Endless feathered fury

[SpiritedWarrior]

TW: Mentions of murder, torture, actual death, cat being run over by a car, and gore.

Hawkpaw

He was just downright sick of it. Of everything. None of his goals had been accomplished except when he joined RiverClan. The Clan of fish. And his plans have gone to the endless void of history. The tabby and white tom trudged out of camp, not bothering to say anything to his Clanmates. All they were to him was some pawn in a complicated game of murder, treachery, and trivial antics. Quite frankly, he wished to have ended Pikestar when he had the opportunity, which happened to be just about every night he spent in that stars forsaken, poor excuse of a 'united front'. Dawnstar was just a coward that had a rather thick exterior and Hawkpaw wanted to show the forest who the true shark in the waters was.

Crossing the water was not what the young tom wanted to do, so... he didn't. Who cares if Hawkpaw started a war between RiverClan and ShadowClan? If he succeeded in his mission, ShadowClan would be weak. No leader, no deputy, and chaos all around. The afterlife will treat me well. ShadowClan would thank me for saving them from such an... awful fate. I don't care where I end up. StarClan, however, will certainly be out of my future. Those spineless, idiotic, weak, pitiful, bunch of ghosts will forever be out of my league. Just like my father had always said: I am better, I deserve better.

The winding river was smaller than he had remembered, and he was just about to cross it when he looked toward the distant, black, trail he hadn't seen in moons. We're in luck... I won't be smelling of fish. My scent can once again be free from the Clans' hold. Perking up in excitement, Hawkpaw had jumpstarted a rough-sounding, rumbling purr deep within his throat and bonked a tree with his head, marking his scent so that he could find his way back to RiverClan and kill Pikestar when he got back. His step became a bumbling bounce. Tonight was the night his plan would be carried out. Tonight was the night the Clans would crumble. In his mind, the Clans would be stronger. No longer would they have weak leaders. No longer would they have to follow that 'warrior code' of theirs. Only the strong would survive. Kits who refuse to feed? He'd kill them. Apprentices who refuse to work? He'd torture them in front of the kits and other apprentices and keep them alive. Warriors who don't do a good enough job? Exile, and if they come back? Immediate death. All elders would be exiled or killed on sight. Queens? They would be killed if they have at most three litters and killed if they choose to have just one.

Now... himself? He'd take one worthy mate from each Clan and have kits with them to continue his legacy of peace. He wouldn't care if they had a mate of their own- whoever their kits were would be killed by himself. The tabby breathed in the cold, brisk air and lashed his tail as he bounced his way toward the thunderpath, the blinding lights of the monsters giving chase to some unknown prey. Once he reached the infamous path of death, Hawkpaw turned and made his way toward ShadowClan territory. He sped up into a run, wanting to be away from the foul-smelling odor of the monsters' paws and liquid dirt that was occasionally spilled on the hard gravel path.

 

The blinding lights were all too much for his already narrowed eyes to bear, and for a split second, he had closed his eyes to rid himself of the streaks of yellow, orange, and white light. Screeches of a monster's paws could be heard from in front of him and Hawkpaw ran as fast as he could. Opening his eyes after a few of the red spots cleared, he had ducked under the belly of a crinkled monster and veered off into a part of the path he didn't ever want to see himself on. Oh no. Oh no no no no. Please- no! his heart was pounding with a feeling he could not describe. After all, how could he? He had never experienced this feeling before. Some called it fear, was that what he was feeling? Usually, the tom couldn't care less what these new emotions were, but this was not one of those times. Fear was all that was in his mind at the moment, the thoughts of Dawnstar's bleeding figure were pushed to the far back of his mind.

Yet again, the screeching of the large black paws filled his ears, but he couldn't hear them for long. A loud thump and before he could even blink to see what had happened, Hawkpaw was on his side and gasping for breath. The white fur that covered his body was no longer white. It was... red. With his blood. His bones felt nonexistent, yet they also felt like that was all he could feel. Blood gushed out of a scar he had received from a fight (he couldn't remember which one it was from, though). His nose was flaring with confusion and fear. He wasn't stepped on once- but twice. And before he could even try to get up and get his bearings, he felt another pair of paws run him over. The last thing he heard was the screeching of the monsters ahead and behind him before he drifted into an endless afterlife that would be just what he dreamed of. The Dark Forest.