How Many Books Are In The Pocketbook Origin Series?

Believe it or not, the creeper’s origin story lives in two different places at once: the real-world origin is a delightful studio anecdote, and the in-universe origin has been filled out by books, fan theories, and lore over the years. In reality, the creeper was literally born out of a coding mistake. Markus Persson (Notch) was trying to make a pig but mixed up the model’s dimensions, producing that iconic vertical, slouched silhouette. The hiss-and-explode behavior came later as a fun mechanic that made the bug terrifyingly memorable. That odd mix of accident-plus-design is what turned a simple glitch into one of gaming’s most recognizable monsters. When the official tie-in novels like 'Minecraft: The Island' and 'Minecraft: The Crash' play with creepers, they often lean into mystery rather than explain everything — the books treat creepers like elemental threats, part of the world’s strange ecology more than the result of a programmer’s typo. I love that duality: a real-life coding fluke becoming mythic within the fiction. Fans keep inventing origin tales — mutated livestock, elemental creatures born of the environment, or ancient bioengineering gone wrong — and those theories make the books and game richer. For me, the creeper survives as a perfect example of how a small accident can evolve into lasting folklore, and that’s endlessly charming.

If you’re into the weirder corners of superhero lore, Mister Mxyzptlk is the kind of character who makes everything feel delightfully off-kilter. Fans sometimes call him 'Mister Magic' because his whole vibe is anarchic trickery, but his proper name—Mxyzptlk—is the classic cue that you’re dealing with an extra-dimensional prankster. He was created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster and first showed up in 'Superman' #30 (1944). The core origin is simple and delicious: he’s an impish being from the Fifth Dimension (a reality where the rules of physics and causality are laughably different), which explains why his powers read like “anything goes.” Iconic powers? Oh, there are so many. At base, he’s a reality-warper on an almost godlike scale — think instant matter and energy manipulation, conjuring and erasing objects, reshaping environments, altering people’s memories or perceptions, and even rewriting local physical laws. He can teleport anywhere, change his form at will, manipulate time to some extent, and make himself effectively immortal or invulnerable to conventional harm. In many stories he can also create entire pocket worlds or trap people in bizarre, cartoonish scenarios. What makes those powers especially memorable is how playfully he uses them: instead of grand cosmic domination he prefers elaborate gags, ironic punishments, or setting up rules that force the hero into humiliating situations. That’s where the classic gimmick comes in — in the Golden and Silver Age comics, the one consistent “weakness” was that if you trick him into saying or spelling his name backwards (commonly shown as 'Kltpzyxm'), he has to return to his dimension for a time. That little rule turned into one of the most iconic cat-and-mouse games in comics. Over the decades, different writers have leaned into different aspects of him. Some portrayals (like the playful version in 'Superman: The Animated Series') lean into his comic relief and whimsical side, while modern writers often make him darker or more unsettling — an almost omnipotent force who finds human suffering amusing rather than heartbreaking. That tonal shift is why he can be used for silly, lighthearted stories or for genuinely creepy ones where reality itself becomes the threat. For me, the best thing about Mxyzptlk is that he punches a hole in the usual superhero setup: he makes power feel absurd and tests Superman’s wit rather than his strength. He’s a reminder that even the mightiest hero can be undone by a joke — or saved by one. I love that unpredictability; it keeps re-reading his appearances fresh and always a little bit dangerous.

Kakarot, or as we all fondly know him, Goku, has one of those origin stories that's both simple and incredibly rich, much like the character himself! It all begins on Planet Vegeta, where Goku was born into the formidable Saiyan race as Kakarot. Now, the Saiyans were not just your average humanoids; they were fierce warriors, known for their amazing strength and resilience. Goku’s father, Bardock, was a low-ranking Saiyan warrior, and right from the get-go, there was something special about Goku. His potential was simply off the charts! Tragedy struck when Planet Vegeta was destroyed by Frieza, a tyrant who feared the rise of the Saiyan power. Bardock, sensing something was wrong, sent his son to Earth in a small spacecraft, hoping to save him. It’s a tear-jerking moment when you think about the sacrifice and how much Bardock believed in Goku's future. Upon landing on Earth, little Kakarot was found by Grandpa Gohan, who took him in and raised him as his own. This is where the ‘Goku’ persona truly began to flourish, as he was raised in a loving environment and learned martial arts. As a child, Goku wrestled with his Saiyan instincts, particularly those of aggression and combat, but the gentle, nurturing spirit of Grandpa Gohan tamed those wild tendencies. It wasn't long before he became friends with Bulma, and together, they embarked on thrilling adventures searching for the Dragon Balls. The wishes granted by those mystical orbs introduced Goku to a world of fun, challenges, and, ultimately, the various foes he would face throughout his journey. Explosive battles, transformations, and newfound powers shaped Goku into a hero we adore today. Looking back, it’s fascinating to see how those early moments shaped not just Goku, but the entire 'Dragon Ball' universe. He transformed from a child living a tranquil life in the mountains to the protector of the Earth and beyond. Each episode not only entertains but reminds us that we all come from somewhere special, and with the right heart, we can accomplish incredible things. Can this just be one of the grandest hero arcs in all of anime? I think so!

If you're curious which anime actually dig into the origins of a hairy, beast-like character (you know, the ones that are equal parts tragic and awesome), I've got a handful of favorites that do this really well. Some treat the hairiness as a metaphor for being an outsider, others explain it through supernatural lore, and a few simply lean into the emotional fallout of being different. I tend to gravitate toward stories that don’t just show a cool transformation or creature design, but make you feel why the character is the way they are — their past, trauma, and ties to culture or magic. For a warm, human take on a literal wolf-man origin, check out 'Wolf Children'. It centers on the father who is a wolf-man and the kids raised by their human mother; the film carefully explores where the kids’ animal traits come from and how identity is passed down. 'The Boy and the Beast' is another emotional ride — Kumatetsu is a gruff, furry beast-man whose backstory and reasons for being the way he is unfold through his mentorship with the human kid. If you want something darker and more yokai-centric, 'Ushio & Tora' gives you a monstrous, hairy giant with a centuries-long history and grudges that tie into old folklore, making the origins feel ancient and mythic. For anime that examine the beast-man idea from a societal angle, 'Beastars' is brilliant: the fur and fangs are central to identity politics between species, and characters like Legoshi have their upbringing and instincts unpacked slowly across the series. 'Kemonozume' takes a more grotesque and raw approach, literally exploring why people become beast-like and why those transformations matter — it's visceral and unsettling in the best way. 'Princess Mononoke' and the film 'Mononoke' (distinct works) treat animal gods and spirits with deep histories; characters like Moro (the wolf goddess) are felt as both beast and person, and their origins, relationships with humans, and the curse of the natural world are examined with weight. I also love episodic shows like 'Natsume’s Book of Friends' because they keep returning to small, personal origin stories of yokai — sometimes the ‘‘hairy man’’ is a lonely spirit with a sad past that explains its form. If you're into mythic, character-driven reveals, these picks cover folklore, human drama, and supernatural explanations in different tones. Personally, I keep going back to 'Wolf Children' and 'The Boy and the Beast' when I want something that blends the tender with the unusual — they make the ‘‘hairy’’ part feel absolutely essential to who the characters are rather than just a gimmick, and that always sticks with me.

Under a canopy of stars that don't belong to any single sky, the Dimensional Storekeeper began not as a legend but as a desperate patch. I like to picture them as someone who once cataloged things—maps, songs, old receipts—from worlds that no longer matched their own. While chasing a misfiled ledger through a collapsing archive, they slipped into the seam between pages and found an empty shop sitting neatly on a folding edge of reality. There was a bell on the counter, a ledger that wrote itself, and a hanger of keys, each humming with a different cadence. Taking the key didn't feel like theft; it felt like duty. The origin of their power is equal parts curiosity and compromise. They didn't wake up omniscient; they bargained. In order to repair the tear that had swallowed their family’s neighborhood—the thing that made their street vanish into a rumor—they agreed to a covenant with the place itself. The shop consumes a small measure of what it trades: a memory, a season, a footstep. In return it offers passage and objects that cross a thousand logic-systems: teacups that brew winter mornings, letters that translate emotions into ink, and a single coin that buys a conversation with a past version of yourself. Over time the Storekeeper learned to stitch seams, catalog anomalies, and hide dangerous curios from those who would weaponize them. There are costs, of course. Each item is a story, and too many stories left untended fray the threads between worlds. The Storekeeper keeps a ledger that is less about inventory and more about consequence: mark an item as sold, and somewhere a pocket of possibility loses shape. I love imagining them with a little soot on their cuffs and a pocket full of impossible currencies—part collector, part custodian, part grumpy aunt who warns you not to feed the glowing relics after midnight. For me, the melancholy hope of their origin is the best part: someone who took on stewardship because loss taught them the value of keeping worlds whole, and who still hums while mending the hems of reality.

I got hooked on the character arc early, and Manny’s origin in 'Billionaire Mafia' is the kind of backstory that sticks with you. He starts on the wrong side of the tracks — a kid with a ruined neighborhood, a deadbeat dad rumor, and a mother who worked three jobs to keep food on the table. That early survival-hunger shapes him: he learns quick, hustles harder, and develops a cold logic about people as resources. The real turning point comes when a local gang run by a minor mob lord destroys the informal community Manny relied on. He sees friends killed and the system’s brutality up close. Instead of breaking, he gets recruited — not dragged by force but offered an apprenticeship by a charismatic, filthy-rich capo who respects Manny’s smarts. Under that patronage he’s taught both boardroom tricks and street violence: accounting, legal loopholes, intimidation techniques, and how to hide brutality under philanthropic facades. Manny’s origin is about plasticity — how survival instinct becomes social armor and then a polished weapon. By the time he’s labeled as the billionaire’s right hand, he’s already rewritten his identity: loyal but calculating, generous toward those he deems worthy, and dangerously efficient. What I love about it is how layered it is; he isn’t a born monster. He’s forged by neglect and opportunity, and his softer impulses — helping the kids on his old block, paying for a school roof — make him complicated. I find that morally messy vibe oddly compelling.

In the vibrant world of 'DuckTales', Boyd is an intriguing character whose origin is rooted deeply within the narrative of the series. First introduced in the 2017 reboot, Boyd is a creation of the infamous antagonist, Magica De Spell. As Magica seeks to harness the power of Scrooge McDuck’s luck, she conjures Boyd as a means to further her sinister plans. Boyd himself is a little plush toy who brings to life the concept of luck, representing both the whimsical and dark elements of the show. His character shines a light on the intricacies of loyalty and friendship, grappling with his purpose and connection to the other characters. The charm of Boyd lies not just in his origins but also in how he reflects themes of creativity and ambition in the universe of 'DuckTales'. His relationship with the main characters, especially with Scrooge and his family, unveils the complexities of being created for a specific purpose yet seeking personal growth and individuality. This resonates with many fans, especially those who have ever felt a bit out of place or unsure of their own path. The deeper metaphors layered within the narrative keep viewers engaged, showcasing how even the most modest characters can have significant impacts on their story arcs. However, I can't help but feel that Boyd represents a unique blend of innocence amid chaos, often acting as a foil to the more self-serving motivations of other characters. Just witnessing his journey through the series adds an extra sprinkle of magic to the already fascinating world of 'DuckTales'. The thought of a plush toy questioning his role is rather touching and reminds us that everyone is striving for something more, don’t you think?

You know, the lore behind the Rinnegan in 'Naruto' is just mesmerizing! It stretches back to the origins of the world itself. The Rinnegan represents the pinnacle of ocular powers in the series, and its roots trace all the way back to Hagoromo Ōtsutsuki, the Sage of Six Paths. This character is not just some ancient figure; he’s revered for bringing peace to the world and distributing chakra, ultimately paving the way for ninjutsu as we know it. Hagoromo was born from Kaguya Ōtsutsuki, the original wielder of chakra. After witnessing the devastation caused by the conflict over power, he chose to awaken the Rinnegan while understanding its immense potential and the responsibility that comes with it. The Rinnegan offers abilities that can manipulate life and death, control gravitational forces, and even grant the user insight into the world’s truth. This backstory adds layers to every battle involving characters with the Rinnegan, making their encounters feel like historical and mythological showdowns. What’s fascinating is how the Rinnegan is often portrayed as a double-edged sword. It grants immense power but can also be a burden. Characters like Pain and Sasuke show us just how complicated the journey with such power can be, which makes 'Naruto' not just an action-packed series but also a deep exploration of responsibility and the consequences of power. I always find myself looking deeper into these themes, wondering how they relate to our own lives!