Chapter 4: Battle of the Cats and Rats

Scaling the horizon, day's first light began parting the thick fog that enveloped the Wynds. Revealing the lush and well kempt furs of nobles and knights alike.

King Earnshaw nodded towards the Duke Lockwood, pleased at the numbers assembled to serve his banner.

Proudly he stepped into the dreary alley and called out in a mighty roar.

"Vermin! We have come for you! For raising your claw against a member of royal descent we seek reimbursement. You have but an hour to prove you are not the lowly creatures we think you to be and pay for your sacrilege in blood!"

The king's call was answered immediately. A rat even small by rat standards approached the king.

"Well met king of cats. I am Ratavian, right claw of the King of the Gutters. I have come to extend our merciful rulers offer."

Unsure what to make of this deviant, the king was curious to hear this proposal.

"Our King, blessed be he, presents you with a choice. Forfeit your lands, the alleys, the backyards, the dumpsters and anything in between to us, and you shall live to serve under our glorious rule."

Amused beyond belief, King Earnshaw laughed like no cat has ever laughed before.

"Do you not see our host, tiny one?" he mocked.

"You rule over us? Not for another millennia at least! Begone, foul thing! For any rat that dares surface in the next year will find no clemency!"

From beyond the mist, Rattonius's voice rang out, hoarse with pride.

"You have done well, brother Ratavian. Let it be known, the enemy was offered peace, and chose violence in its stead."

Sunny rays bested the tall roofs, expelling the remaining mist, their shine reflecting off the metallic knick knacks protecting Rattonius' legions.

"Stand tall, rats! Paradise lays before you, guarded only by the forces of hell themselves. Demonstrate your righteous might and CHARGE!"

Endless hordes began skittering towards the nervous cat host. King Earnshaw narrowly escaping the flood and landing behind his troops before meowing a charge of his own.

The alley erupted into whimpering shrieks and caterwauls as the two armies clashed. Although outnumbered, the cats proved why they have remained the dominant party for so long. Majestically jumping through the air, rats were stomped, clobbered and torn to shreds by the elite forces of the noble houses.

But the rats, frenzied by primordial bloodlust, paid no attention to their losses. Instead celebrating every successful bite, every prick of the needle and every wail they could carve out of their ancient antagonists.

Nobles were assaulted mid jump, drowning in piles of brown fur instead of landing safely. Rats soon casting shadows of their own when tossed across the sky by the knights' powerful mittens. While elsewhere claws stuck iron, opening them up to a prompt counter offensive.

The battlefield turned gruesome as the cats' losses began piling.

"STOP, EVERYONE, AS HEIR TO THE WYND'S THRONE, I COMMAND YOU TO STOP!"

Perched high atop a streetlamp, Heathcliff's command bellowed over the theater's bloodied actors.

"There must be a better solution to this than war! Lower your weapons and survey the result of your decision!"

Needles dropped and claws and paws anxiously withdrew from the red pools that now flowed eerily between the rocky pavement. Shock and bewilderment slowly replaced by sorrowful mourns as both cat and rat realized the price of their conflict.

Rattonius, covered in the blood of his people, knelt down beside a soldier whose name he did not know.

"My King," he spoke. "Have I served you well? Will my loved ones live a life of happiness and prosperity alongside you? My mother? My wife? My children?"

Before Rattonius could answer, the soldier's eyes went foggy, and Rattonius, paying his final respects, closed the martyr's eyes.

"Noble must you feel, spewing your virtues from the heavens!" Rattonius challenged the preacher.

"Yet your paws are clean while your brethren are soaked in the end of their brothers' bloodlines."

Rattonius scaled the corpse of a slain foe to increase both his words' reach and his own prominence before continuing.

"Too long have we endured your torment. Today is the day of reckoning. You've rejected the final attempt at reconciliation I so mercifully extended, and only after paying the price for your folly do you call for harmony!?"

Rattonius took a deep breath recalling the names of the fallen long before he became king.

"No prince, it is too late for that. Centuries too late to appeal to our aching hearts. Face me so I can slice the origin of those respectable words clean from their shoulders!"

The rat's words cut deep and Heathcliff's courage caught in his chest. Wavering both emotionally and physically, the lamp he stood on shook, as the Prince swayed both towards and away from the challenge simultaneously. A sight the father King couldn't bear to witness further.

"ENOUGH," he roared, pushing through his remaining troops with regal strides.

"For the first time in my life I agree with a rat," he acknowledged.

"A decision has to be felled today. Undeniable and incontestable!"

Agreement resounded through the ranks.

"A duel!" Ratavian, who had survived the clash surprisingly unsullied, suggested.

"A showcase of power before both armies, to decide once and for all who's might makes right!"

King Earnshaw nodded thoughtfully.

"To prevent further bloodshed, I accept this proposal, and as King I shall champion for the Nobles of the Wynds." Earnshaw shook himself to fluff up his fur, the extra fluff adding to his already intimidating presence.

Rattonius looked past Ratavian's sinister smile but found his answer in every other face that stared at him with beady expectation.

"Very well, as King of the Gutters I, Rattonius the Redeemer, shall champion this new age!"