Date: October 30, 542, from the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The Rat King proved stronger than Datuk had expected.
Its blows were heavy, fast, and each one forced the dwarf to retreat. The monster's claws left deep wounds on his arms, his shoulders, his chest — where four lines had already crusted with dried blood. Regeneration worked, but it could not keep up. Blood flowed, and Datuk felt his strength ebbing with every minute. Each new strike from the King required a block, each block drained his energy.
The Queen did not intervene. She stood in the shadows, pressing a paw to her mutilated snout, and her remaining eye, green and hateful, tracked every move. She coordinated the offspring — they attacked in waves, distracting, exhausting, not allowing Datuk to focus on the main enemy. One wave struck from the front, another from behind, a third tried to bite his legs. It was like a swarm of wasps — not deadly, but maddening.
"Cowardly beast," Datuk rasped, hurling aside another rat. It flew to the wall and slid down with a dull thud, leaving a bloody trail.
The King seized the moment. Its paw, crowned with long claws, crashed down on Datuk with such force that the dwarf, losing his balance, flew to the wall. The blow struck his shoulder, and his left arm, still gripping the axe, went numb for an instant. The axe nearly fell, but Datuk clenched the haft so hard his knuckles turned white.
*Too many of them,* Datuk thought, rising. Blood ran down his face, into his eye, but he did not wipe it away. *The King is strong. The Queen is smart. The offspring are like locusts. If this keeps up, I won't make it out.*
He felt the Berserker Spirit beginning to drain him. The skin that had been crimson was now pale, and the bulging veins, though still pulsing, were weaker. A little more, and he would burn out. A little more, and they would overwhelm him with numbers.
*Then… one final push.*
Datuk closed his eyes for a moment. He remembered the fight with the White Herald. The very technique he had used then, when everything was on the line. When there was nowhere to retreat. When he had staked everything he had.
*Berserker Spirit: Final Battle.*
He opened his eyes.
The world changed. Colors grew brighter, sounds louder, and every movement, every heartbeat, every breath echoed inside him as a pulsing wave of power. The energy control technique worked in sync with his Berserker Spirit. Pain vanished. Fatigue disappeared. Only rage remained. Pure, primal, unstoppable.
Datuk's skin blazed with crimson light, and the air around him seemed to melt.
He stepped forward.
The King did not expect this. It reared up for a strike, but the dwarf was already there. The axe, red‑hot from energy, crashed down on the monster's paw, and the limb separated from the body with a wet, sickening crunch. Blood sprayed in a fountain, drenching Datuk from head to toe.
The King roared — low, long — and in that roar, that sound, was so much pain and fury that the offspring froze for a moment, blinded and deafened.
Datuk did not stop. He snatched up the severed paw — heavy, still twitching, with long, bloody claws — and, spinning, hurled it toward the Queen. The paw, rotating in the air, flew a good twenty paces and sank its claws directly into the Queen's head, piercing the skull and pinning the creature to the wall.
The Queen did not even scream. She twitched once, twice, three times — and fell still. Her remaining eye, green and hateful, went dark, and her head lolled lifelessly onto her chest.
"You're next," Datuk said, turning to the King.
The monster, missing a paw, staggered but did not fall. Blood gushed from the stump, flooding the stone floor, but it seemed not to notice. Its red eyes burned with hatred, and, gathering its last strength, it lunged at the dwarf. It was a desperate, final charge — without a paw, without balance, but full of rage.
Datuk met it with a strike.
The axe, superheated by the energy of the Final Battle, plunged into the King's chest, pierced its heart, and exited through its back. Blood poured like a river, and the monster, not even having time to howl, crashed onto the stone floor. Its body twitched for a few more seconds in agony, then fell still.
The offspring, leaderless, panicked. They lost coordination, their attacks became chaotic, disorganized. Datuk did not give them time. He crushed them one by one, and the axe, still red‑hot, sang its bloody song. He did not count — he simply cut, and every strike found its mark.
When the last rat fell, silence returned to the hall.
Datuk stood amid a pile of corpses, breathing heavily. His body was covered in wounds, blood flowed from a dozen cuts, and his left arm, broken in two places, hung uselessly at his side. But he stood. He stood straight, and his axe was raised.
"Nothing," he rasped, wiping blood from his face. "I'm still alive."
He looked at Zemkhal's bones protruding from his belt. The two dragon bones, smooth and warm, had survived the meat grinder. Datuk touched them — they were intact.
Staggering, he headed for the exit. The torches on the walls were burning low, and the shadows dancing on the walls looked like ghosts of fallen enemies.
Datuk stepped into the darkness of the tunnel.