Faustian | warrior cats

xiv | all your doing

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THERE was silence at first; nothing lugged nor moved. The silence was so still that it laid upon the wilted leaves that covered the forest floor and didn't make a sound. And before the ruckus of life, before a paw came along to crunch the leaves, everything was dead.

The realm of the dead had a rather fitting name. Decaying trees poked out from the ground like the shafts of black umbrellas, their bare branches still managing to cover the heads of the living. A strangling mist laid upon the atmosphere like a casket spray, somehow managing to make death look beautiful. Only a few flowers attended the funeral but the ones that did show had their heads hung in mourning and were being blackened day by day.

Suddenly, the still forest was fogged with a breath of life. It was a cruel awakening and occurred as quickly as inhaling a final breath. The second Larkmoon's eyes shot open to see the tops of trees, she sucked in a fierce breath. Her lungs expanded, giving her the burning reminder of what it felt like to be alive.

Where was she?

The she-cat rolled lazily onto her side and pushed at the hard ground beneath her bones. Slowly getting up to her paws, she let her eyes soak in her surroundings. It was all too familiar- she had been here once before. The abrupt mew of her name accompanied by the snapping of an autumn leaf told her that she wasn't alone. And Larkmoon knew exactly who it was.

"Deadrush," Larkmoon muttered before turning around. She could sense his villainous passion before ever laying her gaze upon him. She always imagined him as something that had crawled up from the deepest and darkest hole in the earth. He had a vile sense like no other.

Finally rotating around, the reddish feline studied her company. He was still the same size, legs as long as an apprentice's, he looked as if he was still growing. He was a silky white tom covered in dirty black spots. But what Larkmoon hated most about Deadrush's appearance were his eyes. They were sharp with whatever emotion he was feeling, this time around, he looked amused. They were shining green in taunt. His eyes knew how to get under her skin. "What's happened to me?"

Deadrush took a blunt step forward, nothing about his movements were ghostly. Instead, he looked like a corpse, not a ghost. He didn't glide across the land nor drift between objects; he simply stumbled out of his grave. "I didn't think I'd see you again so soon," He greeted with obvious mockery. Deciding to answer Larkmoon's question, he continued, "You're in a coma right now, Larkmoon. You're so tired of living your body could only beg for rest. So I gave it what it wanted."

The rosy-colored cat shook her head solemnly while tossing her brown eyes to the back of her head. "I want nothing to do with you!" She hissed, feeling her composed state slip between her silver claws.

Deadrush mirrored her emotions, also letting loose on his maturity. "You did a few moons ago," He reminded her quite angrily. "What happened to the happy-go-lucky Larkmoon I first met?"

"You killed her." Larkmoon's words sent a shock of sadness rattling through the trees. The silence had completely disappeared now and was replaced by a storm of ever-changing emotions.

"I did no such a thing," Deadrush denied, attempting to calm his sullen state. He sat down and slouched his posture, poking holes through the dirt with his claws. After only a few short-lived seconds of silence, he glanced back up at Larkmoon, his pale eyes seeming to shift the blame onto her. "That was all you."

Larkmoon frowned at his words. While her companion was calm, she was drowning in the sea of resentment; anger was the rocking water while confusion played along as the salt. "You're mistaken-"

"I'm not." Deadrush cut her off. "It was your goal from the beginning, Larkmoon. You abandoned StarClan for a chance at life again." The multicolor tomcat was scraping at the ground now, leaving rigid marks behind in the dirt. He continued to explain, "It was you who wanted to get rid of your old self."

Finally hearing enough of his nonsense, Larkmoon's jaws fell open, ready to attack the dead cat in a wave of words, but no sound summoned. Her tongue was twisted into a sick knot which then fell down to her stomach. The ginger she-cat hesitated, letting memories of the past replay in her head. She could recall the excitement of life like it was yesterday. Deadrush was right.

Larkmoon hauled herself from the trance and turned her fiery gaze to the tom in front of her. She let her eyes smolder on him, "You're right." She admitted with a pinch of disgust. "I wanted to change but I didn't ask for you to come along."

Deadrush cocked his head in a careless manner, "You made a deal-"

"You didn't have to kill all of those cats!" Larkmoon's voice rose in rage. Her shout chased away the mist hanging from the trees. It scurried away like a scared squirrel, never to come back again. Larkmoon had become rather loud. Her sound by now must have awakened the whole forest; alarmed the dead and made their souls shuffle out from their deathbeds.

"I didn't." Deadrush was suddenly laughing. His head was thrown back in mighty joy and his silver grin replaced the mist that was once in the atmosphere. He only became louder. His howl echoed from the roots of the dying trees and resounded all the way up to dance with the half-lit moon. "Larkmoon, you're wrong again!"

Deeply afraid of the creature before her, the she-cat began to slowly step backward. Not once moving her eyes from the sight of Deadrush, she stuttered her response, "N-No?"

There was mayhem in the tomcat's eyes. "It was all your doing!" He cried, "You killed them! All of them!"

Larkmoon's head was spinning in a swift circle. Suddenly, she found it very difficult to remember. What was the truth? She wanted to deny the evil cat but she couldn't recall the truth. Had I killed them? No! The orange feline began to sway away, wanting to clear her brain. But Deadrush held a firm grip on his prey.

The sneaky tom slithered around Larkmoon, resting his tail on her back. His stone-cold eyes softened into a fraudulent gaze and he whispered, "We've all done bad things before- don't worry, I still forgive you." He gripped at her chin with his sharpened claws, pulling her eyes closer to his. He peered into the dark windows to her soul, watching how they bubbled in bewilderment. "I understand you- actually, you and I are so alike."

He finally released his constricting claws from the she-cat but continued to deliver his speech, "I've learned that sometimes you have to do bad things to feel good." Deadrush curled around Larkmoon once more, letting his spots shine in her vision. "Didn't you feel so good after taking their lives?"

The heart rapidly beating inside of Larkmoon's chest was so loud, she was sure Deadrush could hear it. It was a drum within her rib cage, writing music based on her fear. Thinking about what the tom had asked, she recalled the death of Beetleleap. The she-cat could still feel the horrifying thrill that coursed through her system when she saw his body fall limp on the beach. The feeling of knowing that she would never see his happy eyes glow ever again was worse than death itself. Deadrush was wrong- killing did not feel good. "No." She spoke softly, "I wouldn't kill. I'm a good cat."

Deadrush shook his coat in annoyance. He gripped and scarred at the ground, balancing his irritated posture. "Believe what you want, Larkmoon," He spun briskly around, turning his back to the she-cat. He strode away with his head hung low, he called as he vanished, "You'll soon realize that the real you isn't who you think you are."

Deadrush abandoned Larkmoon in a traumatized state. She was shivering and her heart was pattering against her chest like thousands of raindrops. Her world was spinning and didn't seem to stop. She tried to study the ground to stabilize the chaos, though seeing the dried blood splattered on her claws only made the situation worse. I'm a good cat, she thought, reminding herself that it had to be true. I'm a good cat. I'm a good cat. I'm a good cat...

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