Reborn as a Fantasy General (Army-Building Isekai)

[Herac]

Ah chance to jump ship for Marcus. Reptile men are fine as well even if they are not nearly as likely to obey him. But I'm thinking that Marcus should really just subjugate a few Kobolds himself and break of on his own to show how it really work. They do not want to follow his advise? Fine so be it then they will have to be destroyed as well. But that is only if he can survive free and un-enslaved to the reptiles.

 

[IronLung]

'War is the assassin's trade'

-Percy Bysshe Shelley



Marcus stared at the thin, slightly curved arm of steel that protruded out from the snake-humanoid's cloaked form.

His eyes then traced its lithe torso, seeing the thin dark wrappings that clung to its skin, clearly well suited for a night raid like this. The body suit was patched with form-fitting leathers around the chest and kneecaps for protection of only the vitals, and the long shawl that hung from the creature's face gave away nothing to Marcus except the amber eye-slits that blinked horizontally at him from within their visor.

From the black scales he saw between those eyes, and the long, thin tail that trailed from the creature's back, Marcus was certain of his assassin's species.

A Yokun…he thought. One of the beasts behind this whole proxy war.

He gulped, watching the serpent close the door to his chamber, noticing the bloodied snout of one of his guards lying just beyond the doorway.

Those guards were of Clan Marrow. Armed and armored. That means one thing: this guy's good.

Marcus licked his lips, thinking of any way he could alert the palace servants.

"I presume you didn't come here to talk," he said, moving slightly to his left, hand reaching into his pocket to precure Gatskeek's dagger.

He got his hand round the hilt. He blinked once, and then he was looking at the tip of the Yokun's blade, its edge glistening with ratman blood.

"Drop it, human," the creature hissed.

Marcus dared not even gulp – the sword (a Wakizashi, by the looks of it) was close enough to his throat that even a single twitch out of line would be instant death.

He let the dagger fall to the ground.

And he waited.

He watched the eyes of his enemy in silence, head rushing as he tried to think of a way out of this.

"I suppose negotiations are out of the picture?" he asked, raising his hands and keeping his body as rigid as possible. "If it's any compensation, I believe we could come to some form of mutually beneficial arrangeme-"

The Yokun had stepped behind him and tied a muzzle round his mouth before he could finish whatever 'plan' he was spinning on the spot to stall for time.

"Be a good monkey and keep quiet," the creature told him. "And you might just keep your head."

Marcus felt the arm of the snake coil round his neck, the other one jabbing into his back to propel him forward.

A woman…he realized, noting the inflection in her voice. And one who, it seems, wants me alive…

And without any other alternative, he allowed himself to be guided outside, stepping over the gradually pooling blood from the two guardsmen lying prone at his doorway.

Clean cuts – across the throat. Absolute precision, no waste, no struggle.

His eyes shot back to try and get a glimpse of his captor.

"Keep moving," she whispered.

You're good, aren't you?

The end of the hallway turned into a crossroads, and Marcus heard a general shout go up from deeper within the palace chambers.

Ahead, two guards ran in tandem with torches burning in their hands. As they turned they saw the pair moving down the dimly lit hallway and were about to call out for aid were it not for the two shuriken that stopped their tongues – embedding themselves deep beneath the chin of each paralyzed rat.

As they fell to the floor together in a spasming, twitching heap, Marcus's assailant finished them off with two masterful mercy strokes of her Wakisashi. It all happened so fast that Marcus couldn't be sure it had happened at all.

His assailant scanned the bottom floors as they entered into a long, spiral stairway that would lead out into the servants' quarters and then the front door of the palace. From the confidence with which this snake moved, avoiding contact with any guards by keeping to the pillars and shadows of the castle's environs, Marcus made two more assumptions:

One: she knew the layout of the castle and

Two: she'd already taken care of the guards at the front door.

So thorough must this girl's preparations have been, that when a general shout went up from the palace courtyard outside – just beside where the quarters of the Glumrat representatives slept – he was actually struck with surprise:

"H-help! Bloody murder…isssss…being…done! Asssssasssssinssss have invaded palaccccce!"

Marcus heard his captor hiss behind him.

You didn't realize it takes more than just precision to kill a Gloomraava, did you? Especially one of Clan Glumrot. You left old Verulex alive, and now you're going to pay the price.

As the snake-fiend practically threw Marcus down the right corridor that led towards the servants' quarters, he began to piece together what must be happening right now – a precision strike at the throats of the war-council…probably based on reports that a meeting had been held on this night, when we would all be gathered together.

And that meant someone gave her the intel…

The Yokun dashed through the servant rats who screamed as they awoke to Marcus's gagged form being bulldozed through the door to their quarters. The Yokun's blade flew to slice at their jugulars like it were a homing eagle, and she simply continued on her way into the long, vine-coated corridor that led down into the palace foyer. Into freedom.

"Wait," Marcus heard her say as she launched both her and him down onto the carpeted floor of the palace and scanned her surroundings.

Marcus could see nothing out of the ordinary – the lilac and strawberries of the foyer were just as bright as they ever had been.

…but, come to think of it, maybe they were just a little too bright to be believed.

As a hail of arrows came flying from the palace doorway Marcus felt himself thrown into the air and spun like a ragdoll as the Yokun's tail whipped about to slash at the storm of projectiles. When he landed, he did so in the snake-woman's arms, and she immediately took up her blade and placed the tip directly under Marcus's throat.

"Don't bother," she told the air before her. "Make one more move, and he dies."

Marcus's eyes flew to see what she evidently could see, and noticed the tell-tale signs of silhouettes glittering against the corrugated steel of the palace door.

Slowly, the spell of indivisibility was lifted, and Marcus looked upon a retinue of familiar, yet bloody face: Deekius, Skeever, and a detachment of Shrykul's halberd-wielding honor-guards.

The king himself stood at the center of their formation, clutching a strip of gauze to his bleeding neck.

"Tsk'alia!" Marcus heard his assailant scoff. "The rodent king yet lives…"

How had she hit them all at once? Marcus's mind railed with nothing else better to do. How could this single woman…without being detected…unless…

The realization pierced him with an intensity that matched the kiss of the Yokun's cold steel under his chin.

There's more than one of them…

That at least told him something: if there was indeed a team of assassins working together here, they had clearly spent themselves too thin, and one of them had been exceedingly sloppy.

She straightened up and pressed the Wakizashi's bloody tip deeper into Marcus's neck, so he could feel the thin trickle of his blood run in a little red river down his throat.

"Make one more move and he dies," she told the ratmen. "You understand, vermin? Your Shai-Alud dies here and now."

Marcus's eyes flew to each of the panting, breathless rats, settling finally on Skeever. He tried to communicate with his eyes flaring eyes and nostrils alone that the snake she-devil was bluffing – that she clearly wanted him alive. But judging from the sagging shoulders and sorrow-filled face of the Talon-Commander, he could tell he wasn't getting through.

"Be…letting…her…pass," Shrykul said. "There is…being…enough…bloodshed on this night."

The guards parted unsteadily, eyeing up the Yokun as she kicked at Marcus's legs to move him forward passed the crowd of his allies. As he looked upon Skeever's face – wracked with pain and fury in equal measure – he felt the ratman give his sleeve a reassuring tug.

"Hands off!" his captor hissed. "Or he dies!"

The rats gave them an even wider bearth, and Marcus had no choice but to stagger towards the exit, looking round only once to see the bloody form of Verulex appear at the top of the castle stairway and be cowed into silence by King Shrykul's shaking head. A sharp sting of pain beneath his ear jerked him back to face the slowly approaching palace gates.

"Eyes forward," the Yokun corrected him.

This time he let out a gulp. He knew that as soon as he left the safety of these gates, the chances of him returning were probably slim. And whatever the snake-fiend had in store for him, it hardly bode well.

The gates to the castle opened and Marcus was thrust into the streets with the Yokun's dark blade glancing his throat as she grimaced, looking about her fervently as though she was waiting for something.

Then, looking to the skies, she saw what she needed to see.

And Marcus's eyes went wide as he realized the situation was far worse than he'd imagined.

###

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[Herac]

>Slowly, the spell of indivisibility was lifted
Probably meant invisibility

 

[IronLung]

Marcus felt his throat bulge with an intake of Fleapit's dank air as he watched all his efforts over the last few weeks vanish, literally, into the air.

The ratmen he and his captor had left behind saw them, too, and he realized that this operation was more sophisticated than even he had given the Yokun credit for.

In the distance, floating up harmlessly to the black abyss above Fleapit, were all the Glitterpaks that had been corralled from the outlying farms in preparation for their final, simultaneous strikes on Skegga's last remaining forts in the North. A fleet of two-hundred, simply floating away, deaf, dumb, and ignorant of the promise of victory they represented. It was like watching the ratmen's chances of winning literally fly away from their grasp.

And he heard the snake-woman's biting laughter echo in his ear as she led him on, watching as the ratmen's secret weapon vanished before their eyes.

Chaos erupted next. The castle alarms were rung, and warriors jumped to the tallest towers they could to try and grasp at the disappearing Glitterpaks. Meanwhile, the citizens of Fleapit were crying out in fear lest someone strike even the smallest torch. Such an act would send the entire Capital up in flames in an instant.

With this chaos it would be a piece of cake for the serpent to sequester herself amidst the packs of rampaging rats that crowded the dark streets and exit the city with ease. Marcus would've once again remarked on the prowess of his sneaky captor, were it not for the fact that he had no intention of letting himself become the sacrificial lamb of some snake-cult. These rats might be barbarians, yes, but they were barbarians that at least saw him as a hero. Who knows why these sly serpents wanted him.

So, as the snake forced him down a dingy back-alley amongst the bustling, panicked crowd, he inclined his head an inch to the little creature that was standing atop Castle Carfaxx's tallest battlement, holding a longbow in his tiny hands.

Marcus didn't have to worry about the archer's line of sight. He saw, alright. Those little eyes would be able to spot a pin drop from a distance of ten-thousand feet. He'd relied on those sharp eyes before, and he'd do so again, now.

"On your knees, monkey," the Yokun snarled at him. "We're leave-"

Marcus's sudden headbutt stopped her words.

The pain reverberating across the back of his head told him that his impacting her scaled skull had done more damage to him than it did to her, but the intention was not to subdue her. Instead, Marcus felt her reel back and threw his neck to the left, creating an opening for the arrow that had been launched from the castle battlements to find its mark in the Yokun's shoulder.

Her shrill scream of pain was enough to almost paralyze Marcus's limbs, but as she stretched out her scaly hand to reach for the sleeve of his coat he stumbled forwards, fell into a mud-bath in the middle of the street, and began scrabbling through the dirt towards the safety of the castle walls.

"The Shai-Alud!" he heard the ratling civilians scream from their hovels around him.

"Protect him! Be kicking the tail of the snake-snake!"

"Idiots!" he heard the Yokun scream behind him as she tore at the throats of every raggedy ratman that threw himself at her to stop her way. Marcus looked back only momentarily to see her drowning in a sea of vermin, her blade skittering away as the swam took her.

You got cocky, he heard himself say in his mind. You underestimated your opponents' devotion for their precious Shai-Alud. And now, I don't even want to think about what the little ankle-biters will do to you.

He saw the iron gates come back into view before him and quickened his steps, spurned on by the calls of the people – many of whom had scaled the castle walls and were pouring into the courtyard, ordering their King and his warriors to get the get opened.

But, to Marcus's surprise, the iron bars remained firmly shut.

He stopped before them and grabbed two of them with both hands, wringing them like a madman and finally tearing the gag from his mouth to scream.

"SHRYKUL!" he called "OPEN THE GATES! OPEN -!"

His voice dimmed when he realized that the rats had abandoned their posts long ago at the foyer, instead chasing after the still departing Glitterpak fleet high above, obsessed with their perfect weapon sailing away on the still winds and being lost forever in the abyss of the Underkingdom's skies.

But one rat remained – the gate-guard himself. And it was those crimson eyes that stared down at Marcus from his post, and the General of the ratmen now knew, too late, who it was that had led the Yokun right to him.

The familiar face of Redwhiskers, Skeever's right-hand lieutenant, glowered down at Marcus.

"T-traitor," Marcus spat.

The snarling maw of the rat grinned right back at him before the world went black, and his senses filled with a cloud of poison smoke.

"Is that how you are addressing your captor, Shai-Alud?"

Marcus heard shouts from the courtyard as the King's retinue finally caught on to the distraction that had just been sprung on them.

But his world was now bathed in nothing but the inky darkness of something that was seeping into his nose, into the tear ducts beneath his eyes, and sending him off to oblivion.

"You will be speaking to me with more respect," the fading voice of Redwhiskers told him between the bars of the gate. "Or that word will be your last."

…

Marcus woke to the sound of raised voices and hissing that pierced his skull.

He groggily rose, eyes adjusting to the dark interior that stretched before him – a cobweb filled house. Judging by the lack of décor and cracks in the wooden floorboards, he guessed he was in the residential district of Fleapit, probably sequestered in some hidden hole the Yokun had prepared in the case of failure.

He felt the unpleasant, squelching feeling of ratman blood pooling between his toes, and looked down to see the dead bodies of two ratmen covered in rags, their stomachs opened and eyes glazed with the specter of recent death. Only now did he try to move, feeling his arms struggle against the thick ropes that bound him to the wall.

"He is up!" someone whispered before him – a feminine voice

"Leave him where he sits," another replied – another woman. "He is harmless, now."

"How do we know he does not possess incantations of his own?"

Marcus strained his eyes as two lithe shadows walked forward and knelt before him, staring at him with the eyes of hungry serpents.

"I am telling you!" a third voice cried. "He is just base human. He is being nothing without my Brothers, as all human are!"

Marcus saw both snake-women distinctly roll their eyes in annoyance at the third voice, ignoring it completely as they inspected Marcus for wounds.

"Sister?" one of them – the one to his left that Marcus assumed, by her greying scales, to be the oldest of the Yokun. "How do you fare?"

A third Yokun came into view from behind, leaning against the doorway of the house and peeking out every now and then to observe the streets outside. By the distant sounds of panic he could hear, Marcus knew the outside must still be in the grip of chaos.

The Yokun guard's hand flew to wipe at her shoulder, coming away with a spattering of her plumb-purple blood.

"It will take more than a rat's poisoned arrow to fell me," she replied to her 'Sister'. "These rodents do not yet seem to understand our blood's innate resistance to their poxes and poisons. Though I admit, the little beast made a good shot."

Marcus struggled against his binds, trying to shout that it was a Kobold that shot her – a talented little Yip by the name of Ix.

"He stirs," the old snake said. "Should we send him back to dreamland?"

"No need," the snake beside her said. "Let him see what awaits him with his own eyes. The Pale Matriarch's orders were to be gentle with him, after all."

Marcus felt the barely restrained desire to slit his throat radiating from the two younger snakes, especially the one hanging by the door.

But more even than they, he could feel the fury bubbling in Redwhisker's seething little form.

"You are failing!" he said with a stamp of his feet, coming to talk directly to the elder Yokun. "I am being forced to reveal myself to stop him escaping. Why are you not killing him now?"

"That wasn't the deal, little rat," the grey elder said from her dark veil, not even deigning to make eye-contact with the seething creature. "We take him alive, tonight."

"And what about me?" Redswhiskers stamped again like a rabbity old crone. "Where is being my reward? I am being promised riches of Yokun. I will be needing help to escape to new Clan. You will be taking me!"

"Out of the question," the wounded Sister by the door replied coolly, calmly. "The situation has changed. This Underkingdom is grown too hot for our blood, little rodent. We make for the surface tonight. You can come with us, or you can stay. But go we shall."

Both the other Yokun nodded and got Marcus to his feet.

"Possible exits?" the elder asked.

"Industrial sector," the snake door-guard replied. "Cover of smog shall be our advantage. The integrity of the walls on that side are structurally weak, and security detail is focused on the Palace district."

The snake women nodded sagely. "Then let us wait for a lull in the sentries."

Marcus was forced to marvel at the professionalism on display from the snakes. Their plan had backfired – they had wanted to get him out without a struggle. That must have been the point of enlisting Redwhiskers for help as the castle gate watchman for the night. How they knew that rat in particular harbored hatred towards him was anyone's guess. Perhaps they had more spies in the Underkingdom than even Shrykul thought.

One thing was certain though: they had clearly taken steps to ensure they had a backup plan in place and were now executing an entirely new escape plan on the fly. And they were good at it – Marcus had to admit.

These were trained agents. Focused and ever-present.

So, of course, as they moved him towards the door of the ramshackle hut and made ready to slip back out into the streets, Marcus had one question burning in his mind:

Just who the hell had sent them?

###


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[IronLung]

Marcus resisted the urge to administer another headbutt to the assassin-hit squad as the second youngest of the team – the one that seemed more attached to the elder Yokun than Marcus's captor - pulled him up by the scruff of his neck and heaved him over to the doorway.

"Any openings?"

"None yet, Sister," the wounded snake-fiend replied, her coiled tongue flicking out viciously as she watched with unblinking eyes the corridor of stone hovels that filled the residential district. They'd have to cut through another four blocks at least before they made it to the cover of Fleapit's Iron forges. But, Marcus had to concur with the wisdom of the eldest among them – if they managed to get there, they'd be home free.

And he'd be meat for this 'Pale – Matriarch' these serpentine ladies served was.

"There is no order to these blasted rats," the assassin watching the door hissed. "But…I can see a way forward. Beyond the two huts that flank us is a tunnel that descends down into the earth and seems to emerge five Kilometers East just before the entrance to the foundry. It seems entirely unguarded – mostly infants play around its lip."

Marcus's eyes bulged as he realized what they were talking about – one of Fleapit's aptly named 'Festering Fountains' which served the purely decorative function one would expect any simple water-fountain in a city would serve.

The only difference here was, of course, it was filled with rat-shit.

"Easy pickings, then," the grey-scaled elder murmured.

He strained against his bounds and tried to scream at them that – though he'd endured much in these Warrens – he was not about to trudge through five kilometers of shit and piss with them.

"It seems the Shai-Alud does not find our course of action to his liking," the Yokun holding him hissed in his ear. "Matron, is there no way I can take but a bite of this one before we move on? It has been some time since I have tasted human – and definitely not one from that allegedly comes to us from beyond the bounds of our world."

Marcus recoiled as he felt the lithe tongue of the she-demon slather itself across his cheek, licking the sweat that was falling from his brow.

"Patience," the elderly one – 'Matron' – hissed back. "The Shai-Alud belongs to the Pale Matriarch. Remember that."

Marcus was glad for the old one's wisdom, and intervention. The hungry snakeling backed off, pouted, and then joined the other two by the side of the door.

"We must fly, Sisters" the door-watcher said. "This most recent guard patrol barks that each house will be searched beginning with the first row of each block."

"Then we take our chances," the Matron said. "We are already behind schedule as it is. The toad's army moves out in five hours. We must be gone by then."

Toad's…army…

…Skegga…they are coming…

"Hey!" came the shout of Redwhiskers as he threw aside a wooden crate and stomped over to the doorway to confront the three Yokun. "You are not being good listeners, are you, snake-wenches! I am telling you you must escort me to Clan Marrow headquarters and be giving me my fair share of your Yokun gold!"

The Matron whirred on him, cupping her scaly hand over his mouth before he even had a chance to draw his weapon.

"Be silent!" she hissed in his face. "Does your kind not understand when circumstances must change? You brought us false intel. You told us the Gloomraav would die as any ratman would. You did not tell us of their protective incantations that almost cost us our lives."

The rat raged under the Yokun's claws, tearing them away and spitting in the serpent's face.

"I am not knowing your kind are so unskilled!" he roared. "Or that you are being so dishonorable in the face of one who is giving you what your precious servants could not!"

The Matron leaned back, straightened up.

"Is that so?" she whispered.

Marcus saw it then – the almost imperceptible nod she made to the hungry sister who began stepping, with unhindered grace, around to the back of the room.

Redwhiskers, meanwhile, saw nothing but his own crimson-rage.

"It will be taking one shout from me," he snarled. "Just one to make your little plan fall to pieces! Do not be crossing me! At least be giving me a piece of this filthy human."

The ratman's mad eyes flew to Marcus, and the latter saw the hungering snake-woman drew her wakizashi slowly from the scabbard at her hip.

"Sisters!" the doorguard hissed. "They are coming."

"Out of the question," the Matron told Redwhiskers, slowly drawing out the syllables of each word. "You know our offer, vermin. We offer you free passage to the surface with us. It will not be an easy life for you, but it will be better than bearing the mark of a traitor among your kind. Take it or leave it."

The rat's snarl of hatred was so profound that it genuinely shocked Marcus. He could only dimly recall their dispute in the tunnel leading to Knifegut back when he'd first appeared in this dismal realm. He'd done little more than corrected the ratman's hatred of the kobold prisoners.

But he was starting to realize just how much pride these creatures attached to their prejudice.

"Soap-sucking, surface slithering snake-bitches…" the rat murmured, staring down his two opponents and entirely forgetting about the third one creeping around at his back

Then, hearing the guards approach from the outside, he opened his mouth to botch the whole operation…

…and the blade of the Yokun who had crept up behind him pierced right through the back of his throat and was twisted before he could utter a single word.

Marcus staggered back against the wall of the hovel as he watched the rat lieutenant simply fall limp and bleed out on the ground, his little limbs twitching with the death throes of a slain animal.

His eyes were still brimming with pure, raw, passionate hatred. Hatred directly up at the last sight he saw in this world: the human who had come to be his 'savior'.

You really hated me, didn't you? Marcus found himself asking those bulging, bloody eyes as he slumped to the floor. Then again, you aren't the only one nowadays. Not by a long shot…

He didn't even notice the snake-assassin withdraw the blade almost as quickly as she had whipped it out and, without even bothering to clean the dirty blood of the rat from its edge, took Marcus by the shoulder and pushed him forward to the door.

"Don't weigh us down, human," she told his unblinking eyes. "Make no mistake, if you try any tricks again, we might have to tell the Matriarch that you suffered an unfortunate 'accident' on the road…"

Marcus gave her a silent nod in response, even as his mind raced with questions he needed answers to: Were these women really allied with Skegga? If so, why had they only come now? How long had they been plotting this? And why did they need him alive?

"How many smoke-bombs have you got, Sister?" the Yokun then asked the wounded door-guard.

The snake who had first abducted Marcus turned and licked her slitted lips, showing that the smiles of these creatures were just as terrifying as their blank, cold battle-stares.

"Enough, Matriarch willing."

A nod from the other two. "Alright," the grey Matron said. "We move out. Keep him close and keep him awake – don't let them think he's dead. He's our best ticket out if the Will of the Matriarch is not with us."

"Matron," the doorguard said, clawing at her open shoulder wound. "If we should fail –"

"We are Yokun," the Matron replied, cutting off the younger snake and laying an affirmative claw on her neck. "We are Sisters of the House of Whispers. We are the women who walk in the night. The claw that grips the knife that stabs. We do not fail."

If Marcus's soul wasn't already filled with abject terror, it certainly was now.

…but he also had to admit that another part of his brain was filled with wonder at these three, taking on the entire city by themselves, skulking through shadows to accomplish their goal, and clearly honor-bound to deliver him to their leader.

It was just a shame that he'd have to see them all dead before this night was over.

And, with utterly no idea of the thoughts running through their prisoner's head, the Sisters each gave a single nod before smashing the smoke-bomb just outside the entrance and flying from the hovel, taking Marcus with them into the dark.

They raced past the squad of confused ratguards, licking at their elbow joints with their swords as they went, disabling them all in one fell swoop of death that carried Marcus inexorably towards the shit-tunnel that gave them free passage to the industrial sector, leaving a trail of screaming civilians in their wake.

Soap, Marcus begged. My kingdom…for soap.

He held his breath as they all dove in.

###

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[IronLung]

Marcus closed his eyes to the heap of shit and piss that assailed his senses, traveling up his nose and smearing itself across his pale face as the Yokun hit-squad dragged him through the Festering Fountain supply pipe.

He only opened his eyes and drew deep the dank air of Fleapit when the emerged on the other side, smashing through the fountain in the residential quarter square and sending up a shockwave of terror that swept through the ratmen civilians enjoying their putrid shower.

The Yokun women did not spare a single moment. As a unit they surged towards the jagged iron towers of the Industrial Sector forges, Marcus still being held by the second youngest of their order. On the way, only a few guards were roused from their sprints down the alleys of Fleapit by the team, having only enough time to raise their spears or halberds in defense before they Yokun's Wakisashis slit their throats and left them gagging for breath in the dark.

To Marcus, the entire world was nothing but flashes of deep onyx and the puffs of smoke billowing from the great forces of Fleapit's East District, mixed with flashes of grey, blue, and swamp green that he caught from within the Yokun's visors. Occasionally such sights were bathed in corrupted crimson as some unfortunate peasant rat stumbled out onto the streets and was soundly silenced by the blades of the assassins as they bore their charge relentlessly towards the forges and foundries.

"Matron!" the youngest, wounded one shouted as they neared their destination. "Up top!"

The Elder's eyes flared as she looked to the skies and saw javelins flying at them from the puffing chimneys of the foundry towers, clearly workmen who had taken up arms and decided to try their hand at defending their trade.

"Tsk," the Matron hissed. "Ignore them. Into the shadows between the towers. Let them strike at nothing but air!"

The Yokun nodded as they advanced, Marcus at this point being carried on the back of the sister that held him captive. They snaked their way between the skeletal frames of the foundry pits, slashing away the life of any who dared to stand in their way, and Marcus spared a thought for all the innocent ratmen who had died by their scaly hands this day. If he knew his comrades like he did, they would seek to pay such deaths back tenfold…

"There!" the wounded sister shouted. "The wall comes into view!"

She was right. The thick, dark outline of Fleapit's East guard tower loomed above them, and the three assassins wasted no time in scaling the bricks with their bare hands and dispatching the crossbow-wielding guards atop the battlements with as much ease as a child cutting through a cake.

And when then they looked beyond the walls, they saw nothing but an expanse of darkness waiting for them.

"Let us fly!" the youngling spat.

But as she made to leap and finally be free of the putrid waste of a city, the Matron held her back.

"Sister," he said. "Look below."

The youngling's face was flushed with frenzy. Clearly her wound had caused her no small amount of trepidation – certainly more than she'd let on. But as Marcus watched the three of them step to the edge of the battlements and look over the side, he couldn't help but feel a swelling of pride within his chest.

An army of eighty Spineripper-mounted Marrow rats waited below, gazing up at them while their mounts leaped to claw their way up to maul the assassins.

And at their head was someone all too familiar to Marcus.

"FORWARD!" The great hulking image of Festicus roared above the din of his baying horde. "FOR THE SHAI-ALUD!"

The Shai-Alud couldn't be prouder. Not that he had any time to dwell on this.

The Yokun that held him put the edge of her blade to his throat.

"Do not come closer, filth of the underworld!" she hissed. "Or the human dies!"

"HAH!" Festicus roared up at them. "Be going ahead! We are coming to avenge our Brothers' deaths! By the Unclean, your heads shall be resting upon my spike by the end of this day!"

"Skittering rodent!" the young snake spat, but the Matron held both her charges back.

"We go higher," she said, nodding up at the smog-producing towers of the foundries they had just cleared. "Let their bestial mounts try and follow us there."

The three Yokun followed their Elder's plan without flaw, managing to clear the walls just as the first of Festicus's legion leaped to claw at their legs. The mounts had speed on their side, but the snake-women had stealth, and Marcus doubted they gave off any particular scents the Spineripper's could sense that he could not.

They had effectively blinded the army that had been lying in wait for them.

The Yokun leaped through the foundry pits and latched onto the towers with their claws, sheathing their Wakishashi's and scaling to the top of the highest tower, Marcus being dragged up after them wrapped in the tail of his captor.

He watched the legion of Festicus bark up at the women as they made their ascent, seeing the floor of Fleapit disappear entirely as they cleared the first of the smog-clouds above.

"Sister!" the youngest then shouted. "Where are we bound?"

"To them!" the grey Matron shouted back, pointing up at the last of the Glitterpaks that were floating by above. "We ride them out. Take out chances on the dead winds of this accursed place!"

Marcus was shocked by the level of dedication on display here, even as he tried wriggling against his captor's surprisingly strong tail.

The Yokun finally made it to the top of the foundry platform, seeing the Glittperpaks float by with almost lifeless abandon above the city.

"Finally!" Marcus's captor roared. "Let us fly!"

"Wait," the Matron ordered. "I don't like this. I will take-"

"We go!" the impatient snake that held Marcus roared. "I will not spend another second in this cesspit!"

She launched herself without waiting for her Sisters command towards the first Glitterpak she saw, trailing through the air with the dexterity of an Olympic gymnast, all while holding Marcus coiled in her tail who already knew, by the flickering color patterns that shone across the Glitterpak's body, what was about to happen.

"Sister!"

The youngling's call was not heard as the snake-woman made to grab the spiky folds of the Glitterpak's body and watched her hand simply cleave through thin air. Her eyes bulging, tail finally uncoiling, she let out a shrill scream as she plummeted towards the fifty-foot drop to her death with Marcus falling behind her.

He looked into her eyes as he fell, seeing the desperation that smeared across her face in the end. That's when he saw that, for him, there was actually no hatred there. There was instead merely a sense of duty. A duty that, the Yokun knew, had now been brought to an abrupt end.

Marcus would have assumed he'd meet the same fate as the bearer of those desparate eyes, but suddenly felt another lithe tail wrap itself around his waist from above, knocking him against the corrugated metal of the foundry silo and suspending him just below the lip of the platform. He watched as the snake-woman hit the ground – becoming nothing more than a wet puddle of burst flesh.

The other two cursed as the youngling pulled him up, pinning him to the floor and bringing up her Wakisahsi to slit his throat then and there.

"Sister," came the warning voice of the Matron.

"Tsk'althoka!" the young snake cried. "We would be better to end his life here and now, Matron! We would be doing this entire world a favor!"

"It is not the Matriarch's will, Sister."

"My brood Sister is dead!' the youngling screamed. "I – I will have vengea-"

"Yeeva," the Matron said quietly, placing an affirming hand on the young snake woman's shoulder. "She knew the risk. We all did."

The hard eyes of the young snake met Marcus's in that moment, and the latter was surprised to find what looked like tears welling up in the assassin's predator eyes. Such tears were abruptly wiped away, however, as her hand flew to grab at Marcus's arm.

"What…what is this?"

Marcus followed her eyes to see the small, almost imperceptible almond-shaped eyeball iris that was strapped to his sleeve, almost like it had been sown in there intentionally. Unless one had the perception of a hawk, there was no way anyone could have noticed it. Hell, he hadn't even noticed it himself.

So when the Matron snake shook her old head in disbelief, he was just as surprised as she was.

"A marker," she said. "The result of a basic incantation that allows the owner of the device to track the one implanted with it. Who knew these little beasts were capable of employing such rudimentary magic in such a clever way?"

"Devious, sneaky little wretches!" The young Yeeva spat. "You knew about this, didn't you, piss-blood?"

Marcus shook his head desperately – an entirely honest answer delivered at the same time as he made the realization: Skeever had briefly brushed his arm as the snake women had led him out of the palace, hadn't he? So he must have…

Skeever, Marcus thought. You really are a cut above your kind. If I get out of this, I swear I will raise you to the ranks of legend among your kind.

A sudden clanging of claws against iron drew the attention of the Yokun then, and both snakes turned to see the challenger that had finally come to face them on the platform.

"Be thinking you can outrun me?" Festicus said as he regained his breath from his ascent. "I am Festicus of Clan Marrow! Be meeting my eyes, for in them will you be seeing your death."

###

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[IronLung]

Upon the tallest silo of Fleapit's foundries, a duel was about to break out that would determine the fate of the entire Underkingdom.

Marcus often recalled tales of such duels in the books he loved to peruse as a child – fanciful stories of men and women going off to conquer fantastical realms and slaying dragons or witch covens after proclaiming the inherent purity of the human spirit.

Such tales rouse the hearts of young men. They become the same young men who run off to wars thinking that mass combat will afford them the same kind of moral superiority.

For Marcus - a man trapped in an ugly rendition of one such world - such superiority was a luxury he would never have. Heroes are supposed to bandy words with demons. They are supposed to show their valor in righteous battle.

But the battle that unfolded atop Fleapit's highest point was not honorable. It was not righteous.

Instead, one armored rat brought his vicious halberd to bear against two humanoid snake-hybrids, and the strikes they made were to kill, not to entertain their spectator.

First, the youngling threw Marcus aside and leaped directly for Festicus. The ratman anticipated the attack, shifting his weight to his right to sidestep and cleave the snake-woman from belly to breast. The attack was one of pure, raw strength, but it was one burdened by the heaviness of the creature's weapon. In the moment of impact the young Yokun twirled and slashed at the ratman's exposed neck, her blade coming away with his crimson blood gleaming along its edge.

He staggered, dropping to his knees just in time for the Matron to came at him with her mercy strike.

A strike that he met with his bare teeth.

His head jerked up. His mouth opened in a snarl, and Marcus saw his fangs clamp down on the blade as it entered its throat. The Matron's eyes narrowed as she tried to free the blade, watching the ratman's gums fill with gushing blood as the Wakizashi's edge nicked his tongue. Then, in her moment of pure confusion, his halberd swept the Yokun elder's feet.

"Sister!"

Festicus smirked as he felt movement behind him – the youngling spinning in a deadly pirouette that struck for his armored spine. The blessings of He-Who-Festers was with the ratman on this day, for the Yokun's blade merely pierced the outer layer of his armored hide and ripped the metal pieces away, letting them fall in a hail of iron that rained down on the spectators watching the small snippets of the battle they could see below.

The ratman thrust the pole of his weapon back to knock against the ribs of the youngling and push her almost straight off the silo's precarious platform to join the bloody mess that was her sister below.

"MMMHMMM!" Marcus wheezed from his position, still gagged. He couldn't help it. This fight was showing him just how skilled the Marrow rat truly was. And it was telling him that his spirit was still loyal to his Shai-Alud after all.

As Festicus turned to hack away at the thin leathers of young Yeeva's chest, the Matron regained her footing. She sent a flurry of blows angled down at the ratman's armpit joints that struck faster than Marcus's eyes could follow. All he saw, when he blinked, was that Festicus was reeling back, his mouth, elbows, and arms all bleeding profusely, coating the dark metal of the silo in his life fluids.

The Matron brought her youngblood back up to her knees, and both of them angled their blades at the mauled rat before them.

"Sire..Marcus," Festicus groaned, drawing his eyes towards the human huddled at the edge of the bloody platform.

With a single twist of his claws he ripped through Marcus's gag and the human heaved a wail of release.

"Festicus," he said, trying to maintain his commanding tone. "Stand. Down."

"I would listen to your monkey friend," the Matron spat through her smiling lips. "You face two Sisters of the House of Whispers, little cretin. We have slain more of your kind than you can count."

Festicus rose steadily, using his halberd to push up from the floor of the platform as the two Yokun circled, both picking their target that would end the miserable ratman's life.

"Clan Marrow…" he wheezed. "Never…back…down."

He turned to Marcus abruptly after coughing a torrent of dark crimson.

"I will be living…to see…those cannons," he sputtered as he brought his halberd back up, holding it across his chest straight backed and regal, like some Arabian prince's honor guard. "In the name of Clan and King…I will be living…to see…our victory!"

Both women's blades flashed through the air, trailing arcs of brilliant light as they curved to bring death upon the beleaguered ratman.

And the eyes of the rat flew to Marcus's as he swept up his halberd to meet the Matron's strike at his right flank.

The Wakizashi of the youngling flew to cleave through his ribcage to the left, and it would have done so if she had merely followed through.

Instead, Marcus watched as her arm writhed like it had a will of its own. She dropped her weapon and it slid across the platform while she screamed in agony – an animal scream that pierced not only the air, but the ears of her Sister who was taken off balance by the sudden change in her companion's demeanor.

And that opening was all Festicus needed cut right into her waist.

She opened her mouth in a gasp, arms flying to dislodge the blade while the ratman that held it grit his teeth and pushed through her scaled skin with all the force left in his hulking frame.

"SHAAAAAA-HAH!"

Marcus watched awestruck as the Matron's torso was cleaved clean through. Her legs flopped beneath the purple-soaked blade of Festicus's halberd while the rest of her body spun in the air, crumbled, and fell back to the platform in a heap of twitching limbs.

"SISTER!" Yeeva screamed, her arms still gyrating with a life of their own as Festicus collapsed to one knee, seeing the ghostly form of someone familiar appear just over the lip of the platform's north face.

"By…the Unclean…" he wheezed. "Could you not be coming…a little…more early?"

The hooded rat man that had his eyes trained on the twitching Yokun before him twisted his face into a smile.

"A Gloomrava of Glumrot isssss coming exxxxxactly when he issssss needing to."

"Look out!"

The shout came from Marcus as his eyes flew to the still spasming Yokun Matron's body. In a macabre display of pure, uncanny willpower, her fingers wrapped round her blade and sent it spinning towards the tiny legs of the newly arrived priest, drawing a cry of agony from him that sounded more like the shrill wailing of the undead than the pained voice of a rat.

Festicus watched his Brother go down and made to rise again to finish off the last female, but this time the Yokun youngling was faster – spurned on by the death of her senior.

She met Festicus' sweeping strike with such fury that the ratman was sent staggering back, and, holding the blade of her Matron in her hand, got the other around the ratman's throat and held him down, her nails penetrating deep into his neck and drawing tiny trickles of blood that traveled through her scaled veins.

"Miserable, scaleless swine!" she railed, pushing her Wakizashi closer and closer to the ratman's face, watching the life in his eyes and strength in his arms gradually fade away to nothing. "Vlitark take the Matriarch! You all die here and now!"

Festicus's arms began to give way. The power to even bite back at the vengeance-filled face of the snake was going – it was draining away like the rest of his blood. It seemed he would have to be satisfied with slaying one of them. An honor most of his Clan would still respect him for, even if it had to be in death…

But before he closed his eyes he saw the Yokra's go wide. He saw the passionate fires of fury die away on her scaled features and then felt the wet spew of her blood that had just spurted from beneath her chest. Both ratman and Yokun looked down to see where her discarded Wakizashi had just penetrated her lower abdomen and, as the blade was twisted, Yeeva finally fell to the side.

And revealed the human standing above her who had just stabbed her in the back.

Festicus wanted to laugh then more than any other time in his life. But, try as he might, all he could manage was a slight smile.

"You truly…are…having the soul…of a rat," he wheezed.

And as Marcus bent down to check the vitals of the ratman, discovering, too late, that there was nothing more to be done, Festicus of Clan Marrow closed his eyes and left the world of the Underkingdom behind.

###

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[Herac]

Rip Festicus, I hope this will have finally made Marcus a bit more ruthless. While Marcus was right in that the Kobolds are good auxiliaries he should not have trusted the rats to leave behind generations of grudges behind and known better with the rhetoric of the church that they would slaughter them. But he should at least have killed off that clear dissident before he had a chance to betray them.

Hopefully the new Clan Marrow representative will be more subservient to Marcus, though maybe they will take this chance to reduce Marcus freedoms in the name of protection.

 

[IronLung]

"Festicus…"

Marcus stared down at the felled rat, watching as his great furrowed head lulled and fell to the side.

"Festicus!"

"He issss being gone, Ssssire," Verulex said behind him.

Marcus bent low and tried to rouse the great brute that had saved his life, denying that he was about to let another rat man die for him like Gatskeek had.

"Wake up, Marrow soldier!" he yelped in the creature's vacant eyes. "There's cavalry charges still to be led!"

No response. Sullen and vengeful, Marcus let the head drop.

I hesitated, he thought. I didn't act quick enough. If I had the damn foresight to grab that blade sooner…

"Be letting him be. He isss doing hisss duty to Clan and –"

"Oh, shut up, priest," Marcus spat, turning with fury to look upon the hooded cretin who was still managing to coax his anger even now. "Your Order might consider a single rat's life to be meaningless – something to just throw away in the service of your God, but this warrior deserved more than this."

The High Priest of Glumrot fixed Marcus with his puss-filled eyes. Those eyes spoke of toxic thoughts ruminating beneath them.

"Be turning your thoughtssss to vengeancccce, Sssssire," Verulex wheezed as he shambled over to the Matron's eviscerated body and prodded at it with the staff of his office, making sure the creature's life had finally expired. He then nodded down at the still breathing form of the unconscious Yeeva below Marcus, the soft skin of her belly weeping purple blood from the perforation Marcus had made as she took Festicus's life.

He scoffed at the priest and picked up the Wakisashi that had fallen at his feet, bending low and directing his hatred at the fallen Yokra who was mumbling as though in a dream-state.

Perhaps it was a meditation practice of their kind, Marcus thought. It didn't make any biological sense for a creature to immediately collapse into unconsciousness as she just had in receiving such a near fatal wound.

He leaned closer to her as Verulex amplified his voice and called down to the army still waiting below, telling them to send a detachment and a priest to sanctify the body of one of their dead. The enemy Yokun had fallen, and they would receive some special treatment of their own.

Marcus heard general cheers resound as this proclamation echoed all through the dim streets of the putrid city. But he ignored them. Instead, he craned his neck to hear what the felled serpent was saying. There was a word on her lips that he could swear had the ring of familiarity to it.

"Matriarch…Pale…Pale Lady…"

Loyal to a fault, Marcus thought. Even in death, you sing your leader's praises. If you are a representative of one of her soldiers, I'm sure she's a force to be reckoned with among your people. That's just another reason why you have to die.

He brought the edge of the Yokun's Wakizashi to her scaled, bloody throat, tensing up as he knew that he had to do this. He had to. He wouldn't hesitate anymore.

And just as he held her head in his hand and made to bring the blade across her neck, that's when he heard it:

"…Mari…"

His hand stopped.

His brain froze.

The Wakisashi wavered as though willing him to follow-through with his desire.

But a very different desire now burned in his heart as that word traveled through his entire system and sent shivers running down his spine.

"Matriarch…Lady…Maria…"

The blade clattered against the silo platform.

"What isss happening?" Verulex asked. "Ssssire, isss thissss beasssst resssisssting?"

Marcus shook his head.

"No."

"Then be sssslaying her and let ussss go. I sssshal be honored to be ssssshowing you Clan Glumrot'sssss wayssss of debassssing the dead."

Marcus could barely even hear the words of the priest. He could register nothing in this moment except the croaking of that name – Mari's name – emanating from the slitted lips of the downed serpent.

"Bah!" Verulex howled. "Be giving me the blade. I sssshal do i-"

"No," Marcus said, then turning to the priest as though he had just been transported back to reality. "No. We take her alive."

The priest cocked his vile, hooded head at Marcus.

"Your pity for thesssse foreign hereticssss isssss doing you no favorssss, Sssshai-Alud," he said. "The Koboldssss are bad enough. Now you are even ssssshowing merccccy to the killer of your commander?"

"We…we need to question her," Marcus explained, straightening up and trying to compose himself as best he could. "We have the opportunity here to find out what she knows, where she came from, even Skegga's force composition potentially. We can't afford to lose this opportunity."

He looked into the face of the ratman and saw what he had not quite been able to see in the war-chamber earlier that night. He saw the wrinkled eyes of the holy rat narrow, and the teeth flare in anger.

"Sssssire," the priest began, slowly. "You are not undersssstanding. I am being head priesssst of Glumrot. I am favored voicccce of He-Who-Fessssterssss. The bussssinesss of dealing with dead in battle isssss up to me."

Marcus faced the rat, feeling anger take him once again.

"And I am your Shai-Alud," he said. "You should be speaking to me with more re-"

Now, he saw something else that he hadn't seen before.

He saw the Wakisashi that glimmered in the ratman's right claw.

As the little priest spoke, he watched as the tip of the blade slowly rose to touch Marcus's reverberating heart.

"You are not ssssspeaker for the Unclean," the priest told him in a cold whisper. "You ssssshal never be. A human isssss a human, jusssst assss a Kobold isssss a Kobold and a sssssnake-bitch isssss a sssssnake-bitch. Hereticsssss, all of you. And one day, sssssooon, there ssssshall come a day when you are purged from our gloriousssss empire. And on that day, Ssssshai-Alud, you may sssssee which ratssss in thisssss realm are truly holding the power."

Marcus licked his lips. His eyes now swam to watch the edges of the podium. And he became acutely conscious of just how isolated they were up here, surrounded by the dying and the dead. Like the vicious little creature said, it was his domain.

He maintained his composure. He stalled for time.

"Are you threatening me, Verulex?"

The sly smile that crossed the priest's lips then was more chilling than anything Marcus had seen thus far in the Kingdom of the rats.

"I am but a humble sssservant, Sssshai-Alud," he replied. "We all have our placcce in ratman sssssociety. Even you, Ssssshai-Alud. It issss a beautiful thing, issss it not? He-Who-Festerssss issss a mossst generoussss God. He is even giving sssscum like you a placccce among Hisssss chosen people."

Marcus stepped back as the tip of the knife inched closer to his abdomen. He could swear, still smirking, that the ratman moved with him.

And so when there finally came the rattling of chains from the lip of the silo platform's edge, Marcus was more relieved than ever. And the knife that Verulex once dangled before him simply evaporated into ash.

Magic, it seemed, could hide even the greatest crime.

"Shai-Alud!" the voice of Deekius yelped from the edge of the platform, panting as he and a retinue of soldiers threw themselves over the lip and caught their breath. "You…are you being hurt, Lor-"

"Gloomraava Deekius," Verulex interrupted. "You are coming in good time. I am taking charge of thisssss Yokun bitch. We will be exxxxecuting her publicly tomorrow, after I take sssssome time to – time to –"

The priest collapsed suddenly, coughing up a miasma of his blood in the process.

"Gloomraava Verulex," Deekius said. "You are being maimed. Be coming down, we shall be administering to you."

"Be dealing with Brother Fesssssticusss firsssst, Brother," the old priest coughed as he allowed himself to be helped away. "He issss needing your care more than I."

Marcus watched as the small retinue of rats then took stock of their surroundings, seeing the chaos and carnage that unfolded in such a tiny area over such a short space of time.

"He was being a credit to his Clan," Deekius said. "This is great loss for our people."

Verulex, meanwhile, said nothing at all.

Marcus watched as the Yokun woman was spat on and then trundled off down the silo with the others, thankful that the old priest's wounds at least stopped him from having her slain then and there. Perhaps even he knew he couldn't go against the Shai-Alud's wishes publically.

But he'd just confirmed something that Marcus had already begun to fear – something that became far too obvious to him now after seeing the hatred burning in the eyes of Redwhiskers and Verulex both.

And, more than that, he needed to speak to that snake. He needed that more than anything. He needed to know…was it chance? Or…was Mari really..?

"Marcus," he heard Deekius say outside himself. "It is being alright now. Yokun are not being known to send more than single assassin team. If they are failing, it is because they are not blessed by their heretic Gods. Defeating them here is great victory for us all, and now, you are having nothing to fear."

The ratman lifted his arm to try and guide Marcus away but the latter rejected the help entirely. He crossed to the edge of the platform and looked down upon the city, seeing the crowds cheer to see him alive, wondering which of them truly did have any real love for him at all.

Then his eyes lighted on the descending form of Verulex, and he felt a very different idea take root within his mind.

"No, Deekius," he said. "I have plenty still to fear. But now I know what to do about it."

###

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[Herac]

Yes yes kill that old rat. How dare he! He should be killed and fed to his kind. But that Mari is also dragged over to this side was pretty well foreshadowed and one of the most likely reasons for the assassin teams wishes to keep Marcus alive. And the pale part of the pale matriarch made it likely in hindsight that it was Mari who may have a similar position to Marcus Shai-Alud

 

[IronLung]

Note: Alright troops, it's my birthday tomorrow so I'm taking some shore leave. No new chapters tomorrow. Fantasy General will be back on Friday with a chapter that you won't want to miss...


Marcus sat silently in his chambers, his fingers drumming into the stone armrests of his chair that faced the balcony window.

Outside, there were chants being spurned on in his name. There were ratmen down there who were ready to throw their lives away just to get a look at him and to know, for certain, that he was still alive.

"They've pinned their whole hopes on me," he whispered."And yet, I'd sell them all out just to see Mari again."

He leaned back at stared at the empty ceiling above, tracing the cracks in the stones where the rats had probably done battle before.

"What kind of person does that make me?" he asked the vacant ceiling. "Someone worth believing in? Or something who lets his own selfish desires run his mind?"

The door to his room creaked open, and a small, robed rat shuffled in.

"I guess I'll find out soon enough," Marcus said as he turned to meet the visitor he had called to his room alone.

Deekius.

The rat-priest looked up at him with both awe and – Marcus thought – a small sliver of fear. Perhaps the rat himself now believed all the sermons he had delivered about Marcus the Shai-Alud. Perhaps he didn't, and the display of terror-stricken reverence was merely an act.

He bowed his head so low that his snout practically kissed the stones of Marcus's floor.

"Shai-Alud," he said. "It is being my honor to stand before you once again. How are your wounds healing?"

Marcus waved his trivial concerns away. "My bruises are psychological, at best," he said. "More importantly, tell me straight, can your Gloomraava do anything for Festicus?"

The rat-priest closed his eyes. His silence said enough.

"Then he truly is gone," Marcus stated, turning back to the balcony and the legions of baying fans waiting down there.

"We will be giving him a proper ceremony in the Grand Cathedral of the Unclean," Deekius stated. "Then, he will be afforded the highest honor – his body shall be returned to King Skylock of Marrow and consumed by their Clan's Queen. King Shrykul is making necessary preparations."

Marcus hesitated before he spoke his next words, his mind racing.

"Tell him to wait," he said.

Deekius blinked. "Sire? The King is giving order to –"

"Do the soldiers of Clan Marrow know their commander is gone?" Marcus asked. "Do they know how, and where, he died?"

"They…they are knowing the assassins struck here tonight. They are knowing their commander is pursuing them, but all his forces do not yet know he is perishing on top of the Foundry."

"Good," Marcus said. "We will be keeping it that way."

Now he turned back to the little rat-priest. The one who brought him here when it seemed his purpose in life had departed him. When he was at his most hopeless…

"The prisoner," he said. "Where is she being kept?"

"She is being taken to the dungeons on Gloomraava Verulex's authority," Deekius said. "Her execution is being scheduled for 6 hours from now. I am being sorry, Sire Marcus, but the priest of Glumrot is having final say in this matter."

"But not," Marcus added. "The sole domain of priest Verulex."

Deekius cocked his eyebrows at him, his fur furrowing beneath his hood.

"No," he said slowly. "But he is being senior priest here. Authority of Glumrot priests are second only to Prime Putrefact's."

"Yes, of course," Marcus replied. "And where is Gloomraava Verulex currently?"

"He is in his chambers resting," Deekius replied. "He is still recovering from his wounds – the poison of the Yokun Matron is working on him. But he shall be surviving yet. He is just needing rest after all his exertions."

"Yes," Marcus said. "He was gravely wounded. Wasn't he?"

Silence weaved its way between both rat and man as the hidden meaning in Marcus's words spilled out into the air around them.

"Deekius," the human finally said. "I know you have ambition in you."

Are you really going to do this? he asked himself. Once you take a step like this…there is no going back. This is the abyss.

Even as his mind fumbled, he recalled the image of Verulex's hateful eyes staring at him beneath his ragged hood. He recalled the feeling of the Yokun's blade against his flesh as the rat held it before him. And he recalled the ratman's statements in the war-chamber. He had realized, as he was brought back to this castle, why that little priest showed no fear in making such open threats.

Because he thinks I'm weak, Marcus told himself. He thinks my displays of mercy to be the whims of a coward. He thinks I am a tool to be exploited, and nothing more.

But I have tools of my own. I'm not just a history professor, anymore. Words no longer have to be my only weapons…

"Sire?" the ratman mumbled.

"I have heard the sermons you sing about me," Marcus said, stepping closer and bending low to look the ratman right in his sharp eyes. "About the power you wield now that He-Who-Festers has looked upon you as His chosen priest. After all, it was you who summoned the Shai-Alud. And it was you who called those illusions – at the palace doors and atop the Foundry tower – that led to the defeat of the Yokun assassins, wasn't it?"

"You are knowing my skills too well, Sire," Deekius replied with a humble bow.

Now's the time, Marcus. Do it. Show him who you are. Who you can be. Show them all.

"A rat like you," he began cooly. "A rat with such power flowing through him – a Gloomraava chosen by the Unclean – shouldn't a rat like that be the priest who commands the highest office of respect in this place? Shouldn't it be a priest of Fleapit – the priest of Fleapit – who speaks for the Shai-Alud and for his people?"

The light of an epiphany slowly began to creep into the rat-priest's dark eyeballs. His mind was catching up to the desire that lay at the core of his Shai-Alud's words.

"I could give you it all, Deekius," Marcus continued as he saw the light of the priest's own desires flare in his face. "You will be installed as the new Prime Putrefact. Your old leader – he was too weak. He was captured and rots with the enemy. This happened because He Who Festers did not see him as worthy. Not like you."

The eyes of the ratman widened now. Anticipation, excitement, and even a little bit of bloodlust had just taken root within his small mind.

"Sire," he smirked. "You really are having the soul of a rat."

This is it, Marcus. If you go forward now, there is no return.

One path led towards return to his home – the honorable path where he did his job and then shipped out. That was the path he had expected he'd follow. The path that had been causing him all his headaches recently. Now, with the Glitterpak gone, it would simply be even harder to force a surrender from the Kobolds.

But another path had just been opened – a path where Mari lay at the end. If it was true that she really was here, among the warriors of the Yokun, then that meant he'd be going home without her if he found Silas alive. It meant returning to his mundane life without the one thing that made it matter at all.

The right path was so obvious to him. So clear that it was almost comical.

But that's exactly the path he could no longer tread.

"I am knowing what you want to say," Deekius whispered. "If I may speak plainly, Shai-Alud, it is something your human honor will not allow you to voice. But you wish it of me, don't you, Sire?"

Marcus licked his pale lips, feeling the trembling that had set in them earlier fade away.

"Yes, Deekius," he replied. "I do."

A curt nod from the rat and – just like that – a conspiracy was born.

"How?" the priest asked.

"First, a promise," Marcus replied. "I want your word that you shall swear your fealty to no one but me, your Shai-Alud, from this night until the end of all nights. Do this, and I will give you all the honors within my power. King Shrykul will not deny me – I am the only hope of his ailing wife. The warriors of Marrow and Glumrot will fall into line – your sermons will see to that. And from this night forward, this empire will know the name of one priest only."

That was it. That was the final stoking of the fire that sent the rat into an almost trembling frenzy. And the future of the ratman race was decided by his last whispered words:

"Sire," he said. "This is a promise. Together, we shall be making history."

###

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[IronLung]

In a cold chamber where only the dimmest light of a flickering flame burned for warmth, Verulex of Clan Glumrot lay sweating, his body doing what it could to rid its host of the toxins that had addled his veins.

"By…the Unclean," he muttered in his sleep. "May that Yokun…drown…in her…poisssssson."

He gripped his pillow and screamed into its soft surface, cursing the day he decided to volunteer for his expedition. He had begged his King to see the Shai-Alud for himself. And now that he had, he found his spirit…wanting.

"Unclean One," he groaned, the world of his chamber swimming around him as he clutched his pillow tightly to his bosom. "Why do you sssssend usssss ssssssuch a weak…mortal..?"

He knew his wounds would heal. He knew, by the grace of He-Who-Festers, that his magic would be enough to stem the flood of toxic energy flowing through him. Perhaps such chemicals would destroy a lesser rat. But not those of Clan Glumrot – born in spume, breathing corrupted air - bred for resisting even the most harmful of environments.

"My faittttth," he whispered, as though the words would not quite come out even in his hallucinogenic state. "…issssss being tesssssted…"

So fixated was he on carrying on his one-sided prayer to his Lord that he did not hear the guards outside his chamber slump to the ground.

"Unclean…" he muttered, drooping to take up his notched staff and hold it aloft with both his bandaged claws. "Lord…why have you forssssaken your people with a weak sssservant? Do you ssssseek to tesssst me, Lord? Do you really wissssssh me to follow him?"

The door to Verulex's chamber opened steadily. The pitter-patter of tiny paws resounded from the dark entrance only for a moment before the door was once again shut, and the only sound in the room came from the wheezing form of the Gloomraava of Glumrot.

"I am sssseing now," Verulex told the shrine in the dark corner of his chamber – one full of his own dung piles and sprinkled with spume, lovingly cared for. "You…are tessssting me."

"And you have failed."

As the voice of the interloper hit Verulex's ears the priest spun to try and catch the dagger that shot out of the air. But his assailant was faster, cleaving through the ratman's grotesque fingers and piercing his already wounded neck.

Verulex fell against his bed, the last vestiges of life within him summoning the most potent magicks of his kind – magic that reached out with invisible fingers to curl around the heart of his attacker and stop his blood flow before it was too late.

But Verluex then felt an altogether new sensation. He felt a force push back against him. He felt a power that mirrored his own. He felt…resistance.

And then his eyes finally opened. The horrid reality of his last minutes in this world exploded in a vibrant mix of sweating fur, ruby eyes, and snarling, salivating teeth.

"You are being strong, Brother," Deekius told him. "But there is more to living in our world than strength. Only the truly faithful are knowing this."

Verulex's mouth lolled open, his face twitching as he felt his Brother priest's dagger penetrate deeper into his neck, carving through muscle and tendon and stopping any breath he still had to breathe.

"He-Who-Festers is choosing me," Deekius told his slowly dying face. "There is being only one Gloomraava that speaks for one Clan. Soon, I shall be the Gloomraava that speaks for them all."

The dying priest's claws struck out, flailing, desperate – demonstrating little more than Verulex's final spasms before his throat was finally severed entirely.

"B…Brother…" he managed to gargle.

"Be looking carefully, Verulex," Deekius replied. "I am wanting you to know it was me."

The final cut was then made. The eyes of the old, flailing ratman suddenly became nothing but two oval voids of nothingness, and the tongue that had slaved over every word of the Unclean for decades lolled to the side like a listless snake. Deekius withdrew the Yokun Wakizashi, watching its long surface sheen with his Brother's blood, and let Verulex's old body fell from his hands.

Then, smiling silently to himself, the Gloomraava of Fleapit took his leave.

…

It didn't take long for the alarms of the castle to ring out, and for the guards to rush to Shrykuul's chambers to tell him they needed to evacuate, right now.

"Be silent, churls!" the King roared, angered at having been woken from one of his few moments of respite from satisfying his Queen's nightly needs.

When the guards explained to him that not one, but two Talon Commanders now lay slain under his roof, his face went a shade of white that would have shamed even a blind albino.

"By the Unclean…sound the alarms! Search the castle grounds!"

"It will not be necessary," came the call of a rat that entered behind the guardsmen. "It is seeming that head-priest Verulex is succumbing to his wounds atop the Foundry tower. He is giving his life, as is noble Festicus, for the good of our Clan."

Shrykul balked at this information, distrustful of the priest merely by dint of his caste. He was getting sick of constant preaching, and, even upon being told that it was in fact Deekius who found the body, was about to fly into a lecture that would end with more heads rolling.

"The Gloomraava speaks the truth," another voice said, appearing from the shadows behind the sorrowful priest. "Verulex died a noble death this night. I saw the wounds that the Yokun made against him. They were wounds that could only have been made with a weapon sharper than any blade forged by you Ratmen."

"This is being true, Sire!" one of the guards then shrieked. "We inspected the body – the killing stroke was made across the throat, with a strike far thinner and far deeper than any of our weapons could cut."

"Indeed," Marcus stated. "Perhaps you underestimated the professionalism of your Yokun foes."

Shrykul's face dropped to stare at his hands, trying to keep them from shaking before his subjects. Here, under his watch, the loyal servants of his Brothers had been slain…by Yokun of all things. It meant too much for his mind to calculate right now. It meant the other Clans would call for nothing short of total war against the surface when they found out…it meant retribution from his Brother Kings, perhaps even punishment…how he would avoid this he didn't know. But he knew what his Kingly duty now required of him. That was where he would focus his mind.

"We shall be making preparations," he said quietly. "We shall be sanctifying the bodies in the Grand Cathedral of the Unclean immediately. We shall be readying them for return to their Clans. That much we owe our Brothers. Guards!" he suddenly cried. "Leave us."

Shrykul did not wait to see them go, but he did feel something that surprised him.

The hand of the Shai-Alud hovered on his shoulder, the human's smiling eyes brimming at him with something he never expected to see in this moment: hope.

"They came for me, King Shrykul," Marcus said. "The responsibility for these noble rats' deaths is mine."

Shrykul flew to deny this, but the will of the human seemed even more resolute than it was before. A change had come over him.

"I will make you a promise, my King," he said. "That from this day your war will be prosecuted to the utmost of my abilities. I will lead your people against the threat to your tunnels and crush your enemy – Skegga – and all who swear fealty to him. I will start by questioning the Yokun prisoner in the dungeons below. We must understand our enemies if we are going to be able to soundly defeat them."

The King nodded slowly, his head swirling with the necessity of the funerary arrangements and the need to inform his Brothers of their commanders' passing.

"Yes," he said. "That would…be best."

"Rest assured," Marcus continued. "This insult to your Clan will not go unpunished. I believe I owe it to the memory of both Festicus and Verulex to guide their forces against the threat that is coming for us. And believe me when I say that it may be coming sooner than we think."

Shrykul looked up at this human – this being who bore the face of Sire Marcus – and saw the new determination that lay behind his eyes. Perhaps it was an effect of the Place Beyond where he hailed from, perhaps it was righteous anger at the deaths of his fellow commanders. But there was something there that the King could not quite place…

"Wait," he said. "Guide their forces?"

Marcus smiled again. It was not a smile that invited disagreement. Shrykul knew then that this was a real commander standing before him now.

From the looks of the reverent priest standing behind him, he wasn't the only one.

"King Shrykul," Marcus said. "I think we should have a talk."

###

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[Herac]

Amazing! Subarashi! Wunderbar! This is great! Finally Marcus has found his spine! YES! Show the rats who rules! Show them them all! Markus FTW and Deekius best boy!

Your discord Link is expired though just for your information