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If you're interested in voting for next month's story, either join me on Patreon ([url=https://patreon.com/lim2357]https://patreon.com/lim2357[/url]) or dm me so I can add you! It's another non-tf story but with a little twist - there are two other endings uploading soon where there are TF elements so do keep an eye for that. \n\n\nMy commissions are open! With a Christmas Sale ongoing where if you get a commission related to Christmas, it will be five dollars off for every thousand words! Click here to find out my schedule: [url=https://www.notion.so/11792d73278b80d1a2c1cfb52e223023?v=7c5a2792ae4641f2890d8d97b89ed1ec]https://www.notion.so/11792d73278b80d1a2c1cfb52e223023?v=7c5a2792ae4641f2890d8d97b89ed1ec[/url]\n\nIf you're interested in supporting me, do check out my patreon ([url=https://patreon.com/lim2357]https://patreon.com/lim2357[/url]) where I will give out free words, cheaper rates for future commissions, exclusive stories, early access of stories and much more!\n\nEnough ads, let's get to the story: \n\nWithin the world of Ru, magical lines exists beneath the surface of reality. One weave and effects would appear, granting manipulators of such lines immense power. As such, fights have evolved beyond mere fists and weapons.\n\n\nCrime gangs and mafia rings expanded their reach beyond what was expected. All still thinly veiled under the guise of a peaceful society. But whenever one of the gangs tries to overstep their boundaries... hitmen would be hired to \"trim\" off the grass. This is one of such incidents.\n\nP.S: I'm so so so attached to Nigel now. Its insane how much I love my little cat boy.\n\n[url=http://www.postybirb.com]Posted using PostyBirb[/url]", "description_bbcode_parsed": "Last month's Patreon Poll winner! If you're interested in voting for next month's story, either join me on Patreon (https://patreon.com/lim2357) or dm me so I can add you! It's another non-tf story but with a little twist - there are two other endings uploading soon where there are TF elements so do keep an eye for that.


My commissions are open! With a Christmas Sale ongoing where if you get a commission related to Christmas, it will be five dollars off for every thousand words! Click here to find out my schedule: https://www.notion.so/11792d73278b80d1a2c1cfb52e223023?v=7c5a2792ae4641f2890d8d97b89ed1ec

If you're interested in supporting me, do check out my patreon (https://patreon.com/lim2357) where I will give out free words, cheaper rates for future commissions, exclusive stories, early access of stories and much more!

Enough ads, let's get to the story:

Within the world of Ru, magical lines exists beneath the surface of reality. One weave and effects would appear, granting manipulators of such lines immense power. As such, fights have evolved beyond mere fists and weapons.


Crime gangs and mafia rings expanded their reach beyond what was expected. All still thinly veiled under the guise of a peaceful society. But whenever one of the gangs tries to overstep their boundaries... hitmen would be hired to "trim" off the grass. This is one of such incidents.

P.S: I'm so so so attached to Nigel now. Its insane how much I love my little cat boy.

Posted using PostyBirb", "writing": "Scanning through the 13th floor, Nigel’s ears twitched, his tail’s swishing slowed down. Filled with mold and debris, at least it was spacious enough. Enough rooms to run, duck and hide. \n\n\nBut ughhh must he fight today? Chilly air brushed against his thick jet black fur. He could’ve been at home under a warm blanket cozying and watching the usual trash TV. But noooo. Instead, he was in an abandoned building, preparing to kill CDA’s right hand man. \n\n\nHe glanced at his watch. 12:45. Fifteen minutes before the fight. \n\n\nNigel’s stomach churned - equal parts excitement and dread. Leaning against one of the walls, he licked against his fur, calming himself down. Something his boss hadn’t taken too kindly towards. \n\n\nHeh, at least, he wasn’t here to boss him around. An underlying sorrow crept behind that thought. The cat tilted his head to the right, recalling the different faces of juniors that he had. Before they were killed in their respective fights. That’s just how working as a hitman went: high risk high reward. \n\n\nAnd then there’s him. \n\n\nStanding at a pathetic 130 cm, you wouldn’t fathom calling him a threat. He wasn’t particularly jacked, he was fit of course but not to the extent of a body builder. Nor was he capable of weaving intricate spells - capped at a few spells with layers of conditions to apply. Yet, he was the last one standing, one of the rare few to survive in the industry. \n\n\nHis whiskers twitched - a reminder of what he lost. He wasn’t born like a cat, you know. He was experimented on and crafted to become a weapon for the company. Discarded immediately after he fell short of their expectations. \n\n\nSpite fueled his eyes. Thank the fucking Gods that their organisation was slaughtered else he would do it himself. \n\n\nBy this time, Nigel rose to his feet, rubbing his paws together. Parallel lines show themselves within his brown eyes. All of which appeared normal - shining white lines that radiated warmth - except for one. One that had completely been dyed black. Corrupted from the inside. The cat revealed a smile. Everything was in place. \n\nPacing around the floor, he toyed with the possibility of quitting his job. But that would be too lonely. At least, his current boss still treated him well enough. He still had colleagues but they were a little off to say the least. You needed a few screws loose to survive here.\n\n\nWith the time at ‘12:55’, he took a deep breath. \n\n\nAnother day of work approaches. \n\n\n________________\n\n\n\n\nAs the right hand man of the CDA, Chris’ responsibilities stack up. Even the smallest of notes had him running to an abandoned skyscraper, one left behind after an accident devastated the bulk of the lower floors. Bad luck they said.\n\n\nHe scratched against his chin, his eyes glancing at the skyscraper, wondering why a druggie would decide to meet him here. Still though, why did Boss even send him here? He was much more useful right by his side more so than doing this sort of minor ‘deals’. \n\n\nWhatever. If the Boss wanted him to slack off, why shouldn’t he? \n\n\nEntering the building, he took a step on one of the stairs. Immediately, his weight cracked the older stairs. Chris rolled his eyes. He gently tip-toed around the stairs, careful not to break any more steps. \n\n\nFrom there, the six foot five giant made his way up to the 13th floor. He pondered on the possibility that this might be an ambush. But he pushed those worries aside and flexed his muscles instead. They bulged up with emphasising his various tattoos and scars on his arms. \n\n\nSeriously. If anybody wanted to ambush him, they would be crushed under his weight. Especially with how jacked he was. The last time he fought against a gang solo, all of their corpses were buried six feet under the soil; their organs sold for some extra dough. \n\n\nDumbasses, did they really think they could kill him? \n\n\nStill, it was unnerving to see the lack of life. With the exception of rodents and roaches, there was nobody here - unlike how crowded their base is back in town. Ugh. If only they could conquer the other factions fast enough… \n\n\nFinally reaching, Chris cracked his knuckles. A line bent as his eyes now saw the multiple parallel glowing lines around him. All clear except for a black line, compressed and bent. What the hell was that? He squinted at it, stepping forward. \n\n\nHe rubbed his hands together, prepared to pull strings back whenever needed. Ok maybe this was an actual ambush. Lines weren’t supposed to be pitch black… \n\n\nUpon close inspection, he spotted some of the lines have inklings of darkness. Like it was corrupting them within. Suddenly, one of the lines darkened into a jet black, compressing akin to a string. \n\n\nThis wasn’t good. None of the people he'd seen before had used black lines like these. Hell, the nine squares didn’t even have this color; from bright pink to dark purple but never this shade of black. Felt wrong just looking at it. Like nature wasn’t supposed to produce that shade of darkness. \n\n\nAnd there he was. A black cat, a beastkin, waved back at him - pity within his eyes, “Oh, you must be Chris.” \n\n\nAh, it made sense. Those freaks could use beyond the nine squares. But other than this cat, Chris couldn’t feel anyone’s presence. Just to make sure, he twisted one string, revealing the presence of only both of them. They were alone here? Really? \n\n\nInspecting his short statue from up to down, the man chuckled, “And who the fuck are you? A poor little kitty cat that got lost?” \n\n\n“Heh,” Nigel walked towards him. His paws gripped the knife within his pockets, “Where’s the damn drugs?” \n\n\n“Alright fucker,” The man dropped a packet of blue crystals. There, he pulled out a glock, “Now where’s the fucking money?” \n\n\nNigel, now standing a foot away, slowed his tail movement. Three out of the 13 lines were filled. Ten more to go. There, he threw his knife, directed at his head and dashed underneath his pants. \n\n\nShots were fired as Chris tried to aim directly underneath. Bullets flew but none hit him. Fuck, what was he doing? He pinned the cat to the ground, choking his neck, “The hell do you think you are?” \n\n\nStruggling for air, Nigel flailed around. He just needed one good hit, one good hit on his privates and… kicking his legs into the air, the cat scratched vertically against the floor, before aiming at his groins. \n\n\nChris screamed, dropping his gun onto the floor while Nigel dashed away, grabbing the gun along in his escape. Leaning by the wall, embarrassment plagued his thoughts. Fucking damn it. To get kicked by the nuts like that? And to lose his gun? \n\n\nBut it confirmed his suspicions. This was an ambush. From who? He had no idea; there’s too many enemies outside of the gang, all of them aiming to kill off any one of the higher ups like him. He shook his head, tugging at the string once again. \n\n\nThe presence was still on the same story. At least the pain subsided down, lingering as a numbing sensation on his groins. Really, who was that guy? He was essentially the size of a child and yet he had the strength to withstand being choked in that position. \n\n\nHe cracked his knuckles. Oh, he should’ve ran when he had the chance. Cause this was his last fucking chance. \n\n\nMeanwhile, the black cart was panting, his paws gripping against the gun. A horizontal scratch carved against the ground. Sweat ran through his back. What the hell was that? That guy had all the chances to choke the life out of him and he let it all slip by. He snickered. Imagine handing your opponent a free gun. \n\n\nBut Nigel couldn’t deny his strength. If he had stayed there a moment further, his windpipe would start to crack. He sighed. Guess he had to go through the hard way. \n\n\nRubbing his paws, it revealed the lines, two completely black, one mostly dark while the rest were white. He called them his “keys”. Ten more to go. \n\n\nHe checked his watch. “13:03”. 10 minutes to finish his duel. Assuming he timed it right, three of the lines would turn pitch black. How he was going to collect seven other “keys” was a mystery to him. \n\n\nWith an anticlockwise twist of one string, he concealed one of the black lines. Alright, enough break, he had a job to do. \n\n\nSuddenly, his ears twitched, hearing footsteps approaching the washroom. Fuck. He was already here? Grabbing his tail, he slowed his breathing within the cubicle. At least the small stature came in handy for hiding… \n\n\nThe man outside cracked his knuckles popping with sound. And there he chanted his spell while Nigel watched from underneath as seven strings turned pale blue, twisted together with a triangle inscribed within a square. \n\n\nAnticlockwise however. \n\n\nShit. Seven strings tied together were usually illusion type but in the opposite direction, it discovered “truths” instead. Briefly, the aura of the spell touched against his presence even as he covered his mouth. \n\n\nThe man leaned against his knees for support, feeling slightly lightheaded. Still, that cat couldn’t know his state, especially since he was still hidden inside. Hell, if he could’ve used spells, he would’ve done so already, making him pay for this reckless gambit. \n\n\nOnce his breath had been restored, Chris demanded, “Reveal all your spells now.” \n\n\n“Detections on both forms,” Nigel immediately covered his mouth, realizing how effective this spell was. Shit, now he knew his location just from the sound. But that also opened opportunities up for him. \n\n\nEscaping out of the door, he left behind a scratch. Shit! It wasn’t deep enough to be considered a line. Now carefully, he bit against his tongue, ensuring no sound would escape. Face to face with Chris now, goosebumps appeared on his arm. He pulled the gun out, threatening to shoot as his fangs dug into his tongue. \n\n\n“Heh, who the fuck do you think you are?” \n\n\nChris took a stride to the left, a kick quickly followed, barely missing Nigel’s arm. The cat jumped away on top of the sink, slamming the moldy windows with a slam. Blood spilt from his paws while the man glanced away from the debris that fell. \n\n\nYet even with his eyes closed, he continued charging forward, his left fist connected with Nigel’s smaller body, cracking his ribs. An incremental for two keys. \n\n\nThe gun fell to the floor. His paws gripped against a sharp glass shard as another punch sent him flying into the cubicle. \n\n\nA moment of shock numbed the pain. He coughed. More blood leaked. Another mark. He needed another mark to make this count. Slashing against the wall vertically, he gagged a little, “Fortune’s Command.” \n\n\n“Now that’s more like it,” Chris panted, reloading the gun and aimed it at him, “Continue,” \n\n\n“After seeing 13 occurrences of,” Nigel glanced above him, thinking of an escape plan, “13, I control all chances for-” \n\n\nPausing for that moment, he stuck his tongue out, refusing to move it. Strange. Chris’ hands shook. What was he doing now? \n\n\nThere, his glass shard ripped through his tongue. Another key unlocked. Six left. \n\n\nA bloodcurling scream temporarily stunned Chris. The actual fuck was he doing now? Tearing his own tongue out just like that? \n\n\nA split moment was all Nigel needed. Blood dripped from his tongue as he leapt. His punch connected to his face. Yet, Chris’s face didn’t budge an inch. He swung the bloody glass shard but just before it landed, Chris gripped his fists, almost crushing it from the pressure. \n\n\nGrabbing him by the neck, the gangster’s thoughts were filled with angry befuddlement. The fuck was this cat doing? Some rabid type shit? Think so lowly of him to cut his own tongue out?\n\n\nNigel winced now hanging on Chris’ hand. Though the adrenaline ran high within his veins, the pain was palpable. The urge to close his eyes - to finally rest and put an end to this fight - grew slightly at the back of his mind. He was tired. Tired of fighting. \n\n\nHis body acted upon instincts however. Twisting to the left, he managed to kick against his arm, causing Chris to jerk back. Immediately as he fell, the thug pulled out his gun and aimed at his feet. \n\n\nUsing another moment, Nigel went in for another kick, aiming for his gut. The scariest tactic for a fighter was to be a fire, attacking without any semblance of fear. Bullets shot through his ear and fur while the other three bullets dodged by his flexible body. The loud gun shots temporarily deafened the beastkin. Not like he needed to hear. \n\n\nCrimson blood splattered onto the ground. Chris tumbled back from the hit, clutching against his stomach. Fucking hell, why did this cat hit so hard? He was half his height for crying out loud! Another kick against his calves snapped him back to reality. \n\n\nEnraged, Chris swung his legs out, hitting against his fractured ribs. His eyes dazed. And in that split second was shoved onto the floor by a knee to the face. Shit. This had to count for another key. \n\n\nFrom that moment onwards, Chris kept stomping on his body. Over and over. While Nigel tried to block out his vitals, Chris’ body weight alone was enough to fracture Nigel’s bones - chest and legs alike. More blood coughed, surrounding his black furry body. Despite this, his mind was still counting. Counting how many more hits he needed to count as a key. \n\n\nScreams escaped his muzzle as he counted three more hits. Six more keys. Damn. He needed to do more punches. More kicks. More of anything to get them. \n\n\n“What’cha looking at bitch?” The thug grabbed his paw and bent it backwards, dislocating his shoulder, “Your watch?” \n\n\nAnother scream escaped. His eyes brimmed with tears. Nigel’s thoughts held onto the count. He had been through hell before. What was one more lap around it? \n\n\nOne more punch against his smaller body made him blackout for a split second. Chris wiped the sweat off his forehead, staring down at the black cat. His breath, barely louder than a wisp of wind, slowed down. The man squinted at him. Sure, his attacks packed a punch but this… none of this was necessary. It was pitiful with how he kept going forward. Like what the hell? Couldn’t he just give up? Beg for mercy? \n\n\nAnd yet, when he returned, the cat’s body was gone, leaving only a pool of blood. Shit, did that fucker escape? How? He just saw his body bleeding out on the floor. \n\n\nOnce again, he cracked his knuckles, trying to see the lines again. Unease shook around his veins. He should be crying for mercy. Begging for the pain to stop like the other thugs. Why wasn’t he doing so? \n\n\nSuddenly, he felt his ribs punched by a strange lack of force. Looking down, the damn cat was still standing, his eyes barely open as he landed another empty punch onto his ribs. Blood squirted out of his fur as he breathed more heavily. \n\n\nChris swung his arm towards him only for Nigel to rub his paws together and inversely twisted one of his darker strings. His presence vanished before his eyes. Immediately, the thug connected the dots. He was inversely twisting the lines, causing him to turn invisible - unable to be detected. One second should be the maximum for how cheap this spell was. \n\n\nTurning behind, another punch landed on his legs. Felt more like a touch than anything else. \n\n\nImmediately, he kicked Nigel's body, sending him out of the washroom. The cat coughed once again. Everywhere hurts. Just moving his dislocated arm unlocked the bomb within his joints, exploding with unimaginable agony. \n\n\nImages of his cozy room flashed in his mind before raising his watch. ‘13:09’. Four more minutes. The count was still alive: One more hit to receive, nine more kicks and punches, eleven more lines twisted and six more dodges. The rest was easy to finish. \n\n\n“You fucking done yet?” Chris slammed against the wall, making the wall collapse, “Just fucking die already, you cheap bastard!” \n\n\nUnwinding his lines, the man now felt a certain sense of strangeness. What was the point? He had already been beaten up to a pulp; he was barely standing with one of his limbs busted like that. His right arm was fucked for crying out loud. \n\n\nWith enough distance away, he cracked his knuckles, revealing the damn lines again. One more line became fully black, becoming three lines of pitch darkness. Wait… how did that even happen? \n\n\nKeeping an eye on his opponent, theories formed and swirled. Wait. He did mention his other spell. Something fortune’s command? Was that his plan? To keep counting 13 shits until he could cast his spell? \n\n\nHe stepped back. That spell he cast should’ve continued on but was interrupted by that tongue slash. The scene replayed once again. This time counting the words. He had to mark out some weird symbol before continui-wait, where the fuck did he go? \n\n\nAnother punch against his groins, revealing the black bastard shocking him. Chris kicked him away instinctively, making tumble back. And right before his eyes, one of the lines turned black. \n\n\nThat was enough proof for him. Shivers went down his spine. Fucking hell, that explained why he was standing back up. And considering how strong the spell was, he either needs to escape now or… he needed to fucking kill him once and for all. \n\n\nThe cat meanwhile was struggling to remain conscious. All of the injuries were taking a toll; adrenaline couldn’t stop all of the pain. But it was fine now. He unweaved his lines, seeing the thug charge at him. Another punch approached with his centre of gravity extended too far up as Nigel dodged to the right. \n\n\nThe count was still clear. 9 kicks, 8 punches, 7 more lines woven, 6 more dodges and the final 13 steps. Just a bit more till the final moment. His vision might blur but he could see the watch, ‘13:11’. Two more minutes to end it. \n\n\nScenes of the past flashed back where he trained under his boss. Each punch connects with the next moment casting the same weightless spell. None of his attacks had any effect but it served to fan the flames of Chris’ rage. \n\n\nIt was the same pattern: Anticlockwise twist of the string when the thug swung his fists, dodging to the sides. And just before the invisibility wore off, connect another punch. Within a split moment, he unwinded his string and gave a kick. \n\n\nFrom the outsider’s view, it was fanciful footwork ingrained after years of training. All muscle memory trained on a singular technique that appeared pointless. Nigel could tell his time was running out. Fractured limbs weren’t good at attacking after all. Hell, he might be hurting himself more than his opponent.\n\n\nFor the thug, it was catching a very slow furry mosquito that went invisible within a blink. Every single time he swung his fists, the damn cat dodged in the opposite direction with that fuckass semi-dead expression. \n\n\nThe question of if he should leave floated up in his mind. This was all a ploy for that spell, wasn’t it? If he just left, the cat would simply die. Cease to exist within an abandoned building.\n\n\nBut that meant giving up, conceding to his needless attack. Which he wasn’t fucking doing. Plus, that damn cat didn’t even have 13 black lines. Seconds ticked down, approaching ‘13:13’. Even with that stupid spell, the lines were far too few to count. \n\n\nAs adrenaline ran out, the cat could only now lean against the closest wall under the same spell. He scratched against the wall - one horizontal and vertical line. And now he had only thirteen steps more to go. \n\n\nOne. Two. Three. \n\n\nHis tail halted with his appearance now revealing itself. Barely inches away from Chris. Just ten more steps. Ten more damn steps. \n\n\nChris chased after him. His footsteps heavy, causing Nigel’s heart to skip a beat. His unharmed ear twitched. A glance of his watch revealed ‘13:13’. \n\n\n13 seconds remained. \n\n\n10 more steps.\n\n\nHe pushed his legs forward, fueled by fear and excitement. \n\n\nFour. Five. Six. \n\n\nChris grabbed against his dislocated shoulder, unknowingly pushing him forward. \n\n\nSeven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. \n\n\nNigel’s tail propelled him one last step of the way. \n\n\nTwelve. \n\n\nAnd his target banged him onto the floor, making his final step. \n\n\n“Dumbass cat! You thought you could fucking kill me?” Chris laughed, staring at the ten black lines. Even with seconds or god damn milliseconds, that shit ain’t enough to cast that spell. Pulling his arm back, he prepared for the killing blow. \n\n\nThere, Nigel rubbed against his fur, counting down to the final second. Of both his life and this fight. His mind held solely on the thought of victory. The only thing to keep him going. \n\n\nBlack lines now tied amongst themselves, twisting and contorting, with a dreadful scent. His eyes finally lit up. Fuck yes, the damn spell was complete! \n\n\nChris’ body froze immediately. His eyes blinked, watching the black cat magically heal back. Fractured bones, wounds or even that tongue he cut in half all reversed back to normal. How the fuck did this even happen? He could’ve sworn there were twelve strings not thirteen. \n\n\nNigel chuckled and sat down right in front of the frozen Chris. It felt amazing to be normal again. The space around them blinked into an endless road. Paved with classic grey concrete, the black cat laid back on his back, moving his arms and legs freely, his tail wagging like a metronome. \n\n\n“Right, let’s talk,” With a snap, Chris could move his body but a force pinned him down on the spot, forcing him to sit on the ground. Shame and resignation swirled to a bitter taste, shoving it down his throat. He could’ve killed him right there on the spot and yet… he let it slip away like sand between his fingers. \n\n\nThe man glared at the smaller cat, “How the fuck did that spell go through? I counted fucking 12 lines.” \n\n\nNigel chuckled, “I concealed one of them. One of the darker lines,” A cup of warm milk spawned within his paws, “You want some?” \n\n\n“Pffft no.” \n\n\n“Suit yourself,” The cat walked in the opposite direction, scenes of his brutality replayed in his mind, making Nigel wince, “Say Chris, how does it feel to fight for your boss?” \n\n\n“Fucking amazing. He’s more like my pops than my own deadbeat one.” \n\n\nNigel’s tail swished left to right, “Don’t think I could relate to that,” He turned around, “Anything I could do for you? Anything you want?” \n\n\n“Just shut up and kill me already,” The man rolled his eyes, “Don’t get why you’re fucking around and trying to ‘help’ me.” \n\n\n“Cause within this 13 minutes, I’m God right here and now.” \n\n\n“God?” \n\n\nHe nodded. He recognised this as a ritual for mostly himself to alleviate any guilt held inside, akin to giving death row inmates their final meal, “The ability to control any chances allows me to do that, you know? Change anything to become real or fiction.” \n\n\nThe man gulped. Spells beyond the nine squares were often scary myths much like a made-up bogey man. A mere human couldn’t tie more than ten strings on their own after all. But just watching this bastard heal all of his wounds and pin him to the ground. Just imagine if this power were to be handed to his enemies or even Boss…\n\n\n“Nothing, huh?” \n\n\nChris shook his head, “I don’t need your fucking pity, cat. Just end it,” And just as those words escaped, his face turned pale. Blood stopped running through his body, causing organs to fail one by one. \n\n\nSoon enough, his body dispersed into ashes. Nigel took a photo of the scene - proof of his completed work - as his corpse disappeared. He left the photo on his boss’ desk before teleporting within his door step. \n\n\nSinking into his bed, he curled up under a blanket. His entire body trembled. One more second there and he would be the one dead… \n\n\nBut he ultimately won. \n\n\nHis 13 steps had been completed once again.", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "Scanning through the 13th floor, Nigel’s ears twitched, his tail’s swishing slowed down. Filled with mold and debris, at least it was spacious enough. Enough rooms to run, duck and hide.


But ughhh must he fight today? Chilly air brushed against his thick jet black fur. He could’ve been at home under a warm blanket cozying and watching the usual trash TV. But noooo. Instead, he was in an abandoned building, preparing to kill CDA’s right hand man.


He glanced at his watch. 12:45. Fifteen minutes before the fight.


Nigel’s stomach churned - equal parts excitement and dread. Leaning against one of the walls, he licked against his fur, calming himself down. Something his boss hadn’t taken too kindly towards.


Heh, at least, he wasn’t here to boss him around. An underlying sorrow crept behind that thought. The cat tilted his head to the right, recalling the different faces of  juniors that he had. Before they were killed in their respective fights. That’s just how working as a hitman went: high risk high reward.


And then there’s him.


Standing at a pathetic 130 cm, you wouldn’t fathom calling him a threat. He wasn’t particularly jacked, he was fit of course but not to the extent of a body builder. Nor was he capable of weaving intricate spells - capped at a few spells with layers of conditions to apply. Yet, he was the last one standing, one of the rare few to survive in the industry.


His whiskers twitched - a reminder of what he lost. He wasn’t born like a cat, you know. He was experimented on and crafted to become a weapon for the company. Discarded immediately after he fell short of their expectations.


Spite fueled his eyes. Thank the fucking Gods that their organisation was slaughtered else he would do it himself.


By this time, Nigel rose to his feet, rubbing his paws together. Parallel lines show themselves within his brown eyes. All of which appeared normal - shining white lines that radiated warmth - except for one. One that had completely been dyed black. Corrupted from the inside. The cat revealed a smile. Everything was in place.

Pacing around the floor, he toyed with the possibility of quitting his job. But that would be too lonely. At least, his current boss still treated him well enough. He still had colleagues but they were a little off to say the least. You needed a few screws loose to survive here.


With the time at ‘12:55’, he took a deep breath.


Another day of work approaches.


________________




As the right hand man of the CDA, Chris’ responsibilities stack up. Even the smallest of notes had him running to an abandoned skyscraper, one left behind after an accident devastated the bulk of the lower floors. Bad luck they said.


He scratched against his chin, his eyes glancing at the skyscraper, wondering why a druggie would decide to meet him here. Still though, why did Boss even send him here? He was much more useful right by his side more so than doing this sort of minor ‘deals’.


Whatever. If the Boss wanted him to slack off, why shouldn’t he?


Entering the building, he took a step on one of the stairs. Immediately, his weight cracked the older stairs. Chris rolled his eyes. He gently tip-toed around the stairs, careful not to break any more steps.


From there, the six foot five giant made his way up to the 13th floor. He pondered on the possibility that this might be an ambush. But he pushed those worries aside and flexed his muscles instead. They bulged up with emphasising his various tattoos and scars on his arms.


Seriously. If anybody wanted to ambush him, they would be crushed under his weight. Especially with how jacked he was. The last time he fought against a gang solo, all of their corpses were buried six feet under the soil; their organs sold for some extra dough.


Dumbasses, did they really think they could kill him?


Still, it was unnerving to see the lack of life. With the exception of rodents and roaches, there was nobody here - unlike how crowded their base is back in town. Ugh. If only they could conquer the other factions fast enough…  


Finally reaching, Chris cracked his knuckles. A line bent as his eyes now saw the multiple parallel glowing lines around him. All clear except for a black line, compressed and bent. What the hell was that? He squinted at it, stepping forward.


He rubbed his hands together, prepared to pull strings back whenever needed. Ok maybe this was an actual ambush. Lines weren’t supposed to be pitch black…


Upon close inspection, he spotted some of the lines have inklings of darkness. Like it was corrupting them within. Suddenly, one of the lines darkened into a jet black, compressing akin to a string.


This wasn’t good. None of the people he'd seen before had used black lines like these. Hell, the nine squares didn’t even have this color; from bright pink to dark purple but never this shade of black. Felt wrong just looking at it. Like nature wasn’t supposed to produce that shade of darkness.


And there he was. A black cat, a beastkin, waved back at him - pity within his eyes, “Oh, you must be Chris.”


Ah, it made sense. Those freaks could use beyond the nine squares. But other than this cat, Chris couldn’t feel anyone’s presence. Just to make sure, he twisted one string, revealing the presence of only both of them. They were alone here? Really?


Inspecting his short statue from up to down, the man chuckled, “And who the fuck are you? A poor little kitty cat that got lost?”


“Heh,” Nigel walked towards him. His paws gripped the knife within his pockets, “Where’s the damn drugs?”


“Alright fucker,” The man dropped a packet of blue crystals. There, he pulled out a glock, “Now where’s the fucking money?”


Nigel, now standing a foot away, slowed his tail movement. Three out of the 13 lines were filled. Ten more to go. There, he threw his knife, directed at his head and dashed underneath his pants.


Shots were fired as Chris tried to aim directly underneath. Bullets flew but none hit him. Fuck, what was he doing? He pinned the cat to the ground, choking his neck, “The hell do you think you are?”


Struggling for air, Nigel flailed around. He just needed one good hit, one good hit on his privates and… kicking his legs into the air, the cat scratched vertically against the floor, before aiming at his groins.


Chris screamed, dropping his gun onto the floor while Nigel dashed away, grabbing the gun along in his escape. Leaning by the wall, embarrassment plagued his thoughts. Fucking damn it. To get kicked by the nuts like that?  And to lose his gun?


But it confirmed his suspicions. This was an ambush. From who? He had no idea; there’s too many enemies outside of the gang, all of them aiming to kill off any one of the higher ups like him. He shook his head, tugging at the string once again.


The presence was still on the same story. At least the pain subsided down, lingering as a numbing sensation on his groins. Really, who was that guy? He was essentially the size of a child and yet he had the strength to withstand being choked in that position.


He cracked his knuckles. Oh, he should’ve ran when he had the chance. Cause this was his last fucking chance.


Meanwhile, the black cart was panting, his paws gripping against the gun. A horizontal scratch carved against the ground. Sweat ran through his back. What the hell was that? That guy had all the chances to choke the life out of him and he let it all slip by. He snickered. Imagine handing your opponent a free gun.


But Nigel couldn’t deny his strength. If he had stayed there a moment further, his windpipe would start to crack. He sighed. Guess he had to go through the hard way.


Rubbing his paws, it revealed the lines, two completely black, one mostly dark while the rest were white. He called them his “keys”. Ten more to go.


He checked his watch. “13:03”. 10 minutes to finish his duel. Assuming he timed it right, three of the lines would turn pitch black. How he was going to collect seven other “keys” was a mystery to him.


With an anticlockwise twist of one string, he concealed one of the black lines. Alright, enough break, he had a job to do.


Suddenly, his ears twitched, hearing footsteps approaching the washroom. Fuck. He was already here? Grabbing his tail, he slowed his breathing within the cubicle. At least the small stature came in handy for hiding…


The man outside cracked his knuckles popping with sound. And there he chanted his spell while Nigel watched from underneath as seven strings turned pale blue, twisted together with a triangle inscribed within a square.


Anticlockwise however.


Shit. Seven strings tied together were usually illusion type but in the opposite direction, it discovered “truths” instead. Briefly, the aura of the spell touched against his presence even as he covered his mouth.


The man leaned against his knees for support, feeling slightly lightheaded. Still, that cat couldn’t know his state, especially since he was still hidden inside. Hell, if he could’ve used spells, he would’ve done so already, making him pay for this reckless gambit.


Once his breath had been restored, Chris demanded, “Reveal all your spells now.”


“Detections on both forms,” Nigel immediately covered his mouth, realizing how effective this spell was. Shit, now he knew his location just from the sound. But that also opened opportunities up for him.


Escaping out of the door, he left behind a scratch. Shit! It wasn’t deep enough to be considered a line. Now carefully, he bit against his tongue, ensuring no sound would escape. Face to face with Chris now, goosebumps appeared on his arm. He pulled the gun out, threatening to shoot as his fangs dug into his tongue.


“Heh, who the fuck do you think you are?”


Chris took a stride to the left, a kick quickly followed, barely missing Nigel’s arm. The cat jumped away on top of the sink, slamming the moldy windows with a slam. Blood spilt from his paws while the man glanced away from the debris that fell.


Yet even with his eyes closed, he continued charging forward, his left fist connected with Nigel’s smaller body, cracking his ribs. An incremental for two keys.


The gun fell to the floor. His paws gripped against a sharp glass shard as another punch sent him flying into the cubicle.


A moment of shock numbed the pain. He coughed. More blood leaked. Another mark. He needed another mark to make this count. Slashing against the wall vertically, he gagged a little, “Fortune’s Command.”


“Now that’s more like it,” Chris panted, reloading the gun and aimed it at him, “Continue,”


“After seeing 13 occurrences of,” Nigel glanced above him, thinking of an escape plan, “13, I control all chances for-”


Pausing for that moment, he stuck his tongue out, refusing to move it. Strange. Chris’ hands shook. What was he doing now?


There, his glass shard ripped through his tongue. Another key unlocked. Six left.


A bloodcurling scream temporarily stunned Chris. The actual fuck was he doing now? Tearing his own tongue out just like that?


A split moment was all Nigel needed. Blood dripped from his tongue as he leapt. His punch connected to his face. Yet, Chris’s face didn’t budge an inch. He swung the bloody glass shard but just before it landed, Chris gripped his fists, almost crushing it from the pressure.


Grabbing him by the neck, the gangster’s thoughts were filled with angry befuddlement. The fuck was this cat doing? Some rabid type shit? Think so lowly of him to cut his own tongue out?


Nigel winced now hanging on Chris’ hand. Though the adrenaline ran high within his veins, the pain was palpable. The urge to close his eyes - to finally rest and put an end to this fight - grew slightly at the back of his mind. He was tired. Tired of fighting.


His body acted upon instincts however. Twisting to the left, he managed to kick against his arm, causing Chris to jerk back. Immediately as he fell, the thug pulled out his gun and aimed at his feet.


Using another moment, Nigel went in for another kick, aiming for his gut. The scariest tactic for a fighter was to be a fire, attacking without any semblance of fear. Bullets shot through his ear and fur while the other three bullets dodged by his flexible body. The loud gun shots temporarily deafened the beastkin. Not like he needed to hear.


Crimson blood splattered onto the ground. Chris tumbled back from the hit, clutching against his stomach. Fucking hell, why did this cat hit so hard? He was half his height for crying out loud! Another kick against his calves snapped him back to reality.


Enraged, Chris swung his legs out, hitting against his fractured ribs. His eyes dazed. And in that split second was shoved onto the floor by a knee to the face. Shit. This had to count for another key.


From that moment onwards, Chris kept stomping on his body. Over and over. While Nigel tried to block out his vitals, Chris’ body weight alone was enough to fracture Nigel’s bones - chest and legs alike. More blood coughed, surrounding his black furry body. Despite this, his mind was still counting. Counting how many more hits he needed to count as a key.


Screams escaped his muzzle as he counted three more hits. Six more keys. Damn. He needed to do more punches. More kicks. More of anything to get them.


“What’cha looking at bitch?” The thug grabbed his paw and bent it backwards, dislocating his shoulder, “Your watch?”


Another scream escaped. His eyes brimmed with tears. Nigel’s thoughts held onto the count. He had been through hell before. What was one more lap around it?


One more punch against his smaller body made him blackout for a split second. Chris wiped the sweat off his forehead, staring down at the black cat. His breath, barely louder than a wisp of wind, slowed down. The man squinted at him. Sure, his attacks packed a punch but this… none of this was necessary. It was pitiful with how he kept going forward. Like what the hell? Couldn’t he just give up? Beg for mercy?


And yet, when he returned, the cat’s body was gone, leaving only a pool of blood. Shit, did that fucker escape? How? He just saw his body bleeding out on the floor.


Once again, he cracked his knuckles, trying to see the lines again. Unease shook around his veins. He should be crying for mercy. Begging for the pain to stop like the other thugs. Why wasn’t he doing so?


Suddenly, he felt his ribs punched by a strange lack of force. Looking down, the damn cat was still standing, his eyes barely open as he landed another empty punch onto his ribs. Blood squirted out of his fur as he breathed more heavily.


Chris swung his arm towards him only for Nigel to rub his paws together and inversely twisted one of his darker strings. His presence vanished before his eyes. Immediately, the thug connected the dots. He was inversely twisting the lines, causing him to turn invisible - unable to be detected. One second should be the maximum for how cheap this spell was.


Turning behind, another punch landed on his legs. Felt more like a touch than anything else.


Immediately, he kicked Nigel's body, sending him out of the washroom. The cat coughed once again. Everywhere hurts. Just moving his dislocated arm unlocked the bomb within his joints, exploding with unimaginable agony.


Images of his cozy room flashed in his mind before raising his watch. ‘13:09’. Four more minutes. The count was still alive: One more hit to receive, nine more kicks and punches, eleven more lines twisted and six more dodges. The rest was easy to finish.


“You fucking done yet?” Chris slammed against the wall, making the wall collapse, “Just fucking die already, you cheap bastard!”


Unwinding his lines, the man now felt a certain sense of strangeness. What was the point? He had already been beaten up to a pulp; he was barely standing with one of his limbs busted like that. His right arm was fucked for crying out loud.


With enough distance away, he cracked his knuckles, revealing the damn lines again. One more line became fully black, becoming three lines of pitch darkness. Wait… how did that even happen?


Keeping an eye on his opponent, theories formed and swirled. Wait. He did mention his other spell. Something fortune’s command? Was that his plan? To keep counting 13 shits until he could cast his spell?


He stepped back. That spell he cast should’ve continued on but was interrupted by that tongue slash. The scene replayed once again. This time counting the words. He had to mark out some weird symbol before continui-wait, where the fuck did he go?


Another punch against his groins, revealing the black bastard shocking him. Chris kicked him away instinctively, making tumble back. And right before his eyes, one of the lines turned black.


That was enough proof for him. Shivers went down his spine. Fucking hell, that explained why he was standing back up. And considering how strong the spell was, he either needs to escape now or… he needed to fucking kill him once and for all.


The cat meanwhile was struggling to remain conscious. All of the injuries were taking a toll; adrenaline couldn’t stop all of the pain. But it was fine now. He unweaved his lines, seeing the thug charge at him. Another punch approached with his centre of gravity extended too far up as Nigel dodged to the right.


The count was still clear. 9 kicks, 8 punches, 7 more lines woven, 6 more dodges and the final 13 steps. Just a bit more till the final moment. His vision might blur but he could see the watch, ‘13:11’. Two more minutes to end it.


Scenes of the past flashed back where he trained under his boss. Each punch connects with the next moment casting the same weightless spell. None of his attacks had any effect but it served to fan the flames of Chris’ rage.


It was the same pattern: Anticlockwise twist of the string when the thug swung his fists, dodging to the sides. And just before the invisibility wore off, connect another punch. Within a split moment, he unwinded his string and gave a kick.


From the outsider’s view, it was fanciful footwork ingrained after years of training. All muscle memory trained on a singular technique that appeared pointless. Nigel could tell his time was running out. Fractured limbs weren’t good at attacking after all. Hell, he might be hurting himself more than his opponent.


For the thug, it was catching a very slow furry mosquito that went invisible within a blink. Every single time he swung his fists, the damn cat dodged in the opposite direction with that fuckass semi-dead expression.


The question of if he should leave floated up in his mind. This was all a ploy for that spell, wasn’t it? If he just left, the cat would simply die. Cease to exist within an abandoned building.


But that meant giving up, conceding to his needless attack. Which he wasn’t fucking doing. Plus, that damn cat didn’t even have 13 black lines. Seconds ticked down, approaching ‘13:13’. Even with that stupid spell, the lines were far too few to count.


As adrenaline ran out, the cat could only now lean against the closest wall under the same spell. He scratched against the wall - one horizontal and vertical line. And now he had only thirteen steps more to go.


One. Two. Three.


His tail halted with his appearance now revealing itself. Barely inches away from Chris. Just ten more steps. Ten more damn steps.


Chris chased after him. His footsteps heavy, causing Nigel’s heart to skip a beat. His unharmed ear twitched. A glance of his watch revealed ‘13:13’.


13 seconds remained.


10 more steps.


He pushed his legs forward, fueled by fear and excitement.


Four. Five. Six.


Chris grabbed against his dislocated shoulder, unknowingly pushing him forward.


Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.


Nigel’s tail propelled him one last step of the way.


Twelve.


And his target banged him onto the floor, making his final step.


“Dumbass cat! You thought you could fucking kill me?” Chris laughed, staring at the ten black lines. Even with seconds or god damn milliseconds, that shit ain’t enough to cast that spell. Pulling his arm back, he prepared for the killing blow.


There, Nigel rubbed against his fur, counting down to the final second. Of both his life and this fight. His mind held solely on the thought of victory. The only thing to keep him going.


Black lines now tied amongst themselves, twisting and contorting, with a dreadful scent. His eyes finally lit up. Fuck yes, the damn spell was complete!


Chris’ body froze immediately. His eyes blinked, watching the black cat magically heal back. Fractured bones, wounds or even that tongue he cut in half all reversed back to normal. How the fuck did this even happen? He could’ve sworn there were twelve strings not thirteen.


Nigel chuckled and sat down right in front of the frozen Chris. It felt amazing to be normal again. The space around them blinked into an endless road. Paved with classic grey concrete, the black cat laid back on his back, moving his arms and legs freely, his tail wagging like a metronome.


“Right, let’s talk,” With a snap, Chris could move his body but a force pinned him down on the spot, forcing him to sit on the ground. Shame and resignation swirled to a bitter taste, shoving it down his throat. He could’ve killed him right there on the spot and yet… he let it slip away like sand between his fingers.


The man glared at the smaller cat, “How the fuck did that spell go through? I counted fucking 12 lines.”


Nigel chuckled, “I concealed one of them. One of the darker lines,” A cup of warm milk spawned within his paws, “You want some?”


“Pffft no.”


“Suit yourself,” The cat walked in the opposite direction, scenes of his brutality replayed in his mind, making Nigel wince, “Say Chris, how does it feel to fight for your boss?”


“Fucking amazing. He’s more like my pops than my own deadbeat one.”


Nigel’s tail swished left to right, “Don’t think I could relate to that,” He turned around, “Anything I could do for you? Anything you want?”


“Just shut up and kill me already,” The man rolled his eyes, “Don’t get why you’re fucking around and trying to ‘help’ me.”


“Cause within this 13 minutes, I’m God right here and now.”


“God?”


He nodded. He recognised this as a ritual for mostly himself to alleviate any guilt held inside, akin to giving death row inmates their final meal, “The ability to control any chances allows me to do that, you know? Change anything to become real or fiction.”


The man gulped. Spells beyond the nine squares were often scary myths much like a made-up bogey man. A mere human couldn’t tie more than ten strings on their own after all. But just watching this bastard heal all of his wounds and pin him to the ground. Just imagine if this power were to be handed to his enemies or even Boss…


“Nothing, huh?”


Chris shook his head, “I don’t need your fucking pity, cat. Just end it,” And just as those words escaped, his face turned pale. Blood stopped running through his body, causing organs to fail one by one.


Soon enough, his body dispersed into ashes. Nigel took a photo of the scene - proof of his completed work - as his corpse disappeared. He left the photo on his boss’ desk before teleporting within his door step.


Sinking into his bed, he curled up under a blanket. His entire body trembled. One more second there and he would be the one dead…


But he ultimately won.


His 13 steps had been completed once again.", "pools_count": 0, "title": "13 Steps (Death Ending)", "deleted": "f", "public": "t", "mimetype": "text/plain", "pagecount": "1", "rating_id": "2", "rating_name": "Adult", "ratings": [ { "content_tag_id": "5", "name": "Strong Violence", "description": "Strong violence, blood, serious injury or death", "rating_id": "2" } ], "submission_type_id": "12", "type_name": "Writing - Document", "guest_block": "f", "friends_only": "f", "comments_count": "0", "views": "0" }