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Rating:
Teen And Up Audiences
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Graphic Depictions Of ViolenceMajor Character Death
Category:
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Fandoms:
House of the Dragon (TV)Warhammer Fantasy
Characters:
Ikit ClawRhaenyra TargaryenJacaerys VelaryonLucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra)Baela TargaryenRhaena Targaryen (Daughter of Daemon)Daemon TargaryenCorlys "The Sea Snake" VelaryonHelaena TargaryenAddam VelaryonBackground & Cameo CharactersSilverwing | Alysanne Targaryen's DragonOriginal CharactersJoffrey Velaryon
Additional Tags:
Crack Treated SeriouslyCanon-Typical ViolenceThe Dance of the Dragons | Aegon II Targaryen v. Rhaenyra Targaryen EraAlternate Universe - Canon DivergenceCanonical Character DeathCharacter Turned Into a HumanIkit got isekai'd as Jace's twinSkaven Species (Warhammer Fantasy)Death to all GreensHuman ExperimentationScience ExperimentsIkit is his own warningSilverwing still has shit taste in male ridersPOV MultipleBackground RelationshipsBackground Character Deathshow canon onlyDragon RidersAnimal AbuseIkit is an abusive dragonriderTho he's fairly mellow compared to his SkavenselfGood Parent Rhaenyra TargaryenNo beta we die like LucerysDysfunctional FamilyCannibalismBlood and TortureCanon-Typical BehaviorBAMF Helaena Targaryen
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Published:2026-02-26Completed:2026-04-22Words:181,492Chapters:55/55Comments:1,270Kudos:749Bookmarks:160Hits:33,683
The Rat Prince of Westeros
SkilledWarriorKiwi
Chapter 55: Vomic
Notes:
This is it, guys! The end of the Rat Prince! Thank you all for reading and commenting, honestly it was rather wild starting a fic where I then updated it every single day (barring two incidences). If you're familiar when any of my other WIPs then you know how insane that is due to how damn slow I usually am lmao but yea, had a lot of fun with this and the update schedule even if it was stressful at times. And nice to know a lot of people also enjoy random-ass crossovers like this haha I love the Skaven as well, diabolical ratmen that they are.
But anyway, thanks for reading! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
Chapter Text
Hell Pit was one of the greatest and most horrific of all Skaven strongholds within the immense subterranean Under-Empire.
The huge network of tunnels, roads and passageways of the Under-Empire stretched from one end of the world to the other in a great maze. The vast caverns and tunnels always held a steady heat to them, the air warmed by the millions of furry ratmen constantly traversing its lengths as they used the Under-Empire to travel to various strongholds of the Skaven. Skavenblight, the capital of the Skaven race, was situated at the very heart of the Under-Empire hence the old adage that 'all roads lead to Skavenblight' yet Hell Pit, formed within the ragged chasm in a snowy mountainside on the northern spur of the Worlds Edge Mountains, was almost as famous.
It was the stronghold of Clan Moulder, one of the four Great Clans of Skavendom. The Master Moulders are famous for their creation of the most horrific and fearsome war-beasts to have ever existed through breeding, mutation, and surgical alteration. The grotesque creatures were in high demand by other clans, and due to this Clan Moulder was one of the wealthiest of them all.
The location of Hell Pit, up in the Northern Wastes, gave the fleshmoulders ample raw subjects for abduction and experimentation for the people who lived in the land above from various strains like Norca, Chaos and Greenskins.
Down below, burrowed deeply into the earth, the city itself was a multi-layered stronghold, stacked upon nine differing layers which each layer being ruled by a Master Mutator known as a Lord of Hell Pit. The topmost layer opened with the massive city gates that resembled a titanic rat's head, and was where potential customers would haggle with those of Moulder to buy the vile creations and was the only one typically witnessed by guests. Huge towers spewing noxious fog, great swathes of shanty towns and barracks, wide streets flanked by rivers of contaminated water, the walls pocked with thousands of tunnels like veins, and warpstone-infused rain was common. It was still a Skaven den through and through.
The banner of Clan Moulder hung from archways, walls, towers; upper part in crimson with a bright green orb with a rat curled within, the lower half pale with crisscrossing marks like those from a whip. The favoured tool of Beastmasters and fleshmoulders.
Each and every layer of Hell Pit had thousands of cages stacked within it, with even more slaves and captives stuffed into their filthy confines as they awaited their grim fate. Those luckily enough would die within the cages themselves before being used by Clan Moulder.
There were breeding pens with the immense Skaven Brood Mothers whelping constant litters and slaves being forced into horrific debauchery, sprawling feast and victory halls, the treasury with its wealth of glorious warpstone and half-mad scribes trying to keep apace of Moulders wealth, the great gladiatorial arena with its splattered walls and hungry crowds, hundreds of special punishment enforcement areas, tens of thousand of rooms and walkways and tunnels to house the millions with Hell Pit and the nine levels.
The most dangerous of all being the very lowermost levels, where the experiments and vile acts grew every more intense and persistent. Where the most dangerous of all with the most vicious of creatures and warlords of the clan dwelled and ruled, the likes of Ghoritch the Castellan of Hell Pit, Moulder Izak Grottle who was best at twisting living things into furniture, thorn-limbed Scarskrex and Throt the Unclean. It also led down to the immense waste area, where all the off cuts and misshapen and criminals are expelled. Hordes of giant rats roamed the area with its twisting roots, devouring anyone alive they happen across, as Hell Pit grew in danger and ferocity the lower the city was traversed.
The lowest circle was the one that housed the most terrible of all aberrations produced of Clan Moulder. Those that survived every horrific experiment listed against them. So dangerous these creatures were they were only ever risen from the very bottom of Hell Pit when the stronghold itself was under attack.
Vomic was fortunate to be born to the whelp pits of Moulder, as a Clanrat. Unremarkable but at least he wasn't a Skavenslave and he had been born into a Great Clan. Like every other Clanrat, Vomic was brown-furred, pink tailed and from birth had been in service to his clan.
When not at war, Clanrats needed to work like any other Skaven. Currently Vomic was tasked with feeding several of the numerous Rat Ogre pens, an easy enough task as he had to run about the upper overhang of the pen and shovel in meat and the occasional slave down to the beasts below. Then fish out any filth and throw it down the cracks and chutes where it would plummet down to the lower levels of Hell Pit.
Rat Ogres were strong, hulking and fast, but incredibly stupid. Even without the use of a whip, Vomic was able to feed the beasts from his rickety perch or clean their pens. The trio of Rat Ogres within each pen would growl and snarl and lash out, but he was out of reach and the things could barely even think. And if he fell in and got eaten that would just be a typical Skaven life. Still better than being a slave.
Due to the dozen pens he was assigned over, Vomic had to work with another Skaven. Vomic thought him odd from a first impression, perhaps even soft in the brain, since the other barely spoke and acted all hunched and twitchy like a slave. However he was a fellow Clanrat, brown-furred and pink tailed, but he was small enough Vomic kept eyeing him over the days. Just out of being four feet tall, which all stunted Skavenslaves were, but still noticeably lithe compared to any other Clanrat.
Vomic had attempted to shove the whelp in the pen the first day he showed up for the feeding shift, only for Vomic to learn this runt actually knew how to fight. His muzzle stopped bleeding by the time they had finished the pens for the day, even if his ears kept ringing from where the whelp had cracked him in the side of the head with the hilt of his sword.
Needless to say Vomic quickly switched his tactics. If he had been trained then the whelp was being looked after by someone. Vomic supposed he was pretty in a way, since he had an odd habit of brushing his brown fur free of tangles with a comb of bone each morn and night, and his fur had a curliness to it as if damp. He lacked the typical crimson eyes of Skaven, or even the beady black like Vomic's own. There were other colours- like Throt with his golden, or green like Warlock Engineers or many Grey Seers due to excessive warpstone usage -Instead his were a soft brown.
Vomic had even caught him washing himself more than twice a week while picking at his talons and teeth with a short blade to keep them clean which again, was simply odd for a Skaven.
At first Vomic thought the other Skaven was sick- he seemed to leak oft from his eyes, and it was not uncommon for him to offer two portions of his daily rations to the Stormvermin guard duo at the entrance to one of the hellpits by the pens. Vomic never heard of a Skaven willingly sacrificing one of his daily five rations, much less two, but it seemed the whelp did fine simply eating three. Skaven did not judge time through days or moon cycles, but rather by food rations.
The Black Hunger was a threat to every Skaven, due to their high metabolism and ravenous nature Skaven had to eat numerous times a day. Failure and they would go mad, eating anything and even each other and had been the downfall of many occupied enemy cities or marches. Throt the Unclean was infamous for his absurd appetite due to his monstrous augmentations and many an unlucky rat had been abruptly eaten by the Master Moulder.
Here the whelp willing gave away one of his daily rations, and was not being tainted by hunger. At first Vomic thought the whelp was stupid, since he acted stupid all the time, but then he quickly learned that the whelp's bribing of the Stormvermin nearby meant he was able to sleep unmolested. Rather than retreating to the main barracks where his small size would draw many opportunists while vulnerable, here he would squirm into a small crevasse by the Rat Ogre pits and simply sleep in there.
Not sleeping in one of the great piles with the fur and warmth and musk was strange.
The whelp was just odd. That was all Vomic could think of him.
Still, since he couldn't kill the annoying rat Vomic continued to work over the pens and keep a close eye on his fellow Skaven. No matter how unassuming this one presented himself as, any Skaven would take advantage however they looked and trying to look weak and small could be the whelp's intent. It seemed effective, which Vomic didn't really want to admit, but he still remembered getting smacked in the head. It the whelp wasn't going to plot against him then Vomic could ignore him fine and the whelp seemed to return the favour easily enough.
As days passed, Vomic kept an eye on the other ratman from habit but beyond having leaky eyes and liking to sleep alone while excessively cleaning the whelp didn't really do much of interest.
He did rather eagerly investigate the amulet the whelp wore when he spotted the loop around the whelp's neck, hoping it was heretical so he could report it to a Grey Seer, but to Vomic's disappointment the amulet had the triangle of the Horned Rat upon it and a spiraling symbol on the other.
So the whelp may be stupid and weak and odd, but he believed in their rightful god. Another thing to consider, he was a especially devout. All Skaven would attend a mass at least once a day, and Vomic would always attend the morning one when he rose from the sleeping pile. However the whelp would attend both morning and night mass, and had a habit of clutching his amulet when the screams and wails of Hell Pit grew especially loud.
Vomic found himself paying more attention to the whelp after that, curious despite himself. The odd Skaven had been trained by someone, Vomic knew, since he had been accosted several times as violence was a way of life in any Skaven stronghold. However the whelp could always escape without injury, focused on fleeing and using his short sword to cut paws or tails to escape. He never aimed to kill or actually sever the limbs, which baffled Vomic. Fights, backstabbing and constant squabbles for supremacy was how Skaven society functioned. Pushing and nudging, always seeking an advantage. If the whelp chose to kill those who attacked him, Vomic felt he could rise further in status. Since he was trained.
That just fueled Vomic's paranoia when he was forced to work with the whelp. Who was looking after him? The Stormvermin, maybe? The black-furred duo seemed more friendly towards the whelp even if it was just because he consistently fed them. No Skaven would turn down extra rations and Vomic almost felt offended the whelp wasn't doing the same for him. Shouldn't he be feeding Vomic, trying to get close to him so he didn't accidentally-on-purpose fall down and get eaten by the Rat Ogres?
Vomic didn't know and nearly fell into the Rat Ogre pen himself he got so distracted. The whelp caught him by the tail, yanking him back onto the rickety gangway hard enough he fell over.
"That hurt!" Vomic screeched, leaping back up and lashing out at the whelp who dodged his claws. Below one of the Rat Ogres roared, snapping its immense teeth as it peered up at them with gleaming green eyes. He flinched as the giant thing ineffectively jumped, obviously upset it had missed a potential meal.
"A 'thank you' would be nice," the whelp muttered grumpily.
"What-what you say, whelp?!"
The whelp just glared sullenly at him and Vomic almost went over to clout him in the ear. But they were on the pen closest to the gates where the Stormvermin were so instead Vomic just hissed viciously at the whelp before turning away.
He spent the rest of his shift shoveling down meat in angry silence, wondering if the whelp had planned that from the beginning. To make him feel a debt? He must've distracted Vomic intentionally, so he would slip then the whelp could 'save' him so he would feel indebted. Tricky little beast. Cunning. And what a stupid thing to say, 'thank you'. Whelp was completely deranged.
After his shift was done and Vomic threw the last shovel of filth and dung down the chute, Vomic heard from the chattering and skittering of other Skaven that they were due for a fresh shipment of flesh as many began to trot past the Rat Ogre pen.
Curious and nosy, he ran with the swelling crowd to where the great gates of Hell Pit was opening to lead in the victorious troops. Many bloodied but those too wounded would have been eaten on the march home. Once the troops passed, Vomic could see the lines of slaves being dragged in, bruised and beaten with chains around their necks as they were led in,
Elf Things, Vomic quickly knew from those pointed ears and pale straw-like hair. And stupid High Elves, with just how fearful they were behaving. Some alive, others dead, and Vomic stared hungrily as the Skavenslaves dragged past wagons piled with dead elves, slain war lions, a felled great eagle and then the most valuable being the butchered remains of a orange-scaled dragon that had two Rat Ogres being forced to pull the corpse while a Packmaster trotted at their heels.
Vomic knew Lord Verminkin, ruler of Clan Moulder, had a long standing outrageous bounty for anyone who could bring him a live dragon. So far all attempts had failed, due to the dragons of the High Elves choosing to kill themselves over being taken captive, and the dragons of the Dark Elves being too insane to take captive. Seemed it was much the same for this one. Still, its dead flesh would be put to good use.
It was then Vomic realized the whelp was close to him, arms wrapped around himself with ears pinned back but had followed the curious chattering horde.
"Fresh meat," he said, nudging the smaller Skaven in what could almost pass in a companionable way.
"That's a dragon," the whelp said, voice low.
"Yes-yes, good kill," Vomic agreed while looking longingly at the scaled corpse before it disappeared down to one of the lower levels, probably to Throt the Unclean. He sighed, "Dragon meat not for us. Too rich-valuable."
"Do they always look like that?" the whelp asked.
The question confused Vomic, "What-what else would they look like?"
The whelp just shrugged and Vomic let out a huff, belatedly remembering he was supposed to be mad at him.
The following days Vomic thought over what he could do with the other Skaven, still unsure if he was some plot. Was he an agent for Clan Eshin? The shadowy clan would fit with the whelp's behaviour and even his appearance. Small and lithe, easily overlooked and oddly silent. Even his excessive cleaning meant he wasn't as easily smelled like other Skaven.
Vomic kept thinking he should report the whelp to one of the overlords, even as the Rat Ogres in the pens they had been tending to were slowly and steadily sold to other clans. While those pens were empty once the Beastmasters led the great beasts away, slaves were brought in to fix the cage walls and gates. Dwarfs, even if Vomic noticed with amusement most had their facial fur cut off. He hoped one would fall off the railings and die, so he could get extra food.
The whelp was highly intrigued by the Dwarfs, toying excessively with his amulet as he watched the stocky-limbed Dawi hammering at the supports and metal. Vomic wondered if he had ever eaten Dwarf meat before. Vomic personally felt it was quite tough, he preferred Elf. While he never liked to put himself in harms way, if he was ever demanded to march to battle at least there would be exotic dead to feast upon.
Vomic did feel nervous when the pens were repopulated with a single beast of Clan Moulder; a Rat Ogre Bonebreaker.
No doubt some Skaven of high standing had commissioned the beast as a steed, as bolts had already been fixed onto its shoulders for a platform and reins. One of its hands had been replaced with a sharp spear of glowing green warpstone. The whole beast bristled with strength, both mundane and magic. Bonebreakers were made tediously by submerging a Rat Ogre within a vat of specially grown agents and mutagens. Thousand of slaves were used to produce the foul slurry within the vat, where the beast was submerged within for months until it grew so large it had to walk on all fours and became a Bonebreaker.
Twice as big as the Rat Ogres and twice as temperamental. Vomic was nervous as one of the Beastmasters came by and shouted at them to feed the beast and keep it placid for the next three days until its buyer arrived. Vomic agreed eagerly, tail flicking nervously and not daring to argue even if a part of him wondered why the Beastmaster didn't keep watch himself.
He wasn't stupid enough to say that aloud, however.
The Bonebreaker was less stupid than the Rat Ogres, if only for the fact it would stare at them from below in the pen and following them as they walked the rickety walkways. Vomic shoved the ragged corpse of something that might have been a Human down into the pen, watching as the Bonebreaker just kept staring up at him until Vomic hastily scurried down to one of the empty pens. Only then did it swing its head down and started to eat, easily splintering bone between its fangs.
"Do not like that thing-thing," he muttered before the great distant tolling of the screaming bells resounded throughout all Nine Circles of Hell Pit. The whelp just flicked his tail back and forth, watching the Bonebreaker which was now silently staring back at them.
Of course the Great Horned Rat was amused by such antics of every day Skaven life and Vomic felt it well and true when he fell into the pen with the Bonebreaker the very next day.
It had been a normal day for him; rising from the furry nest, snapping and clawing at other Skaven, taking his first meal before heading to the pens. There the whelp was already working, using a shovel to try and break down a twisted mess of pulped bone in one of the empty pens. He was fairly ineffective at it, and Vomic just rolled his eyes and left him to it. This time it was Goblin meat for the Bonebreaker, Vomic using the short pulley to rise the wrangled corpses up to the walkway.
The two Stormvermin were over by the gates in their usual position, clad in their crimson armour. One was picking at his fangs with his long blade while the other was leaning on his halberd. Neither were particularly interested in their works. As always there was a fairly consistent flood of Skaven moving by the pens, traveling through various levels of Hell Pit or carrying supplies or moving cages of slaves and tonics about.
At one point a fight broke out between a group of Skavenslaves much to his amusement, Vomic watching one of the slaves with a limp get torn apart and eaten by his fellows. Idiot should've hid that wound better. Halfway through feasting a Master Moulder came stalking by and the slaves quickly scattered. The fleshmoulder then ate what remained of the slave, snapping it up in sharp hungry movements before he wiped his muzzle and continued on his way.
Vomic gave a regretful look to the blood stain even if the whelp had just started beating more violently against the bones when the fighting broke out. At least the whelp had managed to crack some of them, and was now trying to shove the nearest splintered skull down the waste chute. Probably an Orc skull, considering the size as the whelp was struggling with it.
With a grunt Vomic shoved one of the Goblin corpses down to the Bonebreaker; it caught it midair, snapping the body in half and then swallowing it with a toss of its head. Then it slammed its warpstone hand on the ground, baring bloodied teeth up at him as it hissed viciously.
"Fine, eat-eat!" he snapped, shoving down the others.
It was fascinating to watch the giant beast mauled through muscle and bone so easily. He knew these augmented Rat Ogres got their names for a reason but it was intriguing and frightening to watch it up close. Bonebreakers weren't for the likes of him and the huge beast was horrible and so expensive. He could only ever dream of reaching the prestige to own one, much less ride it into battle.
So lost in his daydreaming he failed to notice how the Rat Ogre Bonebreaker had finished its meal and was now eyeing him from below. He certainly snapped out of it when the creature surged forward, slamming so hard into the walls of the pen the entire thing shook violently. He shrieked, was thrown off balance, and fell off the walkway down into the pen below.
He barely managed to scramble back up on his paws and leap out of the way as the Bonebreaker's huge warpstone limb smashed down onto the ground so hard it left a small crater. It howled, the screech drawing the attention of every Skaven nearby, before it launched itself after him in pursuit.
For such a hulking beast the Bonebreaker was unnervingly fast and Vomic got hit by a glancing blow as the thing turned violently, knocking him against the gates of the pen and smashing them open as he was thrown through them. The hinges, deliberately welded poorly by resentful slaves, hung open drunkenly as the Rat Ogre Bonebreaker burst out into the open with a roar. The curious crowd shrieked and scattered as the huge beast stomped forward on all fours.
The two Stormvermin yelped and ducked as guarding a lone door was far different with facing a rampaging Bonebreaker. Some Skaven ran off screeching, searching for a Packmaster to wrangle the rampaging Bonebreaker before its massacre grew too large. Meanwhile the great beast snarled, hissing and spitting, before it swung its immense scarred head around and advanced on Vomic who was still lying on the ground only some feet away.
He shrieked, trying to make himself get up to flee but his body was still shaking and disorientated from the impact of the door. Vomic could only crawl piteously, squealing in distress, before a giant clawed paw grabbed his tail and pulled.
Vomic covered his face with his paws, hoping the Bonebreaker would just smash his skull open instead of eating him alive like they were wont to do.
Instead someone shouted, high and shrill, and the Bonebreaker snarled violently. But it stopped, releasing Vomic's tail and snapping its huge jaws. Yet not advancing.
Vomic peeked through his claws, realizing the whelp was standing in front of him. Between him and the Rat Ogre Bonebreaker. Pink tail stiff and ears pinned back, but with a paw raised towards the Bonebreaker as he shouted the word again.
The idiot hadn't even unsheathed his sword.
Vomic was about to scream at him, to actually do something, before it registered the Bonebreaker hadn't advanced any further. Its barbed tail lashed from side to side and its growling was like a rock slide, but it wasn't trying to attack.
Instead Vomic stared in shock as the whelp shouted a different word, "Dohaeras!"
He had no idea what the word meant, but there was a strange compelling authority to the tiny whelp's voice when he shouted that at the giant mutated beast.
And against all logic or reason the Bonebreaker calmed, hunkering down on all fours as it snorted out a great billow of heated air. The whelp reached forward, paw raised, and Vomic just lay there and stared as the little Skaven patted the Bonebreaker's bloodied snout.
The entire crowd of Skaven which had gathered to watch the incident, drawn by the screams and roars and reek of fear-musk, also fell in silence as they watched the small lithe figure touch the Bonebreaker's ragged snout and not get mauled.
Even as Throt the Unclean's monstrous form appeared from the crowd, his Creature-Killer in hand, nobody spoke. The huge three armed Skaven stopped and stared like all the rest, but then he shook his head and surged forward. The Rat Ogre Bonebreaker, calmed, did not snarl as Throt snapped his man-catcher device around the Bonebreaker's neck and began to lead it back to the pens.
It was only when Throt shouted an order did the crowd begin to mutter and whisper, even as a Packmaster ran forward to hastily open one of the unbroken gates to place the Bonebreaker back inside.
Vomic just lay on the ground, not sure of what had even happened. How had the whelp stopped the Bonebreaker? The thing was rampaging, only seasoned Moulder Skaven like Throt the Unclean or Skweel Gnawtooth could force the thing like that into placidity so quickly.
Instead the whelp had done it in just a few words. He didn't know what to do, even as the whelp turned and went to him. Vomic was too confused to bat aside the whelp's paws as he helped Vomic to his feet.
"Are you alright?" the whelp asked.
"What-what did you do, whelp?" Vomic asked instead. "How did you- how did you make it listen?"
"I don't know...I didn't think it would work," he said.
"Are you stupid-dumb, whelp?" Vomic asked angrily. "You just...yelled and it obeyed? Are you the stupidest whelp alive? Stupid whelp! Stupid, stupid!"
The Bonebreaker had been secured but out of the corner of his eye he could see Throt the Unclean looking over at them, his monstrous weapon resting on one shoulder and muzzle wrinkled in a frown as the two Stormvermin spoke to him. No doubt telling him of everything that had just happened.
"Luke," the whelp said instead.
"What-what you say?" Vomic snapped, focusing back on his fellow Skaven.
He looked at Vomic with those big brown eyes as he said, "My name is Luke."
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