Cain crouched beside the stiff rat's body, eyes scanning for any sign it might snap out of its dazed state.
Its chest rose faintly — alive but knocked out cold from the hallucinogens.
He gave the vermin one final pat on the head, then slapped its cheeks a few times to make sure it wasn't faking.
"Sorry, pal. I'm just here for the money, same as you."
The jaw remained locked, slack with twitching drool.
With a single heave, Cain lifted the rat by the rope knotted around its bony ankle.
The scrawny body, barely a meter in height, was light enough to swing — he tossed it onto the rhino's back.
The two rats turned toward the sound, nostrils twitching sharply.
One rat sniffed, recognition flooding his comical face.
"Oi, what took you so fuckin long? You took a dump or something?"
The bomb expert squeaked, voice somewhere between relief and confusion.
But then, the oldest, the flame conjurer — didn't even give it any credit.
"Couldn't even haul the damn thing."
Cain could practically taste the disdain as the rat voiced his complaint at his unconscious sibling.
The fire conjurer, now blind, slapped the rhino's face sharply.
"Big man, stop stomping around will yah? You'll crush the damn ballista!"
The rhino exhaled slowly, smoke curling from his nose.
His massive fists twitched as he clenched the handles of the tower shields, but he said nothing.
Cain could read the scene clearly.
The rhino was exhausted — tired of being ordered around by three squealing rodents with attitude.
Noticing the rising tension, the bombardier eased up and gently nudged the rope onto its face.
"Easy now, chief. No need to lose your head over the old rat, the bloke ain't even got a face."
It paused, head shaking slowly as it glanced at its brother — pity flickering in its eyes, even as chaos raged around them.
"Can't imagine anyone'd be chipper if their eyes got dug out, eh?"
The rhino complied, not saying a word — the ballista jerked off the ground like a doll in a storm.
Too rough — the blind rat slapped the rhino again.
"Careful, you slab of meat! And shut your yap with all that soppy nonsense."
The rhino's jaw clenched, eyes rolling back with simmering fury, but he held it together, gently hefting the ballista onto his back.
He let the rats scurry and shout all they liked — the money was his goal in this endeavor after all.
The fog remained thick enough to drown out shapes. Only faint motion, scent, and the rhythm of metal gave hints to direction.
They didn't see him clinging to the ballista.
Cain was on top of the weapon in his makeshift ghillie suit — watching.
Then it happened.
Just as the rats tried to brush the weeds off the artillery, a lunging shadow tore through the mist.
Six dirty syringes slammed into the bomber rat's skull — the body stiffened, then slumped.
No squeal nor no cry — just a soft choking noise, like the soul gave up first.
The blind rat was confused, unable to understand what was going on.
"Oi cheeky bastards! What's all the ruckus I'm hearing?"
No one answered — instead, Cain shoved a fat mushroom down the rat's throat.
It gagged and swallowed the mushroom, convulsing as its body jerked in place.
A low hum escaped its throat — broken, off-key, and getting louder with each breath.
Then, without warning, it threw its head back and screamed at the top of its lungs.
"Forever young! I want to be, forever young! Do you really want to live forever? And..."
Cain froze, spine crawling.
'Yeah... Saying no to drugs sounds like the right idea.'
He backed off.
There were things in the poison expert's kit even authorities wouldn't touch — compounds too bizarre or too cruel for ordinary use.
He didn't like most of them, but he kept a few, just in case.
Cain pushed the noisy eyeless rat over with one foot. The creature rolled on the side, still singing his heart out.
The rhino huffed, ears twitching at the noise, annoyance bubbled up again.
He couldn't see anything — not the rats, not the ballista, not even his own damn knees.
Then a commanding voice — there it was again.
"Charge! Drop to all fours and ram straight through!"
It sounded like the fire conjurer — just rougher.
The rhino snarled. He'd had enough.
He bent low and just followed the flow with a charge.
His palm cracked against the rhino's left cheek, then snapped across the right — loud, sharp, and meant to sting.
The beast rumbled in confusion.
'The hands felt bigger… And heavier…'
But the voice was familiar to his ears — believing it was the old fire rat.
"Right!"
The rhino veered, flanks brushing gravel and soil.
Cain leaned hard, slapping both palms flat on each cheek — he guided like a rhino like a steed, navigating through the fog with nothing but palms.
'It felt oldy satisfying but... I shouldn't indulge on this... Let's focus.'
Cain muttered under his breath, grinning under the helmet.
He wasn't even sure if the rhino realized what was happening anymore.
The beast was too angry.
And Cain? He was just getting started.
The vapor thinned as the charge broke through the edge of the field.
Then, Cain saw them — Ragta, Midi, Dilim.
Three silhouettes, with their prana glowing like molten rivers beneath shredded armor.
The lion beastman snarled, claws flashing in perfect rhythm, trading blows with the trio like it was born to slaughter.
Every heartbeat was a collision.
Behind them, a lone wolf — circling the clash with sniper-like patience, waiting for an opening.
Even in the chaos, the wolf never lunged recklessly — it wanted a clean hit.
Cain's eyes gleamed. He slapped both sides of the rhino's cheeks one final time.
"Faster you brain rotted cunt! We're gonna be late for the shitshow at this rate!"
The beast roared, hooves smashing through shattered ground, ballista still clamped to its spine.
Cain leaned forward. His breath misted inside the helmet — his eye locked on the target.