𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧

Chapter five: The demand of a king

The cold sewers stretched on, silent and unyielding. But as I crept through the darkness, the smell of food beckoned me like a distant call. I had been hungry for too long, and I could almost taste it in the air, sharp and salty. My whiskers twitched, and my paws tingled with anticipation. I wasn’t about to let something as small as a rat stand between me and the food I needed.

I moved low and fast, my body trained, my mind focused. My nose followed the scent trail through the air, guiding me like a compass through the shadows. My paws barely made a sound as I moved, sliding through the muck with practiced ease. The rat was close now, digging through the discarded scraps of food, oblivious to the danger lurking just behind it.

I was on it in a flash.

With a growl, I launched myself, my body low to the ground. I aimed for the rat’s back, teeth bared, claws extended, ready to sink into its flesh. But just as I was about to make contact, it turned—its beady eyes flashing with instinctual panic. The rat wasn’t going down without a fight.

It screeched, a high-pitched, ear-splitting sound that made my head throb. It darted sideways, moving faster than I’d anticipated, its small form like a blur in the dim light. I missed by a hair’s breadth, my claws swiping through the air where it had been just a second before. The rat was quicker than I’d expected, and it wasn't about to give up its prize.

I hissed in frustration and sprang to my feet, my tail flicking behind me for balance. The rat squeaked again, this time charging directly at me, its sharp teeth bared in a wild display of aggression. It came at me fast, darting between my legs, aiming to bite at my soft underbelly. I was too slow, and its teeth grazed my side, drawing a sharp pain that sent a shock of adrenaline through me.

I let out a hiss, spinning on my paws to face it. Blood dripped from the small wound, but I wasn’t about to let that slow me down. I’d been through worse. I’d fought worse. This was nothing.

The rat circled me, eyes flicking back and forth, searching for an opening. It was smaller than me, but it was fast—agile, a survivor. And right now, we were both fighting for the same thing: food.

I crouched, tail whipping behind me in anticipation. The rat lunged again, and this time I was ready. I twisted, just narrowly dodging its charge, and lashed out with my claws. They scraped across its fur, and it let out a shrill cry of pain. But it wasn’t enough to stop it. The rat retaliated with a vicious swipe of its own, its tiny claws cutting into my forearm. I gritted my teeth, barely resisting the urge to scream.

With a snarl, I backed away, calculating my next move. My body ached, and the fight was draining me, but I couldn’t give up. I had no choice.

The rat was faster, more nimble, but I had something it didn’t—experience. I had fought in real wars, faced down opponents much larger and stronger than this little rodent. I wasn’t going to let my past failures be the death of me now.

I feigned weakness, stumbling slightly as though my energy was failing. The rat, thinking it had the upper hand, charged in. It was too eager. Too focused on victory.

That’s when I struck.

In a blur of motion, I shifted my weight, dropping to all fours, and slammed my claws down with all the force I could muster. I caught the rat mid-lunge, digging my claws into its back. It squealed in surprise, thrashing beneath me, trying to wriggle free. But I held tight, pressing my weight down, feeling its body fight against mine.

I bit down, sinking my teeth into its soft fur and flesh, my mind focused on the task at hand. It kicked and clawed at me, but I didn’t let go. I couldn’t. I needed this.

The rat was strong, but it was panicking now. Its energy was running out. It didn’t have the endurance to keep up with me. I kept my grip tight, pushing through the pain in my side, my arm, my chest, all the while focusing on the warmth of victory, the promise of food just beyond my grasp.