Life & Death (Chapter 1 is COMPLETE!)
Oct 29, 2020 22:22:16 GMT -5
Katanaheart, phantomstar57, and 4 more like this
Post by Sundance on Oct 29, 2020 22:22:16 GMT -5
Oh goodness, it has been years since I've written Warriors fanfiction. But, hey, I've been wanting to get back into the swing of things for awhile, and these characters will NOT leave my head. They are positively haunting me. 😛 I feel obliged to share their story. Enjoy!!
Dedicated to Hazelfur and Birchwing ❤️
Prologue: Eyes Wide Open
Chapter 1: Deep Down Below
(Part 1)
(Part 2)
(Part 3) 🚨 NEW!!!! 🚨
Chapter 2: Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea
... coming to a WCRPforum near you soon!
An excerpt -- "If your eyesight is sharp enough to see through this disguise so easily then tell me, Rosewood, how can you look at me and deny that your time has run out?" He dropped the image of a sweet, spindly old she-cat like a veil and swept one of his shadowy wings over her flank. It remained there long enough to be streaked with blood when he next rose it.
Dedicated to Hazelfur and Birchwing ❤️
Prologue: Eyes Wide Open
Death had been summoned.
This was awfully inconvenient for him, as he had other, much better plans for the night, like lying in the dirt and dissociating from reality for hours.
Since he was incapable of sleeping, Death found solace from a day's work by staring up at the bruise colored sky of and letting his mind slip away.
If only temporarily.
Even after Death’s chest began to throb, he lied there.
buh-bump-buh-bump-buh-bump
Staring into the infinity of space.
buh-bump-buh-bump-buh-bump
A jolt of electricity shot through him suddenly, the force strong enough to send him careening to his feet.
“Give me a minute, why don’t you,” he grumbled, rubbing at his sore side. It felt like he’d been jabbed by a cattle prod.
Another jolt coursed through his body in response.
He flinched. Point taken.
Death materialized in the center of RiverClan’s camp. The marshy hollow was a hub of activity during the day but was rendered mute at night.
Quiet as a graveyard, really.
Instantly, Death’s nose was assaulted by the putrid smell of dog. “Ah, right on cue,” he mumbled, mere seconds before five jet-black hounds burst from the ground and madly romped around camp.
With mangy fur and slobber perpetually dripping from their muzzles, these were no ordinary dogs. One’s jaw was completely unhinged while another’s eyeballs kept falling out of its sockets with a wet plop before being sloppily shoved back into place with its tongue.
Suddenly, a shrill mew sounded by the elders’ den.
All of the hounds' heads snapped in the direction of the noise at once. They took off running.
Death followed in hot pursuit. With each step, his paw pads left no impression underfoot and the throbbing in his chest persisted like the beat of a second heart, growing more thunderous with time.
Before long, they were all peering down at the ragged body of an old tomcat.
The hounds let out a volley of barks. One snapped at the elder’s bedraggled face with its rotting yellow canines while a second hound smeared thick, viscid slobber down the tomcat’s flank.
The elder took one look at the hounds and let out a shriek. “What in the world-” he spluttered. “What are those things?” He tried to stand, to run, but his body betrayed him and he crumbled back to the ground, gravity shoving his face into the dirt.
“They’re called HellHounds,” Death said. “And they thrive off your fear. Calm down and they will disappear.”
The largest HellHound -the one giving the mortified elder a tongue bath- took a step back. Right as its head toppled from its shoulders.
“I’ve named that one Harold.”
“I don’t care what they’re called, just get them away from me!” the elder cried, lashing out with his claws in a desperate bid to to fend off their advances. “And for the love of StarClan, don’t just stand there. Get the medicine cat! Please, help me, I-”
“You can’t breathe,” Death noted, a touch of sympathy in his voice. “I know. You got up to use the dirtplace when a terrible pain overcame you. You fell down, and now you will never get up again.”
The elder really looked at Death for the first time, and his eyes widened in horror at what he saw.
“That’s why I’m here.”
Harold the HellHound regained his head, and licked his chops.
“That’s why they’re here.”
“No, no.” The elder shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know who you are, but please don’t hurt me! I have a family!”
“I am your family, silly goose.”
The elder’s eyes widened. Standing in front of him, suddenly, was his mate. “Lilybloom, is that you?” he sobbed.
She had passed away six moons ago from a terrible batch of greencough. At the time, she had looked so frail, so weak. With a sunken face and sallow skin. But now … “You’re as beautiful as the day we met,” the elder purred, staring up at his star-kissed mate in wonder.
Luscious tawny curls framed Lilybloom’s face as she bent down to touch noses with him. “I’m here to help you, my love. It’s time for you to move on.”
Death didn’t think of what to say while wearing other cat’s faces so much as he inexplicably knew. Like they were speaking through him.
I suppose consuming their souls in days past does that to you.
The elder’s expression softened like honey. “Oh, my dear, I am so, so--” he spoke in between labored breaths "--happy. To see you again.”
The HellHounds stood a distance away now, hazy specters against the moon’s dreamy glow.
Lilybloom-Death-laughed.
Laughed like they were kids again, chasing fireflies by the creek. Sneaking kisses in between hunting patrols. Daring each other to swim through the dirty lagoon outside RiverClan’s border. “Remember when you jumped on a lily pad, thinking it would hold your weight?”
“I was trying to catch a frog,” the elder chocked. Blood trickled down his lip. “Trying so hard … to impress you.”
“Yes, exactly,” Lilybear sighed.
Then she clamped a paw over his mouth.
The elder’s eyes bulged in alarm.
In a flash, Death stood before the elder again. He kept his paw firmly pressed against the elder’s mouth, even as the old tom began to flail madly, spittle soaking the soft fur under Death’s toes.
“You know how the stars appear in the sky every night? Even though, technically, they are always up there watching over us.” Death lazily tipped his head back to gaze up at the sky.
The elder silently screamed, his muscles beginning to convulse.
Death did not let go.
“Well, you could say I’m like that, if you want to be poetic. Always up there, watching.”
He would not let go until it was over.
“Though you only have to see me once rather than every night, thank goodness.”
When Death next glanced down at the elder, he saw that the tom's body was already slack. Eyes, lifeless. “Oh.”
A glowing orb silently slipped from the elder’s mouth. Looking like a ball of fire, so achingly enchanting, it hovered in the air for a moment before Death consumed it with a single inhale.
In a flash, Death was overcome by a sea of thoughts and feelings and memories, crashing over him one after another in monstrous waves. Ripping, tearing through him, fusing with the essence of his being, Death’s ashen eyes flashed a reddish-orange as the snapshots of another life rapid fired through his head. Then they subsidized, and his mind belonged solely to him again.
He let out a shaky breath. Never does get easier.
The HellHounds paraded around triumphantly - another successful reaping! - before they quickly lost interest and faded from view.
While Death lingered.
His job was not done yet.
“I didn’t have to do that, you know,” Death whispered, curling his tail around the elder’s body. “I could have let you die naturally, but that would have taken hours.”
“You were late. Again.”
Death whipped around to see a bright, luminescent she-cat stalking up to him.
Life--his counterpart, his equal. Her pelt shimmered as if it was laced with a thousand stars, its brilliance almost blinding.
“What can I say?” Death shrugged. “I slept in. Blame my lousy alarm.”
“Death-”
“Why does it matter, anyway? I got here on time. I did my job.”
“You know-”
“Don’t lecture me!” Death turned on Life, hackles raised. “You have no right. None.” He seethed, the shadows that composed his body shaking in agitation.
Life shook her head. “You are still on parole, and even if you weren't, that doesn't mean the Celestials wouldn't be watching you still. Just … be careful.”
Death glared at her so intensely, he was shocked laser beams didn’t shoot out of his eyes and bore a hole into her head. “Is that the only reason you stopped by, to tell me that?” He spoke between gritted teeth.
Life shot him a withering look before turning to leave. “No, it’s not the only reason.” She sniffed. “I came to inform you that a new litter was born in WindClan today and they are all healthy. So don’t touch them.”
He blinked, and she was gone.
Death took deep, labored breaths, anything to quell the rage suddenly threatening to consume him. Why would she say that to me? Doesn't she understand --
“Ugh, where am I?”
Death turned to see a young tomcat, pelt interlaced with stars, standing before him. Gobsmacked.
Mintfur. The name clicked in Death's mind like the turn of a key in a lock. He was not privy to the name's of mortals until they were actively dying. Whenever he overheard conversations between healthy clanmates, names were simply omitted. Something to do with not getting overly attached ...
“About time you rose from the dead, Mintfur,” Death grumbled, shoving the bad blood between him and Life to the recesses of his mind. To be revisited another time. “Where we are now doesn’t matter anymore. You have a long journey ahead of you, but you’ll be happy about your destination. Not everyone is as lucky.”
Death cast a cheeky grin in Mintfur’s direction and took off in the direction of RiverClan’s camp entrance. “Follow me.”
Mintfur--the once dying elder, newly transformed into a spiffy young warrior-reeled at the sight of his own body lying limply in front of them. Then Mintfur picked his jaw off the ground and hurried after the phantom figure beckoning him forward. “W-who even are you?”
“I’m Death”- the shadowy tom dipped his head in greeting-”though you might have guessed that already.”
This was awfully inconvenient for him, as he had other, much better plans for the night, like lying in the dirt and dissociating from reality for hours.
Since he was incapable of sleeping, Death found solace from a day's work by staring up at the bruise colored sky of and letting his mind slip away.
If only temporarily.
Even after Death’s chest began to throb, he lied there.
buh-bump-buh-bump-buh-bump
Staring into the infinity of space.
buh-bump-buh-bump-buh-bump
A jolt of electricity shot through him suddenly, the force strong enough to send him careening to his feet.
“Give me a minute, why don’t you,” he grumbled, rubbing at his sore side. It felt like he’d been jabbed by a cattle prod.
Another jolt coursed through his body in response.
He flinched. Point taken.
Death materialized in the center of RiverClan’s camp. The marshy hollow was a hub of activity during the day but was rendered mute at night.
Quiet as a graveyard, really.
Instantly, Death’s nose was assaulted by the putrid smell of dog. “Ah, right on cue,” he mumbled, mere seconds before five jet-black hounds burst from the ground and madly romped around camp.
With mangy fur and slobber perpetually dripping from their muzzles, these were no ordinary dogs. One’s jaw was completely unhinged while another’s eyeballs kept falling out of its sockets with a wet plop before being sloppily shoved back into place with its tongue.
Suddenly, a shrill mew sounded by the elders’ den.
All of the hounds' heads snapped in the direction of the noise at once. They took off running.
Death followed in hot pursuit. With each step, his paw pads left no impression underfoot and the throbbing in his chest persisted like the beat of a second heart, growing more thunderous with time.
Before long, they were all peering down at the ragged body of an old tomcat.
The hounds let out a volley of barks. One snapped at the elder’s bedraggled face with its rotting yellow canines while a second hound smeared thick, viscid slobber down the tomcat’s flank.
The elder took one look at the hounds and let out a shriek. “What in the world-” he spluttered. “What are those things?” He tried to stand, to run, but his body betrayed him and he crumbled back to the ground, gravity shoving his face into the dirt.
“They’re called HellHounds,” Death said. “And they thrive off your fear. Calm down and they will disappear.”
The largest HellHound -the one giving the mortified elder a tongue bath- took a step back. Right as its head toppled from its shoulders.
“I’ve named that one Harold.”
“I don’t care what they’re called, just get them away from me!” the elder cried, lashing out with his claws in a desperate bid to to fend off their advances. “And for the love of StarClan, don’t just stand there. Get the medicine cat! Please, help me, I-”
“You can’t breathe,” Death noted, a touch of sympathy in his voice. “I know. You got up to use the dirtplace when a terrible pain overcame you. You fell down, and now you will never get up again.”
The elder really looked at Death for the first time, and his eyes widened in horror at what he saw.
“That’s why I’m here.”
Harold the HellHound regained his head, and licked his chops.
“That’s why they’re here.”
“No, no.” The elder shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know who you are, but please don’t hurt me! I have a family!”
“I am your family, silly goose.”
The elder’s eyes widened. Standing in front of him, suddenly, was his mate. “Lilybloom, is that you?” he sobbed.
She had passed away six moons ago from a terrible batch of greencough. At the time, she had looked so frail, so weak. With a sunken face and sallow skin. But now … “You’re as beautiful as the day we met,” the elder purred, staring up at his star-kissed mate in wonder.
Luscious tawny curls framed Lilybloom’s face as she bent down to touch noses with him. “I’m here to help you, my love. It’s time for you to move on.”
Death didn’t think of what to say while wearing other cat’s faces so much as he inexplicably knew. Like they were speaking through him.
I suppose consuming their souls in days past does that to you.
The elder’s expression softened like honey. “Oh, my dear, I am so, so--” he spoke in between labored breaths "--happy. To see you again.”
The HellHounds stood a distance away now, hazy specters against the moon’s dreamy glow.
Lilybloom-Death-laughed.
Laughed like they were kids again, chasing fireflies by the creek. Sneaking kisses in between hunting patrols. Daring each other to swim through the dirty lagoon outside RiverClan’s border. “Remember when you jumped on a lily pad, thinking it would hold your weight?”
“I was trying to catch a frog,” the elder chocked. Blood trickled down his lip. “Trying so hard … to impress you.”
“Yes, exactly,” Lilybear sighed.
Then she clamped a paw over his mouth.
The elder’s eyes bulged in alarm.
In a flash, Death stood before the elder again. He kept his paw firmly pressed against the elder’s mouth, even as the old tom began to flail madly, spittle soaking the soft fur under Death’s toes.
“You know how the stars appear in the sky every night? Even though, technically, they are always up there watching over us.” Death lazily tipped his head back to gaze up at the sky.
The elder silently screamed, his muscles beginning to convulse.
Death did not let go.
“Well, you could say I’m like that, if you want to be poetic. Always up there, watching.”
He would not let go until it was over.
“Though you only have to see me once rather than every night, thank goodness.”
When Death next glanced down at the elder, he saw that the tom's body was already slack. Eyes, lifeless. “Oh.”
A glowing orb silently slipped from the elder’s mouth. Looking like a ball of fire, so achingly enchanting, it hovered in the air for a moment before Death consumed it with a single inhale.
In a flash, Death was overcome by a sea of thoughts and feelings and memories, crashing over him one after another in monstrous waves. Ripping, tearing through him, fusing with the essence of his being, Death’s ashen eyes flashed a reddish-orange as the snapshots of another life rapid fired through his head. Then they subsidized, and his mind belonged solely to him again.
He let out a shaky breath. Never does get easier.
The HellHounds paraded around triumphantly - another successful reaping! - before they quickly lost interest and faded from view.
While Death lingered.
His job was not done yet.
“I didn’t have to do that, you know,” Death whispered, curling his tail around the elder’s body. “I could have let you die naturally, but that would have taken hours.”
“You were late. Again.”
Death whipped around to see a bright, luminescent she-cat stalking up to him.
Life--his counterpart, his equal. Her pelt shimmered as if it was laced with a thousand stars, its brilliance almost blinding.
“What can I say?” Death shrugged. “I slept in. Blame my lousy alarm.”
“Death-”
“Why does it matter, anyway? I got here on time. I did my job.”
“You know-”
“Don’t lecture me!” Death turned on Life, hackles raised. “You have no right. None.” He seethed, the shadows that composed his body shaking in agitation.
Life shook her head. “You are still on parole, and even if you weren't, that doesn't mean the Celestials wouldn't be watching you still. Just … be careful.”
Death glared at her so intensely, he was shocked laser beams didn’t shoot out of his eyes and bore a hole into her head. “Is that the only reason you stopped by, to tell me that?” He spoke between gritted teeth.
Life shot him a withering look before turning to leave. “No, it’s not the only reason.” She sniffed. “I came to inform you that a new litter was born in WindClan today and they are all healthy. So don’t touch them.”
He blinked, and she was gone.
Death took deep, labored breaths, anything to quell the rage suddenly threatening to consume him. Why would she say that to me? Doesn't she understand --
“Ugh, where am I?”
Death turned to see a young tomcat, pelt interlaced with stars, standing before him. Gobsmacked.
Mintfur. The name clicked in Death's mind like the turn of a key in a lock. He was not privy to the name's of mortals until they were actively dying. Whenever he overheard conversations between healthy clanmates, names were simply omitted. Something to do with not getting overly attached ...
“About time you rose from the dead, Mintfur,” Death grumbled, shoving the bad blood between him and Life to the recesses of his mind. To be revisited another time. “Where we are now doesn’t matter anymore. You have a long journey ahead of you, but you’ll be happy about your destination. Not everyone is as lucky.”
Death cast a cheeky grin in Mintfur’s direction and took off in the direction of RiverClan’s camp entrance. “Follow me.”
Mintfur--the once dying elder, newly transformed into a spiffy young warrior-reeled at the sight of his own body lying limply in front of them. Then Mintfur picked his jaw off the ground and hurried after the phantom figure beckoning him forward. “W-who even are you?”
“I’m Death”- the shadowy tom dipped his head in greeting-”though you might have guessed that already.”
Chapter 1: Deep Down Below
(Part 1)
“What is this place?”
Mintfur eyed the discolored sky above them warily, like any second a monster would reach down from its murky depths and grab him.
“We’re in ,” Death said, amicably. “The land beyond Starclan’s borders.”
They trudged through the flat, barren wasteland of . Having crossed through the Ethereal Divide minutes before, they now had a short jaunt remaining to StarClan’s gates.
“StarClan, that’s where I’m going, right? To be with my Lilybloom?”
“Mhm, yes.” As a dense fog descended over the valley they were walking through, Death nudged Mintfur out of its path. “Stay clear of the fog. It will swallow you up if you let it.”
Mintfur reeled away from the fog, further than was necessary. “Has anyone ever gotten lost in it before?”
“Yes,” Death admitted, casting his eyes skyward. “We call those cats flyaway spirits.”
“And do you always find them later?”
Death was silent.
“Why are we even passing through here?” Mintfur muttered. “Why can’t you just teleport me straight into StarClan?”
“It doesn’t work that way. You must present yourself before the infallible wall of light surrounding StarClan for it to determine if you are worthy enough to enter. Only those truly good at heart may."
“Oh my,” Mintfur gulped. “And what if I’m not allowed in, what will you do? Drag me to the Dark Forest?“
“No. If StarClan rejects you, you will become a wayward spirit. Forced to wander alone until you’ve recovered enough humanity in your emotionally-deprived wraith of a heart to join StarClan, or you commit yourself to the Dark Forest. Or you’re driven mad by indecision, in which case will dispose of you. You will fade away, forever.”
Mintfur’s face went pallid. “That sounds horrible.”
“It is. I suppose that’s why you must walk through before you can reach StarClan’s gates. To see what will await you if you fail your entrance exam,” Death said. “And so when you tire of that Lilybloom, you’ll know there’s no one better waiting for you outside StarClan.” Death waggled his eyebrows.
“Not funny.”
“But you shouldn’t have to worry about that, Mintfur,” Death winked. “Unless you were a very covert murderer or you engaged in other, equally nefarious acts while I wasn’t looking, with an invisibility charm that I don’t know about, you’ll be welcomed into StarClan’s ranks.”
“What are you saying, that you’ve been watching me my entire life?”
“I have very few pastimes to choose from here.” Death shrugged. “Though I stopped keeping track of you when you joined the elders’ den. So if you’ve berated a few apprentices lately and want to confess before, you know,” Death gestured at the wall of light they were fast approaching. “Too late.”
“Gee, thanks,” Mintfur snorted, kicking a stone in his path. It skittered a few feet away.
Mintfur’s eyes suddenly softened and, in that moment, Death knew he must be thinking of Lilybloom. They used to skip stones over the lake together.
Death’s heart throbbed at a memory that wasn’t his.
“If your job isn’t to listen to warriors' deathbed conditions, then what is it, exactly? To kill every elder having an asthma attack?” Mintfur teased. “Don’t think I forgot the paw you shoved down my throat earlier.”
Death shook his head. “I put you out of your misery, yes, but that was not necessary for me to do. You would have died either way. Granted, I may occasionally speed up the natural process with the help of my HellHounds', but I only have one real job, and that is to consume your soul, solidifying your transition to the afterlife, and deliver your spirit to your respective resting place.”
Mintfur’s mouth swung open at the sight of StarClan in the distance. The chilly bite of began to dissipate as they approached, the air crisping delightfully as the dusty, arid soil dusting their paw pads was similarly replaced with soft clay.
“Look, we’re almost there!” Mintfur took off running for StarClan’s gates, smooth, robust muscles flexing under his silver pelt. Mid-step, he glanced down at his youthful body, awe melting across his face. What a far cry it was from the withered old tomcat he had been hours before! With skin so saggy a kit could get lost in its folds, and bones so brittle he feared they would splinter every time he made the laborious journey to the dirtplace, it was a surprise he had lasted so long in the elders' den.
Death stood on the cusp of , electing to watch Mintfur’s final steps from a distance. “I’m flying!” the tomcat hooted, his voice carrying over the divide between them. It was the last thing Death heard before Mintfur collided with the wall of light. The tom graciously glided through it and was gone. Just like that.
StarClan’s wall of light was opaque, everything on the other side of it hazy, out-of-focus. Death felt like he was peering through five feet of murky water to catch a glimpse of Mintfur greeting his family.
A frigid breeze pierced Death’s side then; was beckoning him away. Time to leave, I suppose, Death reluctantly stood up and turned away.
Unless . . . His eyes flickered back to StarClan’s gates like a mouse to sickly-sweet poison. There were multiple silhouettes encircling Mintfur now, all vying for the chance to say hello. One in particular was so small, they could hardly be six moons old.
Death hesitated before walking up to the wall of light. Up close, its heat was intense, sparks shooting off its surface. And it shimmered, rapidly, like a current of electricity. Still, Death pressed his face closer to it. Even as sparks streaked across his skin, sizzling against the shadows that made up his body like flames meeting water, he kept his eyes locked in place.
Gazing in on a world he could never be a part of.
This close, it was clear that the littlest silhouette was not a kit after all, but an apprentice. Ginger fur, brown eyes. Mintfur’s daughter, the one killed by a badger two years ago.
Right. Of course.
Death abruptly pulled away from the wall of light and stalked off. His tail whipped back and forth in the dirt like a sidewinder, leaving a trail of dust in its wake.
A new litter was born in WindClan today, and they are all healthy. His jaw clenched at the reminder of what Life had said earlier. How could he possibly forget?
So don’t touch them.
Death collapsed outside of the halo of warmth StarClan’s border cast, firmly entrenched in ’s jaws once more.
Mintfur’s last words rose to mind next. How the old tomcat spoke them with such glee. I’m flying!
Death took a deep, shuddering breath, as a phantom pain spread over his shoulder blades and he fell into a far-flung memory.
-----------------------------
“I bet three larks that it won’t work.”
“I’ll pluck my whiskers if it does!”
Death rested in the center of WindClan’s camp, eavesdropping on a gaggle of apprentices. One apprentice thought rubbing rabbit urine on himself would make hunting easier. The others weren’t so convinced.
“Watch, it’s going to make every rabbit this side of the moor fall madly in love with me!”
“I don’t know … what if it, like, gets in your system and you grow buck teeth and a cottontail?”
“I’d still look better than you!”
Just then, the gorse bushes lining WindClan’s nursery rustled, and a queen burst out. “Someone, come quick, my kit is dying!” she cried before darting back into the nursery.
Death raised his eyebrow. When a cat was in their final death throes, he felt a tug on his chest, like an invisible string binding them together was pulled taut.
He felt nothing now.
Still, as WindClan's medicine cat rushed into the nursery, he followed closely behind. Instantly, the sweet smell of milk enveloped him, interlaced with the subtle scent of new moss and warm, wriggling newborn kits, nestled against their mothers’ sides like leaf buds.
“See, he’s not moving!” Death peered over the hysterical queen’s shoulder to where a little kit lay. With rheumy eyes and saliva trickling from the corner of his mouth, the kit didn’t look good. Death’s lips curled.
“Now, now, that doesn’t mean he’s dead,” the medicine cat chided, gently nudging the little kit. “Wake up, chickadee, before you give your mother a heart attack.”
The little kit curled in on himself like a wilted flower, tucking his face behind a cotton-ball sized forepaw before letting out a soft, stifled mew.
“Come, no need to hide,” Death cooed, reaching forward to brush his own paw against the little kit’s forehead, if only to confirm his suspicion of a fever. Not because he had a sudden, irresistible urge to comfort the little kit.
He nudged the little kit’s button nose next. Now that, he could not justify.
The little kit sneezed in response, his eyes snapping open in unison.
“Look, he’s awake!” The queen shrieked.
Death reeled back in alarm, so violently his head almost crashed through the walls of the nursery. Because the little kit was staring straight at him. He sees me. As if on cue, an all-too-familiar orb glowed in the little kit’s throat, and Death felt a pang in his chest.
“What’s wrong with him? Will he survive?”
The little kit blinked up at Death with big, bashful eyes. “Who are you?”
“Yes, yes, of course. It’s just a cough, nothing serious.”
Death smiled.
-----------------------------
“Where have you been all day? When you were gone, Woolytail played hide-and-seek with me, but he kept giggling and giving himself away! It was no fun! Can you believe that?” The little kit, who Death had taken to simply calling "Little Kit," whined.
“I can believe that,” Death said, sprinkling some gorse flowers from the nursery’s entrance onto Little Kit’s head like confetti. Little Kit squealed and batted at it, forgetting all about his previous question, Where have you been all day?
Truth was, Death had been reaping the soul of a ThunderClan warrior unfortunate enough to get his tail trapped in a fox trap. The poor tom had managed to rip himself free of the trap's iron jaws -parting ways with his tail in the process- before collapsing from blood loss. When Death arrived, Harold the HellHound already had the tom’s soul in his mouth like a squeaky toy.
It dropped to Death’s feet with a solid thunk, oozing in slobber.
But that was not worth telling Little Kit.
Despite Death’s penchant for reaping souls, he did not revel in being a thief of joy in every sense of the word. No, as far as Death was concerned, he had a duty to safeguard spirits, whether they were travelling to the underworld or to adulthood. He couldn’t fathom filling the kit’s head with such nightmares.
Some things . . . you just don’t tell little kits.
Little Kit dropped into a crouch and stalked towards Death’s tail, his butt sky-high and wiggling in pent up excitement. At the last moment, Death shifted his tail into shadows, sending Little Kit tumbling into his mother.
“Hey, no fair!” Little Kit whined, jutting his chin out in righteous indignation. The look only lasted for a second before he burst into giggles, sprawled onto his back with his feet flailing in the air like an upside down turtle.
“That’s enough roughhousing in here, mister.” Little Kit’s mother gave him a pointed look. “If you want to keep playing with your imaginary friend, take it outside.”
Death nudged Little Kit right side up in a way that would seem inconspicuous to the outside observer. “You heard your mom, time to go outside.”
Little Kit looked ready to complain when, suddenly, his eyes lit up. Uh oh. Death gulped. That could only mean one thing. “Let’s go fly!” Little Kit squealed, and took off running for the nursery’s entrance before Death could interject.
Little Kit’s gait was slow, legs shaky. It looked more like he was bunny hopping than running away. Death watched with a touch of concern.
It had been half a moon since Little Kit was diagnosed with white cough.
A half moon since Death felt the telltale pull on his chest that meant the grains of sand in Little Kit’s hourglass were running low.
But when Death went to reap Little Kit’s soul, it didn’t budge from his throat. It remained visible yet firmly rooted in place, signaling that, perhaps, Little Kit had time to spare after all.
Over the weeks, Little Kit’s health had improved drastically. He wheezed when he spoke and he got easily winded, but he was no longer a limp vegetable. There was a spark in his eyes, a pep in his step.
Yet Little Kit could still see Death, and Death didn’t know why.
Little Kit burst into WindClan’s clearing and immediately rounded on Death before their eyes could even adjust to the light outside of the nursery’s protective cocoon. “Up, up!” Little Kit begged, clamoring to get onto Death’s back.
Death was tempted to melt into shadows, sending Little Kit toppling through him again. But he knew it frightened Little Kit to see him in that way, so he remained as solidified as possible, a tangle of smokey black fur.
This meant he had to fend off Little Kit’s advances the mortal way -- by pushing him away.
“Not today, Little Kit,” Death chuckled. “What would your clanmates say if they saw you floating in midair? Best case scenario, they think you’re blessed by StarClan and force you into becoming a medicine cat.”
“But I don’t want to be a medicine cat!” Little Kit gasped, eyes wide in horror at the very thought. “I’ll be the best warrior WindClan has ever seen, just watch this.” Little Kit turned to make sure Death was watching, then he launched himself onto a nearby gorse flower. “Ka-Pow!”
“Very good,” Death purred.
“Thanks, Dad, I-” Little Kit abruptly cut off, his chubby cheeks flaring. “I mean-” He wheezed.
Death’s eyes widened in horror like any single, middle-aged warrior's would who had just accidentally been called Dad. “It’s okay,” he spluttered. “You know-”
“Hey, what’s that on your leg?” While Death was busy being flustered, Little Kit’s attention had already shifted elsewhere, as easily as a trout switches channels in a stream. He narrowed in on a drop of blood on Death’s paw.
“Oh. That.” Death noticed the drop of blood for the first time. Must be from my last reaping. “It’s nothing,” he sweat.
Little Kit wasn't satisfied by that answer. “It looks like blood.”
“It’s not blood. In fact, it’s . . . cherry water. A very special type of water, only found in the tunnels beneath WindClan’s territory. It’s sweeter than honey and, legend says, a single drop of it will give you the strength of ten warriors!”
“Well, I want some then!”
Death cringed. “It’s only for adults.”
“Not fair!” Little Kit pouted.
“Look, it’s gone,” Death hastily wiped his paw in the dirt, removing any trace of blood. “Now let’s head back inside the nursery. It’s getting late and I heard your mother plans to finish the bedtime story she started yesterday.” And Death felt a pressure suddenly forming around his heart, barbed wires cinching tight. Someone was dying in ShadowClan, and they needed him now.
“But I still want to fly,” Little Kit whined, digging his heels into the ground. “I know you can!”
“I know,” Death grimaced, the pain in his chest intensifying. “But I already told you, Little Kit, people will see,” he sighed. “And that can’t happen. It just … can’t.”
“Then we can go behind the nursery!” Little Kit would not give up. “No one will notice us there.”
“Fine,” Death relented. “But not today. Tomorrow, okay?”
Little Kit hesitated. “Okay, if you promise.”
“I promise.” Death hastily touched his nose to Little Kit’s, then winked out of sight.
-----------------------------
Death returned to WindClan's nursery after sunfall, his energy spent from another successful reaping. Perhaps he should be in , his true home, but he felt drawn to the nursery.
And not because an involuntary string around his heart pulled him towards it.
Death breathed in the sweet scent of milk and marigolds, a flower WindClan queens enjoyed lining their nests with, as he weaved his way to Little Kit’s sleeping form.
Death was unaware that queens tensed when he neared, cradling their kits closer to themselves. That they whispered of an ominous presence when he wasn’t around to hear about it.
And if Death did know, maybe it would change his feelings about the nursery.
But as it was, he loved the place.
Little Kit’s right eye peeked open; he wasn’t asleep after all. “You don’t have to stand there like a dope.” Little Kit inched closer to his mother, leaving an empty space in their nest. “Come cuddle.”
Death raised a brow. “Who taught you that word, 'dope'?”
Little Kit buried his face in their nest. “Woolytail.”
“I’ll have to have a word with Woolytail, then.”
“His feet are really ticklish,” Little Kit mumbled behind a mouthful of moss.
“Oh yeah?” Death’s eyebrow raised. “Really, really ticklish?”
Little Kit burst into laughter as Death tickled his stomach. “Yeah!” He shivered then. “Your paw's cold.”
Death jerked away.
“No, in a nice way.” Little Kit grasped Death’s paw and marveled at how it dwarfed his own. Then he yawned and let his eyes slip shut. “You don’t have to go. You can stay. If you want.”
Death stared down at Little Kit, his jaw clenched, face pained. A battle waging in his heart. He should go back to , but he …. didn’t want to.
Death sighed and settled down in the nest, tendrils of shadow wrapping around Little Kit in some semblance of an embrace.
Death couldn’t sleep, but he closed his eyes and let his mind drift away.
For a moment, a warm glow filled the nursery.
It looked like the light from a rising moon, but it was not.
And Death should have known that, but he did not.
Mintfur eyed the discolored sky above them warily, like any second a monster would reach down from its murky depths and grab him.
“We’re in ,” Death said, amicably. “The land beyond Starclan’s borders.”
They trudged through the flat, barren wasteland of . Having crossed through the Ethereal Divide minutes before, they now had a short jaunt remaining to StarClan’s gates.
“StarClan, that’s where I’m going, right? To be with my Lilybloom?”
“Mhm, yes.” As a dense fog descended over the valley they were walking through, Death nudged Mintfur out of its path. “Stay clear of the fog. It will swallow you up if you let it.”
Mintfur reeled away from the fog, further than was necessary. “Has anyone ever gotten lost in it before?”
“Yes,” Death admitted, casting his eyes skyward. “We call those cats flyaway spirits.”
“And do you always find them later?”
Death was silent.
“Why are we even passing through here?” Mintfur muttered. “Why can’t you just teleport me straight into StarClan?”
“It doesn’t work that way. You must present yourself before the infallible wall of light surrounding StarClan for it to determine if you are worthy enough to enter. Only those truly good at heart may."
“Oh my,” Mintfur gulped. “And what if I’m not allowed in, what will you do? Drag me to the Dark Forest?“
“No. If StarClan rejects you, you will become a wayward spirit. Forced to wander alone until you’ve recovered enough humanity in your emotionally-deprived wraith of a heart to join StarClan, or you commit yourself to the Dark Forest. Or you’re driven mad by indecision, in which case will dispose of you. You will fade away, forever.”
Mintfur’s face went pallid. “That sounds horrible.”
“It is. I suppose that’s why you must walk through before you can reach StarClan’s gates. To see what will await you if you fail your entrance exam,” Death said. “And so when you tire of that Lilybloom, you’ll know there’s no one better waiting for you outside StarClan.” Death waggled his eyebrows.
“Not funny.”
“But you shouldn’t have to worry about that, Mintfur,” Death winked. “Unless you were a very covert murderer or you engaged in other, equally nefarious acts while I wasn’t looking, with an invisibility charm that I don’t know about, you’ll be welcomed into StarClan’s ranks.”
“What are you saying, that you’ve been watching me my entire life?”
“I have very few pastimes to choose from here.” Death shrugged. “Though I stopped keeping track of you when you joined the elders’ den. So if you’ve berated a few apprentices lately and want to confess before, you know,” Death gestured at the wall of light they were fast approaching. “Too late.”
“Gee, thanks,” Mintfur snorted, kicking a stone in his path. It skittered a few feet away.
Mintfur’s eyes suddenly softened and, in that moment, Death knew he must be thinking of Lilybloom. They used to skip stones over the lake together.
Death’s heart throbbed at a memory that wasn’t his.
“If your job isn’t to listen to warriors' deathbed conditions, then what is it, exactly? To kill every elder having an asthma attack?” Mintfur teased. “Don’t think I forgot the paw you shoved down my throat earlier.”
Death shook his head. “I put you out of your misery, yes, but that was not necessary for me to do. You would have died either way. Granted, I may occasionally speed up the natural process with the help of my HellHounds', but I only have one real job, and that is to consume your soul, solidifying your transition to the afterlife, and deliver your spirit to your respective resting place.”
Mintfur’s mouth swung open at the sight of StarClan in the distance. The chilly bite of began to dissipate as they approached, the air crisping delightfully as the dusty, arid soil dusting their paw pads was similarly replaced with soft clay.
“Look, we’re almost there!” Mintfur took off running for StarClan’s gates, smooth, robust muscles flexing under his silver pelt. Mid-step, he glanced down at his youthful body, awe melting across his face. What a far cry it was from the withered old tomcat he had been hours before! With skin so saggy a kit could get lost in its folds, and bones so brittle he feared they would splinter every time he made the laborious journey to the dirtplace, it was a surprise he had lasted so long in the elders' den.
Death stood on the cusp of , electing to watch Mintfur’s final steps from a distance. “I’m flying!” the tomcat hooted, his voice carrying over the divide between them. It was the last thing Death heard before Mintfur collided with the wall of light. The tom graciously glided through it and was gone. Just like that.
StarClan’s wall of light was opaque, everything on the other side of it hazy, out-of-focus. Death felt like he was peering through five feet of murky water to catch a glimpse of Mintfur greeting his family.
A frigid breeze pierced Death’s side then; was beckoning him away. Time to leave, I suppose, Death reluctantly stood up and turned away.
Unless . . . His eyes flickered back to StarClan’s gates like a mouse to sickly-sweet poison. There were multiple silhouettes encircling Mintfur now, all vying for the chance to say hello. One in particular was so small, they could hardly be six moons old.
Death hesitated before walking up to the wall of light. Up close, its heat was intense, sparks shooting off its surface. And it shimmered, rapidly, like a current of electricity. Still, Death pressed his face closer to it. Even as sparks streaked across his skin, sizzling against the shadows that made up his body like flames meeting water, he kept his eyes locked in place.
Gazing in on a world he could never be a part of.
This close, it was clear that the littlest silhouette was not a kit after all, but an apprentice. Ginger fur, brown eyes. Mintfur’s daughter, the one killed by a badger two years ago.
Right. Of course.
Death abruptly pulled away from the wall of light and stalked off. His tail whipped back and forth in the dirt like a sidewinder, leaving a trail of dust in its wake.
A new litter was born in WindClan today, and they are all healthy. His jaw clenched at the reminder of what Life had said earlier. How could he possibly forget?
So don’t touch them.
Death collapsed outside of the halo of warmth StarClan’s border cast, firmly entrenched in ’s jaws once more.
Mintfur’s last words rose to mind next. How the old tomcat spoke them with such glee. I’m flying!
Death took a deep, shuddering breath, as a phantom pain spread over his shoulder blades and he fell into a far-flung memory.
-----------------------------
“I bet three larks that it won’t work.”
“I’ll pluck my whiskers if it does!”
Death rested in the center of WindClan’s camp, eavesdropping on a gaggle of apprentices. One apprentice thought rubbing rabbit urine on himself would make hunting easier. The others weren’t so convinced.
“Watch, it’s going to make every rabbit this side of the moor fall madly in love with me!”
“I don’t know … what if it, like, gets in your system and you grow buck teeth and a cottontail?”
“I’d still look better than you!”
Just then, the gorse bushes lining WindClan’s nursery rustled, and a queen burst out. “Someone, come quick, my kit is dying!” she cried before darting back into the nursery.
Death raised his eyebrow. When a cat was in their final death throes, he felt a tug on his chest, like an invisible string binding them together was pulled taut.
He felt nothing now.
Still, as WindClan's medicine cat rushed into the nursery, he followed closely behind. Instantly, the sweet smell of milk enveloped him, interlaced with the subtle scent of new moss and warm, wriggling newborn kits, nestled against their mothers’ sides like leaf buds.
“See, he’s not moving!” Death peered over the hysterical queen’s shoulder to where a little kit lay. With rheumy eyes and saliva trickling from the corner of his mouth, the kit didn’t look good. Death’s lips curled.
“Now, now, that doesn’t mean he’s dead,” the medicine cat chided, gently nudging the little kit. “Wake up, chickadee, before you give your mother a heart attack.”
The little kit curled in on himself like a wilted flower, tucking his face behind a cotton-ball sized forepaw before letting out a soft, stifled mew.
“Come, no need to hide,” Death cooed, reaching forward to brush his own paw against the little kit’s forehead, if only to confirm his suspicion of a fever. Not because he had a sudden, irresistible urge to comfort the little kit.
He nudged the little kit’s button nose next. Now that, he could not justify.
The little kit sneezed in response, his eyes snapping open in unison.
“Look, he’s awake!” The queen shrieked.
Death reeled back in alarm, so violently his head almost crashed through the walls of the nursery. Because the little kit was staring straight at him. He sees me. As if on cue, an all-too-familiar orb glowed in the little kit’s throat, and Death felt a pang in his chest.
“What’s wrong with him? Will he survive?”
The little kit blinked up at Death with big, bashful eyes. “Who are you?”
“Yes, yes, of course. It’s just a cough, nothing serious.”
Death smiled.
-----------------------------
“Where have you been all day? When you were gone, Woolytail played hide-and-seek with me, but he kept giggling and giving himself away! It was no fun! Can you believe that?” The little kit, who Death had taken to simply calling "Little Kit," whined.
“I can believe that,” Death said, sprinkling some gorse flowers from the nursery’s entrance onto Little Kit’s head like confetti. Little Kit squealed and batted at it, forgetting all about his previous question, Where have you been all day?
Truth was, Death had been reaping the soul of a ThunderClan warrior unfortunate enough to get his tail trapped in a fox trap. The poor tom had managed to rip himself free of the trap's iron jaws -parting ways with his tail in the process- before collapsing from blood loss. When Death arrived, Harold the HellHound already had the tom’s soul in his mouth like a squeaky toy.
It dropped to Death’s feet with a solid thunk, oozing in slobber.
But that was not worth telling Little Kit.
Despite Death’s penchant for reaping souls, he did not revel in being a thief of joy in every sense of the word. No, as far as Death was concerned, he had a duty to safeguard spirits, whether they were travelling to the underworld or to adulthood. He couldn’t fathom filling the kit’s head with such nightmares.
Some things . . . you just don’t tell little kits.
Little Kit dropped into a crouch and stalked towards Death’s tail, his butt sky-high and wiggling in pent up excitement. At the last moment, Death shifted his tail into shadows, sending Little Kit tumbling into his mother.
“Hey, no fair!” Little Kit whined, jutting his chin out in righteous indignation. The look only lasted for a second before he burst into giggles, sprawled onto his back with his feet flailing in the air like an upside down turtle.
“That’s enough roughhousing in here, mister.” Little Kit’s mother gave him a pointed look. “If you want to keep playing with your imaginary friend, take it outside.”
Death nudged Little Kit right side up in a way that would seem inconspicuous to the outside observer. “You heard your mom, time to go outside.”
Little Kit looked ready to complain when, suddenly, his eyes lit up. Uh oh. Death gulped. That could only mean one thing. “Let’s go fly!” Little Kit squealed, and took off running for the nursery’s entrance before Death could interject.
Little Kit’s gait was slow, legs shaky. It looked more like he was bunny hopping than running away. Death watched with a touch of concern.
It had been half a moon since Little Kit was diagnosed with white cough.
A half moon since Death felt the telltale pull on his chest that meant the grains of sand in Little Kit’s hourglass were running low.
But when Death went to reap Little Kit’s soul, it didn’t budge from his throat. It remained visible yet firmly rooted in place, signaling that, perhaps, Little Kit had time to spare after all.
Over the weeks, Little Kit’s health had improved drastically. He wheezed when he spoke and he got easily winded, but he was no longer a limp vegetable. There was a spark in his eyes, a pep in his step.
Yet Little Kit could still see Death, and Death didn’t know why.
Little Kit burst into WindClan’s clearing and immediately rounded on Death before their eyes could even adjust to the light outside of the nursery’s protective cocoon. “Up, up!” Little Kit begged, clamoring to get onto Death’s back.
Death was tempted to melt into shadows, sending Little Kit toppling through him again. But he knew it frightened Little Kit to see him in that way, so he remained as solidified as possible, a tangle of smokey black fur.
This meant he had to fend off Little Kit’s advances the mortal way -- by pushing him away.
“Not today, Little Kit,” Death chuckled. “What would your clanmates say if they saw you floating in midair? Best case scenario, they think you’re blessed by StarClan and force you into becoming a medicine cat.”
“But I don’t want to be a medicine cat!” Little Kit gasped, eyes wide in horror at the very thought. “I’ll be the best warrior WindClan has ever seen, just watch this.” Little Kit turned to make sure Death was watching, then he launched himself onto a nearby gorse flower. “Ka-Pow!”
“Very good,” Death purred.
“Thanks, Dad, I-” Little Kit abruptly cut off, his chubby cheeks flaring. “I mean-” He wheezed.
Death’s eyes widened in horror like any single, middle-aged warrior's would who had just accidentally been called Dad. “It’s okay,” he spluttered. “You know-”
“Hey, what’s that on your leg?” While Death was busy being flustered, Little Kit’s attention had already shifted elsewhere, as easily as a trout switches channels in a stream. He narrowed in on a drop of blood on Death’s paw.
“Oh. That.” Death noticed the drop of blood for the first time. Must be from my last reaping. “It’s nothing,” he sweat.
Little Kit wasn't satisfied by that answer. “It looks like blood.”
“It’s not blood. In fact, it’s . . . cherry water. A very special type of water, only found in the tunnels beneath WindClan’s territory. It’s sweeter than honey and, legend says, a single drop of it will give you the strength of ten warriors!”
“Well, I want some then!”
Death cringed. “It’s only for adults.”
“Not fair!” Little Kit pouted.
“Look, it’s gone,” Death hastily wiped his paw in the dirt, removing any trace of blood. “Now let’s head back inside the nursery. It’s getting late and I heard your mother plans to finish the bedtime story she started yesterday.” And Death felt a pressure suddenly forming around his heart, barbed wires cinching tight. Someone was dying in ShadowClan, and they needed him now.
“But I still want to fly,” Little Kit whined, digging his heels into the ground. “I know you can!”
“I know,” Death grimaced, the pain in his chest intensifying. “But I already told you, Little Kit, people will see,” he sighed. “And that can’t happen. It just … can’t.”
“Then we can go behind the nursery!” Little Kit would not give up. “No one will notice us there.”
“Fine,” Death relented. “But not today. Tomorrow, okay?”
Little Kit hesitated. “Okay, if you promise.”
“I promise.” Death hastily touched his nose to Little Kit’s, then winked out of sight.
-----------------------------
Death returned to WindClan's nursery after sunfall, his energy spent from another successful reaping. Perhaps he should be in , his true home, but he felt drawn to the nursery.
And not because an involuntary string around his heart pulled him towards it.
Death breathed in the sweet scent of milk and marigolds, a flower WindClan queens enjoyed lining their nests with, as he weaved his way to Little Kit’s sleeping form.
Death was unaware that queens tensed when he neared, cradling their kits closer to themselves. That they whispered of an ominous presence when he wasn’t around to hear about it.
And if Death did know, maybe it would change his feelings about the nursery.
But as it was, he loved the place.
Little Kit’s right eye peeked open; he wasn’t asleep after all. “You don’t have to stand there like a dope.” Little Kit inched closer to his mother, leaving an empty space in their nest. “Come cuddle.”
Death raised a brow. “Who taught you that word, 'dope'?”
Little Kit buried his face in their nest. “Woolytail.”
“I’ll have to have a word with Woolytail, then.”
“His feet are really ticklish,” Little Kit mumbled behind a mouthful of moss.
“Oh yeah?” Death’s eyebrow raised. “Really, really ticklish?”
Little Kit burst into laughter as Death tickled his stomach. “Yeah!” He shivered then. “Your paw's cold.”
Death jerked away.
“No, in a nice way.” Little Kit grasped Death’s paw and marveled at how it dwarfed his own. Then he yawned and let his eyes slip shut. “You don’t have to go. You can stay. If you want.”
Death stared down at Little Kit, his jaw clenched, face pained. A battle waging in his heart. He should go back to , but he …. didn’t want to.
Death sighed and settled down in the nest, tendrils of shadow wrapping around Little Kit in some semblance of an embrace.
Death couldn’t sleep, but he closed his eyes and let his mind drift away.
For a moment, a warm glow filled the nursery.
It looked like the light from a rising moon, but it was not.
And Death should have known that, but he did not.
(Part 2)
Before the sun could crest WindClan’s valley, a sharp scream sliced through the air. Death’s eyes jolted open, as if on a hairline trigger.
A moment before, he had been drifting peacefully on a cloud in his mind, in that fragile state between wakefulness and sleep. Now the sudden sensation of falling consumed him and he shot up, gasping for breath.
Tranquility shattered.
Death's head whipped from side to side, intent on finding the source of the scream.
Little Kit’s mother let out a howl of pain that simpered to a quiet weep as she cradled a limp form to her side and rocked back and forth, back and forth. Like how one would comfort a fussy newborn.
“Mom, Mom! Look at me! Mom!” Little Kit stood at the base of their nest, frantically pulling on his mother’s fur with a wild, desperate glint in his eye.
She ignored him completely, as if he were a particle of dust floating through the air. As if he were nothing. “MOM!!” Little Kit screeched at the top of his lungs and threw his head back before madly sinking his teeth into her tail, hard enough to draw blood.
Only, no blood rose to the surface of her skin.
Death stared at the chaos unfurling before him in confusion, his rumpled bedhead of fur shifting into shadows as he fought to understand what was going on. Why won’t she-
His eyes snagged on what the hysterical queen was cradling in her arms.
Little Kit’s body.
No. Death dropped to his knees. It felt, suddenly, like a pit of darkness was tearing open his stomach, threatening to ravage him from the inside out. It felt like, like-
“MOM!” Little Kit’s spirit continued to scream senselessly as he climbed onto his mother’s back and wriggled his way up to her face.
Death lowered his forehead, achingly slow, to the earth.
Little Kit grasped his mother’s face in his paws and shook. Willing her to look at him. Begging- “Please, mom, please! Why won’t you look at me?”
Death’s eyes kissed the cold dirt.
“Mommy, I-” Words slipped away from Little Kit as he saw, for the first time, his own motionless body still nestled in his mother’s arms. It was like looking at his reflection in a pool of water, except this version of himself was all wrong. It was empty-eyed and slack-jawed. Flesh and bone and disheveled fur that already had a sickly smell and Little Kit didn’t know why and it scared him. “Mommy?” he whispered, as waves of emotion crashed over his face. Shock. Horror. Confusion. Then-
Death was in front of Little Kit, grabbing him by the scruff and forcibly pulling him away from the body.
“What’s going on?” Little Kit squirmed in Death’s grasp before managing to wrench himself free, landing in front of his mother once more. He turned on Death, legs quaking in fear, as if seeing him for the first time. “Who even are you?”
“It’s okay, Little Kit, it’ll be okay,” Death stammered, struggling to find the magic words to stop Little Kit from looking at him like that. Like he’s scared of me.
Death reached out a paw to console Little Kit, but his nerves were running too high to remain in his solidified form. One of his shadows wildly slashed across Little Kit’s face.
Little Kit reeled back in alarm, falling through his mother and violently crashing into the walls of the nursery. A thorn sliced clean through his cheek, blood splattering onto the marigolds.
“Little Kit!” Death cried, rushing over. He concentrated -hard- a bead of sweat trickling down his face as his left paw condensed enough to stroke Little Kit’s cheek. For real this time. “Listen, please, you’ll be OK. You just have to come with me.”
“Leave me alone!” Little Kit shrieked, lashing out at Death’s face.
“I can’t, I’m sorry.” Death winced as one of Little Kit’s feeble yet fierce blows landed, his shadows whipping themselves into a frenzy again, swirling around the two of them like a black eddy. “Just listen to me!”
“No, you’re not my mom!”
Death staggered backwards then. He took two deep breaths, trying to quell the flurry of shadows shooting from him. He needed to calm down. He needed to- his train of thought trailed away as he saw how Little Kit was staring at him.
In pure terror.
“StarClan, what have I don-”
The HellHounds burst through the walls of the nursery. In a flash of teeth, Harold’s jaws locked around Little Kit’s head. Death’s eyes widened in horror as Little Kit was lifted into the air by his throat, his feet thrashing uncontrollably, before being flung across the nursery like a piece of prey.
The second Little Kit landed, the other HellHounds descended on him in a whirl of snapping, snarling maws. Little Kit screamed as Harold cackled, the hound's left eye popping out in all the excitement. Harold hastily pushed it back into place with a touch of his slobbery tongue.
“Stop!” Death yelled. “Stop! He’s already dead, you idiots!"
All of the HellHound’s swung around to face Death, their warped excitement giving way to uncertainty, and, underneath that, a rippling current of fear at the sound of Death’s voice. A second later, they registered Little Kit’s body, still neatly hidden in his mother’s arms, and snapped to attention, ever the obedient whelps.
Harold’s back went ramrod straight as his jaw, containing Little Kit’s writhing body, fell open. Little Kit slammed into the ground with a hard thud before he bolted out of the nursery through a gap between the HellHounds’ legs.
Death’s world slowed to a standstill in that moment, his mind suspended in a sludge of disbelief.
He saw the HellHounds, their bloodshot eyes boring into him as they waited for their next command. They couldn’t stand still, their bodies dancing in place, feverishly, betraying their lust for fear with each step.
Except they shouldn’t be acting so zealous. They were supposed to feed off the terror of the living and Little Kit was already dead.
Death’s stomach rolled at the image of Harold throwing Little Kit through the air. He had never seen a HellHound act so viciously, even to warriors in their final death throes, mad with fear. It is forbidden to interfere like that. “What is wrong with you guys?” he snapped.
The HellHounds whimpered in response, flattening their ears and lowering their heads in submission. Death sneered in disgust at them before swiveling to look at Little Kit’s mother. She remained tucked in bed, oblivious to the scene unfolding before her. All her attention was focused on Little Kit’s slack body. “My baby,” she cried, clutching him closer, “my poor baby.”
Death ripped his eyes away, focusing his eyes outside of the nursery’s entrance where he could see Little Kit rapidly retreating. Already, Little Kit was so far away. He was getting away.
I can’t let him get away.
“Get him,” Death said numbly.
The HellHounds needed no further instruction. They shot out of the nursery, frothing at the mouth. Their eyes locked in on Little Kit like he were a plump rabbit they dreamt of gobbling up. Harold threw his head back and let out a shrill howl.
The hunt was on.
The second Death stepped out of the nursery, he was pierced by the light of morning. Followed by a stream of warriors who plowed straight through him, headed for the heartbroken queen left in his wake.
What have I done, Death thought, crumbling to his knees again, and how can I ever fix this?
Shadowy wings erupted out of Death’s back. In two steady beats, he took flight, hovering on the horizon’s edge. The rising sun was at his back, the warmth of it at odds with the chill he felt in his veins.
Death took off after the HellHounds, hurtling through the air until Little Kit transformed from a speck in the distance-as hazy as a hundred mile high star-to close enough for Death to reach out and grab-
Almost.
Argh! Death snarled as he missed Little Kit’s scruff by a hair length.
The HellHounds weren’t far behind. Harold picked up a burst of speed, spurred on by Death’s arrival, his breath close enough to scold the back of Little Kit’s heels.
Little Kit glanced back in terror, his own breath coming out in ragged gasps as he fought to outrun them. “Please!” he wailed, his voice abruptly cutting off as his foot caught on a loose stone.
Harold laughed, his addled fangs snapping around Little Kit’s flank, ripping into a tuft of star-speckled fur. Little Kit kicked out with his hindlegs to dislodge the HellHound’s hold just as he managed to save himself from a nasty fall.
Harold huffed, spitting out a fur ball.
Death swooped down again, the winds of the open moor whipping across his face in a flurry. It felt like invisible hands were trying to shove him back. He gritted his teeth and fought against the force. “It’ll be OK, Little Kit!” He extended a shaky paw forward, wings beating furiously. There was only an inch of space between the two of them now. “You just have to come with me, Little Kit, and I-”
“That’s not my real name!” Little Kit wailed. Right before he vanished into thin air.
Death’s outstretched paw clenched around nothing. His eyes widened in shock as he frantically tried to pull back, but it was too late. He couldn’t stop his forward momentum, not now. Death crashed headfirst into one of the HellHounds, his vision tumbling as he lost all control of his body. Oh fu- Death slammed into the moorside, his head jutting against a rock before he managed to wrap his wings around himself, sheltering him from worse blows. Still, he skid ten feet across the moor, a searing pain ripping through his shoulder from the impact.
Death immediately jumped to his feet after, cursing himself for not having the foresight to morph into shadows before the fall. He surged towards the HellHounds. “Where is he?” Death barked. “Where did he go?”
The HellHounds all pranced around a hole in the ground, taking turns kneading at the loose soil.
The tunnels beneath WindClan’s territory. Of course.
“Move,” Death shoved Harold’s head out of the hole and descended, his wings vanishing to fit in the tight quarters. Instantly, he was pitched into darkness, with no sense of where to go, what tunnel to follow. He blindly ran down one, then another.
Death stopped in his tracks to call out “Little Kit!” but all he heard was his own voice, echoing back.
And why should he respond to that? It’s not his real name. Death’s heart twisted at the thought. Because it was true, and he wished it weren’t. And because, I don’t know his real name, and I wish I could.
Death shook his head and continued to search for Little Kit. He winded his way through each dank tunnel, descending to chambers so deep the worms dare not go. Once, he thought he heard footsteps, only to discover that the source of the noise was water dripping onto some gnarled tree roots.
Death snarled in frustration. Every minute that passed without a sign of Little Kit, he became more frantic, dashing, disoriented, through the underground labyrinth. Entering areas that seemed both vaguely familiar and brand new. It all looks the same.
Still he pressed on.
Until the hours ticked on too long, and his store of hope dwindled too low, and he surfaced for good.
-----------------------------
“What have you done?” Life was sitting outside WindClan’s nursery when Death returned to camp, accusations plastered across her face.
“The littlest kit in the nursery, the one born four moons ago. He-” Death faltered, casting his gaze skyward, where stars were already beginning to peek through the curtain of blue. Where a new one should be by now. “We lost him.”
“You killed him.” Life’s face was ashen.
“No,” Death choked. “I didn’t- I don’t know what happened.”
“It was you.” Life hastily backed away from Death, her fur on end. “You did this. He was healthy. He wasn’t supposed to die.” She shook her head vigorously. “The Celestials are going to hear about this. They will know.” Her voice dropped to a hush then, as if she were too afraid to raise it any louder. “They already do, Death.”
The HellHounds vanished.
One second, they were slinking behind Death, heads hung low. The next, they were gone.
Death blanched. “What did you do, Life? Did you tell them?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Life said. “They were going to get involved in this either way.”
“Not if I found the kit first!” Death snarled. “Then they would have had no reason to!” He rushed towards the entrance of camp, determined as ever. “I’m going to find him, I have to-”
“Just stop,” Life sobbed, her eyes glistening with tears. “There is nowhere to run.” She patted the space beside her. “Sit with me before they come.”
“No,” Death spat back, putting on a burst of speed right as an invisible force clenched around his heart, slamming him backwards. He hit the ground, hard, his claws scraping against the dirt till they chipped as he fought, tirelessly, to remain in place.
Like a mortal warrior who doesn’t know when he’s lost.
Death was dragged to .
A moment before, he had been drifting peacefully on a cloud in his mind, in that fragile state between wakefulness and sleep. Now the sudden sensation of falling consumed him and he shot up, gasping for breath.
Tranquility shattered.
Death's head whipped from side to side, intent on finding the source of the scream.
Little Kit’s mother let out a howl of pain that simpered to a quiet weep as she cradled a limp form to her side and rocked back and forth, back and forth. Like how one would comfort a fussy newborn.
“Mom, Mom! Look at me! Mom!” Little Kit stood at the base of their nest, frantically pulling on his mother’s fur with a wild, desperate glint in his eye.
She ignored him completely, as if he were a particle of dust floating through the air. As if he were nothing. “MOM!!” Little Kit screeched at the top of his lungs and threw his head back before madly sinking his teeth into her tail, hard enough to draw blood.
Only, no blood rose to the surface of her skin.
Death stared at the chaos unfurling before him in confusion, his rumpled bedhead of fur shifting into shadows as he fought to understand what was going on. Why won’t she-
His eyes snagged on what the hysterical queen was cradling in her arms.
Little Kit’s body.
No. Death dropped to his knees. It felt, suddenly, like a pit of darkness was tearing open his stomach, threatening to ravage him from the inside out. It felt like, like-
“MOM!” Little Kit’s spirit continued to scream senselessly as he climbed onto his mother’s back and wriggled his way up to her face.
Death lowered his forehead, achingly slow, to the earth.
Little Kit grasped his mother’s face in his paws and shook. Willing her to look at him. Begging- “Please, mom, please! Why won’t you look at me?”
Death’s eyes kissed the cold dirt.
“Mommy, I-” Words slipped away from Little Kit as he saw, for the first time, his own motionless body still nestled in his mother’s arms. It was like looking at his reflection in a pool of water, except this version of himself was all wrong. It was empty-eyed and slack-jawed. Flesh and bone and disheveled fur that already had a sickly smell and Little Kit didn’t know why and it scared him. “Mommy?” he whispered, as waves of emotion crashed over his face. Shock. Horror. Confusion. Then-
Death was in front of Little Kit, grabbing him by the scruff and forcibly pulling him away from the body.
“What’s going on?” Little Kit squirmed in Death’s grasp before managing to wrench himself free, landing in front of his mother once more. He turned on Death, legs quaking in fear, as if seeing him for the first time. “Who even are you?”
“It’s okay, Little Kit, it’ll be okay,” Death stammered, struggling to find the magic words to stop Little Kit from looking at him like that. Like he’s scared of me.
Death reached out a paw to console Little Kit, but his nerves were running too high to remain in his solidified form. One of his shadows wildly slashed across Little Kit’s face.
Little Kit reeled back in alarm, falling through his mother and violently crashing into the walls of the nursery. A thorn sliced clean through his cheek, blood splattering onto the marigolds.
“Little Kit!” Death cried, rushing over. He concentrated -hard- a bead of sweat trickling down his face as his left paw condensed enough to stroke Little Kit’s cheek. For real this time. “Listen, please, you’ll be OK. You just have to come with me.”
“Leave me alone!” Little Kit shrieked, lashing out at Death’s face.
“I can’t, I’m sorry.” Death winced as one of Little Kit’s feeble yet fierce blows landed, his shadows whipping themselves into a frenzy again, swirling around the two of them like a black eddy. “Just listen to me!”
“No, you’re not my mom!”
Death staggered backwards then. He took two deep breaths, trying to quell the flurry of shadows shooting from him. He needed to calm down. He needed to- his train of thought trailed away as he saw how Little Kit was staring at him.
In pure terror.
“StarClan, what have I don-”
The HellHounds burst through the walls of the nursery. In a flash of teeth, Harold’s jaws locked around Little Kit’s head. Death’s eyes widened in horror as Little Kit was lifted into the air by his throat, his feet thrashing uncontrollably, before being flung across the nursery like a piece of prey.
The second Little Kit landed, the other HellHounds descended on him in a whirl of snapping, snarling maws. Little Kit screamed as Harold cackled, the hound's left eye popping out in all the excitement. Harold hastily pushed it back into place with a touch of his slobbery tongue.
“Stop!” Death yelled. “Stop! He’s already dead, you idiots!"
All of the HellHound’s swung around to face Death, their warped excitement giving way to uncertainty, and, underneath that, a rippling current of fear at the sound of Death’s voice. A second later, they registered Little Kit’s body, still neatly hidden in his mother’s arms, and snapped to attention, ever the obedient whelps.
Harold’s back went ramrod straight as his jaw, containing Little Kit’s writhing body, fell open. Little Kit slammed into the ground with a hard thud before he bolted out of the nursery through a gap between the HellHounds’ legs.
Death’s world slowed to a standstill in that moment, his mind suspended in a sludge of disbelief.
He saw the HellHounds, their bloodshot eyes boring into him as they waited for their next command. They couldn’t stand still, their bodies dancing in place, feverishly, betraying their lust for fear with each step.
Except they shouldn’t be acting so zealous. They were supposed to feed off the terror of the living and Little Kit was already dead.
Death’s stomach rolled at the image of Harold throwing Little Kit through the air. He had never seen a HellHound act so viciously, even to warriors in their final death throes, mad with fear. It is forbidden to interfere like that. “What is wrong with you guys?” he snapped.
The HellHounds whimpered in response, flattening their ears and lowering their heads in submission. Death sneered in disgust at them before swiveling to look at Little Kit’s mother. She remained tucked in bed, oblivious to the scene unfolding before her. All her attention was focused on Little Kit’s slack body. “My baby,” she cried, clutching him closer, “my poor baby.”
Death ripped his eyes away, focusing his eyes outside of the nursery’s entrance where he could see Little Kit rapidly retreating. Already, Little Kit was so far away. He was getting away.
I can’t let him get away.
“Get him,” Death said numbly.
The HellHounds needed no further instruction. They shot out of the nursery, frothing at the mouth. Their eyes locked in on Little Kit like he were a plump rabbit they dreamt of gobbling up. Harold threw his head back and let out a shrill howl.
The hunt was on.
The second Death stepped out of the nursery, he was pierced by the light of morning. Followed by a stream of warriors who plowed straight through him, headed for the heartbroken queen left in his wake.
What have I done, Death thought, crumbling to his knees again, and how can I ever fix this?
Shadowy wings erupted out of Death’s back. In two steady beats, he took flight, hovering on the horizon’s edge. The rising sun was at his back, the warmth of it at odds with the chill he felt in his veins.
Death took off after the HellHounds, hurtling through the air until Little Kit transformed from a speck in the distance-as hazy as a hundred mile high star-to close enough for Death to reach out and grab-
Almost.
Argh! Death snarled as he missed Little Kit’s scruff by a hair length.
The HellHounds weren’t far behind. Harold picked up a burst of speed, spurred on by Death’s arrival, his breath close enough to scold the back of Little Kit’s heels.
Little Kit glanced back in terror, his own breath coming out in ragged gasps as he fought to outrun them. “Please!” he wailed, his voice abruptly cutting off as his foot caught on a loose stone.
Harold laughed, his addled fangs snapping around Little Kit’s flank, ripping into a tuft of star-speckled fur. Little Kit kicked out with his hindlegs to dislodge the HellHound’s hold just as he managed to save himself from a nasty fall.
Harold huffed, spitting out a fur ball.
Death swooped down again, the winds of the open moor whipping across his face in a flurry. It felt like invisible hands were trying to shove him back. He gritted his teeth and fought against the force. “It’ll be OK, Little Kit!” He extended a shaky paw forward, wings beating furiously. There was only an inch of space between the two of them now. “You just have to come with me, Little Kit, and I-”
“That’s not my real name!” Little Kit wailed. Right before he vanished into thin air.
Death’s outstretched paw clenched around nothing. His eyes widened in shock as he frantically tried to pull back, but it was too late. He couldn’t stop his forward momentum, not now. Death crashed headfirst into one of the HellHounds, his vision tumbling as he lost all control of his body. Oh fu- Death slammed into the moorside, his head jutting against a rock before he managed to wrap his wings around himself, sheltering him from worse blows. Still, he skid ten feet across the moor, a searing pain ripping through his shoulder from the impact.
Death immediately jumped to his feet after, cursing himself for not having the foresight to morph into shadows before the fall. He surged towards the HellHounds. “Where is he?” Death barked. “Where did he go?”
The HellHounds all pranced around a hole in the ground, taking turns kneading at the loose soil.
The tunnels beneath WindClan’s territory. Of course.
“Move,” Death shoved Harold’s head out of the hole and descended, his wings vanishing to fit in the tight quarters. Instantly, he was pitched into darkness, with no sense of where to go, what tunnel to follow. He blindly ran down one, then another.
Death stopped in his tracks to call out “Little Kit!” but all he heard was his own voice, echoing back.
And why should he respond to that? It’s not his real name. Death’s heart twisted at the thought. Because it was true, and he wished it weren’t. And because, I don’t know his real name, and I wish I could.
Death shook his head and continued to search for Little Kit. He winded his way through each dank tunnel, descending to chambers so deep the worms dare not go. Once, he thought he heard footsteps, only to discover that the source of the noise was water dripping onto some gnarled tree roots.
Death snarled in frustration. Every minute that passed without a sign of Little Kit, he became more frantic, dashing, disoriented, through the underground labyrinth. Entering areas that seemed both vaguely familiar and brand new. It all looks the same.
Still he pressed on.
Until the hours ticked on too long, and his store of hope dwindled too low, and he surfaced for good.
-----------------------------
“What have you done?” Life was sitting outside WindClan’s nursery when Death returned to camp, accusations plastered across her face.
“The littlest kit in the nursery, the one born four moons ago. He-” Death faltered, casting his gaze skyward, where stars were already beginning to peek through the curtain of blue. Where a new one should be by now. “We lost him.”
“You killed him.” Life’s face was ashen.
“No,” Death choked. “I didn’t- I don’t know what happened.”
“It was you.” Life hastily backed away from Death, her fur on end. “You did this. He was healthy. He wasn’t supposed to die.” She shook her head vigorously. “The Celestials are going to hear about this. They will know.” Her voice dropped to a hush then, as if she were too afraid to raise it any louder. “They already do, Death.”
The HellHounds vanished.
One second, they were slinking behind Death, heads hung low. The next, they were gone.
Death blanched. “What did you do, Life? Did you tell them?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Life said. “They were going to get involved in this either way.”
“Not if I found the kit first!” Death snarled. “Then they would have had no reason to!” He rushed towards the entrance of camp, determined as ever. “I’m going to find him, I have to-”
“Just stop,” Life sobbed, her eyes glistening with tears. “There is nowhere to run.” She patted the space beside her. “Sit with me before they come.”
“No,” Death spat back, putting on a burst of speed right as an invisible force clenched around his heart, slamming him backwards. He hit the ground, hard, his claws scraping against the dirt till they chipped as he fought, tirelessly, to remain in place.
Like a mortal warrior who doesn’t know when he’s lost.
Death was dragged to .
(Part 3) 🚨 NEW!!!! 🚨
Death stood before four horsemen.
The Celestials.
They looked almost human, with the same slim trunks and upright stances, except for their too long, spider-like limbs and distorted faces, appearing as if someone took a blank canvas and crudely scribbled a cat's features across it. Or maybe those are masks. Death couldn’t tell. All he knew is that their eyes never blinked, and their mouths never moved when they spoke.
They were draped in gold-and-white regalia that shone as if it were back-lit by a thousand stars, at odds with the shadows that whirled around Death and betrayed his nervousness.
One of the Celestials pointed a clawed hand at Death. “You swore an oath to serve only those fated to die. Why did you break it?”
“I didn’t.”
Death was thrust into the air, his wings flailing in place like a fly staked to a board. “Okay-” he choked out, seconds before his jaw froze. Every morsel of his body, suddenly, was immovable except for his eyes, which madly darted back and forth.
“Why did you break your oath?”
A gurgling noise rose in Death’s throat as he tried to speak. The foremost Celestial’s horse snorted.
Death fell unceremoniously back to the ground, regaining control of his limbs all at once. “Okay, okay.” He rose on shaky legs. “There was a kit born with a nasty bout of white cough in WindClan four moons ago. Only, when I went to reap his soul, it refused to budge from its place. I thought that must be a good sign, and yet,” Death smiled sadly at the memory of Little Kit gazing up at him for the first time, “he could still see me.”
“We spent time together.” Grew close. “Then, one morning, I awoke to find him … gone.”
Dead.
Death shut his eyes, as if that could banish the thought of Little Kit’s lifeless body from his mind. “I don’t know why it happened,” he said between gritted teeth. “I never touched him!”
“Oh, but you did, Death. All kits have weak, unstable souls. They can flicker in and out and be easily . . . extinguished.” The Celestials spoke as one, their deep, thunderous voice rattling Death’s skull. “The boy you speak of never, really, had to worry about white cough. He had to worry about you. Your presence. It pulled on his soul, trapping him in a state of limbo where he could both see you and exist in the material world.”
“No, no-”
“Yes. So when you laid beside him last night, and he fell asleep, his guard dropped. His body stopped trying to fight against your pull, and his soul slipped away.
And you should have known that that would happen.”
The murky light shrouding switched off, taking the Celestials with it. Death blinked rapidly, but it made no difference whether his eyes were open or closed. He was locked in a world of pitch black. A darkness so all-consuming, it had a presence of its own. An unearthly one that slithered and snaked around him, pressing in on him til he was turned inside out, all his raw, bloody feelings left to fill the empty void around him.
Death cried. Hot, thick tears spilling down his face as he sobbed for Little Kit. For the boy who would never grow up now. Because of me? “I’m so sorry,” he spoke to the empty air, unable to shake the last look Little Kit gave him before disappearing into the tunnels. A look of betrayal. Because he had been a source of comfort and security for Little Kit, and then he . . . wasn’t. StarClan, forgive me.
“No time for forgiveness, Death. Only repentance.” In a blink, the Celestials returned. Only, their fiery gold-and-white regalia had changed. They were now swathed entirely in black, shadows pulsating underneath their skin like blood to a bruise.
And their horses! They had transformed from majestic, stoic statues of lean muscle and brilliant ivory coats to monsters, with crazed, bulging black eyes and thick, visceral shadows that oozed like tar from every inch of their bodies. And something bulged from each horse’s flank, resembling kittens kicking out from within their mothers’ stomach. When Death squinted, he realized it was the screaming faces of cats, as if trapped within the horses’ innards, straining to escape.
Death recoiled at the sight.
“If what you say is true, then why didn’t I absorb Little Kit’s soul?” Death demanded. Normally when a cat died, their soul would slip out of their body and into his. Then a record of their most precious memories in life would play through his mind. It was an acute experience, not one you could miss, and yet when Little Kit died- “Why did I feel nothing?”
With a wave of a Celestial’s arm, the image of Death and Little Kit curled up together in the nursery appeared in midair. Both of their eyes were fastened shut and, from the gentle rise and fall of Little Kit’s chest, it was evident that he was asleep when a glowing orb suddenly shone through his rib cage.
The orb hovered in place, one of Death’s shadows unwittingly brushing against it, almost caressing it, before it moved from Little Kit’s heart to his throat. From there, the orb silently slipped out of Little Kit’s mouth and up into the air, looking like the light from a rising moon.
“You did take his soul, you just didn’t realize it with your eyes closed. It left no impression on your mind because there was nothing you could have gleaned from his life that you didn’t already know. His memories were full of you.” The Celestials’ cocked their heads. “Too full of you.”
Another image materialized in the fog looming over . This time, it was of a sleek, muscular tomcat lying atop the Tallrock in WindClan’s camp. Gray fur tinged the tom’s muzzle, yet a plucky, youthful glint remained in his eyes as he let out a hearty laugh and pointed at someone below, out of sight. “This is who the boy was destined to be. A revolutionary leader, meant to usher in a golden era for his Clan, ensuring peace and prosperity along the lakeside for generations.”
Death stepped closer to the image. Up close, the tomcats' resemblance to Little Kit was uncanny. It was like looking at a mirage of an oasis. Death couldn’t stop himself from swallowing up every detail in its crystal clear depths.
Abruptly, the scene cut off, replaced with an image of the HellHounds’ cowering in some nondescript region of . All five of them were huddled together in a mass of mangled fur, their haunches trembling, except for Harold. The lead HellHound sat alarmingly still a few feet away from the rest, a vacant look in his eyes.
None of them had snouts. A gaping black hole was all that remained of their faces.
Death lurched back, a ripple of unease traveling down his spine. Hardly five minutes have passed since I last saw them in WindClan’s camp. How-
Time does not always work as you think it should. Especially in .The Celestials’ spoke directly into Death’s mind, each word hammering into his nerves. Nerves already plucked so thin.
“The HellHounds have been disciplined for breaking an oath of their own. They should never have tried to elicit fear in the boy when he was already a spirit.” Harold’s entire body remained rigid as he stared, blankly, into the distance. Never blinking. “Their Alpha is to learn that, sometimes, it is better to be still.“
Death remembered how Harold had gone ballistic, grabbing Little Kit’s spirit by the throat and violently throwing him across the nursery. It had a part in making Little Kit run out of camp. Yet Death couldn’t help but feel worms wriggling in his stomach at the sight of Harold so motionless. It was unnatural for a HellHound. Painful.
And if they chopped off the HellHounds’ snouts, what won’t they do to me?
Death took a deep, shuddering breath, then released it in a slow stream. It would do him no good to panic. He needed to maintain his composure. Hell, it doesn’t matter, Death relented, not when my thoughts will betray me to them.
Death thought he caught a hint of a smile on one of the Celestial’s faces at that comment, but then again, the Celestials’ faces never shifted, so it must have been his imagination.
“The HellHounds’ could be replaced in an instant, as could you.” The Celestials’ were calm, stoic, their collective gaze boring down on Death with icy apathy while their horses fidgeted in place, frothing at the mouths like rabid beasts kept on too short of a chain. The one closest to Death had a breath that stunk of carrion. “Goodness knows there is no shortage of bloodthirsty mongrels to take their place. Yet, they will maintain their position, because they were simply following your command.”
Death narrowed his eyes to slits, but he did not dare object aloud to that, not after what happened last time he spoke against them.
“Your own fear drove the HellHounds to such insanity. If you had been in control of your emotions, as your job demands, the HellHounds never would have acted out of line.”
The truth of their words struck Death. "What was his name, the kit's?" he chocked out. I need to know.
The closest Celestial to Death moved independently of the others for the first time. With frightening speed, they drew a sword from the scabbard strapped to their side, its hilt adorned with gems. “Do you know how much you litter the mind of that boy? How fond he is of you?”
Hastily, Death went to take a step back, and found that he could no longer move his legs.
“You should be nothing to him. The boogeyman that his mother tells him to beware, that he only meets once, fleetingly, at the end of his long, fulfilling life. Instead, you are the reason his mother weeps every night in her nest, why he is lost to the world. And for what?” This Celestial’s voice was disembodied from the rest, no longer eerily monotone but laced with venom. “So he could belong to you? So you could feel wanted?” A scoff. “For that, you will face Oblivion.”
The Celestial’s horse screeched, spittle flying from its lips as it charged forward, covering the five feet between them with frightening speed. “Wait, I can make up for this!” Death cried, frantically yanking on his front paws. They were frozen solid to the ground.
The horse’s crazed eyes zeroed in on Death as it lowered its head and unhinged its jaw like a snake. Suddenly, Death was staring into a bottomless pit of black, bordered with rotting, chipped teeth. “Tell me – tell me! – when have I ever failed you before?” Death pleaded, straining to turn his face away. It was no use.
He was swallowed whole.
“No, no!” Death frantically clawed at the soft inner throat of the horse, his paw pads slipping with every stroke. The tunnel of flesh engulfing him constricted as the horse swallowed again and again, trying to work him further down its intestinal tract. Death clung on for dear life, frantically glancing back at the black abyss looming beneath him. Out of it sprang the animated corpses of cats, oozing with a tar-like substance. They lurched forward, one reaching out to sink its teeth into Death’s back legs.
“Let go of me!” Death hissed, flinging his shadows around the corpse’s throat and strangling until it released its grip, falling backwards into the blackness.
Another corpse immediately replaced it. Then another. There were too many, everywhere, a flood of corpses all straining to grab Death and drag him down.
“Please!” Death begged. Begged … like Little Kit did when he was running from me. Death gulped, desperately sinking his claws in as saliva rained down from above and the corpses became too much. They overtook him.
Death clenched his eyes, no longer wanting to see the horror unfurling around him, as he let go of his grip. He pitched backwards, falling, falling–
Only to be thrust violently forward again, his body flying out of the horse’s mouth.
“‘And for that,’ he will be punished accordingly, Osiris.” This was a new voice, one with a deep, rich cadence that boomed with authority. It belonged to the Celestial Death thought he had seen smile earlier.
“Please, Zadkeil, for the cherub’s sake, don’t you think-”
“No.” The word sliced through the air with lethal force, like a claw through a carotid artery, though Zadkeil’s lips never moved. Every other Celestial turned to regard Osiris, who shuffled in place under the weight of their collective gaze, before they faced Death again.
It seemed the Celestials’ had their own ranks, politics. They weren’t so unanimous of a force after all.
Death took in ragged gasps of air, still reeling from his near-demise. That pit, those corpses. He shuddered.
The Celestials' spoke in unison once more. “You will not die today, but you will know pain.”
Death was pinned to the ground. Against his will, his shadows vanished, replaced with solid flesh and bone. Body parts that could be broken. His wings, black, membranous and already gleaming with sweat, extended involuntary.
Right as the closest Celestial raised their sword and sliced down in a brilliant arc.
“Through this pain, we intend for you to learn the importance of keeping your promises.”
Death’s right wing sloughed off. A torrent of pain crashed through him, his vision swimming in and out of focus.
“Henceforth, you must live with the singular purpose of reaping souls, striving for impassivity in everything you do.”
The sword rose and fell again, severing Death’s left wing.
“You killed that WindClan kit.”--I never meant to-- “So ensure you never again take the life of someone who is not slated to die.”
Death’s dismembered wings fell like autumn leaves beside his crumbled body. Within seconds, they faded from view. Two bloody stumps protruded from his back, the only remaining trace of his wings.
“I will find him,” Death sighed, his forehead touching the dirt. “I would tear apart the Earth to find him.”
“You would, but you won’t,” the Celestials’ boomed. “The boy is no longer your concern. You have done enough harm to him.”
Death managed to lift his face off the ground enough to see that the Celestials were clad in gold-and-white again. The brightness of their regalia was blinding. “You will stop searching for the boy. That is a term of your continued service as Death, of the parole that we hereby place you under.
For as long as the boy would have lived in the mortal world, the HellHounds will forgo their snouts. And you, your wings.”
-----------------------------
Death sat outside StarClan’s gates, contemplating all the ways for which he had broken the terms of his parole already.
Not outright, no. He wasn’t that foolish. He feared the Celestials’ wrath too greatly, remembered the slice of their swords, the bite of the condemned on his hind legs as they tried to drag him to Oblivion.
Yet in subtle ways, he searched for Little Kit. Between reapings, he would stroll through , keeping his mind as empty and airy as possible, lest the Celestials were watching – ever the omniscient bastards, aren’t they? – yet his eyes would linger over the land, scanning every nook and cranny.
Weeks went by, and he found nothing.
The HellHounds didn’t seem to have much luck either.
Admittedly, Death couldn’t be sure what the HellHounds were getting up to these days. They still joined him for reapings, but when he tried to approach them outside of work, they evaded him. “I thought the Celestials cut your snouts off, not your balls,” Death drawled to the HellHounds one day when they shied away from him.
It didn’t matter. Death felt certain from watching them, even at a distance, that they were hunting for something in . They ran across the land with an unusually sharp focus. Just because the Celestials banned me from looking doesn’t mean–
“Mind if I join you?”
Death’s gaze flicked reluctantly to where Life had appeared beside him. Her starry pelt seemed to wink at him.
“Well, aren't you considerate. Pity you didn't show the same courtesy before handing me over to the Celestials. Tell me, did you even hesitate before betraying me, or did you relish the chance to?”
“Oh, please,” Life scoffed. “You really think they wouldn’t have found out anyway? The Celestials know everything. Even if you had managed to sneak that kit into StarClan, they still would have come after you.”
“Exactly! So why rush to hand me over to them yourself? You cost me precious time looking for him. The HellHounds may be on the hunt now, but what are the odds they bring him back? You know what they say, once a flyaway spirit has been missing for a moon, they’re unlikely to be found at all. He could be lost forever.”
Life shrugged. “Maybe that’s for the best. Flyaway spirits resolve themselves.” Before Death could protest, she pressed on. “Let’s not forget, you are the one that caused this whole mess, breaking your sacred oath by befriending and killing that poor kit. It’s a wonder the Celestials didn’t compel you to remain solidified just so they could break every bone in your body in retribution.”
Death remained eerily quiet.
Life raised an eyebrow. “No response, really? Well,” she huffed. “Wouldn’t you like to know that I saw the HellHounds throwing something into StarClan’s gates the other day?”
Death snapped to attention, eyes widening. “Wait–what? Are you sure of this?”
Life shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Either way, it doesn’t change the fact that the kit is gone, so you need to let him go. If the Celestials catch word that you’re thinking about him still, let alone looking for him–”
A second. That was all it took for Death to rush forward and collide with StarClan’s gates.
BOOM. The force unleashed an explosion of sparks from the force field, loud enough to rupture any mortals' eardrums. Death barreled into the wall of light even as electricity coursed over him, a million pinpricks clawing into his body. He shut his eyes and clamped his mouth tight, losing all sense of orientation. The electricity roared ferociously in his ears, threatening to consume him, to claim him as its own. Suddenly, he had no idea where his body began and the electricity ended, it was inside him. He felt woozy, his paws stilling. It was like he was , Nothing -
“No!” Death snarled, shadows erupting from his body with astounding fury, quelling the electricity. Death rose and grew until he was twenty feet tall, no more a cat than a creature of whirling darkness. He burst through StarClan’s gates. Still, sheer power bore down on him, threatening to drive him into the ground, into Oblivion, but he persisted, riding on a wave of adrenaline and exhilaration because he had made it. Yes. He had done the impossible, entering StarClan's territory. And he felt good.
With a sweeping motion, he scanned his surroundings, searching fervently for Little Kit. Where is he?! Death pushed on, raging through StarClan’s territory, covering a mile in a single bound, his head on a swivel. Cats scattered beneath him. He scrutinized every one of their faces, but none were Little Kit.
No matter. There were more. More! He spotted a cat shielding another from view, rage surging through him at the sight. You cannot hide him from me! The darkness in Death – that was Death – grew, ravenously, feverishly. With every step, the light of StarClan was threatening to crush him, cave in his mind.
He roared and swatted the two cats apart, only to find that the hidden figure was not Little Kit. Undeterred, he pressed on until he lost all sense of what direction he was going. Faces blurred. He suddenly felt so small.
Death was a dying fire, yet Little Kit remained clear in his mind. Yes, there he is.
“You don’t have to stand there like a dope.” Death swayed to the side. Was he shadow or flesh and bone? He couldn’t feel his body any longer. “Come cuddle.” Death leaned into an imaginary embrace, the ground catching him.
Oh, Little Kit. I never meant to lose you.
“You don’t have to go. You can stay. If you want.”
Okay. I’ll stay. Death’s eyes fluttered shut, just as a new light appeared in the distance. He was no larger than a sizzling coal now. Even smaller than Little Kit. I won’t leave you.
With a shuddered sigh, Death’s thoughts ceased.
“You stupid furball,” Life sobbed as she grabbed the whole of Death in her mouth and raced for StarClan’s gates. It felt like any second Death might disintegrate in her mouth. Already, he was just a ball of shadows, a faceless, shapeless, dying black ember.
She burst through StarClan’s gates and dumped Death from her mouth. He crashed onto the barren ground of , immediately shuttering back to life. His eyes blinked open, bloodshot and bleary, but before his mouth could make sound beyond a pained groan, Life was on him, shouting, “It wasn’t him, okay! The HellHounds threw a rabbit into the force field for fun. It never even made it to the other side. It wasn’t him.”
Death regained enough consciousness to register what she had said, but his head was still swimming with nausea. “I’m sorry,” he croaked.
Life simply regarded him with disgust. “Get up, but give up,” she turned to leave him without a backwards glance, “and let him go.”
-----------------------------
P R E S E N T D A Y
For Death, thinking about Little Kit was like constantly reliving the horror of seeing someone dangling from a cliff and being unable to reach down and save them because of a few inches of dead air. Except in his nightmares he was both the one trying to help and the one about to fall, and he felt stuck in that dizzying loop indefinitely.
He took his eyes off StarClan’s gates for a moment to look down at a splotch of blood staining his right paw. It’s cherry water. Only for adults. It must have gotten there from pinning a spasming Mintfur down. He scraped it away in the dirt. Look, now it’s gone.
It’s like I blinked, and you were gone.
Death sighed, and dragged his gaze skyward in a silent prayer that he expected no one in to hear. Then he stared ahead at the shimmering light of StarClan until his eyes burned.
Since this drawing reminds me so much of Death, I wanted to share it, but it really depicts Graystripe by SiberianMint. All credit to them!
The Celestials.
They looked almost human, with the same slim trunks and upright stances, except for their too long, spider-like limbs and distorted faces, appearing as if someone took a blank canvas and crudely scribbled a cat's features across it. Or maybe those are masks. Death couldn’t tell. All he knew is that their eyes never blinked, and their mouths never moved when they spoke.
They were draped in gold-and-white regalia that shone as if it were back-lit by a thousand stars, at odds with the shadows that whirled around Death and betrayed his nervousness.
One of the Celestials pointed a clawed hand at Death. “You swore an oath to serve only those fated to die. Why did you break it?”
“I didn’t.”
Death was thrust into the air, his wings flailing in place like a fly staked to a board. “Okay-” he choked out, seconds before his jaw froze. Every morsel of his body, suddenly, was immovable except for his eyes, which madly darted back and forth.
“Why did you break your oath?”
A gurgling noise rose in Death’s throat as he tried to speak. The foremost Celestial’s horse snorted.
Death fell unceremoniously back to the ground, regaining control of his limbs all at once. “Okay, okay.” He rose on shaky legs. “There was a kit born with a nasty bout of white cough in WindClan four moons ago. Only, when I went to reap his soul, it refused to budge from its place. I thought that must be a good sign, and yet,” Death smiled sadly at the memory of Little Kit gazing up at him for the first time, “he could still see me.”
“We spent time together.” Grew close. “Then, one morning, I awoke to find him … gone.”
Dead.
Death shut his eyes, as if that could banish the thought of Little Kit’s lifeless body from his mind. “I don’t know why it happened,” he said between gritted teeth. “I never touched him!”
“Oh, but you did, Death. All kits have weak, unstable souls. They can flicker in and out and be easily . . . extinguished.” The Celestials spoke as one, their deep, thunderous voice rattling Death’s skull. “The boy you speak of never, really, had to worry about white cough. He had to worry about you. Your presence. It pulled on his soul, trapping him in a state of limbo where he could both see you and exist in the material world.”
“No, no-”
“Yes. So when you laid beside him last night, and he fell asleep, his guard dropped. His body stopped trying to fight against your pull, and his soul slipped away.
And you should have known that that would happen.”
The murky light shrouding switched off, taking the Celestials with it. Death blinked rapidly, but it made no difference whether his eyes were open or closed. He was locked in a world of pitch black. A darkness so all-consuming, it had a presence of its own. An unearthly one that slithered and snaked around him, pressing in on him til he was turned inside out, all his raw, bloody feelings left to fill the empty void around him.
Death cried. Hot, thick tears spilling down his face as he sobbed for Little Kit. For the boy who would never grow up now. Because of me? “I’m so sorry,” he spoke to the empty air, unable to shake the last look Little Kit gave him before disappearing into the tunnels. A look of betrayal. Because he had been a source of comfort and security for Little Kit, and then he . . . wasn’t. StarClan, forgive me.
“No time for forgiveness, Death. Only repentance.” In a blink, the Celestials returned. Only, their fiery gold-and-white regalia had changed. They were now swathed entirely in black, shadows pulsating underneath their skin like blood to a bruise.
And their horses! They had transformed from majestic, stoic statues of lean muscle and brilliant ivory coats to monsters, with crazed, bulging black eyes and thick, visceral shadows that oozed like tar from every inch of their bodies. And something bulged from each horse’s flank, resembling kittens kicking out from within their mothers’ stomach. When Death squinted, he realized it was the screaming faces of cats, as if trapped within the horses’ innards, straining to escape.
Death recoiled at the sight.
“If what you say is true, then why didn’t I absorb Little Kit’s soul?” Death demanded. Normally when a cat died, their soul would slip out of their body and into his. Then a record of their most precious memories in life would play through his mind. It was an acute experience, not one you could miss, and yet when Little Kit died- “Why did I feel nothing?”
With a wave of a Celestial’s arm, the image of Death and Little Kit curled up together in the nursery appeared in midair. Both of their eyes were fastened shut and, from the gentle rise and fall of Little Kit’s chest, it was evident that he was asleep when a glowing orb suddenly shone through his rib cage.
The orb hovered in place, one of Death’s shadows unwittingly brushing against it, almost caressing it, before it moved from Little Kit’s heart to his throat. From there, the orb silently slipped out of Little Kit’s mouth and up into the air, looking like the light from a rising moon.
“You did take his soul, you just didn’t realize it with your eyes closed. It left no impression on your mind because there was nothing you could have gleaned from his life that you didn’t already know. His memories were full of you.” The Celestials’ cocked their heads. “Too full of you.”
Another image materialized in the fog looming over . This time, it was of a sleek, muscular tomcat lying atop the Tallrock in WindClan’s camp. Gray fur tinged the tom’s muzzle, yet a plucky, youthful glint remained in his eyes as he let out a hearty laugh and pointed at someone below, out of sight. “This is who the boy was destined to be. A revolutionary leader, meant to usher in a golden era for his Clan, ensuring peace and prosperity along the lakeside for generations.”
Death stepped closer to the image. Up close, the tomcats' resemblance to Little Kit was uncanny. It was like looking at a mirage of an oasis. Death couldn’t stop himself from swallowing up every detail in its crystal clear depths.
Abruptly, the scene cut off, replaced with an image of the HellHounds’ cowering in some nondescript region of . All five of them were huddled together in a mass of mangled fur, their haunches trembling, except for Harold. The lead HellHound sat alarmingly still a few feet away from the rest, a vacant look in his eyes.
None of them had snouts. A gaping black hole was all that remained of their faces.
Death lurched back, a ripple of unease traveling down his spine. Hardly five minutes have passed since I last saw them in WindClan’s camp. How-
Time does not always work as you think it should. Especially in .The Celestials’ spoke directly into Death’s mind, each word hammering into his nerves. Nerves already plucked so thin.
“The HellHounds have been disciplined for breaking an oath of their own. They should never have tried to elicit fear in the boy when he was already a spirit.” Harold’s entire body remained rigid as he stared, blankly, into the distance. Never blinking. “Their Alpha is to learn that, sometimes, it is better to be still.“
Death remembered how Harold had gone ballistic, grabbing Little Kit’s spirit by the throat and violently throwing him across the nursery. It had a part in making Little Kit run out of camp. Yet Death couldn’t help but feel worms wriggling in his stomach at the sight of Harold so motionless. It was unnatural for a HellHound. Painful.
And if they chopped off the HellHounds’ snouts, what won’t they do to me?
Death took a deep, shuddering breath, then released it in a slow stream. It would do him no good to panic. He needed to maintain his composure. Hell, it doesn’t matter, Death relented, not when my thoughts will betray me to them.
Death thought he caught a hint of a smile on one of the Celestial’s faces at that comment, but then again, the Celestials’ faces never shifted, so it must have been his imagination.
“The HellHounds’ could be replaced in an instant, as could you.” The Celestials’ were calm, stoic, their collective gaze boring down on Death with icy apathy while their horses fidgeted in place, frothing at the mouths like rabid beasts kept on too short of a chain. The one closest to Death had a breath that stunk of carrion. “Goodness knows there is no shortage of bloodthirsty mongrels to take their place. Yet, they will maintain their position, because they were simply following your command.”
Death narrowed his eyes to slits, but he did not dare object aloud to that, not after what happened last time he spoke against them.
“Your own fear drove the HellHounds to such insanity. If you had been in control of your emotions, as your job demands, the HellHounds never would have acted out of line.”
The truth of their words struck Death. "What was his name, the kit's?" he chocked out. I need to know.
The closest Celestial to Death moved independently of the others for the first time. With frightening speed, they drew a sword from the scabbard strapped to their side, its hilt adorned with gems. “Do you know how much you litter the mind of that boy? How fond he is of you?”
Hastily, Death went to take a step back, and found that he could no longer move his legs.
“You should be nothing to him. The boogeyman that his mother tells him to beware, that he only meets once, fleetingly, at the end of his long, fulfilling life. Instead, you are the reason his mother weeps every night in her nest, why he is lost to the world. And for what?” This Celestial’s voice was disembodied from the rest, no longer eerily monotone but laced with venom. “So he could belong to you? So you could feel wanted?” A scoff. “For that, you will face Oblivion.”
The Celestial’s horse screeched, spittle flying from its lips as it charged forward, covering the five feet between them with frightening speed. “Wait, I can make up for this!” Death cried, frantically yanking on his front paws. They were frozen solid to the ground.
The horse’s crazed eyes zeroed in on Death as it lowered its head and unhinged its jaw like a snake. Suddenly, Death was staring into a bottomless pit of black, bordered with rotting, chipped teeth. “Tell me – tell me! – when have I ever failed you before?” Death pleaded, straining to turn his face away. It was no use.
He was swallowed whole.
“No, no!” Death frantically clawed at the soft inner throat of the horse, his paw pads slipping with every stroke. The tunnel of flesh engulfing him constricted as the horse swallowed again and again, trying to work him further down its intestinal tract. Death clung on for dear life, frantically glancing back at the black abyss looming beneath him. Out of it sprang the animated corpses of cats, oozing with a tar-like substance. They lurched forward, one reaching out to sink its teeth into Death’s back legs.
“Let go of me!” Death hissed, flinging his shadows around the corpse’s throat and strangling until it released its grip, falling backwards into the blackness.
Another corpse immediately replaced it. Then another. There were too many, everywhere, a flood of corpses all straining to grab Death and drag him down.
“Please!” Death begged. Begged … like Little Kit did when he was running from me. Death gulped, desperately sinking his claws in as saliva rained down from above and the corpses became too much. They overtook him.
Death clenched his eyes, no longer wanting to see the horror unfurling around him, as he let go of his grip. He pitched backwards, falling, falling–
Only to be thrust violently forward again, his body flying out of the horse’s mouth.
“‘And for that,’ he will be punished accordingly, Osiris.” This was a new voice, one with a deep, rich cadence that boomed with authority. It belonged to the Celestial Death thought he had seen smile earlier.
“Please, Zadkeil, for the cherub’s sake, don’t you think-”
“No.” The word sliced through the air with lethal force, like a claw through a carotid artery, though Zadkeil’s lips never moved. Every other Celestial turned to regard Osiris, who shuffled in place under the weight of their collective gaze, before they faced Death again.
It seemed the Celestials’ had their own ranks, politics. They weren’t so unanimous of a force after all.
Death took in ragged gasps of air, still reeling from his near-demise. That pit, those corpses. He shuddered.
The Celestials' spoke in unison once more. “You will not die today, but you will know pain.”
Death was pinned to the ground. Against his will, his shadows vanished, replaced with solid flesh and bone. Body parts that could be broken. His wings, black, membranous and already gleaming with sweat, extended involuntary.
Right as the closest Celestial raised their sword and sliced down in a brilliant arc.
“Through this pain, we intend for you to learn the importance of keeping your promises.”
Death’s right wing sloughed off. A torrent of pain crashed through him, his vision swimming in and out of focus.
“Henceforth, you must live with the singular purpose of reaping souls, striving for impassivity in everything you do.”
The sword rose and fell again, severing Death’s left wing.
“You killed that WindClan kit.”--I never meant to-- “So ensure you never again take the life of someone who is not slated to die.”
Death’s dismembered wings fell like autumn leaves beside his crumbled body. Within seconds, they faded from view. Two bloody stumps protruded from his back, the only remaining trace of his wings.
“I will find him,” Death sighed, his forehead touching the dirt. “I would tear apart the Earth to find him.”
“You would, but you won’t,” the Celestials’ boomed. “The boy is no longer your concern. You have done enough harm to him.”
Death managed to lift his face off the ground enough to see that the Celestials were clad in gold-and-white again. The brightness of their regalia was blinding. “You will stop searching for the boy. That is a term of your continued service as Death, of the parole that we hereby place you under.
For as long as the boy would have lived in the mortal world, the HellHounds will forgo their snouts. And you, your wings.”
-----------------------------
Death sat outside StarClan’s gates, contemplating all the ways for which he had broken the terms of his parole already.
Not outright, no. He wasn’t that foolish. He feared the Celestials’ wrath too greatly, remembered the slice of their swords, the bite of the condemned on his hind legs as they tried to drag him to Oblivion.
Yet in subtle ways, he searched for Little Kit. Between reapings, he would stroll through , keeping his mind as empty and airy as possible, lest the Celestials were watching – ever the omniscient bastards, aren’t they? – yet his eyes would linger over the land, scanning every nook and cranny.
Weeks went by, and he found nothing.
The HellHounds didn’t seem to have much luck either.
Admittedly, Death couldn’t be sure what the HellHounds were getting up to these days. They still joined him for reapings, but when he tried to approach them outside of work, they evaded him. “I thought the Celestials cut your snouts off, not your balls,” Death drawled to the HellHounds one day when they shied away from him.
It didn’t matter. Death felt certain from watching them, even at a distance, that they were hunting for something in . They ran across the land with an unusually sharp focus. Just because the Celestials banned me from looking doesn’t mean–
“Mind if I join you?”
Death’s gaze flicked reluctantly to where Life had appeared beside him. Her starry pelt seemed to wink at him.
“Well, aren't you considerate. Pity you didn't show the same courtesy before handing me over to the Celestials. Tell me, did you even hesitate before betraying me, or did you relish the chance to?”
“Oh, please,” Life scoffed. “You really think they wouldn’t have found out anyway? The Celestials know everything. Even if you had managed to sneak that kit into StarClan, they still would have come after you.”
“Exactly! So why rush to hand me over to them yourself? You cost me precious time looking for him. The HellHounds may be on the hunt now, but what are the odds they bring him back? You know what they say, once a flyaway spirit has been missing for a moon, they’re unlikely to be found at all. He could be lost forever.”
Life shrugged. “Maybe that’s for the best. Flyaway spirits resolve themselves.” Before Death could protest, she pressed on. “Let’s not forget, you are the one that caused this whole mess, breaking your sacred oath by befriending and killing that poor kit. It’s a wonder the Celestials didn’t compel you to remain solidified just so they could break every bone in your body in retribution.”
Death remained eerily quiet.
Life raised an eyebrow. “No response, really? Well,” she huffed. “Wouldn’t you like to know that I saw the HellHounds throwing something into StarClan’s gates the other day?”
Death snapped to attention, eyes widening. “Wait–what? Are you sure of this?”
Life shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Either way, it doesn’t change the fact that the kit is gone, so you need to let him go. If the Celestials catch word that you’re thinking about him still, let alone looking for him–”
A second. That was all it took for Death to rush forward and collide with StarClan’s gates.
BOOM. The force unleashed an explosion of sparks from the force field, loud enough to rupture any mortals' eardrums. Death barreled into the wall of light even as electricity coursed over him, a million pinpricks clawing into his body. He shut his eyes and clamped his mouth tight, losing all sense of orientation. The electricity roared ferociously in his ears, threatening to consume him, to claim him as its own. Suddenly, he had no idea where his body began and the electricity ended, it was inside him. He felt woozy, his paws stilling. It was like he was , Nothing -
“No!” Death snarled, shadows erupting from his body with astounding fury, quelling the electricity. Death rose and grew until he was twenty feet tall, no more a cat than a creature of whirling darkness. He burst through StarClan’s gates. Still, sheer power bore down on him, threatening to drive him into the ground, into Oblivion, but he persisted, riding on a wave of adrenaline and exhilaration because he had made it. Yes. He had done the impossible, entering StarClan's territory. And he felt good.
With a sweeping motion, he scanned his surroundings, searching fervently for Little Kit. Where is he?! Death pushed on, raging through StarClan’s territory, covering a mile in a single bound, his head on a swivel. Cats scattered beneath him. He scrutinized every one of their faces, but none were Little Kit.
No matter. There were more. More! He spotted a cat shielding another from view, rage surging through him at the sight. You cannot hide him from me! The darkness in Death – that was Death – grew, ravenously, feverishly. With every step, the light of StarClan was threatening to crush him, cave in his mind.
He roared and swatted the two cats apart, only to find that the hidden figure was not Little Kit. Undeterred, he pressed on until he lost all sense of what direction he was going. Faces blurred. He suddenly felt so small.
Death was a dying fire, yet Little Kit remained clear in his mind. Yes, there he is.
“You don’t have to stand there like a dope.” Death swayed to the side. Was he shadow or flesh and bone? He couldn’t feel his body any longer. “Come cuddle.” Death leaned into an imaginary embrace, the ground catching him.
Oh, Little Kit. I never meant to lose you.
“You don’t have to go. You can stay. If you want.”
Okay. I’ll stay. Death’s eyes fluttered shut, just as a new light appeared in the distance. He was no larger than a sizzling coal now. Even smaller than Little Kit. I won’t leave you.
With a shuddered sigh, Death’s thoughts ceased.
“You stupid furball,” Life sobbed as she grabbed the whole of Death in her mouth and raced for StarClan’s gates. It felt like any second Death might disintegrate in her mouth. Already, he was just a ball of shadows, a faceless, shapeless, dying black ember.
She burst through StarClan’s gates and dumped Death from her mouth. He crashed onto the barren ground of , immediately shuttering back to life. His eyes blinked open, bloodshot and bleary, but before his mouth could make sound beyond a pained groan, Life was on him, shouting, “It wasn’t him, okay! The HellHounds threw a rabbit into the force field for fun. It never even made it to the other side. It wasn’t him.”
Death regained enough consciousness to register what she had said, but his head was still swimming with nausea. “I’m sorry,” he croaked.
Life simply regarded him with disgust. “Get up, but give up,” she turned to leave him without a backwards glance, “and let him go.”
-----------------------------
P R E S E N T D A Y
For Death, thinking about Little Kit was like constantly reliving the horror of seeing someone dangling from a cliff and being unable to reach down and save them because of a few inches of dead air. Except in his nightmares he was both the one trying to help and the one about to fall, and he felt stuck in that dizzying loop indefinitely.
He took his eyes off StarClan’s gates for a moment to look down at a splotch of blood staining his right paw. It’s cherry water. Only for adults. It must have gotten there from pinning a spasming Mintfur down. He scraped it away in the dirt. Look, now it’s gone.
It’s like I blinked, and you were gone.
Death sighed, and dragged his gaze skyward in a silent prayer that he expected no one in to hear. Then he stared ahead at the shimmering light of StarClan until his eyes burned.
Since this drawing reminds me so much of Death, I wanted to share it, but it really depicts Graystripe by SiberianMint. All credit to them!
Chapter 2: Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea
... coming to a WCRPforum near you soon!
An excerpt -- "If your eyesight is sharp enough to see through this disguise so easily then tell me, Rosewood, how can you look at me and deny that your time has run out?" He dropped the image of a sweet, spindly old she-cat like a veil and swept one of his shadowy wings over her flank. It remained there long enough to be streaked with blood when he next rose it.