Dominating Armies as a Little Floof

He died the way he lived—loud, reckless, and with both middle fingers raised. A man of chaos with a fist for every problem, he left behind a trail of broken bones (mostly not his own) and unanswered questions, the last one being: "What happens if I punch a truck?"



Answer: reincarnation.





Welcomed by a smug, divine beauty who calls herself the Goddess of Realms, he's offered a single choice—to be reborn as anything in a fantastical new world. No hesitation. No subtlety. “Make me the most powerful being alive,” he demands.



She smiles. Not kindly.



Darkness. Silence. Then light—grass beneath him, wind brushing over fur. Fur?



He stands, wobbling on tiny limbs. The ground feels taller. The trees feel... enormous.



Confused, he stumbles to the edge of a clear river and peers in. Not a dragon. Not a warlock. Not a dark overlord wreathed in flame and fear.



Just a round, fuzzy creature with eyes too big for its face, fluffy ears, and a body resembling a marshmallow.



He blinks once.



Twice.



Then the scream echoes through the valley.