Realizing they were all real—none of this was fake—Isabella did the only logical thing her brain could come up with at that moment.
She laughed.
At first, it was slow, almost hesitant, like her mind was still buffering.
"Ha."
"Haha."
"Hahaha."
The laughter started trickling out in odd little bursts, breaking the stunned silence around her. It wasn't the kind of laughter that came from amusement—it was the unhinged, slightly terrifying kind. The kind that made people nervous.
And it didn't stop.
The longer she laughed, the more it built, growing from soft chuckles into full-blown hysteria.
The Beastmen and women surrounding her exchanged glances.
One Beastman shifted uncomfortably. "Uh... is she okay?"
"She's laughing like a madwoman," another muttered.
A taller male, his feline ears twitching, frowned in concern. "Maybe she's in shock. Her tribe could've been attacked, and she barely escaped."
A female with wild, auburn curls nodded. "That would explain why she looks so... um..." She eyed Isabella's tangled, filthy hair, her dirt-streaked face, and the grimy, foul-smelling animal hide she wore. "...disheveled."
Another Beastman tilted his head. "Should we... do something?"
"I heard once that if someone is in shock, screaming at them might snap them out of it," a young wolf-eared male offered.
The others looked at him like he had just suggested setting himself on fire.
But before anyone could argue, he was already stepping forward, crouching down so he was at Isabella's eye level.
She was still laughing.
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She felt like she had officially lost it. A world full of sexy, muscular, wild animal-people? This was her reality now? What kind of messed-up fever dream was this?!
And then—
"RAAAAHHHHH!"
The ear-splitting roar came out of nowhere.
The force of it nearly knocked her backward, and she barely had time to process what the hell had just happened before she felt something else—
Spit.
Warm, wet, airborne spit splattered across her face.
Isabella froze.
Her laughter stopped.
For a moment, there was only silence.
The Beastman who had roared at her blinked. "Did it work?"
Then, Isabella's eye twitched.
Her lip curled.
A slow, simmering rage began to bubble in her chest.
First of all—what the hell?!
Second—bad breath.
Her nostrils flared as the scent hit her full force. It was a mix of raw meat, something vaguely fermented, and the kind of morning breath that could kill.
She barely stopped herself from gagging.
This was it. This was the final straw.
With absolutely no hesitation, she sucked in the deepest breath she could manage—
And screamed right back at him.
"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Her voice rang out like a battle cry, loud and shrill, vibrating with all the fury and frustration that had been building inside her for hours.
The Beastman's ears flattened against his head. His eyes went wide.
He stumbled backward so fast he almost tripped over his own feet. "W-What the—?!?"
She wasn't done.
Oh, hell no.
If they wanted crazy, she'd give them crazy.
She jumped to her feet with lightning speed, spun in place, and—
"RAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"
She unleashed another scream, this time at everyone.
It was wild. Unhinged. Fearless.
And the effect was instantaneous.
The entire crowd flinched.
Some took hurried steps backward.
One woman gasped, grabbing onto her friend's arm. "She is crazy!"
A deep, muscled male—a literal lion-man—swallowed thickly, his tail flicking in clear unease. "She's not scared of us," he muttered, looking genuinely disturbed. "She's scaring us."
A younger male, looking on the verge of panic, whispered, "Should we... run?"
A taller, older Beastman shook his head. "No sudden movements."
Isabella, now standing like a victorious war general, took a deep, steadying breath.
Then, as if nothing had happened, she dusted off her filthy, tattered clothes, adjusted her shoulders, and exhaled calmly.
"You must have a place where you stay," she said, her voice smooth, almost eerily composed. "Where is it?"
No one spoke.
The sheer whiplash from her switching between feral madness and polite conversation had shattered them.
The only one brave enough to move was a small, mousy-looking female.
She hesitantly raised a shaking hand and pointed toward a distant clearing. "T-The village is... that way."
Isabella turned to her, gave a slow, approving nod, and flashed a serene, almost angelic smile.
"Thank you."
Then, without another word, she spun on her heel and walked.
The moment she turned her back, the whispering began.
"What the hell was that?"
"She's insane."
"Did you see the way she screamed? My ears are still ringing!"
"I think she broke him."
The poor Beastman who had originally screamed at her still stood there, looking shaken to his very core.
"I thought..." He swallowed hard. "I thought I was scary."
"You were scary," someone whispered. "But she was scarier."
Another muttered, "She smelled bad, but... now she smells dangerous."
"...Do you think she bites?"
Nobody answered.
Because nobody knew.
One thing was certain—this strange, filthy, slightly terrifying woman had just declared war on their entire understanding of reality.
And none of them knew what the hell to do about it.