I apologize in advance to any Misto fans out there. I'm one of you, I promise. You'll just have to wait for a future chapter to fully see that...
Disclaimer: I'm hosting a tea party for TSE and Goethe. Al Dubs is gonna crash; I can feel it.
I am the Spirit that denies!
And rightly too; for all that doth begin
Should rightly to destruction run;
'Twere better then that nothing were begun.
Thus everything that you call Sin,
Destruction - in a word, as Evil represent-
That is my own, real element.
--Mephistopheles, Faust by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
His head was bowed, and he dared not raise it. He could feel the Hidden Paw breathing heavily; the beating had no doubt strained him. Although he knew that he was now more powerful than his master could ever hope to be, he left his head bowed, willing to accept this punishment. He was no stranger to beatings, even after a near perfect training lesson, just as today's had been.
Pride is a sin, he reminded himself with a sincerity that almost made him let out a harsh, Pollicle-like bark of laughter.
His own audacity surprised him to this day. To think of sins as a negative now, after all that had been done to him and done by him… That was foolishness. Recognizing your sins is the first step to seeking forgiveness, and a thaumaturgist never seeks forgiveness from anyone, not even the Everlasting Cat.
This had been taught to him by the cat that now wheezed above him.
The Hidden Paw had deteriorated significantly from his former days of glory, this he knew for certain. A beating had once been something feared, something that would cause him to curl into a small black ball, as if to escape. A beating had once sent him to his mother's waiting paws so she could lick his wounds clean. A beating had once made him cry.
But never again! Now his master was weak, unable to strike him with the strength of his past. Now a beating was nothing, little more than a couple stings to prove he was alive.
And how he enjoyed them! How he loved hearing his master's breath grow ragged and heavy until he was hunched over, panting, while he sat perfectly still, back straight, not wavering in the slightest. He loved standing up to his master, showing him just how powerful a thaumaturgist he would soon become.
But today had been different. He had not spoken out of turn, failed to show on time, or show the Hidden Paw the proper respect. He had been the perfect little angel today, doing as he was told by both his master and his mother, who still thought of him as a tiny kitten, not the most powerful thaumaturgist the world has ever known. He had performed his exercises perfectly, matching the Hidden Paw in efficiency.
Then came the beating.
A lecture would come next, he was certain, and though he could leave in the blink of an eye if he so wished, he remained with his head bowed. There was something about the atmosphere that was different today, something different about the Hidden Paw.
"I am pleased with your progress," the Hidden Paw began, just as suspected. "You have learned my skills flawlessly, taking them as your own and honing them to fit your needs. I have nothing more to teach you."
He chanced a glance upwards, shocked to see that the Hidden Paw had tears in his eyes.
"My son," he continued, his gaze more fond than threatening, "I have long awaited this day, the day when I will come to recognize you as my equal."
"Master?" There was a hint of confusion in his voice, and he was sure the Hidden Paw was enjoying holding some knowledge over him, now that magical techniques and skills were no longer available.
"Son, I cannot mark you as my own."
"Father?"
"You will not receive the mark of the Hidden Paw. You will give the Hidden Paw your mark. The Hidden Paw will be the first cat to bear the mark of Mephistopheles, the greatest of the thaumaturgists."
Mephistopheles was certain he had heard wrong. This was not at all like the Hidden Paw; it had to be some sort of test. Just mere seconds ago the Hidden Paw had been trying to beat him to death, and now he was trying to convince him it was all right to mark his master?
His dropped his head again, bending his entire body into a bow.
"Master, Father, I cannot," Mephistopheles had no idea if he had made the right decision, but he knew that the Hidden Paw's self-preservation outranked any other feelings he may have. "I cannot harm the tom that has been my teacher and mentor as long as I can remember."
"Mephistopheles," the Hidden Paw's voice was stony and monotone, completely unreadable. "You have passed."
Mephistopheles looked up into the Hidden Paw's face, seeing the cat smile for the first time. Tentatively, he allowed his own mouth to turn up, his whiskers twitching.
"In the future, my son, you must not be afraid to mark others," the Hidden Paw's voice was now business-like and impatient, his typical teaching tone. "You must never hesitate because of an attachment. However, you must never, ever mark a teacher. Teachers give a part of themselves to their students, and have already given enough of themselves voluntarily."
"I understand."
"You must mark your followers, your queens, and your enemies, but you must be sure to have a different mark for each." The Hidden Paw suddenly stomped on the ground three times. Mephistopheles started, his eyes turning towards the entrance to the lair.
Six cats entered: three henchcats each dragging another behind them. The latter were thrown to the ground before Mephistopheles and his master.
"Mark these three as your own."
The Hidden Paw's voice was no more than a whisper, a growl playing around inside it. Mephistopheles could smell the anticipation in his speech, his hunger to watch his son adopt one of his most sacred traditions.
"Yes."
The cat closest to Mephistopheles was one he did not recognize. This tom was a dust-brown color, so thin his frame was little more than a skeleton. His yellow eyes were filled with fierce, unblinking determination, and he seemed determined to stare Mephistopheles down. He had been de-clawed, but none too kindly, as his paws were heavily scarred and deformed.
"Enemy," Mephistopheles murmured as he circled this cat, trying to locate the perfect place to mark this tom. His paws traveled through the air, searching for the right angle, the spot that would be most noticeable…
His right paw, the one with six claws, paused at the nape of the tom's neck. Smiling, his eyes glinting, Mephistopheles summoned his inside energy to his paws, the blue lightning emerging to dance between his claws, awaiting his command.
With one strong, downward thrust, the blue lightning shot straight onto Mephistopheles' intended target. He could feel the cat protesting under his paws, but he held the tom still with his mind. He moved his paws slowly downward in crisp, jagged motions, creating a unique mark for this enemy cat.
By the time he had finished, the cat had fainted, held upright by Mephistopheles' will. He had a long, lightning bolt scar running down his backbone, the fur burned clean away. The flesh underneath was burning red. It would heal in time, Mephistopheles knew, but not before producing some rather impressive blisters.
"Excellent," the Hidden Paw's voice came from behind him. Mephistopheles turned to the next victim, a queen. He was still a very young tom, so he did not fully understand the way the Hidden Paw intended him to use queens. Nonetheless, he began running his paws through the air, searching for the correct spot.
This queen was pure white, her fur neatly groomed and smelling of flowers. She wore a thin collar around her neck, metal tags clinking together as she flinched against his movements. She looked to be even younger than him. Her tail twitched nonstop, curling this way and that, unable to cease its movement.
Her tail had answered his search. Holding her still, Mephistopheles gave her a similar lightning mark, arching like a rainbow right above her tail. The mark was considerably smaller than the one given to the enemy tom, a mark that would go unnoticed if not searched for. Having finished, he allowed her unconscious form to slump to the ground.
Mephistopheles turned his head discreetly to look at the Hidden Paw, hoping for another word of praise. The older tom was not watching Mephistopheles, however, but the young white queen. His claws were flexing and some sort of energy was pulsing around him. This energy made Mephistopheles very nervous, for he felt it was something his master could not control. Would he one day succumb to this same energy and lose control?
Choosing to ignore the problem and hope it went away, Mephistopheles turned to the last victim, the ally.
His eyes fell on a tom with an asymmetrical black and white pattern. This tom was very well built and considerably larger than he was. His eyes were a penetrating blue, staring unblinkingly at Mephistopheles.
But this was not one of the Hidden Paw's followers here for a demonstration. This was a very special tom, one that Mephistopheles held very close.
"Sammael," Mephistopheles breathed, severely disappointed to see this tom in front of him.
"Mephisto," Sammael answered with the nickname he and he alone used for the young thaumaturgist. "Surprised?"
"Are you here willingly?"
"No."
"I won't mark you," he whispered, barely moving his lips. "I can't if you aren't here by choice. Now hold still, this could sting if you don't."
Mephistopheles moved his paws through the air around Sammael's body, willing the Hidden Paw to still be entranced by whatever power held him. Mephistopheles couldn't hope to succeed if his master was watching with full attention.
Concentrating all his energy to his paws again, Mephistopheles began moving his blue lightning in the familiar lightning shape, burning away the fur on Sammael's left arm. It took all the will power and self control he had to not touch the skin underneath the fur, and he prayed that the Hidden Paw would not notice that Sammael's skin remained light pink rather than flaming red. He could feel Sammael holding his breath as the lightning passed within a bad judgment's distance of his body.
He bent closer upon completion to inspect his work. He had burned away the fur on Sammael's arm, leaving a jagged lightning mark, but the skin underneath was a healthy pink rather than blistering red. There were small spots of red where he had misjudged the distance, but by the time his fur grew back these would be unnoticeable.
He turned to look at the Hidden Paw again, every fiber of his being hoping the dangerous tom would not notice the glaring differences between the last mark and the previous two. He needn't have worried, for his master's eyes were still fixed on the unmoving white queen.
"Perhaps, out of gratitude for my years of training… A gift from son to father…" the Hidden Paw's voice was little more than a low growl. His tail was completely straight and his long fur was on end.
He desired the little queen that laid so peacefully, as if in sleep, before them. Although he admired the Hidden Paw more than any other cat, Mephistopheles felt a twinge of disappointment at the tom's words. This queen hadn't even grown out of kittenhood yet. She wouldn't heal like the others; this would stay with her and follow her forever.
Mephistopheles could almost hear the Hidden Paw's thoughts, how he regretted giving this queen away, how he thought it was such a waste of a perfectly good, pure queen.
He won't let her leave if I don't take her, Mephistopheles realized, his heart skipping a beat in horror. He means to have her for himself… or watch another take her.
Mephistopheles was still a young tom and did not desire queens the same way his master did. He felt it poor sport to take advantage of the helpless creatures and steal away something that could never be returned. A thaumaturgist should seek out true enemies and give them a fair, fighting chance, and queens would never be strong enough to suffice. Mephistopheles would choose a clawing, biting fight with a tom over a helpless queen any day.
"I'm sorry, but this one is mine," Mephistopheles kept his voice unreadable, his expression passive. As the Hidden Paw looked on disapprovingly, he slung the queen's unmoving form over his back and began moving towards the exit. He could feel the Hidden Paw's disappointment following him through the air, like a poison trying to pervade his mind.
"Come, Sammael," Mephistopheles ordered, not looking back to see if he was obeyed.
Two henchcats had been stationed right outside the entrance of Macavity's lair. Mephistopheles fixed each with a glare, his eyes sufficient enough to turn their heads upwards and allow the young tom to proceed unwatched.
"An unnecessary precaution," Sammael's voice was barely audible. Mephistopheles knew that no cat could track him through the junkyard, but he enjoyed watching the henchcats flinch, to know he held power over them even if they were larger in stature.
Mephistopheles was a very small tom, as it were. He had been the runt of the litter at birth, and the Hidden Paw told him many times that if it hadn't been for his powers he would not have made it. His older brother, Sammael, was much larger than he.
Mephistopheles breathed deeply, his lungs worshipping the less-than-fresh air. The Hidden Paw's underground hovel smelled of decay and rotten fish, two smells that took up permanent residence inside his nostrils. The nighttime air in the junkyard was cooler and helped remove the stench.
He led Sammael to his own special place in the junkyard: the inside of an upturned bookshelf. This rather unconventional shelter provided warmth and protection from rain and snow as well as a hidden place to be alone. Most of the henchcats believed that Mephistopheles would choose to reside someplace lavish and clean, somewhere his every need could be catered to. On the contrary, Mephistopheles opted for a discreet place where he could hone his abilities without interruption.
"Inside," he ordered, stepping to the side so Sammael could slide through the barely noticeable hole in the wood. Mephistopheles followed, careful to squeeze the queen through unharmed.
"She's a beauty," Sammael remarked as Mephistopheles laid the queen's still unmoving body on the ground between the two of them.
"She's a kitten," Mephistopheles' tone was scathing, a tone that would have made any other cat flinch as if cut with a knife. "She's not old enough for him."
"She's for you, Mephisto," Sammael used the nickname again, nudging the queen's body closer to the little thaumaturgist. "She's yours."
"I don't want her," Mephistopheles dramatically turned up his nose to make this clear enough for Sammael, who always assumed he was playing the part of noble hero.
"I do," Sammael moved closer to the queen, his eyes wild, only to be pushed back by Mephistopheles' powerful magic thrust. Sammael slammed into the shelf behind him, sliding slowly to the ground. The larger tom let out a low groan of pain, loud enough to make Mephistopheles smile.
"What was that for?" Sammael remained where he was, his blue eyes boring into Mephistopheles' own. "You didn't want her. It's a waste of a queen."
"She's too young," Mephistopheles was tired of explaining himself. "I'll wait until she's older. I've already marked her; that's enough to ensure no other tom will take her." His eyes narrowed. "Now, explain yourself."
After a tense silence, Sammael obliged.
"I'm a disappointment to the thaumaturgist," Sammael's tone was casual, but Mephistopheles could see straight through it. "It was only a matter of time before he put me to the test, to make sure my loyalty outweighed my pride."
"By making me mark you as an ally?"
"By giving me the choice of being marked as an ally or enemy. I knew you couldn't mark me as your enemy, and I knew you wouldn't mark me if you knew it wasn't my decision."
"You took advantage of me," Mephistopheles' voice was icy, his eyes slits. "You took advantage of me for your own selfish purposes. It is an honor to be marked by a thaumaturgist. It ensures that you will always be recognized and given a status others only dare to hope for. It sets you apart from those… Jellicles." Mephistopheles spat the last word as if it was a curse word.
Before Sammael could protest, Mephistopheles held him still with his mind, bringing lightning to his claws again. He could hear Sammael protesting inside his mind, but his mouth remained unmoving, just as Mephistopheles desired. He shot his lightning square onto Sammael's back.
"Mephistopheles, you have proven yourself to have the makings of a great thaumaturgist," the Hidden Paw nodded approvingly at the mark on Sammael's back. "I have long known that he was not going to stay true to our family, was not willing to serve under a younger brother." The Hidden Paw's voice was tense and Mephistopheles could sense that this had struck a chord deep inside of him. Before he could ask if there was something the Hidden Paw wished to share, his father began speaking.
"Have I ever told you about your two uncles and your grandfather?"
"No," Mephistopheles was slightly dazed by this news. He had been raised thinking that he had no family outside of Macavity and his followers. To find out that somewhere out there he had another family…
"My father, your grandfather, is the leader of the Jellicles."
Mephistopheles remained silent, though his tongue was tingling with the insults he longed to throw at this cat he had never met.
"His name is Old Deuteronomy. My brothers are named Munkustrap and Rum Tum Tugger. They are all part of the tribe, along with a group of cats I used to consider friends. Their names are Alonzo, Cassandra, Bombalurina, and Demeter."
"Forgive me, but why are you sharing this with me?" Mephistopheles knew that the Hidden Paw felt he needed this information, and he longed to know the reason.
"It has been a very long time since one of us have penetrated the Jellicle tribe, and it is high time we try again. I want them to be taken apart from the inside. I want to watch them suffer, to watch them fight someone they thought was a friend.
"They are too trusting, too willing to help those they think are in need. They take in stray cats, cats abandoned by their owners, kittens abandoned by their mothers. Their sympathy will become their downfall."
"What must I do?" Mephistopheles could see exactly where this was going.
"I want you to infiltrate the Jellicle tribe. I want you to befriend all the elders, listen to their stories -- especially their take on the legend of Vainamoinen I have told you countless times -- take part in their dances. I want you to be the cat responsible for the downfall of their tribe, the cat that will be regarded as a hero by all who come after."
"Yes," Mephistopheles could see it now. He could see the Jellicles running from the lightning in his paws, see their looks of terror when he revealed himself as one of the feared thaumaturgists. He could smell their terror, taste their fear, feel their blood.
"You, my son, will bring about the new era: the era where thaumaturgists take control of all cats and wipe out the Jellicles and their Jellicle Ball forever."
Because none of you saw that coming, right?