The Survival Battle of the Andean Wild Mouse!

Just as Glick charged to the edge of the fire circle, less than a hundred meters from the river, he suddenly felt his forepaw step into emptiness. In the next instant, his entire front half plunged into a massive pit.

A guttural howl of pain escaped him as agony shot through his joints. Yang Jie knew well that the limbs of the thunder dragons were their greatest weakness, especially their short forelegs. From the complete fossils found on Earth, it was evident that more than half had died from broken legs or twisted ankles that left them unable to move.

Now, the chieftain of the Shirin family, Glick, had fallen into a trap set by the ratfolk. His foreleg twisted, he was instantly rendered immobile.

...

Seeing that the time was ripe, Yang Jie rose from the grass, raising his spear high:

“People of the Andes tribe, rise!”

At his command, hundreds of ratfolk, clutching all manner of crude weapons, sprang from the grass in unison with him...

In an instant, a tidal wave of shrill squeaks erupted from every direction.

Glick now saw the truth with perfect clarity. His family had fallen into a carefully laid ambush. With his mobility lost and the ratfolk so well-prepared, he understood that, whatever the outcome, he would be buried here.

Around him, the flames raged, hemming in the thunder dragons of the Shirin family. At last, Glick made his decision.

“Stay calm! Don’t panic! Don’t run! Don’t scatter!”

“Stay together! Forget about me!”

He knew that if his kin were scattered by the ratfolk, they would be picked off one by one. Only by staying together could they hope to survive.

As the thunder dragons abandoned their escape and clustered together, ready for a final stand, Yang Jie’s face darkened, as if a storm were about to break. He knew that, regardless of who won, the ratfolk would pay dearly in blood.

“Chieftain?” Wendy asked anxiously, awaiting his final decision.

Without hesitation...

Yang Jie, vines wrapped around his body, raised his club and shouted with a voice full of thunder:

“Brothers of the Andes ratfolk, charge with me! For the blood-red dawn! Fight to the death!”

In that moment, the roar of the ratfolk drowned out even the crackling inferno.

“Forward!”

“Kill them all!”

“Brothers, charge!”

At Yang Jie’s command, the tribal leaders, already prepared, led their people into the assault.

It was not Yang Jie but One-Eye who first broke from the rat horde. He spun a sling in his hand and hurled a stone straight at Glick.

“Death squad, with me!” he shouted.

Eleven small but sturdy adult ratfolk surged to the front, eyes burning with resolve and speed. These eleven were the forerunners of the Black Banner Corps, the ace army of the ancient Kingdom of Gunn. Once, they had been mere bullies and militia, but in the race’s hour of doom, they became fearless warriors.

Seeing the ratfolk closing in from all sides, Hannah’s eyes burned red as she bellowed furiously:

“You filthy, wretched rats—prepare to die!”

Her eyes gleamed with crimson rage as she let out a maddened roar.

“We’ll fight them to the end!”

The two sides clashed in a storm of violence. The ratfolk, well-prepared for this moment, hurled vines at the mighty Shirin family members. The vines both hampered the thunder dragons’ movements and provided the ratfolk a way to climb onto their massive bodies.

The leaders of the Andes ratfolk led the charge, showing no fear.

In a battle for survival between species, there was no room for mercy—kindness to the enemy was cruelty to oneself.

Tuki hurled a barrel of deadly poison toward the thunder dragons, nocked an arrow, drew his bow, and fired at a dragon’s neck. His arrows, tipped with paralyzing toxin, were the best way to reduce casualties. With the thunder dragons’ sheer bulk and lack of protective armor, there was little chance of missing.

Monty Shirin, Bell’s uncle, was the first target. His size and position at the front, trying to shield his brother Glick, made him a clear mark. As the battle began, Monty’s back was soon covered in vines, severely restricting his movements.

The ratfolk swarmed him, a dozen clinging to his back, weapons raised and striking without mercy.

Monty flailed desperately, trying to shake them off, but the vines sapped his strength. Soon, sweat poured from his unfit body.

“Hunting squad, forward with me!”

Big Billy roared, and the hunting rats responded, darting under Monty’s feet. A few were crushed instantly, reduced to bloody pulp, but the rest pressed on, setting their sights on Anna, who had just come of age.

“Die!” Anna’s bloodshot eyes flashed as she lunged at the nearest hunting rat, jaws wide.

A rabbit, when cornered, will bite; how much more so a thunder dragon of such size?

A sharp crack rang out as the unfortunate rat was crushed in Anna’s jaws, but even as his body was torn apart, he hammered her head with his club until his last breath.

The adult thunder dragons fought fiercely, but the young ones became the prime targets.

Bell sheltered between his mother Mary and his aunt Lily. The two adult females shielded him with their bodies, fending off attacks from both flanks.

Bell, quick-witted and small, kept his head down, but whenever a lone ratfolk came near, he would dart forward and snap them up, killing five in quick succession.

But Monty’s son, Ram, was not so lucky. Frail and timid, he panicked as soon as the ratfolk charged. His small size and weak constitution marked him for death. Victor, leading the farm rats, spotted him at once.

Though inexperienced in battle, the farm rats were strong from years of toil. Victor, at the front, swung a vine around Ram’s slender neck. His companions leapt up, grabbing the vine and hanging their full weight on it, dragging Ram’s head down.

With several hundred kilograms pulling on his neck, Ram could barely breathe.

At that moment, a scar-faced ratfolk, face twisted with murderous intent, leapt high with a stone axe in hand. His body arched in a crescent, and with all his might, he brought the axe down on the soft underside of Ram’s neck.

A heavy thud sounded as the blow landed. Ram, wracked with agony, struggled to lift a paw, but the vine only tightened. His breath stopped, and he lost consciousness.

The ratfolk seized the opportunity, swarming over Ram’s neck, hacking and smashing at him with every weapon. In less than ten seconds, Ram lay dead in a pool of his own blood.

The battlefield was chaos. Lily, noticing her son fallen in the blood, was seized by grief and rage. Maternal instinct overcame all else; heedless of danger, she rushed to her son’s corpse, wailing in utter despair.

Scalding tears streamed down her face as she gazed upon her slain child, powerless to protect him.

A flood of fury swept away her last shred of reason. Consumed by vengeance, Lily hurled herself into the densest ranks of the ratfolk.

...