No way out. Seriously?! Julien decides to circle the room for a third time. In the centre, a mound of debris is an indicator of where the ceiling above had collapsed, causing the upper floor to mostly descend into the subterranean room.
Daylight streaming in from the upper floor allows him to see, quite clearly, that the modest hill is about as useful to him as a barstool to someone stuck in a well. Even if it had reached all the way to the top, it would only have served as a lonely platform to view the few intact pieces that are left of the floor.
So close. But still out of reach. No! Surely there must be a way! Loath to return to the dim and dank tunnels, Julien decides to go back to one of the sparsely lit corners where he had discovered the only staircase. It is buried underneath rubble, but maybe, just maybe, it can bring him far enough.
He clambers on top of the rocks. They turn out to be wobbly beneath his feet. Straining his eyes, he can just about make out the outlines of something that seems like a platform. On unsteady legs, he moves upwards and onwards. At first, he makes good progress. But the rubble is shifty. Before he can reach the platform, he loses his balance completely and goes down heavily. Bloody knees and palms are added to his growing collection of wounds. Spitting curses under his breath, he continues on all fours until the, thankfully, solid platform allows him to stand up again.
That’s when he sees what the scarce light had not allowed him to see at the bottom. The stairs do not continue.
Well, shit.
Bits and pieces are sticking out of the wall at irregular intervals, but dare he try and jump the distance when he does not even know if they can support a landing? He does not. A quick inspection of the walls shows him that it is more or less smooth and devoid of handholds. Not that he is skilled in wall climbing to begin with. Grumbling, he retraces his footsteps.
Not finding any other way, Julien soon finds himself back in front of the tunnel that had brought him to the cellar. He glares at what could have been his salvation. The upper floor and daylight, tantalisingly out of reach. He takes a few massive gulps of relatively fresh air for what could be the last time in a long time. It’s cool. You got this. Damn it, I don’t want to! But I have to. But I don’t want to!
He grips his bone ‘dagger’ tightly, grits his teeth, and leaves.
Without running into anything dangerous, Julien finds himself at a familiar intersection in no time. This time it is empty. No rats to welcome him. No salamanders out for his flesh.
And now what?
Discounting the other dead end, two paths lay before him, possibly leading to the surface. One direction spat out the lion-sized salamanders that had tried to have him for lunch, and the other direction was the one the shepherd-sized rats had chosen as a refuge from the salamanders. Either there is a way out in that direction, or there is something down there that does not eat rats but does scare salamanders.
Right or straight? Rats or salamanders?
With disgust, he remembers the forked tongue whipping at him and the slimy, webbed claws that had tried their utmost best to filet him.
Rats it is.
His chosen direction ends up being less humid and slimy than his previous experiences. The downside is that it turns out to be a literal rat maze. After passing three intersections in quick succession, Julien starts marking the walls with scratches, shaping an arrow. Arrows towards the intersection to show he’d been there, and arrows pointing away to show which direction he had taken from there.
More than a few times, a dead-end forces him back. When a tunnel loops around to bring him back to an intersection where he had already been, Julien briefly gets confused. After spotting his arrows, though, he eventually gets his bearings. Shaking his head, he scratches through the arrows on tracks that turned out to loop back or were dead ends. Even with the scratches on the walls to keep track of where he’s been, it feels like he is getting nowhere fast.
He encounters some rats. They hear him coming from far away. They wait for him at the intersections. Sniffing the air. Their whiskers twitching. They don’t allow him to come close. Each time, without exception, they turn tail and scurry away as fast as their paws can carry them, squeaking loudly as they go.
At first, it emboldens Julien. But when the tunnels around him start to echo with squeaks, he shudders involuntarily. What if they are merely grouping up to overwhelm me? Not good! This is not good.
Bone dagger at the ready, Julien continues on his way. He places his back to a wall and approaches every intersection with caution. He nervously looks back and forth to try and prevent the rat ambush he feels could happen any moment.
Suddenly, a voice echoes through the tunnels. It sets his heart racing.
“Damn rats! Fuck! Die cursed pests!”
A human! I am not alone! Trying to maintain his defensive position against the wall, Julien takes off as fast as he can. He tracks the sound to a chilling scene.
A pack of rats has surrounded a man near an intersection. The dark-haired stranger wears a worn, leather cuirass over a loose shirt. His trousers are torn. So are the sleeves of the shirt. The man grimaces. He waves his sword back and forth, trying to keep the large rats at bay. A few lie dead at his feet, having already paid for their aggression.
Julien attacks without hesitation. He manages to stab two rats through the throat in quick succession before the rest take note. Recognizing the aid he is given, the man starts assaulting the rats with fury.
The pack, however, does not give up that easily. Reinforcements keep arriving. The too-large pests leap at both men’s torsos only to find their fleshy target blocked by bone and blade. The more careful ones that circle their feet try, with varying degrees of success, to trap ankles in their jaws. They are tougher to deal with as Julien and his unknown ally focus on keeping their face and throat intact. But, kicking wildly while stabbing and slashing at the jumping rats is a tactic that seems to work well enough.
Standing back to back, they fight for their lives.
Quite a few dead rats later, the rodents seem to change their approach. They refocus their efforts on Julien. Keeping their distance, most of the rats block the tunnel through which he came. The rest keeps trying to flank the duo.
Julien trails the closest ones with his dagger.
“Is that all you got?”
He grins and looks sideways, only to see the stranger he had aided suddenly taking off. “Thanks for the help!” the opportunist cries, slaughtering the few rats left between him and the intersection.
Julien is shocked. “Wait! Don’t leave me here! We can take them. Together.”
The man looks back over his shoulder. “Maybe. But I’m not willing to take that chance. I’m sure you understand.” He waves and walks headfirst into a massive club. It caves in his head like a hard-boiled egg. A flash of light trails its path, showing the trajectory the club had taken.
The creature stepping around the corner holding the murder stick sports the angular features of the rodents they had just been slaying. But he is jacked like a powerlifter.
Julien stares at the bipedal terminator rat. He has only one thought. Of course, it couldn’t be easy.