Calm Before a Long-Coming Storm

[Longstorm]

Scourge, unseen per usual, strutted through Abyssclan camp. The moon was nearly finished being full, but he had time.
All the time the universe could offer.
The small black tom sighed in pleasure as a pale tom walked past him with reinforced claws. He'd started that. He was proud of that. Proud of all the blood, torment, and fear he'd caused over the many years.
Nothing and no one could dispute his right, his right to lead Abyssclan, or to lead the Forgotten Kingdom. To be the worst. To be a nightmare, a shadow, a ghost.
To live even in death.
"Live in memory, in their fears," he cackled. It was all too perfect! Shadowstar would fall then the next ruler of Abyssclan would be as obedient as Shadowstar was not. "Poor excuse for a descendant," the King spat as he paced outside of the Leader's Den, where Shadowstar lay sleeping.
The son of Shadowstar would rise from the ashes of his father, from the shadow of his past, and would lead Abyssclan into the 'Age of Enlightenment'. It was foretold. In the dungeons of the Kingdom, Scourge had been told of an ancient prophecy - one that guaranteed Scourge's infinite time on the throne.
"Now, Shadowstar," he whispered, "your time has come."
Even now the Servants were sneaking into the Armory, gathering weapons.


Far Under Ground...

Searingeyes, lead Powerful, looked up at the ceiling and mewed to his companions (Switchblade, Despairingcall, and Soulvoider),
"The time is nigh. The next time we go to the surface, a new King will have need of a coronation." Searingeyes closed his glowing, gold eyes, reaching out to the souls above. Who would live? Who would die?
They would have to wait and see how it all played out.
"The time has come," he whispered.


In the Warrior's Den...

Paleclaw grunted in pain. His stomach was killing him!
Must be something I ate, he thought faintly. He fell into his nest with a sigh. I'll stop by the Mender's Den in the morning... The tom drifted off to sleep, joining his fellow fighters in a deep sleep.


In the Dungeon...

Colorless was done hissing and yowling in anger. They hadn't believed her. Fact.
And now they were all going to die.
"This is a Clan? THIS? This is a Clan?" She was whispering to herself fiercely, thinking about what was going to - or what was happening as she was sitting there, useless.
Everything Abyssclan was was going to be gone by the time she got out of here! Colorless sat down harshly, blinking back tears.
It was all for nothing - the scars, the wounds, the honor - nothing.


In the Armory...

Hopeless was watching the entry as everyone - Servants, Mender, and (surprisingly) few Warriors - armed themselves.
This was her time. Everything she'd ever worked for, the scars, the wounds, the honor, would now be worth it.
All of it.