I let off another shot, aiming for the Kalamuzi’s forehead. This shot was easier - the ratman was closer, and while he was moving, he was only moving towards me. My arms still ached dully, but the slingshot was a simple weapon to use, once you knew how to use it. My aim was far from perfect, especially at range, but anything beat trying to hit that target from before. I shot. The ball connected, but I winced as it bounced off, uselessly. Either I hadn’t pulled the bands back far enough, or these shots simply weren’t strong enough to break bone. It had entered the skin only to be deflected by the skull.

The ratman reeled, clearly in great pain. Whether it broke bone or not, it still must have felt like someone smacking you in the face.

But the ratman kept advancing, sprinting towards me. I didn’t hesitate, taking my opportunity to make one last shot. I loaded the next shot, pulled, and released.

This time, I aimed for a fleshier target - which was difficult, the Kalamuzi being as thin and boney as they were. Afraid that the Kalamuzi would reach me before I got off the shot, I aimed quickly, and shot quickly, deciding to go with what had worked before. The steel ball, covered in melted nail, flew into the left arm of the Kalamuzi, embedding itself. But he was upon me, sword raised above his head in both undersized hands, and he hardly seemed to notice the new hole in his bicep. I dove to the right, praying that I was fast enough, unfortunately dropping the slingshot in the scramble. I was fast enough. Barely. The sword swung down where I had been only a moment before. I landed harshly on the ground - I wasn’t an acrobat, damnit - and scrambled back to my feet, drawing my drows, my antisword, from my belt.

The Kalamuzi was crazed. I had barely enough time to bring my weapon out before me to block his next strike. The Kalamuzi couldn’t have been strong, as skeletal as they were, but his movements had all the power of desperation. I barely kept my grip on my weapon, and he didn’t give me time to think. Blow after blow came crashing down on me, and I deflected them, cursing Dimitri’s name as the drows failed to break even this rusty mess of a sword the Kalamuzi wielded.

Even under this onslaught, I noticed something. My mind was operating at full speed, adrenaline pumping through my veins, and a distant part of my brain brought my attention to my peripheral vision. It was like a voice in my head telling me that new information had come in, and those reinforcements you had called for were no longer coming. I noticed, in an instant, that Cadoc and Amaia were not coming over to help, as I thought they would. I didn’t know what that meant, but to even think on it more than that simple acknowledgment of the situation would have taken too much of the concentration necessary to parry the next swing.

I deflected, then, noticing that this Kalamuzi seemed to have a pattern, began to dial in to it. Swing, stab, overhead, upward slice, stab… I thought I could maybe read his movements. I stepped aside as the ratman threw a quick stab at me, little more than a feint, then turned away his overhead swing, causing him to lose his balance. I clawed at the opportunity like a drowning man grabbing for the floating wreckage of his ship. I swung down with the antisword.

The edgeless steel of my weapon hit, and hit hard. I thought I heard something breaking - perhaps his shoulder. The ratman, off balance, was sent tumbling forward. He fell face-first unto the floor.

I smiled. I’m actually good at this. All that sparing with Cadoc is paying off.

But that wasn’t the end. The ratman stood, his sword still held with one furless hand, knuckles white, while his other arm hung strangely from his shattered shoulder.

He snarled, and I only had a moment to be surprised before the ratman leapt at me.

But I wasn’t ready. I had let my guard down. I brought up my antisword in time, but the Kalamuzi’s strike was stronger than my grip. His attack was turned away, and finally, miraculously, his sword broke, shattering against my weapon in shards of rusty steel. But it wasn’t perfect - I cried out in pain as a glancing blow from what remained of his sword - a jagged slice of metal still attached to the hilt - sliced into my arm, slicing between two patches of leather. Worse yet, I lost my grip in the exchange, and my antisword flew from my hand, clattering uselessly on the stone floor.

Now it was my turn to be on the ground, falling off-balance. The ratman seemed to slow, for a moment, breathing heavy. It was winded, but not more winded than I was. It looked down at me, squeaking something at me in its rat-tongue.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

I was on my back, having tripped backwards. The ratman was just a few feet away - it would take only a moment for him to dash ahead, strike at me, and kill me. We were both unarmed now, his sword broken and mine lost, but that gave the clawed Kalamuzi the distinct advantage. I would be ripped to shreds in a moment. I looked frantically to both sides.

I saw my slingshot, far off - the battle had drifted us far from where we started. I couldn’t possibly reach it. I saw my anstisword, as well, closer, but still too far to make a run for.

I looked for Cadoc and Amaia. Surely they will come to save me, soon, I thought. But I saw that they were only standing, watching. Amaia had a desperate look on her face, deep lines fraught with worry, which looked strange on her face, normally so minimally expressive. She kept looking to Cadoc and yelling something, but he had his arms crossed, a stern look on his face as he responded with something I also couldn’t make out.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. They are betraying me! They’re standing there, watching me die! Why? I thought-

My thoughts were interrupted by another screech, the ratman having caught his breath enough, I supposed. Despite what I had expected, the Kalamuzi still held his sword in one hand. It was only a hilt with a couple inches of sword left, like a piece of broken glass, but he meant to kill me with it. It was more of a weapon than I had.

He lunged, and for a moment - less than a moment - I despaired. My despair seemed to stretch out through time, stretching out the moment towards infinity, growing deeper and wider until I was enveloped in it, hopeless. It seemed to saturate my skin, sinking in past my muscles, past my bones, towards my soon-to-be-stilled heart.

This is how it was always going to go, I thought. Alone. Betrayed. Too weak. Never meant to succeed. Mom was right. Dad was right. Everyone was right.

But the despair hit a wall. Suddenly, it wasn’t endless, but had reached a very distinct edge.

Around my heart, a furious fire burned, a fire into which the despair could advance no farther. My anger.

No.

The Kalamuzi had leapt, sword poised to be driven into my chest with the force of gravity. I remembered a detail, a detail like what Tom would have used, and used the only weapons I had left. If he wouldn’t use his claws, I would use mine.

I ignited the ball still embedded in the Kalamuzi’s arm. The arm he held the sword in. He cried out, dropping the sword, but he was already in the air. He landed on me, nearly knocking the wind out of me, but I had been expecting it, and he hadn’t. I rolled us both over, the Kalamuzi’s eyes locked with mine, wide with shock, and then I was on top. I hurriedly thrust a hand into my pocket, my other hand holding my opponent down - he could have struggled free in a moment, if he had reacted immediately, but he hadn’t.

His mouth was agape, and that was perfect. I thrust my clenched fist down his throat, cutting my forearm against his teeth, let go, and pulled my arm back out. The Kalamuzi had begun clawing at me, raking deep into my back, ripping past and through the leather armor like it was nothing, but it didn’t stop me. With the force of will, and what must have been all of the mana I had left in reserve, I melted the nails inside of the Kalamuzi’s throat, then, hoping they had stuck, I ignited them.

The Kalamuzi’s eyes somehow went wider, and he stopped clawing me to clutch at his neck. I rolled off of him as he writhed in pain, unable even to scream as his vocal chords burned.

I ran to where my drows lay a few feet away, grabbed it, and ran back. The Kalamuzi was still burning inside. So was I.

Unwilling to give the rat even a moment longer to possibly recover or flee, I brought the weapon down, in one swift movement. The pointed edge slipped between his ribs, stabbing into the spot I assumed his heart was. In a moment, he was dead. I felt the power rush at me in the form of a question, and I said yes. I felt myself become a little more powerful, the pool of mana beneath my skin growing a little deeper.

I collapsed onto the ground beside corpse, exhausted in every way, a sensation like blood pooling beneath my back from where the claws had torn my skin.

“Well done,” I said, breathlessly. To myself, and to the Kalamuzi. “Well done.”

I patted the dead Kalamuzi on the shoulder, where it laid next to me. He was just like me, I thought, tears welling up despite the absurdity of it all. More like a man that anyone around him, more conscious than his animal peers, just aware enough to see that he was different - but still, not a man. Just a rat.

I let sleep take me, and hoped that my worthless companions would at least have enough pity on me to bandage my wounds.

-

I dreamt of people arguing. A woman’s voice, strange, warbling in my thoughts like disturbed water.

“Why did you do this? Huh? Why?”

Then a man’s voice. Cold. Hard.

“The fight was his. It would be cowardice to interrupt a duel - something I intend to tell him, when he awakes.”

“If he awakes!” the woman yelled. “Look at him! I can’t believe I listened to you.”

“He is fine,” the man responded. “As I told you he would be. Miles would not be defeated by a rat. Though I am ashamed that he thought so little of me as to throw his honor away for my sake.”

“Shut up with that, already,” the woman answered, and I felt a dull sensation, a pressure, like something was being wrapped around me. It wasn’t painful, however - you can’t feel pain in a dream, after all. “Help me move him. We’ve got to get out of here.”

“What of the coward woman?”

“Screw her!”

I started to drift off again. I wondered who these people were, in my dreams, and why they were so angry at each other. They sounded almost like my parents, but that couldn’t be right.

Before consciousness - dream-consciousness? - left me, there was another voice. An all-too familiar voice.

“Sorry I haven’t been in touch recently, Miles. I’ve been busier than you could imagine over here. But that’s no excuse. Sorry. I’m happy you’re alive, for what it’s worth. I think I wasn’t actually reaching you before, sometimes, so I don’t know how much you’ve heard. What a pain, huh? What good is one-way communication? Anyway, hang in there. I can see you’re a little beaten up, but you’ll pull through. I’ll be back in touch when you’re feeling better. I’m happy you’ve got some new friends with you, at least.

“Oh, right, I should probably say, this is Tom. Anyway, I’ll catch you later, my man.”

I sank back into the void of a dreamless sleep, absently wondering what that was all about.