NOVPUB
Chapter 379: 379
But the chief’s sharp glare silenced him.
"Strength without wisdom is a path to ruin. What you call evolution may well be a calculated curse."
The chief continued "We no longer are the only one in these underground cavern, they hybrids are at our border slowly picking us apart one by one. We can observe the mist changes on ourselves but can’t do the same for the hybrids"
"What made you all think that we are the only one possibly affected by the mist, what if the hybrids are too? What if this was the mages goal? They don’t want the hybrids getting out of this caverns and we have gotten on their bad side, what if this mist was for both parties involved to clash with each other, no matter who wins the mages can easily take care of the rest achieving their goal"
The council chamber grew even more tense as the chief’s words echoed through the room. His grim analysis left a heavy silence in its wake, each ratman present grappling with the implications.
Skrag’s second-in-command shifted uneasily but didn’t back down.
"You assume too much, Chief. The hybrids may be affected by the mist, but there’s no proof this is the mages’ doing. If it were, why wouldn’t they have approached us with terms or demands?"
"Because they don’t need to," the chief retorted, his voice firm. "Their silence is the strategy. We declined their offer, so they’ve set the board to force a collision. Whether it’s us or the hybrids, the victor will be weakened, making it easier for the mages to assert control."
A younger council member, nervous but determined, spoke up. 𝖓𝔬𝔳𝖕𝖚𝖇.𝖈𝔬𝔪
"What if we’re wrong? What if the mist isn’t from the mages? What if it’s something natural to the caverns, a phenomenon we’ve only now uncovered?"
The elder councilor shook her head. "Too coincidental. The mist appeared after tensions with the mages escalated. It’s targeted, deliberate."
"Enough!" the chief barked, his patience waning. "What matters is not the ’what ifs.’ What matters is action."
He gestured to the mist-containing device on the table. "This mist has already begun changing our people. We can’t afford to wait and see how far it spreads. If the hybrids are affected, we need answers now before we face an enemy as enhanced as we are—or worse."
After making their decision, the ratmen began implementing their tactics while simultaneously keeping a close watch on the changes occurring among themselves.
The hybrids soon noticed the impact of the ratmen’s strategies, as they were heavily outnumbered and the ratmen took full advantage of this. However, the ratmen themselves failed to notice just how much they had changed in such a short time. The tactics they employed now felt so routine and natural, whereas their past selves would have been appalled by such methods.
One such tactic involved tying up a group of ratmen and sending them into the tunnels to lure the hybrids out. Once the hybrids were drawn in, the waiting ratmen would seal off the hybrids’ escape routes using explosive traps before swarming and overwhelming them.
This approach didn’t come without losses, but overall, the hybrids suffered more due to their limited numbers. Meanwhile, the ratman society began undergoing changes of its own.
The effects of the mist’s transformation were already apparent, but it came with an unexpected cost: an increased need for food. Before the mist’s influence, a small piece of meat from a magical animal could sustain a ratman for days. However, the council leaders noticed their rations were depleting far more quickly than anticipated. As more ratmen underwent the transformation, their appetite grew exponentially.
The council soon proposed a solution: using the bodies of slain hybrids as food. For a time, this seemed to stabilize the situation, and many ratmen began to believe they could win the war against the hybrids.
But within a few weeks, the ratmen realized the grave mistake they had made by consuming hybrid meat. Hybrids were the creation of demonic influence, and it was widely known that eating the flesh of anything touched by a demon could lead to dire consequences unless one possessed extraordinary resistance or preparation.
With this realization came another alarming observation: the hybrids were also becoming stronger. Unlike the ratmen, who were undergoing primarily psychological changes, the hybrids appeared unaffected in any negative way. Their intelligence seemed to increase, their scales grew tougher, and the tactics that had once worked against them were now easily countered.
The ratmen’s reliance on consuming hybrid flesh to sustain their enhanced physical capabilities had unforeseen consequences. At first, it seemed like a pragmatic solution to their escalating hunger. But as more ratmen partook, the changes within their society became more pronounced—and darker. The aggression already stoked by the mist’s disappearance was now compounded by an insidious madness. Infighting among the ratmen increased, and even the council began to fracture under the strain.
The ratmen’s technological ingenuity, once a beacon of their resilience, began to take on a darker, more grotesque nature. The consumption of hybrid flesh, laced with demonic energy, warped not only their bodies but also their minds. Ideas that once would have been deemed abhorrent or insane were now celebrated as brilliance.
Engineers and tinkerers, driven by desperation and the unrelenting hunger for a win, began incorporating hybrid flesh and bone into their machinery. The boundaries between organic and mechanical blurred as they melded living tissue with cold metal. Their once-proud steam-powered inventions became abominations that hissed, growled, and pulsed with unnatural vitality.
The ratmen developed machines that ran not on coal or steam but on the pulsing hybrid organs fused into their cores. These engines emitted a sickly glow and a nauseating stench, their pistons throbbing in time with grotesque heartbeats. They powered everything from war machines to forges, but the cost was steep—the engines demanded constant feeding, often with fresh hybrid flesh or, in desperate times, ratmen themselves.
Meat-Tank Abominations: These crude vehicles were crafted from the flayed carcasses of hybrids, their hollowed-out bodies reinforced with metal plating and crude rivets. Spines and ribs jutted from their exteriors, and their wheels were often fused with hybrid claws for better traction. Some even retained remnants of hybrid nervous systems, their twitching forms enhancing their erratic, terrifying movement.
Living Turrets: Hybrid heads, severed yet somehow still alive, were mounted atop automated turrets. The ratmen discovered that the hybrids’ demonic essence made their severed heads excellent sensors, detecting movement and heat with terrifying accuracy. These heads emitted guttural screams as they locked onto their targets, adding to the psychological torment of their victims.
The consumption of hybrid flesh and the embrace of these depraved technologies began to unravel the ratmen society. The council, fractured and paranoid, devolved into infighting as leaders accused one another of hoarding resources or sabotaging efforts. Engineers, once respected for their contributions, became feared as madmen, their workshops filled with nightmarish creations that seemed to writhe and breathe of their own accord.
Even ordinary ratmen were not spared. Those who worked too closely with the hybrid-fueled machines often succumbed to sickness or madness. Their skin grew pallid and thin, their eyes bloodshot and twitching. Some developed grotesque mutations—extra limbs, warped spines, or patches of scaly skin—transforming them into pitiable husks of their former selves. These unfortunates were often thrown into the flesh engines to keep the machines running, their screams echoing through the tunnels.
The ratmen’s once-ingenious focus on survival had become an obsession with destruction, fueled by the corrupted remnants of the hybrids they fought. Their weapons grew deadlier, their methods crueler, and their disregard for their own kind more absolute. The line between enemy and ally blurred as ratmen turned on each other, their paranoia stoked by the demonic taint in the hybrid flesh.
Despite their advancements, the ratmen found themselves at a stalemate—or worse. The hybrids had adapted. Their scales grew harder, their strategies more cunning. The bio-bombs and flesh-engines that had once devastated them seemed less effective, as if the hybrids had developed an immunity to their own corrupted flesh.
The hybrids launched counterattacks deeper into ratmen territory, targeting the twisted machines and slaughtering the engineers who created them. They moved with unnerving precision, their once-animalistic savagery replaced by a cold, calculating intelligence. The ratmen, now as fractured and corrupted as their creations, struggled to mount a coordinated defense.
The tunnels became a macabre battlefield. Steam hissed from the flesh-engines, mixing with the acrid stench of burnt hybrid meat. Bio-bombs detonated, coating walls in gore and filling the air with toxic mist. The hybrids, relentless and seemingly unkillable, tore through ranks of exosuited ratmen, leaving trails of shattered metal and twisted corpses.
As the war dragged on, it became clear that the ratmen’s greatest enemy was no longer the hybrids but themselves. Their reliance on hybrid flesh and corrupted technology had transformed them into something monstrous—parodies of their former selves.
In their pursuit of victory, the ratmen had lost everything: their unity, their identity, and their future.
The one more horrified by all this was Gurnak, at first he was filled with pride at the attention he got from releasing the mist into the ratmen home.
