Bloodmoon crouched just beyond the twisted tangle of gorse and heather that marked ShadowClan's camp entrance, her form a silent menace against the twilight sky. Her blood-red fur shimmered with an unnatural gleam, and her eyes glowed with a predatory hunger that sent shivers through the underbrush. The night was still, save for the faint rustle of leaves and the electric tension hanging in the air like an unspoken threat. She had spared ShadowClan, but her mercy was not born of compassion—it was an alliance of convenience, a tenuous pact bound by Sol's presence among their ranks. The other clans would not escape so lightly. They would feel her wrath. They would burn.

Her breath hitched, and sparks crackled at the edges of her lips, faint wisps of fire curling like serpents before dissipating into the night. The heat within her built, a storm churning in her chest, ready to unleash its fury. Her wings, leathery and vast, twitched at her sides, yearning to unfurl and blot out the stars above.

The soft murmur of paws against earth broke her focus. Sol appeared, his dark tabby fur blending with the shadows, a group of ShadowClan warriors trailing behind him. His sharp, calculating eyes met hers through the bramble barrier. There was no fear in his gaze, only cold understanding. He dipped his head in acknowledgment, a silent signal that all was in place. Bloodmoon's lips curled into a wicked grin as Sol turned to the others, his voice low and commanding. The warriors flanked him, following his lead as he guided them deeper into the safety of the territory. Those left behind—the frail queens huddling over their kits, the elders whose limbs ached with age—were now ShadowClan's most vulnerable.

Bloodmoon rose to her full height, her wings spreading wide with a snap that echoed through the clearing. Her shadow stretched over the camp, a dark tide that swallowed the moonlight. The ground seemed to tremble beneath her claws, and the air thickened with the scent of sulfur and smoke. She took a single step forward, her massive frame dwarfing the thorny entrance, and then another, her talons scoring deep gouges into the earth.

Her chest expanded, drawing in air as if summoning the storm itself. The world seemed to hold its breath.

And then she roared.

It was no ordinary sound. It was a guttural, primal bellow that reverberated through the trees, shaking leaves from their branches and sending prey scattering in blind terror. Fire erupted from her jaws in a torrent, illuminating the camp with an unholy glow. The flames licked at the brambles, hungrily devouring the undergrowth. Smoke curled into the night sky, a signal to all who dared defy her: the reckoning had begun.

The doomsday bell had been rung, and Bloodmoon was its harbinger.