Polar Zone/One

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Now we're in the ring and we're coming for blood. — Lorde, Glory and Gore

LUCIFER

"ONE."

Jump. I leap off a thin ledge of rock and onto thin air.

"Two."

Tuck. I fold my body inwards, clenching every muscle, and flip forward, doing a somersault in midair.

"Three."

Unfurl. I elongate my body as the ground rushes up at me. With the force of a gale wind, I slam into the giant pile of grass on the floor, sending it flying everywhere.

"Four."

''Roll. ''I relax my muscles and let myself go limp as I skid across the floor, letting the shock of impact radiate through my body.

"Five."

Finish. I spring back up and let out a snarl that echoes in the empty cavern.

Or not quite empty. Something moves in the shadows, and a sleek silver she-cat steps out, purring softly in approval. "Your training is paying off."

I glance down and casually note the fact that I've torn a claw. Blood smears the floor beneath me. I shift my foot out of the silver she-cat's sight and say, "Of course it is."

She smirks. "You always did make arrogance look good, Lucifer." Stepping closer, she adds, "You're not anywhere close to perfect, though. That somersault was weak--you should've balled up tighter. And you should've uncurled quicker, for maximum impact. And next time, stretch your forepaws out at an angle, so that when you actually attack something, you hit them in a way that lets you claw their heart out." She smiles idly in a way that leaves me unsure as to whether she's kidding or not.

I hope she's not. I don't need her reigning me in again--last time I attacked an intruder, she held me back. Something about waiting for me to reach full potential before I slaughtered someone.

"I don't suppose you're here for moral support, Greer," I say, outwardly ignoring all her pointers--though of course I've memorized them all and stored them away for the next time I train. "What do you want?"

"You need to eat. But first, I want you to see Miko. Get that paw looked at." She gives me a stern look, and I roll my eyes and move my torn claw out of hiding.

"Fine," I relent, and turn and walk out of the cavern without another word. I make my way along the dark hallways--a labyrinth to anyone else, but as familiar to me as the back of my own paw.

Miko's den is nestled at the far end of the tunnels, small and cozy. The smell of herbs hits me as I duck in the entryway. Miko is sitting at the very back, sifting through a pile of dried grasses and flowers, his brow wrinkled in concentration. He glances up and his eyebrows go up. "Didn't I see you this morning?"

"I didn't injure myself this morning," I say, taking his question as an invitation to come in. "That was just because Greer wanted me to have strenghtening herbs."

"I put enough in your food, you don't need anymore," grumbles Miko. "What's wrong with you now?" Despite his sullen tone, his eyes are amiable. He appreciates the company, I know, even if it's mine. He's one of the only cats in the world who doesn't mind talking to me.

The rest of the Snow Guard talk to me, of course. I'm their best fighter, and they know it. But I know they hate me. I know I scare them. It's written in the way they distinctly avoid my gaze when they speak to me, the way they jump when I enter a den. Last week, a younger member of the Guard named Sasha actually screamed when she saw me.

I'm not sure, but I think it's my eyes that throw them off the most. Greer, in an unexpected bout of honesty, once told me that I have the emptiest eyes in the world. "Like the tundra," she'd said. "Cold hearted killer." Then she'd given me a twisted sort of smile. "That's my boy."

I don't care. I mean, it's annoying that idiots like Sasha shriek when I arrive, but it's not like it affects me beyond that. It's like Greer said: I have a cold heart. Emotions and other foolishness like that is the price I paid, before I was even born, in exchange for my extraordinary fighting capabilities. I was born on the coldest night of winter, under an empty new moon sky--born a killer, Greer always told me. My mother died of disease. My father was a warrior of SnowClan--and still is, for all I know. Greer recognized my rare persona as, instead of monstrous, an advantage. She realized what a perfect solider I was, and she took me into the Guard. I've lived at the peak of Thorn Mountain ever since, deep inside these stone walls, training to hone my killer abilities.

Snapping back to the present, I tell Miko how I injured my claw. He grins. "I'm guessing Greer forced you to come and let me look at it?" When I nod, his smile widens. "Knew it. You'd walk yourself lame if given the chance." He gives a good-natured chuckle and begins gathering herbs to disinfect the cut. "How was training?"

"Good," I say. "I'm up to five-count moves now."

"Ah yes. The counting. That's how Greer controls you, isn't it?"

I snap my head to face him. "She doesn't control me. It's how she trains me," I hiss.

Miko merely blinks at me, unafraid. He reaches for my paw and begins squeezing the juice of an herb onto it. The wound stings horribly, but I merely grit my teeth. When the pain reaches a crescendo, I close my eyes and mutter calmly, "One. Two. Three."

I keep it up till the pain subsides, a cool placidness spreading over my mind. Reopening my eyes, I perk my ears and pivot towards the exit of the medicine den. "A patrol's back."

Miko, who's shuffling to put his herbs back in their stores, says, "Sharpest ears I've ever seen. Go greet them, then, and eat your food. I'll see you tomorrow, Lucifer."

I'm already racing out, but I throw a half-hearted good-bye at the chubby tom over my shoulder. I skid down the hall and out into the main cavern, where a group of four cats have just entered. Their legs are coated with snow, and the smallest of them--Sasha, a pale ginger tabby she-cat who's absolutely spineless and doesn't belong on the Guard at all--is shivering badly. "It's f-freezing out t-there," she says, teeth chattering. Then she sees me, and stops short. Giving a squeak of terror, she ducks into a hallway branching out from the main cavern and disappears.

I snort and step into the main cavern. The others nod their heads at me. They don't quake in terror like Sasha, but there is uneasy stirring as I draw closer. "How's it going, Lucifer?" asks a black tom named Jett, trying and failing at casualness.

"Fine." I lick dried blood off my paw.

Jett shudders. "I'm going to get some prey."

The others mumble similar excuses and hurry after him, leaving me standing alone in the main cavern. I curl up in a corner that gives me a clear vantage point of the front entrance, and the black night falling beyond. I expect Greer to come and find me, to yell at me to eat and get to sleep, but she doesn't come. She must be reviewing reports with Jett. Maybe there's been trouble--a fox's tracks or skirmishes down among the Clans. I smirk to myself, thinking about the way those idiots create problems with their own petty rivalries. If Greer only let me get down there and set them straight... I'd spill blood, sure, but I'd get the job done.

But no. The Snow Guard is here to protect the Clans, she would tell me. ''You're here to tackle our worst enemies and take them down. That's what you can do. Concentrate on things you understand, Lucifer.''

There's a lot I don't understand, apparently. I remember a time when I'd accidentally stumbled upon Turner and Tessa, two former Guard members, having a loud argument in a back corner of the tunnels. Turner had stormed off, and Tessa had turned to me and explained that they were in love, but Turner refused to tell Greer and ask for leave of the Guard (Guard members weren't allowed to have relationships, so you had to defect to the Clans and ask for warriorship in order to be with your mate). I had laughed at Tessa. I remember the way her eyes had widened in outrage and she'd screamed, "You just don't understand!"

Well, what did she expect? That I'd understand love?

Unable to bear staying in the Guard with Turner and his rejection of her, Tessa had defected to the Clans alone. Only she never made it. A ForestClan patrol found her body at their border; a blizzard had caught her out in the open, and she'd frozen to death.

Morbid, isn't it? Shows you how great their so-called "love" is.

Turner's still on the Guard, but he hasn't said a word since the night Tessa died. I suppose he regrets it now, not agreeing to go to the Clans with her.

If you ask me, he made the right choice. What a mark of disgrace, admitting you're too weak and soft-hearted to be a member of the Guard.

I sigh and roll over on the ground of the main cavern, still staring blankly out of the entrance. I'm bored. It's late and I should be sleeping, but I'm not tired.

On an impulse, I get to my feet and pad to the open cave yawning. Outside, the night is clear and cold. The sky is dark, the ground covered in a thin dusting of pale snow. Further down the mountain, fir trees cluster together, their needle-covered boughs like raised hackles, huddling in an effort to keep warm. I can see the dip of ground where ForestClan territory begins, and to the West, the ridge that leads to the slopes of SnowClan's home. A glittering ribbon of blue winds its way around the base of the mountain, and if you followed the current East, you'd find RiverClan territory.

An itching starts in my paws. I can feel the night calling to me, alive with electricity and anticipation. I can hear the sounds of the hunt--the hooting of howls, the terrified squeaks of prey in the undergrowth, the steady heartbeats of hunter and hunted, colliding in a song as primal and ancient as Thorn Mountain itself.

Saliva floods my mouth, and I feel my senses fine-tuning themselves. My heartbeat accelerates.

I throw one last glance over my shoulder at the empty cavern behind me. Greer hasn't come to check on me. Maybe she forget. Maybe she assumed I'd already gone to bed and feared to wake me (yes, Greer is afraid of me, as well as she hides it).

Either way, it's her mistake. I bare my lips in a snarl of pleasure and anticipation, and tear out of the den.

The snow hits my paws, so cold it burns. A thrill reverberates up my legs and through my ribcase, and I let out a hiss of exhiliration. Momentum carries me so fast that I feel like I'm flying down the slope, but I don't crash into a single thing. I use my powerful tail as a rudder to keep my balance and make icicle-sharp turns at the last possible second, avoiding collisions and disaster. I fly over a fallen log and skid smoothly under a low-hanging tree beam. I charge into a thicket and send mice flying, laughing and chasing them until I grow bored or until they're exhausted, too petrified to move. I'm not hungry, so I don't bother eating them.

Thorn Mountain is spread at my paws, silent and isolated in the night, and I'm determined to enjoy it. I follow the river for a ways, enjoying the sound of the frozen reeds that line the bank shattering at my touch. I watch my own reflection in the water, the wavering form of my snow-white pelt and ice-blue eyes. I dip my paw in the river and yell at the burn, and then dunk my entire torso in, coming out dripping. The cold wind is agony on my drenched pelt, but I clench my teeth and count. "One. Two. Three."

A refreshing cold--not one that burns, but one that calms--spreads again over my mind. "Four. Five." I get up to twenty before the pain of being wet and ice-cold dissipates. An image of Greer's satisfied smile flashes across my mind, and I growl and brush it off.

''No more counting. You're not out here to train. You're out here for yourself.'' I hate the fact that even when she's not here, Greer can still influence me, making me stand and count like a fool.

It's something she's ingrained in me since I was a kit, and I can't shake it off. It's the only way I can think to fend off the red-hot flashes of rage that take me when I get angry. I still remember Greer forcing me to the ground as a kit, pressing ice to my chest as I screamed and begged her to let go. "Count," she said, over and over again. "Empty your mind. Stop screaming. There is no pain, there is nothing that can hurt you. Count." She kept at it, till I was too weak to cry anymore. She helped me to my feet, and then she slapped me. "Worthless. Try again."

So I practiced. I would press myself into the snow, smothering myself till I couldn't breathe, and tell myself over and over again, Count.

Now I can endure almost anything. I see why Greer did it, but I still hate her for it.

I shake off the last frosty droplets of river water. Suddenly the fun has leeched out of the night. I feel like something is stuck between my pelt and my flesh, like there's something horribly wrong inside me, a monster rearing to get out. I feel like an outsider, which is absurd because I'm the only one out tonight.

The Snow Guard live such isolated lives, up at the top of the mountain. We don't participate in the traditions that the Clan cats do, the ceremonies that forge such close bonds between them. I live with the loneliest cats in the world and still I stand apart as a loner. I will never belong anywhere, that much is clear. The closest I can get to satisfaction in my life--which other cats claim is brought about by love and friendship and all of that ridiculousness--is to reach my full potential, to become what Greer wants me to be: the ultimate killing machine.

I'm nowhere close to being there, she always tells me, though I suspect that's just to keep my ego in check. Sometimes, when I look at her when she's off-guard, I see some mix of fear and reverence in her eyes that tells me I'm a lot closer than she lets on.

I guess it's natural for her to be a little scared of me now too. I'm not the hapless kit she used to push into the ice anymore.

A sharp cracking sound jolts me out of my thoughts. Instantly on alert, I spring to my feet and turn in a slow circle, my eyes keen. I guess I was wrong: I'm not the only one out tonight.

The scent of a cat carries on the wind towards me. Though it's faint, I can at least tell that it isn't a Clan cat.

Perfect. If it were a Clan cat, I couldn't do anything--it'd be a little stupid to murder one of the cats the Guard is sworn to protect. I mean, I'm not saying I'd feel bad, I'm just saying it'd be unnecessary.

But an intruder is a different story. I can do what I like to an intruder.

I glance up at the peak of Thorn Mountain. All is quiet; no sign of movement. Greer won't be here to stop me from killing this time.

I expose my fangs and drop to a crouch, stealing forward and letting the snow muffle my pawsteps.

There will be blood spilled before dawn comes.