private I'M FADED REPLAYING THESE THOUGHTS &. granitepelt confrontation

[CHILLEDSTAR.]

DON'T YOU GIVE ME UP, PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP​

---

what a fall from grace you've taken, chilledgaze. allowing kitnappers on your counsel?

the ghost of doubt it back. they'd thought that they had killed that thing, but it's back, and it's taunting them. they don't have time for that right now. there was very many things to be answered for. granitepelt had worked under the guise of being a good lead warrior, being easily manipulated by the queen of madness herself. why? what had driven him here? what was the very thing that pushed him away? do they really care? do they want him dead? do they truly wish to hear the story of someone who they couldn't even trust? and how would he react? there was nothing that could prepare them for any of this.

their paws halt upon the camp's entrance and they swear they can feel their paws bleeding with how damned fast they moved. their cold gaze stares at the brambles for a moment, a breath and a beat, before they push through, teeth gritting, and ears flattened against their head. there is a fiery rage in their gaze that cannot be pinpointed to one thing. they have a lot to say and not a lot of time to prepare themself to say it. they don't care. this needed to be done.

"granitepelt. in my den. now."

they hiss, not even taking a glance in his direction as they make their way back to their den. here goes everything. their tail lashes and they wait for him to enter the den, teeth gleaming as they growl in his direction.

"how fucking dare you? did you think that we would abandon the search and not find them? that we would not be told of the way you and your sister took kits out of the camp and straight to our enemy?!"

they are in pain with the amount of rage in their body. they can't even begin to express it properly.

"what was the reason, huh?! on what order did you take them, granitepelt? on who's?!"

they can connect the dots well enough. they just need to hear it from him.

@GRANITEPELT

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[GRANITEPELT]

The kits have returned.

Granitepelt watches, his body stiff, as though leafbare frost has crawled from his paws to his limbs and frozen him in place. One, two, a tabby, a tortoiseshell, stumble into camp with their father, their cheeks tear-stained, noses clotted with mucus. The cats on the patrol send waves of hot hostility in his direction, and when Chilledstar slips past him with a hissed command, he knows his situation is spiraling out of his control. The gray warrior’s face remains neutral, though the most perceptive of cats could detect the strain of his jaw as he dips his head to his leader. “Of course, Chilledstar,” he says, throwing the patrol who’d swept in with the kits a defiant look.

He will not be bested by these fools—he refuses to be.

But Chilledstar’s fury has come out like claws. Granitepelt can see the faint glow of their teeth in the dimness of the leader’s den. “How fucking dare you,” they begin, and the lead warrior bows his head, searing red panic lashing through him. He’d been prepared to deny it, and he still will try—but Chilledstar mentions Siltcloud, and that means the kits have identified them both to the patrol.

“You are so quick to distrust me,” he says, straightening his posture. His green eyes narrow, but he otherwise maintains his position. “Admit it. You suspected me from the start. No one in this Clan was ever prepared to give me a chance. Not you, not Pitchstar, not anyone.” The words leave his mouth fast and loose, and he wishes he could rip a paw toward his lips and eat them back up, unspill the blood he’d shed.

It’s too late. He’s admitted to his guilt. Anger spikes through him, and his tail begins to lash. Composure flies from his body, floating around him in feathery debris.

“The reason? The reason is—” He laughs, and it sounds distorted and uncanny. “I serve a more honorable leader than you, Chilledstar. Those kits could have grown up to be fierce warriors, but here? There’s no chance of that happening here. You have doomed them to a life of misery, hunger, and ridicule by bringing them back.” He bares his teeth. “You sit there and judge me, but it’s you who rules this stinking rat-dump, and it’s your fault the Clan is weak.”

He takes a few staggering steps, a broken pace. “Yours, and Pitchstar’s.” His dark gaze flicks up so that it can slash into Chilledstar’s pale eyes. There, the first of their matches will be held—but, he vows, certainly not the last.

, ”​

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[CHILLEDSTAR.]

DON'T YOU GIVE ME UP, PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP​

---

others might have, but chilledstar didn't distrust granitepelt more than they distrusted anyone else in this clan. they hardly trusted at all, and why would they? they saw what that trust did to pitchstar, how it ruined him. and they tried. despite how they felt, they tried. they may have been delusional enough to make him a lead warrior, but it was their own mind that kept him there. they were trying to trust him, see his worth. and here he was, weeping like some kit because he wasn't truly trusted? in shadowclan?

"oh, cry me a river! pitchstar hardly trusted himself, let alone anyone else! and as for me, i tried to give you a chance! i may have been clouded with brain fog when i decided to make you a lead warrior, but i wasn't so damned delusional to keep you there without having the slightest bit of trust in your abilities."

they did not need to trust his being, to trust that he could bring a good fit. but it seems they were wrong to even do that much. their tail lashed and their eyes widened at his words. he was losing himself, lashing out but was he really wrong? chilledstar hasn't time to think of his words. they would haunt them later, but first they had to deal with this. deal with him. their claws slip out, and they find themself staring at him. a long breath, a long moment to absorb his words. for him to realize what he's said in the awkwardness, before they simply laugh.

"my fault? my fault?! i have done nothing but give and give to this damned clan! any strength that they have is because of me! not you! and not that manipulative frog brain of a leader you so eagerly follow! hardship after hardship and somehow we still survive because we are strong than any foxhearted clan in this forest!"

they hissed, squaring their shoulders and stepping closer to the tom cat, tail lashed and eyes wild.

"i am not pitchstar! i am not sootstar! i am chilledstar, and i am the leader of these marshes! i have more honor in my star touched paw than sootstar has in her entire body! more honor than you could ever hope to have, granitepelt! you've made one mistake, too many!"

chilledstar hissed, eyes colder than their names with ice blue flames dancing within their gaze.

"you and your mouse brain of a sister have made a fool of shadowclan for the last time! get the fuck out of my camp, or i will tear your throat out and leave your body for your beloved sootstar to find!"

// powerplay perms given!
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[GRANITEPELT]

Chilledstar’s mocking sneer is met with flattened ears and a raise of his upper lip. In this moment, despite their hearty proclamation that they are not anyone but Chilledstar, the black feline reminds Granitepelt abruptly of their predecessor. The rosetted tabby, on his better days, had done nothing but leer about the camp, looking for cats to ridicule. The gray warrior fumes, his claws scouring lines into the dust. He lifts his left paw, and the same light that glints off of Chilledstar’s fangs shines on the tips of each claw. He deftly and judiciously slashes them over his leader’s face.

This is the first time he has drawn blood on one of his victims. The feeling of the flesh parting, the fur ripping, the blood wealing immediately into the blue of the ShadowClan leader’s eyes—it’s satisfying. Granitepelt says, “Keep my sister’s name out of your filthy mouth. You say you are different, but…” He paces to one side with quick, pantherlike movements. “You’re not.”

Granitepelt lunges, aiming pointed teeth for Chilledstar’s throat. The force sends them toppling, but he maintains his grip. His fangs puncture the soft flesh of their throat. He tastes the blood almost immediately, bitter and thin, sandpapering his tongue. He holds on despite the struggle that ensues, despite the claws that clip him on the cheek, on the ear. The wounds they inflict won’t be noticed until much later, if at all—the adrenaline is what keeps his teeth fastened tight, until the struggle begins to leave their body.

But they are not dead. Not quite. Granitepelt releases his grip, and he backs away, his flanks inflating and deflating rapidly with exertion. “I should,” pant, “take every worthless life you have—the, the way I did,” pant pant “Pitchstar.”

He advances again, and his smile is macabre—black, red in the dusk.

, ”​

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[CHILLEDSTAR.]

DON'T YOU GIVE ME UP, PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP​

---

they don't know why they didn't brace themself to be attacked. they should have and it's surely to cost them a life but not yet. not now. they're fighting to stay alive, as teeth dig into their neck. they hardly can think about anything bur fighting, claws thrashing and gripping on anything before their strength wanes... their vision starts to blur, before they're let go. they rolled back over, taking in a large gasp of air, vision speckled with black. they barely hear him before their eyes go wide. what? what?!

"it... y-you... coward..."

they wheezed out.

"h-how c-could you be s-so... fucking... cold? s-so idiotic?! your own mate's br-brother? your f-former leader!"

they stumble backwards, shaking their head as their rump hits the wall. they're too weak to keep up thr fight, but stars they would never surrender. they'd go down fighting if they had to. their claws outstretched attempting to scratch his face, trying to keep the bloodlusted tom cat from them.

"k-kill me if y-you want! y-you'll not walk out o-of... of... th-this camp al-alive..."

// tagging @smogmaw !! ya know what to do

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[smogstar]

Combusting adrenaline and incredible pressure unites the deputy's jaws with Granitepelt's neck, yellowed teeth finding their mark in the depths of his stone-gray scruff. A vigorous pull in the opposing direction answers any and all resistance from the murderer, and, a seething snarl hot on his lips, he wrests him away from his quarry.

Bloodspattered, brutalised, a grim shadow is cast over the doomed leader—but Chilledstar's remaining lives shall not be claimed in one fell swoop, as had happened to their predecessor. For their distressed murmurings trailed from the den in a dire current, and so too did boasts of vanquishing Pitchstar. Swift paws and poised fangs promptly responded to both, and the cat responsible is held firmly within his grasp.

Granitepelt has wrought a trail of insidiousness. Murder. Attempted murder. Kidnapping, and conspiracy. Now, he leaves a trail in the frosty soil under Smogmaw's steel-tight lead, stolen away from the oak's twisted roots and pulled into the heart of camp. Hidden loyalties offer him no sanctuary anymore. He may struggle, he may bark lies and denial—but ShadowClan claws will strip the truth from his very flesh.


// powerplay perms permitted ;0 ​