Chapter Text
A small part of Greystripe wanted to believe that this was all just a dream, that the tomcat standing atop Highrock was not his best friend, but an imposter, a faker.
But he knew the truth, and he was scared. Ravenwhisper was dead, his blood staining the barn where Barley once resided. Nobody knew where the old tom went, just knew he disappeared one day and was never seen again. Greystripe and Sandstorm had an idea as to what happened to him.
“Tigerclaw,” Firestar began, green eyes seemingly glowing in the darkness, “will be my deputy.” All eyes suddenly trailed to the large tom lurking in the back, his amber eyes piercing through the darkness like a fire. He stood and shoved his way up to the front. Firestar whispered something to him once he climbed up beside it, and Tigerclaw nodded in return, leaping down the back of the rock and disappearing into the brush.
The leader grew silent afterwards, and the camp suddenly felt unsafe and gave off an unsettling atmosphere. Something bad was going to happen, Greystripe knew it.
And just like that, the wind started to pick up, and the bushes began to rustle. Pawsteps grew closer, and a scent that smelled like death grew stronger and stronger, closer and closer.
What none of the cats had expected, though, was for a small, scrawny apprentice to step out from under the brush, his blue eyes sharp and black fur sleek and shining in the moonlight. Someone started to laugh, and soon a few others joined in. They couldn’t believe that they’d been played, tricked.
But then there was a shriek of agony, and blood splattered across Highrock. Firestar looked unfazed by it, but one of the warriors who sat up at the front gave a loud scream, her pupils narrowing down into slits and her white fur stained red. In front of her was a gruesome sight: another apprentice, ears laid back and mouth open, eyes wide with fear and his belly leaking blood, guts spilling from his belly, which now held a long, winding scar that stretched from his neck all the way down to his hind legs.
The unknown tomcat licked the blood from his white paw, his claws unsheathed and long, sharp. “This isn’t a joke,” he spoke, voice cold and without any type of emotion. “And those who think of it as such, will suffer the same fate as he, only much slower and much more painful.”
Silence was golden.
“Scourge, brother, step up,” Firestar said, breaking the quietness of the camp. The apprentice-sized tom, supposedly named Scourge, hopped up beside ThunderClan’s leader and seated himself. They murmured to each other a moment, then broke apart so Scourge could nod to what appeared to be nothing but underbrush. But Tigerclaw stepped out, another tom about the same size and colour accompanying him. Any warrior could easily identify that musty smell as ShadowClan, and any apprentice could identify the cat as Brokenstar.
The two climbed to the top of Highrock, sitting down beside Firestar and Scourge. They all shared looks and words, though no cat could hear what they spoke of.
“ThunderClan,” Firestar finally announced, “we will merge with ShadowClan and BloodClan, then attack RiverClan on the night of the Gathering. Brokenstar will train the kits and new apprentices, and Tigerclaw will oversee the warriors. You will follow their every order.”
The crowd broke into soft whispers and murmurs, but Scourge growled and they ceased to speak.
“Anyone who feels the need to criticize my leadership may speak to Scourge in private.”
A dusty brown warrior stood, and she and Scourge disappeared behind the rock. Moments later did Scourge return, but the she-cat did not.
“Clan dismissed.”