The malformed feline had reemerged from its chrysalis two weeks ago, and without a second thought to the brother beside it, had gone in search of more to eat. Life was such a hungry chore.

The creature had wandered with surprising agility in what felt like a random direction, and now it would be rewarded. Blazing a trail straight through the Door of Life, not batting an eye at its pulsating, strangely alive surroundings, the creature would find itself at its next quarry: the Black Spire.

Without any hesitation or regard for its own life, the creature would run at the stone and attempt to break off any sort of shard from it. Seriously, what kind of demon possessed this child?

Blasty would follow along with dogged devotion. It didn't seem to bother them, the way Rocky wouldn't give them a second glance, or spare them a word of conversation. They would simply hatch, look for his trail, and follow after.

Blasty was the less agile of the two, but this didn't stop him one bit. Dragging his heavy little stone-heart and stone-lungs across the floor, Blasty would go wherever his brother went, without a second thought.

He would stop along the way, though. Just for a moment, to look around at all the wonders of the world. Rocky refused to slow down for him, but that was just fine. Blasty had no idea where they were going, but maybe it was more about the journey than the getting there.

That being said: the tunnel to Draco was beautiful and mystical; Draco itself was not. This place freaked Blasty out. If they'd had any hair, it would be standing on end right now. They followed Rocky close behind, with a terror in their eyes. "What are we doing here, Rocky?" the kitten would deign to ask, but it would receive no response.

Blasty tried to swallow down the fearful thought that glowing eyes were around every corner. The room smelled like blood and something else disgusting, and seemed to move in a very uncomfortable way. Rocky would stop, and only then would Blasty look ahead and see what they had come here for.

Oh no. Oh god no.

Immediately, the kitten would begin to hiss and meowl in protest, but Rocky wouldn't stop. Rocky would already begin to break off a piece, and Blasty knew what was going to happen next. "No!!! Rocky, don't!!!! I don't want to do this anymore! Please, let's go back. Please!!"

But it was already too late.

Rockeater would not refrain from its sole purpose in life. Tiny kitten claws would wrench the smallest piece of stone out from the mass. The darkness of it, the malice within; the kitten wouldn't stop. The force required would damage his claws, strain the tendons, make the toes bleed and sting. It wouldn't matter to him.

He wouldn't even bother to arch his back, or his at his twin. Wouldn't tell him stop whining, or get your own. Rockeater only felt alive when a magical rock was down his gullet, bleeding life into him. Must be defective.

Down the fragment of Oilstone would go. Without another word, Charon's obol would be flipped. This may be the last we ever see of Rockeater.

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

gore

child death

Most of it was made of stronger stuff. This small piece that shattered away was barely a fingernail's breadth, a shaving imbued with Chaos.

It was enough: enough that the kitten swallowing it down began to burn at once.

It wasn't even the first child to attempt this in the last week or two. And the result was much the same: an unoriginal, horrific death, one that began with Chaos overpowering whatever innate magic it now held, its radiation melting through flesh, burning through bone, screaming agony pulsing away any semblance of thought and then life itself.

There was no stone to recover, no body: in moments the kitten had been reduced to black Oil and steam, after whatever frantic struggles to save itself it might endure.

At least this one had had a witness.

@Rockeater @Blastocyst

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

child death

Man, it has taken me like 4 months to get around to writing this death post.

Perhaps I'll leave the graphic out of it. A freight train runs into a bus that timed its passage poorly. 27 dead, 62 injured. An angel serves a single purpose and knows no way to escape it. The kitten named Rockeater ate a rock, and this time it went poorly than the last.

Do you think it feels natural when the smallest of the litter passes? When god's most unfavored, least touched passes from below the view of his upturned nose? In this case, this creature was conceived to chase the ends of cliffs leading nowhere. Do you think he feels fear as he goes?

I suppose it's only natural to feel, even when it's counterintuitive to the purpose you were made for. Someone should tell that to the Valkhounds.

Well, I can tell you it is slippery when he goes. And it is rank, and dark. There is a cold un-heat that may be the last thing he ever feels again. May this one rest in the un-heaven where Craig lies.

His eyes only just barely make it to meeting his brother's before it becomes nothing.

- exit via death -

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very unhappy kitten

This moment is somehow even darker for Blastocyst, because he will have to remember it for literal eternity. And he still can't even remember that there's a new limb underneath his chin. He can't tell you what he had for breakfast that day, or if he had anything at all. He's just a kid. He's a baby.

There is an onset of screaming and wailing. As the kittens were twins, it is hard to tell exactly whose screaming it is. The floor is wet. The room is wet. Blasty scrambles to reach out for his twin, for their stone, for anything that can be saved, but in literal seconds it's all gone.

This means Blasty is the only one. I didn't describe it, but there is now an image emblazoned on the front of Blasty's mind. For the next thousand cycles, it will never leave. And he will always be wondering, with every spare waking moment in the darkest hours of the night, and in the face of every new and daring adventure: 'Is that what it would look like, if I had followed along? As I was programmed to do? Is that what it—what I will look like when I die?'

If he dies. But no one explains to little kittens that it isn't natural for gembound. No one tells them. They just have to wait, and find out.

- exit via flee -