⚠️ WARNING ⚠️: This story may be triggering for some readers (horror, suspense, blood and gore)

   The tom sniffed the air, searching for a particular scent. He parted his jaws and tasted the gentle breeze that wafted through the alley. His face slowly twisted into a sneer. He had caught whiff of his prey.

   The dark brown tabby dropped into a crouch and began stalking forward, his pelt blending into the shadows. He didn't even pause as he crunched through smashed glass, his gaze searching the darkness ahead for his target. As he neared, he heard noises up ahead. First faint, then more clear as he inched closer. Paws scrabbling on stone, and an animal clanking against metal as it tried to escape the alley.

   Another heartbeat, another step; another heartbeat, another step. He was very close now. The scent of his prey made his mouth water, and a few drops of saliva foamed on his lips. He licked his chops, already tasting its blood as it soaked his fangs.

   One more heartbeat, and he was there. The animal was just on the other side of the wide dumpster, still making a racket. He smirked once again, bounding effortlessly to the top of the garbage. He blinked in the darkness until a familiar sight appeared. The alley stopped abruptly at a tall metal fence, and just beyond if lay a stretch of grass leading up to a thick line of trees. The Clans' forest.

   He easily scaled the fence, not bothering to unsheathe his claws. He leaped nimbly to the top and gazed down at the shape writhing in the grass below him.

   As a cloud drifted away from the moon, he drank in the sight. The deep green of the leaves shone silver, and the tall purple flowers waved in the breeze. And in the midst of it all, about three fox-lengths from the fence, the grass was spattered his blood. Agonized cries split the air, sending birds into the sky. And the dark brown tabby watched with a smirk on his face as the life slowly drained out of his struggling prey.

   He hopped down from the fence and began to approach the injured animal slowly, taking his time. He reached his destination in a few heartbeats. Below him writhed a small white tom, whose fur was almost completely soaked in his own blood. The crimson liquid pooled around him as he struggled helplessly against the thin silver tendril that was wrapped tightly around his neck.

   "Well well well. Look who we caught tonight."

   "Tick! You despicable rotten piece of dung! You did this!" The white tom cried, blood gurgling in his throat. "W-why? We were always good friends!"

   "Until you stole Ginger!" The dark brown tabby roared.

   "I didn't steal her!" The other tom meowed, his eyes round. "She was assigned to be my mate. I didn't know you had feelings for her."

   "Maybe you should have," he growled. "Then you wouldn't be in this mess. I plan to kill your pregnant little wifey in the morning."

   "No!" Tears now streamed down the bloody cat's face. "Don't hurt her. None of this is her fault."

   Tick licked a paw and drew it over his ear. "Maybe not, but she still caused me a lot of pain. Maybe I will let her live, and kill off her kits one by one so that she can experience my pain."

   The white tom opened his jaws to retort, but only thick clots of blood came out. He twitched once more, then his cloudy eyes rolled back in his head. He was dead.