Fiction Psyche of War

Chapter Eleven: The Darkening Numbness
​

Towering trees swayed ever so slightly amidst the wind’s chilling whirl. Their figures swaying against the expansive night skies above that hanged and loomed shadows indiscriminately across the jungle lands in total darkness. The rats of the fifth nightstalkers marched onward in secret on the reptile-things’ tails under this lonely cold darkness that oozed from everywhere the beady eyes could swerve to. Whether they were brave enough to admit it or not, tensions aroused in the rats’ souls.


Gingkin could feel this chilling breeze even amongst the warming pack of slaves. Indeed, he stood surrounded by an entire regiment of ratty slaves with Conquil and Sniplit standing firmly by either of his sides. Normally, a rat’s heart would race fiercely at the dreadful proposition of being positioned in the center where blades could prepare themselves from anywhere. Not so much for a rat that towers above its kin with a weapon handled by claws well taught in killing.


Conquil slowly panned his eyes front, center, and slightly behind. What he was experiencing strongly betrayed everything he believed up to this point. Rats, a lot like himself, carried their own bodies with improper steps and sagging backs. Stomachs churned on in the absence of food, and furs prickled under the chilling aura of the winds that seemingly didn’t care. An overwhelming shudder soon followed as the future obscured itself in the ominous veil of darkness all around.


Gingkin turned his head and noticed the incessant shuddering to his left with a gentle claw.


“Hey.”


Conquil apprehensively looked up to see Gingkin’s beady eyes unmoved by the wind’s chill.


“The reptile-things we’ll be fight-killing tonight are bigger and stronger than the ones you’ve ran from before.”


Conquil’s clawed grasp on his cracked short sword clenched harder as his eyes started widening.


“Didn’t mean that as a scare-scare,” Gingkin smoothly patted Conquil’s shoulder before continuing on. “But they have one immense disadvantage.”


Gingkin’s snout suddenly furrowed into a slight smile when he studied Conquil’s frail legs and arms moving in erratic bouts swiftly.


“Speed and dexterity. While they are very strong fighters, their moves are sluggish and slow,” Gingkin calmly explained before cocking his head to the right, down towards Sniplit. “Focus on dodging their attacks, and they won’t hit-kill you.”


Sniplit and Conquil’s snouts slightly shook, but didn’t open completely. These calm, convincing words failed to lighten their spirits that were shadowed by the fur-prickling darkness. Their minds frequently left themselves in a timeless ponder as to whether or not everything they’ve fought or rather ran for was a lie. So much so, that words were hard to find in amidst the daunting, enshrouding pain that blighted them.


One ratty snout slightly smirked in amidst the many others that were straightened.


“Every-everyone already knows this.”


Gingkin immediately turned to see who, amongst the sea of slave rats, said this. His eyes quickly settled on one that had deep red scars running across his torso. It was as though the wind’s occasional howling condensed and sharpened itself into a hungry blade.


“What’s it to you?”


“I was a clan rat of Clan Pestilens.”


Gingkin’s snout shivered when a snicker almost escaped, “Ah. Clan Pestilens, the clan that lost decisively to the reptile-things of Lustria a year ago.”


“…And saved by them.”


The entire regiment gradually murmured in slight approval. Conquil and Sniplit, however, were lost completely when they processed those conflicting words, and Gingkin’s shivering snout stopped when his eyes glared intensely at this former clan rat, inquiring it to go on.


“Yes, I remember,” It said weakly before lifting its furred head up. “There were thousand-thousands of us surrounded in a pocket that stretch-stretched on for miles.”


The entire regiment regarded the scarred speaker with attentive eyes as a familiar tale seemed to have begun unfolding. A strange tale of doom, defeat, and… mercy.


“The humid-seething air hung heavily with doom and destruction, as the reptile-things’ armies begun closing in on us. Not everything was what it seemed, however. One or even more of the reptile-thing armies led-led themselves astray, leaving us a path through which to escape before that snake-snake god could devour us all. Almost every on-”


“HORSE skyte!” Gingkin barked with his sharp ratty fangs exposed wildly, and his tail thrashing erratically side to side.


Rats all around clenched their weapons harder when a fresh new breeze coursed throughout, tensing the many claws. It seemed clear to Gingkin this scarred rat wasn’t the only one that preached this nonsensical tale.


Pestilence’s usage of virulent poisons to infect spawning pools, the only known way the reptile-things procreate, was well known by now. It didn't make much logical sense that these reptile-things of Lustria would spare the rats that attempted literal genocide against them. It all seemed like a hoax or cover-up to mask their shame. It has often even been theorized that the reptile-things see Skaven as aberrations to their so-called Great Plan, and so, need to be exterminated.


An interesting tale, Gingkin thought nonetheless. The smartest among their lowly ranks would usually just mutter Lustria was a wasteland devoid of any warpstone for the reason of cutting their losses. Would save their necks from the doubtful sword that way.


In the enshrouding vacuum of silence that followed the group, a single curious claw hung itself in the air above.


“Erm… what is this Lustria?”


Rats all around leered with widened eyes and perked ears, dumbfounded at this question, while Gingkin’s glare shifted down to the right of him, clenching his teeth together intensely. Sniplit’s snout shivered into a nervous smile as the awkwardness seemingly enshrouded no one but himself.


Suddenly, a single chuckle sounded off as if it was an answer to Sniplit’s question. It soon grew into ferocious laughter as many others slightly smirked along. Relieved of the laughter shortly after, the scarred rat shot a glare, mockingly, upon Sniplit.


“Paradise.”


Sporadic giggles sprung up before more squeaking came from all over. Front, center, and behind. Gingkin’s ears twitched curiously with Sniplit following along as well. Conquil’s entire body suddenly began shuddering amidst all the squeaking, however.


“The sun-sun’s glare warms you up real good-good in Lustria unlike this cold-coldness!”


“Nice-nice tunnel sys-systems to cool down after an entire warm-warming day’s march!”


“Slither-slithering snakes to keep-keep you company when lone-lonely too!”


The scared rat’s snout arched into an impossible grin amidst the many giggling and squeaking.


“Last but not least-least, the reptile-things of Lustria. So-so grand-elegant in their arch-architecture as they are in their warm-warming hospitality.”


“…So why leave?” Sniplit questioned with a claw scratching.


“They kicked us out!”


Sniplit’s ears flinched from the roaring laughter that soon followed. He didn’t blame them. Gingkin let out a silent chuckle, noticing Sniplit’s flinching and blatant unamusement.


These jokes certainly offered an insight into the mental states of these rats that apparently hailed from Lustria. It even made Gingkin slightly wonder. Before he could explain and wash away Sniplit’s apparent bemusement, Conquil suddenly let out an out of place and unrecognizable laugh.


No, not quite, Gingkin immediately interjected, but rather a hiccup? He turned to see Conquil’s beady eyes glister with tears, and not long after, Conquil’s claws pressed upon his thumping chest.


“Why… why am I here?”


Gingkin’s fur prickled from the question’s chilly breeze. Rats all around were still having their fun, but this didn’t stop Conquil.


“Why? I don’t want-want this!” He roared with tears cascading down relentlessly. “I don’t want Skavenblight!”


The entire regiment suddenly hung itself with silence. All except for one rat that still shed its tears, and raised its head before the expansive night skies in the shape of a whimper.


“I want HOME! Yes-yes! Home’s sooth-relaxing familiarity! The only thing that is of my mind. But the world is too cruel!”


Conquil stopped himself before slamming his head into Gingkin’s dark, ebony cloak. He washed it anew with a rising tsunami of questions.


“WHY? Must-why the cruel so world!?” Conquil’s entire face shuddered incoherently whilst tears drenched fur and cloak. “I’m only world; a rat slave; weakling braced against the stro-strong winds that gives no damn!” He stopped and looked up with tears still cascading down. “Like a lonely leaf drift-fluttering down only to be crushed, decomposed, and uncared for!”


Why...


Gingkin’s eyes widened, his heart pounding incessantly. Sniplit shuddered with leaking tears, for it would seem his only friend broke under the withering pressure. Skavenblight truly was the only reason they've ran and endured for so much with no end in sight. For Conquil to say all of this...


Blades all around prepared themselves. Even in a slave rat regiment, weakness is looked down upon and exploited. Rats found such an example before them to satisfy their inner-cravings.


Before they could do so, however, something happened. Something so illogical, it dulled ratty sense and blade alike. The tall, so-called murderous rat slung an arm around the crying one, bringing it closer into its cloak. Its snout uttered once amidst the leering silence.


“I’m scared just like you, and yes, I yearn and weep for home’s familiarity.”


Despite it being nonsensical for a rat assassin-thing to be embedded with them, they couldn’t help but relate with it. The darkening numbness, eating away at their souls and sanity, yet enlightening a narrowly jagged path through it all.

 

Chapter Twelve: Cold-Blooded Condemnation
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Drills… drills were a fascinating event in Tenx’s past life in Hexoatl. He remembered them as a rare occurrence in which worker caste Skinks trained diligently on maneuvers and tactics vital for a lizard’s survival in war. Now, it seemed that practice had permeated throughout his day, carrying out each and every exhausting mock order after another until either the sun dropped, or his body did so first.


Tenx beforehand assumed they would rest after all of it. Then the order came to march back towards Zlatlan at nightfall’s start. The cold’s biting grasp upon his scales didn’t help the strain that burned from within either.


At least, Tenx mused, Yolotli was assigned a position next to him of the fifth and last rank of the marching Skink cohort. Unlike himself, Yolotli never seemed to mind the strenuous drilling that exhausted all the rest of the Skinks. Not surprising when he considered Yolotli’s real, true past. A past drenched by the thousands of rats’ blood, now etched in the present’s unanimous condemnation.


Tenx’s elders had always teached him of the past’s importance; how it gives all children of the Old Ones like he, purpose and conviction. It’s this alone, the many say, that lends everyone the gods’ strength to make their stand and fight. Even when the future itself may seem like a frigid whirlwind of doom that envelops.


But what’s a lizard when this very past withers from deep within? What makes a warrior then? Such questions hammered themselves into Tenx’s mind when he glanced at Yolotli.


A chilly breeze surfed over the cohort’s scales; their long, slender tails swerving almost perfectly with each other. The innards from most were tensed and constrained, all while braving what seemed to be the Southland’s coldest of nights. A certain tiredness hung over the cohort in stark contrast to the winds that howled amongst branches above. They were rather unsure when battle will come again. Few were even convinced the vile rat abominations were done for; the battles fought before taken as sound evidence.


Guttural clicks and chirps soon uttered themselves faintly. They came from near Tenx’s own rank.


“Cold… the coldness is gnawing on my scales!”


“Gnaw?”


“Whatever. All of us seem to be tired.”


“Not the Sauri. Or Kha’kor.”


“Never tiring; always sharpened like their spears and clubs,” The Skink remarked with a sorrowful smirk. “Reminds me of that Skin-”


The Skink’s utterance stopped when a set of claws gently settled upon its scaly shoulder. They belonged to Nkachi, Tenx quickly noted, as he recalled his easing of the pain that so fiercely blew forth from Nkachi’s troubled past.


“Xa’yaotl was a warrior long spawned before you two.”


Flustered, the two Skink warriors’ eyes blinked before turning towards the new speaker. One of them spoke up, “You fought under him, no?”


“Yes,” Nkachi sharply replied. “Barring stratagems, his technique with various assortments of spears and other weaponry cleansed those filthy rats by the hundreds alone. He was a hero - a prodigy delivered onto us by the Old Ones themselves - so what everyone strongly believed back then.”


Yolotli’s snout suddenly let out a faint shriek at those words. No one seemed to have noticed, miraculously, as he quickly corrected his composure. Shortly after, a small collection of bushes rustled violently as if shuddering from the cold on their own accord. He sensed something - whatever it was - watching or prevailing over him. His innards trembled with each passing breeze.


“That’s why… that’s why even after all this time, that dastardly, treacherous betrayal still clings on as if it only happened a few days ago.”


“But weren’t you even trained by him too?” The other Skink questioned whilst hisses made themselves heard all around.


“That doesn’t matter!” Nkachi raised his voice. “My point still stands: hundreds of us - no - thousands of us offered our lives for a sliver of vengeance and closure! We spilt our blood with our heads held high only to find our corpses lying face down...”


Skinks all around gasped and chirped, invigorated by the common reason every lizard fights for. Tenx’s crest, however, shook side to side. He was rather surprised someone as laid back as Nkachi actually fought. Tenx himself spawned mere weeks too late to fight in the war that shed the blood of nameless millions and forever ravaged his homeland. It quickly occurred to him why Nkachi was so eager in forgetting his past.


Nkachi’s snout stretched once more, and so did Yolotli’s trembling innards as well.


“I still remember when he deserted and left his lieutenants and the rest of us in hot air. He discarded his ceremonial feathers and garments, throwing away his identity. When all of us slaughter these rats and return to Lustria, and if he’s still alive hiding somewhere, I’ll find and gut his intestines out into a fine line! What do y’all say!?”


Skinks all around cheered, hissed and chirped excitedly. The tiredness that hung over them like dark, ominous clouds lifted away as the lizards’ renewed zeal for battle hovered in its place. It would seem to an outsider Saurus that all of them were prepared for whatever may confront them, though the likelihood for this confrontation dimmed in their minds with each marching step into the darkness.


Yolotli’s body bended slightly down, clenching his gut with claws whilst shuddering incessantly. He became nauseous in clear disgust… at himself. His stomach rumbled amidst the incoherent cheering as that name - Nkachi - continuously rebounded off the walls of his own mind. Soon enough, vivid memories trickled in; memories he would rather wash away, now rooted in deep. Many years ago, he recalled Nkachi amongst the other no-name masses whom lost their temple-cities and brethren to the ratty plagues, begging to join Tehenhauin’s vengeful host.


Shuddering soon crept upon Yolotli’s snout when his crested head shot up towards the expansive night skies. He begged to ponder whether he should unveil his façade, and truly show them who he really was - the source of all their pain - wounds left open to the tests of time. Would they kill him on the spot? Would they even believe him? Never in his countless years of slaughter, fighting, and marching has he ever felt so condemned, so cold.


Yolotli closed his eyes and deeply inhaled. His trembling snout finally decided. Should his head be finely hacked off on the spot, so be it.


When Yolotli’s snout prepared itself and stretched, something abruptly rocked his shoulder. He turned with his heart fiercely throbbing. Tenx stared down upon him.


“Don’t. You still have so much to live for.”


“…How cliché!”


“Doesn’t change the fact you want to die so meaninglessly.”


“Meaninglessly!? I’ve fought and slaughtered in a life admired even by the Slann, now widely condemned by the lowliest of skinks - some of which I taught and fought with. The many say that I need to die for what I’ve done. May the Old Ones have final judgement on my soul!”


“I never even admired you nor condemned you. Only understood. Remember?”


“Unde-” Yolotli stopped himself when he tried uttering that. Indeed, he used to be widely admired and adored, but never this understood. Such a word brought with it strange connotations and meanings. He had always been seen as an invincible, godly figure sent forth by the Old Ones themselves. May the truth be told and etched on golden plaques then. Warriors blessed by their own strength and zeal only find themselves weakened deep within.


“Fine. You have a point there.”


Tenx’s snout brimmed widely to the point even Yolotli slightly flinched uncomfortably. It almost seemed he was about to hug him. Though such a bizarre thing didn’t seem so bad now due to the incessant coldness.


As the Skinks all around cheered, hissed, and chatted their excitement, a sonorous horn bloomed throughout the air, startling many of them. What startled them the most, however, was its meaning. A meaning they never knew would come so soon:


‘Prepare for Battle.’


Muscles tensed; hearts raced.


The many of them fixed their shields and prepared their clubs when this time, the horn - presumably from Kha’kor - ordered them to retreat from their forward, vanguard deployed position into another one behind the sauri lines. They started to face towards their western flank.


When all was finished, the cohort of Skinks saw it from afar, slightly above the Sauri heads and amongst the many trees. Rats with armor and hungry blades approached them all quickly in their jittery manner.


“Heh. Looks like blood will be spilt for fun again,” Tenx miserably remarked.


Yolotli’s eyes squinted fiercely. Though they all seemed like easy game, something felt awfully off.


“Don’t make me save you, Tenx.”


Tenx turned towards Yolotli with his head slightly tilted, questioning this. That utterance echoed in his mind as if he heard it before. He then affixed his eyes onto the armored rats quickly charging at them with prepared, sharpened blades...

 

Chapter Thirteen: Forgotten Hope​

“These rats are mere weak fodder, yet they march on so confidently as if they have something to show for it,” Yolotli said before his eyes narrowed. “We should temporarily retreat until we can form a defensive line.”


Tenx peered onward, confused as the vermintide widened in view. He thought hard on why they should retreat from such weak filth. It wasn’t until moments later, he gave Yolotli a gentle, reserving nod upon realizing what he meant.


Others voiced sharp hisses, piercing throughout the quietness.


“What do you mean? You suggest running away from these abominations!?”


Yolotli turned with grimace and anger stretched upon him.


“If we all want to see the sun’s rise tomorrow alive, we must stay vigilant! These weaklings advance fearlessly as if something is bolstering them; either from the shadows, behind, or somewhere else…”


The hissing lowered as if drifting away with the wind. Yolotli pressed on.


“Retreating is not an appeal to cowardice, but tactical and strategic thinking. We must seek out advantages no matter how weak these rats are.”


Many of the Skinks’ eyes which blinked alive with fury, now considered the reasoning. They studied the erratic horde’s movements with watchful stares. What seemed ridiculous and nonsensical, quickly flickered brightly inside their minds.


Nkachi, however, closed his eyes with a rough, guttural grunt.


“I agree, yet you speak like you're not from the worker caste like the rest of us.”


Yolotli’s guts dropped like rocks falling from a mountain. Wrenching shock shook his every vein within, for Nkachi glared upon him motionlessly. It felt as if the eyes’ intense gleam scorched throughout, making him wonder if Nkachi figured out who he truly was.


Suddenly, the aloof skink broke off his stare, smiling fanatically towards the ratty horde. “Doesn’t matter much. Whatever Kha’kor’s final word is, we’ll kill ‘em all!”


Yolotli silently let out puffs of air, relieved of the pressure that bore him down so ferociously. But soon, he gasped with worry yet again. Whether or not Kha’kor would take the rats’ trap and advance was uncertain. Kha’s centuries worth of battle hardened experience wouldn’t suggest such brazen naivety.


Surely… surely Kha’kor saw what these rats are truly for; their uncanny confidence towards marching upon certain death…


The scarred veteran bared his fangs excitedly and thrashed his tail about. He raised his horn like a carnosaur roaring to the heavens. Its howl reverberated throughout ear holes, shaking heads but never fazing the cold-blooded minds.


Legs, either comprised of fur or scales, started shifting towards each other with blades in claw. Undergrowth trembled as the opposing armies charged, and soon after, a singular purpose etched itself in nearly all lizards and rats alike.


Yolotli could hear this singular purpose enshroud all over him as skinks excitedly shrieked and cried, while the sauri ushered forth their guttural roars. An all too familiar purpose, for it single-handedly drove the ferocious charges into the rats ever since he was spawned; day after day, year after year.


However, something felt terribly amiss this time. Whether it was the darkness obscuring his sense of being, or not seeing the battle’s outcome clearly, were reasons Yolotli couldn’t discern between. His mind opened up into a bottomless pit - unconscious of the future that was starting to get bleaker with every heartbeat. Soon, the masses of rats, so weak and frail they were, took upon the resemblance of mighty beasts.


For in the darkness, anything can change. Or so Yolotli dreadfully mused to himself.


He turned to see how Tenx was taking in this. Surprisingly, in stark contrast to the skinks excitedly flailing all about, Tenx remained focused and silent. His face hardened like stone as he glared onto death itself.


His apparent resignation brought warmth into Yolotli’s heart. As wet and naïve Tenx seemed, he still had a tinge of wisdom - one that was distinctly noticeable when they first met, and has sprawled forth ever since.


In truth, Tenx had something Yolotli could only pray for: An unbroken mind.


And so Yolotli prayed and prayed. He prayed for Chotec to give all lizards the warmth and light to protect them from this numbingly cold darkness. He prayed for Sotek, a prophesized Old One in Lustria who wrought much destruction upon the ratmen’s numbers and his own mind alike, to show itself this grim night.


And most yearnful of all, he prayed in Tlazcotl’s name to give all lizards’ minds the strength necessary for keeping their sanity intact.


His heart slightly trembled when he thought that. Strength, after all, was something he had always sought after…


Yolotli shook his head. He was close enough to the rats so much so, he could see their whiskers clearly, and realized it was now time. His thoughts slowed to a halt; his mind beginning to sharpen like his club.


As Yolotli’s thoughts slowly dissipated, the rats and lizards’ battle lines clashed, its impact killing a handful of rats. Sauri viciously slashed on across the front, blood and fur lining their blades. Rats frantically tried weaving in and out from the trees’ cover, while others sought to become one with the undergrowth. The fighting grew desperate as were the cries accompanying every swing.


Yet to be thrown into combat, and with Kha’kor’s horn blaring his orders throughout as he fought, the cohort of skinks shifted to the frontline’s left flank. Ratmen twitched and shook, noticing the flanking lizards. Many of them there broke off from fighting sauri, only to find the chittering reptiles were already upon them. Whatever hopes the furred warriors had of retreating were cut away mercilessly, for their bodies convulsed onto the jungle floor.


The nimble skinks pushed onwards, butchering any of the rats who now found themselves sandwiched between lizards. They were finished off as the night’s coldness settled upon furs, while blood began pouring. Their sought after escape finally found, albeit submerged in complete darkness.


Skinks cheered on the rats’ defeat; hisses and growls resounding throughout. They briefly conversed with sauri before reforming their ranks in preparation for more combat.


One of the skinks, Tenx, observed what was happening elsewhere as his club dripped with blood.


Ratmen across the front were losing decisively, and soon enough, their bravery fled them. The teeming masses of fur turned tails and ran away from the fearless lizards they charged themselves into. Sauri abstained from their predatory instincts of giving chase; tongues flicking out into snarls. Kha’kor reigned them in along with a few saurus musicians beating and thumping his order to halt upon their drums.


Tenx understood fairly well why pursuing Skaven can sometimes spell doom for whatever lizard did so. The rats’ cunning and guile went on unmatched, even whilst running away. The novice skink turned his attention, and looked all around him, noticing the skinks cheering aloud with hisses, chirps, and clicks. It looked as though they had already emerged victorious.


Interestingly, and yet predictably at the same time, Yolotli’s expression was blank as if victory was nothing more than a passing gust of air. Seeing years upon years more of war seemed to do that to a skink’s mind, Tenx thought.


Many moments of excited cheering passed by, until it was interrupted by the bellow of a few roars. The shouts were some among the rear guard which were running hastily towards Kha’kor with news undoubtedly ready to burst forth urgently.


Soon after, the excitement - the cheers that had so encompassed the skink regiment greatly was instantly blown away. The rear guard’s revelation that started to travel amidst all lizards present, brought with it shocked gasps of air and wearied looks all around.


It appeared there was another Skaven army approaching fast roughly south-southeast. The reality occurred in the lizards’ minds that they were encircled by their foes.


The thought of such made Tenx’s heart beat even faster as he saw the recently routed rats rally forth whatever remained of their forces. He tightened his grip upon his weapon like the darkness that enshrouded the lizards…


***


Conquil’s tears from his earlier episode of crying dried upon his fur, but the eyes still watered.


He and the rest of the rats ran as the winds blew upon their faces. Hearts thumped ferociously in all of them, for every rat knew what was to come and why they were running. The lizard-things’ formation was spotted close, stirring all rats into a charging advance towards their cold-blooded foes.


Conquil felt the ground trembling from other rats running alongside him, and saw other regiments of foot soldiers far off in the distance doing the same. His stomach welled with a strange sensation as he looked all around. He was amazed how every rat - different from each other in their mindsets and personalities - ran with a singular purpose ingrained in them. Most were visibly excited for combat, some had grim faces, and few looked on in fear. All of them, including Conquil, still ran on for one singular purpose. To die.


Such a realization ached to his very core. He wondered why he had to die, and how he ran so far away from death, only for it to come rushing towards him yet again. His life was but only a gust of wind, occurring and fleeting with no one around to give a damn.


Amidst all the coldness, a flickering warmth emanated from him. Anger burned within, for he questioned why everything he believed in was swept away. The strain from it all threatened to drive him insane, but he still tried digging deeper - still pushed harder for this answer he so desperately sought after.


Conquil looked behind in hopes of finding a reprieve from the coldness and darkness enshrouding him. But all he found was more of the same. Ratty faces like his own, all running the path of death. Eyes shriveled; tears welled.


“They are here. It’s time to kill-kill.”


Those words hung like the cold winds. Conquil turned to Gingkin, expecting more elaboration from the sudden remark, but nothing came of it. He looked forward far ahead until he saw what the tall rat meant. Saw what was to be their deaths…


Beyond in the darkness were figures standing side by side like a wall, shining forth a gleaming blue from their immense forms. Conquil could see them clearly - see the gleam of blue enlarging ever so slightly amongst the dull foliage, and hear the roars inviting their charge. The slave rat’s heart hammered on as he looked ahead, towards his sides, and all around him.


“We-we really doing this?!”


“Guess so,” Gingkin replied.


“But we all die-die!” Conquil desperately shouted. “We all run-running towards death!”


“Everyone is. That’s life for you.”


Conquil turned away from Gingkin before sneering angrily. The meaning behind his running and everyone else’s dulled from his mind. The trees, the wind, all of it escaping the grasp of his comprehension. He felt his entire body shake - not from charging - but the lingering feeling of hopelessness tearing him apart. Before he could despair any further, something rested upon his shoulder.


“Skavenblight…” Sniplit uttered, patting Conquil’s shoulder. “Do you still believe in Skavenblight?”


“How can we when we’re about to die?”


“Hope…” Sniplit’s eyes glistened with tears. “If we-we have hope, we-we can make it!”


Conquil’s eyes stared at the ground before them, contemplating the place he sought for so desperately. The slave rat hungered for Skavenblight’s touch to relieve him the misery that encompassed him entirely. Yet Skavenblight seemed only a mere grain of dirt; so far away and tiny. Just as he tried reaching out towards it with claws and tears when he cried before, his mind pondered how he’ll get there. If ever.


“We-we better hope we sur-survive then,” Conquil said, his grip upon his sword loosening. “I don’t think we will, though.”


“We WILL!” Sniplit screeched. “We will fight-fight! We will kill-kill! We shall survive!”


Conquil’s entire body flinched from the sudden scream. He could see Sniplit’s form heave and tremble furiously before continuing railing on about the menacing foes.


“We haven’t ran so far only to accept death, have we? Ran on so long just to give up? These blue-blue bastards have chased us to the ends. Now it’s time for us-us to give it back-back to ‘em! Hard and bloodied!”


Conquil quivered as he turned his gaze onto the ground before him. The rapid rhythm of running feet beckoned forth memories of his escapes from death’s claws. He vividly remembered the ferocious blue creatures whose virulence pumped his heart to run evermore faster. Such reminisces welled the rage inside him, for the meaning behind it all - be it the hatred or violence he experienced - went beyond his understanding.


His only hope was for a refuge. And it seemed only to grow smaller and smaller. Tinier and tinier.


“Even if we survive this-this, what then?” Conquil’s throat swelled in fear and hopelessness as he spoke. “What if Skavenblight isn’t what we dream-dreamed of?”


“So what if it isn’t what we wished? Its promise of hope is what’s worth living for,” Sniplit said, smiling at the foes’ immense forms appearing closer. “Always has been, always-always will be.”


Conquil felt that last utterance sting fiercely upon his heart. Memories of running for this promise land whose name was Skavenblight once again flooded his mind. Back then, it had seemed the only shining star of the night skies - the only place worth thinking about amidst the clutter of darkness. Even now as he ran towards certain death, he could still feel it shimmer beyond the obscuring clouds; as if a dream having the visible consistency of the omnipresent winds, and an ideal that was a part of him as was his blood and bones. Between dying and killing, what else was to be done besides believing in the unbelievable?


Conquil’s heart increasingly thumped to the rhythm of his dashing run. A fleeting moment of clarity enveloped him.


“We-we’re totally go-going to die, but… I feel-feel at peace some reason.”


“Yeah… me too.”


The two slave rats exchanged deep gazes, pondering this strange feeling their minds spun upon. Rats all around looked at them with such curiosity and awkwardness, the usual battle cries and screeches were drowned out by silence.


“Well that whole tirade was motivating…” Gingkin said whilst smirking. “And cute-cute!”


“We are NOT cute-cute! We fight-fight! And we bite-bite!” Sniplit shouted.


“Sure you two do. Reminds me of what I once was long ago.”


Conquil’s gaze turned onto Gingkin. “What? What do you mean? What-what were you long ago?” he inquired, expecting answers to his questions which waxed and burned inside him with such intrigue.


But the tall black rat never responded. Never showed a smidgen of indication he would ever do so. Instead, his eyes locked onto the lizard foes ahead, reading every movement there was to read from them. Conquil did likewise when he turned away from Gingkin, but keeping what was just said to the forefront.


The thudding of feet continued echoing throughout the teeming ranks of the rats, and moments more, the faces of their foes appeared clearly before them.


None present on the battlefield - either rat or lizard - could understand each other besides the hatred that roared and screamed. Hearts jumped, and the blades started flying.


Instantly, those of the first ranks in Conquil’s regiment were cut down. Rats began dispersing wherever they could, trying to survive.


In the ensuing chaos, Conquil tripped. He looked ‘round hastily as he saw rats and lizards engaged in deadly combat. He couldn’t find Sniplit nor Gingkin amidst it all.


The tripped sack of fur sat there, watching as rat and lizard tore into each other. He saw a horde of rats overwhelm one of the lizard blue-things - its entire body riddled with stabbings moments later. A slight turn of his head, and he saw more rats sliced apart. Some of them still moving quite alive as they screamed to end the pain.


And Conquil sat there transfixed by the sight going on all around him. It was as though the world he was just in transformed into something entirely different and terrifying. The cries. The blood. The bodies…


Just then, Conquil heard a roar directed towards him. He turned and saw one of the humongous blue-things stare down upon him. Its jaws were lined with numerous teeth and was as sharp as his own sword. Its immense form held aloft a blade and shield - both of which almost the slave rat’s entire size. Conquil thought it mad a rat such as himself should fight this. It was unreal. It was impossible.


Before Conquil could fathom his situation, the massive lizard charged. The blade grazed him as he jumped away, strands of fur gliding mid-air. He regained his footing - heart thumping heavily - before the lizard bellowed another roar.


Conquil frantically looked behind and all around, trying to find an exit from this madness. But there was no exit. Lizards and rats were still engaged in violent combat, and his looming foe still stood, ready as ever to kill him. Seemingly unwinnable fight it was. Part of him wanted the senseless struggle to just end. Part of him wondered if he’ll ever see Skavenblight. Hopelessness enshrouded him like the sounds of battle all around.


The massive lizard charged again. Conquil questioned how death would feel. He questioned how quick it’ll come. He continued questioning on what seemed an inevitability waiting to happen, until he realized death would never carry him towards Skavenblight…


The blue-thing’s blade crashed upon the dirt, missing Conquil by mere hair lengths. The deadly dance of powerful swings and hasty dodges continued, but the lizard never struck true. Exhaustion settled in, and the aggressive attacks worsened as time wore on.


Conquil noticed this deficiency. Each lunge and swing still seemed a gateway towards death itself, yet the sense of its inevitability felt like it was pushing away. Every second he stayed alive brought with it a heavy significance, and he began savoring every bit.


Amidst the battle, Conquil gazed at the blade intently. He remembered what Gingkin said long ago on how to survive fighting this. It went something along the lines of: ‘While they are strong fighters, their moves are sluggish-slow. Focus on dodging their attacks, and they won’t hit-kill you.’


Conquil’s eyes widened upon the thought. He realized that was the reason he was still alive - he was simply too quick.


The lizard desperately kept on lunging and swinging, only receiving wafts of fur in return. Meanwhile, Conquil’s erratic movements continuously improved, every dodge and swerve a blur as the thoughts of death began escaping.


So enraged was the lizard, it put forth all of its strength into one blow. A blow surely to end this. But it too only clashed violently against the sheer weight of the air. And Conquil saw his foe very much strained from such an attack.


Without even thinking, Conquil rushed in. He slashed one of the lizard’s legs before quickly retreating. He looked back - his heart thumping hungrily for air - and saw a deep red streak etched upon its scales. He lowered his head and was met by his sword dripping with blood.


The sight bewildered Conquil so much, he simply stared. The rat never thought he would draw blood himself, but here it was, leaking onto the ground and reeking into the air. Its thick red presence alone shuddered him to his core. Drawing blood seemed so menacingly mysterious as if his entire being recoiled from the thought.


And yet… he wanted more of it.


An empowering feeling ascended within Conquil as he stared at his bloodied blade. It felt like he scaled an entire mountain - like he persevered through something he shouldn’t have. If he could injure that which was uninjurable, what spectacular thing can he do as well? Skavenblight was so far away, but the matter of reaching it didn’t feel like a question no more…


A roar not like the others cried from the lizard. It swelled with brimming anger, charging with all its resolve and might left to kill.


But Conquil resisted, dodging and slashing with unprecedented ferocity. Time passed between the two as if a confusing blur as they fought. And before the rat realized what he had done, the hulking lizard fell and laid down, bleeding profusely.


Conquil stepped back and gasped. Seconds later, he wanted to scream and celebrate his survival. He went against the odds that were so stupendously stacked against him and came out of it alive! A weakling like himself ascendant! But as he stood there, all he could do was gaze at the sight that was his doing. It felt exhilarating to kill, yet strangely menacing as if his heart was irreparably torn. Much like before when he inflicted that first wound. Even then, the lizard was still alive - still squirming in its own growing pool of blood.


As Conquil looked on, he saw something shocking. It wasn’t readily apparent, but he saw the strong, mighty lizard shake feverishly and almost cry. The lizard feared what was to come. It feared death.


Such a realization prickled his fur; his tail swerving uneasily, for he too feared death…


Conquil’s mind was in a trance, wondering how two opposing fighters could fear the same thing until he suddenly felt a pat upon his back. He turned and saw Gingkin along with Sniplit - their blades as bloodied as his own.


“You-you’re alive!” Gingkin shouted, a wide smirk on his face. “What are you doing? Wait-waiting around to get killed?”


Conquil still gazed on at the squirming lizard. “Just think-thinking.”


“On what?”


“Death.”


Gingkin noticed the lizard whose growls of pain grew. He never imagined Conquil - the slave rat whose fear shadowed him entirely - could’ve ever survived this, let alone win over a saurus. Yet here was the rat, towering over his kill.


“Seen death too many times to even think about it,” Gingkin said.


“But-but it’s all-all I can think about…” Conquil turned away from the bleeding lizard.


“You’ll get over it soon. Kill-killing is often like a head-headache. The feeling of it all is inevitable. And then the pain passes.”


Conquil grimly scowled as he lowered his head towards the ground. He saw spots and splashes of blood - each of them almost telling a tale how they got there.


“Um…” Sniplit interrupted. “That blue-blue bastard of a lizard is still alive!” He shrieked before pointing with his claws. “See-see, it’s moving.”


“I reckon it will bleed out in a couple of hours. That is until Conquil finishes it.”


Conquil turned to the lizard again. With blade held high by his side and with his foe beneath him, he looked upon the mighty warrior who wanted him dead. Silence followed, and the victorious slave rat spoke.


“Can we save it?”


Sniplit and Gingkin shook in utter surprise at the unexpected, maddening question. Their faces drowned in confusion.


“What-what do you MEAN!?” Sniplit exclaimed. “This thing-thing wanted to kill you!”


“But—”


“Damn lizard thing-things only want to kill. To kill-kill us!”


Conquil opened his mouth, but the words never came. He tried defending himself - tried to convey what he felt when he gazed upon the lizard - but his will to speak vanished with every passing second.


“He’s right,” Gingkin said blankly. “The kill-killing won’t stop until all of them lizards are wiped out. Or us rats.”


Conquil whimpered from the hopelessness such words espoused. It was maddening that such killing and massacring should continue indefinitely. His guts trembled from inhaling the cold air as Gingkin continued.


“Luckily for us rats, we’re win-winning. And the lizards are lose-losing ground. The fight-fighting is nearing a close.”


“Perfect time to kill-kill more blue-blue bastards!” Sniplit shrieked.


“Not me-me…” Conquil lamented. “I want far-far away from this wicked place. Far-far away until I reach Skavenblight.”


Gingkin slightly frowned. He imagined such hopeful desires of reaching Skavenblight would fade away in face of the harsh, brutal reality that laid clearly before them. But they still held those desires close. Still hinged their lives entirely upon them. The slaves’ foolishness reminded him of his past self. He smiled.


“So desertion it is?”


The slaves stood as their mouths held shut. They never knew what Gingkin meant as the ringing sounds of battle enshrouded them all. Finally, the assassin rat spoke again.


“Desertion it is then. And now-now’s the best time. Every rat fighting is a confused mess, except for the dead ones. We’ll be able to escape easily.”


Sniplit felt his heart shiver at that. Fighting seemed the only option that was thrusted upon him - the only thing remaining sensible. But the running thoughts of escaping began appealing to him.


“We… we won’t get caught-caught?”


“Then-then let’s go!” Conquil eagerly shouted, his tail beating excitedly.


The three rats ran away with Gingkin leading the escape. Sniplit was annoyed he wouldn’t be able to avenge what the lizards wrought upon him. But he was tired and the allure of searching for what he had always desired overwhelmed him entirely.


Conquil noticed the corpses of rat and lizard strewn all about as he ran. Except these corpses weren’t dead. They still lived, and with every moment living, they screamed and cried, begging for anyone or anything to help them. But Conquil knew all too well help won’t come, nor does it even exist.


So he ran on, the screams and cries chasing him into the darkness…