all the W O R L D tonight

[Genocide]

There was blood in the air tonight.

The sweet, sticky scent permeated the toxic air on the bordering land between the two rogue clans, Risingclan and Boneclan.

The nightmare was on the move.

The tom stood still as a rock – bright jewels of eyes staring at the fluffed out, extremely pissed off mother rogue which he faced.

Perhaps a lover’s quarrel?

Neigh, the story swing on a different beat.

Stillness.

The cat moved barely, a slight rise and fall of his ruffed coat, showing that he lived.

Ah, but there was more.

So much more.

As the she-cat, a golden and black affair with brown eyes, actually snarled a cry fo both rage and grief, there was still no movement.

Nothing.

Wait…grief?

Yes, yes, for the white tom, the coat as snow white and pure as snore – as innocence – had the lifeless form of a young kit dangling from his mouth.

Two more such bundles of fur were hiding in the grass behind the mother cat, crying at the sight of their brutally murdered brother.

Ah, sweet sweet murderer.

The she-cat moved, her rage – her grief – giving her paws wings. She struck – once, twice.

A third.

And that white pelt wasn’t so pure no more. The first two strikes had laid open his face from head to chin.

And the tiny red droplets welled, sprinkling white into crimson.

The third laid his shoulder open, a splash of crimson dancing across it like war paint.

Ah ah, but he still didn’t move. That stature of proverbial-ness couldn’t stand so still.

But then…movement.

The bundled body of the dead kit tumbled from those jaws, his head turning to lay eyes on the she-cat.

Nothing.

Beautiful eyes, ever shifting from stained green to painted blue. A shifting, ever swirling sea of the two colors.

But what lay behind those stunning, almost breathtaking hues?

Nothing, nothing.

Where was the anger?

Where was the pain?

The nightmare existed in a world without emotions, without pain.

He existed to live by his name.

Genocide.

He moved, muscles pulsing beneath that fine pelt of white purity. Or did he remain still, and the mother strike once again?

The matter fell to the same fate, the string cut so delicately, so dangerously.

A white paw flicked, almost lazily, if one didn’t see the emptiness behind those eyes. Btu the motion, the movement, was uncannily quick, catching the she-cat in a swipe across her own face that lay buried with all his power behind it.

Fire claws tore their dangerous, yet almost beautiful paths through the she-cat’s flesh – rendering it, dancing across it.

Left to right

Then they met the first eye in the path, the left one.

It was almost another breath, a slight sigh, at the feel of the first claw pricking the orb. Then another.

Another.

Scream.

The mother screamed in pure agony as the nightmare – the monster – dug a claw, then another, then another into the eye.

Oh, but the exquisite torture wasn’t over yet.

They continued on their elaborate, sweet journey – across the bridge of her black little nose.

To the second eye. The right eye.

This time they stopped, all five digging in as deep as those four-inch long claws could possibly go.

And then the scream abruptly stopped, the pleasant music dying forever.

The white tom dropped the she-cat’s body, her ruined eyes open and staring through the sea of blood which stained her face and front.

Strained the ground beneath them such a pleasant shade of red.

That beautiful gaze moved, the blankness staring at the two huddled kits. Both little toms.

A white, crimson stained blur.

One paw, the same that brutally slaughtered the mother, darted, dragging one terrified kit from the grass.

A bite.

Jaws snapped down – one lower canine piercing the little kit’s eye, digging deep, as the rest of the jaw closed around the small skull, crushing in.

Ah, barely a twitch, a spark of muscle the only thing needed, and the white tom wrenched back.

The sickening sound of bone crunching filled the air – his paws holding the little kit as his jaws pulled away, scissoring and ripping a chunk of the kit’s head away – the cranium crush and in his jaws so that a portion of the brain could be seen on the now, blissfully, dead kit’s head.

Another body hit the ground – the skull and flesh dangling in his jaws dropped beside it as he stepped forward, empty gaze on the remaining kit.

Genocide was coming.

[Kestrel]

You'll never ^take _me alive

Blood looks black in the night; especially against the glaringly bright snow.
Innocent snow; virgin snow. Freshly fallen, unmarked.
The blood was black and it was thick.

The smell in the air and the black blood against the smooth coat of snow was a difficult thing to ignore; in fact, it roused the attention of a ghost.

She looked like a ghost; her fur was white at the snow, patched with pale gray. In the freshly-fallen snow, this cat was nearly impossibly to see.
She, too, was on the move. She had been restless.

The squeals of the kits enraged the ghostly-pelted she-cat.
She stood on an outcropping, unnatrually silent, watching the killing below with digsuted eyes.

She would have moved now if she had thought it would make a difference, but it would not.
Only know, while the white tom moved for the final kit, did the ghost in RisingClan land see her opening.

Her mismatched eyes lit up with fierce, silent fire; twin suns of fury.
Claws wickedly long and sharp slid from their sheaths with a somehow metallic whisper.

The she-cat vaulted into the air and launched herself down the hillside, practically flying across the sloping earth, swift as an arrow short from a twoleg's bow.

In a blur of movement too fast for an untrained eyes to really follow, the she-cat snatched up the kit and ran several tail-lengths with it, carrying it out of harm's way.

Then the she-cat stopped, holding the kit clenched in her teeth, her eyes fierce as a hawk's; no, as a kestrel's.
For that was the she-cat's name. She was Kestrel, ruling cat of RisingClan.

And she stood with her head turned toward the tom, her claws out and shining in the moonlight.

^I'm alive

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[Genocide]

It was as if the ghostly kestrel of a she-cat was an angel.

No, no she was no angel.

Maybe in the kit’s eyes – for she had saved him.

Ah, but if this she-cat was an angel, then what was the stained purity before her?

A Demon?

The Devil himself?

Satan held not a match to this tom – for one could always make a Deal with the Devil.

Deal? Deal?

A cat would wish to make a deal with Genocide.

Wishes and deals were nothing when you were deal.

Maybe a twisted version of the reaper then.

Twisted?

Didn’t you have to feel to be twisted?

So that was out.

So the white purity of the tom, stained black in the night by blood, fell nowhere. Nothing.

He simply existed to serve that single, simple, terrible purpose.

Movement.

The she-cat was quick to the untrained eye – untrained?

He never had to be trained.

He simply was.

Ever shifting hues followed the she-cat’s movements with almost chilling ease as she scooped the little tom-kit up, until she stood several tail-lengths away.

Blue.
Green.
Blue .

Green.

Luminous hues glowed as the moon struck them, bright changing lights from the tom’s face as he stared back at the she-cat.

Boldly was the action?

No, no, the emptiness, the missingness, the nothingness behind those eyes was a much more frightening sight to behold then the simplicity he had in watching her lightning movements.

A cat thusly empty – with no emotions, who felt no pain…could such a monster even be stopped.

If the cat expected words, mayhaps a taunt or two, to far from the white tom’s lips, she would be sadly disappointed.

He didn’t even try to move quickly, he simply turned and padded towards her. Btu as the muscles pulsed, flicked beneath that white pelt, it was quite obvious that the tom wasn’t going to exchange pleasantries with her.

Blue.
Green.
Blue.
Green.

Eyes, changed fast paced between colors, were focused not on the she-cat but the kit she had rescued. They were wide, staring, unblinking.

He didn’t blink.

There was no reading what thoughts may cross that mind, if the murderer even had a mind for that matter, within such a gaze.

[Kestrel]

You'll never ^take _me alive

Kestrel set the kit down behind her and took a step forward.

Did this cat talk? She was not sure.

Did he understand? She thought not; about emotion, that is. Maybe words...?

"You want to kill this kit." Voice flat. A statement.

"I'll die to save this kit. It deserves life."

Life. The name of this kit.

Kestrel faced the white blood-splattered tom with a fire in her eyes and in her veins.

A single violent movement made on the tom's part would send Kestrel flying at him like a bullet from a gun. She was faster than him.

^I'm alive

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[Genocide]

Make that Deal with the Devil, she-cat.

Perhaps He will be able to give your soul a home after Genocide renders your lovely mortal flesh.

Kestrel was fast.

Very fast.

Perhaps the fastest feline in the Valley.

But was she prepared to face the sheer doggedness of a tom who felt no pain – who didn’t know when the fine line to quitting and retreating was?

She was no murderer.

He who had killed so many – many who had fought back much much more skillfully than the kit’s rogue mother.

His white pelt hid the scars – badges of war?

They were mere marks, no badges to one such as him.

Genocide heard her words – he wasn’t physically deaf after all. Btu there was not even a twitch, not a touch of him slowing in his determined step towards the little tom, which she had set down.

The kit was marked.

This was his dying day.

Dance with the Devil pretty kitty.

He’s calling you.

Making as if to dive around the protective she-cat, the tom shifted movements at the very, extreme last second – curling and bunching his weight so to twist to the side in what looked to be an impossible move, sabers flashing towards the she-cat’s face.

Dance pretty kitty dance.

Die.

That paw, white so white, flicked away, heedless whether the attack succeeded. It moved, as he twisted his weight away – ever light on hi paws – and for that single, fleeting, moment…that gaze met hers.

Would Kestrel be ready to face that gaze? It wasn’t chilling, simply for the fact there was nothing there.

But it would probably be the most frightening sight a cat would have to face.

There was no cat there – before her, ready to kill her.

No cat.

Simply an empty shell – overwhelmed fully by the nothingness within him.

And shell that didn’t want to fight. Didn’t want to kill.

It had to.

[Kestrel]

You'll never ^take _me alive

Kestrel met the tom's gaze without flinching, and understood.

This cat was a monster...no, he was a machine. Something like the twolegs worked, only different.
Those eyes, they looked like the headlights of the twoleg's machines. Bright but empty.

When she struck, would she hear the hollow clang of metal?

No, she knew she would not, but a deep part of her almost expected it.

Kestrel was not afraid. She had never fought no cat before, had never encountered any living thing that looked so much like something catlike on the outside but was simply nothing on the inside, but fight she would, because that was how she was.

The gray and white she-cat did something many would deem impossible: she backflipped away from the tom, taking the kit with her, all the while her mismatched gaze -so alive, so full of life and fire those eyes were- seeking shelter for the small thing.

The little Life.

Aha.

Kestrel darted around the tom, lashing out with claws that were wickedly long and sharp enough to cut when simply laid against the skin; then she was putting distance between that dreadful machine of a tom and her.

High up on the outcropping there was a cave, an old bird's-nest-site, she believe.
Either way, it would so.

She leaped straight up, a high jump, a running jump, digging her claws into the earth.
She just barely managed to reach that cave, and with a faint gasp of effort, she tossed the kitten inside.

Safe. Finally. If the tom meant to kill that kit, he would have to move a lot faster...and he would have to kill Kestrel.

A tough thing to do.

She fell back, exhaution gripping her for a heartbeat before the fire rekindled.
Then she was ready to roll once more.

Come on, come on.

^I'm alive

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[Life]

[glow=black,5,500]The young kit had watched, helpless, frightened, as his brother's body hang lip in the lifeless mouth of the monster. The monster's pelt, a holy white, glowed faintly in the moonlight; a specter, a monster if the kit had ever saw one. Mother had fought valiantly, fighting like a cat from Tigerclan... to save his brother... to save him. The young kit cheered his mother as her claws flashed across the white hair, leaving streaks of crimson as a reminder of her wrath. The monster; however, was cruel and evil. He slayed his mother, without thought, without reason... She fell, a larger replica of the still form of his sibling who was cradled between two blood-soaked paws. The kit's mew fell silent, gulping down the fear, the knowledge that now... now nothing stood between him and certainty. Frozen, frozen in fear, the kit could do nothing as his brother was swept away from him in jaws too deadly to be real. The crunch and the scream of his fallen mother still rung in his hearing, remaining to the kit of movement extinct.

Then another ghost, slimer, quicker, with a ferocity that was not unlike his dam's came hurtling toward him. He thought his doom was near, that these specters would just annihilate his family... Instead, he felt himself being lifted by surprisingly gentle jaws, and being carried swiftly out of the monster's path. He could remember the words of the she-cat, who had so efficiently removed him out of harm's way. He was encouraged. She came to save him! Yet, with grief driven rememberance, his joy fell as he remembered that his mother and siblings could not be saved...

Again he was lifted, and carried farther away, much farther. Up, up, and up, and then he was flying. He skidded across his kit-fluff belly, and for a few moments, was too stunned, too cold to move. When he came to his senses, the young tom, wavered on paws much too big for his size. He stumbled, caught himself, then continued to the lip of the cave, little kit-blue eyes searching for his savior... Wondering if she had been slaughtered, too. But no, there she was, just below the safety of this cave, standing, guarding him... He was in awe... He was... forever grateful... [/glow]

[Hannibal]

A stain of black. A splatter of white.

The movements were quick. Maybe this newcomer was as fast as Kestrel herself?

Ah ah, the blur streaked forward, colliding into the approaching monster’s side with outstretched claws, digging them sharply into flesh. He had planned the move precisely, perfectly, those daggers dug in right at the joint where the white nightmare’s leg connected to his body.

The demon fathered.

And than lightning blur moved, danced away to stand between the she-cat and the kit she had rescued.

“My dear, I suspect that you shall need to remove the kit from this region…and yourself as well.”

A flash of yellow, as the black and white tom glanced back at Kestrel – and actually winked. Although he was smaller than the norm for toms, and a bit past his prime, experience laced every movement of his.

“Mayhap I shall join you after dealing with this foe. Now go.”

A grin, revealing rows of even white teeth, and the head turned, gaze upon that of the monster – who was recovering himself. The black and white tom charged – meeting the white tom in bloody embrace, teeth sinking into the tom’s shoulder as the white male tore into his face.

[And Hannibal makes his first appearance.]

[Kestrel]

Taking a leaf from Stephen King's book here~ xD

You'll never ^take _me alive

Kestrel watched as the newcomer leaped to meet the white
(machine)
monster, an expression on her face that usually accompanied raised eyebrows on a human.

"I can fight my own battles," she meowed cooly, but without much venom. The only way to stop such a nightmare as the white cat was to kill it, and she would have done so, yes, but now...

Now, where did the land lie?

Kestrel stood where she was, watching with curiosity. She could fight; she could pierce a cat's heart with her claws, if she struck right; she was fast.

^I'm alive

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[Hannibal]

Black and white. White.

Crimson.

The two toms broke from that bloody embrace, the smaller, black and white tom almost peeling a chunk of fur from the white tom’s shoulder. There was a deep bite in his face, merely a mild bother to him.

Hannibal knew pain. Knew pain.

Real pain.

This?

This was nothing.

“My dear, this monstrous creature has his sights on the kit. While you are, indeed, capable of fighting him as I am as well, shall we risk the young one’s safety in doing so? It would be simpler, and safer, for you to remove the young one. You may return if you so wish, but I myself was not planning on remaining long.”

Just as Genocide move, attempting to dart around Hannibal and seek out the kit, the older tom moved, meeting the rush once again. Claws, long, dangerous weapons flashed, from both opponents, leaving bloody wounds deep within the other’s body.

Yellow hues turned to look at the she-cat, shifting, suddenly blazing a crimson the same shade as the blood tainting this once pure area.

“Kestrel, leader of Risingclan, go!”

[snowstorm]

Genocide

Wacthing the three cats in the distnace Her scent mingled with theirs and the blood.
"well done."her voice was sharp as a twoleg's sharp fence linning.her fire eyes burn into the cats backs watching the fight make way.Her eyes darted from them to the pool of blood.Her walked over to it calm, and drank.Her teeth soon looked more red than before and her fire-colored eyes glowed even more.
"this was it."Her eyes were hard and cold as she slunk back.She stay a distance as the cats moved."one kit isn't dead hm."she watched the she-cat named kestrel save that bundle.hearing all the cats talk and fight amused her.A smirk got on her tortishell face.
"well well."turning around she saw her trail of blood."oh" lifting a paw she found that she had gotten her fathers little heart stuck there.
"my my"she ate that thing slowly.
She had killed that trader,out of clod murder.He had rape her and his mate.Killing him felt good.

meet your double

[Kestrel]

You'll never ^take _me alive

Kestrel snorted with impatience, but the tom had a point.

She turned and darted up the slope, snatching Life by the scruff.
"I'll take you home, little kit," she murmured. "Little Life."

She turned, the moonlight flashing over her pretty features, throwing her shadow out behind her.

Then she was gone; swift as the fleeting shadow of a falcon on the valley floor, she was gone.

But she would be back.

Such a battle deserved a witness to the outcome. But now, she would take Life to Burningflower.

^I'm alive

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[ringtail]

I would rather die a happy cat than

"bye kitty"The she-cat watched the leader leave with the bundle she called life."well well this is the big tom i heard about."her voice hardened as she walks closer to Genocide.Her fire eyes had watched him for some time now and he was here now and right in front of her."pretty kitty."her mocking tone cut at the tom. The fiery eyes danced as she looked him over."well well"This cat was new to her,but the name seems old." your Genocide.Nice to meet you...or not."her mocking tone cut sharp at him again,almost as sharp as her claws.Her fire eyes gazed into the blue-green eyes.She felt herself get lost in the swirling colors.

a unlucky cat

ooc:wrong account oh well

[quintessence]

Genocide is in the middle of a battle right now...

[bloodsoul]

ooc:he's fighting?where?wrong account vut this would be a good place to bring in Bloodclaw.

Red as blood,claws that kill all
The tom scanned the ground before him.Tom,she-cat that just left, she-cat,kit.Wait there is blood too.his dark eyes scanned around.One cat,he knew her.It was a cat he knew but her name slipped him.


ooc:bad post

[Kestrel]

Obviously you didn't read this entire thread. You shouldn't just jump into a thread without reading it. >.<
Yes, Genocide is fighting. He's fighting Hannibal.

[ringtail]

ooc:i did.....but i reread like a milliom times

[Hannibal]

Seeing that Kestrel had safely retrieved the kit, and raced towards her territory, Hannibal broke off from the bloodied white tom. His own pelt, black and white, good and evil?, stained crimson in patches too. But did he notice the pain?

There was no reading any emotion, any thoughts, in the cunning tom’s mind. He flicked his tail with a mocking smirk, padding away at an almost lazy pace to catch up with the Risingclan leader and the little kit she had rescued.