Liang Xing, the Deity of pangolins, sighed as she uncurled herself and stretched out within the confines of the cozy hollow she had personally sculpted within her very own World Tree. Her long tongue snaked out, cleaning a stray molecule that had dared affix itself to the pristine scales of her right flank.
Disgusting, she thought, making a mental note to scold the cleaning crew once they finished up the yearly rotation. Not that it would make any difference in their performance: the workers were actually non-sentient organisms specifically designed to serve a variety of needs. To call them artificially intelligent would have been an insult to the word “intelligent”. But the yelling would make her feel better, so that was something.
After spending a few more minutes grooming herself, she finally stopped procrastinating and began to consider the problem at hand. Her Champion, Phatagin, was now in the company of one of the most notorious beings on Earth: Charlemagne, the rooster champion of that old fool Grimfalk. In fact, the bird might be the most hated creature alive, being practically tied for that dubious honor with the ever-controversial Asian giant hornet, “Princess” Vesspa. But was that necessarily a bad thing?
One thing that her dealings with the top-ranked Deities had taught her was that breaking convention was the only way to get ahead in the Great Game of Life. Humanity had been the first group to successfully change the nature of the game, capitalizing on a series of changes that had granted them an enormous intellectual advantage over other species. In a way, humans were the first to truly understand the benefits of cooperation. Sure, the social insects put the humans to shame when it came to subordinating individual welfare to that of the colony’s, but this was entirely based on genetic predisposition. Humans not only understood that they were in a competition, but they also realized that winning was more than just a numbers game. They developed new methods of extending their own lifespans. They created weapons to cut short those of their enemies. And through it all, they never stopped expanding until they filled every habitat imaginable. No other single species in the history of the Earth had ever dominated every single biome the way that humanity had. Not even bats, which comprised a full 20 percent of all mammalian species, had the range or the impact that humans did.
Felines and canines, although not particularly numerous nor diverse, were another example of how to get ahead in the Great Game of Life by changing the paradigm. Instead of out-evolving the competition, they both managed to get ahead by hitching their star to humanity’s. As humans spread out and multiplied, they created gainful employment for these animals. Eventually, the humans found immense enjoyment in the domestication of cats and dogs, catering to their every whim in a manner that Liang Xing found…distasteful. A symbiotic relationship born from a strangely twisted parental instinct rather than mutual gain developed as the humans grew further and further removed from the daily struggle for survival that ruled the rest of the world. They even created complex fictional stories that featured their favorite furry friends such as The Call of the Wild, The Cat Who Could Read Backwards, and, astonishingly, five Air Bud movies. Because of this close relationship, the three species formed a sort of trinity at the top of the food chain.
And yet no one has ever made a direct-to-TV movie about pangolins, Liang Xing groused, interrupting her own train of thought to whine over how unfair it all was. After all, dogs and cats were some of the pangolin’s closest living relatives. And what had that gotten them? A tiny cameo in Kung Fu Panda 3. Pathetic.
It wasn’t her fault that pangolins weren’t furry. That was how she herself was born. Besides, her pristine scales were infinitely better than the fur that both Felissa and Canius sported. For one thing, they provided much better protection. But more importantly, it meant that she didn’t shed everywhere. Unlike some other life forms she could name. Yes, it was true that humans loved pangolin scales, but it was for all the wrong reasons. Somewhere in the past, a rather clever human decided that they could sell these scales as medicine, and, although the scales had absolutely no medical value, demand for pangolins skyrocketed. Unfortunately for the pangolins, it was not commercially viable to farm them: they have low birthrates, are picky eaters, and have high mortality rates when kept in captivity.
Stupid ant-based diet, making it harder for us to reproduce, Liang Xing added as she curled back up into a ball and closed her eyes.
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Going the myrmecophagy route was another choice that had been made by the pangolin Deity’s ancestors. It was an uncommon choice: among the mammals only aardvarks, anteaters, echidnas, and pangolins were specialized myrmecophages. Well, that was assuming that one excluded the sloth bear, which Liang Xing did on a matter of principle. At any rate, the evolutionary path had served the pangolin well for eons. It mattered little that ants and termites were far more successful from an evolutionary perspective: they were small and edible. But that only made things worse when humans tried to breed the creatures in captivity. A pangolin needs a great deal of ants or termites and can eat tens of thousands in a single day (or rather night, which is when they forage).
The pangolin’s low birthrates are tied directly to the quality of their diets. Ants and termites are rich in protein but low in calories, calcium, and other essential nutrients. As a result, pangolins have a slow metabolism and would struggle to care for multiple offspring at a time. Pangolin mothers generally have only one offspring at a time, although some species produce litters of 2 to 3. The pangopups are born very underdeveloped and are highly dependent upon their mothers for the first year of their lives.
The upshot is that all of the most sensible evolutionary choices that had seemed certain to ensure the pangolin’s long-term survival so long as ants and termites existed. But the small group of species that made up the Manidae family had unwittingly backed themselves into an evolutionary corner.
It’s all Brett’s fault. First he nearly erases my kind, and then he blows up my first Champion, causing me to fall behind once again. I can’t stand having to sit there and pretend to respect that…that….extinctionist. That grubby little upstart thinks he’s so great, stealing the top spot from Ursidia and then pulling those dirty furballs up with him.
Dark thoughts continued to swirl inside Liang Xing’s mind as she considered her next course of action. Grimfalk’s Champion was fast asleep. All that it would take was a few quick claw swipes and he would no longer be a problem. Taking out the rooster would certainly earn her accolades from many of the top species, especially Brett and Felissa. But did she truly want that? Grimfalk had never said or done anything to hurt her. In fact, she felt a strange camaraderie with the old coot. He was a Deity without any followers, scraping by on the vestiges of the vast power that he had once wielded as the undisputed king of the Jurassic period. Like the future of the pangolins, his own kind had suffered not because they were weak, but because the rules of the Great Game of Life had suddenly changed.
Liang Xing was born millions of years after the Chicxulub impactor had struck Earth, killing off the dinosaurs en masse and clearing the slate for the emergence of smaller creatures, such as herself. Even though Grimfalk had every reason to hate the mammals, birds, and smaller reptiles that survived the global devastation, he just seemed…sad.
Come on, order Phatagin to kill the rooster already, she told herself, trying to get in the mood to issue her Champion a new quest. Just get it over with. It’s not like you owe Grimfalk anything. Besides, if you don’t do it, someone else certainly will. That bird has a target on his back the size of the moon. I’d be surprised if he survives the week. No wait, he’s not going to survive the week. He’s not going to survive the night. Just kill the rooster and escape. But I’m forgetting something, aren’t I? Oh yeah, kill the mosquito too. It’s just a shame that we can’t eat mosquitoes…although...no, stay focused. Kill the rooster and the mosquito and then use the extra levels to help clear the Dungeon. Wait, that’s right. It would probably be better to wait until they’ve cleared the Lippity Dungeon.
Okay, yeah, so I need Phatagin to take the rooster and the mosquito to the Dungeon tomorrow, before Brett, Felissa, or Canius send a hit squad capable of taking out that stupid bird. Then, as soon as they are done with the Dungeon, he can backstab both of them, steal whatever rewards he can get his claws on, and move on to the next phase of my plan.
Uncurling herself again, Liang Xing squeezed through a narrow gap in the hollow of the World Tree. Rough wood gave way to a polished marble floor, high ceilings studded with chandeliers, and walls made of hardwood so black it was almost invisible. A gold and white throne stood in the center of the room, surrounded by screens. The pangolin deity jumped up into the throne and tapped one of the armrests with one of her right claws. A hidden hatch opened, allowing a milky-white touchscreen to emerge from a hidden recess. Liang Xing tapped a few more times, activating several of the screens in front of her.
One of the screens showed Charlemagne, who was sleeping soundly after his long day’s work. Another showed her own Champion happily digging into the sandy ground and lapping up small ants as he uncovered them. Suddenly Phatagin stopped digging and raised himself as high off the ground as he could. He opened the small holes leading to his tympanic membranes as much as they would go as if he were straining to hear a faint noise. Liang Xing heard the sound immediately and sighed deeply. It seemed as if she was going to have to make another choice…and quickly.
