Chapter 61: My Friends, My Good Friends

Tim stumbled with exhaustion as his feet hit the blessed safety of the rat-infested archives. The carved door, shut and barred safely by Dimitre, enveloped him with what felt like an immovable presence. It was almost enough to make him completely fall to his knees, to wallow in the exhaustion and the familiar feeling of grief for those he lost. But still, there was much work to do. Too much.

The energy of a man possessed by purpose gave him strength to speak. "Mavier, have your forces at the ready. We have to salvage as much as we can from tonight. The rats will be on a lookout for survivors from the Blinders. They know to regroup here for safety, but I need your group on the ready just in case they get targeted by government soldiers. If it comes to it, you might need to brawl with those soldiers, so be ready. I'll have guards on standby to cover it up, but they can only do so much. They can't obscure any large-scale magic or a city-wide fight."

"Very well." Mavier nodded stoically. "However, what next? Do we follow the original plan of killing the heroes one by one? Or do we deviate? It will be difficult to get more alchemical supplies now that the majority of your human agents are gone."

A cautious wiggling movement in Tim's breast pocket told him of Philbert's curiosity on the subject as well. "It will be difficult, no, near impossible, to get what I need for the original plan. I've heard from reliable sources that Adrian killed all of the known alchemists in the city while finding my trail. That, along with the Blinders being… gone, will force us to escalate."

Tim cleared away the growing lump in his throat as he forced away thoughts about the Blinders and the kid – both of which had likely not made it out, instead turning towards the breakroom and lengthening his stride as his grey-skinned allies followed, the swarms of rats parting for him like flesh before a sharp blade.

"Here's the deal. We know that Adrian knows the Blinders were related to me. He knows from the battle at the Bastille that I prefer to use chemical weapons and to lay traps. To combat this, Adrian slaughtered the alchemists that would be able to provide me materials, and removed a group working for me. However, what he doesn't know is if I have any other allies or if I have any weapons in reserve."

Mavier nodded, raising an eyebrow as he motioned for Tim to continue.

"Well, friends, this is where we enter the realm of what we don't know, or at least what we don't know for sure. The realm of educated guesswork. If we consider tonight as a battle, where we lost… key forces, while the heroes lost essentially nothing, we most definitely lost. However." Tim paused, eyes resting on the reassuring mass of the rat king as he entered the breakroom, "Instead of retreating to lick our wounds, this is when we strike. Right now, all I am to the heroes, to the government, is a terrorist who allies with demons. They don't know what we want other than to kill heroes. The government may assume that I am after power, that I will depose them after destroying their strongest forces."

"Well, are you?" Santet questioned as she plopped down on an empty frankenstein chair with a quiet 'oof'.

"Surprisingly, I am not. Not at the moment." Tim replied with a short laugh. "Fucking up the heroes comes first. With such a monumental task, I haven't even bothered thinking about what comes next. And that is where the government and the heroes are making a mistake. If you look back on history, many of those terrorists are focused on changing the government. On forcing their views onto the ruling part or becoming the ruling party themselves. They expect that I have… grander desires."

Tim straightened his tattered scholars robes as all the eyes in the room fell on him.

"But here's the thing. I don't, besides killing those three pieces of shit who were too busy politicking, whoring, or drinking to do their simple fucking job and patrol the countryside every so often."

Grim silence met his words. Mavier wisely kept silent as he remembered the activities of his band of raiders before meeting Tim.

"Therefore, I do believe the best time to strike is tomorrow. We strike swiftly when they least expect it, on a scale of which they do not expect."

Tim swiftly erased the chalkboard and began to fill the entire front side of it with scribbles as the demons processed his words.

"Here's the plan. As the hero Iver once said, all those many years ago, we adopt the blitzkrieg strategy. One made possible by our great ally, the rat king."

"What, we just swarm the heroes with rats?" Dimitre interrupted with a disbelieving tone. "We all saw what happened at the Bastille. Sure, they got that cleric's arm, but she was able to dispel them with magic. I just can't see that working all that well for a second time."

Tim dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Yes, fair point. But I don't feel you understand what the rat king truly is. Why it was cruelly chained in the deep dungeons of a literal fortress, guarded by a legion of soldiers and a hero. The true nature of the rat king is exactly what my plan hinges on."

He leaned closer, eyes glistening with anticipation as the rats milling around his feet began to pick up speed upon sensing his agitation. The tiny claws of the numerous rats clicked on the floor forming a chittering drone that grated at the ears.

"Our great ally is but a part of something greater, a questing limb of an existence beyond any one of us in power, enough to make the psychopathic paper pushers in Drassington run for the hills, enough to cause even the most powerful hero fall to his knees and beg before us."

Tim chuckled without a spot of mirth, speaking with a strangely monotone voice.

"My friends. My good friends. I propose that we invite that 'questing limb' of the rat king to a full manifestation."