Collection: Katanga
THE NIGHT OF THE FIRST HOWL
The Katanga Awakening
Though they bore eyes of burning amber, and their pineal glands pulsed with a secret fire not even the Architects could explain, the Amber Hu-Men lived as their Alpha kin did—nobly, peacefully, in harmony with the sacred laws of creation. They were builders, dreamers, and guardians of the old songs. To the stars, they looked with wonder. To the earth, they bowed in reverence.
They did not yet know what they were.
But the Serpens did.
From the moment of their cursed awakening, the Serpens had but one purpose: to awaken the darkness buried deep within the Ambers. To unlock what Satan had seeded—to trigger the mutation that would tear them away from the divine dream and make them weapons of entropy.
To this end, Satan had gifted the Serpens with a tool:
the Catalyst Venom.
A biochemical abomination infused with entropy, designed to corrupt the sacred harmony of the pineal gland. But it was not perfect. A delicate balance was required—too much venom would kill the host. Too little, and the seed would not stir. Even Satan himself did not yet know the correct dosage. And so, the Serpens were sent to test…
to hunt.
They did not strike in battle.
They struck in sleep.
Under the silver-blue light of the twin moons of Vita, the Serpens slithered silently across the Edenic grasslands and crystalline valleys, their scales shimmering with venomous tension.
When the Ambers slept—souls adrift in dreams, breathing in rhythm with the world—the Serpens crept close, fangs extended, hearts cold.
One by one, they bit.
The venom, nearly invisible, entered the bloodstream of the sleeping Ambers. It coiled toward the brain, seeking the pineal gland, whispering entropy into the soul’s gateway. And there, something unexpected occurred.
The venom did not corrupt.
It ignited.
Bathed in moonlight—those twin celestial lights so sacred to the Alpha’s balance—the pineal gland did not fall to darkness. It erupted. The collision between venom and moonbeam triggered an ancient reaction buried deep in the code of the Sapiens genome. A transformation neither Satan nor the Serpens had foreseen.
What followed was not corruption… but metamorphosis.
The bodies of the infected Ambers twisted violently, convulsing beneath the stars. Their bones broke and reformed, their skin tore and thickened, their muscles pulsed with uncontainable fury. Their minds screamed in agony, caught between instinct and identity, soul and sinew.
They rose as Katanga.
Beings of terrifying power—wolf-like and humanoid, towering in stature, with glowing amber eyes and claws forged by pain. They howled to the moons, a sound never before heard in the universe of Tzion: neither beast nor Sapiens, but something entirely new.
The Katanga were not evil.
Nor were they good.
They were wild. Elemental.
The soul made fang. The scream made flesh.
The Serpens fled in terror, their venom having birthed something they could not control. Satan watched in silence, unsure whether he had failed… or succeeded.
For the Katanga were no longer bound by harmony.
They were ruled by the tides of the moons.
By instinct.
By rage.
By the pulse of the forest and the ghost of the soul.
And though they retained fragments of their former selves, they had become something else.
The First Werewolves of Creation.
Born not from darkness,
but from a failed corruption bathed in silver light.
