My Overpowered Bunny Girls

Nathan met the dragon’s burning eyes without blinking, then he gave a single nod.

The throne room melted away as his mind trailed away from his physical body.

Nathan stood in an endless field of tall, golden grass beneath a sky of flawless, impossible blue. Mirko stood at his right, dressed instead in simple, elegant white linen. Kuro stood at his left, her shadow-daggers absent, her dark hair falling loosely around her shoulders.

They were standing inside a memory. One that did not belong to them.

Looming before them was Vorlagrath. But this was not the tattered, exhausted king on a throne of bone. This was Vorlagrath in his absolute prime. His scales were a blinding, unmarred crimson and gold. His wings were flawless, powerful sails of muscle and membrane. His eyes were bright, fierce, and brimming with life.

"This is Drak’thar as it was meant to be," the dragon rumbled, his mental voice younger, warmer, yet steeped in a profound, retroactive grief. "The kingdom I inherited from my father and his father’s and so on. The kingdom I lost. The kingdom the Shepherd burned to ash."

The golden fields stretched toward a distant horizon, dotted with magnificent spires of white stone and gold. Dragons of every conceivable size and color wheeled through the flawless sky. Down on the earth, civilizations mingled freely. Heavily armored Lizardmen walked alongside humans draped in silk.

And walking among them all, moving with a tall, predatory grace, were the Demi-Beasts.

They were beautiful, powerful people, their long, furred ears rising proudly from their heads like royal banners.

"You... were our greatest allies," Vorlagrath said softly, lowering his massive head. "Our dearest friends. Your people possessed a terrifying, beautiful potential—the innate ability to transcend your biological limits, to grow infinitely beyond what nature had decreed. The dragons respected pure strength. But the Demi-Beasts respected growth. For millennia, we stood side-by-side as equals. We defended this world against horrors that would have swallowed lesser empires whole. We were at peace."

Without warning, the flawless blue sky blackened.

The golden fields withered into grey rot. The Babel Towers violently erupted from the crust of the earth, tearing through the fabric of reality like jagged obsidian spears. The peaceful sky fractured into fire and shadow. The dragons roared in agony. The Demi-Beasts drew their steel.

"The Towers fell without warning. Not one, but dozens. A localized apocalypse orchestrated by a god who had never loved us," Vorlagrath’s voice hardened into iron. "And leading the slaughter was the Shepherd. He called himself a guide. A herald of forced evolution. He preached that the Towers were a divine crucible—that the worthy would ascend and the weak would be purged. But the Demi-Beasts were neither weak nor unworthy. You adapted. You evolved. You grew too fast. And for that, the Shepherd was terrified of you."

The memory violently shifted.

Nathan saw a solitary figure, wreathed in blinding, pale light, standing atop the highest obsidian spire, passively watching the carnage below. The figure did not swing a sword. It did not cast a spell. It simply... watched. And wherever its pale, indifferent gaze fell, the Demi-Beasts were erased from existence.

"The Shepherd did not just observe our annihilation. He engineered it. He was terrified of what your people were becoming—the power to transcend the System’s rigid constraints. The potential to one day challenge his authority. So, he executed a genocide." Vorlagrath’s eyes burned with hatred. "He erased your people, scattering your souls across the network, binding your fragmented consciousness into the very System that slaughtered you. He had the audacity to call it mercy."

The dragons fought. The Demi-Beasts fought. The world bled.

They lost.

The System consumed Drak’thar, preserving its shattered ruins as digitized floors and recycling its people as endless enemies. Vorlagrath, the Last King, was bound to the apex of this Tower—undying, immortal, forced to preside over the ashes of his empire for eternity.

The Demi-Beasts were systematically wiped from the code. But somehow, fragments had survived. Recovered by a rogue agent, a glitch in the matrix, or the final, desperate defiance of a dying race—Vorlagrath didn’t know. But those fragmented, chained souls became the Bunny Girl Summoning System.

"A fire that burns twice as bright burns half as long," Vorlagrath murmured, the memory beginning to fray at the edges. "But a fire that utterly refuses to die... that is a flame the Shepherd cannot extinguish. Your summons, Nathan Cross, are the embers of that fire. The last sparks of a people who looked a god in the eye and refused to kneel."

The dragon turned his great, golden eyes to Mirko and Kuro. "Little warriors. Your minds were wiped, but your souls were there. You fought. You bled. And now you have been reborn—not as mere echoes, but as living, breathing defiance. The Shepherd’s erasure failed. When you look upon the murals of this city and feel that phantom ache... that is the truth clawing its way back to the surface. Hold to it."

The golden fields dissolved into white ash. The throne room slammed back into reality.

Nathan staggered slightly, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked to his sides. Mirko’s pink eyes were bright with unshed tears. She would undoubtedly blame it on the dust later, but her hands were shaking. Kuro’s expression remained a mask of absolute stoicism, but her knuckles were white around the hilts of her daggers, the shadow-steel vibrating with her barely contained fury.

"Hmph!" Mirko’s voice cracked, and she forced a sharp cough to clear it. "This Knight does not weep! My optical sensors are merely... overreacting to the atmospheric conditions! This throne room is emotionally dusty!"

It is not dust, Kuro said, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper.

"I have classified it as dust!" Mirko barked, raising her heavy sword and pointing it squarely at the ancient dragon. "You have shown us the tragedy of the past! Now show us the reality of the present! Show us the fire that you claim still burns!"

Vorlagrath rose from his crystal throne.

His tattered wings flared outward, casting massive, suffocating shadows across the cathedral. His golden eyes ignited, burning away the weariness, replacing it with the terrible, beautiful fury of an apex predator. His voice echoed not just in the room, but in their very souls.

"Show me that the ancient alliance was not forged in vain. Show me that the embers can still start a wildfire. Prove your worth—and I will surrender my heart to you willingly."