'Friend, please remove your hands from
Over your eyes for me
I know you want to leave but
Friend, please don't take your life away from me.'

'Friend, Please' - Twenty One Pilots

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Her head vanished into that monster's dripping jaws, eyes squeezed closed, but face set in a look of determination. It was the first time Eaglestrike had seen her fight without a shred of fear expressed in her eyes or pulling her mouth into a frown. He didn't realise it until the crack rang out over the chaotic cries of Titan's crazed followers that it might well be the last time he'd ever see her fight, the moment canines probably nearly as big as a kit punctured her skin, shattering her skull. The bloodcurdling scream he thought had come from him but his mouth had been shut. Glancing to his right he saw the look of utter anguish he'd seen far too often falling over Icepetal's face. Beside her Rainpatch's jaw was hanging open, perhaps in a soundless wail, eyes dull.

He could see what Icepetal was planning to do only heartbeats before she did it, but not quick enough to stop the she-cat from shoving her way to the pit, lashing out at any city-cats that tried to stop her. The dogs were still in the pit, still snapping at Littleflame's unmoving form. She's not dead, there's no way she's dead. He kept telling himself that she'd get back up and keep fighting.

"Let them in," Titan's commanding voice sent his followers scurrying out of the way, creating a clear path to the pit.

Something was occurring within; the dogs were pressed against a wall as far from Littleflame as possible, whimpering like newborns. A red sort of haze enveloped the CedarClan she-cat, liquefying into a feline figure, drawing strength from the ever-growing puddles of blood. The figure became full-bodied, a sloshing sound forcing the knowledge that it was made out of blood onto the Chosen. It turned its head, splattering red across the sand, mouth opening to produce a harsh wheezing sound.

Silence fell on the mass of onlookers; even Icepetal ceased her forceful run, one paw extended over the edge. They watched and waited. What was this figure? Where did it come from? What did it want?

"My, my," blood bubbled from between its lips as it spoke, harsh voice like claws scraping against stone. "Haven't you all caused a mighty commotion? What was the point of this?" It rolled its head, sickening squelches echoing. "Does death really thrill all of you so much that you have to create it yourselves? I can give you death. I can give you all death. You can think of it as a gift. I will think of it as revenge."

Titan appeared on the opposite edge of the pit, gaze glancing from Chosen to stranger. "What are you?" his question was asked slowly.

"I'm a cat, like you," an evil grin appeared. "Or at least, my real body is. I suppose you could say my current form is just a manifestation growing from the lost blood of my host."

"Host? You were possessing her!?" Eaglestrike can't help but shudder.

It stepped away from Littleflame, "if by possessing you mean using, then yes. She was rather handy, gave me exactly what I needed when I needed it, all for such a little price as well. Say, would you like to know what she got in return for handing over her body?"

A growl of anger thundered in Icepetal's throat. "Get away from her!" she roared.

"I'll tell you any way. She asked for strength, how silly is that? Said she wanted to prove herself to someone she loved." Dripping eyes fell on Eaglestrike, observing the lack of space between him and Apollo. "Such an easy thing to grant, do you want to know why? Of course you do. Strength is such an easy wish to grant because it can't be granted! She wished for something she could never have! I can't just give her something like that, strength has to be earned."

"So you stole her body and gave her nothing in return?" Icepetal was livid.

"What can I say?" it shrugged lazily. "I'm evil."

Thoughts were turning over in Eaglestrike's head, crucial words already spoken, previous events that had already occurred. An idea was beginning to take form, a little frayed around the edges. "Who are you really?" he murmured with a furrowed brow not entirely sure that the figure would even hear his words.

But it did, snapping its head to pin him with its flowing gaze, tossing more blood against the wooden walls of the pit. A slow smile began to appear, growing wickeder with each heartbeat. "Oh I think you know who I am."

Molten rage filled him. It was one thing to torment his home for moons, to tear families apart under the pretense of war, but it was another thing to invade the body of someone, to use their naivety against them. "Get away from her!" he launched himself down into the pit and at the figure cackling manically. Hitting its body was like hitting a wall of warm water, he just went straight through it, skidding into the wall soaked in blood. "Don't touch her!"

"Oh, Eaglestrike," it purred his name, "ever the saviour. Haven't you realised that you can't save everyone yet?"

"It doesn't matter that he doesn't save everyone, what does matter is that he tries," Rainpatch scrambled down the wall to help Eaglestrike to his paws, Icepetal following him closely.

"Watching the ones that looked up to you, the ones you loved, die at your paws even though you tried your hardest to stop it wears down even the strongest cat."

Eaglestrike caterwauled, "you don't know how to love! You're incapable of any feeling other than hate! This entire war is just a big game to you, something you enjoy playing! If you were in any way capable of feeling you'd look at all the lives you've destroyed and you'd feel remorse. You'd hate yourself. But you can't feel, so you don't. I'm going to promise you something, Crimson," he ignored the cries of surprise and fear, "I will not stop, I will not rest, until you are dead."

The figure, Crimson in her manifested form, grinned darkly – as darkly as something made from blood could. "I'd like to see you keep trying after you've watched every one of your friends die before your eyes. Didn't it do something to you, Eaglestrike? Watching your precious Littleflame die right in front of you? Did you feel it in your bones, the ferocious need to save her life?"

"Shut up," he growled, "shut up!"

"He's not alone," Icepetal warned in a low voice, stepping around Littleflame's body to stand behind the PhoenixClanner.

Rainpatch made his way to Eaglestrike's other side, a mischievous grin forming. "How's the weather where you are?" And in despite of everything that had happened and was still happening, Icepetal laughed. It was a bitter, dull, lifeless laugh, more of a chuckle really, but it was enough to start something in the three of them.

It was hard to pick apart any of the emotions on Crimson's manifested form, quite possibly due to the dripping blood, but Eaglestrike was sure he saw a flicker of fear. "Five become three," Crimson cocked her head. "Yet you still dare to make a stand. I will never understand Clan cats."

"Leave this place," Titan ordered, pricking at the top of the wooden fence with his claws. "You are not welcome here."

Crimson raised her head to stare at the city boss but something, or someone, caught her gaze and her attention. A breath of surprise gusted from her mouth. "Isn't that just interesting? You have something to do for me, don't you forget that."

Before any of the Chosen could question what Crimson was talking about she vanished, the blood making up her form splashing back to the ground, coating them in a thin layer of scarlet. With the sound of the splash came the swift realisation that Littleflame had yet to get up. A heavy weight settled in Eaglestrike's stomach, a feeling of dread tugging at his heart.

"Littleflame...?" But it wasn't him making the first tentative move towards the mangled body, wasn't him gently leaning down to press a nose against a cheek. It was Icepetal. "Come on, Littleflame, you can get up. We still have a prophecy to fulfil...We still have a home to return to. Come on, wake up, please."

He went to take a step closer but something stopped him. It was the knowledge that she had willingly given her body over to Crimson for something as trivial as strength. She'd put everything and everyone at risk...and it hadn't even been worth it. Crimson had insinuated that Littleflame had done it for him, because she loved him. What had he done in return? His eyes found Apollo's, seeking reassurance. He'd fallen for someone else.

"Is this what you wanted!?" Icepetal howled, tossing her head up to look at Titan. Her face was twisted with anguish. Eaglestrike wondered if the pain she was feeling was similar to the pain she'd felt losing Willowclaw.

"It worked, didn't it?" Titan answered calmly. "We cleansed the darkness from you, took away the evil rooted within. Your group is safe from themselves, and you are welcome in my city." His features hardened, "this is war, Icepetal. War makes corpses, and the corpses make shells of those left alive. Say goodbye to your friend. We will have her buried. Your presence has been requested by my nephew's mate."

Icepetal, well and truly defeated for what might have been the first time in her entire life, just hung her head and went back to whispering meaningless nothings in ears that would no longer prick to hear her words. It was heartbreaking to see the usually icy she-cat so distraught over the death of her friend.

"You fought well," Rainpatch's voice was thick and choked, but had a tone to it that caught the attention of everyone else. "You fought courageously with the strength of an army of warriors. I am proud to have been by your side for moons that had felt like seasons. May the wind continue to whisper your downfalls, and the waves continue to roar your triumphs."

Silent, stunned, mouth agape, Eaglestrike looked at Rainpatch in a different light. He didn't see the warrior with kitlike tendencies that found hope in playing jokes. He saw a mature tom with moons of pain weighing down on him, saying goodbye to a companion he hadn't wanted to lose.

Noticing the stunned looks Rainpatch smiled sheepishly, "it's something we say to the dead, in WaveClan."

"It was nice," Eaglestrike replied lamely, covering up his pathetic attempt at a compliment by ushering himself over to Littleflame's side. He crouched down, lapping at her bloodstained pelt with long strokes. She should be buried clean, orange fur shining, not marred in blood and gore. As he cleaned her injuries came to light, stark and horrifying. Her stomach was torn open, insides pooling out in a sickening puddle, her skin flayed open in countless places, her skull cracked and shattered, four very obvious entry points scaring her head; once bright eyes stared off into oblivion, empty in death.

"I never wanted this to happen," he spoke into her fur. "You were never meant to die. You were supposed to go home and show your Clan how strong you'd become, tell them stories about all the amazing things you'd done. I wanted you to see a white moon, not a red one, rising to take the sun's place at night. I'm so sorry," Eaglestrike breathed, "that I couldn't save you."

He wouldn't think of her as the weak, scared she-cat that had given up control of her body for strength. He would think of her as the thoughtful warrior with a head full of bright ideas and a heart full of warmth; a warrior strong in her own way.

"Let's go," he mumbled to the others, stepping away from Littleflame's body trying to ignore the painful wrench his heart gave. "We can make sure her death was not in vain."

"I'll kill her. I'll kill flay her to pieces," Icepetal snarled.

Rainpatch curled his tail around her shoulders. "We all will, for Littleflame, for Tornheart, for all those that have died because of Crimson."

Apollo was waiting for them on the edge of the pit a guilty look shadowing her face. It vanished when she pressed herself against Eaglestrike, letting him just sag against her for a brief moment, drawing her tongue across his cheek in a soothing manner. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I know you two were close."

"We were." Nights spent wrapped up around each other flashed before Eaglestrike's eyes and he squeezed them shut, tugging Apollo a little closer.

"Clanners," Titan decided to make an appearance, standing before another gaping hallway. "I don't have all day."

Icepetal grumbled something under her breath receiving a shocked look that dissolved into muted giggles from Rainpatch. They followed the city boss from the room that was shrouded in death their steps slow and heavy the realisation that they were walking away from yet another Chosen weighing down on them. It made Eaglestrike want to turn around and run back, to press his muzzle into Littleflame's fur one last time before it was taken away from him forever.

"She will be buried alongside our fighters, remembered for her strength," Titan rumbled reassuringly.

Eaglestrike tried to look at the city boss with hatred, tried to picture the big tom as a murdering lunatic, but he couldn't. Titan was only doing what any other leader strived to do, keep his followers safe, keep his territory his own. How he did that might not be morally correct, but it was more than some leaders did. That still didn't mean Eaglestrike liked him very much.

A light had begun to filter into the hallway, illuminating the cracks and furrows running across the floor, stretching across the roof. It was dim but enough for Eaglestrike to make out an exit. He could smell air, not forest fresh but still air, breezing down towards him and the others. He swallowed. Littleflame should be with them, feeling air stir her fur.

"Walk straight out and onto the balcony. You'll see her. She'll be right by the edge," Titan's voice is gentle, "loves open air, she does. Oh, once you're done, have someone bring you to me. We can start working on battle plans. Crimson will no doubt be preparing to strike in the next few days, with you three on our side we might just have enough to sway the battle."

"Thanks," Rainpatch looked a little overwhelmed.

It's a stunning view from the balcony, whatever that was; it just looked like a fancy ledge to the Chosen. It jutted out over the city, each building capable of being seen. Had he been afraid of heights Eaglestrike might have strayed away from the edge, but he wasn't, and the view was too good to pass up. With the sun still hovering in the same place it had been earlier that day its rays still spread in a morning manner, orange and warm, casting long shadows down city roads, turning unbroken windows to unmoving fire. Silhouettes of felines, tiny like ants, roamed the streets, proving just how alive the city was.

Beyond the city sprawled the forest a dark mass that seemed moons away, stretching out behind it and far into the horizon the seemingly endless grasslands one could wander across forever. Somewhere out there Willowclaw was waiting for them. The thought game Eaglestrike a little jump of adrenaline. They could do this, for Willowclaw, for Littleflame. They'd destroy Crimson and bring peace back.

A shoulder nudged his gently, Apollo nodding to two figures sitting on the furthest point of the ledge, soft undertones of conversation flowing from them. The Chosen approached them cautiously, not sure why the city boss's nephew's mate, Eaglestrike's head spun a little, wanted to talk to them and why Titan had made her sound so important.

One of them stood; body all harsh angles and delicate bone. Fur a golden brown she opened her eyes, revealing blue orbs so intense they near ripped the breath straight out of Eaglestrike. It was like they could see his very soul. The smile the strange she-cat gave them was soft and welcoming however, calming the Chosens racing nerves. "I shall leave you to it. Welcome to my home, Clan cats," she said warmly as she brushed past.

There was still a few foxleaps between the Chosen and the last stranger. Something was pricking at Eaglestrike's memory, tugging at things he'd buried deep down, things he didn't want to remember anytime soon; dark fur, black, lightened by the soft sun, red set in random flecks.

His jaw hung open. It couldn't be. His mind flashed back to a day that felt so very long ago, a day when smoke had filled the sky, choking the air above the forest canopy, a day where they had run so very fast abandoning their home without so much as a second thought, a day when one had nearly died, only to be saved at the last moment. A scream of defeat had pierced the air, a cackle of victorious laughter had had their fur rising.

She couldn't be. She wasn't. She was dead. They'd seen her die. No you didn't, a voice reminded.

Then the figure turned her head and everything faded into background noise, the world no longer as important as the wide green eyes staring at them, as the pretty face marred with horrific scars pulling into a sad smile.

"Tornheart?"