Run.
Run.
Run.
She tears through the streets of Twolegplace, her legs pumping furiously. Her pelt bristles with fear and adrenaline. Her eyes are wide with terror, glazed with paranoia.
Run.
Run.
Run.
There is only one thought in her mind: run. She is a beast, just a mindless creature, whose only instinct was to run, to flee. She could've stopped and hid, but instead she runs on, wanting to, needing to put as much distance between herself and her pursuers. She is running. They are chasing. She is prey.
She is prey.
Run.
Run.
Run.
Her pursuers crash through the streets after her, eyes glinting with excitement, bloodlust. They are larger than her, faster, and they gain up on her, coming closer, closer, closer. The hunt had been fun for them, but now they were impatient, impatient for blood to flow. Her blood. She dares to glance over her shoulder, but only sees death, a bloody fate, chasing after her.
They want to kill her.
She thinks it. She knows it. She can feel their desire, their bloodthirst, all directed at her, feel it vibrating in the very marrow in her bones. She knows they want to catch her, slam her against the asphalt, tear apart her flesh with needle-sharp claws. They want to kill her.
So she runs.
She flees.
But she knows that she cannot run much faster, cannot evade much longer. Soon, she will collapse and they will catch her, kill her. But still, she runs.
Why?
Why did they want to kill her?
Why?
She had just taken one mouse. Just one tiny piece of prey, to feed herself and her little brother. Just a tiny mouse. No one should have missed it. But in this dark part of the Twolegplace alleyways, this dark domain, no one takes anything without permission. This was BloodClan, the empire of Scourge, where the weak ere food for the strong. The mouse, although just a tiny piece of prey, it was food. Food, for the strong. She is weak. But she had taken it, and they had slaughtered her little brother, and now they chased her, hunted her. She was food for the strong now.
"Give it up!" One pursuer yowls impatiently. "Accept your fate, and your death will be quick!"
Or we'll rip you apart and spread your entrails everywhere, just like we did with your brother!"
Her brother. Her darling little brother. She remembers her little brother. She remembers how he was always happy, always smiling no matter how bad the situation seemed. He always saw the bright side, the side of the world with sunshine and daisies, hope, instead of blood shed and murder in the dark of night. Those are just naive lies, she told him once. He responded, No, it is hope. And for once, she had seen this hope of his, when they had been eating the stolen mouse together, rejoicing over their first meal in weeks. But it had been quickly snuffed, when her brother was suddenly dragged into an explosion of teeth, claws, and blood. So much blood.
She screamed, terrified as her little brother was yanked away. He screamed, too, not in fear, but in pain. Agony.
His body had exploded in a whirl of teeth and claws. Like a whirlwind of death, they had ripped him apart. His blood was everywhere, staining everything red, red as death. Above, the skies watched coldly, indifferent, as murder was commited below.
"Sister! Help me!" he wailed.
Briefly, the claws stopped their assault, and his eyes dared to betray hope. She, however, knew that it would not be so. She knew that they were merciless, and they tore apart everything that they came across, demons of destruction. She knew that she was their real target, and that they were just killing her brother for the fun of it, and to break her. And it was working, because something broke in her as she watched, her legs locked in terror. She could only watch as her little brother's entrails were ripped out and flung across the streets, momentarily blotting out the sun. He let out a scream, a scream so loud and shrill, a scream that spoke not just of the excruciating pain in his belly but also the internal pain of watching his sister, his blood sister, watch her do nothing as he was murdered. Sister! His eyes said when his mouth could not. Why didn't you save me? Sister! Then his eyes glazed over in death, but his eyes' desperation stayed scarred in her heart.
Her brother's blood rained down on her like acid, like ice and fire, burning her skin, her soul within. It rained on them, too, but they enjoyed it, relishing its sour tang. then their eyes turned upon her, and they saw more prey, and they lunged. She slipped and skidded on the blood puddles, then scrambled away, and fled.
Brother, she thought, I'm sorry.
And she fled.
Now she runs, faster than ever. She can smell the blood in the air, taste its sour tang in her mouth. She could hear her brother's scream, sharper than their claws to her, piercing her mind, her sanity. She can see his eyes, begging her to save him, bit she had ran. Fled. Abandoning her brother's life, she had chosen to save only her own. But is it worth living anymore?
There will be nothing left, nothing. Nothing but hatred, guilt, sorrow, loss. The sky is dark, bleak, just like her future.
Her pursuers know this. They know that there is nothing left for her. They know that if they let her go, she will suffer anyway, a suitable punishment in Scourge's eyes. But still they give chase, still they hunt her. She is their prey, and they want to hear her scream.
They want to taste her terror.
Want else would such monsters live on? Fear, terror, paranoia, They want it all. They want to see it flash in their victim's eyes before they glaze over forever. They want to hear their victims beg for mercy, for life. They want to hear their victim's last scream as their throats are slashed. They ant the fearful silence, as the bystanders freeze in horror. they want it, for it is power. It is their prey. So they hunt fear. It is just a game to them. murder is just a game to them.
Just a game.
They find pleasure in ending lives, in the warm, sticky blood on their paws. They find pleasure in ripping apart flesh, in ripping apart cats, in ripping apart souls. They hold life and death in their claws, and they choose to drench it all in blood. Blood, of the innocent.
Her little brother did not deserve to die. it was her they were after. Just her. But her brother had been there, at the wrong place in the wrong time, so he was killed. Just a source of entertainment. She had seen the sadist enjoyment in their eyes, the thirst for blood, for death. Her brother had died for their entertainment.
She will not.
Why run? She asks herself. Yes, why? They want her to run. They want to feel her terror as she realizes that there is no escape. They want to let her taste freedom, then snatch it away and watch her desperation, all with a swift bite to the throat. They want to see her eyes flash in fear, feel her terror.
They will not.
She is on fire now, flames of rage licking at her heart, he mind, her soul. She is on fire, a blazing inferno, and the flame wants revenge. Bravery she did not know she possessed seeps into her paws, lending her strength. She skids to a halt, a knot of resolution tightening in her heart, hardened by the wildfire. She will not bow She will not run. She stands firm, no hesitation showing in her eyes.
Surprise flickers in her pursuers' eyes as she challenges them, eyes revealing the wildfire burning in her soul. Then they lunge forward, tooth and claws flashing, but she is not afraid, and meets them head-0n in an attack of her own. She is not afraid.
Not afraid anymore.
The flames push her on, wanting their blood, , wanting their death, wanting revenge. They roar higher and higher as she as she and the first cat clash. the fire pushes her on, making her stronger, and it burns with an insane desire for revenge, to avenge her little brother. She knows no fear, only the flames of rage, of hate.
She is pinned to the ground trapped. The first cat's eyes bore into her own, trying to inspire fear. But the flames roar stronger than ever before, and she finds her voice.
"If I die, I'm taking you to hell with me!"
She lunges up and grabs the first cat's throat with her teeth. Tongues of fore, tongues of revenge, they lick her soul, scorching her heart black with hate. Without hesitation, she bites down as hard as she can, and blood spurts into her mouth. His ned snaps with a satisfying crunch, and he lets out his final, rattling breath, the light dying from his eyes.
He is dead.
Good.
A whirlwind of claws hit her, driving the wind out of her, but she is not afraid. Her lifeblood splatters the stone beneath her, burning like lava, but she feels no pain. She only knows the fire raging in her heart, the hate consuming her soul. And as blackness creeps into her vision, and her mind fades, the last thing she sees are the dying embers of the receding wildfire. her rage has been quenched.
And as her eyes glaze over in death and the light of life dies, a small smile appears on her face. It speaks of storms calmed. of oceans serene, of flames quenched. she smiles, for her rage is quenched.
She had not died running, like a coward.
She had died fighting, like a brave warrior.