Disclaimer: I don't own Warriors. I, however, own this plot, the story itself, the characters, and for the most part the names as well. Rated T for torture scenes in some chapters.
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Summary: There are four clans- but not the ones you have heard of. They are the four symbols of the feelings. This story takes place in the clan which harbors Numbness. But you can't not feel without feeling at first. The 'training' of its members are harsh. How much pain would they have to go through to be a part of this numbness? And you are not a kit for your whole life. After the training, what is next?
-Callirus (aka Wanderlust)
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Prologue;
Claws in the Darkness
In a cave in the ground, there was a kit. Not a clean, dry cave that you would expect a cozy nest to be in, but a dirty cave with puddles of drying blood everywhere. The kit was not alone- for there were many others before it, and now their tormented little souls would never find freedom. His black tipped ears could almost hear them screaming, "The dark! The claws!"
A kit should not have known what blood looked like, except for those of a mouse or a vole. He could faintly remember the smell of animal blood, and it evoked a quiet rumble from his shrunken stomach. Almost immediately he licked his mouth trying to get rid of the taste.
There was not much time before footsteps were heard in the tunnel. It had been barred with giant pieces of log, and a large pit lay somewhere in the darkness, the kit knew. He had felt the whoosh of air when his tormenter had bore him over and into the torture cave. Now the cat had come back, and a pair of gleaming amber orbs became visible in the darkness.
If the kit whimpered, he would be hurt. If the kit ran, he would be hurt. If the kit screamed, he would be maliciously mauled until he found himself sleeping on his fur that night, if he made it through alive.
Oh, but you will, said a Voice. It was always there, sneaking around at the back of his mind. Ever since he came in, the tiny whispering there burst into a full fledged consciousness. They won't kill you yet. They will just hurt you, flay you, and tear you up to the bare line of sanity.
The pawsteps receded. The kit cocked an ear painfully to listen. Everything was so numb now. Was there a loud screaming? Or was that just a trick of his imagination? You know better than to think this is all part of your imagination. said the Voice with a imagined wicked smile. It is real. Oh yes, it is real.
And just then, claws closed around his neck. A shriek gurgled into the kit's throat, but died down when the icy bone cut through into his soft underbelly.
"Please! Stop!" He whispered. The pain is wonderful, isn't it? Don't fight it, accept it, cause it! The Voice said, and a bright flickering of pain entered the kit's eyes. It hurt so badly, a battering heat in his bare pupils, wildly dilating and enlarging.
The claws still in his belly dragged down, and more claws drove into him like he was a single mouse to be shared by a thousand predators. The kit arched his back, bucking to and fro like a wild bull. "Stop!" he hissed, and there came a hard slap on his mouth.
You broke a rule, said the Voice gleefully, and then the kit felt all the thousands of claws ripping into him all at once. He felt himself being dragged, and something over him.
"He is ready, Viper." A voice... the kit thought. Through a torn and swollen mouth he could feel no pain at all when he smiled. Do not smile yet, kit.
A voice responded, and somehow the kit knew that it was his captor.
"Nobody is ever ready, Sharsham. But he will do. Toss him to the Pit!"
The kit felt horror surge all through him again, and suddenly he could feel the heat of the gashes left in him, and the sudden flaring agony in his sides.
"No!" he gasped, and then he was falling.
