Title: After the Fall
Summary: What if Firestar had died in the battle again BloodClan, and Scourge had taken over the forest? What if he had taken an apprentice, kidnapped from one of the Clans, and what would happen when, years later, the four Clans returned to retake their home?
Author's Note: I originally had written this on another account titled Everlasting Darkness under the name If Love Were Flowers and, when I decided I wanted to dip back into the FanFiction scene, I couldn't for the life of me remember what email and password combination I had used for the account - so I used this one. The original plan was to just edit and rewrite/publish the story again, but since I can't take down the other story... eh, you get to see the both of them. I'm still working out the outline for everything and the number of chapters, but let's get this ball rolling already, shall we?
A shudder jerked Firestar back into the world of the living. The din of battle filled his ears, hisses and spits, yowls of pain and triumph. The battle between LionClan and BloodClan raged, and as he staggered to his feet he saw his nephew, Cloudtail, struggling to keep hole of the small, black BloodClan leader, Scourge. Cloudtail sunk his teeth into the smaller cats leg, holding on despite claws reinforced with dog teeth splaying down his side again and again. Scourge's icy blue eyes glittered brightly on his dark face.
"Scourge!" snarled Firestar, "Turn and face me!"
Scourge's head whipped up as his shoved his claws and Cloudtail's face and shock spread across his black face, "How… I killed you!"
"You did," spat Firestar, the fur on his spine bristling defiantly and his chest swelling with pride, "But I am a leader with nine lives who fights alongside StarClan. Can you say as much?"
Scourge hesitated, but just for a moment. With a final snarl he slashed his claws against Cloudtail's face and the young warrior finally released his hold, yowling in pain. Another cat barreled in out of nowhere, tackling Cloudtail and pushing him from sight, lost in the chaos of the battle. Scourge turned back to Firestar, flexing his reinforced claws.
Firestar launched himself at Scourge with all the speed he could muster. He felt power coursing through his veins and every detail acutely; the brush of wind along his fur, the earth beneath his claws, the battle-noises echoing in his ears. He felt the determination of every cat around him, felt his prophecy rearing overhead, preparing and anticipating the moment it would be fulfilled. He slashed at Scourge, scoring his claws down the side of the BloodClan leader and ducked, narrowly avoiding another fatal blow.
Firestar stumbled, still somewhat weakened by his coming back to life. He whirled around, prepared to lunge back into the fight when a blur of darkness caught his eyes. Firestar was fast, but Scourge was faster, faster than Firestar could've imagined. The smaller cat ducked down as Firestar swiped and then launched himself at Firestar's unprotected throat. Firestar jerked backwards, but not fast enough. Scourge sunk his teeth into his soft throat. The spot where he had killed Tigerstar and taken all of his lives. The spot were life bubbled closest to the surface.
Suddenly Firestar was on the ground again, his paws tripped, and Scourge was over him, his teeth still in his throat, and as Scourge tore back and fur and flesh and blood splattered over the ground, he felt in his gut what Tigerstar must've felt as he bled out and died. This was a wound that even StarClan could not heal. As Firestar felt his life ebb from his body he raised his eyes as much as he could, searching for his beloved mate in the battle. He had never told her, really, how much he loved her. There had been too much time, too much drama. He wanted her to know that she was what he thought of as he died. He searched for her pale pelt, her green eyes, her soft voice, something. But all he saw was blackness and ice-blue eyes, and all he head as the world grew darker was Scourge's high-pitched laughter.
Sandstorm, Firestar closed his eyes as his second life left his body, I'm sorry.
Graystripe was the first to notice Firestar was not healing and let out a wail so bitter that many of the cats nearby ceased fighting. Firestar shuddered again as life returned to his body, but more blood flowed from his throat, and as he thrashed involuntarily, he grew weaker and weaker. Graystripe watched again and again, unable to move, as Firestar stayed still for a little longer with every life he lost, until finally he did not move again. Finally, the air filled with cries of shock and horror.
A pale shape burst past Graystripe – Sandstorm, screaming something vivid and hot. Before she could reach Firestar or Scourge, Bone jumped forward and cut her off. Sandstorm scrambled back as he attacked, blood from a wound on the side of her head blinding her in one eye, and Graystripe's instincts cut in and he darted forward, driving back Bone's advance with a snap and a slash.
"Firestar!" Sandstorm cried. She trembled from nose to tail, "Firestar!"
Scourge stared at Firestar's body for a long time, then poked it with a long claw. When the flame-colored leader didn't move at the second or third poke, Scourge turned and left the body, seemingly satisfied that Firestar was finally dead. He glanced at Firestar one last time, and then looked up; first to Bone, and then to Graystripe.
"Well," Scourge finally said, his bright blue eyes glittering, "Shall we finish this?"
Bone threw back his head and let out a battle-yowl. A shiver ran down Graystripe's spine and a rock grew in his stomach as BloodClan warrior after BloodClan warrior picked up the yowl, until it sounded not like cats but like wolves, a pack of hunting wolves closing in for the kill. Bone's yowl was abruptly cut off as Bramblepaw barreled forward and latched his teeth into the black-and-white tom's shoulder. Bone hissed and began shaking Bramblepaw around like a dead mouse, and Graystripe scrambled to Sandstorm.
"We have to get back to the camp," he gasped, helping her to her paws. Sandstrom's eyes were glassy and confused, but she nodded slowly. Graystripe pushed her forward, "The elders and kits are ready to run. Go not, before BloodClan follows us and ambushes them before they escape."
"But what about the apprentices? The rest of the warriors?" demanded Sandstorm, her voice shook slightly, "What about Cinderpelt and Fernpaw and-"
She was cut off by a wail from Bramblepaw. Bone had slashed the apprentice's throat open like so many before and he was now bleeding out next to his mentor. Graystripe butted her in the shoulder with his broad head, and when she hesitated he pushed harder.
"Go!" he snarled, "I'll find as warriors as I can and hold them back. Get to the Twolegplace, find some place to hide and go!"
Sandstorm took one last look at her mate's body, and then with a sob whirled and raced up the side of the ravine faster than Graystripe would've thought possible in her condition. Graystripe dodged as another BloodClan warrior tried to engage him and threw back his head, bellowing at the top of his lungs.
"ThunderClan, to me! Rally to me!"
Sandstorm panted, her flanks were stinging, her paws ached, but something in her chest ached far more than any battle-wound she had suffered or had dreamt of. Brambles and thorns and twigs pulled at her as she ran, tripping her, tearing her fur, blinding her. But still she ran, unable and unwilling to slow. She had to save the elders and kits. It was what Firestar would've wanted. She had to make him proud, at least one last time. She wanted to stop so many times, and it was only his memory that pushed her forward without end, until it felt like her lungs were filled with blood and her heart was made of lead.
And finally, she was there.
Willowpelt was at the entrance of the camp, sitting guard, and she stood up as Sandstorm approached. Her dark blue eyes flickered from Sandstorm to the empty forest beyond her.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice cracked with worry, "Where's Firestar? Where's… where's Whitestorm?"
Sandstorm padded past her, too busy catching her breath to answer at the time. Willowpelt scrambled after her, calling out to wake the other cats as Sandstorm grasped what brief rest she could in the center of the camp. By the time the cats remaining at camp had reached her, she could speak again.
"Firestar is dead," She finally breathed, "The battle is lost. Whitestorm was killed and Graystripe was named deputy. He's ordered us to evacuate to the Twolegplace."
"No!" Willowpelt wailed, "Oh, no!"
Sandstorm closed her eyes and stood up, "We must prepare to leave. Willowpelt, I need you to lead the elders out of camp ahead of us. You're ears and eyes are sharpest – watch out for ambushes."
"What about my kits?" Willowpelt fretted. Her three kits – Rainkit, Sootkit, and Sorrelkit – all huddled around Dappletail a short distance away, "I can't leave them behind!"
"We can carry them" offered Smallear, but Sandstorm shook her head.
"You'll tire too quickly and they're too slow. Speckletail and I will take another route with the kits. If we split up, we'll have a better chance of getting to the Twolegplace."
"You can't expect me to leave all of my kits!"
Sandstorm glanced at the kits, "Then take Sootkit. He's the smallest. The elders and you can take turns carrying him. Sorrelkit and Rainkit will come with Speckletail and I. We'll all make better time that way."
Willowpelt hesitated and then finally nodded. She yowled, rounding up the elders, and then hurried to her its. Sandstorm watched as she licked Rainkit and Sorrelkit on the forehead vigerously a few times, and then encouraged the kits to do it to each other. Speckletail said something quietly to Willowpelt, which seemed to reassure her, and then she picked up Sootkit in her mouth. She flicked her long tail to the elders and, with a final, longing look at her kits, led them out of the camp.
"Let's go," urged Speckletail. She stood over Rainkit and Sorrelkit protectively, and the two cowered beneath her close to each other.
"I need to do something first," Sandstorm turned and bounded towards Highrock, "It will just take a second."
"But-"
But Sandstorm was gone before Speckletail could stop her. She pushed through the thin tendrils of lichen, still growing from so long ago when they were burned away by the forest fire. Firestar's nest was messy, and as she pressed her nose into the moss nest they had shared, she caught his thick, warm scent and almost began to sob again. This was all she wanted, and all she could not have. But one last smell of him, free from fear and blood and battle. That was enough. Sandstorm lingered a moment longer, and then turned and left the den for the last time.
Speckletail lashed her tail impatiently as she bounded back to her and the two kits, then scooped up Rainkit and flicked her tail. She was ready to leave.
Graystripe was exhausted, but he did not slow his pace. He and the tight knot of warriors he had rallied traveled at a fast trot through the forest. Any faster and the group would've fallen apart as the injured fell further and further behind. Any slower and BloodClan would have caught up to them without a doubt. Graystripe knew they still could.
There were so few of them now – his apprentice, Brackenfur, and his brother Thornclaw. Dustpelt and Fernpaw. Frostfur, Tawnypaw, and Ashpaw. Featherpaw traveled with them, and Ravenpaw. But Barley was dead, as were all of the other ThunderClan warriors. They were all who were left now.
Graystripe's heart was heavy in his chest. His best friend and leader had died today, his son was dead, many of the cats he had grown up with or seen grow. And now they fled through their own territory. The forst that had been their home for countless seasons, which had seemed as familiar to them as their pelt patterns and scents, now was darkened. Each shadow hid the claws of a BloodClan warrior, each bird call a warning that they were coming. The forest was foreign territory, and BloodClan were the hunters. ThunderClan was the prey. And the only thing separating them was the desperation to stay alive.
"Are we going back to camp?" panted Brackenfur. The young golden tom had not left Graystripe's flank since they met up unless he had ordered.
"No. I sent Sandstorm ahead to evacuate the kits and elders. We head to the Twolegplace, they'll have taken shelter there."
"Where will we go?" his former apprentice asked quietly.
Graystripe's jaw tensed, "Where we must in order to survive. We will dwell on the specifics later."
Brackenfur paused and then opened his mouth as if to say something more when a blood curdling screech tore through the air. It came from ahead, and Graystripe recognized it almost instantly – Sandstorm.
"Come on!" He snarled, and plunged ahead. Brackenfur yowled to the rest of the cats and they charged forward together. Just through the bushes they found Sandstorm struggling with two BloodClan warriors. Speckletail's body was motionless nearby, a tiny tortoiseshell body tucked beneath her paws. Rainkit was nowhere to be seen.
Sandstorm was held by the nape by one of the BloodClan warriors, while the other clawed at her face. Graystripe tackled the first, and Brackenfur drove back the second. Thornclaw ran to his brother's side, and Fernpaw and Tawnypaw helped up Sandstorm, who staggered weakly. One of the BloodClan warriors managed to free his teeth and bellowed, at the top of his lungs;
"Here! They're here!"
Immediately there were yowls echoing through the forest as other, hidden warriors took up the call. Graystripe spat, turning away from the warrior and flicking his tail to the others, "Go, go!"
No one was strong enough, emotionally or physically, to take this fight now. BloodClan would outnumber them, even if they took this fight well. He ran to Sandstorm's side, licking some of the blood from her eyes so that she could see, and she whimpered under his touch. There was no more time for words, and the group began to run towards the Twolegplace. Graystripe took up the rear, making sure Sandstorm didn't fall behind. Brackenfur led.
"Just leave me behind," panted Sandstorm, "I'll fight. I'll hold them off and buy you time."
"Don't be stupid," snapped Graystripe, "You're not going anywhere but with me."
"I'm slowing you down."
"You're a warrior of ThunderClan and we're not leaving you behind. And Firestar would never forgive me if I did."
"I want to stay behind."
"And I say no." Graystripe glanced at Sandstorm, his yellow eyes narrowed and hard, "I'm not letting you die on me, Sandstorm."
Sandstorm lowered her eyes and said nothing, but her paws quickened slightly.
Scourge had his warriors move Firestar's body in front of the Great Rock, unburied. Others were already being ordered to move and bury bodies, but Scourge had wanted Firestar's to lay out in the sun until it rotted and bloated and exploded with maggots and the carrionbirds picked it clean. His pale eyes lifted as Bone returned to the ravine, carrying something small in his mouth, and Scourge blinked slowly as the huge tomcat came up and dropped at his feet a tiny, quivering kit.
"What is this?" Scourge said quietly.
"Most of ThunderClan managed to escape out through the Twolegplace they border." Bone reported, "One of the warriors managed to find two she-cats and two kits, and stole this one."
"Interesting," Scourge looked down at the tiny kit, then extended a long claw and pressed it beneath the kit's chin, lifting his face so that Scourge could look at him. The kit's eyes were very light blue – almost like the sky, or stream water. His fur was dark gray – not black, like Scourge, but like charcoal or storm clouds. But there was something in the kit's eyes, in the shape of his face, in the twitch of his ears, that Scourge liked.
"What is your name, little kit?" Scourge asked.
The kit gulped, "R-Rainkit."
"Silly cats with their silly names," Scourge scoffed, "That is no name. Now Scourge, that is a real name. Scourge of Life. Scourge of Death."
"S-Scourge?" the kit looked both curious and terrified.
"Yes, that is a good name. But you cannot have that name – it is mine. Perhaps I will give you a new name, little kit. A new life. Or you could take death."
Rainkit glanced at Scourge, thinking hard, and then at his paws, and then back up to Scourge. The small cat towered over the kit despite being petite.
"What… what would I have to do?"
And that's all folks, until next time. Writing a review would be great motivation for me, since I'm a lazy ass, and believe me when I say the chances of me updating after this are greatly improved with every one I get. It lets me know that, at the very least, people are reading what I write and enjoying it. And in the end, that's all I really want.
Tschüss!