Pell continued sprinting down the hall. The echoes of his footsteps bounced off the narrow walls, intertwining with the sharp, skittering sounds of the demon rat behind him. He was close to the main intersection, and though he didn’t know what he would do once he reached it, Pell’s mind focused solely on making it there. It was familiar, at least. How he would make it the rest of the way back to the study was still a mystery.
The demon rat, now severely singed, had slowed down. Its body was marred by patches of charred skin where flames had licked and scorched it, leaving much of its fur burnt away. Its face was particularly damaged, half of it blackened like the surface of a burnt marshmallow. Despite its gruesome appearance, there were more things to be concerned about.
As he bolted ahead, Pell noticed the rat’s calculated steps, the way it had suddenly masked its own presence. It was creeping closer, biding its time, waiting for the right moment to strike while he was oblivious. Pell had heard its steps, but they came much closer than expected, almost like a deliberate ploy to catch him off guard.
The demon rat was faster than Pell—there was no denying that—but now, its speed had slowed to something manageable. It moved like a wounded predator, its once lightning-fast strides reduced to the pace of a well-trained soldier. Its legs, crippled by burns, stuttered as it scurried forward, and Pell couldn’t help but draw an odd comparison. It reminded him of his own stiff movements in the later years of his life, when old age had crept in. Strangely, it also brought to mind how Enya had fumbled clumsily when they first met, her body uncoordinated and awkward.
That flicker of memory, though brief, only fueled Pell's frustration. It didn’t change the fact that the demon rat was gaining on him, its speed still outpacing his own despite its injuries. He knew it would catch up in mere moments. With a grim resolve, Pell twisted his torso around, grabbing one of the bones he had scooped up earlier—the zombie’s tibia. He gripped it tightly in his hands, thinking of whether he should or shouldn't.
Though he couldn't cause much harm to the rat due to its gigantic size, Pell could think of one advantage—causing distractions. If he could throw the bone with enough force, perhaps he could slow it down, even if just for a moment. His legs continued to pump forward, unimpeded by the awkward twist of his upper body. Being a skeleton had its perks—what would have been uncomfortable or impossible for a human was effortless for him.
Pell locked his empty eye sockets onto the demon rat’s snout, the only vulnerable point he could aim for. He wound his arm back, then flung the bone with all his might. The tibia soared through the air, spinning end over end in a tight arc. A split second later, a sharp crack echoed through the hall. The bone had hit its mark, striking the rat square on the nose. The impact was enough to snap the tibia in half.
The sound of the bone breaking was a testament to the strength behind Pell's throw. It took considerable force to break a tibia, especially one as thick and solid as the one he had just thrown. Pell wasn’t the strongest skeleton around, but he could hold his own against a decently strong human. Where humans had natural limits—pain signals and muscle fatigue—Pell had none of that. He was free from the constraints of flesh and nerves, able to push his body beyond what any living being could without consequence.
The demon rat flinched as the bone shattered against its snout, a brief pause in its relentless pursuit. It snarled, shaking its head in annoyance, but Pell didn’t wait to see the full effect. He kept running, hoping the small distraction would buy him the extra seconds he needed to reach the intersection.
The loud snap of the bone splitting in half wasn’t just from Pell’s strength; it was also an indicator of the sheer force driving the demon rat. The tibia had shattered as if it had struck a steel pillar, an immovable object that only seemed to grow stronger with each passing second. Even so, the rat faltered, and that’s all that Pell needed.
Although the bone didn't do any actual damage to the rat, it provided him with seconds. After all, if a person ran as fast as they could and a leaf flew in front of their face—they would slow down. One second wasn't a lot, considering the rat didn't completely stop. But what if he threw multiple bones?
Without breaking his pace, Pell hurled another bone at the rat. Again, he aimed for the snout, the only soft spot he could see. The bone shattered on impact, and the rat, though undeterred, was momentarily slowed. Pell’s eyes glinted with a hint of hope. If he could distract it just long enough, he might make it to the main intersection where he had a better chance of escaping.
He threw another bone. Bone fragments littered the ground as it collided with the rat’s tough hide or snapped mid-air. By the fourth throw, Pell noticed the demon rat’s movements had changed. It was no longer running in a straight line. Instead, it began to dodge. The rat was growing increasingly irritated, actively weaving left and right to avoid the projectiles.
The fourth and immediate fifth bones missed their mark entirely, but Pell didn’t care. He wasn’t aiming to injure it in the first place. Each dodge forced the rat to lose forward momentum, creating even more of a gap between them for Pell to continue sprinting ahead.
The distance was increasing, and Pell wasn’t about to stop. He had only one bone left, but if need be, he was prepared to start throwing parts of his own body. Every second counted, and he would use whatever he could to survive.
Pell hurled the sixth bone, a pathetic little thing, most likely a clavicle or some useless foot bone. As soon as it left his hand, he knew it wasn’t going to do much. The bone was too light, and it barely made it halfway between him and the rat before gravity yanked it down to the floor. The sight of it falling short might’ve been laughable, if the situation weren’t so dire.
Still, the demon rat dodged instinctively, leaping to the right, reacting to Pell’s motion before realizing it had avoided nothing. When it figured out that Pell threw a weak pebble at it, it snarled, low and guttural.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
The sound of crushed stone sounded behind Pell. Every rocky pointed stone that jutted out of the ground was squashed and pulverized with its steps. Small empty holes that littered the ground sunk even deeper as the rat stepped in them, the weight of its body pressing hard into the stone.
Pell raced ahead, mind spinning as fast as his legs, frantically searching for a plan, any plan. The rat was closing in, its breath hot on his nonexistent heels. He needed a miracle. Maybe he could dive forward and hope the rat overshot? But even then, the creature would recover too fast, its jaws already prepared to snap him into shards. Or maybe he could leap into the air, flip, and land on its back? Pell shook his head. He was going crazy. How in the hell would that ever work?
As the rat drew closer, the reality of the situation sank in. He was out of bones, out of tricks, and soon, about to be out of time. He could use his own bones, but would it even matter at this point? The main intersection was still a dozen or so seconds away, but it might as well have been miles. Even if he reached it, what then? What did he have left to fight this thing off?
His only option was the rebound talisman, tucked away for extremely dire emergencies. But now, in here, with a large overgrown rat, and not even inside of the boss room? It would be such a damn waste!
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Yet, as the thundering footsteps of the demon rat echoed louder behind him, the thought gnawed at him—he might not get another chance.
Pell’s sprint dwindled to a jog, each step heavier than the last. The demon rat’s relentless footsteps echoed louder, closing the gap. This was it. Pell let out a sigh, slowing even further until he came to a stop. He turned around, facing the inevitable. The rat was bearing down on him, its monstrous figure a shadowed blur in the darkness.
There was no choice now. He had to use the rebound talisman. But the timing had to be perfect. He could only reflect one attack, and it needed to be the most lethal one. The rat would strike hard when it leapt, and that’s when he’d activate it. No sooner, no later.
At least the brat was safe in the study. The rat couldn’t reach her there. All she had to do was stay put, stay hidden. Pell’s flame flickered, momentarily soothing his panic.
"Pell!"
A girl’s voice cut through the murky air, and Pell’s soul flame wavered in shock. He shook his skull, momentarily dazed. He was hallucinating, hearing the voices of children again. Was this his punishment for all those years of swearing at the orphanage? Had Elara come back to haunt him?
"Pell, I came to save you!"
The voice rang out again, and this time there was no mistaking it. It was real.
"Fuck," Pell muttered. Of all times to be interrupted...
He whipped his head back around, scanning the darkness in front of him. The torches barely lit the corridor, but he knew that voice—it was her. The brat, yelling from deep within the shadows. She hadn't returned to the study, but came back straight into danger.
Pell's instincts faltered for a split second, his gaze turning, trying his best to locate where Enya's voice came from. That hesitation, however brief, was all the demon rat needed.
In an instant, the rat lunged forward, its hulking mass crashing toward him from behind.
Pell’s vision soon became that of the cold, hard, ragged ground. His skull skull-planted itself straight down, as he felt the force of two large paws descend upon his back ribcage. A small crack formed in front of his forehead, as small bone fragments splintered and lay in front of him as he kissed the ground.
Pinned beneath the massive creature, Pell tried to twist his body, desperate to move and reorient himself, but the rat’s strength was too overwhelming. He could barely muster the power to shift. Instead, he rotated his head completely backwards, forcing himself to look up at the drooling, monstrous face above him. A long, thick droplet of saliva dangled from the rat’s maw, then fell, landing with a wet splat across his face. Argh!
The rat let out a low, grumbling growl, its breath rancid and oppressive. Its beady black eyes glared down at him, devoid of any white or sign of life—a black void of hatred and hunger. Pell didn’t know much about rats, but he knew that wasn’t normal.
The pressure from the rat’s weight grew, pushing against his fragile skeletal frame. He could feel his ribs begin to give way under the strain. It wasn’t the same sinister feeling as when the dungeon quakes had hit, but it was definitely comparable. His body was on the verge of breaking entirely.
Pell's hand scrambled toward his inventory. His hand disappeared briefly into the void, before returning with the rebound talisman, clutching it tightly in his palm. Timing was everything. He had missed his first opportunity when the rat pounced, and now he had to wait for the precise moment the beast would strike again—this time with its jaws. The talisman only worked against a single, significant attack, and he needed the rat’s bite to be that attack. But that meant he had to endure the rat’s crushing weight until then.
The creature’s hind legs shifted, applying even more pressure as they crushed Pell’s lower half. The pain—or what he knew would be pain—coursed through him. His upper right ribcage shattered as the rat’s front right paw ground it into dust, which also inadvertently caught the side of his lower right shoulder, severing his arm completely.
He was breaking—and fast.
The talisman felt like his only lifeline, but in that very moment, survival seemed as distant as the brat’s voice echoing somewhere in the darkness.
Damn it! I—can’t! Pell cursed internally. The rat wasn’t attacking in the typical sense. It was just slowly crushing him, its enormous weight bearing down without delivering a single blow. If he used the talisman now, it would be wasted, barely doing more than nudging the giant rat with a love-tap.
“Eat me already, you damn mutt!” Pell spat through a mixture of fury and panic, his voice rasping under the pressure.
His soul-flames flared as he locked eyes with the demon rat, its face marred by seared muscle and burnt flesh. Despite its grotesque appearance, the rat was calm, almost indifferent. It leaned in, applying even more force, as if taking sadistic pleasure in Pell’s slow demise.
Snap!
“No!” Pell hissed in frustration as his left shoulder cracked and snapped, severing his arm just like the right one. He felt the talisman slip from his useless hand, sifting away from his body. The rat barely gave it a glance, returning its black, soulless gaze to Pell, ignoring the artifact as if it were just another discarded bone.
His eyes—or what served as them—were filled with nothing but the rat’s gaping mouth, its slick tongue and monstrous teeth poised to end him. Two oversized buck teeth clamped down, pressing against the top and underside of his skull. Pell felt the immense pressure, like the real weight of the dungeon quakes, pushing relentlessly against him.
Cracks splintered across his skull, jagged fissures running along its sides. The rat’s bite force was probably stronger than a lion. Pell had watched it obliterate skeletons, snapping apart the sturdiest bones with ease. Now, instead of witnessing it, he was experiencing it firsthand, every crack in his skull a reminder of how close he was to being crushed entirely.
As the vibrations in his skull became more violent, Pell tried to curse again, but his jaw bones were locked in place by the crushing grip of the rat’s teeth. His soul flames flickered weakly—they were dying out. Damn it... he thought, his mind too hazy to form another curse.
Yet, as his life flashed before him once more, a sudden clarity hit him. Pell’s expression—if he could even call it that—turned grim, his dwindling soul flames flickering in the darkness. He had heard Enya’s voice just moments ago.
Why the hell did she come back?
Had she really returned to save him? It was a noble gesture, but also utterly stupid, reckless, irresponsible, and thoughtless. Only a brash, impulsive child would throw themselves into a situation this dangerous. Yet... she had.
His soul flame in the left eye socket sputtered out, leaving only the faintest flicker in the other. It was a dying dance, dimming as the final notes of its song faded into silence. Pell’s thoughts grew fragmented, disoriented, slipping through his mind like water through cracked fingers.
The world around him twisted and distorted. The vibrations that had once pounded in his head melded into a single, constant hum. A fracture began crawling through his skull, rippling outward with every second. The surrounding lights—the faint, sickly glow of the dungeon and the decayed white of the rat’s bloodstained teeth—began to fade, swallowed by despair.
He felt his skull dislodge. The force of the rat's bite sent shockwaves through him. A bright flash of light pierced the darkness, though he couldn’t tell what it was. Thuds and tremors reverberated through his fractured skull like distant thunder.
Was this it? Was it the sound of his skull finally cracking in half?
Pell couldn’t tell. He was slipping away, losing track of where the pain ended and the black void began.
A voice called out from within the shadows, blending seamlessly with the constant rumbling as if they were one and the same. It sounded like it was calling for him. But that couldn’t be right. No one ever called for Pell. No one ever needed him. No one ever wanted him. The only person who ever had was long gone, lost to the world just like everything else he had once cared about.
The orphanage... its memories began to surface in his mind, slowly but surely. He remembered the director, the only person who had ever treated him with kindness. She had been filled with warmth, a beacon of light in his otherwise cold and bitter existence. She had cared. But she was gone now. Long gone. Only a few souls even remembered her. And her daughter... Pell had watched her fall into the hands of a pompous asshole of a fool, a man draped in undeserved aggravating luxury.
He had wanted to help, to repay the kindness that had been shown to him all those years ago. But perhaps... it was never meant to be.
A strange sense of peace washed over him as his title drifted into his fading consciousness: Orphanage Assistant. It was a small thing, but it reminded him of that place, of the good he had once been a part of. That title signified that the place was still up and running, and that she—the one person who had ever given him a chance—was still suffering. He had ascended through the layers for nothing, fought through so much... and for what? Not even a second chance at life had let him fulfill his simple goal. He just wanted to help. One last time.
One final thought crossed his mind as the world around him grew darker, closing in.
Damn… that brat’s probably going to find my backup note. So damn embarrassing... Not that it matters anymore... Maybe it really does take a noble to take down a noble, and not some commoner...
Before he could finish his thought, Pell’s consciousness began to fade into the void.