Bathing in Swords

The young Felecetii sat by himself on the bank of a river. It babbled as it flowed by him, the sparkles decorating the surface of the rushing water. He turned a stone around in his hand, his unusual eyes studying it. After he decided that it was far too round to skip across the river, he merely threw it as hard as he could manage. The rock made it to the opposite side of the river bank with a loud CLACK, it broke in half on impact. The Felecetii nodded to himself in slight satisfaction, a smirk turning up one corner of his lips.

“NAMELESS!” He heard his summons. That was what his birth parents called him, as they had refused to give him a name when he was born. They had always told him, “you're lucky we didn't kill you”. But he wasn't convinced. Was the end of this life such a horrible thing? He slept in the barn with the horses, he worked like a slave for people who would never appreciate it, and he would count himself fortunate if he was offered a chair at the dinner table at night. He dreaded whatever it was that his father wanted and, subconsciously, the cigarette burns on his arms had begun to itch.

The white Felecetii rose from his spot and took off like a madman toward the sound. He noticed that he was going toward the ranch house, where his father stood at the doorway. He didn't look as if he were pleased, but then, had the young cat ever seen him content? He came up to his father, out of breath, and waited for a blow to come his way.

Instead, he noticed that his father had a bag in his hand. The bag had been used for miles and miles, the worn look of the leather betrayed it's age. The Felecetii's snowy ears lowered and pressed against his head as it was shoved toward him.

“You're old enough now to fend for yourself, aren't you? It's time for you to leave, White One.”

The young cat reached forward with fingers that shook as he tightened them around one of the straps of the bag. He stared at it for a moment before he raised his eyes from the pitiful gift that symbolized his departure to look into the eyes of his father. Those green, hateful orbs stared down at him with all he had ever seen. Disgust. “Don't look at me like that, you mouse-brained fool. I am not your father. I never was, I never will be. I want you out of my sight and I never want to look upon your sorry face again. Am I clear?”

He fumbled for what his father wanted to hear in his head, but suddenly, he knew that it was over. There was nothing he could say or do to convince this man to raise him as his child. Ever since he was born, he had to fend for himself anyhow. The white cat slung the bag over one of his shoulders, his expression carefully vacant.

“At least I'll be free of you.” Was all that he had said before the claws from his father's hands raked across his cheek. Blood bubbled from the fresh wounds and began to drip down his jaw, painting it a contrasting scarlet. The white cat's shoulders shook, his head bowed. It seemed as though he were crying at first. But soon his laughter rose to a mirthless, mocking cackle. He gathered saliva up in his mouth and spit into his father's face as though he spat acid.

“Good riddance, you heartless son of a w***e. Tell my worthless b***h of a birth-mother that I hope her 'perfect child' chokes on the umbilical cord.” Before the Felecetii's father could say or do anything, he was gone. He was walking down the road with something that graced his feline features, something he hadn't felt in a very long time. He was smiling.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The white cat traveled. The only way he knew what direction he was going in was the North star and even then, he had no idea where he would end up. He met countless people on his way and nearly none of them were ever pleasant encounters. It had dawned on him in these past few days that he needed to hide his ivory color and his eyes. A robe would be ideal, somewhere he could hide weapons if he must. The Felecetii could sew it himself, he sown all of his clothing from pieces of fabrics. All he needed was the robe.

He didn't have any fabric and he couldn't very well go hunting on the forest floor without one. The white cat dreaded it, the pit in his stomach cramped at the thought. He couldn't discern whether or not it was hunger or guilt. But he waited, like the predator he was, for someone to pass down the road. A lantern would give him away like he never even tried to sneak up on them. He needed to do this stealthy, partially concealed in the blackest shadows of night. The stars above twinkled on as the moon's glow resembled a magical orb.

The Felecetii sat behind a tree in a thicket of bushes, his ears erect for the sound of footsteps. A few people had passed, though none of them wore robes. He hated what he was about to do and his patience was wearing thin. But he had no choice, he was out of options a long time ago.

It seemed like it took ages, but a light flickered into existence down the road. It caught the white cat's eye and he, as slowly as he could, rose to his paws into a crouch. He ducked his head underneath the thicket as he waited for whomever would appear. It didn't take him at all long, his horse galloping along at a reasonable pace. But it was a monk, a Felecetii at that, with a cloak that was covering his face. The robe didn't give away any of the characteristics that the white cat was trying to hide. This was his target, it had to be.

He tensed like a beast as he awaited the horse to gallop by. Almost. They were almost lined up. His body tensed. Then, the white cat darted out from behind the tree in a blur. He had a dagger in his clawed grip and a wild look in his macabre eyes. The monk didn't have a chance, his reaction time was far too slow.

The Felecetii launched himself at the other, tackling him right off of his horse. The horse whinnied as it spooked and began to ride off away from the potential danger. The impact winded them as they tumbled on the cobblestone, especially the monk, who fell onto his spine. The white cat swung himself up, pressing his knees over the other's shoulders. He was pinned down and he wasn't getting back up. It was now or never.

“No, wait, please! You can have all the coins I own! Don't commit this wicked deed, my brother!” A sour taste entered the Felecetii's mouth. He paused for a moment, just a moment, before he drove the dagger through the cat's icy blue eye and into his brain. He was dead instantaneously. Without thinking about what he had done, never letting his mind focus on it, he began to undress the Felecetii monk.

He pulled up the end of the robe to yank it over the monk's head, but he stopped when he saw something he thought he'd never see. His breath caught in his throat. This Felecetii was a mutant. His fur was white, yet he had a mere few ebony spots in various locations. The white cat shuddered in horror and began to feel sick, his breathing quickening. He peeled the robe off with shaky hands. The monk was correct, there was indeed a coin purse in the pocket. A hefty one at that.

The ivory Felecetii pulled the robe over his head and began to get up to walk away from the sin he had committed against his own people. He turned slightly back to the corpse on the ground who lay with a cheap iron dagger in his eye and felt the tears prick at his scarlet orbs. “My brother. I'm so sorry.”

The white cat pulled the hood over his head and began to saunter away from the corpse and into the night. The ghosts of what he'd done would never leave him, he knew that, even as he took his first step away. They would sleep, awaken, and feed in his mind until he could absolve himself of his greatest mistake.

* * * * * * * * *

He was older now. A man, however inhuman he happened to be. He wore the robe he took from the dead mutant for years, always using thread and needles to patch up holes or tears. It was stained and it was worn, but it fulfilled it's purpose. The Felecetii felt even worse when he even had the thought of throwing the robe away as if it were a piece of trash. As if he hadn't killed one of his own kind to acquire this cloth.

The white cat sat in a tavern, away from the groups that gathered subconsciously and spoke in boisterous, drunken voices. He, however, had said nothing the entire night and he didn't plan on it. All he wanted was the alcohol in his bloodstream to warm his veins and cloud his memory. He knocked back another shot of whatever the bartender kept handing to him, pulling his hood up over his face every time he did so. But eventually, he began to waver on the bench. His claws closed around the glass that held another shot and when he knocked it back, he'd forgotten about the hood of his robe.

The robe fell onto his shoulders and he heard shocked gasps coming from the people beside him. It wasn't until he heard whispers of the “cat-man with the snow fur” that he registered what he had unknowingly done. But instead of hiding himself in his shame, he stood from his seat and he regarded the bar with all the fury in his glittering crimson eyes. He took them all in before he began to speak, “Why? Why must you regard me as a creature, when I am one of you? My fur may be white, but I am a FELECETII , you god damned fiends! Can you say the same!?”

“MUTANT!”

“NAMELESS!”

“PRETENDER!”

All he heard were malicious jeers thrown like arrows of flames in his direction. His lip curled back over his fangs as he gave the crowd a sneer of hatred. Then he saw a clowder of Felecetii he hadn't noticed in the back of the bar begin to come forward. They were staring at him oddly, not because of the white color of the cat, but because of what they were about to do to him.

The leader spoke, coming all the more closer, “You are a mutant, you are polluting our pure bloodline. You are no Felecetii... and you know, for that, you must die. That's why you hide behind your robe, you COWARD!”

The white cat threw the first blow. His claws raked against the onyx cat's cheek with enough force that his head was turned to the side. Blood, deep blue blood, splattered the floor quite a ways from them and began to slide down the fur of the Felecetii's face. Nobody moved. The black cat began to form a devilish grin as he touched his cheek, then looked down at the indigo blood that soaked his fingertips.

“You're mine, fool.”

“If I'm not dead yet, YOU won't be the one to kill me.”

Claws began to fly and blows were struck. There was blood seeping from both of their wounds, yet the white cat's blood was not blue. It was black. Gasps of horror were heard from the crowd, who began to murmur. Most of them jeered the midnight cat on, chanting for him to kill the mutant. “KILL HIM! KILL HIM!”

The white cat was more inebriated than the black one and soon, he made a fatal mistake. He began to lunge in for a slash to throat, which was expected by the Felecetii. He bent down low and used his shoulder and his immense strength to slam the nameless one into the tavern's wall. He kept him there, one of his arms pinning him by the chest to the wood. He lifted his free paw, his claws unsheathed and shining in the dim light of the candles. The nameless one was knocked out of breath, but he saw the blow coming. The image would haunt him, if he lived through this night.

The ebony cat said nothing as he tore out the Felecetii's eye. He did so slowly, his claws raking down from his eyebrow and into the middle of his cheek. Black blood poured from the ivory cat's face, painting his snowy fur a nameless shade of the blackest ink ever to have graced the earth as a scream tore through his throat. His agony reverberated in the sound, it pierced the air like a blade of woe. Some of the crowd went silent, while others were still chanting for his death. Uncaring, vicious.

All the white cat could do was touch the wound where his eye used to be. There was emptiness and only a dark abyss on his left side. He knew his eye was gone, but he didn't want to believe it. With his one last scarlet eye, he gazed up at the Felecetii who had him restrained against the wall. His breathing erratic, his eye wide in shock. Horror.

“He's dripping his mutant blood all over my floor,” the bartender said, quietly, from where he stood behind the bar. He turned his face away, as if to turn a blind eye in the literal sense.“Get him out of here or you're all out.”

The ebony cat chuckled, darkly and maliciously, as he began to drag the snow white Felecetii to the back tavern door. He stumbled along, his ebony blood dripping from his stained fur, unable to fight him off. He could only grip his arm, dig his nails into it, and hope that he wouldn't fall into unconsciousness before they made it to the alley behind the bar.

Someone opened the door for him. There were still jeers, but most of them were silent. They watched, yet they did nothing. The white cat was dragged out into the alleyway and thrown up against the stone wall on the other side. The door slammed shut behind the onyx cat as he stood, threateningly, above the nameless one.

“You're going to die in this alleyway, creature. Remember my name for I will come looking for you in the afterlife. Ajax.” His malachite orbs glowed in the dark of the night as he stared down at the blood-soaked form of the Felecetii at his paws. He had the crimson orb of the white cat in his hand and he squished it in his fingers in front of the nameless one before tossing the destroyed organ off to the side. “This isn't over.”

Ajax turned around and went back into the bar, slamming the door shut behind him. The snowy cat was left in silence; shaking, reeling in his blood loss. He had one eye now. But he had to make it through this, he had to get up. He knew he couldn't fall asleep. The drink numbed him of the pain, at least, but he found it almost impossible to get up from the chilly cobblestone pathway.

He had to find a healer or he was going to die, he knew that. So he began to stumble, forcing one foot in front of the other, toward the depths of the forest. He knew who he had to see. A nymph, Ellie. She would help him. She always had. Someone he could depend on. What would she think of his sorry state?

“I'm sorry, Ellie,” he half-smiled as he struggled to make it to her chosen pond and tell her those words in person. Unfortunately, all he had was now. “I guess I don't belong in this world.”