[BlooRey DVD]

[smear:000000]Nightstep[/smear:6f6f6f]

~~~~~~~~~

Rookfrost had taken notice of a pair of rogues who were becoming far too comfortable in the outskirts of LightningClan's territory. They continued to return to the spot, laying markers as though it was their land. Rather than disturb Redstar, he'd called upon a pair of LightningClanners he knew he could rely upon to... Dispose of the bothersome rogues. If no one but him knew the rogues had been there in the first place, then no one would question their very sudden disappearance. As for the two LightningClan toms who went missing for several hours one evening? Why, they had simply decided to go for a late night hunt.

The scruffy gray tom's paws pounded against the ground as he desperately scrambled for the border he'd marked a few days before. The pungent scent of fear wafted from his very soul, the same fear reflecting in his wide amber eyes. For the briefest of moments, he thought he might make it. He recognized the slope of the land, knew that he was almost there. However, like a dark-coated spectre, the demon chasing him appeared, sliding from the undergrowth as though he'd been waiting there the whole time.

The rogue screeched in alarm, claws digging into the ground in an attempt to turn tail and run the other way. He didn't care where he went. Anywhere that was far away from the glinting yellow eyes and blood-chilling sneer that cracked the darkness of the night. Dirt splayed from beneath churning paws, and he threw his head back in an attempt to hasten the change in direction. Little did he realize, this shift in the tilt of his head was all the shadow demon would need to finish the task at paw. As soon as his neck fur was exposed, the spectre launched forward.

The cry was cut short as his paws were swept from beneath his body. In an ungraceful tangle of limbs and matted fur, he crashed to the ground. Before he could think of drawing in his next breath, a flicker of movement snatched his attention. And then he couldn't breath. He remembered a strange burst of electricity shooting down from his throat to his stomach as he lay sprawled on his back. Immediately following that strange bolt, there was a wetness invading his fur. It oozed, slowly at first, around his neck, but soon enough he felt as though he were coated in a sticky substance.

The black and white demon watched as understanding sunk into the gray rogue's brain. Standing above the tom as he was, Nightstep could see the damage that had been dealt. The tuxedo tom's sides were still heaving from the excitement of the chase, his yellow eyes alive with a strange detachment. This was his dark side, what he'd been trained to do without question. One of his paws was sticky with blood, the dying rogue's blood. That was to be expected; after all, he had just torn the creature open from chin to tail.

Nightstep's heartbeat settled back to a regular rhythm, calming after the storm. Indifference was all that met the gray rogue as a paw stretched out, begging for help. With a snort, Nightstep rolled him over so that he collapsed into a heap and would proceed to bleed out more rapidly. Taking a momentary seat, he turned his attention to his paw, cleaning it boredly as he listened to the choked gurgling sounds coming from his victim. As the sounds died away, signalling the end of the trespasser's presence on earth, the tom rose to his paws and stepped towards the lifeless body.

He'd hunted the intruder like a predator, and killed him with mechanical ease and indifference. Now, he stuffed the body carelessly with an array of leaves, to staunch any further bleeding from the gaping wound. Hauling the corpse a few fox lengths away from the kill-site, Nightstep's paws churned the earth, overturning it to hide evidence of blood. Next, he searched for a particular bush Rookfrost had spoken of, one that would mask the scent of death lingering on the kill-site. Locating the strong-smelling plant easily enough, he dragged it over the area, pushing pieces of it into the affected earth.

Soon enough, the scent burned his nose, covering any trace of the tang of blood. After brushing the rest of the plant onto the dead cat's body, he discarded the plant into the surrounding undergrowth. Now came the final stage: disposal. Taking hold of the scruff, the tuxedo tom dragged the rogue's body out of Lightning Clan's border. Following the border, it wasn't long until he located LightningClan's white-pelted demon, hauling his own prey. No words were exchanged, for their mouths were full, and there was a long trek ahead of them. But the night was still young, and Nightstep held no concern that they might run out of time.

They moved silently and efficiently, hauling their catches around the edge of the TreeClan border. Their destination was an area known as Demon's Den. Once disposed of there, chances were high that the evidence would be destroyed by the resident lynx. At the very least, it was unlikely any cat would venture there to find the bodies while the scent was fresh enough to identify. It was just about moonhigh by the time the pair deposited the two rogues, pushing them down a slight decline in the earth and watching them roll.

Once satisfied that they'd done just as Rookfrost had requested, Nightstep took a moment to flatten the ruffled fur of his chest and stretch out his back, before turning his gaze to his former mentor. With a flick of his ear, he considered his partner in crime briefly. The insanity of the hunt had since left Nightstep's gaze, his calm demeanour reigning. He was Whiteshade's perfect machine, activated when required, and shut down once the job was complete. Not once did he question just why Rookfrost had wanted these rogues dead, even though he knew there had to have been more to that story.

"Shall we?"

Phoenix

[Phoenix]

IF I SEEM DANGEROUS

The moon hung in the clear night sky, bright and pale as it cast an opalescent glow upon the silent wings of an owl. Soaring high on a slight breeze, the owl turned its gaze downward, and although keen eyes found not the rodents that they sought, they did light upon a ghostly figure picking his way through the shadowy mountainside. The thickness of the shadows made the alabaster fur seemed all the more brighter during the few moments when the feline was illuminated by the moonlight, and had the cat cast any glance upward, the owl would have been able to see with startling clarity the danger gleaming in those brilliant red eyes. It was clear that the bird of prey was not the only predator on the hunt that night.

Had the wind not shifted direction and carried the owl away, it might have discovered that they sought two very different types of prey. Not far ahead the otherworldly figure strode a brown feline, blissfully ignorant of the brutality with which her life was about to be cut mercilessly short. A seasoned rogue, she knew to watch her back, but she was confident, proud, and perhaps even a little distracted by matters of the heart. Her partner and friend, a scruffy gray tom, had agreed to meet her here; they had split up so that they could remark the borders of their tentative territory with more speed and efficiency. She had heard of the groups of cats living together, of course – who in the area had not? – but so far, they had paid the brown and gray pair no mind. She was hopeful that it would remain that way, for they meant those clan cats no harm. There was simply so little by way of livable territory, and the life of a rogue was a hard and often lonely one. She had learned to take what she could get.

Distracted as she was, the she-cat, like so many before her knew not that death crept toward her on silent paws. Death’s crimson eyes shone stark against pale fur in the moonlight, and that slight glint of red in the corner of her eye was all the warning she received before a thick, warm liquid spilled down her side. It did not hurt, she noted distantly, barely even registering what had happened. Then – it did not hurt at first.


While some might have refused to abandon the comforting warmth of their nest for the cold silence of the night, it had taken only an implication to rouse one of LightningClan’s senior warriors from his rest and direct him silently toward the border of their territory. It had been so long since he had hunted – truly hunted – and his blood thirsted for the wonderful sensation of flesh giving way beneath sharp claws. Only when they sank into the fur on the brown rogue was his need quenched. Another flash of claws and she could no longer cry for help had she even had the presence of mind to do so; blood spilled into her airway instead.

It was almost disappointing that two blows – really only one – was all that it took to finish a feline who had appeared so confident from a distance, but he supposed that it only served to emphasize the importance of having the element of surprise in a hunt or fight. Still, he could hardly call it entirely satisfying, as his monster wanted more of a challenge, of a hunt than what the relatively fit she-cat had offered. Watching with dispassionate eyes, he did not flinch or cringe or cower, seasoned hunter as he was, when a green pair, wide and fearful, rolled to meet his gaze, begging for a fate which he could no longer control; they were past the point of no return. She was going to die, to bleed out from his claws, and there was nothing he could do – or would do – to stop it.

Where another might have been stunned at the sheer violence of the death, the albino tom simply continued on with practiced ease, disguising the scent of his kill and beginning the laborious task of moving the body. Before long, he was joined by a tuxedo tom carrying a similar burden, and it was in companionable silence, two predators comfortable in the other’s company. Upon reaching their destination, the pair watched as the pair of loners tumbled limply down the incline, and the alabaster tom found himself musing over all that he and his former apprentice did to destroy evidence of their hunts; were she placed in the same position, his RiverClan cannibal would simply have another meal. He was not entirely sure that he could stomach that particular course of action, but he was hardly the one to begrudge a fellow predator’s after-hunt mannerisms.

Nightstep broke the silence, and Whiteshade inclined his head slightly, taking the first steps back toward their own territory. ”It has been quite a while since we have hunted together,” He acknowledged lightly, glancing over the other tom ”You don’t seem to have had any trouble. Have you been practicing on your own?”

Whiteshade | LightningClan | Senior Warrior | Monster - Imagine Dragons

WOULD YOU BE SCARED?

[BlooRey DVD]

[smear:000000]Nightstep[/smear:6f6f6f]

~~~~~~~~~

He turned with Whiteshade as the senior warrior nodded his agreement, Nightstep's black and white form moving with practiced ease. The white feline beside him moved with a similar confidence, one that the tuxedo tom had likely picked up from him. After all, Whiteshade had been his teacher; Nightstep had learnt a lot from LightningClan's Devil cloaked in white. His previous mentor's question reached his ears, the younger of the two turning his head to regard Whiteshade with a pondering yellow gaze. That look in his eyes was accompanied by an equally thoughtful stare. "It has been far too long indeed."

Here, the tuxedo tom took another few moments to consider what had been said. He thought back to his hunt, to the time not long ago he'd spent chasing down the matted gray rogue. Just as Whiteshade remarked, he'd had no trouble in his endeavours. The gray rogue likely had never encountered another cat fully intent on hunting him down as though he were prey, and not a predator. Nightstep's shoulders shifted slightly as he gave an indifferent shrug, bright eyes turning to the path before him once more. He could see quite well now that his eyes were used to the darkness, the moon providing more than enough light on this particular night.

"I found no difficulty tonight. As for practice... I've had no more practice than the hunting of mice and squirrel the Clan requires of me. But in the end..." He paused for a moment, a partial smirk flashing the white of his teeth among the dark of the night. "In a hunt, does the size of the prey matter? After all, instinct is rarely different from creature to creature if it has not been properly nurtured." Perhaps the average warrior might find this to be a gruesome thing to say.

To Nightstep, it was simple truth. And he was certain Whiteshade would have no objection to the manner in which he spoke. The tuxedo tom's muscles shifted beneath his coat as he slipped easily through the undergrowth, his paws carrying him without a need for proper thought. His ear rotated, keeping track of a sound he'd noticed to their left; it was the sound of wings, no doubt an owl taking flight from a nearby tree. Sharp eyes slid back toward his white coated companion, before he continued. "And as it happens, once you've been taught to hunt by a sharp mind and trained properly... It is not something you forget."

His tail flicked as he spoke, before stilling once more. "I trust you too had no trouble on this night?"

Phoenix