As the grime was foreseen in the dark shadows of the Munt Forest, the Rat King raised his head. For the first time in what appears to be several generations, the Rat King awoke from his nap of disgust. Once he managed to tear them apart, his eyes looked as if someone had launched a chalk at them. The Owl Oracle stood before him. "When it arrives, it will know." the Owl said. The Rat King slapped the crust off of his eyelids with his left paw. "Fucking Nutmeg.", the Rat King muttered. He had eaten quite a bit of it in an attempt to outmaneuver boredom. His ratty cheeks were still aching from the raw grit of the nutmeg powder, some still lodged amongst his teeth. The throne room began to rapidly expand and contract. The owl dissolved. Fuck this.
The rat minions had become test subjects of nutmeg's LD50, the lucky 50 cleaning up the dead 50. It was piles of contorted dead rats, not a particular mess but still a bit to carry. The Rat King slouched in his throne, swaying to the beat of corpse carrying rodent feet. Tap. Tap. Tap. A lone mouse turned slowly towards his king and approached him. The Rat King remained in his throne. He stared at the mouse with fatigued eyes, expecting nothing. The beat had stopped, as had his joyous swaying. The mouse launched forward and plunged a pin into the Rat King's skull, piercing his brain. The Rat King gave only a single immediate reaction, gripped the mouse with his teeth, crushing its neck. Once the body hit the stainless castle floors and engaged in some freeform arterial painting, the Rat King patiently pulled out the pin. In a stalemate with the evolutionary game, he was no step closer to the true void. Owned Bitch.
Several days passed, it could have been anywhere from one to a thousand. The Rat King had permanently lost track of time. But this day was punctuated with icy air sweeping his face. The Throne Room doors had opened, once more bearing promises of annihilation. The Pug Captain ran, yapping as if his face had been kicked 84 times. Right behind him was a gargantuan clockwork of wasps that had targeted him for extinction. "Armageddon lies within us", a hiss emerged from the wasps. Their directed rhythmic movement summoned a voice laced with static and grime. Their pre-calculated swirls enveloped the Rat King in thunderous anger. Furious electrons threatened to disintegrate him into rat pate as the wasps ever quickened their pace. By now a cigarette was sticking out from under his whiskers. Let's do business
The rat minions had become test subjects of nutmeg's LD50, the lucky 50 cleaning up the dead 50. It was piles of contorted dead rats, not a particular mess but still a bit to carry. The Rat King slouched in his throne, swaying to the beat of corpse carrying rodent feet. Tap. Tap. Tap. A lone mouse turned slowly towards his king and approached him. The Rat King remained in his throne. He stared at the mouse with fatigued eyes, expecting nothing. The beat had stopped, as had his joyous swaying. The mouse launched forward and plunged a pin into the Rat King's skull, piercing his brain. The Rat King gave only a single immediate reaction, gripped the mouse with his teeth, crushing its neck. Once the body hit the stainless castle floors and engaged in some freeform arterial painting, the Rat King patiently pulled out the pin. In a stalemate with the evolutionary game, he was no step closer to the true void. Owned Bitch.
Several days passed, it could have been anywhere from one to a thousand. The Rat King had permanently lost track of time. But this day was punctuated with icy air sweeping his face. The Throne Room doors had opened, once more bearing promises of annihilation. The Pug Captain ran, yapping as if his face had been kicked 84 times. Right behind him was a gargantuan clockwork of wasps that had targeted him for extinction. "Armageddon lies within us", a hiss emerged from the wasps. Their directed rhythmic movement summoned a voice laced with static and grime. Their pre-calculated swirls enveloped the Rat King in thunderous anger. Furious electrons threatened to disintegrate him into rat pate as the wasps ever quickened their pace. By now a cigarette was sticking out from under his whiskers. Let's do business
