A/N: Yet again, I have another awesome idea. Everyone who follows me should realize by now that I am an evil procastinator, therefore I'm coming up with tons of stories and not updating any of them.
I also understand that a few of you are waiting for the multi-chapter version of Running. I'm working on that; it should be up in about five days or so.
Warning: Rated T for minor violence and blood.
Prologue
The young apprentice forced her way through ShadowClan's mucky swamps and boggy land. Her paws made squelching noises every time they sunk into the ooze and she winced as her ash-black pelt got filthy with mud. Her muscles worked hard, and she managed to push through the thick layers of sticky liquid. She was up to her stomach in the bile, and cursed herself for not using the tree to get across.
Soaked and heavy with goop, Blossompaw dragged herself onto the solid land of ThunderClan territory, her brownish-green paw prints staining the leafy forest floor. The apprentice heaved forward, slime dripping off her with every step. Her shoulders hunched down with the weight of the sludge. It was worth it, she decided right there and then. Her actions were sure to cause war between the two Clans she hated. Blossompaw snuck past the ThunderClan camp. Her icy green eyes narrowed as she saw the den her father was sure to be in, sleeping soundly like he hadn't ruined his kit's life. Like everything was perfect for the fat kittypet. Maybe it is.
She reached the ThunderClan training hollow, where her meeting had been scheduled. She better not forget, Blossompaw thought. She glanced up. There was not a trace of light in the night sky. It was time.
"I see you came."
Blossompaw jumped as Silver's voice rang through the hollow. The red-eyed she-cat, Silver, curled her lip and showed sharp, glinting fangs splattered with layer upon layer of blood. The ragged she-cat sniffed and studied her.
"Filthy little brute. You may have proved yourself worthy, but I still regret doing this for you. You want power, eh? Like me?"
Blossompaw nodded. "I want everything that you can give me!"
"Calm down, now, dear . . ." Silver circled the eager apprentice, analyzing her well-built body and strong muscles. Without warning, she lashed out and striked Blossompaw's muzzle. Blossompaw whimpered. Pain seeped into her face.
"It's your part of the deal, sweetie," Silver murmured mockingly. Blossompaw saw the she-cat lick her claws. "This is how you get your power . . ." Silver suddenly slashed open her own stomach, a small gash. Nevertheless, blood seeped in pawfuls out of the cut.
"Drink it."
"What?"
"Drink my blood. This is your path to domination above all the clans."
Blossompaw shuddered and touched the blood with the tip of her tongue. The pain on her face left, and a light red haze came over her vision. More, her heart begged, more!
The young she-cat was not aware of her body changing, only that the red got darker every time the blood flowed into her mouth. Silver had ripped out an eye, and the remaining one glowed a dark crimson color. Her black pelt grew even darker and gave off a white shine.
Silver's eyes, which had been red like Blossompaw's were now, changed to a bright green. In her greed for more blood, the apprentice had not noticed, though the old she-cat had. All the terrible visions, all the nasty filth in her mind had been cleaned out, transferred to Blossompaw. She felt light as the red haze lifted off her vision and landed on the apprentice. The old cat's head lolled to one side, her emerald eyes blank and staring at the sky.
Blossompaw mindlessly slashed Silver's body, marring the beautiful she-cat's face. She lapped up the warm blood.
More, more, more!
When her twisted mind was satisfied at last, Blossompaw left the corpse in the sandy hollow to stain the ground. Like a fox at night, she prowled into the ThunderClan camp to watch her father snoring for a moment.
He will pay, soon.
The small true feline part of her, the old Blossompaw, cried out in agony before vanishing completely. It left three words that would be forever etched into Blossompaw's mind before disintegrating into nothingness.
I'm sorry, mother.
"Blossompaw! What's wrong with you?" demanded the golden tom as he swerved to dodge the apprentice's feeble swipe. "You started out this moon as a swell apprentice, and look what you are now! You're nothing but a shriveled pile of bones! And again, for the hundredth time now, what is with that red eye? You should know better than sneaking out in the dark to who-knows-where and get your other one ripped out."
Shut up! Just shut up!
All the anger that had been accumulating in Blossompaw ever since that fateful night burst out the way chicks broke the shell of their eggs.
She roared and pounced on her mentor, springing into unimaginable heights and landing on the overgrown tabby. Blossompaw swiped in an insane frenzy, not really knowing what she was doing. All she knew was what her tainted heart told her to do.
Slash. Swipe. Bite. Tear. Kick. Tear him apart!
The voice of her heart intensified. Blossompaw's naturally cold blood heated up to a boiling fury, burning any little sense left in there. This was what Silver had promised her, this power, and Blossompaw was determined to use all of it. She left no skill unused.
Soon, Liontail —the tom— had been reduced to a bloody mess. Blossompaw was left there panting, shocked by how easy defeating her mentor had been. Her passion was gone, and what replaced it was hollowness.
No regret. No mercy. No grief.
But weakness.
What is wrong with me? The same words Liontail had used. But it was true. Every day, as the full moon started to wane, more power seeped out of her and left Blossompaw an empty shell. Useless.
So she listened to the heart. The one that pumped Silver's crazed blood.
Need to kill. Need to kill.
It was a new, animalistic instinct that went far beyond Blossompaw's normal sanity. But then again, her normality was gone for good.
Need to kill. Fresh blood. Young blood. Kit blood. Want blood.
It was evening, the time when kits usually went to sleep unwillingly with their queens. The plan was simple, really; all kits loved to play. Blossompaw would give them what they wanted. She would go to ThunderClan for this. It was her first, small step in getting revenge. Her father had ruined her life. She needed to respond to his actions in kind.
Blood. Want blood. Need blood. Fresh blood. Young blood. Kit blood.
Her heart was crying, begging for it. Complete agony.
Need blood!
The sun was falling rapidly into the west, rays shimmering pitifully. It was weak, too. Only it couldn't get any blood.
Blood is mine! All mine!
Blossompaw trekked slowly. She felt weighed down by her weakness, like she was carrying some heavy rock. But it didn't matter. The blood would wash it all away. She didn't care that her Clan might suspect something. She didn't care that her scent was all over the dead Liontail. The only thing on her mind now was blood, and Blossompaw was determined to get what she wanted.
The black apprentice was met with an obstacle. There were two cats guarding the camp. Not one, but two.
ThunderClan scum.
Blossompaw rolled in a patch of grass, trying to hide her scent. She climbed up a tree and looked down in the camp. "Hey, kit," she whispered from her perch.
Nothing. Of course; she had been whispering.
"Kit!" The whisper was louder this time. Still nothing, but a ThunderClan cat perked his ears up and whispered something to his friend. The older cat, however, shook it off with disbelieving eyes.
Toad-brain. Stupid dog.
The first cat yawned, his red tongue lolling out and his teeth glinting in the starless night. The second one smacked him, trying to keep him awake. While they jabbered and argued, Blossompaw successfully got into the camp.
"Little kit," she called in a honeyed mew. "Do you want to play?"
Two eyes popped out from what looked like the nursery. "Who are you?" asked the kit, wrinkling his nose. "You smell funny."
Not half as bad as you, piece of fox-dung.
"Are you here to play?" the kit asked excitedly, bouncing up and down on his paws. "My name's Reedkit, and my momma is Yewfeather, and my dad is Mouseclaw!"
Mouseclaw. That cursed badger-heart. So, this is my half-brother. Unfaithful tom.
"I see," Blossompaw mewed with false excitement. "You must love your parents very much."
"Well, not Mouseclaw." The kit wrinkled his nose again.
"Why not?"
"He never takes care of us. All the other dads bring their kits fresh-kill and moss-balls and play with them all the time, but Mouseclaw just sits there and grooms himself and does nothing." Reedkit scraped at the ground. He was distracted.
Kill, now!
Blossompaw looked around briefly, making sure everyone was asleep. Then she turned to the kit, her lips curled in a sadistic sneer.
"Stupid kit. Did you actually believe me?"
Reedkit cowered at this sudden change of personality, his simple mind not being able to process anything.
Now!
The apprentice leapt, using her last bit of strength to cleanly snap Reedkit's neck.
But not before he had the chance to scream. The shriek pierced the air and warned Blossompaw.
Danger!
She ran, carrying the limp, fragile body of the kit. Blood filled her mouth and gave her the energy to go on, paws thumping on the hard ground until she reached a safe spot under a bush.
There, Blossompaw drank the blood to her heart's desire. The fresh kit-blood was warm in her mouth, and she sucked it up with the same eagerness a moon before.
Ahhh. Her heart sighed in relief. At last. Blood. I am strong again.
Blossompaw suddenly jerked her head up. If she was getting stronger from this blood, and she had been weaker without it, she was going to have to do this every moon. What would she do during leaf-bare? There was already a small number of kits, and this would decrease once the colder months came.
There's a way, her heart told her. Listen to me, and you will get what you crave. We will share the satisfaction of blood together, if you will listen. Listen. Listen.
The last word echoed in Blossompaw's mind, and so she listened.
Good, purred the voice. You have allowed yourself to be consumed by me. You be mine and I will be yours. You have the power to do almost anything you want now. You could easily make life perfect for the Clans. No starvation, no illness, no drought or storm or disaster. No death. You could even make yourself immortal.
Blossompaw listened closely, taking in every word.
"But why would I want to make life perfect for the cats that destroyed my life?"
Ah, that is the catch. Every new moon, they must sacrifice four kits —one from each Clan— and you will get four times the blood required. You will be POWERFUL!
The word resonated through the depths of the apprentice's brain, increasing in speed and dynamics each time. Instead of fading away, it reverberated intensely until it burst out Of Blossompaw's consciousness.
"Powerful!"
Exactly. Every cat existing will bow to you without hesitation. They will be forever in your debt, forever grateful for the happy lives you have bestowed upon them.
"I will be their leader."
More than that. You will be their queen, their hero, their legend. You will be their goddess.
"Yes!" Blossompaw shouted, standing up from the pile of bones and flesh that had been Reedkit. "I will!"
You must see your father for this. He will most definitely agree to the deal that you offer, and there will be no turning back.
"Of course he will, lazy tom."
Do it!
Blossompaw stealthily approached the Highledge, where only leaders and deputies could be. She didn't care.
"Cats of ThunderClan!" cried Blossompaw. The cats looked up at her, pelts bristling and claws unsheathed.
"What is a ShadowClan apprentice doing here in the middle of the night?" demanded Whitestar, the leader of the Clan. "ThunderClan, atta—"
"I understand you are in turmoil," Blossompaw said, cutting him off. She spoke quickly. "But do not attack me. I have a deal for you."
There were murmurs in the crowd, eyes staring up at this crazed she-cat who had dared to come into the heart of ThunderClan territory. A ginger warrior climbed on to the ledge, snarling.
"You have no right to be here!"
"No right!" chanted the Clan, taking up his call. "No right!"
The warrior launched himself at Blossompaw, who retaliated with a blow to the muzzle. "ShadowClan cats play dirty," she taunted. The cat only growled and scratched Blossompaw's neck.
Two drops of blood fell slowly onto the ground with separate splats for each. ThunderClan stared as Blossompaw's wound closed up almost immediately.
This is the power that we share, her heart meowed. Do not forget what we are capable of.
"You see," Blossompaw said, "cats like you cannot hurt me. Mouseclaw!"
Her calico father looked up, shock carved on his face.
"You will be making a decision for the forest."
The cats were hushed. The ginger cat stayed on the Highledge, eyes boring through Blossompaw. She did not flinch.
"Will you succumb to me as your leader and have a perfect world?"
"Why would we bow down to you?" shouted a gray she-cat. "You killed my son!"
"How are you so sure?" Blossompaw asked menacingly. "I repeat: Do you want disasters like this to happen time and time again, or live your perfect lives with a catch?"
"What catch?" rumbled the ginger warrior. "I say no."
"Do not interrupt!" Blossompaw bared her teeth and hissed.
The cat bristled. "I can do what ever I want! You are nothing but a mere apprentice that has too big an ego for her own good!"
"Stop." Whitestar's voice rang over the rest. He turned to face Blossompaw, staring her in the eye without a trace of fear. "What do you know about Reedkit?"
"I know that more kits will suffer his fate if this continues; I'll make sure of that myself. However, if you agree to my pact, only four will go from all the Clans once a moon."
"Murderer!" The gray she-cat, who Blossompaw assumed was Yewfeather, unsheathed her claws. "Kit-killer!"
"It is not your decision," the apprentice said coldly. "Well? Mouseclaw?"
The multi-colored tom shuffled his paws. "I think —I decide— that we should live perfect lives."
Yowls of protests rose up among the crowd. Yewfeather sliced Mouseclaw's face in a fit of anger only a mother could feel.
This is going perfectly, isn't it? inquired the cool voice.
"Very perfect," Blossompaw agreed. She raised her voice. "The words have been spoken and the deal has been agreed to! I will make your lives perfect if you will bow down to me and give me the kits promised every new moon. Or else."
"Or else what?" asked the ginger cat. He was awfully bold.
"I know someone," Blossompaw said, choosing her words carefully. "That someone can turn you all into crowfood. To prove my point, I will start with you. The rest of you," Blossompaw called, "will announce this at the Gathering. I will come if it is necessary."
She turned to face the warrior and took the fury in her heart to use.
He was the third cat who died that day.
A/N: I'm scared of Blossompaw. *shudders* On a brighter note, there won't be too much violence in the next chapters. Also, I'd like some advice on making this more realistic. It's not every day an 8-moon-old apprentice takes over all four clans and kills two warriors in one day without being a Mary-sue.