All throughout the town the rats swarmed forth, covering the ash and the bodies under almost a carpet of squirming, squeaking rodents. The carpet churned forth in what seemed to be an unstoppable horde, all in search of any living person, any at all. Bit by bit tiny little teeth chewed through trash, through debris, and even sometimes through wood. And, to the disgust of Tim and Bert, through the charred, broken bodies as well.
"Dammit Philbert, its fine if it's enemies, but can't you let them just rest in peace?" Tim spat out towards his occasionally moving pocket, moving his eyes away from the rats newfound meals. He had seen them eat people before, and living ones at that, but something about watching them tear through the burned corpses felt wrong.
"Tim, there is nothing, nothing that can be done. The lesser ones still hunger, hunger after all. They must eat to gather strength, to gather under the banner of the king. After all, what use, use is a starving army?"
Tim clenched his teeth in anger. "Yes, yes. I get it. But still, these people. They don't deserve this." He continued to look around, attempting and failing to look anywhere but in the direction of a body. There were just too many. Then, Tim's eyes slightly widened.
"Maria?" He whispered softly, moving towards one of the broken corpses. However, a second and closer look told him everything he needed to know. It was just a villager. "Dammit." Tim sighed. Of course it wouldn't be anyone he knew, and definitely not someone he knew was already dead. His mind was just playing tricks on him. He felt ill.
But the search was not over yet. Tim shook his head to clear his thoughts, and once more stepped forward amidst the masses of rats.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Bert hurriedly kept pace with Tim, casting a nervous gaze towards the masses of rats every once and a while, the scene of them tearing Wavey to pieces playing over and over in his mind. His shoulders tensed. They never really leave him alone, huh. Damn rat bastards. Still… if any good comes out of this, they'll be finding it. At least, if the boss can stop those beasts from eating any survivors they find. He shuddered once more. Fucking hell. It was just going to be an ordinary night at the hideout, and now I'm involved with this real weird fuckin' mage who talks to his pocket and picked a fight with the heroes of all people, and now there's monster attacks!
Well, at least he was still getting his share of the profits the Blinders brought in, and more than his previous at that. Turns out that saving the others from having to deal with the boss on a daily basis was good for something, at least. Especially if he kept collecting "tips" for keeping Tim focused on him, not them. It's dangerous, but, at least when I get offed, the kiddos can live decent for a while. Hell, if I make it, and that rat bastard gets himself killed, that'll be even better. Bert closed his eyes. He could already imagine the scene, with the money he was saving up. The clanging of hammers, the feel of fire on his skin, metal in his hands, and… the smell of smoke surrounding him. Once again, Bert was brought back down to earth and let out an explosive sneeze as ash, which was hopefully not from a human, entered his nose. Shit. The smell of smoke. That's ruined for me now, isn't it?
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
"Any news yet, Philbert?" Tim whispered into his pocket, poking in the last of his cookie crumbs as encouragement.
"No, no livings ones yet. Patience Tim." The rat replied, words broken up as he nibbled on the treats.
Tim sighed once again. Each minute the rats found nothing was a minute in which the knot in his stomach only continued to grow.
"Wait! Movement!" Philbert said. Tim held his breath as he waited for more information. He couldn't even remember a single time when his little friend had shouted before. Maybe Philbert cared too?
"On the far end, end, in the last house, the lesser ones, ones hear something!"
Tim nodded his head, and then turned to Bert. That was something. "Bert! The far end, last house!" He shouted as he ran towards a far-off knot of rats that had all swarmed around a single house, picking his way through rubble, sinking in ash, stirring up dust that irritated his nose. That house, much like the others in the town, was scattered into pieces, like building blocks scattered by the fist of an angry child. The roof was torn off, the walls were shattered, and the few support beams still in the building were scattered over the floor of the house, almost like an afterthought.
Time stretched on as he ran, though he knew only a few minutes passed, but finally the lanky half-elf and the dwarf reached the destination. Tim squinted his eyes, alert for every detail. It was even more of a mess up close. It seemed impossible anyone could be alive under there. "Where where where where" he muttered, as if chanting a spell to find any survivors as he dug through wood splinters and bricks.
"Tim, under the main beam, there is a trapdoor, door." A voice urgently whispered from his pocket.
Tim tore his gaze towards the mess of support beams, and sure enough, there was a small trapdoor stealthily built into the floor of the house. Perfect for hiding from attackers, but dangerous in its own way if, say, multiple heavy wooden beams fell on top of it. As safe as a tomb.
Directly to his side, Bert ran towards the beams. "Boss, I'll give these a try. They look a bit charred, maybe I could heft them out of the way."
Tim nodded in assent, and then turned his eyes towards his pocket. "Philbert. You think these rats can eat through the wood?"
A slight humming sound followed as Philbert considered the question. "We need more, more. Wood is bad to eat, so quantity of lesser ones is needed."
"Then please, get them as fast as you can."
There was no answer from his pocket, only more and more rats changing course to crowd around Tim's legs in preparation.
Well, that's that. He crossed his arms in thought. "Oi Bert, how's it going?" Tim yelled out.
Bert, with the obvious experience of a laborer, was squatted by the end of a beam. With a grunt of exertion he deadlifted it and pulled it to the side, his legs trembling. The thudding of the beam meeting his words slightly untied the knot in Tim's stomach.
"Still one more, and I don't think I can move it! Can't get no grip and it's too heavy to roll away!"
Tim sighed, and quickly scanned his immediate surroundings. Just a bit more.
"That's fine! Move back here, the rats should be able to eat away that last one."
Bert gave out a panicked cry and dashed back to Tim. "It's safe, right?" Bert nervously asked him, visibly spooked by the sheer quantities of rats that had appeared, gathered on the walls. They watched them with their black, shining eyes. Though Bert couldn't put it to words, the creepiest part was that their eyes didn't seem to track him as he moved, though their heads followed his position like soulless puppets.
"Yes. It's fine." Tim replied. Tim motioned to Philbert to begin. Without a single word the seemingly endless swarm of rats billowed outwards like a raging stream, biting and tearing and clawing at the single remaining wooden beam. For a solid minute the scritching, itching sound of teeth and claws made Bert want to pull off his ears. Then, almost as if it never happened, it stopped as the beam was reduced to nothing but twigs and splinters.
Tim set his shoulders forward with all the resolve he could muster. It had to be a survivor. It had to be.
"Bert, with me. Let's finish this." Tim said as he strode towards the trapdoor, now uncovered except for wooden shavings.
A few steps forward, and Bert grasped the roughly made iron handle of their target. He pulled, lightly at first, but with more of his strength as the door strained against him.
Creak!
The hinges squealed in protest, but the trapdoor eventually folded to the burly strength of a dwarf in his prime. And, as the darkness behind the door gave way to the light of the afternoon, the duo was once again speechless.
For what the light had revealed was a small and tattered form, one that could even be mistaken as a cast-off rag, if it weren't for the four limbs poking out of the smoke-dyed clothes that form was wearing. And, as the figure stirred in reaction to the light, and flinched in fear of those who had discovered it, the minds of Tim and Bert turned to that of anger, towards different parties, as they stared at the small child who had survived.