A cat of fire eyes left destruction in their wake.

It ran in their blood, you see. Rather then suppress their devastation, they relished in it. With pain came gain, they would always think.

As they moved through the spruce trees, flanked by only ghosts; their eyes flickered.

No one knew what they had done.
No one living, at least.
And everybody knows that the dead don't talk.

HeatherClan were off to Sweetened Creek, as today was the day of their annual ceremony. The ceremony, it was to celebrate new life, and just the way it continued, moons after moons, despite disasters and the constant changes that the Clan went through. It was to celebrate endurance and resilience.

But the feline who walked with enigma as their guide didn't care for such trivial things.

Everyone was so bubbly and cheerful. It grated their nerves down to their fragile bones. High-pitched voices and bright smiles...at least it only lasted for a day.

They closed their devoid eyes as the world washed over them in a glittery flutter of butterfly wings. It was too bright today. The mood felt sharp and stingy against their fur. They didn't like it.

It wasn't as if they hated happiness. That wasn't the case at all! They just happened to dislike this manner of happiness. It reminded them of kits, with their naive eyes and carefree existence. Kits just rubbed them the wrong way. The happiness was an annoyance; it got on their nerves.

With a sigh they stood, tuning out the mindless chatter that filled their ears with a buzz of white noise. None of this mattered to them. Life didn't seem to excite them very much anymore. They hadn't struck another in so long.

And they found they missed it.

But they'd chosen their path, the one entwined with dark matter. And no matter if it veered into misery, there was much excitement whenever they caused others to bleed out. That flood of endorphins, the rush of the kill, the mess and aftermath that trembled inside their skin...

They had to destroy today.
They had to.

It was as if their organs were failing; as if there was a disease drifting through their bloodstream. They were dependent on their crimes. They loved everything about what they did. The way the shame and guilt caved into apathy and nestled against their chest. The way it gave them purpose and drove away the dissatisfaction that they'd now grown accustomed too.

Their crimes meant everything to them.
Their crimes were, of course, murder.

They'd done it before and today they would do it again.

StarClan knows it was overdue.

After all, one can live with illness wrapped around their head and weakening their flimsy bones to crushed cement.

But when the illness starts to beat in place of one's heart and breathe for one's lungs, that is when it must be cleansed.

"Can you believe there's only one?" A voice shattered through the walls around the melancholy cat's train of thought.

They swallowed bile slick with anger as rusty and quick as a dull shade of carmine.
Why did Wolfstorm, that foolish tom, have to speak so loudly?

"I know. It's so strange! Even Forestspirit and the elders from SilverClan and ShadedClan think so. They said, in their time and before, this has never happened. Only one living kit in all of the Clans!" Echolight, Wolfstorm's companion exclaimed. Her brown tabby and white pelt were exceedingly well groomed for the occasion.

The cat with starlight-burned fur turned slightly. The only living kit? Now that's something interesting.

"I mean, there's got to be some significance to that. Only one kit? Something that's never happened before? At a time like this? That can't be a coincidence," Wolfstorm said, in the same loud tone.

The cat flinched. Wolfstorm shouldn't be gossiping about divine forces and whatnot!
Obnoxious feline. He doesn't even know what he's talking about.

It was as if someone lit a flame.

Smoke clearing the desires locked firmly away in their mind.
The urges, the need to slaughter could so easily be cured.
Wolfstorm could be eliminated.
It would be easy.

Metallic tides washed away the carmine. To hurt is easy, to destroy is better.
Stripping bone from flesh in an elegant manner of breakage was almost an art to the feline.

And to get rid of a cat who annoyed them so very much would feel so satisfying.

But how would they do it?
Well, Wolfstorm obviously had all these theories about the kit. Why not use his conspiracies against him?

"Say, Wolfstorm," said the cat, voice as silky as honey. "That sounds interesting. Would you mind hunting with me? I'm fascinated to hear what you think of this kit."

The black and grey tom smiled pleasantly. "Of course! Echolight, you wanna come?" Wolfstorm asked.

Sour tastes filled the cat of whitened skies. They didn't want to kill them both! Now they'd have to wait to kill another day.

"Oh no, I've already hunted. Thanks for the offer though!" The pretty molly purred.

Relief trembled inside their throat. Thank StarClan!

"Okay, you coming?" They asked Wolfstorm. 

Wolfstorm nodded as he stood, and trotted over to the other cat. Without any exchange, the two set out; Wolfstorm looked slightly put out by the lack of conversation.

The spruce trees surrounded the group of two as they walked. Twigs and dried leaves cracked underfoot with every clumsy movement. The unnamed feline felt themselves growing impatient at Wolfstorm's cheerful attempts to converse, and the jokes that fell from his lips. (Though they would never admit it, the jokes were actually rather amusing.)

"Say, where are we even going?" Wolfstorm asked. 

"Oh, I'm not sure. Tell me about this kit, then?" They answered, diverting the conversation.

"Okay, but we need to hunt quickly. The Ceremony of Sunlit Paws is today, don't forget," Wolfstorm replied, before launching into his speculations about the sole kit.

As if I could forget. Contempt lay embedded in the feline's nod of fake enthusiasm. And when Wolfstorm began his silver-lined words of the kit, they allowed themselves to drown out the words with their thoughts. 

Their claws were vibrating and excitement lay under their fur. Murder was their specialty, their favourite form of therapy. They liked the way others looked in death. The way the victim's face contorted into terror, and the way necks twisted after a break. They liked the way they became still, and the way their life flickered out. It felt nice to feel a heart stop beating and to feel breath leave the body.

It felt so sweet and sickening. And they liked that. 

Sadism was their sentient friend.

"Let's hunt here!" Wolfstorm purred.

They nodded.

"But first..." The feline's sheathed claws slid out, gleaming ivory illegality.

Wolfstorm blinked in confusion.

"Oh, dear. My bloodlust is particularly violent today. I need to feel my fill of pain. I'm sorry, but you're my victim. It's going to hurt you, and I'm going to enjoy it," whispered the feline, eyes like fireflies.

Wolfstorm stood, mouth agape as the words tumbled over him.

"I'm your...victim..? What? I don't... I don't understand!"

"I think I made myself perfectly clear. Then again, actions speak louder than words." Their lips curled as they struck.

One could compare them to a snake, silent and deadly. A lethal touch and tainted tongue.

They sprung, their body as flightless as the air.

Wolfstorm managed to dodge and lunge to the side. But he hadn't reckoned on the violet-touched cat's experience. 

Draped in torpidity, the feline twisted their body in a graceful arc, stretching out a paw that grazed the black and grey tom's chin. 

Murder was art, and the play was their dance.

Wolfstorm began to run, but they were quick, too quick. Covering ground in swift strides, they raced alongside their prey. A dart of star-stricken holiness, they turned sharply and bowled the other cat over.  

Wolfstorm let out a horrified howl as his body hit the ground, dust flying up around the two cats.

The silent savage felt themself tumble over the other cat, jumping to their feet as quickly as possible.

Wolfstorm mirrored his movements, jumping up. His fur was bristling and he was keeping the weight off one of his paws.

To a novice fighter, this would mean nothing. To a novice fighter; they wouldn't notice the slight imbalance in their enemy. But the cat of mystery shrouded eyes was far from a novice fighter. They had experience in tooth and claw combat, and they were analytical. They noticed that Wolfstorm had sustained an injury. And they knew how to work this to their advantage.

They lunged forward and hooked their paw around their enemy's injured foot. It was weak, and Wolfstorm let out a howl as it was whisked out from underneath him. He fell to the ground heavily on his side. Before he could speak, before he could move, the feline jumped upon him. Digging their claws into the side of his neck, right where the carotid artery would be, he started pressing down slightly, piercing the skin.

"What are you... Why are you...?" Wolfstorm stuttered.

"My motives don't matter to dead cats," They replied, lips curled and teeth bared.

They slid their claws under their victim's skin, piercing the pulsing artery hidden there. Immediately blood began pulsing out of the small wound. Retracting their claws, they led blood bubble from the pinpricks.
Unsheathing their claws once more, they slit the skin over that artery. Blood gushed violently from the small wound.

"You're lucky. I decided to kill you in one of the quickest ways. Slicing your life-giving artery. You'll be dead in minutes, if not seconds." The cat whispered, before climbing off their victim.

"He... StarClan, he slaughtered me! Banish him when the night comes for him! Send him to the Place of No Stars!"

The nameless feline flinched at the dying tom's screeches. If anyone heard, they'd know that Wolfstorm had been murdered. And they'd know that it was a male, a tom who had committed the crime.

The cold feline watched as his victim convulsed slightly, gagging on blood that was trailing from his mouth and nose. It took very little time for Wolfstorm to meet his end.

The murderer waited for the last breath to melt from the tom's lips. It wasn't a very violent death, but it was enough to satisfy his bloodlust.

Now he would dump the cat in the river, and let his body wash far away. As far as anyone else was concerned, Wolfstorm fell into the water, and drowned, while he could do nothing but try and save him, which he tragically, failed to do.

What an unfortunate accident Wolfstorm's drowning had been.

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Hello, yearlets! I feel as if this chapter is better written than my last. At least, I hope so!

Have a wonderful day, I hope you enjoy. ~ Blackbird