Monica

“Run, Monica. Run as far as your paws can carry you, and never look back!”

Monica could never forget that fateful night when her parents fell victim to a wicked poison. With his last ounce of strength, her father guided her to the edge of the jungle, his hand wavering eastward before finally meeting his fate. Lost and directionless, the young Felitaur girl followed the path indicated by her father’s fading gesture, relying on her innate survival instincts to endure.

Gone were the days of comfort and abundance as the daughter of the clan leader. Her family was destroyed by her conniving uncle Brad, whose ambitions shattered the idyllic life she had once cherished.

Seeking solace, she ventured into the Varut Desert, hoping for respite from her pain. Exhausted and on the brink of collapse from thirst, she welcomed the sweet release of unconsciousness.

To her surprise, Monica awoke to find herself in the presence of the Madrat Clan, known for their distinct pointed faces and formidable incisors. One member of the clan, flexing his muscles, quipped, “Big cat, I don’t suppose you have a taste for rats, do you?”

This encounter etched itself in Monica’s memory. Drawn not only to the Madrats’ hospitality but also their unwavering pursuit of strength and combat, Monica sensed a glimmer of hope she had thought lost forever—the hope of reclaiming her homeland and avenging her parents’ tragic fate.

From that moment forward, there was another figure traversing the Varut Desert with a bag slung over her back.

As the Void sought to bend the Madrat Clan to its will, igniting the infamous Thunderbreak Battle, Monica had already immersed herself in the ranks of the clan. Years of training had honed her skills, and her natural physical prowess had elevated her to the status of one of the Madrat’s most formidable warriors.

The Varut Desert had become her second home, and when the impending onslaught from the void loomed, Monica made a resolute decision—to fight for herself and her newfound family.

The grueling battle waged on for three long years, a relentless struggle that tested Monica’s mettle time and again. She faced countless adversaries, each encounter adding to her strength and transforming her into a true force to be reckoned with. It was the Madrat, unyielding in their resilience, who stood beside her, turning the tide in the early stages of the conflict. In a decisive clash, they vanquished the Void’s army, laying the groundwork for reclaiming the land of yellow sands.

Monica led the charge in that climactic battle, wielding a colossal hammer crafted from the desert’s most precious ore. With each mighty swing, she shattered the enemy ranks and paved the way to victory.

The three-year war exacted a heavy toll on the Madrat Clan. Half of their comrades fell, and their once-proud structures lay in ruins. Intensive post-war reconstruction became their arduous task.

Having aided the Madrat Clan in their rebuilding efforts, Monica knew it was time for her to leave, as an unfinished mission beckoned her from a distant jungle, calling her to fulfill the purpose that had driven her thus far.

“Hey there, big cat! Is this where you grew up? The place looks alright, but how do you become a fierce warrior in such a charming environment?”

Ali, a member of the Madrat Clan, glanced around as they strolled through the tranquil jungle. The sun’s rays filtered through the lush foliage, casting a sprinkling of light on the vibrant grass. Occasionally, they would rustle through a cluster of fallen leaves, startling a few squirrels who would scamper away.

The journey back to Monica’s homeland had been filled with boredom and hardship, but having Ali as her companion made it a little less dreary. Monica understood that Ali was concerned for her, which is why he chose to be her travel partner.

“My dear niece, you’ve grown into quite the warrior. Let your uncle have a good look at you!”

A burly figure emerged from the shadows of the trees, his brows bearing a resemblance to Monica’s, a gleaming crown adorning his head. Although his words carried the warmth of family, the enormous axe in his hand gleamed with a chilling light.

It was Monica’s uncle, Brad, who had learned of her return. But he came to greet her alone, and she could sense the absence of kindness in his heart. Monica tightened her grip on her giant hammer and exchanged a knowing glance with Ali, silently telling him to stay back. This was her fight.

Monica stood in a daze, staring at Brad lying on the ground. She had emerged victorious, avenging her parents, but the sudden turn of events left her disoriented and somewhat disillusioned. She realized that the Felitaur race she once knew, and even the jungle itself, had changed.

Lost in her thoughts, Monica was brought back to reality by Ali, who approached her with a pat on the shoulder and a thumbs up. “What a battle! You were amazing, the strongest warrior of our Madrat Clan!”

Those words snapped Monica out of her daze. Years of living together had forged a bond between the Madrats and herself. Despite feeling like a stranger in her own homeland, as long as the Madrat Clan was by her side, Monica knew she still had a warm and welcoming home.