The Scourge of Twolegplace: Beginnings

[nightstorm]

((This is a fanfic I started when I was bored one day. I've always wondered three things:

What caused Scourge to become so hate-filled?
What drove him to take control of Twolegplace?
Where did all his hatred and killing begin?

Thus, I wrote this story, to be posted every so often in segments. Enjoy!))

Hatred

An agonized wail rang through the still night air. A slender black queen raised her head again, and let out another grief-stricken cry. Beside her lay two small bundles. One barely moved, while the other never had. The queen nosed her kits, her vision clouded with pain and sorrow, as she nudged the little she-kit. The dark tabby kit didn’t respond, her flanks not even rising or falling. The she-cat, finally giving up, turned to the other, a tom-kit, and black like her. His mouth opened in a pitiful hunger cry, and the queen’s eyes softened. She nudged the little kit to her belly, where he latched on and began to suckle.

The queen watched her son as he fed, her heart heavy. Already, her firstborn daughter was dead, never to open her eyes or scent the world around her. Would she lose her son as well? For the little kit was small, dangerously so. The queen feared he would never make it in the world. Her tail curled around her single kit, leaving the dead kit where it lay. She felt a sudden rush of pity for her surviving kit, and vowed to protect him, to make him feel loved, and to shelter him from the harsh, cold world.

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A small black cat, only about three moons old, mewled pitifully up at the large tabby looming over him. The tabby’s face was twisted in an expression of disgust and loathing. “This is no son of mine!” he declared. “He’s puny! He’ll never survive.” His green gaze whipped around to land on a petite black queen behind him. “It’s your fault, Ash!” His fury was directed towards her, for now.

Ash cowered down. “N-no…I did what I could…Please, Scorn, don’t be angry with him…Dawn was smaller…”

“And look what happened! Dead without taking a breath.” Scorn turned back to the kit in front of him. “He too will soon be dead. If you had been a little stronger, or taken better care of yourself, he would be bigger, and stronger, like me.” His gaze burned into the kit in front of him. “His name?” he asked Ash with a grimace.

“Shadow,” she replied quietly, her eyes also on her son, giving him a comforting glance. The little kit shivered, but shut his mouth, looking up at his father.

“That is not a fit enough name,” the tabby growled. “His name is Scourge. He shall be a scourge to all who cross his path…and a scourge to me as well.” His heavy muscles flexed as he turned around and stalked towards Ash. “You should have born me a stronger son.” She flinched.

“I didn’t have a choice,” she pleaded. Scorn wasn’t satisfied.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve given you plenty of chances. First there was Daisy,” he spat the name out, “who turned out to be a puny little she-cat that died the first week. Then there was Dusk. He too died early. Then Dawn, who couldn’t even live one minute. Now Scourge.” His gaze turned into fire. “You have reached the end of my patience.”

Ash straightened defiantly. “Dusk died because of you, as did Daisy and Dawn. You knew Dusk wasn’t ready for any sort of training. His eyes were barely open! And if you had brought me freshkill, instead of forcing me to hunt for myself, perhaps Daisy and Dawn would still be alive!” There was pain and anger in the glare she shot at Scorn. “It is every bit your fault.”

“Enough!” spat Scorn. “Do not go placing blame where it is not warranted. A true mother can take care of herself and her kits. Obviously you didn’t care enough about them to take better care of yourself.” Ash hissed at him crossly, angering the huge tabby. He rose up, his claws unsheathed. With a yowl of pain, Ash fell beneath his paw. Scorn raised his paw again, ready to strike again.

However, the queen slithered away, her shoulder bleeding heavily. She was forced to limp backwards, her eyes wide with fear. “Scorn…” she whispered. “Please…” Her mate didn’t listen, and only leapt forward, fangs and claws extended once more. Ash yowled again, a cry that was cut off by a choking gurgle. Scorn stepped back, watching as blood poured out of the wound in Ash’s neck, his green gaze cold and uncaring. As Ash’s struggles grew weaker, he turned, walking off, ignoring the cries of the tiny kit, forgotten in the unfair battle.

Ash turned her dimming gaze towards her son. The kit tottered towards her on unsteady legs, his eyes confused and frightened. “Shadow…” Ash whispered. Her mouth opened, as if she was going to speak again, but instead a low gurgle sounded, and her eyes glazed over. She jerked once, and then lay still. The kit let out a mournful keen, his ice blue eyes grief-filled. Though he was young, he now knew of death, and of pain.

Shadow touched his tiny nose to his mother’s cooling fur, wanting to bury himself into her side and make it all go away. But she was dead, and nothing would bring her back. A scent wafted past his scent glands, and his head jerked up. His gaze swept towards the place where his father had gone, and a new emotion filled his eyes. Hatred, an emotion that few his age ever felt. Standing up on his tiny legs, the kit squared his shoulders. “My name is not Shadow,” he whispered in a small voice. “I am Scourge.” Scorn had spoken true. His son would one day become a scourge to all he met, once he grew older.

Placing his paws one in front of the other, Scourge began padding forward, his ears pricked, and his eyes intent, as he started following the scent of his father, hatred in his glare.

[. s p o r e l e t t ♪]

Actually, we do know why Scourge is so evil. There's a book about his origins called The Rise of Scourge

[Mousy]

Yeah, but it's more fun to imagine this sort of stuff. I likes eet.

[nightstorm]

Never knew that was out and about... >.< So what? I can imagine things if I wants to....

[nightstorm]

Vengeance

A small black tom, perhaps about ten moons old, hid in the bushes, the toadstools nearby masking his scent. Ahead, a huge tabby tom padded forward to touch noses with another cat, this one female. The black tom hissed quietly. His ears pricked as the tabby spoke.

“How have you been, Shadewhisker?”

The she-cat purred as she ran her muzzle along the tabby’s. “I have been fine, Scorn,” she replied sweetly.

Scorn nuzzled her affectionately. “And our son?” he asked, excitement in his voice. Shadewhisker looked up at him lovingly.

“Thornkit is doing just fine,” she said softly. “He will be made into an apprentice soon. He is growing up nice and strong, just like his father.”

Scorn puffed out his chest proudly. “Soon he will have to come visit me, so I can teach him a few tricks.” His mate looked about worriedly.

“Yes, I’ll make sure to bring him sometime. It’s just…” She sighed. Scorn bent his head to meet her gaze questioningly. “I’ve had a hard time keeping your existence from the rest of RiverClan,” Shadewhisker said quietly. “They are not as friendly with loners as I am. Perhaps once Thornkit is older, and able to keep a secret…”

Scorn’s eyes flashed angrily, but the expression quickly faded. “That will be alright,” he said smoothly. “I shall wait then, upon meeting my son for the first time.”

The queen purred once more, then rubbed her head against Scorn’s flanks. “I must be off, or my Clan will worry,” she said lovingly. The tom nodded, and meowed a goodbye. With that, Shadewhisker crept off through the trees, returning to her home by the river. The little tom in the bushes watched her go with smoldering eyes, and then turned his gaze back to the other tom quickly. Scorn was sniffing the air now, and looking around, confused.

“I can smell you, whoever you are,” he called out confidently. “If you mean harm, think again. You will be hard pressed to hurt me.”

The black tom slid out of the bushes, tail held high and confident. Scorn narrowed his eyes. “Who are you, and why were you spying on me?” Scorn asked with a snarl of disgust. The other cat paused midstep, then sat and smiled.

“That is a fine way to greet your son,” he said, smirking. Scorn cocked his head.

“You are not Thornkit,” he stated, “And outside of him, I have no son.”

“Really?” drawled the black tom. “That’s where you are wrong. Perhaps I can refresh your memory.” He began to circle the older cat, his tail flicking occasionally. Scorn’s eyes narrowed even more, and he began to flex his claws.

“My mother was a wonderful she-cat, with beautiful amber eyes, and black fur that shone like the sun dancing on the water in a river.” The little tom’s voice was harsh, mocking. “She lived a noble life, caring for her kits, though all but one died. That surviving kit stands before you now. And I would have grown up just fine, if only my mother was still alive. But alas, she is not. For her mate, a handsome, proud tabby, murdered her in cold blood, leaving me behind to fend for myself. He is all the worse for it, because I did survive, against all odds, and now I come for my vengeance.” His gaze locked onto Scorn’s green eyes. “Yes, my mother’s name was Ash. I am Scourge, your first, surviving son.”

Scorn’s eyes widened, and he took a step forward. “You lie,” he growled. “Scourge died that day. He could not have survived a minute without his precious mother. None of the others had.”

Scourge paused in his pacing. “Then how would I know these things, Scorn?”

The older tabby hissed. “How do you know my name?”

“I know your name because I am who I say I am. Don’t deny it; you recognize me.”

Scorn stepped closer to Scourge. “You are no son of mine!” he growled through bared teeth. His son glared at him coldly.

“Then you have chosen your fate.” With a snarl, he leapt at his father, his claws extended. The two toms yowled and screeched, as they tumbled over and over, fur flying and claws scratching. Scorn finally managed to pin Scourge down, and raised his paw for the deathblow, but the blow never fell. Scourge wriggled away, spitting venomously. His ice blue eyes glittered as he sprang again, the sunlight glinting off one outstretched claw.

There was a flash of fur, and Scourge slashed underneath the older tom with his claws, leaping away quickly. Scorn started after him, and faltered, his legs quivering. The tabby’s eyes widened in shock, and he collapsed, staring up in disbelief. A dark red pool began to form under him, pouring from the tear down his belly. A choking rasp issued forth from his throat, and his son leaned in. “You were right. I am no son of yours. You betrayed your mate, and thus betrayed me. You at least taught me this lesson: I am not one to be trifled with. Die now, with the memory of Ash’s final breaths in your mind.” Scourge’s voice was filled with bitterness, and rage.

Scorn’s eyes flashed orange with anger and fear, then became clouded amber, as his body went limp, and a long sigh left his parted jaws. Scourge looked down at the tom, and turned, kicking dust over his dead father as though burying his dirt. He calmly sat with his back to the body, and cleaned his paws of the drying blood. Finishing with his grooming, he stood again, and looked deep into the forest. Two names made their way to the front of his mind. Shadewhisker…Thornkit…

With murder in his eyes, the black tom padded forward, belly low to the ground, as he slunk into the underbrush.

[nightstorm]

Jealousy

Scourge stood over a tiny kit, who was struggling to free himself from the older tom’s weight. A dark grey she-cat stared at him with fear-filled eyes. “Why?” she meowed pitifully. “Why are you doing this? What did my son and I every do to you? Please, oh please, don’t hurt him!”

The black tom sneered. “Why, Shadewhisker,” he drawled. “I thought I’d already explained. This is nothing personal, it’s merely to get back at my father.”

The queen’s eyes clouded in confusion. “But what does your father have to do with me?”

Scourge’s gaze sparked with anger as he spoke. “You do remember Scorn, of course?”

Shadewhisker’s eyes became frightened. Two days ago, Scorn’s body had been found on RiverClan territory. She had been forced to hide her grief. “Yes…” she whispered, her voice catching. “Why? Why him?”

“He was my father.”

The words elicited a gasp from the she-cat. “You…your father? Why would you kill your father? And what about your mother?”

“Dead.” Scourge stalked closer, leaving Thornkit on the ground behind him, and Shadewhisker backed up nervously. “And you are soon to follow. Just as my father murdered my mother, and I murdered him, so now, I will have my vengeance, and I will murder you. My father needed to die, to pay for his mistakes.”

He snarled, as suddenly a weight was felt upon his back. Thornkit had arisen, and was now bravely attempting to defend his mother. Scourge rolled over, crushing the kit underneath him, and driving the breath from his tiny body. Thornkit lay where he had fallen, his chest heaving as he fought to regain the air that had left him. He feebly wailed as Scourge drew closer.

“No! Thornkit!” Shadewhisker yowled. Her eyes were panic stricken and she lunged at Scourge, who dodged nimbly. With a hiss, he slashed at the queen, driving her back, blood seeping from a tear in her throat. He had missed the killing blow though.

As the queen tried to grab her son again, Scourge slid underneath her, ripping her belly with a single claw. The slash did not go very deep though, and he growled with frustration, as she lurched upward, crying out in pain. Third time’s the charm, the black tom thought, and he snapped at her exposed throat, this time finishing the job. With a strangled cry, Shadewhisker fell heavily, her eyes glazing over as she shuddered and lay still.

Turning, his jaws dripping with her blood, Scourge searched for the kit. Thornkit had recovered, and was now attempting to crawl away, mewling in fear and grief. With a chilling laugh, Scourge pinned the struggling kit down. As Thornkit looked up at him with terror-filled eyes, Scourge felt a strange emotion grip him. He thought of this kit, with all his promise of growing up strong. He thought of the loving pride he had not received from his father. He thought of how he never would, and he thought of how this tiny kit had received all that was rightfully his.

With a bitter glare, he met the gaze of Thornkit, and in his mind’s eye, the kit disappeared, and it was as if he was once again staring into the eyes of his father. The way the dark brown fur was patterned, the clear blue eyes that stared up in a mixture of defiance and fear, the yowl of pain, as Scourge’s claws pricked his fur. With a blink, the black tom returned to the clearing. He hissed, and drew back his paw, his claws unsheathed.

Suddenly, a wave of scents drifted over him, and he snarled, as four cats burst into the clearing. One of them let out an anguished cry, as she spotted the dead she-cat nearby. The leader of the group stalked forward, growling.

Scourge tightened his grip on Thornkit. “One more step, and the kit dies,” he snarled.

The four cats froze, and the leader spoke up. “What do you want?” he asked, anger in his voice. “Why have you attacked our Clan?”

Scourge laughed, a chilling, broken sound. “It is nothing against your Clan,” he replied, spitting the last word out as if it were crowfood. “But simply a plan of revenge. There is but one part of my plan missing.” He looked down menacingly at Thornkit, and then looked back up. “I suggest you leave me be, or you will meet the same fate as your companion.” He flicked his tail towards Shadewhisker with all the contempt he could muster.

The same cat spoke up. “I do not know what vengeance you sought, but you will not be permitted to finish it. I suggest you leave, or you will be taught a lesson you won’t forget.”

Scourge laughed again. “Oh no, forest cat, it is you who will learn a hard lesson.” He smirked, then, with a bold glare of defiance towards the cats, he slashed with his paws. Thornkit jerked and cried out in agony, and the four cats yowled in shock, as Scourge held up a blood soaked paw. “You would do well to avoid me, forest fools. I am not to be denied what I desire.”

He turned and dashed away, four sets of claws landing where he had been not two seconds ago. The patrol of four cats watched him race away, and three of them took off after him, the leader calling back, “Look after Thornkit, Mistystripe!” The queen nodded, and she turned back to pick up the small, wounded kit.

As Mistystripe ran through the trees, towards RiverClan’s camp, where the medicine cat could help Thornkit, she heard a branch snap. Turning, she saw a flash of black fur, felt teeth snap at her throat, then all was dark and silent.

The RiverClan patrol returned, not long after, having lost the strange young tom. It was not long before they discovered two more bodies. Mistystripe and Thornkit. Scourge’s vengeance was complete. For now.