sing, sweet nightingale [closed]

Maintaining her bubbly and typically upbeat persona had become increasingly difficult considering ShadowClan's predicament with the rogues, but whenever she began to feel drained or exhausted, she took a little walk. Her patrol was nearby, so there was little for her to worry about when it came to the intruders that frequented their territory. A breath of fresh air to remind her of all that she had to be grateful for was always refreshing and always did her some good. She'd count her blessings as she saw them - one, the whistling of the songbirds overhead;two, the rushing of the river far to her left; three, the scurrying of plump prey around the marsh. In her head, she continued until she felt better and was able to be the beam of sunshine she'd come to be known for. As she counted, she heard the sound of pawsteps nearby, and as her curiosity had been piqued, she carefully called out, "Hello? Who's there?"

Tarot had been near the 'thunderpath' once again to enjoy his lovely sunning spot that was conveniently-neutral lands. The reason for it being neutral was probably because clan cats were afraid of the monsters roaring up and down the lonely street. Which was perfectly valid, Tarot wasn't too keen on them either, having seen many run-over once-alive cats on the sides of them while in the twolegplace. Heck, he had barely survived getting clipped by one once! But unlike them, he was used to their roaring noises and unlikeable burning scents and knew that they rarely strayed from the path they were set on.

After all, twolegs didn't often actively try to murder cats. Usually, if you got hit by one it was your own fault for not knowing how to cross them properly. The vibrations the metal beasts made were very much noticeable, and when the smell of one got stronger, it was always better to play it safe and try to get off the street as fast as possible.

To be fair though, he had seen many monsters slow down when cats were crossing, it seemed they had rather good vision.

The loner's lounging was disturbed by the scent of a nearby shadowclan cat (luckily he could now identify that clan's scent thanks to chatting it up with one of their murderous warriors a while back). Immediately he stood up and skulked into the nearby brush to see who it was.

Soon enough the interloper came into sight. She called out, seeming to have heard his paw steps on the autumn leaves. Those things ruined stealth sometimes. he didn't immediately emerge though, for a few silent moments he waited, just in case the little shadowclanner had a friend.

They didn't.

He was feeling peckish and had been craving his favourite meal for the past few days, this was rather convenient as a result. It would be like tasting home once again.

Though his home had been unpleasant and had traumatized him to the point of being warped by normal cat standards, so perhaps that wasn't a good thing...

The hit of nostalgia whenever he indulged wasn't a lie though... and the last Shadowclanner he had met gave him permission (even if he didn't need it).

How could he refuse that?

This was no Fawnstep though, no need to torment the poor thing. He'd try and get it done quickly. "I'm so sorry my dear." He spoke from the shadows, voice strangely warm, and he shifted around in the shadows silently, circling her to keep the smaller cat from pinning down where he was. "You stumbled upon me at the wrong time. I do hope your day was pleasant..."

Mid-sentence he crouched, coiling his muscles, and pounced in one smooth motion, landing atop the unfortunate clan cat and digging his claws in her pelt for grip. He looked down at her with an unnervingly gentle smile, eyes sparkling in dark amusement. "Because I'm afraid it shall be your last."

He dug his claws in deeper, lithe form mottled, outline hard to see. The only thing one could clearly identify would be his mesmerizing violet hues, unreadable in the emotions that were swirling in them.

Suddenly his head flashed down, and his jaws clamped around the side of his victim's neck, digging in deeply, but not yet fatally. He was using the tactic he learned from his dear friend Klaus. Weaken your foe by damaging their neck repeatedly and draining their stamina thanks to blood loss, and don't stop until you're sure your killing blow will end them swiftly. It helps keep the foe from dealing damaging strikes back while you try to suffocate them with your bite.

A rather smart tactic, it drew the fight on a bit, and usually, he wouldn't use such a tactic (much preferring bleeding his foes out with multiple blows with his strike-and-retreat tactics). Though in some situations, the benefits outweighed the risks, like in this situation.

Yes... very unfortunate indeed. Hopefully, the struggle wouldn't drag on too long, he didn't fancy getting severe wounds that he could barely heal with his minimal first aid skills (Consisting only of cleaning the wound with wetted moss and then binding it with cobwebs).

Really, clan cats didn't seem to fully grasp how beneficial their medicine cats were. He wondered how they'd fair without, would probably blunder about not even knowing the basics since they usually had specialists for that.

... Hm, maybe he'd pitch that idea to Klaus later. with a bit of strategy, they could probably semi-efficiently take out medicine cats using the good 'ol bait-and-lure tactics. Then the clans would be much less prepared for them.

Well, it was something to think about. Back to murdering an innocent shadowclan cat.

It was, after all, survival of the fittest.

Freckleface turned slowly as she heard the voice of a Tom cat behind her, sensing someone’s presence but not quite being able to pinpoint from where. “What? You’ve not done anything to me, why apologize?” She mewed, confusion evident in her tone of voice. “I mean… I suppose it’s been alright….?” Before the petite she-cat could open her mouth to question what the mysterious cat meant, she heard a rustling to her left, and terror filled her bright amber eyes as she felt claws grip her pelt and the weight of a much larger cat on her shoulders.

“My las-“ Fangs dug deeply into her throat before there was an opportunity for her to respond. Panic overwhelmed her small frame, trembling underneath the weight and the fear of what was to come. “L-Let me go, please! I w-won’t hurt y-you…” She muttered. The realization that she likely would be unable to reason with someone who so blatantly attacked her with little regard for what she was doing was far too late. With his fangs still buried in her neck there was little she could do to fight back, and managing to toss him off seemed impossible with how little physical strength she possessed. Panicking, she let out of horrid yowl, trying to bring the others on her patrol to where she was, helplessly attacked by a rogue. A futile attempt to get him off her back resulted in nothing more than his strategically placed claws ripping through her thin pelt. Tears streamed freely from her round eyes as she struggled, clearly not making any headway. “Please…” She begged, heart thumping rapidly.

Tarot Was greatly surprised when the clan cat didn't even bother to fight back, instead of struggling to escape his clamped grip. Had he simply just gotten stronger? Or was this actually just a weaker warrior than most he encountered... he supposed she was small.

Her fear and pleading were rather pitiful. Perhaps he'd have been moved to sparing her if he hadn't been born into a The Dark Forest-like world that was small, rancid, dark, and full of cats that would flay you and eat you in their struggle for survival. Perhaps if he had someone to guide him on a path away from his ingrained need for the flesh of his own kind, on a road to recovering from his previous life... perhaps if he hadn't been given time to mould into what he was now by his environment... Yes, perhaps then he'd have the capacity for such empathy.

But Tarot was not so fortunate, the loner had instead been pushed further into the pit, not pulled out of it. He and this.. sobbing, yowling clan cat were in vastly different worlds, their situations, their lives started out so very, very differently. No, Tarot was, essentially, a completely different species at this point.

He looked the same as these cats, had a tail, fur, claws. He bled the same as them, the same scarlet red. He, like them, was a honed hunter, who eradicated prey without mercy.

But this was no cat, he had hunted other felines since the day he could learn to do so, and never in his life, had he showed any of them such mercy. They were his prey, and that was the one difference between him and them, one that changed everything.

His eyes held no shred of empathy, and if one looked at them long enough, they would soon see nothing they could recognize inside them. This was simply a monster wearing a cat's skin. This was what he was crafted into, a creature, conscious, intelligent, decisive, and cunning, who hunted creatures that should've been his kin.

The loner released his vice grip around her throat, no longer blocking the flow of red, and looked down at her with an almost sheepish smile that didn't quite match his hungry gaze. "Apologies, but I can't do that my dear. After all, whoever releases prey they've just pinned, no? Simply preposterous idea." He chuckled, "Quite convenient that ghost cats don't really need a physical body. Don't worry though, I'll try to make it quick, painless, and if I'm feeling generous, I may even leave enough of you for your clanmates to bring back and bury." The tom's voice was disturbingly chirpy as he said this.

Bending down for another strike, he passed mid-way, hesitating, thinking. Was this monster actually going to give her mercy?

He then smiled, lowered his head closer. "By the way... do give Starclan my best regards. After all, I'm likely going to send them more new souls in the future, fresh from the clans they meddle with." A sharp smirk curled up his muzzle as he spoke with a voice menacingly smooth. "Nature doesn't take kindly to those that try to bend its rules, after all."

Then, in a flash, he struck, jaws snapping down on her weakened throat, biting in deep. Then, twisting his head, he did, indeed, try to end it quickly with a decisive snap of his fangs.

After all, he wasn't one to torment prey purposefully unless they wronged him, or more painful blows were necessary.

When he was sure the life ebbed away from her, he lifted his head, fangs still gripping the limp form, and he dragged the body into the forest, much like a leopard dragging an antelope into the trees to feast.

In the end, he did leave enough for her to be identified, not really out of some twisted form of apology though. He had only been feeling peckish. She was in a better state than Fawnstep had been, so, you know, there was that.

If the rest of Shadowclan was like that clanner, Tarot wouldn't struggle much to hold up his end of a particular deal. Sadly, the loner knew better than to assume something so ridiculous.

He made a point to never underestimate his foes. That was, after all, a definite rule of nature.

Tarot idly wondered if he had made a proper enemy of those clan ancestors. He was probably picking a fight he'd never win, besides, even they would eventually fall to the laws of this world... what if some disaster struck that wiped out all life on the planet? Such a thing was almost incomprehensible for the loner, but he knew it could happen if Nature ever decided it would, it would. Nature was inevitable, nature could not be stopped.

This was something he clearly observed. He had seen twoleg structures, seemingly unbreakable in their structure, get destroyed by Nature's whims. If twolegs couldn't stop its steady march and unshakable laws, why should these ghost cats pose any threat to it?

Still, for some reason, when he saw that clan leader come back from death's cold grip... that rage and loathing that burst forth was something he had never felt. He had come close to such a thing, yes, but it wasn't comparable to that moment.

He supposed, unconsciously, he had declared Starclan his enemy then. He had never seen these beings, but he had seen the results of their hubris. So, even if they too would eventually fade into the ever-constant laws of the world... he still wanted to strike back at them, to show them even an iota of what consequences their decisions would bear... and if he ever found himself to have a form after death, he'd keep hounding them. He wouldn't stop until he no longer existed in life or death.

Though, the thought that he could ever be a vengeful spirit was sadly laughable. After all, he had no ties to these... clans. Mayhaps even loners had spirits that lived on, ever wandering and free after death, Tarot had heard tales, but then would he even be in the same plane as existence that these meddling, law-bending ghost cats did?

He supposed he could ask Klaus to carry on his will then. A final wish.

Wouldn't that be novel...

A terrified yowl erupted from Freckleface's throat as Tarot let go of her neck, and a futile attempt was made to kick the tom off of her. Her muscles and bones had already grown weak, and the loss of blood only exacerbated that tenfold. "Why.. W-Why are you doing this? I've done nothing w-wrong..." She sobbed, feeling the energy drain from her body. Magnificent shades of deep purple swirled with black had already begun swirling around the peripherals of her vision, and her words became slurred the more she spoke. A final choked sob escaped her at the mention of killing more innocent cats, and she called out, "N-No!" After that, her vision was swarmed with deep black tick marks that seemed to cover everything, blood pouring from the deep wound in her neck. Before she had the opportunity to beg him one final time to let her go, to leave her Clan and family alone, she felt the weight of her own body lift as he made his final killing blow. Everything immediately went black, and for a brief moment, she lost all feeling in her limbs and torso, ears ringing as the darkness consumed her.

Moments later, a foggy mist cleared from around her, and she found herself standing among the stars. In the distance, she spotted a small crowd of star-spotted cats, the shapes and colors of which she recognized from her kithood. A bit of residual confusion cleared as she realized where she was... She was among the stars, with the ancestors. Worry for her Clan and those she left behind stung, but in her heart, she knew they'd be alright. Flintstar would be okay, in time. She broke out into a galloping run, stars shimmering in her short, thick pelt. Soon enough, she joined the friends and family members that had left her so long ago, finally reunited with them in StarClan.

occ; short mobile post, pls forgib ;;