order.

"Alright, boys! New plan—win. I don't give a shit how you do it, just win!"

With a wild grin, Jacky swung his sledgehammer like a baseball bat as one unlucky cat came charging at him.

The poor bastard barely had time to blink beforecrack—the hammer connected with his chest, the sickening sound of bones shattering echoing as the cat was sent flying like he'd just been hit by a wrecking ball.

The poor bastard barely had time to blink before

crack

—the hammer connected with his chest, the sickening sound of bones shattering echoing as the cat was sent flying like he'd just been hit by a wrecking ball.

The body hit the ground with a thud, leaving an imprint like someone had dropped a damn piano on it.

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"Next!"

Jacky roared, blood still swirling around his fists, ready for anyone else stupid enough to step up.

...

On another front, a group of cat warriors were straight-up bullying the hell out of three poor dog kins. It was like watching high school jocks gang up on the nerds in gym class, but with way more claws and teeth involved.

"Just a little more, and these dumb mutts will be licking our boots!"

One of the cats jeered, clearly enjoying the hell out of the power trip.

"Yeah, look at 'em, all feral and slobbering. I thought they'd be tougher than this. What a joke!"

Another chimed in, laughing like he was watching a bad comedy.

The whole squad was taking their sweet time, toying with the dogs like a pack of alley cats batting around half-dead mice.

Whenever one of the dogs lunged, the cats would dodge like it was nothing, leaving the poor bastard wide open for another cat to pounce.

This had been going on for way too long—honestly, the only reason the dogs were still standing was because their thick-ass hides were somehow holding together.

"You should just give up and die already."

One cat smirked, licking his claws like he was filing his nails.

"It's a lost cause."

"Shut the fuck up! We'll win this!"

One of the dogs barked, blood dripping from so many cuts that he looked like a walking slab of raw meat.

Deep down, even the dogs knew they were screwed unless some miracle dropped from the heavens, but what were they gonna do—cry about it? Nah, if they were going down, they were going down swinging.

"Coming to our village thinking you can just loot and plunder? How typical."

One of the cats hissed, sounding all righteous and smug.

"You dogs think you can just sniff around asses that don't belong to you? Know your place!"

The insult hit hard, not because it was clever, but because it was true.

"What the fuck did you just say, pussy?!"

One of the dogs snarled, his voice dripping with rage. He swung his bloody fist in a wild, desperate punch at the cat warrior who had just insulted him.

And that's exactly what the cats wanted. Push the big, dumb brutes to the point where they let their balls do the thinking, make 'em so mad they forget how to fight smart. It was like some twisted strategy: emasculate the strong, and watch them turn into prime cannon fodder.

The cat warrior, smirking like he was about to win an award for his performance, was an elite fighter in the village. And he was about to show everyone why.

He could practically see it play out in slow motion: the dog's fist would swing at his face, and at the last possible second, he'd do a smooth-as-fuck sidestep, leaving the big mutt punching nothing but air.

Then, in one quick move, he'd slip behind the brute and shove his sword straight into his back, ending this pathetic excuse for a fight.

That was the plan, anyway.

The punch came hurtling toward his head, and with a cocky grin, he tilted to the side, giving himself just enough room to dodge it... or so he thought.

But right at the crucial moment—when victory was practically in his grasp—his head slammed straight into the dog's fist like someone had shoved him into it.

The dog's eyes bulged in disbelief. He was certain the cat would dodge, and now his fist had connected with the warrior's skull like a hammer to a watermelon.

The poor feline's face crumpled like an old grocery bag, and his body was sent flying through the air, tumbling like a ragdoll on sale.

The dog just stood there, staring at his hand like it had performed some kind of miracle. Meanwhile, the cat warrior was several meters away, lying on the ground and probably wondering what the hell just happened to his "elite" status.

"What the fuck!"

"Oh my god!"

"Squad leader down!"

The chorus of panicked cries echoed from the cats as their supposed elite warrior faceplanted into the dirt like a wet sack of fur. He wasn't dead… yet.

But from the way his body crumpled, he was probably one good punch away from a permanent cat nap. His brain felt scrambled like eggs in a cheap diner, and his limbs? Completely out of commission.

Poor guy didn't even get to finish processing his failure before he lost consciousness.

"Hooooly shit! Guess you guys really are pussies after all!"

The dog who landed the punch grinned like a kid who'd just found out Christmas was coming early. He didn't know what kind of divine fuck-up had just blessed him, but he was loving every second of it.

One of the remaining cat warriors, trying to salvage some dignity, hissed,

"Don't think your dumb luck will work again, mutt! He was just tired, that's the only reas— EEK!"

Before the cat could finish his bravado-filled sentence, the dog charged at him like a rabid freight train.

The cat, in all his panic, tried to step back, but his feet might as well have been glued to the ground. Suddenly, it felt like someone gave him a hearty shove straight into the dog's incoming fist.

And BAM! Another perfect connection, another flying feline. It was like these cats had some secret death wish to faceplant themselves into the dirt today.

The poor bastard went soaring, arms flailing like a drunk at a dance party, before landing hard with a groan that said, "Why the fuck did I get out of bed this morning?"

"Holy fuck!"

"What the hell is happening?!"

The remaining cats, once full of bravado, now looked like deer caught in headlights, panicking as two of their squadmates were turned into feline pancakes.

They hadn't even considered losing this fight, yet here they were, down a squad leader and another poor bastard, both laid out like last week's garbage.

"Let's wrap this shit up, boys. These pussies are turning into literal pussies."

One of the dogs sneered, flexing his claws like he was about to open a can of whoop-ass.

"Yeah, let's finish 'em, boss!"

With that, the three dogs charged like a pack of horny bulls on Red Bull, and before the cats even had a second to blink, five of them were sent flying like ragdolls.

The cats didn't even know what hit them—one second they were standing, the next they were tasting dirt. It was almost comical how under-leveled these guys were, getting sucker-punched without even a whiff of the incoming fists.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the battlefield…

"Fucking human, thinking we'd just kowtow and beg for his help."

Snarled Lenon, as he snapped a dog's head clean off with a sickening crunch, like he was popping the top off a bottle of beer.

He dropped the twitching body to the ground with zero fucks given, his gaze locking onto the rest of the dogs with the kind of hatred that could melt steel.

Him? The great Lenon, elder of the cat tribe, disrespected by these flea-ridden mongrels? He was already in a foul mood after his grandson's spectacular humiliation, and now some cocky-ass human had shown up in his village like they were doing him a favor? Lenon was ready to snap more than just necks.

"Come on, then," he growled. "I've got enough time to bury you mutts before lunch."