One thing was for sure:the Gods had forsaken them.And the man before them was a Champion.The air crackled with anticipation as the maidens gathered around Vlamir, their Village elder. His voice, a deep, resonant whisper, wove the tales of a world long forgotten—one where humans thrived under the gaze of divine beings, before the darkness fell and the crimson moon ruled the nights."Long ago," he began, his gaze piercing the shadows of the fallen city, "humanity was united. We were guided by the hands of the now-perished Gods."As he spoke, the three women felt their hearts quicken. Images of the mythical beasts he described flickered in their minds—glorious and terrifying creatures that roamed the earth, beasts that were once the stuff of nightmares, now reality."But then," Vlamir continued, "the world changed. Darkness descended, and we became something else—something we had never been before." His words hung heavy in the air, filled with the weight of centuries of loss.With each step towards the ritual site, the echoes of his narrative resonated deeply. The Undertaking was near, and hope surged within them like a tide. The possibility of transformation loomed on the horizon, a chance to escape the chains of their wretched lives.In the years since that fateful night, only a fraction of humanity had successfully transformed. The stories of those who had become Lykins, Abyssliths, and Scythians were whispered in hushed tones, filled with awe and dread."Tonight, under the blood moon, you will join those who dared to change," Vlamir declared. "But know this: less than three in ten will succeed."The streets were littered with reminders of the past—ruins of a civilization that had fallen to the beasts. The women moved forward, undeterred by the grim statistics. Each step was a defiance against their harsh reality, a journey fueled by desperation and dreams of a better life.The Lykins, with their wolf-like forms and feral grace, were said to be the savages of the lands. The Abyssliths, born of the ocean's darkest depths, glimmered like shadows beneath the waves. Spawns of the sea was what they were labelled. The Scythians soared through the skies, their fanged smiles both beautiful and deadly. The Demons of the skies were what they were named.Vlamir's voice took on a sombre tone. "The beasts have carved their domains, leaving us to struggle in the remnants of our former lives. The wealthy prospered while the rest suffered, trapped in cycles of despair."To the women, the Undertaking was not merely a ritual; it was a beacon of hope. They had spent twenty-two years shackled by poverty, humiliation, and the cruelty of an unforgiving world. For them, the choice was clear: endure the uncertainty of transformation or remain shackled to lives they loathed.As they pressed on, swollen ankles and tired bodies forgotten, they clung to the dream of freedom. Each whispered tale of those who had transformed filled them with both hope and trepidation. Would they become something more than human, or would they be left to wander the streets, forgotten like so many before them?Gossip swirled about the lives lived after the ritual—those who had become beasts were said to roam freely, untouched by the burdens of their former existence. Yet, there were no guarantees; once the ritual was complete, contact with the human world ceased. It was a leap into the unknown, a gamble with fate.With the weight of their past pressing on their shoulders, they approached the final leg of their journey. Hope swelled within them like a storm ready to break. Tomorrow, under the blood moon, their fates would be decided. They had endured enough to know that sometimes, one must become a monster to escape the horrors of humanity.They had nothing to lose but the chains of their past, and with hearts full of resolve, they stepped into the shadows of their destiny.They took notice of the solemn faces making their way back home. A glimpse of a life where they weren't chosen flashed in their heads as the disappoint looks of many passed them. If they failed, they'd be left out on the street like most, until they could afford enough to get shelterThose who were subjected to be raised in orphanages were given only one after the ritual ended, to work their entire lives in a cycle to make ends meet through extremely harsh and unwanted jobs.Clasping their hands together, they continued their journey to a new life.