Scars (Part II of J.H. White's Puss in Boots)

Chapter Two: Reapers

Ten Years Earlier

Scars had killed his first man at the young age of nineteen. It had been exactly one minute before midnight, when he had tried to help his ailing mother escape while a mercenary was starting to break into their hotel room.

He remembered the knocks. Every one was like the piercing sound of a pistol shot.

He got her out of bed, peeling back the sheets that were stained with red from her bloody coughing fits and trying to make his way over to the window. There was a stone fountain directly below; they would've been able to jump to safety. Scars had it all planned out in his head. They were on the edge of the windowsill when the man hunting them burst in and blew a thousand holes into his mother's body. She died immediately, the wounds giving off large spurts of red mist. Scars had watched in horror as her body had tumbled out the window and fallen broken on the fountain. He could hear the bones crack as her corpse hit the ground.

An anger that he had never felt overcame him. He lunged at the mercenary, pushing him to the ground roughly. He rapidly unsheathed his claws and scratched the man's eyes out, blood splattering on his face and then proceeded to the rest of the head until the man was a hideous mess of mangled flesh. Scars was enjoying it out of his newfound insanity. But after he was done, he came to the realization that he had just mangled a human to the point of the victim being unrecognizable.

He cried over the dead body for several minutes, but he didn't know whether the tears were for his mother or the raw brutality of what he had done to the man. Then a thought pushed its way into his head. He had liked doing it, killing this man like this. It felt good. He wanted more, and the more he pondered what he could accomplish, a smile formed on his face. He was suddenly determined to destroy every soul that crossed his path. He wanted everybody in the world dead. They were going to pay for his poor mama with their bodies.

So he ran out of the room, taking the fallen man's gun with him, and then went to every door, taking every name on the street as the terrible screams of anguish and horror echoed in the air. It came to be known as "The Great Pampaneira Massacre," and it earned him the title of "The Blood King." And every time he killed, even though a small bit of his black heart knew it was wrong, his head shrieked, More, more, more, more with the voice of a banshee from hell.

****

Puss saw only darkness. The bag they had forced over his head let in no light, so it was like staring into El Diablo's mouth itself. He silently cried for Kitty, and prayed they hadn't killed Maria too. "Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name..." he whispered, knowing that with Kitty dead, his faith was all he had left in the dark world. He felt his legs being dragged across a rocky terrain. He was being taken somewhere, probably to be executed by a mob boss or tortured and then killed. He felt the tight handcuffs sting his wrists and knew he couldn't fight against them. At least when he died, he would see Kitty again. He wanted nothing more; that was the one bright light in the fog.

After a while, he nodded off, tired from his woes and also from being dragged around all day in the scorching heat. He awoke to bright light nearly blinding him as the bag was removed.

He got kicked onto the floor, and blood dripped out of his mouth. He gasped for breath as he looked around. He was in a hidden base of some sort, and saw Scars sitting on a red leather throne as if he were a king.

"Did you bring me here to kill me?" he asked as he saw Scars looking down at him with superior eyes.

"Quite the opposite. I'm here to make a deal with you. A friendly bargain, if you will." Puss stared at him fiercely.

"I do not want any deal coming from you," Puss said. He got to his feet, having just finished shredding the chain on the handcuffs with his claws now that he could see.

"You took my baby. My honor. You killed my wife. Now I'm going to splatter you all over the wall." He lunged at Scars with his sword, and surprisingly Scars wasn't quick enough to deflect the sword driving itself straight into his heart.