Date: October 30, 542, from the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The tunnel seemed endless. Torches on the walls flickered one after another, casting dancing shadows, and in this infinite corridor, time lost all meaning. Datuk ran. Not walked — ran. His heavy boots pounded a dull rhythm on the stone slabs, and that rhythm, measured as a blacksmith's hammer, merged with the beat of his heart.
Blood — his own and others' — had already dried on his face, mixing with sweat. He wiped it with the back of his hand, leaving a dirty smear on his cheek.
The first wave of rats hit ten minutes after he left Zemkhal's skeleton. Five creatures — all Warriors. They burst from a side passage, red eyes glowing in the half‑darkness, long yellow claws scraping the stone.
Datuk did not even slow down. The axe, heavy and sharp, traced a wide arc and took off two creatures' heads. They collapsed without even a squeak. A third rat tried to leap from the side, aiming for his throat, but the dwarf, without looking, met it with a kick to the jaw.
Bone crunched, and the beast, squealing, flew to the wall, leaving a dark smear on the stone. The remaining two hesitated, and that was enough. The axe plunged into one's chest, pierced through, and lodged in the spine of the second. Datuk yanked the blade free, and the twitching carcasses fell to the stones.
"Five," he muttered, not even out of breath. The axe settled onto his shoulder, and he walked on without looking back.
---
The second wave came a hundred steps later. Ten rats. Among them, one Pillar — larger than the rest, with a metallic sheen to its fur and long, curved fangs that protruded even when its mouth was closed. Datuk felt heat rising inside him. The Berserker Spirit, dormant deep in his Vessel, awoke. Not with a jolt — smoothly, like an old wolf catching the scent of prey. The skin on his arms began to redden. Veins bulged, and molten metal seemed to run through them. The air around him grew denser, heavier.
"Come on, then," the dwarf grinned, shifting his grip on the axe.
He did not wait. He charged straight into the thick of them. The axe sang its bloody song. Rats fell one after another. Datuk did not dodge — he pushed forward, and every strike, every swing, every lunge was precise, deadly, economical. He felt his body moving faster than usual, speed increasing with every enemy slain. His boots slipped on pools of blood, but he never lost his balance.
The Pillar tried to flank him while Datuk was finishing off three ordinary rats at once. The dwarf sensed its approach — the Berserker Spirit had sharpened his senses to the limit. He heard the creature's muscles tense, the air whistle in its lungs. Datuk spun, and the axe, tracing an arc, buried itself in the Pillar's skull. The blade sank to the hilt, and the beast, without even a cry, collapsed dead, its legs twitching in their death throes.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
Datuk stopped counting.
---
The third wave, the fourth, the fifth — they merged into one endless, pulsing mass of fur, claws, and teeth. Creatures poured from the darkness, from side passages, from cracks in the walls. Their numbers grew, and they felt no fear — instinct drove them forward to their deaths. Red eyes glowed in the dark like embers in ash, their numbers swelling to dozens, hundreds.
Datuk smashed them. The axe worked without pause, and his arms, covered in foreign blood, knew no fatigue. The skin on his body turned crimson — not from wounds, but from rage. The Berserker Spirit accelerated his blood, made his heart beat faster, his muscles contract quicker. He felt no pain. No fear. Only excitement. Only the thirst for battle. His breathing was even, deep, and even when a creature's claws raked his shoulder, he did not slow.
At some point, he caught himself smiling. Wide, predatory, like a beast that had cornered its prey.
Pillars appeared more often — one, two, three, four. They were stronger than the ordinary beasts, but Datuk, with his Spirit pushed to its limit, barely noticed them. A strike — and a skull crunched with a dull crack. Another — and a spine snapped like a dry twig. The axe slid into flesh like butter, and the dwarf, no longer counting, simply walked forward, leaving a bloody trail of torn bodies behind him.
But the creatures only grew more numerous. They poured from every gap, and their red eyes, glowing in the darkness, merged into a single luminous wall. Datuk felt his stamina beginning to wane. The Berserker Spirit demanded fuel, and fuel was almost gone.
*Too many of them,* flashed through his mind, but Datuk shoved the thought away.
He ran. And he cut. And he ran again.
---
The tunnel widened, and Datuk, without slowing, burst into a spacious hall.
It was enormous — the ceiling lost in darkness, only the sparse, distant torches on the walls providing any light. The floor was littered with bones — old, decayed, they crunched under his boots, crumbling to gray dust. The place smelled of death. Of rot. And of something else — a sweet, nauseating odor of decay that only accumulates in the lairs of predators, where blood has pooled for centuries.
Datuk stopped for a moment to catch his breath. The axe, covered in blood and fur, settled heavily on his shoulder. He looked around.
In the center of the hall, on a dais made of compacted bones and filth, she sat.
The Rat Queen.
She was enormous — the size of a bear, with a long, almost bare neck and small, deep‑set eyes that glowed with a cold green fire. Her fur was sparse, and beneath it showed gray, wrinkled skin covered in old scars. On her paws were long, curved claws, each the size of a dagger. When she breathed, white steam issued from her mouth, and the air around her trembled with emanating power.
Around her swarmed dozens, if not hundreds, of smaller creatures — her offspring. They were smaller than ordinary rats, but faster and meaner. Their red eyes stared at Datuk with hunger, with hatred, with something else he could not name. They did not attack — they waited for the command.
"There you are," Datuk said, his voice hoarse and ragged, echoing through the hall, bouncing off the high vaults.
The Rat Queen raised her head. Her small green eyes narrowed, and in that cold, predatory depth, something like a smirk flickered. She did not growl — she watched. And in that gaze, in that silent appraisal, was something that made Datuk's fists itch.
"You're the one in charge here," he said, shifting his grip on the axe. "Am I right?"
The Queen did not answer. She only tilted her head slightly, and her offspring, as if receiving a command, began to close in, blocking the way.
"Smart," Datuk grinned. "Won't help you."
He took a step forward. Then another. On the third, he broke into a run. The axe rose, its blood‑caked blade glinting dully in the torchlight.
*Chop off her head,* he thought. *The rest of the carrion will scatter.*
The Rat Queen bared her teeth. Her offspring, hundreds of red eyes, closed the ring.