This isn't real, he thought.
But the longer he stared at the blank copper eyes, the more real it became. When Dawnstar opened her jaws, letting the tabby and white body of Wrenflight fall to the ground, the resounding thud brought reality crashing onto him and, suddenly, Nightchaser felt an almighty roar leave his body.
Without thought, he threw himself at the DarkClan leader, blood pulsing through his veins and a red haze over his eyes. He was ready to sink his claws and teeth into her shoulder, her chest, her stomach, any part of her he could reach.
He stopped short as jaws clamped down on his tail, pulling him back. Yowling with pain, the truth-teller wheeled to face Flamestrike once more, the haze over his eyes so thick the tom seemed the colour of his namesake – a flickering, deep red.
The ginger tom hissed, moving to rake his claws over Nightchaser's face, but the truth-teller blocked his attack. Moons of nightly training had taught him his littermate's favoured moves and he could get around them easily. Unfortunately, the same could be said for Flamestrike.
Again, the black tom found himself locked in a seemingly never-ending circle of blows, parries, and feints, the two of them matching each other step for step, hit for hit. The tiredness he had felt when battling Minkfur did not affect Nightchaser now as he seethed with pure rage, bent on only one thing: revenge.
"Love doesn't make me so weak now, does it?!" he roared as he finally got past Flamestrike's defences, slashing across his jaw. The blow hit the ginger tom exactly where Nightchaser had hit him during training all those moons ago. For a single moment, the haze lifted, but one glance at Wrenflight's body returned it. Nightchaser advanced on his injured littermate.
"Answer me, brother," he spat.
Flamestrike's bloodied jaw parted. "You're no brother of mine," the tom hissed back.
Blood boiling, Nightchaser struck at Flamestrike's throat, all thoughts of mercy and justice far away from his mind.
Before his claws could break skin, he was thrown aside by another, stronger tom. Gasping for air, he looked up to see an identical black face staring down at him.
"This is the first time I have seen you act like a true DarkClan cat," the deputy murmured, circling the fallen truth-teller. "Only in the heat of battle, when you claim that love is what makes you strong, do you suddenly become the ambitious, strong cat that DarkClan yearns for."
Nightchaser narrowed his eyes, getting back up to his feet. Behind Spiderthorn, he could see Flamestrike doing the same. Around them, the battle raged on.
"But is it really love that drives you forward?" Spiderthorn questioned, continuing his rounds. Nightchaser shifted so that he was always facing him, refusing to leave his tail unguarded.
"What did seeing Morningfire's dead body do for you?" Nightchaser replied icily. His father's stumble at the mention of his former mate caused the truth-teller great satisfaction and he pressed forward.
"Love drove her forward. It was when you refused to love her back that she crumpled, unable to take care of her kits. You're the reason why she killed herself!"
His voice had risen to a screech and a few of the battling cats near them halted in their assaults.
Spiderthorn shook as he spoke. "I was not the reason she took her own life. You were."
Nightchaser's boiling blood turned cold in an instant. His father drew himself up to his full height, suddenly much bigger, leaving the truth-teller feeling like a kit once more.
"She asked me to run away with her, yes," Spiderthorn replied. "And maybe I even considered it. A family, far away from DarkClan, where we could raise our kits to believe in things other than ambition and strength and intelligence. But I knew that was impossible. The darkness always finds you."
Nightchaser shivered at the words, aware of how icy his father's yellow eyes had turned.
"She refused to eat after I told her that. She nearly starved herself to death. She didn't want to have the kits she carried, she didn't want them born into this world. But Cedarheart managed to keep her alive despite her best efforts and so the three of you were born. After that, she did her best to starve you to death but Marshclaw took you in; Dapplepaw and Cherrypaw were only two moons older than you and her milk was still plentiful.
"So, unable to watch her kits, one of which was destined to become the truth-teller she hated so much, she took her own life."
Nightchaser could not believe his ears. "You're lying."
Spiderthorn's eyes suddenly shifted to sorrow. "I wish that were true."
"So you did love her!" the truth-teller shouted, seeing the regret evident in his father. "You preach about the greatness of DarkClan yet you yourself have broken its rules!"
The deputy's claws were at his throat immediately and Nightchaser swallowed hard. "I do not preach the greatness of DarkClan. I simply acknowledge that there is no escape." The words were hardly a whisper.
"But there is," Nightchaser replied. "All we need is a little bit more help from those in DarkClan who have not yet rebelled. Sootstar fights his own battle with Heatherstar in StarClan and, from the looks of it, they must be winning."
Spiderthorn wheeled around, as if searching for an invisible enemy, but Nightchaser just nodded up at the sky, where stars were all of a sudden plentiful and bright.
"DarkClan will fall on the darkest of nights," Nightchaser continued, willing his father to believe him. "Hailwatcher told me so."
The ghost of amusement played on the deputy's face at the words. "With the stars out, it's hardly the darkest of nights, isn't it?"
Nightchaser's heart dropped into his stomach once more. Looking between the sky and his father's smug expression the doubts within grew to an all new height, threatening to swallow him up.
"You're so much like your mother," Spiderthorn said, though a genuine note resounded behind his otherwise flat tone. "But, like her, you won't escape. You can't escape the darkness."
The truth-teller felt himself backing away, shaking his head as the red haze faded and the reality of his situation hit him. All around him, the rebels were wounded and scattered, falling prey to the stronger DarkClan cats. The alley cats were wheezing, unable to keep up with seasoned warriors. And here he was, facing his own father, who wished to keep him locked in DarkClan's clutches.
"Surrender," Spiderthorn said quietly. "And I will make sure no harm comes to you when Dawnstar's rulings for the traitors are announced."
Not far away, Goosepelt hissed with pain as Shadowpelt struck at his chest. Crowpaw and Webpaw, sticking together as they double-teamed Willowtail, were tiring quickly, blows missing their marks. Snailwhisker was covered in wounds, screeching as Skunknose ran his claws over the tabby's ears.
Nightchaser shook his head. "No." If he went down, it would be fighting alongside the rebels who had risked so much for him.
Spiderthorn took his decision without complaint, claws sliding out of their sheathes before the truth-teller could blink. Without hesitation, the deputy threw himself at the rebel and Nightchaser instantly found the odds very much against him.
With Flamestrike, their blows had been rather matched; with Spiderthorn, it felt like battling a much more experienced version of his littermate. Where Flamestrike's moves had been rather predictable, Spiderthorn's were cleverly and quickly calculated, always striking at Nightchaser's weakest spots before he even knew he had opened himself up.
Before long, his bloodied sides were heaving, his shoulders and chest covered with scratches and his right ear nicked right in the middle. His entire body felt incredibly heavy, too heavy for his legs to keep upright, and he wanted nothing more than to crumple to the ground right where he stood, letting Spiderthorn take him.
But that meant darkness – eternal darkness – and Nightchaser was not willing to give in to it. Yet, it continued to call to him, even as his paws staggered beneath him, his claws hit nothing but air, and his body continued to decay under his father's assault.
"Nightchaser!" The voice brought him back up to the light and, strangely, he thought it sounded very much like Wrenflight, a hint of annoyance in its depths as she brought him back to reality.
But it couldn't be Wrenflight. She was dead.
Instead, a new shape flitted across his vision, the black fur criss-crossed with scratches and scrapes, and threw itself at Spiderthorn. Hisses and snarls ensued, the sound of claws ripping through muscle and fangs crunching around bone. Nightchaser moved to join the fight but someone drew him away. The scent of herbs told him it was Mothpaw.
"We need to get away before it's too late," she whispered fearfully.
"We can't just leave," he replied, eyes unfocussed. "We can't just leave them unpunished for everything they've done to us."
Mothpaw's green eyes filled with despair. "Nightchaser, I know you loved my sister and I know that you hate what DarkClan has done to her, to you, to all of us, but if we stay even a moment longer even more innocent cats will die. Do you understand that?"
He opened his mouth to argue, but she pressed on. "Our mission was to defeat DarkClan so they could not kill innocent cats any longer. Tonight is not that night. If we stay we will die."
Tonight. The darkest of nights is not yet here, the breeze whispered in his ear.
With a sigh, he bowed his head in defeat. Mothpaw gave a nod, her mouth pressed into a tight line, and began to lead him out of the camp, sticking as close to the rocks as possible.
A cat – tabby in colour – threw itself at them as they passed, but another rebel intercepted it. Grey and white met Nightchaser's eyes and he thought their rescuer might be Goosepelt; it could have also been Birchfrost. When they reached the camp entrance, Nightchaser turned to Mothpaw.
"What do we do now?" he asked, vision regaining clarity slowly. His head was pounding nearly as badly as his heart.
He did not have to wait long for his answer.
"Retreat!" Sprucetail's voice rose into the air, her figure clear atop the Speaking Rock. "Alley cats and rebels retreat!" She leaped, jumping cleanly over Dawnstar's head and sped for the camp entrance, the rebels – or, what remained of them – joining her. Behind them, DarkClan seemed to be regrouping, ready to pursue.
"Run," Mothpaw breathed, a jolt of fear bringing her to her paws. With one last look at the tabby and white body at the foot of the Speaking Rock, Nightchaser followed.
His paws suddenly found themselves hitting the ground hard as he ran for his life. He staggered every so often, shoulders and chest burning from multiple wounds, but he kept himself up, focussing on Mothpaw's grey form in front of him.
As they passed the prisoner cave, a tabby she-cat moved to run beside him.
"What's the plan?" she called, breathing hard. Nightchaser recognized Roxanne.
"No plan," came Sprucetail's voice from behind them. "We just need to get away."
"Once we're in the Twolegplace we'll be able to lead you through the maze," Bronco threw over his shoulder. "Your Clan won't stand a chance."
"That's if we make it that far," Nightchaser said, glancing over his shoulder. The DarkClan cats were gaining on them, eyes alight with triumph already. At their head were Dawnstar and Spiderthorn, she surging forwards, him hanging back. Behind them, Flamestrike, Rowanstorm, and Shadowpelt made up the first line, the strongest warriors ready to strike.
"You will," Cedarheart wheezed, stopping suddenly.
"What are you doing?!" yelled Mothpaw, seeing her mentor's actions.
"I've taught you well," the tabby said with a sad nod to his apprentice. "You will be a great healer, Mothpelt. But I must leave you now. It's past my time as it is."
His eyes met Nightchaser's and the truth-teller realized what he meant to do.
"May StarClan guide your paws," the black tom said. Behind him, Mothpelt gave a strangled cry.
"I won't let you go alone." Swallowstorm stepped forward, black and white pelt gleaming in the starlight. "We started this together and we will end it together too."
A brief look of gratefulness passed over Cedarheart's face. "So be it."
DarkClan's forces drew closer and closer.
"Now run before our lives are wasted," Cedarheart advised, voice completely calm as he addressed the remaining rebels. Then, he turned and, with a roar, took off to meet the DarkClan cats head on.
"You heard him!" Bronco's voice got the group running once more, following the two tabby siblings as they headed for the Twolegplace. The other alley cats had run ahead, uninterested in the sacrifice of two cats who, for all they knew, had killed one of their own in the past.
Birchfrost's shoulders heaved as she struggled to keep up with the group, the gaping wound in her side bleeding heavily. Sprucetail helped her on, letting the older she-cat lean on her as escape became more and more impossible. Webpaw and Crowpaw, both so young, watched their mother with fearful eyes, stumbling over their paws from shock and weariness. Cinderblossom, though her rounding belly swayed with each step, kept her eyes ahead on the lights of the Twolegplace, determination in every stride. Mothpaw's sobs rose into the air up ahead, but she refused to let her mentor's sacrifice go to waste. Bramblefire and Jaystrike, bringing up the rear, glanced back every so often to ensure they were safe.
And Nightchaser, suddenly hit with the events of the night, tried to hold the images back. Flamestrike's cocked head. Spiderthorn's admission. Dawnstar's triumphant eyes. Wrenflight's blank ones, in stark contrast.
It was all his fault. The guilt was enough to bring him to the ground.
I should be dead, he thought.
But he was very much alive.
He kept his eyes on the lights of the Twolegplace, growing larger and more brilliant as they neared them.
They looked almost like stars.
// The end?
Not yet! Stay tuned for more on Sunday (: