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romance.","count":"3","submission_right_submission_id":"3305391","submission_right_file_name":"5002767_shirra_two.jpg","submission_right_thumbnail_url_huge_noncustom":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/files/preview/5002/5002767_shirra_two.jpg","submission_right_thumbnail_url_large_noncustom":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/large/5002/5002767_shirra_two_noncustom.jpg","submission_right_thumbnail_url_medium_noncustom":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/medium/5002/5002767_shirra_two_noncustom.jpg","submission_right_thumb_medium_noncustom_x":"120","submission_right_thumb_medium_noncustom_y":"120","submission_right_thumb_large_noncustom_x":"200","submission_right_thumb_large_noncustom_y":"200","submission_right_thumb_huge_noncustom_x":"300","submission_right_thumb_huge_noncustom_y":"300"}],"description":"Just a silly fanfic I'm writing that takes place in the afterlife, involving a romance between Death, and Puss in Boots.\nThis just sets the stage for the setting I want the story to be in, I guess.","description_bbcode_parsed":"Just a silly fanfic I'm writing that takes place in the afterlife, involving a romance between Death, and Puss in Boots.
This just sets the stage for the setting I want the story to be in, I guess.","writing":"“Pick it up.” Death commanded, with a soft, raspy voice. Puss looked at the wishing map, conflicted. His eyes wide with fear, his fur standing on end. This would solve his problems. He could run off, he could return to his old life of danger, or careless adventure.\n\n“Come on, pick it up!” Death growled, spinning his sickles in his large hands in a display of both impatience, and skill. \n\nPuss couldn’t respond. His life flashed before his eyes. He remembered all the good times with his friends. Their travels together. Perrito, sitting on his chest, helping calm him down from a panic attack. Kitty’s soft paws holding his own. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he realized his mistake.\n\nDeath grinned. “What’s the matter, Gato. Life’s flashing before your eyes?” His bassy voice growled at the feline as his sickles dragged over the ice floor, leaving a trail of sparks in their wake.\n\n“No.” Puss responded, throwing the map on the ground.\n\nHe picked up his rapier, and steadied his footpaws against the cold, icy ground, with his claws flared out for extra support. He furrowed his brow, and bared his teeth.\n\n“Just one. I am done running.”\n\nHe charged towards Death.\n\n\n—----------------------\n\n\nPuss's heart raced as he faced Death, the wolf towering over him with deadly intent gleaming in his crimson eyes. He tightened his grip on his rapier, determination fueling every move. He refused to let fear paralyze him.\n\nAs Death lunged forward with brutal force, Puss's instincts kicked in, guiding him to evade the deadly strike narrowly. The whoosh of steel cutting through the air sent shivers down his spine. \n\nDeath swung his weapon at puss with brutal, overpowering force, and Puss danced around Death’s relentless blows. His agile form darted and weaved. The loud clang of metal hitting metal reverberated through his small frame with such force that it hurt his paws. He couldn't shake off the looming sense of dread, that he was just buying time. Death was not just a formidable opponent; he was an unstoppable force of nature.\n\nDeath raised his weapon, his well-defined muscles bulging as he swiped it at the ginger feline, who evaded the slash by hopping backwards. Expecting Puss to dodge, the wolf used the momentary distraction to kick his unsteady little footpaws out from underneath him, causing the feline to drop his weapon. \n\nDeath grinned maniacally at this development, kicking the cat’s weapon out of the way, snd sheathing one of his sickles. He picked the little cat up with ease as if he was handling a little doll, and slammed him down onto the icy ground with a furious blow. The ice cracked all around the feline, who shrieked in pain. The size difference meant that blow hit all the more intense, with Death’s enormous fist just about covering his entire back. Death dug his claws in for good measure. \n\nPuss heaved in pain, thinking this was it, as the iron scent of blood filled the air, and looked up at him with fear-filled emerald eyes. Death took in the scent with glee, grinning wide, and locked eyes with Puss. Expecting to blissfully soak up that expression of pure dread. Expecting it to energize him as it always had. Instead Death’s cold ruby eyes filled with a look of shock, and he looked away with a pained, hurt look on his muzzle.\n\nPuss took advantage of this, making a desperate leap towards his weapon. As his trembling paw gripped around the hilt, he lurched towards the wolf, making one last desperate strike. Even as he was caught by surprise, the wolf managed to block the attack with both sickles, but was unable to see the boot coming that crashed into his snout a moment later, his sickle hitting the ground with a dull metallic clank against the ice. \n\nPuss kicked the sickle towards the wolf. “Pick it up!” Puss spat out, panting, as he wiped some blood from his chin. \n“I know I can never defeat you, lobo, but I will never stop fighting for [b]this[/b] life.”\n\nDeath looked at his empty hand, and to the sickle on the ground. Confused, and shocked at what had just happened. He wanted to kill this arrogant, cocky feline. He needed to. He dominated the critter in combat, with ease. His cold, dark heart beat rapidly. He was overcome with a sensation he'd never felt before. He didn’t want to kill this feline at all. But, his current situation felt like it gave him no way out. A chill went up his spine, as it struck him. Regret. He needed to get out of here. Now. \n\nHe took a wavering step back, muttered some excuse about the feline “ruining it for him”, turned around, and ran off. Leaving the flabbergasted feline behind, with his friends. \n\nVery much alive. \n\n\n—----------------------\n\n\n“¡Qué diablos, maldita sea, estúpido gato!” Death muttered to himself. He sat under a large oak tree, idly slashing his sickle at some blades of grass. His heart had calmed down, and that weird unpleasant feeling was gone, but his frustration at his own actions - or rather, inaction - remained. \n\nWhy had he spared the feline? Sentimentality? Impossible. Mercy? Unfamiliar territory for the harbinger of death. Then what? His mind churned, refusing to settle on an answer. He loathed that cat, despising its arrogance and audacity. Fear? Ridiculous. He, Death, feared nothing.\n\nHe shook his head. That couldn’t be it.\n\nBut those emerald eyes haunted him, accusing, unsettling. A pinprick of pain pierced his chest as he recalled their gaze. He despised those eyes, yet they held a power over him, a power to question his very essence. He was Death, to be feared, to be loathed. Yet, for a fleeting moment, those eyes had pierced his soul, leaving him vulnerable and shaken.\nThe wolf shook his head in confusion. He wasn't supposed to feel pain. Maybe he’d just been slacking off, and this weird feeling was just some kind of extreme feeling of boredom. Yeah, that was it. He just needed to bury himself in his work. \n\nMaybe he just needed to let the ginger feline wait a little bit, until the moment felt “right”. He grabbed his sickles, and strode into the shadows. Time to reap some souls. That confusing gato could wait.\n\n\n—----------------------\n\n\nDays turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, until two full years had passed. Death had not returned for him. \n\nFor a while, Puss had felt nervous, thinking he saw death around each corner, but with the help of his friends, he had slowly regained his confidence. \n\nWhatever changes his dance with death had wrought in the feline, it had left his lust for adventure intact. \n\nWhich had, unfortunately, led him to his current predicament. Completely drunk on “the strongest cream they had”. Surrounded by a bounty hunter and his two lackeys, in the middle of a forest clearing. Way too many to fight off in his drunken state. Then again, he was Puss in Boots. He would try.\n\n“You will have to do better than that, bounty hunter!” Puss shouted. Death watched from the shadows, and had to suppress the urge to groan, and opted for an eye roll instead. He had to admit, Puss had skill. But he didn't have to be so annoying about it . Death was actually here to reap the soul of one of the bandits, who was about to pass on because of a fatal heart condition. He instead found himself captivated by the orange tabby once again, quietly enjoying the show. \n\nPuss staggered on his footpaws, and one of the bandits took this as a cue to strike. Big mistake. Puss was ready, and in one fell swoop, had disarmed the guy, AND tore the button from his pants, leaving the man standing in his white underwear. \n\nHe turned around to block another attack, and kicked the other attacker in his face. from the ensuing crunching sound, he most likely broke his nose. In the meantime, the bounty hunter was fiddling around with his blade. \n\nDeath was enthralled. He followed every movement the fiery blur of orange made, each smooth swing of the cat’s weapon. His piercing red eyes filled with utter fascination, as Puss forced the bounty hunter back up against a rock. \n\n“Enjoying the show, lobo?” Puss called out to the wolf lurking in the shadows. \n\nDeath jerked to attention, just in time to see the bounty hunter lash out at Puss, who was distracted. Puss noticed the wolf's startled expression and quickly ducked, stabbing behind him blindly, while barely managing to dodge the blade. A gurgling noise followed, and a thud, as the bounty hunter dropped on the ground, his stomach impaled by puss’ rapier. \n\nPuss felt at his forehead, and looked at his paw, flexing it. Tiny droplets of blood covering his fingers, and the delicate pink cushions of his paw. A thin red line marked his forehead - a shameful reminder of his less than average reflexes in his impaired state of mind. \n\nThe wolf’s eyes went up to meet the feline’s. He almost wanted to look away, as those large ember eyes rested on his. The wolf tilted his head hesitantly, almost averting his gaze - in worry of seeing that same look of despair and hurt. But instead, those big green eyes were just looking at him, quizzical, only a little wary. Death’s pupils dilated. He didn’t know what to say. His heart made a happy little jump, and he didn’t know what that feeling was supposed to be. He just knew he preferred it greatly over what he'd felt before.\n\n“...Yes. I enjoy a good battle.” Death replied, his voice sounding soft. Yes, that was definitely the only reason he was looking at the feline like that. The wolf looked utterly befuddled. It was kinda cute, in a way. \n\n“So, you are not here for a rematch?” Puss asked. \n“No. I’m here for that guy.” Death replied as he lifted his paw, pointing a large clawed finger at one of the bandits scurrying off in the distance.\n\nPuss shrugged, his gaze sweeping over Death's face. It looked different from last time. A scar adorned the left side of his face, from his temple to underneath his eye. Barely missed it, it seemed. The wolf looked possibly even more cold and hardened than last time they spoke. And a little more badass, Puss admitted to himself. But, his fur looked unkempt, scruffy, dirty. If this was any other person than Death, Puss would probably have expressed worry. \n\n“Well, do not let me keep you from your job, Muerte.” Puss turned around in the direction of the village, and started walking off, as Death just stood there. Once Puss was out of view, he strode into the direction of the bandits. His eyes were filled with renewed confidence. When he was certain the cover of shadows would not reveal it, his lips curled - that big wolf muzzle forming something of a toothy smile. Yes, this brave gato would surely take care of himself, for now. In a way, his plan had worked out just as he had intended.\n\nNeither of them noticed the bounty hunter’s blade lying in the grass, shimmering with the faintly purple toxic liquid that coated the sharp metal that struck Puss moments ago. \n\n\n—----------------------\n\n\nMortimer tried to concentrate on his small paws gripping his sword. They were shaking - of course. The sword was heavy, towering over his small frame, but that was not the only reason; his stomach twisted in agony, for what was about to come. From a distance you could mistake the red fox for a small female, but he'd always been a skinny boy. Much smaller than his big brother - an archer, who he knew was standing a few rows back. His armor was a few sizes too big - he'd taken the place of another fallen soldier among the ranks of the soldiers guarding the front. He looked to his side. At least he was in good company - An incredibly tall wolf with well-toned muscles stood next to him, seemingly fearless, both arms tense, gripping his sickles.\n\nHe was not surprised to see Death here - everyone had been called upon to defend purgatory's last bastion of defense, the great fortress called the Sanctuary of Souls. His grandfather, even his little sister, much too young to fight - they were all here. Even the gods had all joined the great war. Down here, in purgatory, they had to make do with lesser gods like Hope, Purity, Desire and even some lower spirits of Nature. This was their last stand.\n\nBeside him stood his friend, Joy, a handsome, broad-shouldered feline with golden eyes, broadcasting his angelic heritage for all to see. The presence of his childhood buddy brought him some comfort. Noticing his friend’s nerves, he placed a paw on the red fox’s shoulder in a comforting gesture, offering wordless encouragement. \n\nSomewhere behind him, a tall, skinny man was whispering prayers to himself. A bit pointless, Mortimer thought - they were already in the afterlife. If you died here, the only thing waiting for you was oblivion. If you didn't die and got captured, well. He didn't want to think about that. He shook his head, looking behind him.\n\nThat was what they were defending. Among the collection of smaller buildings stood four awe inspiring white towers, glimmering in the light of the ever-present moon. Thin, pale clouds rolled around their peaks. Bridges connected the four towers, cut out of perfectly smooth, white stone. In the center stood a pillar that could only be described as colossal, towering into the heavens until the tip disappeared into the fog, surrounded by shimmering spirals of light that slowly traversed the length. Mortimer had never been lucky enough to go up there, and get a glimmer of the city in the heavens. Perhaps now he never would.\n\nMortimer let out a slow, ragged breath, trying to calm his nerves. The air was dry, and the cold had a bit of a bite to it. His warm breath came out as cold mist. Purgatory was perpetually stuck in a winter-like season, but the small red fox hadn't had the time to dress up for the occasion.\nHe knew his chances were not good - he'd been stationed out at the front. But right now, he was facing a wall. Carved out of the copious rocks lining the fortress, incredibly thick, and tall enough to block the vision of even the tallest of creatures - even Death. But he did not feel safe.\n\nEven long before the enemy forces arrived, Mortimer could feel the tremors in the ground, shaking with the applied forces of tens of thousands of footsteps - made by heavy Metal boots, large clawed paws. A storm was approaching. Dark clouds loomed on the horizon, something only the soldiers stationed on top of the wall were able to see.\n\nRow after row of soldiers clad in shining armor stood firm, their faces grim, as they awaited the oncoming nightmares headed their way. The fear in the air was almost palpable and physical. Sweat dripped from their faces, despite the almost unbearable cold. The row of archers at the back would occasionally glance up at their commander, awaiting the orders they knew would come any moment now. The soldiers exchanged silent nods of encouragement with each other. \n\n“Ready… Aim… Fire!” Hope's voice cut through the tense silence, authoritative and unwavering. The commander, Hope, stood near Death, at about the same height. Her fur seemed to shimmer with light, a beautiful silver coat, and her blue eyes ablaze with resolve. Gripping her radiant sword, she exuded an aura of confidence and strength. Her mere presence on the battlefield inspired hope amongst some of her soldiers. Even Mortimer found that his paws had steadied around his sword. He silently told himself she would get them through this. \n\nYelps and shrieks pierced the silence as the blazing arrows rained down upon the oncoming hordes. The hellhounds, twisted monstrosities with rotting flesh and gnashing teeth, writhed in agony as the arrows found their mark. Their large yellowed teeth looked like they could bite most soldiers in half with a single chomp. It barely made a dent, even as the second wave of flaming arrows pelted the macabre creatures. \n\nMortimer perked his big ears. Chatter on the walls was picking up. \n\"What's that?!\" \n\"Oh my god!\" \nPanic swept through the air, mingling with the hurried footsteps that resonated along the stone wall's.\nMortimer's fur bristled, a cold shiver running down his spine as he sensed the sheer terror in those voices.\n\"Oh god! No... It's going to - \"\n\n—----------------------\n\nRinging. How annoying. His ears would not stop ringing. Mortimer tried to lift up his paws to cover them, only to find that he couldn't move. He tried to open his eyes, but even that was too much of an effort. He breathed in, and immediately coughed, causing a layer of soot to rise up from the singed fur of his red muzzle. The overpowering smell of sulfur , burned fur, and spilled guts hitting his nose like a train wreck. He retched, but didn’t throw up. \nHe managed to open an eye, and almost immediately wanted to close it again. The solid bricks of the wall reduced to powder and scorched rubble, the twisted and contorted corpses of his fellow soldiers littering the ruins surrounding him. The straps holding his armor together had partially been ripped apart, and he could see several of the plates scattered around him. His eyes watered, as he dry heaved, as he realized the warm feeling on his leg were the spilled guts of a fellow soldier, and made another attempt at moving. \nHe flexed his toes. good, they worked. He lift his arm, and soot rained down, but he managed. He managed to sit up, and made a concerted effort to get the disgusting gore off of his leg. It squelched. He retched again, and this time last night’s dinner came out, along with a single sob. \nHe rubbed his eyes, and looked around. From what he could see, the wall was breached, and the enemy hordes had all but swarmed the western tower. A handful of hounds were picking off survivors in the distance. No immediate threats nearby. \nDeath was nowhere to be seen. \nHope desperately slashed at anything within reach, while she and several soldiers fought off the hordes of hounds that had swarmed the bridge leading to the central tower. \nher heart beat quickly, fueled by sheer adrenaline. her eyes were cold, and determined. She knew what she had to do. \nA two-headed hound tried to bite at her ankles, but she managed to step back, driving the tip of her blade into one of the creature’s necks, and connecting it with the other neck with a horizontal slash, sending a fountain of steaming, black ichor torrenting down onto her boots. \nHer focused gaze tracked the swarming hordes besieging the western tower. Her lower lip trembled, as she issued a command. \n“NOW!”\nAlmost immediately, the world erupted in flames. Strategically placed charges lay beneath the bridges and support pillars. The echoing discharges sent shockwaves through the bridge, causing it to plummet as its supports were stripped away. The western tower, along with the infernal armies , followed suit, descending into the void amid their dying, discordant screams. \nHope's paw bled as it clung desperately to the bridge's edge as she hurtled into the void alongside her enemies. She closed her eyes, ears lowered, bracing for the cold embrace of nothingness. Confident her sacrifice would be worth it. \n\n—----------------------\n\n\nSteel slashed through guts, otherworldly screeching met by the wolf’s guttural growls. Sizzling black blood splattered against his white fur, as he ducked down to evade an attack. The creature’s unnaturally sharp claws tore through his cape like butter, leaving a gash that stretched halfway through the length of what was left of the fabric. The enemy had sent a creature towards the wall, and it had exploded with enough force to send even Death flying back a dozen meters. Remarkably, the wolf remained unfazed; mortal weapons and explosions barely ruffled his fur, save for a slight singe.\n\nHe bounded over his fallen comrades, retreating with the few remaining soldiers and archers towards the bridge leading to the central platform. \n\nIt was then that he sensed it - He felt the soul of that curious orange tabby, tugging at the recesses of his mind. The sensation was all too familiar to the god of death - a soul about to pass away to the afterlife. He cursed, re-energized, as he sent his sickles through the throat of his slithering opponent, not even waiting for the liquid refuse of that slice to hit the ground as he dove at the next, claws slashing through brains, teeth boring through arms.\n\nHe fought fiercely, driven by sheer panic to hurry, to not make any mistakes. His strikes were precise, deadly. He needed to get to Puss, this special soul that made him feel such strange… uncomfortable things. When the last creature that targeted him hit the ground with a reverberating, dull thud, he ran off into the shadows, abandoning the ongoing battle, and hoping to make up for lost time.\n\n\n—----------------------\n\n\nPuss’ breath came in shallow gasps, each more labored than the last, as if each inhale was a battle against his failing body. His fur was drenched in sweat, and his paw tightly grasped the white paw holding it. \n\nPerrito was curled up against the tabby’s side, pressed up against the cat’s matted fur, providing warmth, and comfort. \n\nWhat little pain Puss felt due to the poison wrecking his body was mostly overwhelmed by the painkillers he’d been given, but even that pain was dissipating. He let out one final breath. He could feel his mind drifting away. This was one battle he would not win.\n\n\n[b]But not his last.[/b]\n","writing_bbcode_parsed":"“Pick it up.” Death commanded, with a soft, raspy voice. Puss looked at  the wishing map, conflicted. His eyes wide with fear, his fur standing on end. This would solve his problems. He could run off, he could return to his old life of danger, or careless adventure.

“Come on, pick it up!” Death growled, spinning his sickles in his large hands in a display of both impatience, and skill.

Puss couldn’t respond. His life flashed before his eyes. He remembered all the good times with his friends. Their travels together. Perrito, sitting on his chest, helping calm him down from a panic attack. Kitty’s soft paws holding his own. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he realized his mistake.

Death grinned. “What’s the matter, Gato. Life’s flashing before your eyes?” His bassy voice growled at the feline as his sickles dragged over the ice floor, leaving a trail of sparks in their wake.

“No.” Puss responded, throwing the map on the ground.

He picked up his rapier, and steadied his footpaws against the cold, icy ground, with his claws flared out for extra support. He furrowed his brow, and bared his teeth.

“Just one. I am done running.”

He charged towards Death.


—----------------------


Puss's heart raced as he faced Death, the wolf towering over him with deadly intent gleaming in his crimson eyes. He tightened his grip on his rapier, determination fueling every move. He refused to let fear paralyze him.

As Death lunged forward with brutal force, Puss's instincts kicked in, guiding him to evade the deadly strike narrowly. The whoosh of steel cutting through the air sent shivers down his spine.

Death swung his weapon at puss with brutal, overpowering force, and Puss danced around Death’s relentless blows. His agile form darted and weaved. The loud clang of metal hitting metal reverberated through his small frame with such force that it hurt his paws. He couldn't shake off the looming sense of dread, that he was just buying time. Death was not just a formidable opponent; he was an unstoppable force of nature.

Death raised his weapon, his well-defined muscles bulging as he swiped it at the ginger feline, who evaded the slash by hopping backwards. Expecting Puss to dodge, the wolf used the momentary distraction to kick his unsteady little footpaws out from underneath him, causing the feline to drop his weapon.

Death grinned maniacally at this development, kicking the cat’s weapon out of the way, snd sheathing one of his sickles. He picked the little cat up with ease as if he was handling a little doll, and slammed him down onto the icy ground with a furious blow. The ice cracked all around the feline, who shrieked in pain. The size difference meant that blow hit all the more intense, with Death’s enormous fist just about covering his entire back. Death dug his claws in for good measure.

Puss heaved in pain, thinking this was it, as the iron scent of blood filled the air, and looked up at him with fear-filled emerald eyes. Death took in the scent with glee, grinning wide, and locked eyes with Puss. Expecting to blissfully soak up that expression of pure dread. Expecting it to energize him as it always had. Instead Death’s cold ruby eyes filled with a look of shock, and he looked away with a pained, hurt look on his muzzle.

Puss took advantage of this, making a desperate leap towards his weapon. As his trembling paw gripped around the hilt, he lurched towards the wolf, making one last desperate strike. Even as he was caught by surprise, the wolf managed to block the attack with both sickles, but was unable to see the boot coming that crashed into his snout a moment later, his sickle hitting the ground with a dull metallic clank against the ice.

Puss kicked the sickle towards the wolf. “Pick it up!” Puss spat out, panting, as he wiped some blood from his chin.
“I know I can never defeat you, lobo, but I will never stop fighting for this life.”

Death looked at his empty hand, and to the sickle on the ground. Confused, and shocked at what had just happened. He wanted to kill this arrogant, cocky feline. He needed to. He dominated the critter in combat, with ease. His cold, dark heart beat rapidly. He was overcome with a sensation he'd never felt before. He didn’t want to kill this feline at all. But, his current situation felt like it gave him no way out. A chill went up his spine, as it struck him.  Regret. He needed to get out of here. Now.

He took a wavering step back, muttered some excuse about the feline “ruining it for him”, turned around, and ran off. Leaving the flabbergasted feline behind, with his friends.

Very much alive.  


—----------------------


“¡Qué diablos, maldita sea, estúpido gato!” Death muttered to himself. He sat under a large oak tree, idly slashing his sickle at some blades of grass. His heart had calmed down, and that weird unpleasant feeling was gone, but his frustration at his own actions - or rather, inaction - remained.

Why had he spared the feline? Sentimentality? Impossible. Mercy? Unfamiliar territory for the harbinger of death. Then what? His mind churned, refusing to settle on an answer. He loathed that cat, despising its arrogance and audacity. Fear? Ridiculous. He, Death, feared nothing.

He shook his head. That couldn’t be it.

But those emerald eyes haunted him, accusing, unsettling. A pinprick of pain pierced his chest as he recalled their gaze. He despised those eyes, yet they held a power over him, a power to question his very essence. He was Death, to be feared, to be loathed. Yet, for a fleeting moment, those eyes had pierced his soul, leaving him vulnerable and shaken.
The wolf shook his head in confusion. He wasn't supposed to feel pain. Maybe he’d just been slacking off, and this weird feeling was just some kind of extreme feeling of boredom. Yeah, that was it. He just needed to bury himself in his work.

Maybe he just needed to let the ginger feline wait a little bit, until the moment felt “right”. He grabbed his sickles, and strode into the shadows. Time to reap some souls. That confusing gato could wait.


—----------------------


Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, until two full years had passed. Death had not returned for him.

For a while, Puss had felt nervous, thinking he saw death around each corner, but with the help of his friends, he had slowly regained his confidence.

Whatever changes his dance with death had wrought in the feline, it had left his lust for adventure intact.

Which had, unfortunately, led him to his current predicament. Completely drunk on “the strongest cream they had”. Surrounded by a bounty hunter and his two lackeys, in the middle of a forest clearing. Way too many to fight off in his drunken state. Then again, he was Puss in Boots. He would try.

“You will have to do better than that, bounty hunter!” Puss shouted. Death watched from the shadows, and had to suppress the urge to groan, and opted for an eye roll instead. He had to admit, Puss had skill. But he didn't have to be so annoying about it . Death was actually here to reap the soul of one of the bandits, who was about to pass on because of a fatal heart condition. He instead found himself captivated by the orange tabby once again, quietly enjoying the show.

Puss staggered on his footpaws, and one of the bandits took this as a cue to strike. Big mistake. Puss was ready, and in one fell swoop, had disarmed the guy, AND tore the button from his pants, leaving the man standing in his white underwear.

He turned around to block another attack, and kicked the other attacker in his face. from the ensuing crunching sound, he most likely broke his nose. In the meantime, the bounty hunter was fiddling around with his blade.

Death was enthralled. He followed every movement the fiery blur of orange made, each smooth swing of the cat’s weapon. His piercing red eyes filled with utter fascination, as Puss forced the bounty hunter back up against a rock.

“Enjoying the show, lobo?” Puss called out to the wolf lurking in the shadows.

Death jerked to attention, just in time to see the bounty hunter lash out at Puss, who was distracted. Puss noticed the wolf's startled expression and quickly ducked, stabbing behind him blindly, while barely managing to dodge the blade. A gurgling noise followed, and a thud, as the bounty hunter dropped on the ground, his stomach impaled by puss’ rapier.

Puss felt at his forehead, and looked at his paw, flexing it. Tiny droplets of blood covering his fingers, and the delicate pink cushions of his paw. A thin red line marked his forehead - a shameful reminder of his less than average reflexes in his impaired state of mind.

The wolf’s eyes went up to meet the feline’s. He almost wanted to look away, as those large ember eyes rested on his. The wolf tilted his head hesitantly, almost averting his gaze - in worry of seeing that same look of despair and hurt. But instead, those big green eyes were just looking at him, quizzical, only a little wary. Death’s pupils dilated. He didn’t know what to say. His heart made a happy little jump, and he didn’t know what that feeling was supposed to be. He just knew he preferred it greatly over what he'd felt before.

“...Yes. I enjoy a good battle.” Death replied, his voice sounding soft. Yes, that was definitely the only reason he was looking at the feline like that. The wolf looked utterly befuddled. It was kinda cute, in a way.

“So, you are not here for a rematch?” Puss asked.
“No. I’m here for that guy.” Death replied as he lifted his paw, pointing a large clawed finger at one of the bandits scurrying off in the distance.

Puss shrugged, his gaze sweeping over Death's face. It looked different from last time. A scar adorned the left side of his face, from his temple to underneath his eye. Barely missed it, it seemed. The wolf looked possibly even more cold and hardened than last time they spoke. And a little more badass, Puss admitted to himself. But, his fur looked unkempt, scruffy, dirty. If this was any other person than Death, Puss would probably have expressed worry.

“Well, do not let me keep you from your job, Muerte.” Puss turned around in the direction of the village, and started walking off, as Death just stood there. Once Puss was out of view, he strode into the direction of the bandits. His eyes were filled with renewed confidence. When he was certain the cover of shadows would not reveal it, his lips curled - that big wolf muzzle forming something of a toothy smile. Yes, this brave gato would surely take care of himself, for now. In a way, his plan had worked out just as he had intended.

Neither of them noticed the bounty hunter’s blade lying in the grass, shimmering with the faintly purple toxic liquid that coated the sharp metal that struck Puss moments ago.


—----------------------


Mortimer tried to concentrate on his small paws gripping his sword. They were shaking - of course. The sword was heavy, towering over his small frame, but that was not the only reason; his stomach twisted in agony, for what was about to come. From a distance you could mistake the red fox for a small female, but he'd always been a skinny boy. Much smaller than his big brother - an archer, who he knew was standing a few rows back. His armor was a few sizes too big - he'd taken the place of another fallen soldier among the ranks of the soldiers guarding the front. He looked to his side. At least he was in good company - An incredibly tall wolf with well-toned muscles stood next to him, seemingly fearless, both arms tense, gripping his sickles.

He was not surprised to see Death here - everyone had been called upon to defend purgatory's last bastion of defense, the great fortress called the Sanctuary of Souls. His grandfather, even his little sister, much too young to fight - they were all here. Even the gods had all joined the great war. Down here, in purgatory, they had to make do with lesser gods like Hope, Purity, Desire and even some lower spirits of Nature. This was their last stand.

Beside him stood his friend, Joy, a handsome, broad-shouldered feline with golden eyes, broadcasting his angelic heritage for all to see. The presence of his childhood buddy brought him some comfort.  Noticing his friend’s nerves, he placed a paw on the red fox’s shoulder in a comforting gesture, offering wordless encouragement.

Somewhere behind him, a tall, skinny man was whispering prayers to himself. A bit pointless, Mortimer thought - they were already in the afterlife. If you died here, the only thing waiting for you was oblivion. If you didn't die and got captured, well. He didn't want to think about that. He shook his head, looking behind him.

That was what they were defending. Among the collection of smaller buildings stood four awe inspiring white towers, glimmering in the light of the ever-present moon. Thin, pale clouds rolled around their peaks. Bridges connected the four towers, cut out of perfectly smooth, white stone. In the center stood a pillar that could only be described as colossal, towering into the heavens until the tip disappeared into the fog, surrounded by shimmering spirals of light that slowly traversed the length. Mortimer had never been lucky enough to go up there, and get a glimmer of the city in the heavens. Perhaps now he never would.

Mortimer let out a slow, ragged breath, trying to calm his nerves. The air was dry, and the cold had a bit of a bite to it. His warm breath came out as cold mist. Purgatory was perpetually stuck in a winter-like season, but the small red fox hadn't had the time to dress up for the occasion.
He knew his chances were not good - he'd been stationed out at the front. But right now, he was facing a wall. Carved out of the copious rocks lining the fortress, incredibly thick, and tall enough to block the vision of even the tallest of creatures - even Death. But he did not feel safe.

Even long before the enemy forces arrived, Mortimer could feel the tremors in the ground, shaking with the applied forces of tens of thousands of footsteps - made by heavy Metal boots, large clawed paws. A storm was approaching. Dark clouds loomed on the horizon, something only the soldiers stationed on top of the wall were able to see.

Row after row of soldiers clad in shining armor stood firm, their faces grim, as they awaited the oncoming nightmares headed their way. The fear in the air was almost palpable and physical. Sweat dripped from their faces, despite the almost unbearable cold. The row of archers at the back would occasionally glance up at their commander, awaiting the orders they knew would come any moment now. The soldiers exchanged silent nods of encouragement with each other.

“Ready… Aim… Fire!” Hope's voice cut through the tense silence, authoritative and unwavering. The commander, Hope,  stood near Death, at about the same height. Her fur seemed to shimmer with light, a beautiful silver coat, and her blue eyes ablaze with resolve. Gripping her radiant sword, she exuded an aura of confidence and strength. Her mere presence on the battlefield inspired hope amongst some of her soldiers. Even Mortimer found that his paws had steadied around his sword. He silently told himself she would get them through this.

Yelps and shrieks pierced the silence as the blazing arrows rained down upon the oncoming hordes. The hellhounds, twisted monstrosities with rotting flesh and gnashing teeth, writhed in agony as the arrows found their mark. Their large yellowed teeth looked like they could bite most soldiers in half with a single chomp. It barely made a dent, even as the second wave of flaming arrows pelted the macabre creatures.

Mortimer perked his big ears. Chatter on the walls was picking up.
"What's that?!"
"Oh my god!"
Panic swept through the air, mingling with the hurried footsteps that resonated along the stone wall's.
Mortimer's fur bristled, a cold shiver running down his spine as he sensed the sheer terror in those voices.
"Oh god! No... It's going to - "

—----------------------

Ringing. How annoying. His ears would not stop ringing. Mortimer tried to lift up his paws to cover them, only to find that he couldn't move. He tried to open his eyes, but even that was too much of an effort. He breathed in, and immediately coughed, causing a layer of soot to rise up from the singed fur of his red muzzle. The overpowering smell of sulfur , burned fur, and spilled guts hitting his nose like a train wreck. He retched, but didn’t throw up.
He managed to open an eye, and almost immediately wanted to close it again. The solid bricks of the wall reduced to powder and scorched rubble, the twisted and contorted corpses of his fellow soldiers littering the ruins surrounding him. The straps holding his armor together had partially been ripped apart, and he could see several of the plates scattered around him. His eyes watered, as he dry heaved, as he realized the warm feeling on his leg were the spilled guts of a fellow soldier, and made another attempt at moving.
He flexed his toes. good, they worked. He lift his arm, and soot rained down, but he managed. He managed to sit up, and made a concerted effort to get the disgusting gore off of his leg. It squelched. He retched again, and this time last night’s dinner came out, along with a single sob.
He rubbed his eyes, and looked around. From what he could see, the wall was breached, and the enemy hordes had all but swarmed the western tower. A handful of hounds were picking off survivors in the distance. No immediate threats nearby.
Death was nowhere to be seen.
Hope desperately slashed at anything within reach, while she and several soldiers fought off the hordes of hounds that had swarmed the bridge leading to the central tower.
her heart beat quickly, fueled by sheer adrenaline. her eyes were cold, and determined. She knew what she had to do.
A two-headed hound tried to bite at her ankles, but she managed to step back, driving the tip of her blade into one of the creature’s necks, and connecting it with the other neck with a horizontal slash, sending a fountain of steaming, black ichor torrenting down onto her boots.
Her focused gaze tracked the swarming hordes besieging the western tower. Her lower lip trembled, as she issued a command.
“NOW!”
Almost immediately, the world erupted in flames. Strategically placed charges lay beneath the bridges and support pillars. The echoing discharges sent shockwaves through the bridge, causing it to plummet as its supports were stripped away. The western tower, along with the infernal armies , followed suit, descending into the void amid their dying, discordant screams.
Hope's paw bled as it clung desperately to the bridge's edge as she hurtled into the void alongside her enemies. She closed her eyes, ears lowered, bracing for the cold embrace of nothingness. Confident her sacrifice would be worth it.

—----------------------


Steel slashed through guts, otherworldly screeching met by the wolf’s guttural growls. Sizzling black blood splattered against his white fur, as he ducked down to evade an attack. The creature’s unnaturally sharp claws tore through his cape like butter, leaving a gash that stretched halfway through the length of what was left of the fabric. The enemy had sent a creature towards the wall, and it had exploded with enough force to send even Death flying back a dozen meters. Remarkably, the wolf remained unfazed; mortal weapons and explosions barely ruffled his fur, save for a slight singe.

He bounded over his fallen comrades, retreating with the few remaining soldiers and archers towards the bridge leading to the central platform.

It was then that he sensed it - He felt the soul of that curious orange tabby, tugging at the recesses of his mind. The sensation was all too familiar to the god of death - a soul about to pass away to the afterlife. He cursed, re-energized, as he sent his sickles through the throat of his slithering opponent, not even waiting for the liquid refuse of that slice to hit the ground as he dove at the next, claws slashing through brains, teeth boring through arms.

He fought fiercely, driven by sheer panic to hurry, to not make any mistakes. His strikes were precise, deadly. He needed to get to Puss, this special soul that made him feel such strange… uncomfortable things. When the last creature that targeted him hit the ground with a reverberating, dull thud, he ran off into the shadows, abandoning the ongoing battle, and hoping to make up for lost time.


—----------------------


Puss’ breath came in shallow gasps, each more labored than the last, as if each inhale was a battle against his failing body. His fur was drenched in sweat, and his paw tightly grasped the white paw holding it.

Perrito was curled up against the tabby’s side, pressed up against the cat’s matted fur, providing warmth, and comfort.

What little pain Puss felt due to the poison wrecking his body was mostly overwhelmed by the painkillers he’d been given, but even that pain was dissipating. He let out one final breath. He could feel his mind drifting away. This was one battle he would not win.


But not his last.
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