Roscoe was aware. Perhaps it was intelligence that he had gained, or rather, been granted, but its manifestation had given him self-awareness. But, of course, he remembered his previous life as more of a fever dream. It was a haze of fear and confusion, with nothing outside the present and no concept of proper choice or thought. Indeed, he would argue that his "thoughts" barely counted as such. It was more like existing on rails than authentic living.

Yet now, he had been blessed with sentience. That endless darkness, that empty void he had floated in, had delivered this greatest of gifts to him. His very being was aflame with a sense of purpose that had previously been inconceivable. Not even the comparatively unenlightened minds of his 14 very disagreeable roommates could diminish his exultation. Roscoe had initially attempted to communicate with them, seeking some sort of companion to test his newfound intellect against, yet was disappointed. They were not as Roscoe was. This made their attempts to bring harm to Roscoe entertaining. They still needed to grasp that the beings within this space could not physically do anything to each other.

Once they had come to terms with this fact, they had feuded, all 14 again, against him - mentally. They had sent waves of anger at each other and him. They seemed to find purpose, if not satisfaction, in spreading their need to devour and kill.

The mental assault was a new sensation to him, though not nearly so ground-shaking as the intelligence was. It vaguely reminded him of the fear that colored so much of those earlier memories. Yet the sheer intention behind this, the desire to cause harm for the sake of harm, rather than in the way a predator hunts prey to feed itself, was worth meditating on. Roscoe supposed that this was one of the more unfortunate manifestations of intelligence, though perhaps such shortsighted and destructive aims also indicated lower intelligence. That is an exciting thought.

As Roscoe continued to float in this space, ruminating on the nature of his existence and its meaning, he occasionally passed by collections of other materials that inhabited it. Ribbons of fine shimmering dust, miniature asteroids of debris, and shining clouds of prismatic crystals formed awe-inspiring imitations of galaxies. Passing near enough to these formations imbued him with some part of their energy. This mechanism likely led to his current state. It made him wonder whether this space was indeed the same as the space visible in the night sky. Yet that did not seem to be the case.

And then the void began to shake.

It had trembled, and the others had gone from anger, bloodlust, and absolute hatred for their captor to unmitigated terror. This transition happened in the blink of an eye. Roscoe only vaguely recalled having come to this place. Still, his memories suggested that he was indeed housed within a greater being somehow. The last moments of his previous life were somewhat hazy. However, he could now feel the deities' attention focus on him.

Roscoe was selected. And then, as he considered what this might mean, he was cast out.

As he re-entered the physical world, Roscoe felt gravity again take its inexorable hold on him. Again, however, it felt strange and unusual on his form. This was not the body he remembered. Roscoe had grown significantly, more than any of his kind had ever dared to dream about. He could even stand up on his rear legs and balance easily. Perhaps his newly discovered mental faculties had enhanced his balance and use of even this foreign body?.

Briefly taking in his surroundings, Roscoe noticed a human. A tiny girl, to be sure. Roscoe could probably stand eye-to-eye with her when he was on his back legs. And then he saw it. Next to the girl, radiating power and majesty, was a small black disc that clearly must have been the vessel of the deity that had blessed him. But, on the other hand, perhaps it was the god itself.

From his perspective, Roscoe could see that the small girl was on the god's side. However, three others looked aggressive. This must be the reason he was selected to come forth. First, he twisted his tail upward in a salute to the deity. Then, he snapped it sideways to test his newly strengthened body's capabilities. Roscoe felt his tail sting as its tip broke the sound barrier. That was something he hadn't expected, but considering the length of his tail and its physical flexibility, it made sense. He wasn't sure how he would fare at combat, but if this was the price that demanded his sentience, he would gladly pay it. He owed the deity at least this much. So, without further ado, Roscoe charged at the three aggressors that dared offend his god.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The combat was intense, far more than the fear-tainted chases he recalled as prey. Roscoe has already been faster and more agile than a standard human. However, now he had the strength to go along with it. He was pleasantly surprised when he dodged their blows and even intimidated them into retreating. Indeed, I have been nourished into a true awakening.

He snapped one with his tail, sending them flying. It didn't put him out of the fight permanently but moved him out of the way long enough for Roscoe to get his bearings. He spun, slashing out with a front claw and a back claw simultaneously. He kept two claws available at all times, one for each opponent, and balanced on one of his hind legs when necessary. Their wicked swords and daggers were kept at bay as they frantically attempted to regain control. One backed off quickly, and the other grabbed Roscoe's attention with a giant sword. They both dashed forward, opponents clashing in a furious melee.

They traded blows, but the man's armor prevented Roscoe from doing any real damage. Roscoe was mostly able to batter the man about, but this left the giant rat distracted. He could feel powders flying at him that burned his skin and caused him to lose his vision for precious seconds. Eventually, arrows started flying, and Roscoe felt their repeated stings across his back.

Roaring his frustration and a prayer to his god, Roscoe charged headlong toward the sword-wielding man and bowled him over. He was doing it! Stepping forward would force the man out of the gate, out of his master's domain. However, right as Roscoe's victory seemed so sure, he took a sudden blow to the head. His vision swam.

The humans rallied, forcing him on the defensive. Roscoe didn't retreat. Trying his best to dodge the arrows and disperse the powder with his tail, he struggled against the now-reinvigorated group. It was somewhat effective. However, he felt the tide had turned.

It was the 1v3 which he thought was a bit unfair. But it was not Roscoe's place to complain. So he did as his god had decreed. The brute with a giant sword advanced, taking swipe after swipe at him. Roscoe could feel it chip at his claws and teeth as he paired desperately.

Roscoe struggled valiantly but had lost too much momentum. Fighting multiple opponents was all about rhythm and timing, yet he had been rocked. An arrow stuck in his shoulder and deadened his arm, making it hard to use. The man in front of him raised his sword. Roscoe was able to get his paw up in time to catch it in his claws. The metal bit deeply into two of them and broke off a third. His injured arm was weak and unable to stop the blow entirely. The force powered through his paw, slamming into his head and knocking Roscoe over. He lay in the dirt. Completely helpless.

Seeing that he wasn't going to have a chance, Roscoe froze. He had failed his god; he had lost. However, he was too weak to stall his enemies any further. Roscoe hoped he had done enough and prayed that he would be forgiven for his weakness.

His vision began to blacken at the edges. His wounds throbbed, and the accumulated damage began to take its toll. Soon, Roscoe faded into unconsciousness. Everything went black.

***

Roscoe woke up alone. His deity and the other humans have disappeared. He still lay in the courtyard of his home castle, right where he had made his last stand. The ground was still soaked with his blood. Roscoe didn't remember the conclusion of the fight. He simply thought he had died. Perhaps he had just passed out? Groaning, his muscles were sore, and his head rang like a bell. His mouth felt like he'd been chewing on cotton for the past week. Stumbling to his feet, he found less damage than he had expected. Whatever the god had done to him while he floated in the void had done wonders for his constitution. Looking around, he saw bloody arrows everywhere. There were still holes and loose flaps in his skin from where the humans' attacks had landed. And yet, despite that, Roscoe was alive. It didn't seem possible. Truly my god had blessed me yet again, Roscoe thought. He had been rewarded.

Taking a deep breath, Roscoe attempted to smell where his god had gone. However, it seemed the deity left no scent. It made sense that a being such as that could mask its presence. Perhaps it was so perfectly efficient that it would not leave any byproducts as a mortal would. However, he could track the tiny human who also served their master. He could smell her, feel her life, and feel it pull at him.

He followed her trail back into the castle. Quickly he came across an overlapping track. She must have doubled back recently - more than once, it seemed. Taking a second to untangle the web of scents, he found what he was looking for. Following the newest trail, it led behind the stairs that presumably led to the grand hall.

Roscoe went through the banded wooden door, following the scent of his god's servant.