sensitive topics ALL OF MY DIRECTS ♡ INVASION?

[ADDERSNAP]

ooc: pre-retreat + sorry this is so late @Amberhaze

Blood. Its disgusting color dripped onto the form below him, its usually thick drops thinned by the tears that now cascaded down his cheeks. The warrior did not notice it -- the way it blurred his vision, dampening his cheek fur. Addersnap had been oblivious to the terror -- the regret -- that gripped him throughout this fight, head reeling as he kept his unsheathed paw at bay on the apprentice's throat. Was he really strong enough to kill someone, especially as merciless as this? An apprentice who could barely fight for himself, who probably had someone to go home to -- an easy pick. Was he just as horrible as them?

His hesitance allowed Basilpaw to make a move -- yet it was not one of maliciousness. Where he could have clawed into the delicate flesh of his belly with back claws, the boy grabbed for his leg, sinking his claws into tense muscles with that same fear reflected in his forest-green eyes. "Please, don't..." The plead struck him to the core, paws shaking as Addersnap fought to keep his heavy-weighted stance on his throat. The tabby squeezed golden-lit hues as more tears fell, breathing labored and ears flattened. He was taking the life of an innocent cat, wasn't he? The apprentice below him had done nothing wrong. He was only following orders.

But Addersnap pushed away the guilt that was now beginning to consume him, the tears that splashed onto Basilpaw now remnants of his own lost innocence. He had to do this. In order for them to survive, they needed to make sacrifices, even if it meant losing a part of himself for it. For ThunderClan.

"... 'M sorry."

Addersnap's gaze hardened over, adrenaline and resurfaced anger rejuvenated as he let his claws softly break the skin of Basilpaw's neck, blood slow in its arrival against his paw-pad. For ThunderClan.

A screech rang through the clearing, and the mighty warrior he now saw himself as did not react, eyes locked on Basilpaw's frightened expression as the boy pleaded and pleaded. They would reach unsympathetic ears, his cries muffled along with the rest of the battlefield. Addersnap was intent on finishing Basilpaw off.

Suddenly, searing hot pain billows forth from his shoulders as he feels the puncture of claws into flesh, unfamiliar and rough. What...? Snapping his neck to look over his shoulders with blazing anger and confusion, he makes eye contact with his attacker before he is pulled off of Basilpaw, claws retracting to ensure he doesn't cause harm to himself as the two tumbled through the dirt. He had taken too long.

Laying there to endure the pain for what felt like only a second, the tabby felt as every emotion seemed to wash over him at once. Regret, that he hadn't moved sooner and for the fact that he had even come in the first place. Guilt, for allowing himself to take so long to finish the boy off and for traumatizing him so now. Relief, that Basilpaw had not fallen under his claws. It was all unfamiliar, and he hated it. He had become weak.

Struggling to get himself to his paws which he constantly slipped on, the sound of his blood rushing through his body pounded through his ears as he fought to get up. He had to, he had to get up before that ShadowClanner got to him first. He had to--

Fear erupted from the pits of his stomach as Amberhaze immediately jumped to his paws, slithering over towards him with a menacing gleam in his eyes. But he was so... frail, so small and thin and weak. What was this ShadowClanner going to do to him? Nothing. The black feline wouldn't do anything to him.

But here he was, lying frozen on his stomach as the other finally came close enough to sink his claws into his shoulders once again, a cry leaving his maw as new wounds tear open. What was going to happen to him? Eyes darting back and forth as the ThunderClanner fought to keep himself composed, the slicing words from Amberhaze hitting him full force. The fear that had kept him down -- the horror of facing the consequences of his actions originally being too much to control -- was replaced with unbridled rage, flowing through his body as he spat at the ShadowClanner above him. "Ya- you're th' ones tryin' ta 'ake our terr-i-toory 'hen we're ou-numbered!"

Thrashing underneath the ShadowClanner, Addersnap would try to throw the warrior off of his shoulders by trying to get to his paws, the movement hopefully sending the other a few mouse-lengths away from him. If successful, he would spin to face his opponent with teeth barred and wide, terror-filled eyes. He didn't want to die, either. And he might as well try to defend himself before turning tail and fleeing like Basilpaw had. "'F ya wanna talk 'bout ffffair figh's, 'm righ' here."​

 

[CAMPIONSONG]

Campionsong felt flesh ribbon away from the Shadowclan warrior's shoulder, like winds diverging outwards from the offshore and to the sea, an inexorable force that ripped away at the unity of her pelt. Chokes escaped from Swansong's maw, as he only held on longer and longer, until he felt as though the act of rending would tear him apart too. He was no warrior, he was no killer, but he would give tonight. Stanch taste of blood flooded his own silver pelt and lashing tongue, as though his laniaries dug into a well of sanguine and sinew, though the high stakes of the battle had derogated any honor to be gleaned. He was a poet and a wanderer above all, even after he had settled into the clans. This was no calculated attempt nor dignified game - it was a desperate attempt to drive attention away from Basilpaw. All the man knew was to defend his son, to become a monster seeking quietus, rupturing forth from striped and sleek pelage. He did not aim to end Swansong's life, but he knew that he had the capability to do so if the stubbornness of the clan cat turned fearlessness into stupidity. He hoped it was not him that was the fool, that he had risked himself for nothing.

In an instant, the odds turned against him. The warrior lie prone on the ground now, whatever courage he held now astray from clamped palms, bereaved from him as violently as only a war could be. Heart pounded heavily within his chest, looking for solace within the cramped crevice that it inhabited. He breathed out thin mist, as it came out rapidly as a one-winged butterfly, seeming to dissipate from each second that passed. One swan-down paw presses harsh against his jugulars, like a reversion of a calmed beast into its basal state, inveigling him with the life that the Shadowclan cat dangled just above him. Warm blood dripped onto his stained pelt, as olivine eyes stared at the molly that held him down. Elegant, despite the ferocity that she harbored. Sweet, despite the mercy that she suspended from his grasp. She spoke something to him, though he could hardly hear it with the blood wresting through flattened ears, like all of his bravery lie just beyond his periphery. I'm sorry. Please let me go. Widened, owlish gaze wanted to communicate that to her. I am not worth your vengeance nor energy.

The silver-pelted tabby was a child again, in that moment. Pinned by his brother, he writhed underneath like a fish out of water. "Let me go, you big oaf! He decreed, and only after his brother relented did he scramble away. Fighting for one's life had never interested him, so he never learned. There would be no way he could survive without his family, as his mothers' words rested like a prelude within him, harmonizing into the grim reality that the young boy often turned from. "That's okay. That's why I have my family to protect me, right?" Ivory-lined smile sprouted onto the young man's face. He had nothing to defend and even less to worry about, and little Campion held that promise like a sweet line of serenade, a raft to throw himself onto when responsibility grew too rampant. When he met Swiftdawn for the first time, he made sure that they promised to protect him too. They said something along the lines of what he would do if they were not around for him, but he was sure that he gave them some sort of lashing, childish quip in return.

Fatherhood had been the first time that responsibility had reared itself to his upturned face. Staring upon the curled bodies of his newborn children, he realized that for the first time, cats would look upon him for guidance now. The thought daunted him, as the reality of becoming a parent had shorn its dreamy hide to reveal the ugly, less-glamorous truth of it. Pride of creation had overturned much of the fear that churned within him, like a miracle blooming from the hinterlands, forcing its way through ivory ribs and closed maw. He wanted this, but could he become what his mothers had done for him? Still did that "paternal instinct" never dawn upon him, as though a hidden chord that would rise through his body, skirling upon the new (yet not young) father. He felt as though he were a pastiche of a person, an imitation of what he had seen all the other fathers do for their children.

And yet, his children did not look upon him any less. They could not see through his disguise, they could not reap his worries nor his faults from him. They loved him, just as he was, just as he tried for them. Do they truly love me, or am I the only father they have ever known?

He remembered what Swiftdawn had said to him, on an uneventful summer's day, so many seasons ago. It was the same sentiment that his family echoed, either behind his back or to his face. He was no more than a coward, a jester in cat's clothing. He was always destined to be incompetent, always dawdling in his family's shadow. It would have been more likely for a feline to fly than for him to die for the sake of a petty, cruel battle.

Over the last moons, he began to realize why Thunderclan cats spent so much time hunting and fighting and training and whatnot. It was to secure a better future for their kin, to make their nests a little warmer and to make their prey a little more filling. That "paternal instinct" was no instinct, but a gradual morning's light that washed upon his flanks. It was the wake of a new day, as slow as the sunrise was. It was a rebirth, an unfurling of the chrysalis, a painfully bright world for all to wander.

I want to fight for you, too. The idea popped into his mind as he watched his children sleep in the apprentices' den for the first time.

Searing pain cascaded upon his throat, as though Swansong's nails were an indolent weapon drawn upon his flesh, travailing beyond where alabaster fur belied his bare form. Even in that moment, he knew that there was no going back from how he would be rendered and stripped of the pelage that he once took great lengths to maintain. It didn't matter now - none of it mattered now. "Ba-" Not even a syllable escaped Campionsong as Swansong bit down onto his throat next, the heat now a scorching sun within his esophagus, howling as it yearned to burst free. Clement and almost indulgent was the bite, as she bit down as though she were a piece of prey. He was a mere mouse or bird upon the whims of its predator. The light above seemed to shut off immediately, as if the only reprieve he could seek was in the darkness behind his eyes, a tenderness that he could not afford. He could not even feel the ground that cushioned his fall, as cold and terrible as it was now.

Everything swam before him in confusing and changing colors and shapes, bittersweet realization that clarity would not return tenderly to him, scathing through every haggard breath that he seized. What beauty he once found in the world and all its windings, only a great reckoning of dread pulled through. There was a presence above him, or was it besides him, or nowhere to be felt at all? Regardless, Campionsong wrung the verses from his open wound, like a songbird repenting for its pride upon the sky. He choked out blood before he could speak, he babbled on nothings before he could cobble up the correct words. His tongue had become his vice now, but he would not stay it, not even after this.

"Ba... sil... kit..." In that moment, his son was not his accomplished and eager-eyed apprentice, but a ball of kit-fluff attached to Swiftdawn's chest. He wondered what he could have done differently, leading up to now. He had never worshipped the stars as ardently as his kin did, but now seemed like the best time to become a pious man. What use was it to revere or not, if fate would always lead him to this moment - bleating out, crying out, becoming another body for the earth to feed on?

He knew one thing, and that it was he would not change the birth of his children for any of it. He made many mistakes in life - Basilpaw, Merlinpaw, and Wolfpaw were not one of them.

"Tell... S-Swift... dawn... n'... my... fam... ily... my... moth... er... broth... er..." Voice, once his instrument of joy and hubris, now grew hoarser and quieter. "I... told... you... so..." A smile, faint as it did not even reach his cheeks, dotted itself upon his face. Campionsong slumped down, with his final breath like a mere prick upon a greater canvas of darkness, a relief among duller and duller ache.

It's funny. I thought I would die in my sleep, next to my children and my lover. I wish I could laugh. Ah, this feels a lot like much-needed nap... Let me rest. I'll be back in the morning...

( SORRY ITS SO LATE IVE BEEN SUPER BUSY W IRL. Killed by @Swansong rest in peace to an og )​