Below, the hambeasts, rolling around on perfectly flat surfaces. Above, the shitlords, few in number but mythical in their ability to climb mountains. And stairs. And shallow inclines. The shitlords hunt the hambeasts for sport, leaving the bodies where they lay because other hambeasts will cannibalistically consume them, bellowing whalesong as they fight for the juciest scraps; "muh conditions, grunt squeal." "Genetics, oink grunt." "Check your smallfat privilege, grunt grunt." Young shitlords seeking to be recognized as adults are sent to slay their first hambeast in a special ritual. They wander the plains, seeking an elder hambeast, smelling strongly of their natural scent of old milk and necrosis. They will then shout insults at the aged member of the herd, hoping to trigger its conditions before the younger members swarm around to apply compression socks and sugar. The most skilled young shitlords will taunt the beasts into a fast waddle, almost instantly killing them as their massive, poorly-adapted hearts attempt to squirt blood through 900 pounds of compressed tallow. No one can truly say when these two species separated. It is said that one day the shitlords left hambeast society to live in the fresh air and greenery of mountainous regions because the low plains had become "safespaces," an old shitlord word that roughly translates to "death zone." All we can truly say is that nature is a strange and terrible mistress.