𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧

Chapter three: Push forward, Mikey

I practiced for what felt like hours, alternating between two-legged and four-legged attempts. The two-legged runs always ended in failure—my small, fragile frame just wasn’t built for it. On all fours, I managed to stay upright more often, but it was clumsy and awkward. My tail dragged behind me like dead weight, constantly throwing off my balance.

By the time I finally collapsed against the wall, my legs were trembling, and my lungs burned. Sweat—could rats even sweat?—soaked my fur, and my stomach growled loudly.

“This is hopeless,” I muttered, staring up at the ceiling. “Why couldn’t I have been a bird? Or a fox? Something with dignity, at least.”

The sound of distant squeaks and scurrying claws reminded me that I wasn’t alone here. The Rat King’s domain was no place to show weakness. I had to adapt, no matter how much I hated this body.

I sat there for a while, catching my breath and watching the shadows shift on the walls. My muscles ached, and my pride was bruised, but I wasn’t giving up.

Tomorrow, I’d try again. I’d learn to run, to climb, to fight if I had to. I wasn’t going to let this world chew me up and spit me out. Not as a soldier, and not as a rat.

I must’ve passed out against the wall, exhaustion pulling me under like a tide. My small body curled instinctively into the crook of a hollow skull, the hard surface oddly comforting in its own way. Sleep came quickly, but it wasn’t peaceful.

The dream started in flashes.

I was back on the battlefield, my boots pounding against the ground as explosions tore through the air. The scent of blood, sweat, and burnt earth filled my lungs. I could feel the weight of my rifle in my hands, the familiar press of my gear against my back.

But something was wrong. My hands—they weren’t hands anymore. They were paws, tiny and trembling, struggling to hold the rifle steady. The weapon was enormous, dwarfing my small frame. I tried to shout orders, to rally my squad, but my voice came out as high-pitched squeaks.

“Move! Fall back!” I tried to yell, but the words were lost in the chaos.

Around me, my squadmates turned their heads, their faces twisted in confusion and horror. They weren’t human anymore either. They were rats—rats like me, dressed in torn uniforms, their tiny eyes wide with fear.

“Sergeant!” one of them squeaked, his voice trembling. “We’re surrounded!”

I looked around and saw the enemy closing in—massive, towering figures with no faces, just black voids where their eyes should’ve been. They moved with inhuman precision, their weapons glinting in the dim light.

My instincts kicked in. I dropped the rifle—it was useless in my paws—and darted forward on all fours, leading my squad through the trenches. The ground beneath us shifted, turning soft and wet, and when I looked down, I realized we were running across a river of blood.

The dream twisted again.

I was alone now, standing in the middle of a vast, endless plain. The sky was a sickly yellow, and the ground beneath me was made entirely of bones—ribs, spines, skulls, all interlocked in a grotesque lattice.

A figure appeared in the distance, tall and cloaked, its face hidden in shadow. It moved closer, and as it did, I felt an overwhelming sense of dread.

“Who are you?” I demanded, my squeaky voice betraying my fear.

The figure didn’t answer. Instead, it raised a bony finger and pointed at me.

“You are nothing,” it said, its voice a deep, guttural growl. “A rat. Weak. Forgotten.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I tried to argue, to shout back, but my voice failed me. The figure loomed closer, its presence suffocating, and I felt myself shrinking, my body growing smaller and smaller until I was nothing more than a speck beneath its gaze.

Then the ground gave way, and I was falling.

I woke up with a gasp, my tiny chest heaving as I scrambled to my feet. My fur was damp with sweat—or was it the ever-present sewer dampness?—and my heart raced as if I’d just sprinted a mile.

I looked around, half-expecting to see the cloaked figure or the faceless enemy soldiers, but there was nothing. Just the dimly lit cavern, the endless sea of skulls, and the sound of distant water dripping.

It was just a dream, I told myself, though the lingering weight of the figure’s words gnawed at me.

“You are nothing.”

I clenched my tiny paws, shaking off the fear. I wasn’t nothing. I had survived worse than this, and I’d survive this too. The Rat King’s domain wasn’t going to break me, no matter how many skulls I had to walk over.

But as I settled back down to rest, curling into a tight ball, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the dream had been more than just my mind playing tricks on me. Something about it felt real, like a warning of what was to come.