However, Peter had just passed the tunnel where Mont'mar died when the silhouette began to move. It wasn't retreating, though. By the time Peter reached the top of the hill, the silhouette had vanished completely.

As he stood at the top of the hill, he looked back down and tried to imagine himself as a silhouette to those down below. Now, where would it have been heading if Peter started to walk in the same direction?

He traced a route with his eyes. That route led along the hilltop, beyond a rocky outcrop, to the steep, narrow headland. It was the highest point of the hill, overlooking the old hare colony. Peter had been there once before. But that seemed like a long time ago and this whole place seemed foreign now.

The silhouette had gone to Emperor's Point...

Prince Regent Boxer squatted behind a rock, willing his bowels to relax for just a moment. It was a little embarrassing secret of his. Most rabbits can drop a bellyful of crap without even a break in conversation. But most rabbits weren't as uptight as the new supreme leader of Roadkill Turnpike.

Usually, he found ample excuse for solitude, and would find some private bush somewhere where he could dig a little hole, relieve himself and cover it up and have nobody any the wiser. This had been a lot harder when he'd just been an anonymous nobody in the ranks, expected to live with others every minute of the day, so that had been added incentive to be particularly ruthless when it came to climbing the promotion tree. Yes, it was true, the roots of Boxer's addiction to power were to be found with his unloving mother, who chided him before he was weaned from her, saying that he was a dirty, dirty bunny for taking a shit in front of her.

Later, when he got the authority, he'd had her killed.

That still hadn't made it any easier to defecate, however. Even though he was alone now he was having to squeeze 'em out. Thoughts of defeat played heavily on his mind; that this might be his last ever bowel movement, if Quentin couldn't rally enough reinforcements to take the fight back to the rebels. His stomach knotting with anxiety, he wouldn't be surprised if he got the runs.

Just then, he noticed his observer.

"What the fuck?!" he cried.

"Where's Morellius?" the natural born demanded.

"Do you know who you're talking to?" Boxer cried, his bowels seizing up for good now. "You do not ever, ever interrupt me like this! I'll have you disembowelled for this, you worthless little shit! Get out! Go away!"

Then he hissed and spat at the intruder.

Peter Rabbit raised an eyebrow. Two things were suddenly obvious. Firstly, that Boxer didn't have a clue who he was. (Fortunately, Peter remembered the shrill voiced courtier all too well.) And secondly, and perhaps more usefully, Boxer hadn't realised Peter wasn't even on the same side as him.

"Where's the Emperor?" he asked.

Boxer looked at him incredulously, as if he couldn't believe anybody would have the audacity for such repetitive disobedience. But then he seemed to realise. His face became colder, he seemed to grow as he stopped squatting, and took a defensive step back until he was hind legs to a large grey rock.

"You're not one of my men, are you?"

"Me?" Peter smirked. "No."

"No, no, of course not!" Boxer hissed. "I remember you now. You're the outsider looking for your daughter, aren't you?"

Peter nodded. "That's right."

"Of course. Did you find her?"

"Yes, thanks," Peter muttered.

"With the rebels, was she?" Boxer snarled.

"Yeah. Where's Morellius?"

Boxer narrowed his eyes. "Ah, I see," he said lightly. "And now daddy and daughter have joined with the rebels and want to kill the Emperor..."

"You're also on the list, Boxer."

"But the Emperor's your priority."

"You're my present alternative."

Boxer chuckled. This wasn't making a whole load of sense to him yet, and he didn't know quite why. Then he remembered that severed head he'd seen impaled on the dead tree stump on the way up here and went, "Hmm..."

"So you can take me to him, or I can kill you."

"Did you know Jack?" Boxer asked.

"What?"

"Jack. Did you know him?"

"Did I?"

"Sorry. Do you?" Boxer grinned wickedly.

Peter glared at him. What was Boxer saying? And what was he doing? He wasn't being wholly evasive. He was just asking a lot of questions.

"You killed him," Peter said gruffly.

Boxer chuckled. "Alas, that's the first time you haven't made a very big mistake since you came here, daddy-o. You'll find his head impaled on a tree just down the hill. Or you would, if I let you go..."

"Take me to Morellius now."

Boxer paused. This rabbit claimed to be a rebel, claimed to know Jack, but didn't even know Jack was dead, let alone Morellius. And perhaps, Boxer thought, that was about to give him a significant advantage.

"Somebody's here to see you, Your Majesty," he called, looking past Peter, toward the rocky outcrop behind them both.

Peter started, alarmed. He stepped back, so that he could glance quickly to and fro between Boxer and the Emperor's hiding place.

Of course! It all made sense now. This is why Boxer had come to Emperor's Point. It's where Morellius had been all along...

After a few moments, when the Emperor hadn't emerged, Boxer said, "I guess if you want to kill him, you'll have to go in and get him."

Peter glared at Boxer. He started taking longer looks at the rocky outcrop. The rocks were large, dull, randomly placed. Plenty of places to hide in there, thought Peter. Perhaps a rabbit hole or cave beneath...

He started edging toward them. Morellius was the real prize here. Somebody would inevitably come up behind and take out Boxer. Or perhaps he could take Boxer on next. When he entered the outcrop, he stopped looking back.

The granite rocks were six or seven times the size of a rabbit. And that was just what was visible above ground. They looked like they'd been dropped from the skies a thousand generations ago, sharp then, but worn now and embedded in the ground like the old men of geology, clinging onto the past. They blocked out most of the sun. Peter crept through their cold shadows silently.

Emperor Morellius was fat, perhaps even three times the size of Peter. There could only be so many places he could hide. He wouldn't be able to run; he wouldn't be able to fight. This was going to be an easy conquest...

Boxer hadn't followed. That wasn't the plan. As soon as Peter was out of sight, he found that granite slab on the other edge of the outcrop which either looked like it was pointing to the sky or sinking into the earth depending on your perspective. Boxer ran up it at speed, and when he reached the top, launched himself to a much larger rock several feet away. He landed on top silently, then hopped over to the next. Then the next. And the next. Then he found Peter again.

But Peter didn't see him.

Boxer got closer and closer, until he was teetering on the edge of one sharp rock, himself part of the shadow cast over Peter. Below him, Peter was getting more desperate, snuffling around and around, looking for Morellius. But he never would find him, would he? With a satisfied smirk, Boxer pounced.

His timing couldn't have been more perfect. He landed on Peter just as Peter was walking a narrow path between two rocks. He didn't even have time to react. With the force of the impact, his head smashed into the rocks. He was knocked out cold. Boxer struggled for a moment before realising.

He wasn't sure whether Peter was dead or not. So he started dragging him back toward Emperor's Point with his teeth...

Mopsy was nearly at the top of the hill when Quentin's reinforcements thundered over the top of it. She quickly dived into what was left of the tunnel at the top of the hill, now just a shallow, fragile hole.

Loose dirt fell on her as the hollering swarm charged overhead, some so excited they leapt right over the entrance to her hiding place. There must have been at least another two hundred of them. She gulped.

Further down the hill, Kurt also saw them coming. Fortunately, having just joined the fight, they didn't know whose side he was on. They charged right past him as if he wasn't there. But going against the grain slowed him down. By the time he came out the other side of them, he'd lost sight of Mopsy.

He'd just broken his promise to Peter.

When Quentin's reinforcements collided with the haven's fighters, it stopped the rebel army's progress instantly. Each death had been another foot of ground reclaimed up until then. But now, the odds reversed once more, the battle settled into the familiar formula of sheer bloody stalemate.

Angus, muttering to himself about Mopsy and Kurt's recklessness, hobbled down the hillside as fast as his slow limbs could take him.

Tom and Travis, their righteous killing of Adolf now a distant memory, ran up to come between him and Quentin's swarm.

Chris and Dave weren't far behind, but they were looking for Kurt. He seemed to have disappeared. They thought he was dead. And that kind of paranoia was infectious. Tom and Travis couldn't see Peter or Mopsy either.

Angus had them retreat to the relative safety behind the front line, where he explained where the other three had gone. Of course, they all wanted to follow. No, Angus told them. This was up to Peter now...

But at that precise moment, Peter was being dragged, floppy and unconscious, out of the rocky outcrop and across Emperor's Point.

The Prince Regent was getting lockjaw pulling him in his teeth. He'd already broken the skin in numerous places. But even that hadn't been enough to wake the catatonic Peter. His head was thrown back, little mouth slightly open, a trail of sticky saliva on the grass where he'd been dragged by Boxer.

When he reached the edge of the rocks, at the point where the headland sloped up to its sheer drop beyond, Boxer hopped over Peter and began to push him with his paws instead. It was all uphill from now on, and Boxer had to put his entire weight into it, bearing down and heaving Peter with his side.

Inch by inch, he shifted Peter's comatose mass up to the edge. But the further he went, the more excited he felt, and the easier it got. Soon he would push Peter over the edge, and scream so loudly that everyone fighting on the hillside would turn in time to see the rebel plunging to his doom. And if that didn't send out the right message to the others, he didn't know what would...

"Noo!" came a sudden cry.

Boxer faltered, shocked, and opened his eyes.

There was a female natural born running toward him. But she didn't stop at him. She ran right past him, and leapt over Peter too. Then she pressed up against the unconscious rabbit and started pushing him from the other side.

She was pushing him back down the headland - which was significantly easier than pushing him up it, Boxer quickly discovered!

"Get out of the way!" he cried, grimacing with the effort as he dug his paws into the ground, refusing to let her budge Peter.

"Fuck you!" she spat back.

So they both pushed, groaning and spitting with the strain. In the middle, Peter remained oblivious to it all as he shifted back and forth.

"Daddy's for the high jump!" Boxer cackled.

"Fuck... you..." Mopsy squeezed out.

"I'm stronger than you are..."

"Won't... let you..."

"I'll kill you too!"

Mopsy screwed up her face. Her paws were beginning to lose purchase on the grass, slipping out beneath her. She was almost doing a running action up against Peter's body, but she wasn't getting anywhere.

Every time he heard her go "Oomph!" as she slipped, Boxer kicked back with his hind legs. Like the battle being fought beneath them, though, they had reached a stalemate. They were just rolling Peter over and over.

"Grrah! Grrah! Grrah!" Boxer went.

Mopsy's face was pressed up against Peter, her side too, as if he were on top of her, squashing her. She had decided she wouldn't go an inch further. But Boxer had managed to push Peter several more inches in her direction.

Soon he had rolled Peter over again. Mopsy could see her father's face, still and emotionless. For an instant, she thought he might be dead, that this was pointless, but then she saw spittle bubble on his lips, and pushed harder than ever. So hard, in fact, that she felt her bones threatening to break and cried out.

"I'm... gonna do... this!" Boxer squealed.

"No... fucking... chance..." Mopsy spat back.

"Let me... I'll let you... live..."

"No. Fucking. Chance."

But then, suddenly, Boxer stepped away. Yet Mopsy was still pushing with all her might. Peter's body lurched suddenly away from her, rolled out from beneath her. His legs flailed out into her face, kicking her first in the mouth, then the chin. She tripped and went flying. Then Boxer leapt back again.

Without Mopsy on the other side, Peter seemed much lighter this time. As Mopsy staggered erect behind him, he rolled the body over and over, up and up, mere inches from the precipice... Mopsy was too late!

There wasn't enough room behind Peter for her to get sufficient foothold to push him back. She just went straight for Boxer, giving it her all, teeth and claws, so hard and so vicious he couldn't possibly ignore.

So he left Peter, up there, just about to fall, and turned on Mopsy. Bigger, stronger, he was no competition for her. He beat her, again, again and again, and she took it and just struggled up again, again and again too.

"Fuck you! Fuck you!" she kept spitting.

And she kept fighting too. Bleeding and crying, she kept on lashing out, only to have her paws thumped away. But she wouldn't retreat, wouldn't get any further from her father, still as unconscious as ever.

Boxer was going in for the kill. As she trembled and twitched before him, he began lunging at her with his teeth, snapping his jaws with such ferocity he almost broke a tooth. They began to circle each other.

"Why are you doing this?" she wept.

"You started this," he hissed back.

She snorted and shook her head.

They staggered around, a mere foot between them, lurching in a circular motion, sometimes changing directions. Every now and then, Boxer would try his luck, but Mopsy would deflect him with a glancing cuff.

Now she was between Peter and Boxer. And if this was going to be it, this was going to be where it happened. She moved no further.

Boxer stopped as well; shuffled an inch forward. Mopsy flinched, but didn't retreat. Boxer reared up to his full height. He wanted to kill her swiftly. Sending two bodies flying over the edge was even better than one!

But then, for some reason, her face lightened. Perhaps, he mused, because she'd finally come to accept her approaching death...

Boxer saw the captive bred reflected in her tears a moment before the blow struck him in the neck. He staggered forward, spun round.

"What the... You're on my side!"

Kurt shook his head calmly.

"Duck," he said flatly.

Boxer screwed up his face.

"What?" he said.

But Kurt hadn't been speaking to him...

Suddenly, Kurt spun round, his back to Boxer, and kicked him as hard as he possibly could in the face. "Oomph!" went Boxer loudly.

But more importantly, he staggered back.

Except... of course, he couldn't.

Mopsy was there.

Ducking...

Boxer went flying over the top of her, over the top of Peter. And beyond them, there was nothing. Nothing but a very long fall, that is.

"Oh," Boxer managed.

Then he was gone.

He screamed the whole way down.

NOTES:
Definitely the penultimate chapter now. And it turned out completely different to how I envisaged it, even as I started writing it. Originally I was going to have Peter and Boxer battle it out, though I was already bored of all the fighting by that time. Peter was to be perilously injured still, and Mopsy was to come along and save him. But in the end, I opted for Boxer and Peter fighting a battle of wills, with Boxer just marginally outwitting him. I also thought Kurt needed something more to do in the finale than just turn up again at the end. That didn't make him particularly heroic beyond realising he was wrong to desert the rebellion in the first place.

Also toyed with the idea of, in the final face-off between Kurt and Boxer, when Boxer doesn't recognise Kurt, having him laugh down Kurt's claim to have been the first to rebel against the order of Roadkill Turnpike. Kurt would then reply "Our little group has always been and always will until the end" (lyrics from "Smells Like Teen Spirit"). Decided against it in the end. Probably wise. This has turned out to be a favourite chapter of mine, and whilst that would undoubtedly have been funny (at least to me), it would have shattered the serious nature of the chapter overall. But, then again, it could have been a suitably smug put-down before he killed him. (Re)insert at your discretion.

And so to the final chapter we turn...