A passerby would have been forgiven for believing that the mouth of hell had opened up and spilled out onto the battlefield. It had been an age since all five Clans had marched to war, and the sea of writhing teeth and claws stood testimony to why.
The loyalists were outnumbered, but that very fact appeared to be spurning them onward with greater vigor against the dissenters. Being the underdog had its own appeal. A confirmation bias that they were in the right for standing by their Leaders. ShadowClan and ThunderClan were no shabby fighters beside, but with RiverClan still on the mend they were not an insignificant barrier to peace. Shrill cries and the tang of blood filled the air, viscera mixed with the trodden muddy earth, still damp from the prior night's rainfall. Pelt colors became smeared and indistinct, the dirt concealing even scent so that Warriors could scarcely tell friend from foe. A moment to look in their eyes was all one had to make the call.
Copperheart surveyed the chaos with a curled-lipped satisfaction. They were going to lose, he knew full-well. But the cats below him were pawns in his truer aims, and just as easily disposed of. He scratched absentmindedly at his ill-fitting skin with a hind leg. It was pulling up around the ankles, from which spectral white paws sprouted. His paws. He’d almost forgotten the look of them. Today he would shed this mortal coil, and don another, and another, for as long as he needed to. Holding this body had been a valuable learning experience at the very least, he’d do better the next time around.
At long last he finally zeroed in on what he’d been searching for. It was tricky, amid the sea of writhing browned bodies, but there was no substance on earth that could truly mask that fiery fur. Indeed, his size alone marked him on the field, if nothing else.
The bigger they are the harder they fall, Copperheart thought as he plunged down the grassy knoll to brace the fighting below. He cut a savage path through the crowd, going for eyes, throats, all vital points without any consideration if they fought in his name or against it, until he found himself before the great orange brute.
“Hello, father.” He leered, his twin gaze shining from within Hawkstar’s twisted features. “It’s been…far too long.”
Rebuffed, Copperheart fell hard against the mucky earth. Blood and mud had mixed together in a rusty slurry which painted his body where it lay. It took him several attempts to get to his feet, though his adversary seemed in no hurry. Firestar’s outward calm, his slow procedural body language. It flooded Copperheart with fury. It was as though he were a child again, being scolded by a looming authoritarian figure who knew far better than he.
“Oh this is too far along to be stopped now. Do you think for a moment that if I called off my troops, it would erase the injustices of the Code? The way it punishes good and rewards the greedy and complacent?” He shook his head. His ire with the code was mere window dressing, but it was what his supporters fought for, in the end.
“You’ve made your nest father, it is time to lie in it. Take heart, any children you lose today I’m confident you’ll replace within a month. Your whore never takes a night off, does she?” He sneered.
“Will you even remember their names?”
Copperheart laughed, a shrill and unnatural sound born of his own discordant voice and Hawkstar’s. Like the scraping of claws on stone, an innate miasma of wrongness that engendered a sick feeling in one’s core. His eyes were rolling madly, but fixed on his father as if hanging on for dear life.
“I’m afraid not, dearest father. Lion of the forest.” He spat the words like they were poison. “You sowed these seeds many moons ago, and now you will. Reap. What. You. Sow.” He punctuated each word with a step forward. Though unsteady on his feet, he still radiated a frightening sense of abandon. He’d died once and was scarce afeared to greet death once more. As such, Copperheart fought with nothing to lose, though he was aware his father had a few spare deaths up his own sleeve. But he was interested in far more than his demise.
With aims of commandeering the flame-furred giant, he launched his battered body forward and sank his claws into that thick fur. Briefly, the intense scent of his father invoked unwelcome memories. Memories of a small kitten tumbling down Firestar’s broad back and begging to go again while his mother chided him. Small white paws pouncing on a long feather duster tail sweeping a red cavern floor. Gentle eyes, golden and green looking down at him as he turned over in his sleep, his milk-full belly rising and falling noiselessly. Safety. Completion. Belonging. Feelings that burned him with their warmth.
He burrowed his muzzle through the layers of fur until he at last struck skin, and bit down as hard as he could muster. The blood that spurted into his mouth dragged him back to the present. It tasted of copper, his namesake, of rare meat and death. This is who I am now. That kitten is long gone.
Firestar |The courageous Lion of Skyclan|
Unnecessary blood shed. That is all Firestar could see around him. Battle cries echo the clearing, the ground seeping in the blood of warriors and loyalists alike. The leader of Skyclan felt his stomach clench tightly in guilt for the death around him, as he could not help but feel partially to blame. It was him who had received the prophecy of what was to come, it was his dead son that has come back for revenge. How could it not be his fault? A permanent scowl etched onto his sharp features, ignoring the thick mud clinging to his large paws with each powerful stride. His flaming ember and emerald bicolored eyes continuously take in his surroundings. The stench of iron was so potent that it dulled Fire’s sense of smell. The sky darkening, making it even more difficult for his clanmates and comrades to efficiently attack their enemies.
This is exactly what Copperheart had wanted, to cause chaos and confusion amongst the clans. To cause them to hesitate when attacking to clarify that they were truly attacking their foes, that hesitation might just save a friend or end one. The battle worn leader was easily able to counter any attack opposed toward him, his features remaining cold as he struck his opponents down, making their deaths as swift as possible. His sole focus was to find his son; or well Hawkstar, to put an end to this once and for all. There would be no escaping, he could not allow Cooper to possess another, to slip from his grasp.
Time almost stood still when his gaze locks with the corrupt eyes of his son reflecting from Hawkstar’s body. Clenching his jaw as he takes in the walking and talking meat suit. The body of Hawkstar was barely recognizable, Copper had overstayed his welcome in the Thunderclan leaders body. Shoving past many felines, many steering clear of the intimidating fiery Maine Coon. His eyes blazing in anger, sorrow, and resentment towards not just his son but himself. Where did he go wrong? What had pushed Copperheart to become so heartless and cruel? Stopping before his son, frowning at the deranged look upon the feline in front of him.
A shiver of revulsion ripples down his spine at the guttural voice. It was as if Copper’s voice was battling with Hawkstar’s, it was an eerie sound. Suppressing his unease as he regards his son, his ears twitching as Copper addresses him. “What have you done? Copperheart…this does not need to happen. You can stop this right here, right now. Make it right” Fire tries to reason, but deep down he knew that his son was far too gone. His son’s heart and soul was tainted with so much darkness and sin that there was no redemption in sight for his fallen son.