By the time Elena had staggered her way back to her house that night, every bone of her body screamed in exhaustion. Only, as the memories continued to wind and rewind through her head like a movie reel, memories of Clarkson getting torn to shreds, or her men being eaten alive, or even that mad half-elf staring at her -no, through her- with a sort of uncaring, resigned look, she realized her exhaustion wasn’t only physical. Still, Elena staggered on, through the half-eaten door, the tooth-marked furniture, and the ruins of all the random shitty deco and knickknacks she had – no, Clarkson had thrown into the house to give it some semblance of life.

Eventually finding a cushion that she judged would hold together, along with some whiskey to hold her together, Elena collapsed on the floor, staring out of the toothy holes in her roof in contemplation. She knew that eventually the government, if there was much of one left, would send a messenger to plead for her assistance. The arrival of the new heroes she had seen when finishing off the one responsible for her arm had put some caution into whatever the fuck was behind all of those rats, but there was simply far too little information to work with. She shuddered at the thought of what they had done to the city. On the walk back she had seen entire houses missing, masses of bloodstains painting the cobblestones, yet not a single body. Nothing to bury. Elena cursed her cyclical thinking. She had brought herself back to the very topic she was drinking to forget. She knew Clarkson had a family. He even occasionally proudly showed her drawings of what she assumed were his wife and two babies. But… even if she could track them down, even if they had survived the night, she couldn’t even give them the body to bury and mourn.

The whiskey bottle met her lips once more and left with an increasingly hollow feeling. Far off in the night sky, the enormous moon gradually sank and Elena almost managed to close her eyes with the silence as the adrenaline finished leaving her body.

Almost.

A knock at the door and the cry of “Message for Lady Elena! From Governor Ilrend, in Regard to the New Heroes!”

Elena sighed, weighing the bottle in her hand to try and estimate how much was left. The sloshing of liquid was all that greeted her, along with the ungodly weights that seemed to be attached to her eyelids and shoulders.

It won’t hurt to be an hour or two late to meet the newbies, won’t it?

Her eyes closed as if possessed by massive boulders, the whiskey bottle clinking a little as it bounced across what was left of the floor.

From outside the ruined house, the messenger shrugged his shoulders and turned to the young man beside him, who nodded with a knowing look as he took the written orders. The young man glanced at the orders, memorizing them within seconds and not even sparing a glance towards the departing messenger, instead choosing to crouch down to sit on the cracked steps in front of the door. After all, his father had taught him well, how best to deal with lazy heroes, and all he could do was to wait until she was ready to allow for him to follow his father’s footsteps.

And so, Bill Clarkson retrieved a harmonica from his pocket, leaning back on the munched door to settle in for the long run while setting off a few test riffs on his tarnished instrument.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Hours passed, and the sun rose over the ruined city, overlooking the devastation like a stern parent observing the playroom of a rather rowdy child. The survivors from the wrecked districts stumbled out of their homes looking lost and confused as they grasped around for any semblance of normality. Some searched for familiar neighbors, others friends, and the unluckiest of them all searched for family, for any hint that they might be found.

Many were not.

And under all the chaos, one small soul was left unnoticed. At the outskirts of the city, below the sewer drainage outlet, a bedraggled form stirred, for some reason wearing a rather slimy poncho that appeared to be fashioned out of a blanket.

The orphan.

Her eyes opened bit by bit, her unconsciousness disrupted by the cruel glare of the sun. All around her she could hear the scrabbling of small creatures as they rooted around whatever pile of soft… stuff she was on. She lifted her head, and froze as she realized what exactly the pile was.

Bodies. Decomposing corpses piled upon rotting cadavers. All throughout this pile of decay rats swarmed, diving in and out of the corroded flesh like how her father had swum so easily through the small lake a few miles from her village. Still, despite her initial disgust, it all seemed to fade away so soon, instead replaced by a faint curiosity. All she could remember was… she was baking with big brother Tanlin. And then… the door exploded, and everything happened so fast.

Still, she wasn’t stupid. Her big brother Tanlin said it was a game, but… that’s what her father had said too, when the monsters had come to the village.

And neither of them had come back to her. A part of her had held out hope that her father and mother would find her, eventually. But she had seen the despair in big brother Tanlin’s eyes. She had heard the angry shouting from Mr. Bert as she was dragged into the sewers. She wasn’t so sure anyone wa- could find her.

Her arm rushed down to support her as she tried to stand, instantly regretting the action as her hand went right through the corpse under her and rancid black liquid exploded out of the corpse, sending a few of the nearby rats off squeaking in surprise.

The shock of it all sent her movements into a panic as she tried something – anything, to get off the mound of corpses. Bit by bit she squelched down to ground level; her eyes screwed shut after she caught a glimpse of an unmoving face that looked far too familiar. Eventually, her efforts were rewarded as she ‘thumped’ onto solid ground, allowing her to open her eyes once more with the pile of bodies put safely behind her.

Her small hands patted up and down her body, checking for injuries and thankfully finding nothing but a disturbing amount of that rancid goop covering her beloved poncho.

She sighed at the thought of how long she would have to dunk it to make it clean. Still, she pushed herself to her feet and looked onwards, stepping through swarms of rats that barely even reacted to her presence appearing like a sludge-covered phoenix rising from the tar. But she soon faltered; she realized she just didn’t know what to do.

But she could walk. So she stepped onwards, weaving around a wrinkled man who completely ignored her in favor of pinching off bits of his own skin to feed to a mob of rats crawling so thickly over his legs she could have sworn he didn’t have any to begin with. She backed far away from where she had fallen and paused, yet she still pondered on what to do. Should she try the gates? Maybe Mr. Tim was looking for her. He always seemed to know what to do and when to do it.

A hand gently clasped her shoulder, making her start a bit in surprise, and then she shouted in joy, loud enough to startle the rats around her feet.

“Heya kiddo,” Tanlin muttered with his usual crinkly smile. “You seem like you don’t know what to do. At a crossroads, aren’t ya?”

She nodded rapidly, so overjoyed with the return of her friend that she failed to notice how weightless his hand felt.

“I becha’ anything that with that look you have on, you’re thinkin’ of going back in there,” he gestured lazily with his thumb over his shoulder. “Nooooooottt a good idea, kiddo.” Tanlin shook his head as if to emphasize the fact. At her questioning look, he elaborated.

“Mr. Tim’s dead, mate. Same with Mr. Bert. The heroes got ‘em.” A mask of shock enveloped her face, soon followed by a river of tears that dripped down her face like a geyser, dripping all the way down to the dirt, where the rats disinterestedly lapped at them.

“You’ve gotta do something, kiddo.” Tanlin continued once her tears began to run dry. “It’s those heroes, I tell ya.” At her glance, filled with questions and loneliness, Tanlin nodded with understanding.

“You’ve gotta break them. Break them all, and break the cycle. Go further than Mr. Tim was able to.” Tanlin patted her on the back and stepped away with a friendly look.

The rats swarmed closer to her feet, but not a single one of them looked anything more than mildly curious towards her as Tanlin’s words rung through her ears. She remembered the kindness Mr. Tim, Mr. Bert, big brother Tanlin, and everyone else had shown her. She remembered how stark raving mad that… hero had looked as he shattered the door to Mr. Bert’s house.

Ellie wrapped her stained, damp poncho more closely around her skinny frame and set off once more, her shoulders bent under the realization of it all, that big brother Tanlin was right. Every step she took, rats milled away from her legs, yet always followed at a distance, as if to simply observe.

And behind her, Tanlin slowly dissolved into nothingness as he stared unblinkingly at Ellie’s departure.