Patches found himself captivated by the cat on the long ginger-wood table. It's tail whisked behind its striped tabby form, dark brown eyes staring into his soul. He stopped Shapeshifter at the door of the compound with a paw, urging him to wait. as he watched the cat rise from its haunches and look out at the cats scattered in front of the table.
They talked in whispered mews until the striped cat took his place at the front of the table, tail curled around his paws.
The compound was silent. And the striped tabby drew a paw over his head, licking it clean slowly, before addressing the group stationed below.
"Family, first, it's so great to see you all trying your best to be Idris' first." You all know my name. And if you do not, then let Idris be with you in this prayer. "Family, lay your heads forward so we may pray to Idris." The cats below bowed their heads. "May we give ourselves up to the angels that flock around him. "We are not our own, but his, and if we wish to live on after the Final Day, then we must give ourselves up to the God of all!"
The cats meowed in agreement—a loud, mournful sound that Patches wasn't sure he could replicate. The hurt in their voices was almost too much to hear. But he watched still, ignoring a snort from Shapeshifter as he lay down beside his friend. head in his paws.
"Raise your voices, my brothers and sisters! so that Idris may hear us!" The cat was yowling now. "Nothing matters more than Idris!" Give your entire voice to him, family! "Until it hurts!"
The sad meowing continued, this time louder, and it sounded more painful now. The thoughts of the splotched tomcat were drowned out with the creepy, indifferent wailing.
He felt like he was going crazy—but it sounded like they were calling to him. He moved toward the cat atop the ginger-wood table. Shapeshifter's teeth barely missed his scruff as he started.
"Let our Greater know that you love him, will follow him, and that he is the only thing stopping you from completely collapsing and begging for forgiveness for your sins!" The striped cat was yelling. And the cats below him rose their meows higher. "He is the only thing in the way of our monsters! The only thing we love!"
Patches continued to stride towards the cat, jumping above the many cluttered cardboard boxes that the humans had left behind in the compound. As he reached the ginger-wood table, he let out a reluctant meow, adding his strangled mournful wail to the calling of the others. The cats allowed his meowing to lead them and joined much more fiercely than before. The cat on the table seemed to notice Patches now. letting out a loud warning growl.
At once, the creepy meowing stopped. And all the cat's eyes were on him now. Patches shuffled his paws awkwardly. Looking around at the cats in the room, the striped tomcat raised its paw for silence. His dark eyes studied Patches with indifference. "Cat of the Slate, you raised your voice to Idris." You meowed along with your brethren.
"Your kin. You say you want to be the "Safe One of Slate." "But I see a tomcat who has already given himself to the God of all: Idris and his family!"
This was it. Weeks had gone by, and so far the only thing that was missing was the darkness of the world, which had been a comfort to Patches before. It was like reassurance—that regardless of the crimes he committed, in the end, the Final Day would strike them all down. Saints or not, they would all be condemned to the same end. And that was the most comforting thing of all.
But now, the blood of his enemies and The Family was on his paws. There was no way he could justify killing his friends. cats who'd bow as low as him to Idris, who believed that the cat god heard their prayers. He had killed the only beings tethering him to morality.
And now. Well, now he didn't think Theos would save him. He had killed his siblings after all. He was practically dead to Theos by now.
Patches raised his voice again, ignoring the confused stares of the cats below the table. lifting his chin, closing his eyes, and letting out a loud wail. For a moment, nothing else mattered but raising his voice to Idris and his angels.
He could feel a spark glowing inside him as he meowed. Tethering him to his missing piece Slowly, the other cats joined in, raising their heads high and wailing as loudly as they could. including the striped ginger tabby. Patches could feel it. He hadn't needed to be a prophet in the city, nor did he need to be The Safe One who'd save everyone from the Final Day.
He was a cat of Idris. He was born under Idris's eyes, and he'd die under his sun. He didn't need anything else.
Blood coated his fur; it dripped into the water; he could taste it in his teeth and feel it on his claws; it was everywhere. The weird thing was, though—Patches didn't even mind. He blinks, and it is gone.
Today was the day that he would get his new name. Weeks and months had passed; he had murdered and drowned himself. starved and saved the family. But the point was that he had done everything he could for Idris. And finally, it was paying off.
"B-bro-brother?" He heard a stuttering voice behind him. Almost startled, he turned around, frowning, as he saw the cat who had called to him. He groaned; why did Idris hate him so?
A dusky brown turtle trotted down to the riverbank. Otherwise known as the most annoying cat, he had the displeasure of knowing.
Strikal.
"What do you want, Strikal?" He grumbled. He had already done his brother's spot the morning before. if he had sought Patches out to complain about his spot again. He could go talk to Luedfried instead of bothering him.
"Why do you assume I want something, brother?" Strikal questioned. His expression was as innocent as a newborn kitten. "Can't I want to hang out with my brother?" like any normal family would do. "Am I not allowed that one, brother?" The tortoiseshell looked genuinely hurt by his words.
"I'm not your brother, Strikal!" "Egreif, be watching; being anything to you more than an acquaintance would make me screech." Patches proclaimed, angrily, his tail lashing.
"Well," he said, "I consider you my brother, Patches." Strikal murmured, his voice soft. "You joined the family. You killed the most important part of yourself; you are a part of the family. "Whether you like it or not, you are my brother in my eyes."
Patches scoffed. The smaller cat sounded so genuine that he almost believed him. He wasn't Strikal's brother; he knew that. Regardless of the family, no cat this annoying could be related to him.
"Fine. "What do you want?" "You didn't come here just to blabber at me, did you?" He growled.
"No. I wanted to talk to you about Demmon." Strikal's voice was hushed, and it was obvious he was frightened. His blue eyes glanced around nervously, like a cat would leap out of the bushes.
Patches' left ear flicked at the name. He tried not to think of his brother, whom he had been ordered to put to death. He tried more than anything not to think about all of his brothers and sisters, whom he had laid to an early watery grave. the blood under his claws.
Why does this pipsqueak want to know about Demmon?
"What about him?" Patches hissed, trying to spend as little time as possible talking about his dead brother. "Don't tell anyone, brother." Strikal's voice was quieter now. barely a whisper. "Promise me. "You won't tell our siblings," he hissed out. "Promise me you won't tell Theo."
Patches rolled his eyes. What reason would I have to even tell him? He hates me now! "I promise to Idris Strikal that I won't tell a soul." Patches muttered.
"Okay then, brother, I think—I think I saw Demmon's ghost." Strikal sounded dead serious. Patches couldn't believe it; somehow the stupid cat managed to sound more naive than him.
He threw back his head in a loud cackle that shook out his fur. "I can't believe you!" His voice was mocking. "How can you be so naive?" A ghost? Has Hammerhead thundered your paws? Rye got your teeth? "Ghosts don't fucking exist, Strikal!"
Strikal whined, his tail brushing against his side. "It's true, Patch." Demmon appeared to me and told me he needs your help".
