Master of Rats: The Rat Lord
We watched as he came to our home, not with threats but with promises of renewal.
But we are rats—we know where we belong, so we ignored his words, assuming he would move on.
Yet we watched all along, even before he arrived, and chose to heed words we once would have denied. Perhaps even rats could have a place in what was to come—a new kingdom of dark, a new place to start.
We rats are always in the dark, crawling in fear, so what do we care if the whole world must share the shadows that bound us here? We will all be home. And when he comes, we will welcome him with cheer.
For we have learned, watched for so long, and knew things it seems he did not.
So we whisper to him as we wait and watch for what will come. We always watch to see what our new lord brought.
—Musings of the Rat Lord, pledging to Abaddon
Days passed with the same routine for the Rat Lord—watching, listening, waiting for the thieves to return with their demands and kicks.
But the man who came was a different threat, walking with purpose toward their den instead of stumbling through the sewers like the others, bringing their end.
Tom had spent three days tracking thieves through the middle district with little success. His direct methods—confronting contacts, demanding answers—only made them scatter like roaches when light struck.
Yet he’d noticed a pattern: certain thieves kept disappearing into the sewers near the same grate, no matter what transpired. Not fleeing, but conducting business. Someone down there was important enough to visit. They hadn’t shown in days since he intensified his search, but he recalled their actions before and was certain they were hiding their lord.
Talk spoke of a “Rat Lord,” surely the boss. The king of thieves had to be hiding in the depths. It made sense—let underlings handle surface work while the real power stayed concealed.
The rats skittered and watched from their holes, not understanding this new one who entered their home with quiet intent—no malice or killing intent they sensed, yet unease grew as they tried to make sense of him.
Filth was all they knew in these depths, so a tall human—different from the thieves who came with stomps and shouts—disturbed them, and their squeaks grew with doubt.
This one moved as if he owned the darkness they called home, and they sensed death clinging to him, worse than the cats they feared.
Yet something about his presence stirred unease beyond what they saw—not just prey fearing a predator, but something that made their essence want to flee, as if he were a thing that should not be.
But their lord whispered through their shared unease: Peace. Just talk.
Cold relief washed through their minds—it seemed this new one only wished to see their lord and would pay them no mind. The chittering died down as they scattered to hunt food, leaving only the bravest to watch and see if it was true.
The Rat Lord observed through rat eyes, more curious than afraid, listening to their squeaks as the man passed unmolested. He was surprised his rats stayed, and the man’s boots never strayed, even seeming to avoid the rats that scurried away.
He seemed to know where to go, finding his way deep below through waste and tunnels that led nowhere unless you were a rat who knew the paths. The thieves were a rare exception, and even they stumbled to find his protection.
“A few willing to talk whisper your name, Rat Lord. Are you the king of thieves? I only wish to talk. I have an offer we both can gain from. I know you’re here but wish to let you choose to see me.”
The man’s voice held confidence, speaking into the dark with the certainty of someone who’d found what he sought. Tom waited, expecting the theatrical entrance of someone used to commanding respect.
Lead him.
The Rat Lord was unsure—he felt the man could be lying, but in a way, that was a lie. He saw the look in his rats’ eyes, so he settled on guiding him rather than risking his ire and whatever mercy had long expired.
Lead him.
The rat receiving the command hesitated. This human felt… wrong. Not stomping-wrong or cat-wrong, but something deeper. The darkness around him pulsed with its own life, and getting close made the rat’s instincts scream to flee. But the command persisted, so it risked showing itself, ready to bolt if those shadows moved wrong.
Yet no strike came, so it relaxed slightly and guided the human deeper into the maze.
The Rat Lord watched, blending his rats’ sight with his own as the man advanced. The disorientation was worse than usual—those shadows around the stranger made everything harder to focus on. But he tracked the approach, noting how the man restrained himself from harming his rats despite being a predator.
Confusion was all Tom knew at first—no grand entrance or thugs threatening him for finding the boss. Stranger still was a rat greeting and guiding him true.
Yet Tom followed the small guide, growing confident with each turn as he felt the Rat Lord’s presence strengthen.
The sewers were extensive, clearly modified—a clear sign of organized activity. The creature leading him was unusually well-fed for a sewer rat, another hint of something deeper. He wondered what tricks they used to train such rats, then pondered their utility… but left it at that.
Finally, the man appeared in the chamber, seeming to merge from the shadows themselves. Tom studied the figure—human, though barely. Matted hair, clothes that might once have been fabric, living among rats. But his eyes held intelligence, and the way the vermin responded to him…
“Are you the king of thieves?” Tom asked, his voice carrying expectation. “I wish to barter. Things are changing, and I offer you a chance to join the winning side.”
The Rat Lord tilted his head, confusion rippling through his swarm. A turf war? Those brought knights. This one felt like a knight, but darker. And asking about thieves…
“If you’re looking for rats, you’ve come to the right place, but we’re no king of thieves.”
Tom’s expression shifted, confidence cracking into a frown with dangerous undertones. This wasn’t making sense. His information was clear—thieves came here, reported to someone. If not their leader, then who?
“I’ve seen thieves come here, watched them leave, yet now they’re hiding. That means they reported to you and tried to flee so I wouldn’t find you.” The temperature seemed to drop as Tom spoke, shadows deepening around him. The calm he had was fading with the growing darkness.
“They only come to us when they want to dispose of… things.” The Rat Lord glanced around with unease, unsure if he could explain. “Sometimes they get smart, ask what we’ve seen, but they have more eyes than us in the streets. Though we see further, it’s not as easy.” He scratched his chin nervously, feeling a rat hidden in his matted hair. He petted it gently, signaling all was well, though he wasn’t sure that was true, as the darkness seemed to stir anew.
Tom studied this strange creature in human flesh, his tactical mind working. “For someone who claims no worth to thieves, you know much about them and show no fear of me…” He studied the Rat Lord—confusion hung in the air, his shadows lessening as he hesitated to escalate.
The pieces didn’t fit. If this person was nobody, why did organized criminals make regular trips to see him? What “disposal” services could a half-mad sewer dweller provide that they couldn’t handle? A cannibal, perhaps? It would explain disposing of bodies…
“We don’t care who rules. Just feed us, and we’ll be loyal. Can share information too.” The Rat Lord’s voice was hopeful, falling back on the simple transaction that had kept him alive.
Tom felt a flicker of interest. Information. “What news do you have that I cannot see?” It seemed odd that this man could gather anything useful, but others sought him out, so there might be something. And he was willing to talk—Tom could at least listen.
This was the test—show what you’re worth.
The Rat Lord saw the cold glint of promised death in Tom’s eyes, though no such words were spoken, so he chose his next words carefully. “Spare us if this is too little, but what you’ve done in the slums is watched.” He gauged Tom’s reaction. The man’s shadows shifted with his attention—interested or dismissive, the Rat Lord wasn’t sure, so he added more. “A spy for the king stalks rooftops, watches you daily. In the slums.”
Tom’s demeanor changed from wary to intrigued, a potential link to learning more. The spy had been a persistent problem, always one step ahead of his efforts to corner him. How did this broken creature in the sewers know about royal surveillance that Tom’s own people struggled to track?
Joy bloomed in the Rat Lord’s chest—he’d found something to pass this man’s test, for his worth depended on what Tom saw, and the killing intent had withdrawn. He pressed his luck, offering more. “Like us rats, he gathers info on you, but we just watch. He sells info about you.” The Rat Lord continued nervously, hoping Tom knew his words were true. “We know because we see him come and go from the castle. Rats go everywhere. We see, we no talk.” He flinched and lowered his head. “We talk a little.” He shook his hands in fear. “But not about you, we swear!”
The shadows around Tom moved with purpose. The Rat Lord felt a new presence—not one of his rats. It was vast and patient, unlike the simple minds he shared, stronger and wiser.
You give freely things that could challenge us. Why?
The Rat Lord shrank back, unsure how to respond. You need info, we give? Just want food?
Deep laughter rumbled through the connection, scattering all rats in the chamber deeper into their holes. Even the Rat Lord pressed himself against the wall.
Interesting…
Tom reassessed everything. This wasn’t just an informant—this person had surveillance capabilities he couldn’t match. The casual mention of the spy, the confidence in offering information Tom needed…
“You give intelligence that could end a rebellion before it grows, and all you want is food?” Tom asked directly, his blunt nature cutting through pretense. Could he really be won so cheaply?
“Loyalty for food. Won’t betray. Just feed, we behave.” The Rat Lord’s honesty was almost painful—like a kicked dog hoping for scraps.
Tom saw something else. The rats’ responses weren’t just trained behavior. The way this person spoke—“we” instead of “I”—as if he were one with them. If he could coordinate rats throughout the city…
“Show me,” Tom said, his voice carrying new respect. “Show me what you really are. Then I’ll show you what I can offer.” He wouldn’t see the Rat Lord as an object but as a man with worth, even if he wasn’t as special as he seemed.
The Rat Lord hesitated. Showing his full abilities meant revealing his vulnerability, his difference. But the promise of food, of not being stomped…
He closed his eyes and reached through the connection built over years of survival. Dozens of rats in the chamber moved in perfect coordination—not trained tricks, but unified purpose. Some formed patterns, others retrieved objects, a few spelled simple words with debris.
Tom watched in growing amazement. This wasn’t animal training. This was unprecedented.
“We see everywhere. We hear everything. Rats go where people cannot,” the Rat Lord said, opening his eyes to gauge Tom’s reaction. “When they’re close, we’re more like one.” He wiggled his fingers, mimicking rats crawling. “But when rats are far, I fade. I talk, they listen, but we’re not me anymore. I still see and hear, but not the same.”
The Rat Lord saw no malice, only interest. The dangerous suspicion he feared was gone, replaced by the calculating look of someone who’d found a valuable resource. Food might not be far off.
“My lord…” Tom spoke slowly, his mind racing. “My lord could use eyes everywhere. What I offer isn’t just food. It’s purpose. Power. A place in something bigger than surviving in sewers.”
The Rat Lord felt a flutter of hope—not just for the next meal, but for belonging, being valued for what he was rather than tolerated despite it. Yet fear crept in alongside that fragile hope. Change was dangerous. The sewers were safe, predictable. The rats understood him here. What if this dark presence wanted to change him entirely?
“We… don’t know about power. We just want to watch and be fed. Keep things simple?” Too much change could break him, but a little? Something new? Maybe that could be good.
Tom studied the creature’s fear, recognizing something familiar—his own reflection before Abaddon reached out. The terror of someone broken so thoroughly that salvation seemed a trap.
“The world is changing whether you want it or not,” Tom said, his voice gentler but direct. “You can help shape it or stay here waiting for scraps from thieves who see you as barely human.” He paused, letting that sink in. “Your choice. But ‘simple’ won’t be an option much longer.”
The Rat Lord looked around his domain—the filth, the darkness, the constant struggle. He thought of the thieves who kicked him, the people who looked at him with disgust on the surface, the endless cycle of survival.
Maybe being more than just surviving wasn’t such a terrible fate.
“If we follow… if we choose… you really feed us? Give us worth?”
Tom nodded. “My lord values those who serve faithfully. And what you are, what you can do—that has great worth to him.”
The unknown voice whispered again: You give trust to us, so we give trust to you. I will not remake you, only make you more. You will always be free to choose.
Tom extended his hand, an orb of living darkness in his palm. The Rat Lord’s instincts screamed danger—nothing good was that dark. But Tom’s hand stayed steady, not forcing, just offering.
“What I offer is a gift. You trusted me with information. I trust you with power.” Shadows swirled near Tom’s wrist, as if the voice had form. “You can remain as you are—barely surviving, kicked and scorned. Or become something more. Something that belongs. Not with the light, but the night.”
The Rat Lord stared at the darkness. His rats had emerged, watching expectantly. He felt their curiosity, their hunger—not just for food, but for change.
He’d been alone so long, even among his swarm. Maybe he didn’t have to be.
With trembling hands, he took the dark essence. A pox or a cure, he wasn’t sure—he knew rot and darkness, but this was different, promising something new. Doubt in life meant he had little to lose if this was an end. At least it would be something new.
The change was immediate and overwhelming. Hunger, thirst, and new sensations burst within his core, his mind—everything hurt. Yet with the pain came calm and a sense of unity.
What had been whispers to influence distant rats now became true unity—near or far, they were one. Where he’d had to cajole with promises of food, now the rats were him, agreeing as one. Their thoughts flowed like water finding its level, individual consciousness merging into something greater. Yet they retained their own desires and fears.
But with unity came their pain, their hunger, their panic, multiplied across hundreds of bodies. When one hurt, all felt it. When one feared, he drowned in terror from dozens of sources. As he lost himself to them, they lost themselves to him, creating a feedback loop as he struggled to control the swarm.
The Rat Lord—no, the Swarm—writhed as the transformation completed. They were one now, truly one, but the cost was overwhelming. Every stubbed toe, every pang of hunger, every flash of panic rippled through the collective.
“An interesting choice, choosing true connection,” Tom said, watching with something like sympathy. “You now feel everything they feel.” He paused. “But you also have their numbers, their reach, their loyalty without question. A fair trade, if that’s what you wanted.”
When the transformation stabilized, the Swarm looked up with dozens of eyes—his own and those of the rats, now truly part of him. Red eyes watched Tom, feeling the darkness in their shared veins. They no longer lost themselves. They had a truth they all knew, all agreed—they were one.
“We understand. We are one. We serve.”
“Watch for the spy, as he still eludes me, and help find the thieves. Beyond that, keep us informed if anything seems amiss. You will be the eyes of darkness and guide us.” Tom turned to leave but paused. “When you find the thieves, I’ll handle negotiations; just help locate them.”
“We trust. We listen. But the thieves won’t. They have their own rules—will reject ours.”
Tom considered this. “We give them a choice, same as you. When they reject Abaddon, we will reject them in turn.”
The Swarm laughed—a sound echoed by chittering throughout the chamber. “We agree. We listen. We wait. Remember to feed us. We tell you all we see.”
As Tom left, the Swarm began to grasp their new scope. Every rat in the city could be their eyes, their ears, their reach. Some rejected the unity, but they cared little—they had more to explore with their new sight.
They could see the spy on the rooftops, track the thieves’ routes, watch the kingdom’s foundations from below.
Only the church areas stung to approach, the light there making their unified consciousness recoil.
They had chosen to be more than survivors. Now they would discover what it meant to be a Swarm, a sea of eyes watching the city—not just rats in an alley, but a Rat Lord with true unity.24Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVKLrhVirxg
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