Thieves' Den: Last Dance
They danced freely among filth and called it glory. The coins poured freely from stolen purses, and the drinks flowed endless, never to stop—a drunk joy for the thieves who were easy to please. And the pleasures that followed came cheaper each day, no matter how hollow, the things would still follow in the kingdom of rot. They believed themselves untouchable—eternal—kings, free from the light, hidden beneath the city, unseen.
Yet, in time, kings fall. And the rats were watching knowing all. Waiting for that day, all must pay. —Last night before the Feast of Rats
The rats long since knew where to go, knowing this city from head to toe, entering the main place the thieves hide well.
Going into the unknown, unsure what they would face beyond knowing the thieves frequent this place. The walls were easy to pass—no traps, no cats to block their way. Yet what they were now, perhaps cats would flee, and they could give chase, unsure if they should and how would they taste...
No... focus. Our mind still scatters.
The Rat Lord balanced his many minds, learning to control what it felt like to be the sea of rats in the walls, in the streets, in the gutters, eating, mating, playing, watching—all blended into a single mind. He'd always felt these things before, but now? He was all these things, and it took time to focus even though he felt fine.
"Ya think the rat man seen anything new?" a random thief asked between drinks as a half-dressed woman left his side to get a fresh drink for herself. He watched her go, waiting for a response from the boss, yet quickly losing interest even as he asked, wondering more about the woman who just left. In the end, this was just another day in their den.
"Maybe," the other thief responded casually, lost in his own thoughts. The Rat Lord knew this was the main thief—their boss, who rarely left the upper-class areas for long unless he wanted info from the Rat Lord personally and didn't trust his men alone to get it done. So it was odd to the Rat Lord that he was here now, drinking with his men in a place he deemed beneath his style. He knew the boss hated having to go back and explain why he would leave the top to wallow with those below, those he believed were beneath their notice. Like dealing with an unruly child—and when you're trying to blend with the nobles, explaining why you frequent places the lower class lay became more complex the longer he stayed.
Laughter from a few drunks before one responded, overhearing talk of the Rat Lord from before. "Told you, boss, we know where he squats. Just got to let us know we can bring him—no point you smelling like shit for a rat when you got us." The boss grimaced at their casualness of the matter.
The thief went on, unaware the boss's mood had darkened at the casual talk, not seeming to see him brood as he continued. "We saw the spy still snooping the other day, but he still ignores us in favor of rot and slums for some odd reason..." He glanced at a girl running playfully from another thug as they both parted into another room. The thief grinned, wanting to join them, before remembering the Rat Lord once more and never understanding why a rat man had any value...
As if reading his mind, another nearby thief asked what they all thought of. "Speaking of keeping tabs on people—why do you even bother checking on that rat boy?" Snatching a drink, a new thief interjected with a snort, wanting to join the talk. "Been years now, yet we kept chasing that little shit for what? Riddles and lies."
The boss's expression darkened slightly. He took a long drink before answering. "Kid's mother—"
"Eh? What you say, boss?" They were half listening, already on a new thought.
"Shut up, you dumb fucks, I'm talking." The talk died down with the boss's words. Now they knew he was serious, a glare following to ensure they knew he was talking and wanted to be heard before he went on in their silence.
"I killed the kid's mother." They listened but were unfazed—death was as common as a drink to them—but said nothing as he went on. "We were just supposed to rough her up for late payments, maybe have some fun for interest due. You know the drill, standard stuff."
The boss waved his hand as if it was old news and drank a bit before going on with his tale. "Crazy bitch fought like a wildcat, screamed for the kid to flee, so—had to put her down for not playing nice. It wasn't my goal. We want money, not more bodies. Damn bitch." He shrugged, but something flickered in his eyes. "Felt bad leaving the boy with an unknown fate, I guess. Maybe a new thief like you dumb lot couldn't hurt to make up for lost coin. So I tracked him down to a sewer and kept checking on him in those tunnels. Even though I was losing interest in trying to recruit him, I did feed his ass a few times. Morbid curiosity when I didn't for a while, to see his fate, you know? 'You dead yet, rat boy?' since he was always with those rats. But the little bastard kept living..."
"Well, the fucker proved his worth when he started talking with the rats—beats me fucking how—but his info always held true, and the little shit only talked when I fed his ass, so I kept doing that too. And the rest is me dealing with your dumb asses." The boss finished his tale, and they were unsure what was really explained, but at least understood the Rat Lord had value, even if to them it didn't seem the same.
The Rat Lord felt a strange unease ripple through the swarm. The story tugged at something deep, something wrong. But we had no home. No mother. We rats sleep in sewers—we know our place. That's where we've always been. Why did hearing about some dead woman make the swarm restless? Why did it remind him of... him? He watched the boss drink once more—ah, it hit him. A drunk, it seems, a tale mixed up with me. There was no child who wandered into his den—there was always only him and his rats, and they watched to see what happened next.
"Still gives me the creeps," another thief muttered. "Living with those vermin like that."
"Aye, but turned useful, didn't he? Best informant we ever had. Sees everything, tells us what we need to know." The boss laughed, raising his bottle. "From charity case to asset. Not bad business."
"Uh, oh yeah, we were with you when we got him to talk the other day—fuck, we even fed him." The thief speaking scratched his chin, lost in thought, remembering. "Said the spy was looking for info in the slums, not us... think he lied, boss? Maybe he needs us to teach him we don't play, because to be honest—he might be broken already and too stupid to know he's finding us bad intel. He does live with rot and rats." Nods passed around from the others who agreed, though the boss said nothing, thinking: did the Rat Lord really keep proving his worth, or were these idiots seeing something he could not see...
The Rat Lord watched, knowing they might come for him. He had more eyes now, but he was still learning...
"Will rough him up tomorrow. This talk is already making my drink taste like piss, and I came for info, not rumors. Where's the team I sent? You guys better not be fucking off..." He didn't agree—he trusted the Rat Lord and what he'd seen—but power only worked when they believed, and he could not be seen bowing to a rat thing.
A few thieves stopped drinking or flirting with the girls and went to a side room due to the boss's command to get the real men to deliver on the boss's demand. What followed was some yelling, swearing, and a thrown chamber pot as a couple of new thieves came back, fixing their pants. "Sorry, boss, you were having fun, so were we," a woman laughed in the background. More laughter followed in her voice's wake from random thieves. It seemed not all came back to share in the report...
"You know the rules—tell me first everything, then play. Don't need drunk slurring half-truths..." the thief king said, mildly annoyed, but knew if they were willing to wait and play, it was good news.
"Right, boss, uh—we looked into the spy as best we could, roughed up who we could, but not much info. Most knew nothing. Some talk mentioned slums, but that went nowhere, so don't think he's onto us. We scouted him a bit, tailing him, and he was focusing on slums and the church mostly."
The thief lord grunted—he'd expected as much. They were missing something, but maybe the spy was lost and searching the wrong leads... "Keep tabs. He's blind now doesn't mean he always will be."
The Rat Lord saw Tom coming and smiled. He'd told him the thief lord was here today—a rare thing, safer than trying to hunt him in upper-class areas with fewer eyes to see.
The guards made to look like casual drunks hanging out near the alley got serious looks, but the Rat Lord could see their unease as Tom walked with too much confidence, too sure he was at the right place...
"I'm here to see your leader and talk, nothing more."
They started to laugh and mock Tom, saying he was talking to drunks in an alley, but he did not move, merely stayed and watched. They felt the unease grow stronger and knew they were playing a dangerous game... maybe he was here to see their boss. Where were they to say? He did find the base, and on the day the boss chose to stay.
They tried to play coy as if they were listening but needed time to decide, with a few knocks on the wall as if just trying to buy time—the Rat Lord knew it was code. He didn't know them all, but these he'd heard a few times when they hunted and needed to lay low: Trouble. Unsure. Single. Orders?
The shift from the inside thieves took time to register, but when it did, all scrambled, assuming the spy had found them anyway despite word saying it was safe—proof the intel they got before was fake.
The women were kicked out, beaten if needed to move them out faster. They were a needless liability with their loose tongues.
This was followed by the good loot being hidden or scattered with key players so if a raid followed, little would be lost.
The boss hated being here and seen, but could play coy and say he was forced, depending on how it played out. He calmed and nodded as a thief inside finally coded back:
Bring. Ready. Plan C.
The thieves outside heard the knock and relaxed. "Sorry, rats in the walls—made sure it was safe to let you in." Tom watched him, confused, unsure of their game, but willing to give them a chance.
The Rat Lord didn't know all the codes—this set sounded more like noise, it seemed—yet he got lucky. Neither did one of the newer thieves know this set of codes, and he asked, looking foolishly lost in the serious moment.
"Uh boss, those knocks were code for plan B, right? Why aren't we fleeing?" He looked around, wondering why nobody else was trying to leave.
"Plan C, dumb fuck. We listen to who shows, kill 'em if needed. Plan A is flee—the run code—and Plan B is when we're about to be surrounded and need to go into hiding. Learn the damn codes." The boss said it calmly, never looking away from the door, but it seemed the thief wanted to push his luck as he went on.
"There are like twenty codes, boss. That's a bit much. We don't need all that security—we run everything."
"There are forty-two code words. I expect even the lower ranks to know at least the main ten—those are most needed." The boss risked a glare to the one questioning him and the other thieves before the unknown visitor showed. "And I'm the boss. I'll slit your throat and carve the codes into the skin of every man who thinks otherwise to remind you lot never to question me. I made it this far with caution, not drinking and fucking, hoping nobody will see me..."
The boss was about to argue more when the stranger was led in. No... that wasn't the spy. That... he thought he'd seen this man before, somewhere among the knights—meek in shadows. Why was he here, and why now, acting so bold?
The Rat Lord watched the shift in mood in the thieves—gone were the carefree drunks. Now they watched as if a cat was near and unsure if it would go away, their weapons being casually handled nearby, men positioning themselves to surround or flee depending on how things went. But since Tom came alone and stayed in a nonthreatening way, it emboldened them not to fear him. When finally the confirming knock came:
Scouted. Alone. Secure.
Still just random noise to the Rat Lord, but he saw their boss visibly relax, and a few thieves followed suit, even quietly joking, knowing even if things went bad, only a few had to die—it wasn't an all-out war.
So the boss addressed Tom, unsure why he said nothing before but now getting bored versus the fear from before: "Well, you came to a den of thieves, stirred us up, so what do you want? And don't give us any shit—you already killed my buzz." The boss picked at his ear and flicked what he found as he looked around.
A nearby thief got the hint, ran and got his boss a bottle. While he swigged it, he watched Tom carefully—saw a stern face, too cocky, used to command? But never led, or he'd have his name...
"Well, what's your name, knight, and why are you here?" Tom showed surprise that the thief knew he was a knight, and the boss laughed. "Don't play coy—we rule the street, we watch, and you removed my men in the knights. Dunno how or where they went..." The boss watched him carefully.
"Did you kill 'em? I don't give a shit, but it explains why I couldn't do it myself for failure to report." He looked away, losing interest and drinking some more from his bottle, now near empty. A few murmurs settled among the thieves beyond, only half listening, wondering where this was going until Tom chose to speak.
"I did." A flat, emotionless voice said it with a face full of indifference, as if what was said was meaningless and not talk of life and death.
The thief choked a bit on his drink, shocked by the casual confession, quickly turning back to face Tom, unsure it was what he heard. Yet the casual, placid face just made it more absurd. They all stared for a moment, a quiet calm before a storm starting to shift and mount into fear, before the boss burst out laughing, the truth sinking in and him realizing what he really did hear: "YOU HEAR THAT, BOYS? WE GOT A KILLER HERE!"
A few joined in the laughter, finally feeling secure since their boss was here and showed no fear, and added to the joke: "QUICK, CALL A KNIGHT!" one shouted, wanting to join the fun.
"WHY? WE GOT ONE RIGHT HERE!" another jeered. Now that they all felt emboldened, they enjoyed the joke, wanting to add even more while they sneered.
But the Rat Lord saw Tom remaining calm despite the laughing and sneers, which surprised him. He'd thought Tom would be more aggressive—too calm made him worry that bad things happen when people stay that calm, and Tom was the calmest, that was clear...
Tom finally spoke when the laughter died down: "I'm here to offer a choice. Things are changing, and my lord will rule all. He will welcome you if you are willing to listen." He extended his hand as if welcoming them as equals, and they all paused, unsure what it entailed.
"Holy shit, we got a rival gang? And they started in the slums?" The boss visibly paled, nearly dropping his drink and wishing to sit, but he stood his ground lest he be seen as weak as his thoughts raced at what it meant. How many were in the slums? How big was their number? Was the church turned? Fuck, was the king... no... he would have heard that. How did his men miss this? Did that fucking rat kid know?
Lost in those thoughts, Tom confused him once more, his pose unchanging, the hand still unwavering. "No gang. We care not for that, but won't stop you from how you rule as long as you don't hurt our followers." Tom paused, searching for the words as if unsure what to say, but settled and spoke anyway. "My lord is... a dark god. I confess this as thieves tend not to talk, and if this spreads, it won't reach the light. Trust from me must be given for trust to be received from you all, no?"
"Oh, thank the goddess you're just mad..." The boss let out a breath he didn't know he held and was thankful he didn't drop his bottle as he drank once more. Now full of mirth, he spoke clearly, full of boast: "Not going to lie, you had me by the balls for a bit there," the boss said and started laughing, tossing the empty bottle as a thief saw him finishing it and brought him another bottle, which started him drinking once more. Everyone else went back to partying, caring little—it was merely waiting for their boss's final word to see where to go from there, as they knew it wasn't a challenge to their rule and didn't care about this fool.
"My words are true. I do not lie." Tom spoke clearly, slowly lowering his hand that none took, yet the calm was still there as if his words held truth and they should care.
"True that—that's why you're mad," the boss said casually. A challenge could almost be heard. "You think it's true. Have you met the Rat Lord? Same shit. He thinks he's a rat, and you think you have a god." He watched Tom to see what he would do, but a random thief interjected before he got a clear clue what Tom would do.
"I think I'm a woman, boss," one of the men jeered from the back. Everyone laughed, even the boss, seeing his men held true.
"You heard the bitch—I'll even bet she thinks you're mad!" the boss jeered, feeling nothing could go wrong and no reason to fear this blind knight.
"I DO, BOSS!" the voice called back. Everyone enjoyed the fun change from unknown fear to control of the game and were even debating beating the knight for causing them shame.
The boss—every jeer, laugh, and mocking word made him feel more secure, and he racked his brain for where he'd seen this man. He tried to keep tabs on potential threats... and knights were the ones he tried the hardest to watch... yet this random nobody showed up and acted too perfectly calm at that...
"I tried, I did, but I'm afraid your name escaped me." He pointed his finger in a mocking rhythm as if it would nail a name to Tom's face, yet no name came. "I tend to remember those I should watch, and you weren't one, I'm afraid..."
"Tom," Tom said casually. Even after all the mocking, the Rat Lord was impressed he was handling this so calmly.
The boss picked at his nose, flicked what was inside while staring Tom down. "Yeah... no. So what's your deal? Some new god vs the light? We've never heard of it before, and what—we just bow and follow, pay tribute? What's your gig? I'll be honest, you weirded me out, but that's about it," the boss said while casually drinking once more, not even caring despite the questions asked. His true thoughts were on disposing of the body if Tom refused to go, and maybe finding a bath and whore before he dealt with the mess. Then he heard the words that followed.
"We offer everyone a choice, only once. We ask you to follow. If not, you made your choice..." Tom remained still as stone, calm as untouched water, yet the boss could still feel the ripple of something more, and it was pissing him off. Despite everything, Tom was still causing him unease, and that feeling would not wash off.
The boss scratched his chin, watching Tom carefully, a slight dread never leaving. "Yeah, even if I pretend you weren't mad and really did somehow have a new god... a god that begs is no god worth following, and we already hold all the cards, so fuck off?" He was tired of playing this man's games, and if Tom thought he wouldn't slit his throat, let's see if that calm remained.
The Rat Lord felt the shift, as did all the others—Tom's calm demeanor cracked ever so briefly, revealing something cold and deadly beneath. The desire to play nice was wearing thin, and everyone could sense it. The boss saw the change and got a dangerous glint in his eye. A game of death was a dance he knew well and had played many times in hell.
"Do it then," he said with a glint of madness, welcoming death as a dance he'd waltzed many times before.
"You think I fear death? You're not the first to kill thieves, and I won't be the last boss whose throat got slit. This isn't even a fraction of my men. Good luck hunting us all down before you get a knife in your back. Yeah, I'll be dead, but so will you. Nobody wins." It was a fucking bluff, but he'd never say that. He wanted to live, fuck, and drink, but he also knew you don't demand respect from a killer and not expect a knife to follow.
"Or you can fuck off, rule your slums with your lord, and know your place." He hoped Tom took that offer—one man was easy to kill, but if there were more nuts? And if there was a chance at a god? He wasn't sure where that would lead, no matter how weak it seemed.
The Rat Lord was desperate to prove his worth. More than once he'd watched the boss and thieves mock Tom and his new lord. This was his chance—he saw all, and he whispered to Tom through the darkness, a single rat's voice barely audible: Let me handle those who chose not to follow. He hoped Tom would listen—he knew he could kill them all and hunt them easily, but he wanted to prove he could have worth too if given a chance.
A few thought they heard something—a voice or a squeak—but drunk and focused on the standoff, unsure if blood was going to be spilled, they dismissed the whispers as wind through the cracks or paranoia and left it at that.
The Rat Lord watched Tom, who seemed more disappointed than angry that they refused to listen. As he spoke one last time, wanting to be absolutely clear about their choice, his voice carried a weight that made even the boldest thieves shift uncomfortably. Even the rats with the Rat Lord paused to hear, fearing they were included in this tension.
"Do you speak for all of them? Once a choice is made, there's no going back." There was finality in his voice, a cold calm that was deadlier than any blade at their throat—a truth they could no longer ignore. Some were even about to kneel, feeling foolish for egging him on so far, until the boss broke them free of their fear with his own proclaiming roar.
The boss raised his bottle high. "WELL, MEN, DO I SPEAK FOR YOU?" A defiant glare met Tom with a broken-tooth smile edging on madness as he stood there waiting for the reply from his men he wanted to hear.
"YEAH!" all voices roared back. The Rat Lord noticed the boss kept the bottle raised, ready to swing it down if Tom rushed him—he couldn't see a weapon on Tom but didn't know Tom's skills as a fighter. So it shocked everyone when Tom simply nodded once and calmly turned to leave.
"Uh..." The boss was confused. He was sure that was the breaking point and blood was going to be spilled...
The whole room stared as he walked away. Yet when Tom spoke, his final words cut deeper than any threat they'd heard before.
"You made your choice."
They refused to believe that was the end—a trap, a con, he had to have a way to win... So they watched, they scouted, but even as the night went on, they all agreed he just left and brought no coming threat they must flee. Maybe he really was mad and they'd given him too much credit... was their final decree, as there was nothing else it could be.
Ever cautious, the words of the parted man still held weight long after Tom left, and while they found peace with a bottle, they could not let it end there. So they scouted more, securing the routes, and even when they searched for hidden threats, there was nothing but meaningless rats, and they ignored the rats as meaningless pests.
But the rats did not ignore them. They watched, they followed, and waited until they chose to strike. A point would be made, but made slowly—time for them to learn to fear, and time for the swarm to hunt. For a choice was made, and they chose the wrong one.
and then Add to home screen.