Feast of Rats: Reflection of the Swarm
It was an odd thing not knowing your mind was broken, that what you believed was a lie. I was not a rat, and they were not me, yet that was a past that I no longer cared to dream. For now, we are awake in the darkness with a truth. We are the swarm, and we are one.
—Reflecting, musing on the Awakened power of rat lord
Day One After the Choice of Thieves
Business as usual for the thieves—they had people to rough up, shit to steal, and people needed to know their place. Tom's meeting spooked them, but this wasn't the first crisis they ever faced. They'd dealt with terrible calls before, biting off more than they could chew, and still lived today to do it again. So they were not going to hide just for that knight's sake.
The rats watched the thieves move and scatter, waiting for the pieces to fall into place. They did not need to rush—their numbers, while limited, could see clearly enough the patterns of what they did. A slow truth was more insidious than a quick lesson with no time to learn what their arrogance brewed. And learn they would, for they made their choice, the rats knew.
A few rats scurried to the edge of a nearby trash heap to better listen to a random thief as he threatened a random man who they had chosen.
"You're late with payment, Wain... we had this talk before. I just might need to take the payment with interest from your wife or kid, maybe both..."
Wain was a balding man who shook with fear, kneeling on hands and knees before the thief, who was not much to look at—skinny, ragged clothes, but a rotten smile that spoke of knowing who was in charge and how far he could go. This dance was an old one they both knew.
Wain tried to beg to avoid the fate they both knew when payment was late, but the thief wasn't listening. It wasn't words he came to hear—payment would be taken in flesh. It was clear in his glare. "No money, no problem," he said as he went inside, leaving Wain to weep, unwilling to try for his own death that followed those who resisted versus the memories they hated but were allowed to exist.
The rat did follow, even as Wain wept in defeat. They did not want to make a scene—subtle was their goal—but morbid curiosity won this day. The rats were still true to their own nature and were not fully part of the swarm, sharing some of the Rat Lord's thoughts as their own.
The rats stayed hidden as best they could. The Rat Lord was confused—it moved unbidden, but he had eyes in many places as the rats watched. Other places elsewhere, similar scenes were playing out as the rats tracked and followed all the men, their habits, their routes, where they watched, where they slept. They would remember, and they would hunt.
So why was this one causing an ache? A rat that went against the others in the swarm just for curiosity's sake?
The rat watched the thief stare down the mother and child as the mother begged the child to hide. Panic swelled, and the swarm went wild—a fragment in time, a forgotten piece. A mother fighting, telling a child to run, and a child ending up deep within the sewer, never to know peace.
The rat bit at the thief's foot, causing him to jerk in fear and swear as he saw the rat there—a shade of black deep as night, but alone was an odd sight.
A swift stomp ended the rat's strike. A slight wound and anger was all it brought to bear as the pain shattered the Rat Lord's focus and stunned the swarm from their wild, uncontrolled fear.
The thief, pissed at seeing nothing new, lost his lust and let them go but swore money was still due. The family was left confused, unsure who to pray or thank for the blessing, but only the child saw the rat fade into darkness versus a corpse, and knew it was not the light that saved this day, even though they never could say.
It took time for the pain to settle and his mind to clear. How long he was blind and lost was unclear, but it was proof that despite his power, a cruel weakness followed. If he was to hunt men of such power, they needed the swarm to follow, but only after they were sure they could avoid the stomps that followed.
Later that night, the thief that tormented Wain met up with a few of the other thieves gathered drinking in a tavern, speaking of their gains or just complaining they didn't get the outcome they expected when they came.
Even as they sat winning at games of chance by cheating at that, those who knew said nothing lest it end the game with few coins lost—and it be their lives on top of that. "Got to piss, hold my spot," the thief they wanted most said, and as if an afterthought added, "and no cheating." A round of laughs from his comrades and sulking from others who were trapped by the thieves' theft. Both watched as he went to the alley, none the wiser he was being watched by a sea of eyes that remembered the effect of his foot upon their kin.
They watched as he leaned against a wall, a little unsteady, and he saw a single black rat watching him from the side. He laughed, pissing on it as it fled. He chased it with the stream into the shadow to which it fled.
Yet with the drink, he was unsure why the shadow squirmed and turned, filled with random dots of red. No... not the shadow itself—no, a deeper absurdity. The number grew, with more red dots among the darkness, as if a sea of eyes was watching and adjusting and growing as if it fed on his sight and was well fed.
He rubbed his eyes, thinking the drink had addled his vision. He was about to bark a laugh to defy the absurdity of his sight and go back to tell the others they should piss on this spot and see if they shared his ale-soaked delusion this night.
The swarm did not wait for his truth to be made—that this was all a drunk dream and he would recover as he believed, and they would fade with him sobering and the coming of light. They flowed over his flesh and bit through it, gnawing faster than he could blink. No screams, no fear, no remains to tell what took place here as they scattered once more into the dark, all calmed once more out of sight.
The first blood was drawn, and they avenged a slight to their own, but this was just the first of more to come.
The Rat Lord felt power swell from the soul and flesh he just consumed. Feeling alone and afraid they would die so easily to stomps like before, he wished for more—more to watch, more to help, more brothers for the fight. From the darkness, more grew—where one sat before, now there were two. It repeated, each pair making new rats bloom until he felt weak from the effort. A few dozen now, the swarm grew, but they knew they had limits even with this growth. So once more they watched to see who would be next to repeat the process.
The thieves inside, enjoying their drinks, were unaware of what took place but soon grew tired of waiting. One went to check the alley, yet came back empty-handed, confusion on his face. "Nothing." Scratching his ass before he sat once more, he added as an afterthought, "Just smell of piss and maybe a rat, nothing more."
"Dumb drunk probably thought he was heading home. Who cares? His coins are mine now!" the thief listening to the tale blurted out, not caring what was true when gold was about.
"Hey, that's not fair, give me half!" the other thief added, happy they both profited with no effort. Both laughed, enjoying the rest of their night as the rats watched, waiting for the right time to strike.
Day Two
They scattered, they hid, they beat, they lied. The rats watched all the different thieves doing their normal routines, yet in between the beatings, the theft, and places they hid, the rats selected ones to pick. Quietly the thieves, so bold, fearing no threat, were gone—nothing left. Yet the swarm grew from that nothing that was left, watching, waiting until none would be left.
Day Three
The rats watched as the boss was well rested and ready to reclaim order once more, busting a few heads for the disorder and maybe one dead to show his power. Yet as he looked among his men, expecting shame from those that fled, as he remembered the fools that at least showed before...
Odd—even fewer men showed now, and with it he saw the concern from his men. Something more was happening for even the stupidest of his men to feel the change. Something was amiss besides insubordination and drunk fools that needed a lesson to reel them in.
"Holy shit," the boss said with awe and amazement, confusing the other thieves, wondering why their boss seemed amazed and calm versus the wrath they thought would follow. Did he go mad? Yet as he spoke next, they tried to offer nervous laughs and agree to the words they heard.
"That cowardly-ass knight that was here the other day got a damn king's assassin. He thinks he's in control, picking the laziest, fattest, stupidest of my men..." The boss ran his hand through his hair as if it all became clear.
"I bet it was why the spy was scouting too... It all makes sense, and that stupid rat informant was thinking we would flee while he fed the spy and assassin info. It all makes sense now—it's so obvious..."
The men nodded with nervous chuckles. The words made sense to a point and seemed logical as they watched the boss pace, unfocused, lost in his truth as he went on.
"The goddess is probably riding the king's ass to clean up the street, so he's roughing things up for us." The boss, still lost in thought, tapping his finger on his side before speaking once more.
"That must have been why I could get info on a few new shipments so easily... fuckers were setting me up," the boss grumbled while glancing at his men. They quickly nodded as if agreeing. The boss's eyes narrowed, yet he wasn't really focusing on anyone. Even as they sweated, they wondered how this would end.
"But whoever they are, being too stupid to know which one of us was the boss and targeted the dumbest of my men, hoping to get to me in the end," he started laughing as it all became clear to him what led to this outcome. While adding what made it so hilarious to him despite the threat of an assassin, "That stupid knight couldn't even remember my face enough to lead the assassin properly!"
The nervous men who had been laughing and agreeing before had more men joining in now that they knew it was just a clean-out, no unknown threat moving in. They had these cleanouts before when they grew too big; they tended to get culled for the king to save face.
The swarm watched and smiled. They were close to guessing, but so far away from the truth. Not that it mattered—they could all be gone today, but that defeated the point of the weight of a choice. No... they would slowly learn. They mocked a god, so they would be mocked in turn.
The swarm watched as the thieves laughed and planned to scatter and hide. The plan was just to lie low, watch for the assassin, kill the bastard if they could avoid getting caught.
The boss wanted to show they could be a threat to the king, yet after some thought, still wanting to use caution and not start a war with the king sending more knights—they'd never find them all, but it would put a damper on stealing for a while, and that would really sour his mood. Maybe roughing up the assassin versus killing would be better, was the final call...
Day Four and Five
The swarm watched as they scattered into their holes, each assuming themselves more clever than the last thief that fell to the swarm, as if only a fool lets another knife slip through the shadows when they deemed themselves the masters of shadows who held the knife and slipped it into another's back, unaware it was the rats in cracks that were the threat to watch, not a knife in the back.
The swarm watched them each in turn, assuming they had learned, now secured and settling for the night, ready to sleep tight. A few were wise and still held fear and kept watching, knowing threats were near.
The thieves knew traps were fine, but still needed eyes watching lest they be blind. Some even tried to be more clever and do random patterns to alert the boss when something was amiss that the others would miss.
"You hear that fucking scratching? It's driving me nuts," a thief said to the other man watching mid-shift.
The swarm was shifting in the walls and ceiling, settling, watching. They'd already removed others in holes, but these were more clever—paranoia kept them safe to a point. The swarm wanted stealth, not a grand show, a subtle threat they would never know... for though they grew and gained power, they were still rats; they could be harmed.
"What do you expect?" the other thief replied, scratching a recent scar slowly healing from the last time he was at the bar. "We never come here, of course it'd be filled with rats. Be worried when the sound stops—it means something's out there..."
"Yeah, feeling the same shit—being watched. Might have shit if it keeps up." They both laughed nervously, trying to break the tension. It wasn't so bad, the scout thief thought—they'd been hunted before. This wasn't anything new, just different... In the past, the knights or even the church made a scene. It was easy to know what they wanted or where they'd gone too far. Now? Who knows. The style of the men missing was off—too subtle, as if they all were fading into the night. The only lesson wasn't fear or learning to steer clear of some merchant's wife, but that they would disappear and never see daylight...
The scout thief watched the outside carefully. The feeling of being watched never lessened, and the scratching came back, making him sweat. They needed to be still, but his needs weren't being met... How long was that asshole going to piss... "HEY," he tried shouting, not wanting to watch him piss nor let a knife find his back by looking away, yet no response came to his yell. So he tried again anyway, despite the fear it would bring a predator and make him prey. "YOU DEAF OR JUST STUPID?" Still no response...
He could not handle the unknown and turned to look, going to give him a few fists to remind him that friend or not, there were limits to what he would let slide when tensions were this high. Yet the alley was empty—just rot and a few roaming rats scattering back to holes.
Madness...
Where the fuck did he go?
There was no way the assassin would swoop down and what, carry him away... Unless it was for interrogation... He rushed back inside and set the traps. The guy was dead and gone—betray them, maybe? But he wouldn't if he knew what was best. They'd gutted plenty of traitors who talked. What was one more? Even if his friend was stupid enough to talk, they couldn't get past the hidden door unless they were inside and knew how to shift it to release the mechanism that bound the hidden metal in the door.
He went to his corner, checked his knife he'd foolishly left before—now secure—and removed a hidden crossbow in case they found a way to bust in the door. He reset traps for a nasty surprise—even if the door flew open, so would things into their eyes. When he'd done all he could, he waited, a thudding dread in his chest as he was now alone to deal with this mess... The assassin might get past the traps with help from his ex-friend, but not a bolt to the chest, and if so, he had a knife—they would not get an easy win...
He waited and waited. Nothing seemed to change... Just the scratching through the night was all that followed him as the same scene repeated through the night, the rats carefully picking who they'd fight. The next day's reports were met with the same patterns from all that survived, and codes sent to the boss were always the same: nothing found, just random debris, and rats were all they could find. Nothing of the missing men or the assassin that left them blind.
Day Seven
The reports never wavered in their mundane tale that never changed, at least when they were still coming, which seemed to be rarer as each day passed.
The boss now feared even being in the upper-class area and went to his most privileged secret hiding spot he told no one about except the two men outside its wall where he hid. And even then, he did not show them how to enter without setting off traps—could never be too careful when men had been vanishing in the wind. They only spoke through codes in the wall to ensure all was well, as the boss feared even his voice would be a trail that the madness could follow and know he was there.
Yet no matter how he spun it, it made no sense how good this assassin was and who could have done it. Why was he not demanding anything? The game had long since been played and a point was made. The boss knew money talks—and the thieves used care to keep things running. They only stole from the fools or the weak, and always before, if they went too far, they pretended to be meek.
He wished he'd sent a letter to the king to work something out before this went so far. True, he was a bit smug thinking the king could not touch him before and got a little too close to mocking his rule.
He scratched his chin, now full of stubble, thinking and swearing under his breath, trying to narrow down how it went so far with no way to counter. Yet that in itself was an answer...
Maybe that's why this was so brutal—it was a test to see if he would bow and know who truly held the crown. Even if you assumed the king was a fool, he was still at the top and was not messing around. So he spat to the side, knowing the truth. Yeah, I'll fucking bow, kiss your damn feet, stop ruining the system, you dumb fuck, or there'd be nothing left to rule over, and he'd have to admit defeat...
Sweat was now pouring from the unknown truth—could he confront the king and hope for the best?
His thoughts wandered due to the damn noise. Even in this nicer, secure spot, he still heard damn rats in the walls. It seemed they were everywhere... Just like the rot. It made him think of the rat lord, how much info he must have fed to the assassin, and how he could hunt them. They needed to address that. The rat boy had outlived his worth to let things go this far. The kid he'd pitied was now a curse.
He sent a code to his men. They would know what it meant: Hunt. Traitor. Rat.
He started pacing, waiting for the reply knock to say they understood, yet only the scratches in the wall answered him instead.
Did they fall asleep... Everyone was under stress, so maybe they dozed. But how long? It had been four or five days of constant stress, hiding, and shit reports going nowhere, and fewer men...
One should be awake, dozing or not. No, he thought, this was too sloppy. He wanted to yell at them but would give them a chance since they were loyal in the end, and he feared his voice drawing attention. So he sent a code once more: Report. Secure. Plan D. Plan D was just stay alert, threat in area, but he made sure to say everything was secure on his side, so they knew he was wanting them to check in...
Still nothing...
Pissed, he disabled his traps and took his favorite shiv. The area he hid in was solid, nestled between a wedge of upper-class homes and a shop. He'd made sure that to any who looked from all angles, it just seemed like part of a home near a storage unit and wall, or the start of a middle-class shop with a very narrow gap from the wall. The gap was where the false wall was, and it led into the upper-class area where his safehouse was, but you needed to know what to shift to avoid traps. Nobody wandered this area—his goons were just a failsafe...
Maybe nosy people got there, and they had to investigate. It would be odd for random people near a wall in a very narrow alley just watching that had nothing... Fuck, he didn't think about that... so his men would be saving him from that lack of thought.
He stepped out, not expecting a fight but maybe a beggar he could help his men shoo away. They were rare outside the slums, damn near unheard of this close to the upper-class area, but not unheard of. At the very least, maybe a drunk trying to sleep it off in a corner, and his men got stuck trying not to make a scene making the drunk flee... Instead, he found nothing.
No blood, no bodies, just an empty walkway save for a few fleeing rats into holes in walls...
Impossible. No assassin was that good that even his best men wouldn't signal or shout. He checked his blade, still within reach, as he studied the unknown...
The streets were cleaner than the slums but still had places where trash would gather, and with it the rats... A faint smell of piss lingered and maybe a hint of blood on the air, but he wasn't sure how fresh, nor cared. His men were gone, and for the first time in his entire life as a hustler, a killer, and a boss, he felt alone and unsure what to do. A sinking feeling kept nagging at him anew.
He was being watched; he knew it was true.
He ran back inside and secured his door, set the traps, and readied for war against whatever hell he did not know, but he was ready. Blade spinning between his fingers, yet even beyond his fears, he knew he needed answers. What was he missing, the key to this hell?
The only reports from start to end he heard repeated again and again was the same stupid-ass thing: nothing but rot and rats, over and over. Rot and rats... rot and rats...
Rot. And. Rats?
No...
He heard it then, much clearer—the scratching—and saw for the first time a single black rat watching him in a corner...
It tilted its head to the right, and as if mesmerized, he followed its gaze to a darker shadow corner. But the shadow was too large in a room with lantern light, and it squirmed as if it was fighting itself to gain height. A sea of red dots appeared, confusing him. What was this blight?
Shadows don't have... eyes?
As he watched and his face paled with knowledge, which was now clear—it was a sea of rats, a swarm, and it was waiting, watching, wanting him. "No... you're just rats. JUST..." His weapon fell with a clink, not believing the sight, unable to finish the words as his throat sealed tight.
Even as the words parted the boss's lips, the clinking of the weapon set off the rats rushing his way, refusing to relent and let him get away.
And with that, the tale of thieves came to an end. Not a war bathed in the blood of a narrow victory, but a silent cleaning that ended with one who was very close to understanding who it was that won, but doubted even in the end as even that last boss thief faded into the maw of nothing. It was not a victory for the swarm, merely an ending of a choice that the thieves had made.
A week had passed since the last thief's death, and the people grew concerned with the lack of thefts.
They knew something had happened—the thieves seemed to rough them up more than normal a week prior, asking questions they knew not the answers to. But now? Nothing...
No rape, no murder. No demands for protection or bribes to be kept safe. Just gone—a blessing they did not know how to handle as the sun's warmth made them smile. Did the Light Goddess finally listen and deliver judgment? The middle class met with whispers at first, fearing it was a lie, which turned to cheering at their good fortune when made true with time.
All agreed the light must be rewarded, and they paid tribute to the church, thanking for the blessing, but none knew the true fate of the thieves, nor did they care, being spared.
Just the rats knew how it ended and would keep watch for others as their role intended.
For that was their nature. They always watched. Always listened. Just now, with Abaddon's blessing, the Rat Lord smiled—for he was the messenger, the reckoning, the swarm. Those who mocked the new god's mercy could not be allowed to live with such slander, and he would be there to make sure they had that reminder.
and then Add to home screen.