There were moments in life where you knew that you were unquestionably fucked.

  It was almost a magical moment. The certainty practically made you a seer, knowing without doubt that shit was about to hit the fan. Mainly it was authority figures that induce that state of clarity, for me it was my parents, in both worlds.

  Though this one was more about manners and brawls than anything else. I was actually quite a good daughter, ignoring the earlier facets, because I wasn’t really a child to begin with. My mother knew I was an anomaly considering she’d raised plenty of children if her stories were to be believed, but she just assumed it was the variety inherent with life, and not that her daughter was a reincarnator. There were days where I felt bad about that. Mostly for my father. I was his only child and he didn’t get to experience the proper process of raising one.

  I rarely fought with them, unless it made sense, and in those cases I usually managed to hold a coherent debate for my point. I imagined it was more like dealing with an adult than a proper child.

  I, of course, didn’t start doing that shit as soon as I learned language. Playing pretend was easy enough considering my history with the drama club. Just chafed at me to do it every day.

  But even still, I had those moments of unquestionable dread.

  The fear I felt back then was nothing compared to what I felt now.

  I knew what that man was, how could I not?

  I was just the same after all.

  “Witch,” I hissed like the word like a curse.

  The man threw his head back and gave a full bellied laugh, bouncing off the walls of the sewer and echoing a concert of mirth. “Smart! Very smart, to feel fear that is. Rule one for any good witch is to never trust another witch. Glad I don’t have to teach you that lesson, takes a while to really ingrain, you know? Words can only do so much for the mind of a simple mortal, we need examples!”

  I nodded along to his words, keeping a sharp eye on the man as my brain went through a gambit of scenarios to escape and connecting assumptions based on my memories. He called himself the rat-king? Witches can d0 much more esoteric shit than mages, depending on the species of demon. Perhaps he was bonded to one that let him control the rodents? Didn’t sound too far-fetched.

  Which meant I had an advantage in close quarters combat, if he was the type to raise monsters to do his bidding. Then again, why show himself if he thought I was a risk? He was treating this with the casual ease of someone who didn’t recognize anything dangerous.

  Besides, I didn’t know what kind of spells he was capable of, or if he was capable of spells at all. But why wouldn’t he be? He was already in this form which meant the demon and him had gotten rather close to one another, soul wise. That kind of bond only developed with time, and time was an indicator of strength for someone who could access mana.

  Hells, he was probably bonded to a proper demon and not the waif of one like I summoned. The imp agreed, radiating its own flavour of fear. Just peachy. He only did that for Arr’koro, and that bastard was a fucking orc.

  I could try to run, the grate wasn’t too far but…how fast would I be in comparison to the man? Even with the strengthen spell increasing the power of my thighs, it wasn’t a speed spell. Could I make it one? It was an insane thought from a desperate mind because that was not how spells worked, my months of trying to mold the shapes associated with the spell had proven that.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Reverse engineering a spell took time and understanding, not willy nilly wishes.

  But what else was there to do? I going to die here if I didn’t do something so I was going to something or else I was going to die—

  I brought my blade forward to point at the witch, palms slick with sweat, putting on the bravest face I could manage.

  “Stay back, witch. I might not be your equal, but I won’t hesitate to cut a bitch.”

  The witch let out a snicker. “That’s cute, no offence. I know you're trying to be all strong and mean, but c’mon, you can’t expect that to work? If I wanted you dead I’d send my little ones over to do the job for me.”

  “Then what do you want?” I grit out between clenched teeth.

  “To say hello! It’s not often I find a witch in control, smart enough to take a demon more on your level hmm? Good. Can’t ever have too many of us wandering around after all, and the ones completely possessed are such a bore. Don’t understand good conversation, or anything that consists of a normal interaction, it’s no wonder they get sussed out so fast. Piece of advice? If you hear even a rumour of a possessed witch, run for the hills. Demons can be quite horrifying in their appetites…”

  I tuned out his rambling. I’d been slowly shuffling to the ladder, inching closer and closer as the man distractedly went on and on and on. I didn’t know what game he was playing, but I had no desire to take part in it. What I wanted right then was a fucking gun, that would solve a lot of whatever this was. Too bad the weapon wasn’t even close to being invented, they didn’t even have crossbows in this godsdamned world.

  I inched back, and bumped into something of fur and flesh. Colour drained from my face, and I looked behind me to find a sleek black rat staring me down, double the size of the largest one I’d fought.

  How did I not hear it approach?

  “..but you know how covens can be, always have to have their silly little rivalries. It wouldn’t bother me so much if their idea of friendly competition didn’t involve killing my rats—

  “Oh! I see you’ve met Skiski, wonderful specimen isn’t he? say hello Skiski!”

  The rat let out a deep sound that sounded disturbingly like its name, and there was weight to the sound. A fraction of a microcosm of hunger pressed down on me. Almost like a demand mixed with a question.

  “Now, that’s no way to treat a guest! Though she has been terribly rude by killing my own but, well, what can you do, eh? Not like anyone told her to be respectful, and no offence my rodent friend, but most would find your kind quite inoffensive to kill.”

  Skiski let out a huff, and it felt like reticent agreement boiled with simmering frustration.

  I didn’t normally get such a clear impression from the World, but it was so loud.

  I didn’t know what the fuck there was to do. If the witch wanted me dead, well, he could just do it. Why didn’t he? Was he giving me some form of false hope? That sounded like something a witch would do. I could’ve tried to rush him, I should’ve tried to rush him, even for the smallest inkling that I could kill him. If I was gonna die, why not try and take him with me?

  There was only one problem with that, I didn't want to die, and the lion's share of my consciousness was grasping onto that false hope like a buoy in turbulent waters.

  “So! May I ask, junior witch, why you’ve come down to my abode and killed my rats?” the witch asked.

  I swallowed a lump in my throat, and could only manage one simple word. “Training.”

  The glow of his eyes brightened for a moment, and he tilted his head head like a confused dog. “Training?” he said. I nodded. “Well, that would explain much about what you’ve been experimenting with, and why you’d so willingly put yourself into danger. Say, what are you training for?”

  “To be stronger?” I said.

  “Hmmm, only partially true. But don’t worry, I won’t pry. Just isn’t polite. So, training is it? My precious rats have been reduced to mere stepping stones? Honestly, it’s a better answer than coin, but not by much. What to do, what to do…” he went into contemplation for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “My store could use some better advertisement, and having an elf…it’s perfect! Absolutely perfect, I am truly a genius without peer. Say little Yir, how about we make a deal, hmmm?”

  I could feel the dread shrivel in my throat.