Episode 36 - Pied Piper 3

The place the hunchback led him to was the ruin of a small temple — incongruous in a world like this one, underground.

Long since abandoned, every idol within had been smashed and worn away by time until it was no longer possible to tell what deity had once been worshipped here. Somewhere in the middle of that ruin was the person he was looking for.

And as if to prove it, the surroundings were alive with a rippling mass of black sewer rats, glistening in the dim light.

"Eeeek! Squeak! M-me, over here... b-big brother...? Looks like we made it... can I go now...?!"
"No. I still don't know for certain he's actually here."
"Uggghhhh! Please have mercy! This place has a terrible reputation — everyone avoids it for a reason!"
"No."
"Hiiiii—!"

Kaftin grabbed the hunchback by the scruff and dragged him along, and whether it was the force of his presence or some other signal, the tide of rats parted to either side, opening a path.

From somewhere deep inside the temple, a piping melody drifted out — gentle, and somehow shot through with sadness.

He followed the sound inside, past the altar, around to the back of the stage — and there, perched atop the remains of a statue reduced to nothing but its lower half, sat a robed figure playing a crude pipe carved from a hollow branch.

"...Good piece. The tone is a little melancholy — I won't pretend that's not a shame."
"......!"

The melody stopped at the sound of a stranger's voice, and immediately the rats closed in around them.

The threatening chorus of squeaking was loud enough to ring in the ears, and the hunchback dangling from Kaftin's hand began sobbing and screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Yeeeek! Squeak! I-I don't taste good! I'm not tasty! Get away! Shoo! SHOO—!"
"You're giving me a headache. Could you shut up? I have something important to say."
"Then DO something about these rats, big brother—?!"
"Shut up."

A slap across the face silenced him. Kaftin looked back up — and the robed figure had already dropped from the statue and landed in front of them.

"You're the one they call... the Pied Piper."
"......"
"Hey. A greeting wouldn't kill you."
"Please leave. I have nothing to say to you."
"......!"

The coldness of it — more than he had expected — made Kaftin frown.
Why? There was no reason for this level of hostility toward a complete stranger.

"...Did I do something wrong on my way here? If so, I'll apologize. Did I interrupt the playing, maybe?"
"...That's not it."
"Then what's the problem? I didn't come here to cause you any trouble."

The figure shook their head.
That much they already knew.
If he had approached with hostile intent, the rats around them would not have simply stood by.

Extreme wariness without aggression — that meant no malice, at minimum.
The reason for the coldness, then, was something else.

"You smell disgusting. That's why I don't want to talk to you."
"......!"
"I'm sorry, but I have no desire to continue this conversation. Please go."
"That's not going to work for me."

He stepped forward instead, wearing that unpleasant smile — and the rats immediately tightened their circle, heads raised as if on the verge of striking.

"Hey. Could you call them back a little? All the squeaking has been making it hard to hold a conversation."
"......"
"Haa... I was trying to be civil about this. Apparently that's not going to happen."

Kaftin sighed, dropped the hunchback face-first onto the ground, and stomped on the back of his head.

"GYAAAAAAH?! B-big brother—?!"
"Quiet. I'm not your brother. If I had a brother like you I'd have killed him twice over."
"Hii—?!"
"Listen, Piper. I'll make this plain. I need you. More precisely — I need you and the rat army you control. There's something in it for you if you come under my banner."
"......!"

The figure's gaze shifted briefly to the rats around them.
To the world, they were filth — vermin to be despised. To this person, they were irreplaceable companions. Family.

"I decline. I don't know what you're scheming — but it can't be anything good."
"Heheheh... you're living in a place like this and you're still drawing lines between good and evil?"
"...I'm not here by choice."

Before the words were even finished, Kaftin clapped his hands together sharply.

"Exactly. That's precisely what I came to talk about. You're not satisfied here either, are you? Come with me and you can have something better. Your rat friends too — better food, better shelter, better treatment."
"......"
"What's actually stopping you? Tell me."
"It has nothing to do with you."

The figure turned to leave. Kaftin kept talking at their back.

"Your ancestor had quite a raw deal, from what I understand."
"......! Where did you hear that?!"
"Whispermere."
"...Tch. So she put you up to this. What information do you want?"

The shift — trying to redirect this into a simple trade — made Kaftin shake his head.

"I already told you. I'm here to recruit you. Whispermere has left the Gang Lords' organization and is working with me now."
"What?"

The mention of leaving the Gang Lords' organization made the figure turn back sharply.
Kaftin allowed himself a quiet smile of satisfaction.

This one.
Surprisingly out of the loop on news from outside.
In that case, there were several useful cards left to play.

"And Veilslayer is dead."
"...You expect me to believe—"
"...I killed him."

 

Silence fell over the space.
The shock must have been considerable — the hunchback underfoot started hiccupping, breaking the quiet — and the figure swallowed once, then said:

"...That's not a lie."
"No. And while I'm at it — the Four Gang Lords have fled Pink Rose Street and gone into hiding."
"Because of you."
"Obviously."

The hunchback's hiccupping intensified.
Kaftin muttered something about the noise and stamped on his head again — the hiccupping stopped, replaced immediately by howling about a cracked skull.

"Quiet. Keep it up and I'll flatten it entirely."
"Hiii—!"
"...If I refuse your proposal — what then? Will you kill me too?"

Kaftin shook his head.

"Why would I? The Gang Lords are targets of a personal vendetta — that's why they die. I have no grievance with you. Quite the opposite."
"......"
"I'm not asking for loyalty or subordination either."
"Then what exactly are you asking for?"
"Simply put — a business arrangement."
"An arrangement...?"
"Yes. I use you as a senior figure in my rat army. In return, you gain my backing, the chance to clear your ancestor's name, the opportunity to take revenge on the people who humiliated and killed them — and a better life along with it."

The figure was quiet for a moment.

"Just how much do you actually know...?"
"Heheheh... why don't you try to guess?"
"......"
"Fine, I'll admit it. I'm extrapolating. Even granting that your piping is exceptional — these rats have low intelligence and move on instinct. The fact that they respond to you like extensions of your own body doesn't follow from music alone."
"......!"
"So I drew some conclusions from that, and... let's just say I have a reasonable picture of what you are."
"...You're a frightening person."

In that moment, an instinct settled over the figure.
This man was a devil.
Or if not literally — something close enough that the distinction didn't matter.
And the offer he was putting forward had all the hallmarks of a devil's contract — irresistibly tempting, and almost certainly dangerous.

"...One thing first."
"Sure. Ask anything."
"What are you planning to do with me and my rats?"
"...Heheheh—!"
"......?!"
"Hfhuhuhuh... hihih... hihiheheheheh!"

The strange laughter ran its course, and then he thrust a hand toward the ceiling as though trying to seize something from the air, and snarled it out like a declaration:

"I am someone who reached the end of philosophy and found VIOLENCE waiting there."
"What does that even—"
"Listen. This world is made of VIOLENCE. Saturated in it. If you want to survive, the only option is to wield something more brutal than anyone else."
"......!"

Eyes burning with madness, darting left and right, Kaftin brought his hand to his chest and spoke in a voice that caught in his throat:

"And I am being crushed beneath the violence called REALITY... and I find it completely unacceptable! So — I intend to build the ultimate violence to tear apart the violence called this world. A violence that could exterminate the human race. My instrument of destruction."
"You're insane."
"Yes... not in my right mind... I'm well aware. But sane or insane doesn't matter to me. What matters is who's still smiling tomorrow—!"

The figure let out a slow breath and shook their head.

"So, you're asking me to become one of your instruments of violence."
"Yes. And it'll be extraordinary. Unleashing rat hordes to gnaw people alive, digging up the graves of enemies you despise, releasing rats in a toilet while someone's using it so they get bitten from bel— heheheh—! Just thinking about it, the possibilities are endless—!"

The figure stood there with their mouth slightly open for a moment, then sighed.

Why had someone like this shown up at their door?
And if they refused — there was no guarantee of walking away clean.

"If I still say no... what happens?"
"Nothing much. Nothing changes. You just stay here playing your pipe and crying over your ancestor until you die of old age, and I go about my business."
"......!"
"Understand something. Living is forward motion. Time doesn't stop and it doesn't go back. Whether your eye gets gouged out or your arm gets cut off — you and I are both caught in the same absurd war called life, and the only option is to keep moving."
"What—?!"
"Staying stopped like a pathetic coward, weeping over the past, changes nothing. You just rot in place like an ant crushed into the side of the road. Is that acceptable? Is that all your life is worth? Is that all the pride you carry for yourself and your ancestor?!"

The provocation — or the incitement — whatever it was, it hit something. The figure raised the pipe to their lips.

"You... want to die?"
"Heh — yes, actually. Death would be a relief. No more responsibilities. No more nightmares. EEEEEEEEEEEEvery problem, GONE. Because every problem exists because I exist. Go ahead — tell your friends to bite. Do it."
"......!"
"But if you kill me that way — you understand what you'd be admitting, don't you?"
"What are you talking about—!"
"That you're worth no more than an ant crushed into the road. That's what you'd be proving. Obvious, isn't it?!"
"......Ngh—!"

They clenched their jaw, thought for a moment, and finally lowered the pipe and bowed their head.
What he was saying was sophistry. He knew that.
But it was also his own reality, laid bare in terms too painful to argue with.

"What are you, exactly...?"
"Kaftin. The human Kaftin — though people tend to call me a monster, or a lunatic. I'll probably have worse names before long, but let's not worry about the small stuff."
"...Heh."

The figure watched him hold out a hand, fingers beckoning — then reached up and pushed back the hood of their robe.

"Wh — you—!"

The hunchback, craning his neck from below to look, opened his mouth to say something further — and Kaftin's foot was immediately jammed into it.

"Aghmph?!"
"As I thought. My prediction was right. I really am a genius!"
"...It would seem so."

Two large, rounded ears rising from the top of the head.
Whiskers on either side of the nose.
The true form of the Pied Piper —

A rat demi-human.

—To be continued—