Disclaimer: I don't own Warriors or many characters featured in this story. The only things I own are the storyline and the original characters featured in this story.

CHAPTER FIVE

MANGLE

Mangle wrinkled his nose at the fishy scent of the water Clan, RiverClan. It was overwhelmingly strong in his area, although there was a hint of that musky smell of ThunderClan. A moon and a half had passed since the unsuccessful attack on the cowardly scrawny rabbit-munchers. They were weak, while BloodClan was strong! And yet, they were able to fight them off; albeit with the help of the other Clans. He snarled silently. Next time, he vowed, BloodClan will not lose, even if I have to kill them all myself!

He dug his claws into the ground and imagined that he was tearing at the pelt of the dark tabby warrior, or that pale tom, who was hideously scarred but still among the living. He would prefer one of them, but would settle for that tortoiseshell, dark gray tom, or silvery tabby she-cat. What were their names again? He knew Jaggedtooth had mentioned them when he spoke of being driven off by them after they killed Bone.

Oh, yes! The dark tabby was called Bramblepaw, the pale tom was Ashpaw, the tortoiseshell was Bramblepaw's sister and named Tawnypaw. The gray cat and the silvery tabby were Stormpaw and Featherpaw, respectively. Although he would likely get their names confirmed tonight. He curled his lip. The Clans were much too trusting! After all, they had a spy among them.

He paced in a circle, an itch to claw something, preferably one of Bone's killers, burning inside him. Snarling, he raked his claws down a trunk, leaving marks scored deep in the bark. He has been so close to killing the Clan cat known as Stormpaw, and even after all this time, it still rankled him that the gray cat had escaped his grasp. Despite his best efforts, all five of his brother's killers remained alive.

A cat-like shadow appeared in the trees. He pretended not to notice it, then spun and pounced on it once it was closer. One paw was pressed against the cat's mouth, and the other had unsheathed claws lightly touching the cat's throat. The cat trembled, watching him with wide eyes.

"Flash." He spat the name like it was a curse, stepping off the dark brown she-cat. The RiverClan apprentice scrambled to her paws, glaring at Mangle.

"Mangle," she growled softly. She lashed her tail. "My name is Sunpaw now, not Flash. Remember that."

"You will never truly be one of them," Mangle snarled. "Remember that, Sister."

"Mangle." She sounded like she wanted to tear his throat out, which she could never do. In their play-fights as kits, she never could beat him, although she was a good fighter. "I told you. Don't call me Sister when I'm near Clan territory."

He snarled. "What are the news of RiverClan?"

She glared at him. He took a threatening step forward, teeth bared "Don't test me, Flash," he hissed. "If you want to argue about your job, talk to Scourge. I'm doing mine; now you do yours. Tell me the news of RiverClan. Now."

"Mistystar lost another life from a fox." Her voice is tight with anger. "Flowerwing is expecting Grassfur's kits." She brightened. "And soon, I'll be a warrior, not an apprentice."

Mangle cuffed her over the ears, hard. "It doesn't matter, Flash! Remember, you belong in BloodClan, not RiverClan. Never RiverClan."

"Loyalties can change," she growled defiantly.

"But no one turns their back on BloodClan and gets away with it," Mangle snarled, and thrust his face into hers threateningly, eyes glittering. "No one."

She met his gaze for a second; then her eyes dropped to her paws. "I don't know where I belong anymore," she whispered. She stepped forward to press her muzzle into his fur.

Mangle suppressed a snarl. You shouldn't have that doubt, Flash! And get off me! Sibling or not, I don't want your filthy RiverClan-smelling fur on me! It was an effort to keep those words inside, but he managed it. She clearly needed to realize where her loyalties should lie.

He swallowed. While that was clear, it was also obvious that it needed to be done in a gentler way than Mangle was used to. He had to speak softly to her, comfort her. Mangle hissed softly. He was terrible at comforting, so he kept it short. "Flash, you were born in BloodClan. You grew up in BloodClan. You belong in BloodClan."

"Mangle..." she murmured softly. For a moment, it was almost like he was comforting her when they were kits, after their parents were killed. Back then, his touch had calmed her, and now, it seemed to do the trick. He wasn't particularly enjoying the contact with her, though. Scourge was depending on him to deliver news, not to cuddle and comfort the dark-furred she-cat. But she was their informant in the Clans, and if cuddling with her made her stay loyal, then well, he would do it. He would do anything for BloodClan.

His sister sighed, and he shifted awkwardly. However close you think we are right now Flash, we're nowhere near it. "RiverClan is... so different from BloodClan," she whispered. "We don't have to eat any garbage. We don't train with claws unsheathed. We don't take food from the weak. How can I betray them? I have friends there."

"Flash. So many of our friends died for BloodClan." That was a lie. Mangle's only close friend, Bone, was the only one. He never had any more. "Bone died for BloodClan. Your so-called RiverClan friends killed them. I hate them, and would do anything for my Clan, as should you. Remember that."

She drew back. The moment was long over. There was a spark of something in her eyes, but then she turned away. "Thanks. I needed that." Doubt echoed in her voice, and Mangle's claws unsheathed. He forced himself not to inquire after it, and instead sat there without moving, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

The massive ginger tom watched her go, then called, "Flash." She turned with a challenging look back in her eyes. His voice was hard. "Never forget where your loyalties lie."

She looked at him for a long moment, fire flaring in her eyes. "My name is Sunpaw."

Then she was gone.

Mangle scrambled up the trunk, strong front paws pulling him up and powerful hind paws pushing. His eyes were fixed on a meaty-looking squirrel, one of the fattest that he had seen since leaf-fall had started. Prey was already growing scarcer, but they had the Twolegplace for food too, and Scourge's offerings.

He sprang, landing directly on the squirrel. His teeth sank into its neck, and then it was dead. Triumph surged through him, and he picked it up, intending to bring it back to camp. A fox bark, followed by snarling and hissing, made him prick his ears. He turned his head toward the sound, eyes narrowed. He wasn't particularly concerned about whoever was fighting the fox, but nonetheless, he bounded up a tree, deposited the squirrel in the crook of a branch, and leaped away through the branches of the trees. Though his weight made many of them bend, none broke.

Racing through the forest top, Mangle felt a brief thrill of delight. He had always been more comfortable with heights, particularly this area, than his sister or Bone had been. That's why she chose to join RiverClan. Up here in the trees, he was invincible. No cat could touch him, and he held the advantage of being higher up. Nothing could match him.

Before long, the russet fur of a fox came into sight. It was snarling at three cats, all of whom had their backs to him. The patrol stank of ThunderClan, but none of them looked very familiar, except for one. There were two she-cats, and one tom. The tom was incredibly small, especially when compared to Mangle himself. He was also the smallest of the trio. Mangle couldn't make out many more details, but he could see that the tom had a white tail-tip.

One she-cat was a dark gray tabby. She was the biggest of the three, with long fur. She was also the one closest to him, her fur fluffed out as she hissed at the fox.

The other she-cat had white fur, with ginger patches splashed all over her. What stood out to the BloodClan warrior was the side of her face that was facing him was ripped away. She had shredded ears, and one eye was missing. Her remaining eye was currently glaring at the fox. Her wounds, clearly long-healed, were also clearly not made by one of his Clanmates in battle. No cat claws could make the huge clawmarks that marred her pelt.

Mangle's claws flexed. Even if the wounds weren't made by BloodClan, it was obvious that she would have been near-death after receiving them. She had recovered from them, but the massive ginger warrior was tempted to go down there and finish the job. He managed to hold himself back and simply crouched there, waiting to see how this would play out.

The fox glared at the cats, eyes narrowed to slits. The cats hissed back, and it's fur fluffed up defensively.

"Get off ThunderClan territory, mange-pelt!" the tom snarled.

The she-cats echoed his words. Mangle examined the fox, and realized that it was actually a vixen. He scented the air, trying to detect any milk-scent. A faint trace of the sweet white liquid reached him, and he swiveled his head to look behind the patrol. Yes, there was the red fur of fox kits hidden in the bushes. Though the vixen kept snarling, her eyes constantly flickered to her kits.

Mangle settled down. He could intervene and explain to the Clan cats that they were blocking the vixen's path to her kits. He could stop a fight and save both sides many injuries. But these were ThunderClan scum; if they were too garbage-brained to realize the problem, then they didn't deserve his help. Instead, he sat back in the branches, the shadows hiding his bright pelt. This would be amusing.

For a moment, no animal moved. The vixen was holding her ground, back arched, teeth bared, fur bristling. The cats crouched low to the ground, tensed and preparing for an attack. Mangle waited patiently. Something would happen soon.

Sure enough, the fight began. The dark tabby was the one to move first. She leaped at the fox, who immediately retaliated with a quick swipe at the side. Tumbling to the ground, the she-cat latched her claws onto the fox's leg and pulled it off-balance. Taking advantage of the moment where the fox was flailing, trying to regain its balance, the dark tabby scrambled up, and the other two cats launched themselves into the fight.

The fox yelped in pain as the tom's jaws closed around its leg. It shook its leg, and the tom let go, retreating rapidly to avoid its snapping teeth. It lunged for the ginger-and-white she-cat, who, despite her handicap, dodged nimbly and easily, turning to strike at its muzzle. The vixen snarled at her, and the dark tabby darted around it and nipped its hind legs, before digging her claws into its haunches.

The vixen whipped around to attack her, causing the tabby, who was still holding onto the fox, to fall away, off-balance. The fox lunged for her, but the other she-cat slammed her shoulder into the fox's side. While not the biggest of cats, she also wasn't small, and the impact sent the fox staggering. The two she cats reared up, side-by-side, and began lashing out at the fox, steadily advancing. The vixen yelped and began edging backwards.

When they were close to the edge of the clearing, the tabby dropped to all fours and swept a leg out, knocking the fox's paws out from under it. It collapsed, muzzle bumping the ground. Scrambling to its feet, it snarled, but was dizzy and weakened. The tom rushed forward to press the advantage, but slithered to a stop. His wide green eyes stared into the bushes. He had seen the fox kits.

"Mistlewind! Brightheart!" the tom called. The two she-cats spun toward him, and their eyes, too, widened when they saw the kits. "This fox has kits!"

What looked like shame filled their eyes, and they backed away from the fox, who growled at them and limped over to its kits. The fox nudged them out, licking the tops of their heads. There were three in total, and all of them stared at their mother with wide eyes.

Mangle stood up. Now that the fight was over, he was bored. Rolling his shoulders, he leaped toward another tree, grunting as he landed on it. The branch bent under his weight, but didn't break. Without pause, he leaped again to the next, over and over, leaving the fox, her kits, and the garbage-brained Clan cats far behind.

Mangle thrust his way into camp, the squirrel hanging from his jaws, roughly shouldering aside cats who happened to be in his way. They glared at him, but every cat knew that unless you were Scourge or Snipe, you didn't mess with Mangle if you valued your life.

As he passed a white-furred cat who was crouched over a mouse, he made sure to step on the prey and grind it into the ground. He sneered at the cat as he leaped up with a protesting yowl, fur bristling. He darted in front of Mangle and planted himself there, hackles raised and claws unsheathed.

"What was that for?" he spat, hatred ringing in his gaze. Cats from all around the camp rose to their paws to watch the two cats. They began forming a ring around them.

Letting the squirrel drop to the ground, Mangle placed one paw on it and thrust his face forward until their noses almost touched, a dark look on his face. His eyes gleamed. Attacking him might not be the same as attacking the five cats who killed Bone, but it would give him some pleasure. While it did occur to him that doing so would only make him less popular, something Bone had tried to do the opposite of for him, he didn't care. The only thing that mattered was vengeance and BloodClan, and BloodClan had plenty of cats. They could afford to lose this one.

"Want to challenge me?" he hissed.

The white tom backed off immediately. "N-no, Mangle."

There was an audible sigh of disappointment, and three cats stalked forward to yank the tom off somewhere. Mangle shrugged, not particularly caring what happened to the cat. He picked up his squirrel, and padded to his usual spot. The cats parted before him.

Plopping down, he sank his teeth into the squirrel and tore out a piece. Swallowing, he grunted in pleasure. It was nice and meaty, not stringy and tough like most of the prey was at this point. He continued to devour the squirrel, and when he was finished, tossed the remains in the river. No BloodClan cat in the inner group ate fish, and the river was already highly polluted with the carcasses of other dead, rotting prey, so one more didn't make much of a difference. Stretching, he jerked around at the sound of a scuffle outside.

Two cats marched in, a small brown tom reeking of ShadowClan between them. The tom was struggling, but against two, he didn't have much of a chance. The guards dumped him at Scourge's paws, who placed his claws against the prisoner's throat. The tom ceased his struggling and lay still, eyes wide with fright. He summoned Snipe with a flick of his tail, and the BloodClan deputy stepped forward to stand beside his leader, looking down coldly at the Clan cat.

"I caught him under some bushes," one of the guards growled roughly. "Spying."

The rest of the cats in the camp moved into a circle around the three cats, making sure that the prisoner couldn't escape, but giving Scourge and Snipe plenty of room. Mangle shoved his way forward so that he was to the right of the Clan cat. Underneath his short fur, he could see lean muscles rippling with strength all along his small body.

Snipe moved lightning-fast at a nod from Scourge. Darting behind the tom, he threw his weight down onto his back, placing his paws onto each of the prisoner's limbs, effectively immobilizing him. Scourge removed his claws, and although the tom struggled, he couldn't escape Snipe's grasp.

"Who are you, and what Clan are you from?" Scourge's voice was curt.

The tom snarled at him. "None of your business, mange-pelt." There were hisses of fury from the watching cats.

"Why were you here?" Scourge continued, ignoring the fact that the tom had refused to answer.

"What do you think?" the tom hissed back.

Scourge's claws had sliced down the tom's shoulder before Mangle could blink. The tom screeched in pain, writhing for a moment. Snipe clouted him with a heavy paw.

"Why were you here?" Scourge repeated dangerously.

"I'll never betray my Clan to a mangy piece of fox-dung such as you!" the tom snarled. "Never." He spat at the black tom's paws.

Scourge watched him for a few more seconds, then shrugged and turned away. "Very well." Mangle blinked. That was it? Scourge wasn't going to keep trying? "Suffer the consequences, then." Quick as a flash, he spun around and scored his claws down the tom's face. He met Snipe's gaze for a moment, then padded back to his thrush.

Snipe heaved the tom to his paws and then sent him sprawling. "He's yours," he growled to the cats, before joining his leader.

Mangle grinned viciously. Cats had already converged on the tom, and were debating about how they should kill him. The one thing that all of them agreed on was to do it slow. Mangle joined them, and they soon came to a verdict. It began.

The cold night air was still and quiet, the silence only broken by the soft grunts of cats or the occasional chirp of crickets. The moon was out and the sky clear. Mangle crouched on the bank of the river, hidden in the shadow of the bone-hill. Though BloodClan hadn't taken it apart, Scourge used it for nothing more than a convenient place to store the bones of prey.

The tom had died a few hours back, left to die in a pool of his own blood in the middle of the camp. From time-to-time, he would groan or weakly call for help, and was rewarded by a blow to the head. Mangle had taken savage pleasure in helping to slowly kill the Clan cat, who dared to insult Scourge, and so did all the other cats. When he had finally died, two cats had tossed his body into the river, and several others cleaned up with blood with moss. Now, except for a dark patch on the ground, there was no sign of him ever being there.

He stared down at his reflection, and once more vowed to take vengeance on his brother's killers. Now that it was night, his anger had calmed considerably, and he was more relaxed. The night was his time of half-peace. There were no hissing or snarling as cats fought over scraps of food, or the loud banter of his colleagues. Just... silence. With the knowledge of cats slumbering behind him, he had all the company he needed. Usually, though, Bone would be here with him. They would stay up late, and just sit there, thinking or looking up at the moon and stars. Before, they would think or talk about their future, or what BloodClan would become. Now all he thought about was how much he wanted his killers dead, his paws drenched in their blood and his teeth in their skin. Bone would have approved.

Speaking of his brother, Bone's mottled face hovered over his shoulder in the water, eyes full of pride, the tips of the dog teeth and cat claws in his collar just in sight. If he looked around though, there was no cat in sight. He was one of the only few who liked the night. He tucked his paws under him, staring into Bone's glowing green eyes. It took him a moment to realize that those eyes were just the stars above turned green in his mind.

Mangle raised his head to stare at them. They were breath-taking, dotting the sky by the dozens. He gazed at them for several long moments, just simply taking in the beauty. He had seen the stars in the Twolegplace, but never like this. In the Twolegplace, various buildings and lamps had blocked the view. It had never displayed its full wondrous nature to him.

A sneer twisted itself onto his face as he remembered what the Clan cats believed the stars were. The dead souls of cats. Hah! Who had ever heard of such a ridiculous thing? What did his sister say they called it? StarClan? They should be called DeadClan. After all, that's all their deceased were. Dead.

He mocked their "warrior ancestors" for a few more minutes. Clan cats are even more garbage-brained that I thought. What sort of idiot would ever think for a second that stars are the spirits of dead cats? Furthermore, what idiot would rely on them? They're dead! What can they do? He knew lots about the Clans, as his sister reported to him the news. When he had first heard of StarClan, he had nearly choked from the stupidity of it.

I'm glad we took the forest from them, he thought savagely. Cats that garbage-brained don't deserve this prey. BloodClan is smarter than them because we don't pray to dead cats! We rely on our own strength, not some dead cat's power. If they're dead, they have no power! If such a ridiculous and garbage-brained thing like StarClan even existed, they would support BloodClan.

And with that, Mangle raised a paw and slammed it into the water, shattering the image.