Four years ago...

"I'm sorry to say," her teacher began, "that based on how you've grown over the last year, combined with your current body-type and the description you've given of your parents, that you're not going to be extremely big or extremely strong."

As the young Ratter continued her extended handstand training, she listened to her teacher lay out the facts of life to her.

Her teacher continued, peeling an apple with a knife, stating, "It's unfortunate, but life is often unfair, with so much about our lives being determined by things we have no say in. While you'd never be a towering, powerful giant, even if you were a boy, you've demonstrated a deeply intelligent and analytical mind for your age, as well as a tendency towards disciplined action over thoughtless reaction, in addition to a body that responds well to training, especially in regards to dexterity and nimbleness. So, rather than dwelling on what you cannot do, we'll focus on what you can accomplish with the body you're given."

The young Ratter nodded, and with care, lifted up one arm so she could begin balancing on only one hand.

"Due to your body type and gender, some doors that would be available for a larger, stronger man will be closed to you," her teacher continued, eating the peel he'd separated from the apple, "but because you'll be a smaller, more agile woman, you'll have options that no man will. In situations where a powerful man might foolishly think he can try to force his way through with brute strength, you'll need to always rely on your wits, your agility, and every tool in your arsenal to survive. People will look down on you because you're a woman, but that will also mean that they underestimate you. Your body can either be a hindrance or just another weapon in your arsenal. All you need do is keep it honed."

With some effort, the young Ratter flexed her hand, supporting herself on just her fingers, rather than the palm of her one hand. Grip strength was important, and this was one method to make sure she'd have a grip of steel when she needed it.

"That makes you ideal for my style of training," her teacher had concluded. "While a tall, muscular hero will go in sword a-swinging and get cut down by his enemies in a blaze of glorious stupidity, you'll survive by knowing how to properly handle the situation with pragmatic cowardice. You will learn to fight tactically like an assassin, not with mindless force and violence like a warrior. You'll learn to fight like a sneaking rat, not a roaring lion."

At the mention of rats, she became angry and immediately lost focus, and with it her balance, and fell on her back.

Muttering in annoyance, her teacher added, "But first things first, we need to get that temper under control."

Discipline honed by five years of intensive training combined with her own fundamentally damaged psyche kept the Ratter from giving in to immediate panic at her current situation. Yes, she was likely fucked beyond all recognition, but focusing on that wasn't going to help. She had less than two minutes to think of a plan to deal with this situation. Her master had taught her about what he'd called "The Sword of Reason", and how you can use it to cut a seemingly impossible problem into smaller, solvable problems. So, rather than focusing on the enormity of the task of trying to defeat/escape from the wererats, she instead focused on how to survive the initial encounter long enough to open up more options.

Drawing her sword or dagger was out. Drawing her dagger would indicate she'd decided on an attack, and the other wererats in the room would likely immediately attack, knowing that even with an enchanted dagger, she couldn't hope to take down one giant rat, nevermind however many there likely were. Drawing her sword was worse, since that took longer, and she'd likely be struck down before it cleared its sheath. At least with the dagger, she'd have the chance to clear leather before they were upon her, even if the worst she might do was wound one of them. Drawing a weapon was out then. Or at least, overtly drawing a weapon was out.

She still had pouches at her waist, filled with nasty little tricks. More importantly, with the alpha's back to her and the other wererats behind her, none of them would be able to see what she might be pulling out. So, she focused on what she had in her pouches, instead of her weapons. If she could use one or more of those to distract or momentarily disable an opponent, she could use the opening to get some distance, reposition, and draw her sword. At that point, she might have a chance of fending them off for a time, potentially even opening up an avenue for an escape. Then she paused, remembering that the tavernkeeper had the door shut, locked, and barred. In the time between knocking and the tavernkeeper unlocking and opening the cellardoor, the wererats would have plenty of opportunities to catch up with her, slaughter her, and then kill the tavernkeeper. Admittedly, if she made it up the stairs, the rats could only assault her one at a time due to how narrow the stairway was, but she doubted she could take on a wererat head-to-head, and it would be a bad idea to put herself into a corner like that, even if she was essentially cornered right now despite being in the middle of the cellar. Escape was not a viable option unless she could either kill the wererats or disable them long enough for her to make a run for it.

Rats see the world through their ears and noses more than their eyes in the dark, even if they did have decent night vision. She had in her pouch stinkbombs that were strong enough to bring a tear to the eye of a grown man, and even if rats of all kinds tended to appreciate fouls smells rather than fair, it would be strong enough to fill the room and mask her scent. She also had what a foreign merchant had called "Firecrackers", little explosives that made a loud noise shortly after being lit. One of those going off, especially in an enclosed space like this cellar, would at least temporarily ruin the hearing of the wererats long enough for them to lose track of her. And while it had been more expensive than she'd liked, buying the formula for "Black Powder" off of the merchant had allowed her opportunities to experiment with it, allowing her to create a bomb that, while having no real explosive power or loud noise, did cause an extra-bright light. It would dazzle the eyes for a short time. Eyes, ears, and nose. If she could nullify all three, it would buy her at least a minute or two before her opponents realized what was going on. She'd yet to figure out how to combine all three into a single bomb, but it was something she hoped to have nailed down by this time next year, provided she survived the next five minutes.

However, there was another problem: She'd need at least a few seconds to light the bombs, during which time she'd be wide open. She needed an initial distraction to buy her those seconds. She felt at her pouches at her black eggs, before remembering that she'd brought only her pepper bombs in that pouch. While effective against a human adversary, they'd barely annoy a wererat. If she'd brought something with more kick...

As she pulled her hand away, it brushed against a pouch she normally kept empty, feeling the bulge of three eggs. The black eggs she'd taken from the dead assassin in the tunnels a couple of days ago. She'd honestly forgot about them. While she didn't know for sure what was in them she'd spent some time considering possibilities. There were five poisons favored by the assassin's guild. Of them, only three of them would be effective against a wererat for any length of time. Of the five poisons, only two could be used in a black egg. Thankfully, those two were ones that would be effective against wererats. She's also obtained a thin, almost spike-like dagger from the dead assassin, its blade covered with a purplish substance an alchemist had identified as the third type that could do harm to a wererat. While no poison could kill a werebeast outright, strong poisons like these would at least temporarily weaken a wererat for a few brief minutes. More than enough time to take them out of the fight.

Pulling out the three black eggs, putting two in one hand, and one in the other, she stood, then shouted at the alpha wererat in front of her, "Hey, shitlord!"

The alpha turned, confused by this turn of events. The small human meatpile should have either tried to run or tried to attack the alpha while its back was turned. Trying to get his attention was...

That was as far as he got before something cracked against his face, and his entire upper body was engulfed in agonizing pain.

Memories from its previous existence as a human told it that this was a poison derived from the feces of a bird called the Fuu. The Fuu's excretions were unique in that, if they came in contact with the skin, it was harmless, unless it was removed and the skin underneath exposed to air. At that point, all that awaited the victim was an agonizing death from an intense allergic reaction. The fecal matter could only be safely removed by submerging the affected area in water, then thoroughly scrubbing the region for several minutes.

A random tidbit of information added that this was the source of the saying, "If the Fuu shits, wear it."

The powder that had engulfed his upper body in a cloud that caused ceaseless agony was the extract of said fecal matter. While it wouldn't be fatal to a werebeast, it hurt like hell, and all the beast could do was claw at its face and body while making sounds that were half angry bellow and half scream.

The Ratter didn't take any time to admire her handiwork, having immediately turned before the egg landed, so she could face her attackers. Thankfully, there were only two wererats, neither one of which was an alpha. Like she'd hoped, her sudden attack had taken her intended ambushers off-guard, as had the screams of their leader. The two had slightly shifted in their hiding places, allowing her to briefly determine their locations based on the noise. She tossed the black eggs at the two crouching wererats. While she nailed the one on the right with ease, the one on her left was skillful enough to dodge and vacate its perch. Still, that was more than enough. She was out of the sight of all three rats. She grabbed her stinkbomb and shattered it onto the ground, filling the entire room almost instantly with a horrid stench. She then lit both the firecrackers and the flash bomb with a three-second fuse, then tossed them into the air above her. Before they went off, she was already vaulting a row of casks, heading in the direction of the lesser wererat she'd nailed with the black egg. The opening move had worked, and the ambush was broken. Now, it was time to go on the offensive.

After the deafening noise and bright flash, it was nearly a minute before the alpha wererat could see or hear again. The rancid stench that filled the room was overpowering, preventing him from locating the meat responsible for its agony. It spotted one of its subordinates, and through the supernatural bond the alpha shared with its underlings, he directed his two lackeys to head to the entrance of the cellar. If the meat got away, it might bring other, more dangerous meat down upon them. Had its mind been fully human or not been occupied by the agonizing pain that ripped through it, it would have become worried over the fact that it had only received one response.

Its subordinate stopped at the stairway, not simply because it saw that the human meatpile wasn't there, but because it saw its fellow wererat on the ground, its head neatly severed. The fact that its head was rapidly decaying told the human part of its brain that the poison that had struck it was Rotblight, which like the name implied, caused rapid decay of the body. While normally not fatal to a wererat, decapitation certainly was, and the Rotblight was eating the head very quickly, now that its regenerative abilities were effectively gone.

The subordinate looked up at the sound of a startled yell and looked to its leader just in time to see the human meatpile, perched upon his back, jam a spike-like dagger into its brain. The meatpile then looked up, spotted the wererat, and promptly vaulted off of the incapacitated alpha and out of sight.

Assassin instincts told it to climb on top of one of the casks to see where it went. Unfortunately, rat instincts won out and had the werebeast back into a corner, ready to make its final stand. Then, the meatpile jumped atop a cask, one of those horrible eggs in hand. It immediately cowered, covering its face with its hands. Nothing came. Then, it heard a hiss at its feet. It looked down to see two round objects, little fuses alight. It didn't have time to react before the world was filled with blinding light and deafening noise again.

It was a minute before it could see again, but the ringing in its ears persisted. It looked around, trying to find that hateful little meatpile. It should have attacked by now, but the wererat couldn't see it or hear it anywhere. Then, an assassin's instinct, screaming to be heard over the terrified rat, told the werebeast to look up. It did and was rewarded with the sight of the meatplie dropping down from its perch in the corner above him, the meatpile's sword coming down in a neat arc right for the wererat's neck.

Well-executed, the assassin part of its brain admitted. And at the same moment, so was he.

Two down, and the alpha to finish off, the Ratter thought to herself as she cleaned off her sword with a piece of clothing that had once been the wererat's shirt before its transformation had ripped it to shreds. The poison in that dagger lodged in the alpha's skull should keep it down for several more minutes, more than enough time to...

A sound at her feet drew her attention. She looked down and spotted the spike-like dagger, its length slick with blood. She looked up and around but saw nothing. More worrying was the fact that the alpha wererat was gone.

Fuck, a beast that big with the ability to move silently could be anywhere. But how was it moving? And how could it have vanished so thoroughly?

The feeling of vibration at her feet warned her almost too late, and she ducked as a massive, invisible hand passed over her head in a strike fit to take her face off. Her sword slashed upwards in response, and she was rewarded with the feeling of it cutting through meat and bone, the alpha wererat popping into view, its severed hand falling to the floor, cut off at the wrist. The Ratter spotted a ring with a slight blue glow on its finger. A ring of invisibility? An excellent tool for an assassin, but her master had told her that while a feral werebeast could do many things that a human can, their minds didn't work the same way as humans and other sapients did, so they couldn't use magic or magic items, even if they had that knowledge before going feral.

Her brief distraction was cut short when the werebeast grabbed her sword arm with its one remaining hand in a crushing grip and lifted her up. Only the intensity of her own grip kept the Ratter from dropping her sword from the pain. She was brought up to eye level, the beast's eyes glowing red like the pits of hell. This was not hyperbole, as the beast's glare lit the entire room as though it was drenched in blood.

'Gods', she thought to herself, 'something is riding this beast.' That's why it was able to move, even after being stabbed in the brain with a poisoned dagger. Its body was dying and it knows it, but whatever is controlling it won't let it lay down and die. Any number of magical creatures could override the mind of another creature, especially if that being was weak or dying. But why here, why now?

It didn't matter. Anything that was an obstacle to her hunting rats needed to be dealt with, one way or another.

The alpha wererat, or whatever was riding it, worked its mouth, forcing out words through a muzzle not meant to speak them. "I... See... You..."

With her free hand, the Ratter brought her dagger across the beast's eyes, saying, "Now you don't."

The wererat dropped her, clutchings its eyes in pain. With a poisoned dagger having been driven through its brain and a hand severed, a cut across the eyes took longer than normal to heal, especially since it was an enchanted blade. The Ratter landed lightly on her feet, sheathing her dagger and immediately grabbing the werebeast's severed hand. She cut off its fingers with her sword and removed the magic ring of invisibility. Against a trained assassin turned wererat, invisibility was useless in a dark basement, but whatever it was that rode the wererat didn't think like an assassin, or it would have killed her outright when she was distracted, instead of making a show of its strength or proclaiming that it saw her. This thing was a sadist. It didn't just want to kill her, it wanted her to fear him before she died. It wanted her to suffer.

Two can play at that game, and the Ratter was willing to wager she was better at it.

By the time the wererat's eyes had healed enough to see, she was slowly walking around the beast, invisible. As it turned wildly, trying to find her, her sword licked out, cutting off its other hand at the wrist. As the beast wheeled to try and face her, its stubbed arms flailing madly, she ducked, then cut off both arms at the elbow, two severed forearms dropping to the floor. As the beast started to back away, scared, her sword cut off its feet at the ankles, causing it to drop. As it tried to crawl away, she began cutting at its arms and legs, then its nose and tail, working slowly and calmly until the beast was naught but a screaming, bleeding torso and head writhing upon the cellar floor. Finally, she brought the pommel down hard across the muzzle, breaking the wererat's teeth and rendering it completely harmless.

Satisfied that the threat was fully neutralized, she pulled off the ring of invisibility, allowing herself to be seen.

The wererat and its passenger looked up at her with rage fit to light a man ablaze. Through a half-broken jaw and shattered, bleeding teeth, it managed to say, "Hate. You."

Smiling her horrible smile, the Ratter readied her sword for a final cut and said, "The feeling's mutual, fucko." With that, she brought the sword down and severed the alpha wererat's head. The beast's eyes continued to glow as it stared at her in hatred for far longer than it should have, before finally dimming and going dead.