𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧

Chapter three: Push forward, Mikey

I clenched my paws, determination surging through me. The Rat King ruled this place, but I wasn’t here to grovel or beg. I was here to survive. To grow stronger.

The skulls beneath my paws were a reminder of what happened to those who failed. I wouldn’t be one of them.

__________

The ground was a sea of skulls, human skulls, all piled together in a grotesque mosaic. Their hollow sockets seemed to stare up at me, judging me, mocking me. It wasn’t just the sight—it was the sound, the hollow clink of bone against bone with every step I took.

I used to march across battlefields, the terrain a mix of mud, blood, and broken men. Back then, my boots crushed whatever was beneath them without a second thought. Now? My tiny paws barely made a sound, and every uneven surface threatened to send me sprawling.

I tried to walk like I always had—as a human. Two legs, upright, confident.

“Alright,” I muttered to myself, bracing against the wall for balance. “You’ve done this your whole life. Just one foot in front of the other.”

I took a step, then another. For a moment, it felt like I had it. Then my tail swayed, throwing off my balance, and I went down hard. My back hit a skull, sending it skittering across the floor.

“Son of a—” I growled, pushing myself up. My voice was high-pitched and squeaky, an indignity that only made this situation worse. I glared down at my trembling legs, my tiny paws, and let out a frustrated sigh.

“Being a rat fucking sucks,” I muttered, slumping against the wall.

I stared at the sea of bones around me, my mind drifting. Why a rat? Why not something useful? A wolf, a hawk, even a damn housecat would’ve been better. Something strong, something fast.

I could’ve been a lion, I thought bitterly. A king of the savannah, powerful and proud. Or maybe a snake, coiled and deadly, striking fear into anything that crossed my path. Hell, even a dung beetle would’ve been preferable—they at least have their dignity.

But no. I was stuck as this—a weak, pathetic little rat in a place where survival was a daily struggle.

I shoved the thoughts away, forcing myself back to my feet. Sitting here feeling sorry for myself wasn’t going to help. I needed to figure this out.

Once again, I tried to walk on two legs, mimicking the movements I’d known as a human. The first few steps were shaky but promising. I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe I could—

My tail swayed again, and I toppled forward, landing face-first into the pile of skulls. A sharp edge scraped against my nose, and I winced, clutching my tiny snout.

“Damn it!” I shouted, my voice echoing off the damp, slimy walls.

I sat there for a moment, rubbing my nose and glaring at the ground. The humiliation stung more than the pain. I’d been a soldier—a fighter. Now I couldn’t even manage to walk properly.

Fine. Two legs weren’t working. Maybe I needed to rethink my approach.

I dropped to all fours, my claws digging into the bone beneath me. The position felt awkward, unnatural, but at least I wasn’t falling over. I took a cautious step forward, then another. The balance was better, but it still felt wrong.

I tried to move faster, pushing myself into a slow trot. My front paws slipped, and I nearly face-planted again, barely catching myself in time.

“Okay,” I muttered, taking a deep breath. “Slow it down. One step at a time.”