history
TRIGGER WARNING! This story describes murder, blood, Hunger Game-themed lifestyle, the plague, and psychological issues.
Winter 103 - Summer 108
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I usually don't speak about my life, nor do I wish to share it with anyone. But here I am, closer to death than I have ever been before, my mate dying next to me, and my son was already eaten by the plague. If I don't write down what's pestering my mind I won't be able to find peace in the afterlife. If there was one. The thought of it seems fascinating, but my former life and what happened up to that point made me tired.
So... unbelievable...... tired
Born to a she-cat named May, Finn grew up with his siblings Freya and Thorin. They never met their father, who was Rogar the Giant, a glorious and successful fighter in the ring. He died before May was able to give birth to the children.
And at first, being raised in dirt, sand and the constant scent of spilled blood, the siblings didn't understand their life condition too well. How could they? The brutal fights their companions were thrown in seemed unfair and unnerving, and it took the litter a while to work out that these fights were the only possibility for the lowest caste to get to glory. Without those, their life wasn't destined to be anything higher than a mere hunters to provide food to the noble and royalty. In exchange, they could live in a community instead of being thrown all alone into the unforgiving wasteland they called their home.
Rumor was a kitten their age, and it wasn't unusual that the kits in that caste grew close together. Their friend was from noble blood as their father was a higher ranked cat. Their mother, however, was from the lowest which cursed Rume to live the life of being a helper.
As soon as their small bodies were old enough to coup with fighting sessions, the four were thrown into the dirt pit to learn. Their training was rough, hard and without mercy. Nonetheless, the only chance to climb up the latter. Whenever the experienced gladiators did fight exotic creatures they were thrown into the ring to survive and gain experience themselves.
Wherever the four young cats entered the coliseum, others watched them, carefully. Enjoying the misery they saw on the deep bottom from their high places. Finn started to hate the brawling roars of the watchers, feeling like their treatment with Rumor and his siblings followed no rules, no sense, no meaning. This system didn't provide a well thought throuh hierarchy.
From... all of the time I was able to think, from when May died, we had Rumor. They were the only ones I could trust apart from Freya and Thorin. Yes, we were only kits, but we craved for more. More to achieve. It was nobility and fame for Rumor, Thorin wanted equality, Freya sought out love and fairness. But for me? I wanted justice and revenge... A Change to this community system.
It was those fat cats feasting on prey while bidding was the favored method to find pleasure at their stay here. Up there, on seats far away from danger and death. For me? I questioned what life was if we were being minimized to objects that could be easily replaced by others.
But that was not completely true, as Finn soon knew better. Their blood was special to the keeper of the coliseum, as their close ancestors were from caracal blood. And even the blood of their friend held specialty as the jungle cat did flow through Rumors veins. Thus, if they die, their income minimized. Their biggest triumph. Dire couldn't allow them to die due to illness, or an infection. Neither would the leader waste such potential. And when they were merely a year old, he sent the four young cats into the first, reckless battle as a barely trained team. After all, they signed in for those trials to grow popularity.
Nearly three years passed, and they formed a merciless and cold tom out of Finn. No longer going by the name he was born with the people screaming "Manifest, Manifest!". Relating to conscious feelings, ideas, impulses, and thoughts Manifest's original name would never be a part of him again. Losing several friends during the torture of Dire made him being confident that he needed to change something. Now being heard among the higher and lowers castes the group took every possibility to be heard.
Rumor and Thorin had a litter of their own, the children not born into the lowest rank since their parents succceeded but still it was no much better to live the same life as their parents did. Freya was terribly wounded in one fight against a weird monster and thus not able to fight anymore. Her carrier was over and thus worked her best as hunter and supporter. And if that wasn't enough, the plague slowly poisoned the land and instead of fleeing with the tribes, Dire did nothing. So, determined to work on something hidden from the black tom Manifest set himself a goal.
It took me years to gain enough respect among old and new fighters, especially as most of them were too scared to stand up and do something and to be heard across the noble and the Colossians. We planned a lot, managed to get single cats out of their work, and smuggled them out of the community, but we were unable to leave to keep the support up. The decisions the leader made didn't make any sense, they felt worse in terms of irrationality. But Dire was thinking straight enough to see someone was sabotaging him.
He wanted to find that little insect. He wanted to find
Me
A new face appeared in the coliseum, soon Dire announced the giantess next to him would be treated like noble blood, she would be his mate from now on. For Manifest, it was a pathetic choice. The small, destructive tom used the female to shield himself. It wasn't important to the caracat until she landed in the lowest caste. A punishment, from what Manifest heard.
Rather than hate it, Omen enjoyed the stay there, and the uncommon colored she-cat had a fighting spirit that impressed Manifest. It was all so similar to his own, but he soon noticed that she took some form of sick pleasure and enjoyment from fighting in the pits. As peculiar as that was, Manifest's attention remained on Dire, as the latter began to order more and more of them, with each order being more deranged than the last.
Like possessed by a parasite, Dire began to drift. Making accusations and confronting the fighting cats to interrogate them on a supposed rebellion led by one of them. None could answer him in a way that would satisfy his search for answers. At some point during his journey of harassing every fighter, his gaze shifted to Manifest, the imposing white tom-cat having always been too quiet for his tastes. But before he could utter a word, Thorin cut him off, promptly admitting to leading the rebellion himself, with some accomplices here and there.
One of his own fighters plotting against him?! Dire would have none of it, and as a punishment he declared a battle to the death between Manifest and Thorin, having both of them conveniently right here. Would either of them refuse, then he would simply kill all remaining family members on Thorin's side, which surely would convince them. And with no choice left, they began the battle beneath a roaring audience.
It wasn't easy for either of us brothers to be facing each other in such a situation, but it had to be done, if not for the sake of other's lives being at stake. Those same lives were wasted away in this crate. The battle was a brutal mess of screams, tears, and agony on both sides. For what felt like an eternity, the fight never seemed to end, until finally, Thorin relented and I was declared victorious. The victory was triumphantly hollow as I had to watch the life leave his eyes while he laid bloodied on the floor by my claws. I will never forgive Dire for this.
Unbeknownst to both, a certain Chausie female had been watching them with gleeful awe. With each strike, she had been mesmerized more and more and upon the end of the battle, she took hold in a new interest. Now, her attention was fixated solely on Manifest, with no room for other cats.
Through the paranoid and watchful eyes of Dire, the situation shifted. With Thorin out of the way, everything suddenly seemed out of place. Fighters were escaping and Omen paid him no mind anymore. It was as if the rebellion evolved with the death of their leader, and Dire lost the last bits of his remaining sanity with it. In a self-righteous rage, he declared a second battle to the death. It was to be Omen versus Manifest. Surely, having this white giant gone as well would return his Queen's focus back to him alone.
With the news of the grandest fight ever being held traveling the lands, the coliseum attracted unexpected visitors. Another giant, awfully similar to one of the fighters, appeared before Dire with one clear goal in mind. It was none other than Barakat, and he knew what to do.
Kill Omen.
Would Dire not step aside, had he another dozen cats to back him up. Quickly, a thunderous argument broke out between those two and what had initially started with insults and punches being thrown had rapidly evolved into a war scene. Worse yet, these happenings stirred the dying earth beneath them, causing an earthquake to threaten all around.
[Redacting]
Summer 108
Almost drained, unable to move further the massive tom struggled to stay. They were forcing themselves to continue. Too pathetic was the thought of dying to this plague they survived for almost two years. The last weeks were the most challenging. Walking for ages to escape into yet healthy land, it suddenly was impossible. They didn't eat for days and maybe only their will to live granted their survival.
Arriving at the former tribe lands the scenery barely felt real but Manifest knew they had to reach it. Only rumors have been spread across the land leaving The Door a mystery. His fiery orbs turned to the she-cat beside him. Omen suffered especially under the silent death eating the land. Should the female collapse it was on Manifest to get her into the save heaven.
It was their second year together, already suffering multiple losses. The only option for the Caracat? Save Omen. No matter the prize. The plague hadn't touched them for a long time, and the former gladiator was nearly thinking they were the few ones being immune. In the end, this plague would get everyone. It was in the water, in the prey, even flying in the air. And once again, the clouds around them blackened, another unpredictable wild storm. His head still craned high, ears twitching to the sudden thunders that followed the crashing lightning.
It was getting worse, and they knew how murderous those weird storms could be.
Gusts started to dash over the open field, whirling stones and dead twigs around. Quickly, the caracat got back on her side. The whole body ached through the tension of muscles and movement, but he had to get his mate to that portal. No god damn matter what. Again he started to support the female's body, urging her to hurry. And so they ran, at least what their weakened bodies allowed them to do so.
Walking through the barrier was like stepping into the water. But it was rather pleasing, cool. Feather light.
Laying between the end of a valley, a world welcomed them they hadn't seen in two years. Everything was green, all sorts of smells filled their nostrils. His head facing the sky he saw the side of a huge mountain, gently touched by the sun rays of the sinking sun. As Manifest turned his head to not see upside down, he enjoyed the body that rests on his belly. No pain, no exhaustion, only tiredness. As if the barrier killed the disease inside the white tom's body.
And then, it hit him. It was summer, it was hot. Disgusting. But... "We made it.", he simply rasped, the gladiator took a last glimpse back to the portal, where blurry visible the storm raged over it. It was out of reach, it couldn't get here like Omen and he did.
Both used the last few hours of daylight to follow a pull. Weird and fascinating. It dragged them to a great place, the Meadow of Serenity. Stones resembling totems rested in the middle of the place. The first one called to him, whispering winds let the giant paws pad over to the structure. By touching Manifest could feel tension, fresh air, and freedom. His tragedy-worn orbs sparked up and he could feel a new energy flow through him.
And it still whispered. Repeating. What was it? A name. Marael. Letting the moment wash over him for a moment he closed his eyes. When Manifest opened them again he finally understood the scrolls that were left. And that he was now a bearer of Aeolan's powers.
