A/N: I present to any of my readers one of many challenges, courtesy of the Clan of the Clouds. Without further adieu, enjoy!
*WARNING: This one-shot contains spoilers of the fate of Brokenstar*
Yellowfang had just given her own son deathberries. The foul taste failed to dissipate in the tom's mouth, to Brokenstar's dismay. His bright amber eyes never left that of his mother's as he felt his life fade from his body.
After all this time, after how severely I've wronged her.
Brokenstar could see the pain in those flame colored orbs. The pain of a mother making the hardest decision she's ever made. His mother.
His mother, who saw no other way but to end the suffering of her home Clan and adopted Clan by killing her own son. With a dry laugh, which was barely audible, he realized he might do the same thing in her position.
After I killed her mate.
He vividly recalls ripping the tom with the ragged pelt to shreds, the warm, thick blood seeping between his claws. Using his evil fangs to savagely rip out the throat of...his father. The one who adored and praised him since birth, who treated him like a king. The hungry fire of power consumed his heart, the rush he got from his show of mightiness.
The pitiful pleas emitted from the once adored leader. Those whimpers begging for life, for Brokenstar to spare him.
The life slipping away like the ocean receding from the shifty sand, just like his own life fled from him now. That hungry fire never left him. Attempt to quench it as he might, it only swelled and returned, like spring each year. He could not stop it.
After how openly I despised her.
Brokenstar thought back to how he scorned Yellowfang's attempts to heal or revive the kits he trained to the death. Or those he knew had no chance of recovering, the rare times he'd bring them back clinging to life like a leaf clung to a tree in the heart of leaf-fall.
Sometimes, he'd bring back those kits hanging onto life for a reason. To witness the hopeful gleam in her amber eyes. To see her believe she had a chance.
And then to bathe in his laurels when those same eyes filled with despair at the life she could not save. It was a message. Herbs could not mend all. And he, superior Brokenstar, was all powerful and above all influence.
After how I ravaged her Clan.
He remembers more in detail those kits, those young innocent lives, those pure, untainted hearts, of which he let waste away. He told them the tragedy and inevitable downfall they were sure to face. They knew. They had no choice.
After how I always preached about keeping blood close, when I spilled my own to force the loyalty of those who saw me a saint.
All of those things he did. Those unforgivable deeds. He could never take back. The lives he took or snapped in half with the absence of a second thought. His heart did not see it. His eyes reveled in it. The surge of fear illuminated him such as the chilling leaf-bare wind, shocking all who were in reach. He could not stop. He had to keep going. And look at where he'd ended up.
He'd always imagined a valiant death, a welcomed one to most. He would meet his fate in a blur of claw and fang, a bloodcurdling cry escaping the one who created his end. That was how he imagined his greeting to the Dark Forest. Instead, like the feeble, flawed cat he was, he died by the hand of a plant.
Even on death's door, he would not apologize. Even with moments to live left, seldom breaths to spare, he would not spend them on telling his mother "I'm sorry."
It was beneath him. Unacceptable. He knew no one would hear him, but he refused to speak the phrase he'd promised himself he'd never speak. Not now not ever. That was one affirmation he would keep.
A convenant he would not break. Not as long as his pitiful body was living in this StarClan forsaken forest.
He gave one last chuckle before he exhaled one last time. He was gone. It was over.
He truly was broken.
A/N: I really hope you enjoy this! Reviews are always welcome with open arms.