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When I transmigrated into this world, the story was nearing its climax.
Silas Brooks stood poised to slay the vicious tiger—his final trial before ascension.
Unfortunately, I was that tiger.
*A magnificent striped beast with a white blaze upon its brow.*
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Silas leveled his sword at me while I still struggled to command four unfamiliar limbs.
Each paw rebelled against its fellows, tangling in chaotic discord until my legs knotted like a grisly pretzel.
The Taoist watched my worm-like writhing, his expression caught between suspicion and disbelief.
“Save your tricks, beast,” he warned, though his voice faltered as my limbs abruptly splayed into an impossible split—
*Had I just... achieved full contortionist pose?*
A searing cramp tore through my overextended muscles.
“Rooooaaargh!” My pained roar shook the pine needles overhead.
Silas averted his gaze, sheathing his blade with unsettling finality.
“Does this mean I live?” I rasped, panting through the agony.
He shook his head, moonlight catching the frost in his eyes. “To kill something this dense with a blade would be an insult to fine steel.”
As my ears drooped, his attention drifted to my downy underbelly. “...Perhaps,” he conceded after a weighted pause, “you might serve as a mount?”
I bobbed my massive head with desperate vigor. “Deal!”
*Survival first. In the original tale, this practitioner of the Ruthless Dao had flayed demons alive for lesser offenses.*
