Tremors of the Dead
word limit - 2000
points earned - 10

Specks of unfiltered light shone through the murky darkness, lighting up the great redwood field. Swirls of humidity formed, creating ethereal clouds flecked with pure brightness. Egyptian green tendrils of vines climbed the ginormous umber bark, vying for the first glance at the leaf-bare sun. Morning dew clung to every crevice, it's liquid fresh smell filling the clearing surrounding it. Century-old giants rose from the earth with roots weaving in and out of the damp soil, their leaves glowing emerald as rays of light struck through the fragile structure. Any sound that might have been heard was quickly swallowed by the growing masses of dewy gas in the atmosphere as it slowly glided through the musky red trees of the forest. Flattened grass and upturned slush covered the bed of dirt, the ground ruined by an obvious disturbance.

Heavy panting suddenly sliced through the serene muteness of the forest, accompanied with frantic, irregular paw-steps and the occasional impactful thud. A frenzied she-cat ran through the odourless formations of vaporous clouds, unable to stop her paws from flailing in a desperate run. Her dainty paws caught on the morning dew, throwing her forwards and headfirst into a cluster of gnarled roots. The cat let out a feminine yowl and she collapsed at the pain of the impact, yet she quickly shot up and continued her hysteric dash across the grove of redwood trees. Her back claws tore up copious amounts of dirt, leading an apparent trail, yet her mind was focused on seemingly other, more important things. Dashing away from the crash site, the she-cat sprinted outside of the thick, lush trees and into an expansive moor.

Facing into the rising sun, the cat ran through the fairy even-grounded moor, long stalks constantly whipping her face and flank. Her chest was rising and falling fast, and her breaths were irregular, yet she continued to frightfully dart from the dark woods. Gradually, another strike of pawsteps hitting the field's compact earth filled the molly's ears, followed by another pair, and then another. Three cats were pursuing the breathless she-cat, and evident by their fierce snarls, they weren't intending her to get away. As the frantic feline began to slow out of tiredness, her pursuers galloped even faster, tearing down any measly stalk standing in their way. Sweat slid down the she-cat's legs, making her running awkward and uncomfortable. Without warning, the ground dropped a few foxlengths and rose again, making the escaping she-cat stumble over her paws, letting her hunters get dangerously close to her position.

The she-cat had only a moment to make an impossible decision: let her chasers catch her, or somehow find a way to hide. There was no point in letting them catch her, as she was almost sure they'd kill her in the most gruesome way possible. There was only one option in her mind, hide. Swiftly taking a sharp turn to the south and using her last drop of energy to pick up her speed, the she-cat ran into even denser clusters of long wheat stalks. Particles of fallen beds attached to her medium-length fur, masking her scent. She could feel the vibrations of powerful paws hitting the ground. As soon as she felt that she had gathered enough distance, the cat slid on the dusty floor, gliding into a small ditch in the moor. Crashing into a group of small, yellow flowers rather ungracefully, she hid under the small florae, trying to conceal her position.

Rustling in the yellow shoots surrounding the dip filled the feline's sensitive ears yet she continued to hide in fear of her life. Fear gnawed at the she-cat's belly as the swishing of stalks got closer and closer to her desperate hiding spot. The cat inhaled a sharp breath as the sound of moving parts stopped for a moment. "She cannot hide forever. We will take her out when the sun goes down." bellowed a powerful voice, only a foxlength from her shrouding hollow. Slowly, the sound of pawsteps dissipated into painful silence. Taking a long exhale, the cat stood up in relief. After the perilous chase and near-death experiences, the she-cat looked surprisingly calm and collected. Shaking her pelt to rid the small particles of dust and wheat, she looked around the small dip, thankful that her prediction on where it was had been right.

Now that the lazy sun had fully risen above the rigid horizon, the she-cat's appearance was revealed. She was a lean, lithe chocolate-and-white tortoiseshell with vibrant emerald eyes. Her pelt was riddled with freshly healed wounds and clots of dry crimson blood. Black and purple bags hung beneath her sunken eyes; her paw-pads raw and peeling. Clicking her tongue, the dappled she-cat glanced at the gold and lemon flowers that had in a way, saved her life, and started laughing softly. How ironic was it, that the flowers that had saved her were Asters, the flowers in which gave darkness its name? The darkness... it was suffocating, even in the broad daylight. The tendrils of pure black had crawled into the tortoiseshell's mind, wrapping its slimy grips around her mind until she was obedient, monotonous, completely submissive to the malevolent scums that she used to call friends.

Why had she joined them again? The promise of greatness, of power, was overpowering, she knew their intentions, yet they preached StarClan like a preacher, full of ecstasy and fire. The darkness was mortal, made from living organisms and ideas, with no prompt from the dead and fermenting evil. It was not the greatness that attracted her, but the idea of training under the great warriors of both clans. The peridot-eyed she-cat laughed again, but this time, her chuckle was filled with bitter sorrow and resentment. She had been fooled. The great warrior had been fooled. They'd all been fooled! She was one of the lucky ones, she had realised what their true intentions were before they properly tainted her heart and soul. A sinking feeling of guilt strikes her gut as she realised that her craftiness and foolishness had gathered her favourite apprentice into the dark.

A pained, feminine scream woke up the chocolate-and-white tortoiseshell she-cat from her crazed thoughts. The thunderous yowl echoed throughout the floret-rich moor, waves of sound bouncing off the rough surfaces and into the cat's ears. Momentarily forgetting the pursuit that took place only moments ago, the lean she-cat hurried out of the hole, racing towards the screech. It took her a while to pinpoint the exact location, but eventually, she localised the shriek to be near the river border of her Clan and the neighbouring. Carefully walking to the rushing water, the multicoloured feline searched the area for any sign of life or dangers. Concluding that there were no visible signs, she sharply inhaled, taking in the rich smells of the moor, and the saccharine doors of fresh blood.

As the sepia molly crept closer and closer to the river, the stench of syrupy fluid grew stronger and stronger. The lithe cat flattened her ears, dread and anxiety flooding her emotions; the hard ground of the moor progressively turned into the marsh with every silent step she took. She started to doubt her impulsive decision to investigate the high-pitched yowl as thoughts of baiting her out swum in her mind. Creeping out of the grassland's chartreuse green stalks, the spotted tortoiseshell lay her eyes on horror. Bitter bile shot through her throat as she retched, spluttering yellowish spew into the vegetation. Streaks of saliva continued to leak from her mouth. The scene was too disturbing, too upsetting for the she-cat to handle.

Besides the turquoise brook was a fallen cat, lying at an unnatural angle. The once-clean, calico-and-white fur was damp and blanketed with layers of filth and thick, currant-coloured liquid. Both hind-legs were twisted in an abnormal direction, with fractured bones protruding from thin, blush skin. The graphite eyes of the deceased had been severely injured and both irises were torn, oozing out their onyx black insides. A jagged gash on the soft, fragile belly seeped fetid yellowish pus along with clotted blood and dead tissue. Covering the genital of the massacred cat was a long twine of skinny, blush tubes, accompanied with fatter ducts, both ejaculating foul puce waste. The most horrific damage to the lifeless calico was perhaps the large, wood branch impaled through the jugular, and exiting out through the back of the poor cat's neck.

Who would do such a thing to a cat, to mutilate someone to this point of disfigurement? Through it took some time, the tortoiseshell identified the victim as a queen from the other clan who had recently given birth to two cats. Poor thing. The mottled feline grimaced as she realised that the kits, at only a moon old, must face the death of their caregiver. Suddenly, a thought struck the she-cat like lightning, the revelation sending shocks down her spine. Blood was sweet, yet metallic, wasn't it? Taking another deep breathing in, the nimble cat let the surrounding scents waft into her nose. The brassy stench of crimson water could not be smelled, yet the tang of something unidentified overpowered it, something... floral.

The speckled cat brought a paw to her face. This was all related, and she was a mousebrain for not realising sooner. The darkness, they were sending a warning. No cat in their right mind would kill a queen, but these cats? This was a thinly veiled threat against her life, and the she-cat knew it. The _monsters_ that had killed the nursing calico managed to replicate every single murder the tortoiseshell had committed in the name of sin. Her first, a slight push off of a nearby cliff, committed against a massive charcoal Maine Coon with a jaw squarer than a two-leg house, his irises rupturing after the impact; her second, a deliberate fight with a badger resulting in the neighbouring Clan's deputy's death, he died with a large wound to his soft stomach while watching his own entrails slip out feebly; her third and final, an 'accidental' fall from the tallest branch of the tallest tree, the victim, a marmalade orange tabby had been impaled on the very branch on which she fell off of.

The floral fragrance was almost palpable, it's overpowering scent made the emerald-eyed feline's head spin. Perhaps the shock and distress had finally seeped its way into the she-cat's mind, yet a foolish plan started formulating in her thoughts. With the lack of intestines in the body, there could be a plausible chance that the perfumed aroma came from whatever was inside the dead cat.

Taking a shaky step towards the calico queen, she bent down towards the incision on the lifeless abdomen, drawing her hickory paw on the wound and after a long moment, opening the out-covered slice.

Immediately, another rough of bile raced through the she-cat's throat. Hurrying to the stream, she quickly emptied whatever remains of food she had into the azure water. Asters. Asters! The dreaded yellow flowers. Dozens of them were carefully stuffed inside of the queen's belly. The shadows in which the feline once fought for had turned on her, threatening her with pathetic Asters. The tortoiseshell finished retching her stomach acid into the water, dark thoughts suddenly crowding her mind. She couldn't let another cat suffer the same collateral damage as the dead queen beside her. The darkness needed to be stopped. It would be easy to convince her own clan, but what about the other? The skinny chocolate-and-white cat looked across the river, her vibrant shamrock-green eyes igniting with emotion. She needed to do something, soon, before the gloom swallowed all the clans whole.

They all had to die. None of them could be spared. She would call a meeting, and discuss how to kill them all. Chuckling slightly, the she-cat unsheathed her long claws.

"My beloved, I am coming for you. Not even your chubby cheeks and child-like eyes can stop me..."