The fight had really changed while I was theory-crafting about how the shards and star clusters worked.

  Someone might say it changed for the better—the fight was cleaner, more focused. But that was the problem. These fuckers weren’t fighting anymore; they were sparring with each other.

  Why would they? Obviously, because these assholes were farming shards!

  I didn’t see why the orange wererat would do that, especially since he was bearing the brunt of the losses with his horde.

  The fat dogs were also present in large numbers, though fewer than the rats. The difference was that the dogs didn’t need to be used as meat shields. Their greater threat was the felines.

  I would’ve loved for the armies to fight to the death. The problem was that the leaders would only grow more powerful as the rabble died.

  As I pieced together everything I’d observed during their clash, I noticed something—maybe it was just hot air, but if it wasn’t?

  The rats never looked at me. They also didn’t seem to fare any better against the metallic whip. However, they could fight the dogs without much trouble. Not that they actually killed many of them. Weirdly, they didn’t use any magic or even weapons during the fighting.

  Nevertheless, my gut told me something was off. How had these fuckers found me so easily in the passage earlier? And now, even as these beady-eyed creatures looked in my direction, they didn’t express any reaction.

  The metallic tigers, though—they reacted.

  So my conclusion was: the rats were blind, or at least had poor vision.

  As long as I smelled like them, I had a chance.

  I’m not proud of myself, especially as I rubbed the blood of one of the nearby rats on my head and face. The stench almost made me tear up.

  My pants and shoulder bag were next, dripping with blood.

  A seed of a plan began to form.

  Step one: Try to reach the wererats stealthily.

  Step two: Figure out what these fucking felines wanted. They could’ve attacked me, but they didn’t. Could they stay out of my way? Did I have a way to kill them without the leaders noticing? Good questions, but I’d deal with them when the time came.

  Step three: If I dealt with the tigers without the leaders noticing, I’d act like a wererat and try to mess with the vampire. That would probably be enough to make the bastard fight for real. Like their farming alliance was off.

  Step four: Wait for one leader to die and finish off the other. I didn’t know which would be better, but I’d figure it out as the plan unfolded. Running was the last resort—one I didn’t want to use right now.

  Slowly, I approached the brawl, creating blood skins around the palm and back of my hands. I tested it on one knuckle first; it was flexible enough to use like some sort of metal knuckle glove. I didn’t extend it to my fingers for three reasons:

  1. The material, though somewhat flexible, would be too rigid for me to use my shotgun. Even the smallest finger movements would be a hassle.

  2. I didn’t know if I could use my divine blood spell over it.

  3. Would I not try to steal some shards? Fucking no.

  The first and nearest feline slowly approached me. The other felines, not engaged in the brawl, glanced between me and it but didn’t move.

  They were really lazy.

  As I neared within two meters of the creature, I gripped my shotgun but didn’t point it at the metallic tiger.

  We stared at each other for a while. Then, the tiger moved its head—still keeping a trained eye on me—and gestured up and down.

  I feared dying by a tiger prank, but I also feared dying any other way. So, I looked where its head was pointing.

  The two leaders.

  I turned my attention back to the metallic tiger and nodded. I didn’t know if it understood what the fuck that meant, but the tiger seemed to get the gist of it. It bit the air like a predator snapping at prey.

  Soon, it purred menacingly and repeated the motion. I got it—the creature wasn’t happy with the leaders.

  They didn’t seem to be pets of the wererats. Maybe allies.

  Would I ally myself with the tigers? Temporarily, yes.

  Did I feel like becoming a tiger’s hitman? Absolutely. If they didn’t cross me, I wouldn’t cross them. We’d see how they acted. Maybe I’d breathe after this fight without wading through their furred corpses.

  I nodded at it; the beast mirrored me with a long nod. Soon, the felines watching us returned their attention to the fight, the one nearest me getting back into the thick of it.

  It seemed they understood me.

  As I approached the battle, I kept my focus on the tigers. A little caution never killed anyone, and I needed some after dealing with tigers.

  Yes, I’m becoming mad, it seems.

  My theory slowly proved accurate as I reached the back of the horde. The wererats gave me space to enter. Curious, I repeated the process—stepping back and approaching again a few times.

  Each time I stepped away, they closed the space. Each time I approached, they opened it, like some sort of automatic door.

  These fuckers weren’t right in the head. The rats I’d fought before seemed a lot less stupid.

  I filed that information away and approached the clash of the leaders.

  The musk of these rats was unbearable. My bile rose, but I gulped it down and breathed through my mouth.

  Stopping before the last two rows of the rat horde nearest to the leaders, I felt like I was at a show. At least, that’s the feeling I got, even though I’d never been to one.

  Each time one of the meat shields died, another took its place. I never left my spot, letting one of the poor suckers take my place as the next sacrificial lamb.

  The floor was littered with corpses, but most had already turned to mush from the horde trampling over them.

  Obviously, there was a limit. The leaders shifted the battle a little further ahead, the horde following. The vampire and his dogs let the rats push deeper into their territory.

  Alright, enough sightseeing. I needed to mess with this. I wasn’t sure my blood had a chance of reaching the vampire from here. Even if the drops would be enough.

  My energy, after using _Blood Skin_, was only a little more than half now.

  A shotgun wouldn’t be a superb choice. These rats didn’t have any weapons, and I didn’t think a gun would be normal for them.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Wait—I didn’t actually need to drop _only_ my blood.

  Opening my shoulder bag, I pulled out my bloodied shirt. The problem was, as soon as I did, the surrounding rats started sniffing in my direction. I let my adrenaline pump, thinking fast as I dropped the shirt and let it soak in the bloody offal on the floor.

  Soon, the rats stopped sniffing my way, acting brain-dead again.

  The problem was whether the shirt would work now.

  I tried to create a little ember on the shirt, focusing on my blood.

  Most of it seemed to have only a weak connection to the spell. Only a little was still strong enough to be fully usable.

  No use. I searched for a clear spot to soak some blood, doing it while keeping an eye on the rats nearby to see if they’d sniff my way.

  Soon, with less than half my energy left, I finished. Not wasting any time, I balled up the clothing, like I sometimes did when trying to make a basket shot into my laundry bin.

  Adrenaline still pumping, I waited for the right moment to throw the ball at the vampire.

  I had a perfect line for it: _Taste it, bloodsucker._ Honestly, it wasn’t that great, but vampires drink blood, and I was going to throw it at him, so he could taste it.

  Whatever. It wasn’t time to get freaky; it was time to get tactical.

  Silent and deadly was the name of the game. Being a nuisance was even better.

  A couple of minutes later, the opportunity came.

  Fueled by adrenaline, focus, and some space to throw, I launched the laundry ball.

  It was the best shot I had.

  I aimed for the bastard’s head as he evaded an upper swing of the crystal hammer. Sadly, he lifted his head just as I threw, and the ball only grazed his shoulder.

  That should’ve been the end, as I didn’t feel a connection with the blood.

  Surprisingly, the creature looked surprised. He grabbed the laundry ball and examined it.

  The fucker hissed loudly, frowning as if someone had shot his mother.

  I honestly would’ve loved to see what he’d do next. Fuck it. Burst into flames.

  Soon, crimson flames engulfed the bastard’s arm as I pumped energy into the burning blood spell.

  The fucker wasn’t stupid, but it was too late. Even as he hurled the ball at the orange rat, who screeched as it hit his feet, part of the flames remained on his right hand.

  Getting the rat leader hit was a bonus, but I needed to play the part of the rat gang, so I stopped pumping energy into the bloody shirt.

  Instead, I focused on the burning hand for a few seconds and then stopped. Now I was running on my last leg of energy—probably 15%, maybe a little more.

  Looking more lamprey than man, the creature hissed, waving its right hand, now a burned husk. A rough voice entered my head:

  "Such a filthy rodent dares to use BLOOD TO DIRTY ME?! I AM ITS MASTER! I AM ONE OF YOUR OWNERS! TOIL IN THE MINES, SLAVES! ENOUGH OF YOUR SHARDS! ENOUGH OF YOUR CHILDISH REVOLT! ENOUGH OF YOU!"

  The metallic whip slashed at the rat leader, a meat shield quickly taking the brunt of the hit. It wasn’t enough—the tip of the whip grazed the orange rat’s pinky, and a second later, the finger blew off his hand.

  Screeching like prey caught by a predator, the wererat swung the crystal hammer, taking a step back.

  And another step back.

  Yes, I knew what this furred fucker wanted to do.

  Not wanting to be caught in this mess, I walked back, letting the rats take my place.

  The battle had finally started for real.

  For a moment, I thought the vampire asshole was talking to me—mind-talking—but the poor rat was the victim of this misunderstanding.

  I’ll never forget you, my pal.

  Soon, the battle’s tempo changed. The vampire and his fat dogs went on the offensive, taking complete initiative.

  The orange rat spun in circles, letting the wererats be batted away like flies. The horde at the intersection rushed even faster into the melee, now looking more like a torrent of sewage.

  Showing their smarts, the tigers had retreated to the back, trying to fend off only the fat dogs in a pincer attack. Fend off my ass—they were just getting away from the eye of the storm.

  I couldn’t blame them, though. I was doing the same.

  Although, I kind of wanted to dive into it—for different reasons, alright.

  So engrossed were they in their melee that they didn’t give a damn about the shards.

  Until the orange wererat stopped making appearances and ran like a coward, the hammer transforming into a shard in its tiny hand. There was something wrong with it, though.

  It shone a shade of green, stronger than any shard I’d ever seen. The orange wererat consumed it, and the rats all around it in a mad rush searched for any shards and dropped them into its mouth.

  The vampire also found this strange, frowning and then rushing even more after the rat.

  In a moment, I felt something different—something weird.

  Not a moment later, all the rats except their leader became deranged and even more feral—faster, stronger. They wounded each other but rushed at the vampire like a flood of bodies.

  Their leader screeched, an irritating noise. The rats lost all reason, attacking to eviscerate anything but themselves and their leader.

  The tigers didn’t wait and bolted as the rats started killing the fat dogs in great numbers.

  I didn’t run but walked back, making myself small against the wall, watching the chaos unfold.

  God, I’m glad I’m not the vampire.

  After making quick work of the last fat dogs, the rats circled the vampire. Now, the roles were reversed—the bloodsucker had become the prey.

  "FILTHY! FILTHY! FILTHY! FILTHY! FILTHYYYYYY! OUT OF ME, SLAVES!"

  Again, the vampire’s rough voice resounded in my head.

  Something changed. The vampire’s body grew thinner, smaller—like someone had drained him.

  His skin turned red like a demon’s, his fangs protruding even more from his lamprey-like mouth.

  In a dash, he moved like the wind, the whip slashing through the rats like a scythe through wheat. Their wounds exploded moments later, like bloody fireworks.

  Wave after wave, the rats’ bodies fell like they were being fed into a blender.

  A minute passed, then two, three, ten, fifteen.

  After who knows how long. The vampire’s movements slowed—even slower than before his transformation, weaker.

  The rat torrent had been reduced to a trickle.

  Now, he tried to collect the shards, but the rats stopped him, using their attacks to worsen the bleeding scratches on his body.

  So little blood dripped from him; the vampire really looked like he was out of blood. His mouth moved toward the rats’ bodies, toward the bloody offal on the floor, but he refused at the last instant, as if disgusted.

  I bet the guy was hungry.

  Not a moment later, he lost control and bit one of the rats attacking him. His fangs penetrated the beast’s neck like a dozen knives through an oversized kiwi. He drained the creature in seconds, then dashed back, holding the husk.

  A few moments later, the vampire vomited blood. His eyes and ears dripped blood, and the creature looked worse for wear than before.

  Looking at the intersection, no new wererats showed up.

  I think it’s time to prepare for the showdown. Slowly, I walked toward the clash, gripping my shotgun.

  The rat bastards kept attacking the vampire, the wounds increasing in severity. His right hand was now entirely gone, only a stump remaining.

  As I glanced at the orange rat, the bastard wasn’t faring any better. Strangely, the creature kept panting, sitting on the floor, curled into a ball. Blood dripped from its body.

  The vampire, abandoning caution, went on a mad dash, attacking the surrounding rats.

  His arms bent strangely as the effort took its toll. With a new whip swing, a rat died, but his right arm twisted unnaturally.

  Not stopping his dash, the vampire made one last slash toward the orange rat’s sitting body—not enough to reach.

  The rat flinched but didn’t move, probably thinking it was impossible for the whip to reach.

  Until the vampire released the whip, the metallic tip slashing through half of the beast’s head.

  Finally, for him, only four rats remained.

  One bit his leg, another his side, and a third bit his remaining hand.

  Their movements were slow, lacking the ferocity from before. They froze in a loop, their mouths biting again and again but making no other movements.

  I approached the group slowly, just a short distance away. Ignoring the orange body convulsing on the floor—the promise of a new shard—I focused on the vampire.

  The vampire collapsed onto his back. The only movement he made was with his right arm, trying to pull his hand out of the brain-dead rat’s mouth. With some success, he removed it—only the middle and index fingers and half of his thumb survived the bite.

  With steady steps, I let some of my energy create a couple of drops of blood with the divine spell on my off-hand fingers.

  Soon, my fingers were drenched as I stepped closer to the vampire. The beast turned its head toward me—whether because he heard me, saw me, or smelled my blood, it didn’t matter.

  With practiced ease, I aimed the muzzle at his head. Pressing both triggers, a burst rocked the creature’s head back.

  I swiped the blood from my off-hand, the burning blood spell creating crimson flames that engulfed the vampire’s head. The stench of burning meat assaulted my nostrils.

  My hands trembled, my brain finally registering the vampire as something akin to a human.

  Fear gripped my stomach, blanking my mind.

  Ejecting the shell, I reloaded and fired again into the flaming head. And again.

  I stopped as the body contorted.

  My finger itched to pull the triggers. The recoil of the two shots still made my arm a little numb.

  My ears ringing.

  I pushed all the issues exploding in my mind down. No need to question my humanity—not right now!

  Time to work. I walked toward the spot where the orange rat’s body once lay, now replaced by a brilliant green shard.

  There was no time to waste.

  I’m the last rat.