I bring you what I want to call my own addition to the Underland Chronicles; it will not have a prophecy. I already have one planned for another story
Warning: I do not own the Underland Chronicles, but owning Ripred wouldn't be so bad
o.x.X.x.X.x.o
Trouble
in
Paradise
o.x.X.x.X.x.o
The calm waters of a river laid undisturbed, resting in a web of stone tunnels underneath New York City. Gliding over the water at a sluggish rate, a coffin-shaped raft drifted towards the shore of the river. A scarred rat was on the raft, sniffing the air for a sign of life beyond his little crew, but only came up with the pungent oder of underwater plant-life.
The murky depths were cut into by a few more crafts, crewed by two rats each. They had been out in this maze of tunnels for a week at least, and no sign of any life down here. There was not even a slightest murmur in the wind, or a scent indicating that they were not alone out there.
Moral and rations were low, and the only thing that kept them from turning back is the fact that they might be lost. If they wandered off, death would be certain. The problem was even if they kept on course, death would also be immanent.
The one thought that drifted among the Gnawer's minds 'Why couldn't the humans ride the rivers and complete this mission, but no, they have to stay and lounge around there cozy city and leave us to do there dirty work,'
Then that moment came, a grinding sound, like wood on wet muck, at first all though they had thought it was just a sandbar, and it was just a false alarm. A ripple of relief washed over the rats was they used there abilities of echolocation to detect they indeed had reached land, and could get off there horrible, coffin-shaped crafts. The pack leader, the heavily scarred one signaled them to dismount there vessels and investigate the beaches. The Gnawers were ecstatic about getting off the water and stretching there legs.
Sent to eliminate a threat to the peace that blanketed the Underland currently. A fairly large group of rats who were against the alliance of the nations under the crust of Overland. The rats started to sniff the cracks in the wall, under rocks, and in the small pits and holes in the ground. The first unlucky rat was sniffing a small pit in the land, when a tail flew out of shadows onto the Gnawers spine. The tough tail shattered the backbone and the now-paralyzed rat fell to his death in the pit. The scrimmage began after the screams of the rat were heard, the Gnawers turned with there claws outstretched ready to fight the on comers. They found enemies pouring into the beach, soon the battlefield was just a carpet of corpses. The rats began to fight there way through the enemies ranks to reach there crafts, desperate to use the vessels they once hated to save there lives. Only a few made it to the ships, the enemy Gnawers had wrecked almost all of them, and the rest flew into the jagged rocks that outlined the shore.
The scarred platoon's leader was the one who was handling the tussle the best, until he tripped over a dead carcass. He stumbled into a broad chest, and he turned a millisecond to late. A hulking paw filled with razor-sharp claws bore down onto the rats face, and his cry of pain echoed in the tunnel.