Fruit Basket Rat Novels & Stories

I sat down, smoothed the cloth, and opened the basket. “Aaaghhh!!!” I screamed out. Curled inside the basket, stiff and grey, was a dead rat with blood all over its body.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

She nodded and asked him about his mission. She really wasn't expecting for Yman to acquire such a quest. After all, rats were a very hated pest. They were gross and scary. Yeah, they have fluffy fur, but they were not cute to pet. Well, depending on rats though. Since there were rats also that looks cute like a highbred hamster. Highbred hamsters intentionally bred for petting purposes. But the thing was, Yman took the quest about the Evil Rats! Those Evil Rats were hideous looking with the body as big as normal pigs. And their mouths were dripping with greenish saliva that contains poison. And those pointed teeth outside its mouth, well, scary and gross when it bites you.

As though going through some repulsive pregnancy, her stomach and chest become a heaving cavity of gore-speckled, stinking, burrowing rodents. My sole entertainment consists of watching a corpse rot while the rats gradually dismantle what's left... One rat moves a little closer to me than the others, as though inspecting me. It looks a little different too: the ears black-tipped. The others are all a uniform brown. It regards me, whiskers whiffling for a moment, then moves back to the main event, making itself at home on Juliana's rapidly collapsing chest. Ratty. Rat-like... Surely there's a better word?

She hadn't touched the food for fear that what she thought were raisins were actually rat faeces that managed to get into the storage sack of the rice grains. She had immediately spat it out as soon as it had touched her taste buds and as she looked to the corner where the untouched food laid, she saw that it had already been infested by her comrades in the cell—rats. There had to be about four to five of them battling for the untouched meal.

She had been ready for months. Charmaine raised the basket and all alphas fell silent. She opened it and took out a small creature who had been dyed bright green. Purple or red would have shown easier, so she'd chosen a color that would add to the difficulty while still being unnatural enough to mark it. It was a rat but a small one, a creature that was ready to run. Megan knew this kind of rodent, they were rarely eaten because they were quick, and didn't give much meat for all the hassle they were to catch. She tensed.

Lira furrowed her brow and murmured, "This rat isn't normal... Why didn't it struggle when we caught it?" Malcolm shifted the creature slightly, still holding it, to get a closer look. The rat emitted a guttural hiss as it flailed in his hands, baring its long yellow teeth. Its fur was sparse, revealing patches of raw, inflamed flesh beneath, and its claws seemed to come to a sharp point, like small knives. "Not right," Malcolm said, his voice low but steady. "No rat grows this size. And those eyes... they're not normal." "It's like it's been... mutated or something," Lira said, her words faltering as though she couldn't even believe them.

From memory they definitely didn’t seme this skinny and almost alienlike. Long nails, yellow and brittle looking, but fiercely sharp. Waxy white skin, covered in a soft down of ugly hairs, on arms and legs and weirdly oversized rib cages that are not in proportion to their bodies in any way. They’re uglier than I thought like this. Bony, no connections to the human qualities of Darrius. “Various degrees of DNA dilution. These are mongrels. Or as Darrius would call them, Gutter rats.” Leyanne points out as Carmen and Sierra turn to human to join us. “Wings are common in pure, just not so much in rats.”

But that’s not what caught my attention. Kneeling by the water, apparently washing some clothes, was a figure about the size of child, a ten-year-old maybe. But not a child. Not even a human. In fact what it most resembled was a large rat. Covered in white fur. With a tail. I nudged Maurice next to me and pointed. He slowly pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked in the direction I was indicating. His mouth fell open. “Is that a rat-woman?” The rat-person did look like a female. Not because she was doing the laundry (I’m not that sexist), not even because she was wearing a long yellow skirt, like a sarong (men wear them, too), but because of the six breasts on her chest.