I glared at the noblin zombies. What was left of them, at any rate. Most were missing limbs, chunks of faces or torsos. The warlocks had been using hellfire, a substance not dissimilar to my own acidic flames, and temporary summons to try and stem the tide of my unliving pets.

  They were spread out around me on the top of the stepped pyramid. Now that the crimson glow had faded, the place was full of shadows that danced and juddered as the dying flames shifted in the breeze. We had wrecked the place, not that I regretted it.

  Alicya padded over, tongue hanging out on one side and coated in noblin gore. She shook vigorously, spraying chunks and specks of green blood around her. As she stopped at my side, I absently reached out to pat her on the head. Her tails wagged furiously, then she swatted at my hand.

  “Knock that off, or I’ll unite your face with my fist.” Her tails were still wagging happily, though.

  “What is this Uniter bullshit, Ali? You lot, go deal with the other noblins. When they’re all dead, come back here and wait. Don’t hurt my peop—stuff.” Despite suddenly starting to talk, the bunnyborgs weren’t people. People meant working conditions, rights, and worst of all, salaries. The nobzoms lurched away, groaning a little but not arguing or complaining, which, based on my previous experience with raised dead, was a pleasant change.

  “A prophecy. The one who’ll bring the clans together. The predkin will lie down with the preykin. When the one who comes arrives in the face of the clans, all the furkin will become a single pack-herd, united in defiance of the ancient order.”

  “Another fucking prophecy? This Primal Empire shit is annoying enough.”

  “It’s part of that, Bob. Every species has its own end times mythos.” She looked me up and down. “The stories said you’d be taller. And hairer.”

  “This is just a disguise, remember? Let’s take this one back to the pub and leave him with Kat.” The trio of zombies that had held Remy in place despite me ordering the rest of them away… I hadn’t specified they should remain, but they’d known what I wanted anyway. “You, why didn’t you bugger off when I told the rest to go away? You can speak.”

  I listened, nodding along as the thing jabbered away in a guttural language that I didn’t understand. “Ali?”

  “Why would I speak Noblinese? I was surprised the grand high mucky-muck spoke Imperial.”

  I grabbed Remy by the arm and yanked him close. “You speak their language, don’t you, ratty boy?”

  “No,” he said, while nodding vigorously. His tail flicked back and forth nervously.

  “You’re giving me mixed signals, Remy.”

  “I don’t speak it, but I understand some of it. He, it, said something about the will of the master being… transparent? Glassy? And then a bunch of stuff about brains. Lots of stuff about brains.”

  A portal appeared next to me, and I shoved the rat king through. I stepped through to find the Split V was busy once again. Some of the rats were familiar-looking. A big grey one with a cut-off tail looked up from a pint of ale and tried to glare at me. And there was one with a hat, a captain's tricorne.

  Alicya followed behind, and I closed the portal after her. The crowds of rodents shied away when I looked at them directly, but then seemed to glare at me like I was a plate of cheese whenever they thought I wasn’t watching them.

  “KAT!” I yelled. A blur of wings and blue-shit lace shot through the door that was behind the bar.

  “Tribulations Breath, what have you done?” she demanded as she stopped mid-air and glared at me.

  “Pulled the demon thing out of this one's brain, killed a shit load of noblins that were hiding in a cave up in the mountains, stumbled on another bloody prophecy. And had my boxer shorts shredded! Esme bought me these.” I produced a tunic and a pair of trousers that I shrugged my way into, ignoring the angry look from my pixie.

  “Ali, stop that and get the dude in the hat, please?”

  The werewolf had dropped onto her haunches and begun cleaning the blood and gore that was matted in her fur with her tongue. She rose quickly and padded towards the captain-rat.

  “Mistress of the dark streets! What is it?”

  “Take off your hat,” Alicya growled, still licking the back of her left forearm.

  “She who walks alone in the night, I cannot! I’m… I’m balding,” he hissed. Chittering laughter echoed out around us from the other rodents.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Why do all her titles make her sound like a hooker?” Kat whispered.

  “No idea,” I replied quietly. “Ali, if he’s got a chrome dome, that’s fine; if he’s got a wang growing out of his skull, that isn’t. It’s not optional.” I declared much more loudly.

  Alicya lunged, snatching the hat away to reveal a very bald rat, and no brian-dick. He hissed and grabbed the hat with his tail angrily. “No brain worm. Just a bald patch.” The captain glared at her and tugged his hat back into position.

  “Shut up, dirt vermin,” he snarled at the nearest ratkin.

  “Well, at least he isn’t infected. Kat, I need you to keep an eye on this one.” I shoved Remy towards her.

  “This little thing can’t—” Kat dipped, issued her trademark crotch-shot, then fluttered back up to his now cross-eyed expression.

  “Any questions?” she asked, earning a high-pitched squeak in response.

  “I’m going to speak to the lady-cows. Do you need some bunnyborgs?”

  “I’ll take ‘em. Need is a strong word.” Kat cracked her knuckles and glowered at Remy. Her expression shifted to one of confusion. “Why are we kicking this guy in the nuts? Is he part of the problem?”

  “Largely because that’s your primary first response. He entered into the demonic contract willingly, because of cheese. He’s not an innocent, and I’m going to need him relatively intact later, so only burst one testicle at most if he misbehaves.”

  “I can do that.” Remy clutched at himself in terror as Kat cracked her knuckles.

  “Ali?” The werewolf looked up from where she was licking her legs clean. “Let’s go.” I opened a portal and yelled at Inedible-Reg until a squad of bunny borgs came through. They each stopped briefly to salute me as they entered the grimy bar.

  The streets outside had returned to normal levels of activity. Rats scurried hither and thither with heavy-looking sacks on their shoulders or strolled from shop to shop unburdened.

  The skittish creature shied away from us as we headed back to the palace. I was kind of impressed at their return to business as usual. Ratkin seemed to be flighty, cowardly creatures, but as soon as the threat was gone, they just went right back to doing what they had been. Was it stupid? Possibly. I suspected it was a survival mechanism.

  If everyone dropped their shit and ran whenever a stranger farted, they’d never get anything done. And the hairy bastards seemed to be too productive to let work lie for long. A grudging sense of respect grew in me for them. Hairy, smelly and cowardly, but industrious. I had to give them some credit in the end.

  The palace was one place that hadn’t returned to normal. Maybe the scent of their own dead scared them away, but the ratkin were avoiding the palace like it was plagued.

  Alicya drew in a deep breath, then snorted. “Death stink. It’ll be a day or two before they try to tidy up.”

  “They’re going to need more than a brush and mop,” I muttered as we entered the main hall. Bodies were scattered about, pools of rank blood joined the bodies together like the sea between furry islands.

  We stepped carefully, avoiding putting our feet in the sticky patches. The curding and pressing rooms were also dead quiet. Nothing moved in the house, not even a rat.

  “Good job that I stopped the milk,” I muttered, looking at the vats that were still half full along the far walls.

  Minotauresses, much like cows, seemed to have no control over their flatulence. If I stuck a match, I was confident I’d blow the entire palace up. The sleeping lady-cows were dangling their chains, masks and milking machines still attached, all bar the closest one.

  “Help me cut them down. That’s got to be hell on their circulation.”

  Alicya and I went from cow to cow. She snapped the chains with brute strength while I used a shapeshifted claw to slice them apart. At first, Ali just let them fall to the ground, while I did my best to lower them gently. But after I scowled at the third one thudding down into the muck and leaking feed, she became more careful.

  “You got any smelling salts?” I asked, looking down at the cow I’d first freed.

  “You think that’ll work? Her snout is buried in a pile of shit.”

  With a sigh, I pulled the minotaur upright and propped her against the frame that used to contain her.

  “Can I slap a cow awake?”

  Alicya reached over and plucked half a dozen of the long eyelashes that spread across the minotaur's cheek.

  “Mooder fucker!” she gasped as her eyes came open. She shied away, pressing herself back against the metal.

  “Easy! Easy, big girl!” I tried to sound soothing, but I just sounded pissed off. “Take a second, you’re fine, and we saved your… sisters as well.”

  She turned her snout to look along the rows of snoring minotaurs, most of them still connected to the machinery, albeit the cables had been cut. Big brown eyes returned to meet my gaze, and she blinked slowly, then began chewing something.

  “Did you kill the rat king?” Her voice was deep, but clearly feminine. She reached up and snatched the suckers attached to her teat away with a hand that looked like a split hoof.

  “He was possessed, so he’s still alive but under my control.”

  “You… humans shouldn’t be here. The girl beneath the red light should not have brought a pet.”

  “I’m not a pet,” I growled. “And she is not a prostitute. What is it with all your titles?”

  Ali shrugged and crouched down in front of the cattle-woman. “Is the herd still on the plains to the east?”

  “No, we moved north when oviskin applied tariffs on their wool. We couldn’t afford to hold the territory. We live in the Stubblelands now.”

  “What happened to the arikin?” Ali asked quickly. I was rapidly running out of patience for all the various types of furries on the bollock of an island.

  “We… drove them out. We were desperate! Why do you think we agreed to a milking detachment? Not that we knew what it would really be like until we got here,” she finished bitterly.

  “I can get Kat to deal with your buddies over there, but we need to fly over your people and deal with the big bullock or whatever you call him.”

  “A pet mage?” she looked at Ali.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Mildred Masshoof, Mistress.”

  “He’s not a pet, nor is he much of a mage.” I snorted at her words. I was a pretty good mage, if I had to say so myself. “But he is a dragon, and your Prime Bull is infected with the same demon that the rat king was. I need you to guide us there.”

  “Long mooch. Days. We’ll need food.”

  “What part of fly and dragon didn’t you understand?” I asked.