Scourge couldn't help himself, and it was torture. It was his addiction, and he needed more and more of it. He needed blood. He needed revenge. It was driving the little black cat insane. Every time he felt the scarlet blood of an innocent cat drip down his sharp claws, he felt pure delight, even though he never knew how. At first he thought it was to prove his littermates Sock and Ruby wrong for calling him, "Runt" and "Loser", but even after them knowing what power he had and came begging to his feet for food, it did not satisfy his hunger for the satisfying feeling of ripping out another cat's throat. He hated himself for it. But he couldn't stop. It was just too amazing to watch the blood of another cat get spilled because of his own pleasures, watching as their strength slowly leaked out of them. Time went by, and soon many lives were lost because of him. His mind was begging him to stop, but its cries were long drowned out by the yowls of want for more and more blood, and even though Scourge pleaded them to be silent, they only got louder every murder he committed. But, every time he saw the other cats mourn for their loved ones because of him, his heart ached uncontrollably and he wanted to kill himself for what he had done, yet he couldn't, because his body wouldn't even listen to his conscience anymore. Hunger had swallowed his soul up, just like it murdered the many cats that Scourge had eliminated. Even after the blood of the one who made him this way was spilt, and Tigerstar fell dead right before his eyes while his blood was on the little black cat's claws, he was still thirsty. He needed more. But, that was the death of him. Yet, he felt no pain in it. He was free from his addiction, and free from the torture that he put his own soul through. He was free from himself.