It was the most sinister thing Manglethorn actually thought of doing in his life. Even Maggottail would be shocked, he thought. He would probably be very proud of me. Manglethorn immediately left camp, in search of the ultimate thing that could end Oakstar's life quickly. So far, only one thing shone clear in Manglethorn's mind: deathberries.

The round red berries that gleamed with the light of death. The berries producing a sweet odor from its seed-filled belly. The berries that contained deathly toxin in every whisker-length of wet flesh and shone with morning dew on its smooth skin.

He deserved to die.

Manglethorn dug at the bush in front of him, his fur still standing on the end from what he have heard. He deserved to die after everything he's done!

Snow continued to fall; light, soft snow, gathering up on the ground, waiting to pile up into a beautiful white heap. They touched Manglethorn's fur and dripped on his whiskers. An icy chill spread through his spine where snowflakes touched his skin. The dark, puffy clouds that exhaled the balls of fluff seemed to stretch throughout the lavender sky, the blinding sun sharpening their outlines. The silhouettes of bare oak trees loomed in the distance, their slender branches dipping their heads down from the weight of the snow on their bodies. The icy breeze whispered across the forest, urging prey back into their safe dens and cats fluffing out their thick fur.

Manglethorn felt the strong smell of death engulf him as he dug. Soil crunched under his paws and cracked from the sharpened edges. He picked out a few deathberries, the biggest and reddest ones. They shone with deadly beauty, those red shells over the green core that smelled of sweet death. Manglethorn sneered, and he carried them by their thin branches. He padded away from the deathberry bush and kicked some earth over it. Then he left, grass tearing from his unsheathed claws.

Manglethorn picked up the plumpest, most tasty-looking mouse of the fresh-kill pile. It was a big mouse, and he felt a tiny bit bad about wasting it for a murder.

Then he shook his head. This was a murder. A tiny mouse wouldn't be anything. It was just a necessary sacrifice he have to make in order to complete something that was much more justified. His fur pricked furiously, and he whirled around, leaving.

Eyeing around and checking that no one was watching, he ran out of the camp with the mouse in his jaws. He checked once again that Oakstar wasn't watching and hid behind a bush. Tail slashing lines in the snow, he uncovered the deathberries buried by the edge of the camp.

Manglethorn laid down the mouse, which was still warm and dripping with blood on the edge of its neck, and let out a faint mrrow of amusement. Oakstar's death was at his claws. It felt good to also know that it was probably the last step he would have to take before becoming leader. Maggottail never told him it was part of the missions, but part of him kept saying how this must be how it ends and the most obvious step towards becoming leader: by killing the original one.

In this case, he even got a reason for it. A good reason. Maggottail's missions might seem a bit violent at times, but killing Oakstar was going to be the easiest, most meaningful, and most important step of all. And he didn't need to worry a whisker-length of getting caught, because so far it was going all good.

Manglethorn parted the mouse's jaws wide and stuffed the nearest deathberry in. He urged the berry down the mouse's throat and squeezed the mouse's belly. When he was sure that the deathberry was thoroughly mixed with the mouse's flesh, he pushed more and more deathberries into the mouse. It felt satisfying, to push death into someone's throat and watch with glee. Manglethorn dug a good hole and kept the mouse there, then returned to camp as if nothing happened. When the camp would be sharing food, it would be his real time to kill.

The time came soon. In the afternoon. Manglethorn was surprised that it was the Gathering night tonight. Oakstar would soon be dead and he could lead his Clan. He would appoint his beloved Applewing as his deputy and finally achieve what he wanted. Everything would have worked perfectly, and he seemed to get the prophecy. Laurelleaf never killed him and he was still alive and standing as leader. What could be more perfect than that?

Cats were beginning to drag prey from the fresh-kill pile as Manglethorn went out of camp to fetch the poisoned mouse. He came back, and some cats looked at him in approval, thinking he brought prey to the camp when they most needed it. Yet again, nobody knew what he was truly about to do, not even Applewing. He settled the mouse down beside him and picked his own prey. The fresh-kill pile wasn't big, so he picked a smaller vole. The other cats could pick the better ones.

When Oakstar headed towards the fresh-kill pile, he quickly noticed the big mouse Manglethorn settled closest to him. Oakstar's eyes shone with interest and he carried the mouse away by the scruff. Manglethorn couldn't describe his excitement as Oakstar sat down in the leader's den and started to tear through the mouse hungrily, like the stupidest mouse-brain in the forest, like a piece of helpless squirrel that dangled from a hunter's jaws, like an idiotic, gullible cat who wanted desperately to kill someone who never did anything bad to him.

Good-bye, Oakstar, Manglethorn thought.

I hope you have a good death.