Dreadpaw could never get used to the strange shapes darting the court, each one some Twoleg artifact from, what he presumed to be, games for Twoleg kits. Analogous to moss-balls or leaves for the little ones in the nursery. These were unnatural, everpresent across the seasons. Ever since he was in the nursery, Dreadpaw thought each one of them was proof of an increasingly vast amount of moons away from his carefree youth.

"You're breaking your vow of silence." Warpaw, his littermate, meowed to snap Dreadpaw back to reality. "Right, sorry about that," Dreadpaw meowed. He continued, "You know, I heard that when other Clan apprentices take their assessment, they're usually quiet. They do some stupid crap like sitting and hunting." As per tradition, DeathMetalClan apprentices took a uniform assessment - sit vigil, constantly talk, and make a song about their night afterwards. If it caused the Clan to headbang, they would earn their warrior name. Warpaw snickered, "And which Clans would those be?" Dreadpaw leered at him. He dare not say the two words. Not so soon, and not within earshot of the others. The night was almost over, and he hadn't even composed a melody yet.

"Me," Warpaw bragged without an invitation, "I think I've already gotten my song down. I'm going to sing about how much you suck." Dreadpaw hated his brother's guts. That little turd was an annoying nu-metal poser ever since he was a kit.

Maybe he would follow in kind. Let his soul sing the harmony of his innermost feelings and reveal his true self onto the world... or some other wussy prose like that. "I don't know," he meowed, "Warsuck sounds fitting. What about Warwuss?" Warpaw laughed. "'Wuss?' Wow... this is going to be easy." Dreadpaw was about ready to snap. "What is? Your stupid little rap battle? You think everyone's going to be impressed by your pussy-ass little 'spitting rhymes' wanna-be ghetto crap? Get bent, you belong in DeathMetalClan about as much as any of the pansies from the forest Clans!"

Warpaw was visibly shocked. Dreadpaw looked into his brothers frightened eyes, and immediately felt sorry. Not about the banter, of course, but for letting the two forbidden words slip.

Both paused, looking around to see if anyone had heard them.

Warpaw broke the silence, "You really are a lost cause. The Clan needs more cats who aren't completely retarded. Work on that." Neither of them noticed a few rays of blue on the horizon, marking the end of their curfew, and Dreadpaw's time to write his masterpeice.

The Clan gathered, wearily awaiting the two adolescents to earn their names. Warpaw stepped foreward, formost as always. Cocky bastard. Dreadpaw took a step back into the shadows, brooding.

With a flick of his tail, Warpaw began his mantra, slapping his paw against some scrap metal to his own beat.

"Uh... uh... yeah...

You all know Warpaw as the name,

And unlike that emo there's nothing here lame.

My flow is smooth, my rhymes are tight,

The moon only rises to see my night.

I've got six toes, and nobody knows,

What it's like to sit beside my brother who blows.

'Dreadpaw,' yeah, 'Dread' is all he say,

For when he meowed all the ladies run away.

So if you think only one of us will walk a man tonight,

Choose Warpaw, warpaw, and you'll choose right!"

Absolutely nobody cheered.

"WARPAW!" A voice whom Dreadpaw would recognize as Firedrinker, called from a distance. "That was absolute shit!" Warpaw was kicked up in a craze. "Oh yeah, says who?" Firedrinker leapt onto the stage, creating a rumble as he landed. The deputy knew how to make an entrance. Even moreso, he knew how to critique an egocentric pipsqueak.

Warpaw stepped back as he got a good study of the deputy's face. Before Firedrinker joined DeathMetalClan, a couple of Twolegs thought it funny to cover him with some sickly black water, then light him on fire. Smoldering, he ran straight towards their monster trying to escape, and accidentally caused it to enrapture in a fiery explosion. The blast nearly killed him, leaving his flesh burned and his muzzle and ears little more than featureless black stubs. To DeathMetalClan, he was more than family, he was the most hardcore of them all. An now Warpaw had angered him.

"Says. Me." The deputy snarled. "Your entire identity is based around belittling others. I'm not going to stand up for your brother if he doesn't want me to, but you yourself look like an insecure little bitch. Who is Warpaw other than a snotty little brat? Get out of my face." Dreadpaw knew that laughing would be a bad call, even though he desperately wanted to. "Speaking of," Firedrinker called, "You're up, Dread. Give us something that isn't complete horse anus."

Dreadpaw's mind went blank as he took a place beside the deputy. The cat didn't even think of any lyrics, just screamed and snarled melodically to his Clan. A throaty, deep snarl of hatred and evil.

Firedrinker purred, "What do you think of that one, Tornstar?" Tornstar, the Clan leader, was silent and still off in a corner of the crowd. "Tornstar?" Deathdealer, an elder, poked him before shouting "OH MY GOD, HE'S DEAD!" Dreadpaw sat still with a dumbfounded look on his face. What now? Firedrinker meowed, "Holy shit, you killed him! Wow, that's pretty brutal. Cats of DeathMetalClan, today we add another cat to our discography! This apprentice, henceforth, shall now be known as Dreadnaught!"

Dreadnaught sat and purred as his Clanmates called out his name. Warpaw sulked offstage, looking for something with which he could impale himself.