Squeak, squeak—
In the dark, filthy Ratfolk dungeon, a rat about the size of a kitten crouched on a motionless corpse in a cell, tearing into its mangled flesh and feasting.
Jerry's eyes snapped open. He grabbed the Rat on his chest and stuffed it into his mouth.
A grisly crunching followed, then a thick gulp.
I can last another two and a half days, Jerry thought. He went back to playing dead and waited for the next Rat.
The Bard Rat's disappearance had no effect on Jerry, except that he no longer had anyone to talk to.
The jailers still interrogated Jerry at regular intervals. Each wound was torn open again as soon as it scabbed over. An Elite Rat would have died from the torture long ago, but as a Champion Rat, Jerry remained trapped in a state where he could neither recover nor die.
Who knew how much time had passed... Footsteps broke the dungeon's deathly silence, but they no longer had their usual disorderly rhythm.
Outside the Cell stood a group of Ratfolk wearing Black Robes.
"Am I going to die?" Jerry asked them.
No one answered. They opened the cell door and hauled Jerry up just as roughly as ever. The movement gave him a glimpse of the tribal crest beneath a Black Robe... He didn't recognize it, but they were probably guards from one of McKennan's tribes.
As they dragged him out of the Cell, he saw the Jailers kneeling in the hall, not daring to raise their heads. That confirmed his guess.
Jerry stared at the Jailers who had tortured him all these days and snarled, "Better start praying to the Rat God. If I don't die, you will..."
They took Jerry out of the Dungeon and upward into the Hive City.
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