[ ‘ “ LOST “ ‘ ] A death srp Trigger Warning for - violent graphic scenes, blood, death, ghosts/paranormal activity. - Final record - Final name :: VultureSlaughter Former names :: Kit, Paw. Rank (clan) :: Warrior. Rank (Clanmates) :: Warlord. Titles :: ◇ The Red Heir ◇ The Warlord ◇ The Bleeding King ◇ Father ◇ Brother ◇ Friend Final notes :: H̶e̶l̶p̶ ̶m̶e̶.̶ ̶M̶a̶k̶e̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶s̶t̶o̶p̶.̶ ̶W̶a̶s̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶w̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶y̶ ̶f̶e̶l̶t̶?̶ ̶W̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶I̶ ̶t̶o̶r̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶m̶ ̶l̶i̶m̶b̶ ̶f̶r̶o̶m̶ ̶l̶i̶m̶b̶?̶ ̶W̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶w̶a̶t̶e̶r̶ ̶s̶w̶a̶l̶l̶o̶w̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶b̶o̶d̶i̶e̶s̶?̶ ̶M̶a̶k̶e̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶s̶t̶o̶p̶.̶.̶.̶ ̶I̶t̶ ̶h̶u̶r̶t̶s̶.̶ ̶S̶o̶ ̶b̶a̶d̶l̶y̶.̶ ̶T̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶m̶y̶ ̶f̶a̶u̶l̶t̶.̶ This is not my fault. I did what had to be done. I did what they could not. I was stronger. I was cruel because cruelty was necessary. I was bloodthirsty because someone had to be. I wore the blood. I wore the fear. I wore the name. VultureŚ̵̨̳̠̖̻͎̭͆̒l̶̘̜̩̗̟̮̻͊̈́͗̉͋̒̆̅̓͜a̶̡̫̭͕̪͓̖̔͗̽̐̚ͅu̶̝̰̹̰̯̩̰͕̳̎͗̕͠ğ̵̛̗͍̠̯̰̥̗͍̏̄̋̓́͌̚͜͠h̴̡̰̣̯͈̒͑̉̆̒̅̔ț̴͚͕̭̟̤͇͛̒̄̄̏̇̅́̉͆e̶̝̤͚̜͍̎̊̾̍ͅŕ̴̘̪̣̘̔͒̑. A King among chaos. Warlord. Monster. Whatever they called me. I survived. ... So why does it hurt? W̶h̶y̶ ̶d̶o̶e̶s̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶h̶u̶r̶t̶?̶ It does not. I am not afraid. I̶ ̶a̶m̶ ̶a̶f̶r̶a̶i̶d̶ I am not afraid. There is no regret. T̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶r̶e̶g̶r̶e̶t̶ There is no regret. I did what I had to do. I did what I had to do. I did what I had to– ... This is not my fault. -- ◇ – VultureSlaughter had spent his life believing that the final moments of a warrior's life would be grand. A final battle. A final victory. A final speech worthy of everything he had done. Instead there was Sonnet. There was the rain. There was the ache in his chest. There was the forest continuing around him as though nothing ever happened. And, of course, there was Vulture. Not VultureSlaughter. Not the warlord. Not the Killer. Just Vulture. Tired. Fractured. Hurt. He had spent his whole life trying to make sure nobody had to die alone. Spent his entire life dedicated to achieving glory. To becoming a cat he could be proud of. He didn't expect this. He didn't expect the cold. He didn't expect the silence. He didn't expect to be afraid. He certainly didn't expect to wonder if anyone would remember him after the blood dried. His eyes wandered across the clearing. For a moment, he thought he saw them. Faces. Shapes. Ghosts lingering between the trees. Sorastar. Carmine. Scorchedshatter. Hornet. Cedarear. Dragonflyswarm. Galevalor. Grandeurphantom. Hyacinthhoney. Daffodilkit. ClayTyphoon. So many names. So many eyes. Watching. Waiting. Judging. Vulture blinked. They were gone. Only trees. Only rain. Only Him. ++
He swallowed. "...Don't." He wasn't sure who he was speaking to. The dead? The forest? His own memories? Maybe himself. His claws dug into the earth. "I did what I had to do." The words sounded different aloud. Smaller. Less certain. He tried again. "I did what I had to do." There. Better. That sounded like Vultureslaughter. That sounded like the Warlord. That sounded like someone who had never regretted anything. He raised his head. He almost smiled. Almost. He closed his eyes. And suddenly, impossibly, he remembered being young. Before the titles. Before the blood. Before the bodies. Before the name Vultureslaughter meant anything. He remembered laughter. He remembered running. He remembered being a kit. He remembered Sonnet. He remembered thinking he had forever. His eyes opened. A tear slipped down his face. He wiped it away immediately. "No." His voice was firmer now. "I don't regret it." The forest remained silent. "I don't." Another tear. He wiped that one away too. "I don't." His breathing trembled. "I…" The word caught. For a moment, he couldn't say it. Then he forced it out. "...don't." -- ◇ -- This is not my fault. Sorastar. This is not my fault. Scorchedshatter. This is not my fault. Carmine. This is not my fault. Hornet. This is not my fault. Cedarear. This is not my fault. DragonflySwarm. This is not my fault. ClayTyphoon. This is not my fault. GaleValor. This is not my fault. Grandeurphantom. This is not my fault. HyacinthHoney. This is not my fault. Daffodilkit. This is not my fault. Sonnet. ... This is not my fault. He had wanted to be remembered as a king. A warlord. A monster. Something terrible enough that death itself would know his name. He got his wish. Somewhere beyond the forest, chaos was waiting. And Vultureslaughter would enter it with blood beneath his claws and a crown no living cat could take from him. A king among chaos. He would not apologize. He would not repent. He would not kneel. He would carry the name. He would carry the blood. He would carry every death. And if the dead wanted to follow him into the darkness? let them. Vultureslaughter lifted his head. His eyes were still red. His teeth were still sharp. His claws were still stained. The mask was still there. This is not my fault. And somewhere beneath it, barely audible, came another voice. .̶.̶.̶.̶I̶m̶ ̶s̶o̶r̶r̶y̶.̶ -- ◇ -- His chest rose. Fell. Rose again. The next breath came harder. His claws dug into the earth. He tried to stand. His hind legs trembled beneath him. Failed. Vultureslaughter hit the ground again. Silence. Then a breathless laugh. "...Pathetic." His voice was barely there. He didn't know whether he meant himself. The forest. Or death. Perhaps all three. He tried again. His claws carved red lines through the mud as he dragged himself forward. An inch. Another. His body screamed at him to stop. He ignored it. Of course he did. He had spent his entire life ignoring pain. Why should this be different? His vision blurred. He blinked rapidly. No. He would not close his eyes. That was what dying cats did. They closed their eyes. They surrendered. Vultureslaughter did neither. He lifted his head. "You're going to have to do better than that." A cough tore through him. His body folded. He waited. One heartbeat. Two. Then he pushed himself back up. Barely. But up. A grin pulled at his bloodied muzzle. There. Still alive. Still standing. Still Vulture. Then the strength disappeared again. His paws slipped beneath him. He collapsed. The grin vanished. For several moments, he couldn't move. His breathing shook. I̶m̶ ̶a̶f̶r̶a̶i̶d̶.̶ The thought appeared without permission. He crushed it immediately. [No.] [I am not afraid.] Another thought. [I don't want to d|e.] He hated that one more. [No.] He dug his claws into the earth. [I don't want to leave them.] His eyes burned. He refused to cry. [I don't want Sonnet to be alone.] His throat tightened. He swallowed it down. That was weakness. That was.. His thoughts faltered. [...I don't want to be alone.] Vulture went still. He stared at the ground. NEXT PART - https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1375672382/
