tempted fate [closed]

It was a poor decision going out on his own, without a patrol behind him, and stiff muscles stifling his every move. Fawnstep had wanted to stretch his legs. Running made things seem easier, simpler, and it gave him the ability to forget about the loss of Tawnyflare. The brown and white warrior slowed near the Thunderpath. He parted his maw to taste the acrid air and let it scald his lungs. Closing his eyes, the warrior allowed himself to be lost in such unpleasantries. For some reason, the horrible rumbling and roaring of monsters was almost a desirable sound. Whiskers twitched as he pulled back slightly, one rumbling too close and rattling his teeth. He blinked, wondering what had drawn him here beyond a fleeting desire to run. And yet, he did not want to pull away, maybe even wanted to spend some time staring across the black rock and into the marshes he'd hardly spared a glance for before.

Was she even still in the forest?

Thoughts were interrupted by a flickering at the very edges of his gaze and his head snapped around. Immediately, a snarl rose in his throat as he turned to face the familiar pelt. Blue eyes burned with icy rage, "It's you. What are you doing here, rabbit dirt? Didn't learn your lesson last time?"

Tarot had been waiting for this moment. After crossing through the remains of a battlefield between two petty clans, both, coincidentally, part of Klaus's past, he had been searching for a particular, brutish Windclan Warrior to be alone. The loner always followed through on his word. He didn't grow much in strength since their first encounter, but at least this time the brute was alone.

It was a pity that his ambush had failed though.

Slowly, the entrancing loner stalked out of the underbrush, violet hues glinting darkly with a dangerous grin resting on his muzzle. Bloodthirst was dancing through his eyes, along with it was that irritating amusement he had once gazed at the warrior with despite being bloodied.

"Lesson? What lesson? I left that fight on my own free will, not because you taught me a 'lesson'." He chuckled, posture still relaxed despite the hostility of the Windclan warrior."I'm surprised you haven't immediately pounced like the brute you seem to be. Did that little battle with Skyclan perhaps teach you something?" The tom grinned.

The battle between the two clans really was amusing. They speak as if higher than loners and rogues, but they still act like savages over the slightest dispute. How mindless.

"What brings you all the way out here? You look like a kit hopelessly chasing a butterfly. Don't you know such foolishness leads you to death?" Tarot smirked, tone mocking. "Then again, you don't seem like one to actually think." He snickered, prowling around behind the tom to his other side.

"Would you like me to put you out of your misery, little mouse?" His tone became dark, fangs flashing as he spoke with a gaze full of malice.

This would be his first clan cat. Perhaps he'd leave the brute's remains near his little clan camp, it was just a matter of tracing his scent there... the question was whether it'd be worth the trouble for a little chaos though. How amusing it would be to see them scurry around searching for the perpetrator of the murder, their little heads running amuck with swirling questions with no answers; 'was it Skyclan? Did they come back for revenge? Or was it something else?'

Well, in the end, it'd depend on if he got away with only minor injuries from the upcoming scuffle. He'd have to see how it would all turn out. Would this tom would even put up a fight after so obviously almost walking right into his death. He had almost been struck by a car and flung bonelessly through the air, after all.

How convenient that it didn't, he'd taste terrible if that had happened.

"You left because you are a coward. It was a battle you would not have won." Fawnstep did not hesitate in spitting back a venomous reply. But even such visceral hatred was dampened ever so slightly by the current state that had afflicted the Windclan warrior. He narrowed his eyes, silently portraying utmost levels of contempt in each twitch of muscle and the lashing of his tail. Every fiber underneath his handsome pelt tensed naturally as he crouched ever so slightly and gripped the earth between his claws. It was hard not to betray the shock as Tarot mentioned the battle with Skyclan but he tempered back a rection. Instead, eyes narrowed further as he fixated the rogue with a burning glare.

"My enemies in battle ran with their tails tucked between their hindquarters. I'd be happy to show you a similar treatment." Despite the graveled snarl mounting in the depths of his throat, Fawnstep did not move. His paws were rooted firmly to the ground. Every so often, the earth would rumble, reminding him of his position near the Thunderpath and shaking him to his very core. He swallowed, licking at the spittle that had foamed up at his maw as he spat disgust in the direction of the loner. It had been so satisfying before to thoughtlessly tear into the loner's pelt, so why wasn't he now? At the back of his mind, the thought surfaced that it would remind him of Asylum, remind him of what he'd lost.

Would he see Tawnyflare as he struck?

He whipped around as Tarot snaked around him, agitation and confusion only mounting in the brown and white tom's pelt. If he was capable of feeling a true fear, this would have been the moment he'd done so. But Fawnstep was not perceptive enough to consider the disadvantage of his situation - an unfamiliar battlefield and the unusual affliction of his stalled paws. Were he the better warrior that he normally was, the tom would have lashed out and chased away the foe by now. Yet, he had not, and Tarot dare to draw closer, threatening the safe distance that had been a buffer between them. And Fawnstep still did not move. Instead, he drank in the words the loner spoke, hearing them reverberating in his skull.

"I'm allowed to roam my own territory, you filth. I've told you before these lands belong to Windclan, and I am Windclan." The truth bubbled underneath the surface, a slight wavering of his façade. It seemed he was lost, no so much in practicality but rather in spirit. His teeth clenched, realizing the way he'd condemned himself with this momentarily malleable will. Uneasily, his tail began to lash to and fro as he stared into the face of his fate, somehow unmoving, and somehow without fear, "I'd like to see you try. I am no mouse, I am a warrior. And if you so much as touch a hair on my pelt, I'll strip you of your skin." The low growl that followed was empty and he did little more than square his shoulders.

With ruffled coat and teeth that glinted in the afternoon sun, Fawnstep looked like a truly threatening beast. But Tarot had already seen through that guise, scented the hesitation in the air, and it appeared that these final moments would the undoing of the great Windclan warrior.

Tarot shot the tom an amused look, "Seems you still don't know the difference between cowardice and strategy. I find it so baffling who you clan cats seem to throw away your self-preservation, the basis of survival, all over something as petty as honour. You are truly failures of nature." He chuckled.

The warrior's threats fell on deaf ears, and the only response he got from the loner was that patronizing smirk. "I find it amusing, how you're still putting up that little tough act of yours... but I can tell, I can tell oh so easily, that your mental fortitude has been shattered to pieces." He stalked closer to the tom, practically nose-to-nose.

"That is what happens when you just train your body, and not your mind, little mouse. The slightest change in your environment and..." He stamped a paw down on a twig, a snap resounding around them. The loner took a few steps back, a dangerous aura oozing from the dark shadows hiding just behind his violet hues. "Half my job has already been done for me... you want to know how I've figured that out...?"

There was a flash of a wicked grin, and in a sudden burst, he lept at the tom, bringing his claws down on the tom's flank, carving deep scours in his pelt. His grip shifted, digging the talons in further as he leaned close to the warrior's ear.

"You. Hesitated."

With that tarot jerked back in a spray of red, tearing his grip free as he danced back on nimble paws. He was laughing, scarlet flecks decorating his face, only stopping when he lowered his bloodthirsty gaze and locked his violet eyes with the warrior's own.

His muzzle twisted into a snarling grin, deposition completely shifting into something monstrous. He spoke, voice no longer melodic, now scratchy as if disused. His fangs flashed as his words rang out around the two.

"Now, how about we play a little game? I call it, 'How Long can the Warrior Bleed?'"

Fawnstep was unnervingly silent. The melodious words of the loner drew a soft flicker from his ear. Deep inside the tom's pelt, his carnal nature was seething, fuming at the inaction. It writhed and spit, demanding action. But the tom was far too entranced and stalled but the cutting truth that slashed through the air. For the many moons he'd been alive, there was one foe that Fawnstep had never truly faced - himself. Tarot seemed to pick at that notion, tear away at it, and before the warrior knew what was happening, the loner was tearing into his very flesh.

He was shocked from this frozen state at the sickening tear of soaked flesh and the sight of scarlet that speckled their battlefield. Fawnstep was slipping, it was true, but he wasn't entirely gone. If Tawnyflare were here then she would have jabbed at him for hesitating, for showing weakness to this rogue rat. Realization washed over the tom. Slowly a guttural snarl ripped from his chest, mounting into a terrifying howl. It might have sounded laced with pain but this wasn't merely a response to being attacked, no, it was a battle cry. With surreal speed, the warrior launched forward. Despite whatever inhibited him, Fawnstep would not be fallen so easily.

"I have a better game, you bile-scented, flea-muncher! It's called see how long you can keep this up before I rip your throat out!" There it was. An invigorating sensation coursed through his veins as his heart began to pound wildly. It reminded him of fighting with the Asylum born she-cat. If he closed his eyes, he swore he could catch a glimpse of that pelt, see her as if she was right in front of him. Raisha was gone but his claws connected with another foe. On the left, he raked at Tarot's shoulder, trying to sink into the flesh as deep as possible. With the other, he'd aimed for the eye, missing narrowly due to the flickering of his lids in thought. Instead, they connected behind the right eye, curving around it, scoring in a crescent before he found his footing once more. Fawnstep leaped back with heaving sides.

"Show me a real fight, rat!"

The loner took the hit from the warrior, shifting his head only slightly to avoid his eye getting carved out by the tom's left claws. When the brute lept back, he glanced at the drops of blood that fell to the ground from the new wounds. He then looked back up at the tom, grinning.

"I suppose only a completely broken cat would just stand there and take the hits." He chuckled, seeming unfazed by the pain of his injuries. Then, abruptly, he leapt forward, soaring through the air as he pounced on his foes, grappling their back as his fangs sunk deep into the brown and white cat. It was only when he felt that they were deep enough that he clamped his jaw shut while jerking back sharply, taking a chunk out of his victim.

He spat it away, there was too much fur, not enough meat, hardly worth eating. A mildly disappointed frown decorated his muzzle as he swiftly released his grapple, leaving behind a few more gashes for his enemy. Staying on an enemy's back after pouncing on them was rather dangerous. If they are strong enough they could slam you against obstacles or roll over to dislodge you and strike at your exposed underbelly. Best to give them a few more injuries thanks to your position before releasing them.

He had used the opportunity to strike a deep wound in the warrior, the blood loss would affect him sooner or later, thanks to it and his first attack, he could now play more rather than going for serious strikes. Smirk dancing on his features he laughed. "Seems I've woken you up a bit. It's a pity that I don't have a name to put to the face of the cat I'm about to snuff out. Then again, I rarely knew the names of the many others I've delivered into death's grasp. I suppose you'll just be another of those nameless ones." He shrugged, then took a stance of attack with a smile on his face. Despite his stance, he was actually readying to dodge whatever first strike the tom would inflict next, after all, fights weren't all about striking and being struck.

It was a dance of blood, and he was hardly one to turn down the idea of participating.

It was in this thrill, the heat of battle, the roaring of his skull, that the tom thought he caught a glimpse of patchwork fur. The lashing of his tail had stopped abruptly. With a blink of those eyes blue eyes, the momentary shock was dashed away. Tawnyflare wasn't here. She would never be here. Fawnstep needed to shred the smug look off his foe himself. Relying on another cat had gotten him nowhere. What was left behind was the kits, himself, their strength was their own and not reliant on the she-cat who had abandoned them. This pause was his downfall - some how more condemning than his pride.

The warrior was thrown to the ground, flesh being torn into by the gnashing teeth of Tarot. Rage burned hot in his stomach, as searing as the pain the lit across his pelt. Fawnstep roared, a terrifying yowl. Rage, agony. He twisted and lashed about furthering the damage done by his opponent. It was when the rogue danced away that he quickly regained his footing. Blood dripped from the wounds, scattering themselves across the ground, splashing the fringes of the blackened stone. He sucked ragged and enraged breaths that ripped from his lungs and were forced from the sides of his maw. This was far from over.

There came a broken laughter that seemed cruelly out of place given the circumstances. Fawnstep fixed his foe with a wild gaze, "Oh, you think you're so clever don't you? Sneaking up on cats and acting like you can come and go on any cat's territory as you please. I'm going to kill you. I'm going to rip your throat from under your fur and then toss your mangy pelt onto the Thunderpath. I want you to remember my name, I want it to be the last thought going through your head as you wish there was air to beg for mercy. Tell whatever dark afterlife you find that Fawnstep sent you." With that, he launched forward, aiming for the loner's stomach. It was after he aimed to snake under the other tom's soft underbelly that he snapped his teeth at Tarot's throat, with a sickening clang.

Tarot chuckled at his words. "I find it amusing that you clan cats think you own such a place. Nature has simply given you permission to reside here, at any moment she could throw you all into chaos, destroy your homes, flood your lands. You are not in charge here, Fawnstep, reality is, I'm just snapping you all out of your little egotistical dreams. I will not remember your name in death, as the one who defeated you. I will remember you as the fool who thought the world was under your control, only to perish to those pathetic ideals."

The loner stepped back as the tom charged, watching his opponent's actions with a calculating gaze behind his smug smile. He lifted a paw as the tom snaked under his stomach, only mildly surprised at the fact that the bleeding tom could commit to such a strenuous maneuver. As the warrior's teeth darted towards his throat Tarot jerkily reared up to avoid the deadly blow, lifting both blood-stained sets of claws only to slam them down on his opponent's bared face like the ruthless talons of a hawk.

After clawing Fawnstep's face he stumbled back slightly, having to recover from the awkward position he had taken in order to complete the rushed counter-attack. His attack was deep thanks to the help of gravity, he hadn't intended to deal another high-damage blow but ironically Fawn had simply brought it on with his attempt to kill him. Tarot doubted the warrior was going to last much longer with the three severe injuries the loner had dealt.

After regaining his footing he danced back a few steps, always making space between himself at his enemies after each attack. Admittedly Tarot himself was feeling a tad light-headed from his own dripping wound, but his thoughts were till clear and his movements were barely hindered.

"Tsk, tsk. Going for the death blow without weakening your opponent first is a rash move that should only be used if you have the upper paw. Sadly, Fawnstep, you do not, not with those wounds." He purred. He lept back another foxlength, grinning widely, "Try again if you want, after all, those are just the cautionary words of a mere flea-bitten loner, are they not?." He goaded the tom.

His strategy was simple, he had even given it away in his 'advice'. Tarot was trying to weaken the tom with multiple injuries, to the point of collapsing, optimally. Even his attempts to make the distance between himself and the now-named Fawnstep was part of that. He was trying to strain the injuries, give them no chance to close, not until the warrior could simply no longer move. When that happened, he would walk up, and give the killing blow.

A simple strategy, one any experienced cat could see through, perhaps the rage-blinded tom could even see it. Obviously, he was either completely oblivious to Tarot's strategy, or he simply didn't care.

He wasn't even attempting to retreat.

Tarot was relying on the warrior's pride and hot-headedness to make his own job of snuffing out life easier for him. So far, it seemed to be working. Such a convenient opponent indeed.

How the loner had managed to out-speed a Windclan cat was beyond him. But the crimson blood that painted the grass around his slender frame told a different story. Fawnstep was being bled out, at the fringes of his territory, far from the watchful eyes of clanmates and certainly out of earshot of any cat that might come to his aid. The rumbling of the Thunderpath had drowned out the yowls and made even this back and forth of their deadly dance but a background noise. He wasn't about to give up. After everything, he wouldn't simply succumb to the teeth of a self-righteous loner.

The brown and white pelted warrior had been transformed during this battle. Despite the many fight he'd fight, battles he'd won, this handsome pelt of his had finally become but a myriad of weeping wounds. Each breath was a ragged snarl, that pushed on the rise and fall of his frame. Fawnstep, had he immediately jumped to his pads, would have fumbled about in a manner similar to his namesake. He was resigned to lay there for a moment, in the pool of his own blood, a fate of his own design. It was the foolhardy confidence that had lead him here, to the struggle of these final moments. Perhaps what was more pressing that life draining away, was the fact he'd taken this moment to consider Tarot's words.

"Maybe it will not be my claws that deal the final blow," Fawnstep finally hissed, finding a strange calm in the admission, one overwhelmed by the rising anger. Perhaps this was the battle he couldn't win, maybe this was it. He, who had faced Asylum, and survived - even killed one of their own. This would not be how he went down. Gripping the earth, pressing the stomach to the ground, the warrior fought to right himself. There was a wild glint in his eyes, that fell venomously on Tarot, "but I will give you scars to remember me by. And I will relish in watching you from the stars, watching you fall in a humiliating death. This will not be over, even after I no longer move."

There was resignation and acceptance in his words but not defeat. Fawnstep looked like a wild beast, coat slicked back in several spots, pelt marred and caked with both blood and dust. Underneath it all was the reek of the black path behind him. Kicking up the earth, there was only a brief pause... and then he charged. It was as if every bit of Windclan blood that flowed through his veins was pounding and charged him with surreal speed. Instead of aiming for the kill, the tom was looking to leave a mark, to bleed his own opponent. Claws raked down the length of Tarot's pelt, stopping near his hindquarters, as Fawnstep collapsed.

"...kill me, rat dung."

His frame was twisted awkwardly where it had landed but his neck had craned to stare out over the horizon, at some unseen thing ahead. The commanding yowl rang out one last time, it was less of a plea and more of a demand, "KILL ME! NOW!"

A miscalculation.

Tarot had underestimated the spite of a dying cat.

He only had a moment to realize this before the beaten warrior rose up, running on the last dredges of their stamina and pure resentment alone. How had he been able to move after bleeding dry? Where was the logic behind a half-dead cat being able to move with such speed and accuracy? His vision should've been spinning and blurry, head buzzing with lack of blood, but still, he moved.

How fascinating... and irritating.

The loner's eyes widened as he felt the hot lances of pain arc from the gashes scouring his side. A spray of red spattered on the ground and the tom stumbled back. OWO to look at the damage.

Even he could see the scarlet crevices running along his side despite his mottled pelt. Blood was slowly soaking the fur around them, dripping steadily to the ground below. A wave of dizziness made him sway for a moment, overtaking his self-control amidst the shock that arose with the unexpected turn of events. He shook it off gritting his teeth with a growl as he turned his sharp violet eyes to the tom now lying on the ground soaking the soil of his clan's territory with his own lifeblood.

Impassively he looked at the tom as he yowled three words, slowly straightening from his braced position. After the exclamation he slowly padded over on red-soaked paws, crimson dripping from his muzzle.

He leaned down, smiling with dark malice hidden behind the mask of courtesy "Your wish is my command, Fawnstep of Windclan." The tom crouched down as if to deal the blow, only to shift and murmur something in the fallen warrior's ear.

"Thank you for the delicious meal."

Before the tom could react he'd strike down, jaws snapping shut on the once-respected warrior's bared throat, clamping down slowly as one would for a rabbit. One paw braced against the flank of his victim, sharp claws digging in for grip, he waited, relishing the inevitable feeling of life ebbing away at the will of his own paws.

Whatever unspoken words of death his prey would be muttered in the confines of their own mind would be unheard by the hungering loner, for a preditor does not care about the last words of its prey.

When the death blow finished being delt, Tarot would release his grip, slowly rising to his paws to look down on the corpse of his foe, eyes lidded and swirling with malevolence. This was his first kill, the first clan cat that fell to his claws and ever-present hunger, and he didn't intend for it to be his last. He had no intentions of forgetting it either way, scars or not.

He spoke then, a few words whispered to the cooling body of the once-proud warrior. "I'm sure you'll fit in splendidly with your meddling, egotistical ancestors." He glanced at the gaping wound on his side, tsking. That was a problem, he'd have to search for some cobwebs later to stop the bleeding after washing out the blood now soaking him. "Well, I can hardly drag this thing further into wind clan territory in this state... their border is closer. I suppose I'll just leave whatever remains of him there for one of their little patrols to find... and wouldn't it be ironic if one of his kin were to find him?"

A sharp grin split his features at the thought. Plan now set, he crouched down again, purring darkly. This was one meal he'd be sure to enjoy...

With his teeth flashing in the passing lights of a monster as it roared by, the tom indulged.