Hey, EmceeSquare here!

Welcome to my first ever FanFic! I'm so excited to finally post it. A BIG note before we get started.

This story is a kinda-sorta/not-really sequel to the first story I ever read on this site, entitled "Conjuring Pain" by the immensely talented Ailendolin. If you haven't read it before, you should think about doing so. It is a masterpiece! And tell him that EmceeSquare sent you.

Also, feel free to review it It brings me closer with you guys, and helps me become a better writer. Don't forget to favorite and follow this story so you can keep tabs on new chapters.

Well, that just about covers it. Onward into the first chapter.

He ran on all fours, trying desperately to escape this….this….THING that was chasing him, through the alleys, vacant lots, and bystreets that have once been peaceful but have now been consumed with chaos. He had no idea what it was, but he knew it was going to get him if he didn't run, fast and far away. How did this all start, he thought to himself. How did I get myself into this mess? Can I get out of it alive? What would the other members of the tribe think? What if…

He wasn't able to finish the thought, for he failed to see the pile of rubbish blocking his path. He tripped, and no sooner found himself sliding head first along the concrete, the jagged rocks and imperfections of the pavement scratching his skin, leaving a trail of crimson in his wake. Then he crashed headlong into a brick wall, each of his limbs folding up behind him like an accordion. He heard the sound of something breaking a moment before he felt a jarring sensation of pain rush through him. A jet of scarlet spewed from his nose all over the wall, splashing back in his face like a popped hydrant. He started to fade in and out of consciousness. Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shard of glass that seemed to belong to a mirror long ago, now matted with dust. This is hardly the time for grooming, he thought, but I need to see just how bad a beating I took.

So, with all the strength he could muster from his shattered bones and bruised muscles, he pulled his way along the ground toward that one shard of glass. Paw over agonizing paw, inch after every scathing inch. At last, he reached the shard. Looking into it, he started to make out a truly ghastly image that made his fur stand on end. For staring back at him was a visage that – had its black-and-white features not been absolutely covered in blood and distorted in sheer anguish – seemed eerily similar to the one belonging to the cat they called Quaxo. He could not help but stare gape-jawed at this ghastly physiognomy; could not help but wonder what sort of vile creature could do this to him. Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it.

What "it" actually was he couldn't quite make out – save for its feline figure and glowing red spheres that can only be interpreted as the figure's eyes. He also could see that this was no cat: rather a being of…pure darkness and evil. He saw it approach him with an ominous and threatening manner, floating on a cushion of pure air. Just then, the air around him reverberated with an ominous rumble, for the creature – could this be? – was talking to him. Moreover, it wasn't just its voice, low and filled with the anguishing cries of his Jellicle brothers and sisters, but what the voice said that scared him to the core.

"We meet again, Creator."

And with that, the spectral figure reached out a shadowy paw, raised it high above its head, and brought it down on the poor little cat that was waiting below: the cat that watched helplessly as the paw became closer, and closer, and closer…

Then Quaxo woke up with a start in his den.