Narinder, with a knife in hand, sat on a stump in the forest on the outskirts of the cult. It was quiet here. Away from the far too happy cultists. Away from the loud chats and sound of work.

He sat there, pondering. His claws... Oh how much he'd ripped to shreds with them. How much pain they caused.... His tail curled around his leg as he remembered the feeling of ripping out Leshy's eye, the wet ball in his paw as he tossed it aside from Leshy's screaming face.

He gritted his teeth and dug the knife into his left paw's thumb, digging the claw out. Leshy loved to paint, his brother made beautiful paintings, he could never paint again. How should one paint when he is blind? Two claws gone.

Hekets throat was as easy as butter to slice and rip out. The throat she used to sing. The lullabues she lulled him to sleep with when he was scared of a nightmare would never be heard again. No song would leave her raspy mouth. Two more claws.

Kallamar loved to play guitar, piano.. Clarinet. Anything he could het his fingers on. Anything that made beautiful sound. He'd sing with Heket, he and their sister would create beautiful song... Now he's unable to do that with his ears ripped. Narinder's fault. Narinder's claws did it. His dirty little claws. He ripped three out.

Tears began to stain Narinders face, his breathing jagged, yet he could not feel the pain.. yet. He carved and dug out the rest of his claws whle thinking of their eldest sibling, Shamura. The one who was once so wise and caring, the one who was there for them no matter what, and loved him despite what he did.

Shamura, who he dug his claws into. Shamura who Narinder ripped out their mind. Shamura who was once so wise now forever lost in a fog and a whisper of their mind.

He sat like that, bloody, icor stained knife in hand as his paws bled. They leeked icor from every finger as his tears, same icor black ran down all three of his eyes. He couldn't feel the pain, his ears were ringing, his vision was turning black. And his paws wouldn't stop bleeding.