Author's Note: An added bonus I decided to give you guys. Cuz I'm feelin' sadistic, LOL. And it'll wrap up a loose end, I guess.
Chapter Rating: PG-13, for brief and vivid gore.
WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS ANGSTY MATERIAL. IF YOU LIKE HAPPY ENDINGS, DON'T READ THIS.
EPILOGUE
With a gasp he bolted upright, clutching his heaving chest with a trembling hand. His eyes nervously darted around the room, full of fear, the images from moments ago still fresh and frightening. Instinctively he reached across the bed for his staff, the feel of the solid wood under his fingers bringing mild comfort – at least he could defend himself if need be. Silently, his well-trained senses took in his surroundings, his panic from moments before now fading.
He was in his bedroom. He had been dreaming. And it was, with an idle glance toward the clock on his bedside, well after midnight. Out of habit he took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of his bedroom, his nose briefly detecting a peculiar smell which he quickly dismissed as inimportant. What had woken him at such an hour?
Distantly, figures danced across his memory, waking the worry that had momentarily ebbed, and his eyes widened in recognition.
His sons. In pain.
Uneasiness creased Splinters' aged brow, his eyes squeezing closed to suppress the images. Weakly he raised a bony hand up to pinch the narrow bridge of his nose, hoping that these dreams had no deeper meaning.
It had been three days now. Three days since had last seen any of his sons. A part of him knew that they were adults now, and that they had no obligation to stay in the den…but the other part of him knew better. It felt the absence of the deep connection he shared with his sons, and that frightened him.
Something felt wrong.
Worry was swelling in Splinters' chest, and it tightened uncomfortably. He couldn't breath. With a grunt and the assistance of his staff, the old Rat righted himself and padded toward his door, his hand still on his head.
He must do something. If he doesn't hear from his sons soon, then he must go out and find them.
All of the moisture in his mouth seemed to vanish, and with a thick swallow Splinter opened his bedroom door, and walked down the hall into his empty den.
A cup of tea will calm his nerves. It will steady his breathing. It will clear his mind. Perhaps nothing is wrong, and it's just an old fool's mind playing tricks.
The sound of his staff connecting with linoleum echoed softly in the kitchen as Splinter made his way toward the cupboard, pulling out a kettle and a box of tea leaves. Filling the pot with water and placing it on the burner of the stove, the aged Rat moved to sink, plucking up a clean cup from the dish rack.
As he moved about the small kitchen, Splinters' thoughts still lingered on the absence of his sons. Again, his concern swelled, but the logic inside of him spoke up. He has trained them well. They are true ninja. Three nights away from the safety of the den is not going to kill them.
Across from him his tea water bubbled noisily, and with a steady hand he poured the steaming water into his cup and over the tea leave he had placed in it. Before he went to drink, he inhaled the aroma deeply, grimacing when his nose caught that foreign smell again. This time strong, and closer.
It smelled like blood.
Alarm spreading through his frail body, Splinter cradled his teacup and crept slowly through the kitchen, searching for the source. It wasn't in the cupboards, or in the fridge…not the sink…
The Rat's nose led him over to the darkened part of the den, where the television and couch were situated. Narrowing his old eyes, Splinter stepped out of the kitchen area and into the den, flicking on the lights.
His teacup crashed to the floor.
Not only was the scent of blood over-powering, but his eyes were assaulted. Strung across his den, was an animal skin, dripping with blood.
Panic was the first emotion to ignite in the aged Rat, his eyes wide and pupils' pin-points. With several decades of ninjitsu guiding him, Splinter darted through his den, checking for the persons responsible for this. Although old and an upright rodent, his mammalian feet carried him silently and swiftly about, his body ready to react. Faintly, Splinter could smell the stench of Shredder in the air, along with the sweat aroma of the foot, their hate and energy lingering in the air. They, however, we long gone.
After establishing there was no danger in his home, Splinter allowed a moment for him to relax, his body shuddering from the sudden panic that had taken him. The smell of blood was almost dizzying, and although it was over-powering, the old Rat now noticed a familiar scent mingling with the stench of blood.
The scent of his sons.
Feeling a pang of hope, Splinter inhaled deeply and followed the smell, trying to find its' source. The scent led him back to the animal skin.
The visual was still offensive. Crinkling his nose, Splinter edged closer to the skin, his eyes taken in all the detail he could.
He soon realized that the skin wasn't animal. In the dim lighting, it was hairless and thin. Almost…humanoid. It also had a green hue, beneath the sheen of dying blood, and was charred throughout the center.
Oh NO.
Dangling from strings in front of him, and apparently still very fresh, was the skin of one of his sons. And on this skin, burned into it, were two words.
"I WIN."
FINIS
I dunno if an epilogue was a good idea...but hey, lemme know. If this comes across as just cheesy, I'm sorry. ; It's late.