Dubiety ❧ A Warriors Mafia Minigame

round i ❧ scene v

ALmoSt tHEre.

The traitor padded through the forest, grinning to themselves. The moon was nowhere to be seen, probably hiding behind some stray cloud, and only the dimmest gray glow reached the earth. Shadowed trees loomed over the killer, watching their every move, but they were helpless to stop them. The soft earth seemed to give way for every step the traitor took, as if it were afraid and wanted to get away. The forest was dead silent, waiting for the next spilled blood with baited breath as the killer marched through. Tonight was the final night. So few warriors were left now, and Honeystar still had yet to return. There was nothing in the traitor's way.

tHis wOrlD iS miNE. aLL mIne.

The forest opened up to reveal a place that no warrior had ever had much need to go to before- a wide lake rippling with waxen blacks and grays, its surface dark and still. No CoronaClan warrior had much experience in swimming- most of them couldn't swim at all- but the traitor planned to use this fact to their advantage.

The traitor padded onto the damp lakeshore, and without hesitation, waded into the black water.

The waves seemed to push against their legs at they went farther in. Ripples spread outwards from their body, the lake bracing itself for the presence of this cat with so many deaths, murders, on their now-faded conscience. Soon enough, their paws weren't touching the sand anymore. Their body floated on the surface, the water propelling them upwards; it was like the lake was rejecting them and their night-black spirit.

tURn baCk. i hAVe nOthiNG LefT tO dO hERe. oR aT lEAst, noT wIthoUT My pReY.

The traitor turned around and kicked their way through the water until they treaded land once more. They didn't even stop to shake off the water from their fur; instead, they made a beeline to the camp, ready for a final night of murder.

The traitor stood at the camp entrance, sopping wet, but confident... maybe a little too confident. Growing closer to one's goal tends to spawn a little recklessness. But what's the harm in a little more slaughter?

yES, wHaT'S tHe hARm iN a liTTle mOrE sLAugHteR?

... wHaT'S tHE hARm iN a liTtlE ... dEcEptiON?

A new thought spring into the traitor's mind. What could be more galling than using the warriors' nature against them... ? mY pOweR... mY viCTorY... The traitor's breathing grew shallow. Yes, they must add more to their final triumph. iT wiLL bE gLOriOuS.

The traitor hurried back to the lake, at the new addition to their plan filling them with giddy ecstasy. They re-entered the water, wading through until their toes touched the ground, yet they had a hold on the sand if they stretched their legs. Then they drew in a great breath.

They yowled as loud as they could, releasing the facade of a distressed, fearful screech. Surely, they hoped, that the cry would reach the ears of the slumbering warriors at camp.

The faint crunch of dried leaves that followed their cry told them that they had succeeded.

The traitor rose their legs from the water and started splashing as loudly as they could. Maybe it was a bit exaggerated, but their Clanmates wouldn't worry about the noise of the splashing; no, all they'd want would be to save them.

That, of course, was a part of their plan.

Of course they knew what their Clanmates would do. They usually knew their opponents' moves before they knew themselves.

The traitor heard a cat call out their name.

wAit fOR iT...

The traitor waited for the sound to grow stronger, stronger... It was all they could do to take a sharp breath before the figure crashed into them, and for a moment all the traitor could feel was wetness from the lakewater and fluffy fur. Both cats went under the surface from the impact, and the traitor almost forgot not to breathe.