Olga "The Destroyer" Volkovich and the Battle of the Bogs

“I’ll kill you, Olga.” Grumbled the sweating, very pregnant elf to the fetus refusing to leave her. The elf was covered in dirt and draped in rags. Her body lay on the crooked, warped wood of the shack she lived in in the middle of the vast, desolate Russian wilderness. Her name was Pud. She was alone. Except, unbeknownst to her, for the small, abnormally sapient rat that sat listening from just behind the shack door.

This fetus called Olga was an unusually girthy one. So full of girth, in fact, that she became stuck half way through her exit from the womb and held on for dear life.

The rat couldn’t see inside the crumbling hut but could only imagine a scene of pure horror from the grunts and gurgles and cries and curses that Pud emitted.

Following one last death threat aimed at her semi-born daughter, Pud left the world with a loud and resounding thud.

Olga had successfully resisted the temptation of what some might call “being born.”

The rat decided this may be a good time to witness the carnage and oddity for herself. She carefully shimmied her tiny furry form through a crack underneath the door.

Her eyes were soon met with a most unnatural sight.

Grubby baby feet were slowly entering into view, poking out from inside Pud’s mass of rags. Pud herself looked and smelled very dead, even though she was more or less alive just a few moments ago.

The rat cringed and gagged, which was quite the feat for a Plague Rat, whispering “help me Chernobog” as the terrible scene continued to unfold.

Olga had evidently decided to give this whole “being born” thing a shot, by forcibly crawling and digging her way out. Her knees were now visible, closely followed by her tiny infant chest, and then finally, with all the strength her fetus muscles could muster, out popped her head.

Drenched in guts and goo, Olga was born, noiselessly, with a small scowl etched across her face--contemplating whether or not she should crawl back into her mother’s death womb upon seeing her horrid surroundings.

She finally settled on a soft “no” when her eyes met the rat, whose mouth was slightly agape.

Olga stared intensely at the little rat, who attempted to regain her composure by smoothing her fur and clearing her throat, before speaking to the curious elf spawn.

“It has occurred to me that you are an orphan, is that correct?”

Olga continued to stare, but answered with a small baby sneeze.

“Most interesting, most interesting indeed. My clan shall raise you as one of our own, if you accept, that is?” The rat asked, she was most intrigued by Olga.

Olga lodged a grimy finger into one of her pointed ears.

“Excellent! My name is Mother Rattus, and I will call the clan to assist us straightaway, but I must ask...what is your name Oh Large One?”

Olga let out a coo that sounded strangely like the name her mother cursed at her.

“It will be an honor to give you my milk, Olga.” The rat bowed, which was soon followed by an echoing, high-pitched SQUEAK.

Olga began to cry, as a hundred bustling rats came pouring out of the nooks and crannies of the now shaking shack, narrowly avoiding her mother’s stinking corpse. They circled around her and Mother Rattus.

“Say hello to your new family.”