[Phoenix]

now was acknowledged the presence of the red death

With the turning of the seasons, the nights cooled even before the sun had fully set, and the chill chased all but the hardiest of cats back to the warmth of their nests, leaving the moorlands wonderfully abandoned. But as the growing darkness drove away the last of the daylight, Whiteshade did not return like so many others. In every capacity, the nighttime was his second home. A wraith with eyes as red as the blood on his claws, he stalked through shadows that hid his every move up until the point he wanted to be seen – and never would a hunt go by that he did not stop to enjoy the thrill of holding another’s life in his claws. He talked as he worked, carrying on a stream of conversation with devilish charm even as he toyed with his incapacitated prey, sometimes detailing exactly what they might expect and other times commenting idly on how it was an utter shame that Rookfrost had been the one to injure two clan mates in one day instead of him. In the end, however, silence always reigned supreme. After all, if one was distracted, it was easy to miss that instant when life faded from panicked eyes, and it would be an absolute shame if he could not witness his favorite part.

On this night, however, thoughts of those terrible hunts had been corralled toward the back of his mind, for it was not toward the mountains that he walked but rather the twisting spires of StarClan’s Claws. The monster had reproduced, and in doing so, he had shown the same alarming lack of concern for the code as he did in all his other exploits. His offspring had remained in the clan of their mother, whom he had heard vanished early on into the mountains. Whiteshade had not been particularly devastated. One day, he thought, he should like to find her there. She would pose a real challenge.

Like translucent snakes, faint trails of low-hanging mist coiled eerily around alabaster paws as they stepped silently across the border, and their owner materialized from the shadows like a phantom. The pale moonlight illuminated ghostly fur and piercing eyes that glowed with an otherworldly crimson. With an unnerving stillness, he stood there, half cloaked in a shadow cast by one of the spikes while he waited for the appearance of his son. But for the eyes, Coldpaw was a replica of his father in appearance, and they both hid their true natures under a thick shroud of normality. He had yet to take his son on a true hunt, the senior warrior realized. They had, of course, ventured into the mountains together on previous occasions, but never to hunt their fellow felines. Whiteshade held no doubt that his offspring knew of his preferred prey when it came to these gruesome hunts, and any reserves he had held about Coldpaw’s willingness to spill blood had long since disappeared.

Perhaps it was time to fully introduce to the young tom to the games his father played.

A spine-chilling grin touched the corners of the senior warrior’s lips as he considered the prospect. Paternal feelings of any sort were an entirely foreign concept to the devil of LightningClan, yet he found himself becoming increasingly interested in his spawn as time continued on. The RainClan cat had managed to attract his father’s interest in a manner not entirely different than the way Nightstep had caught his attention. His former apprentice had grown into quite a weapon himself, capable of switching on his predator at a moment’s notice. Nightstep had accompanied him on those dreadful hunts; it was only fair, then, that he offer his offspring the same opportunity. He scented the air. Perhaps tonight…

Just as his thoughts had settled that particular matter, the shape of a pale tom appeared from the RainClan border, and the older of the two smoothly shifted into action. Gliding over the surface of the ground with a chilling precision that would petrify even the most confident of felines, Whiteshade approached his son, offering him a polite nod and a calm, ”Coldpaw.” A moment, and then acute senses caught the faintest trace of a third cat. Crimson eyes lifted from the alabaster feline before him, peering into the darkness. ”You are not alone.”

and the red death held illimitable dominion over all

whiteshade | lightningclan | senior warrior | Fawn @jem

masque of the red death | background image

19/31 words used

[Fawn]

TOM RAINCLAN 17 MOONS

The moonlight on the river distorted the shadows, each ripple casting a frenzied glow upon the water's surface. Coldrush swam across at the shallowest point, conscious that he might be attracting attention despite his inconspicuous movements. With RainClan in the heinous state that it was, there were few cats that would notice his absence; tension and worry were the dominant forces amongst Timberstar's loyalists. The excuse of making dirt or going for a walk was satisfactory to get him out of camp; what followed was the usual warnings of 'stay clear of the Wooded Cove!' and 'don't be out late, it's not safe'. They were all too concerned with their own safety--and guarding the traitor in their midst--to spend more than a heartbeat worrying about him.

Coldrush had simply flicked his tail, disappearing into RainClan's territory. His Clanmates were right. It wasn't safe. Not while his father lurked in StarClan’s Claws; not while he was yearning to feel flesh rip under his claws and teeth. Initially, Coldrush desired to taste the warm flesh of a rabbit or some other ground prey. So long had he gone without that thrill of spilling blood that he wouldn’t be opposed to getting his claws on some Purists.

The Dark Forest was smiling at him; the white tom’s ice-blue gaze saw flashes of ginger and white moving through the shadowy terrain behind him. A kit. No, guess again… Coldrush did not pause to scent the air, but kept his jaws parted slightly, feeling a breeze blow against his back and carrying his little doppelganger’s identity right to him. An apprentice. Young. Tom. Coldrush didn’t know the cat’s name, but he detected the other scents of their former Clanmates mixed in with the apprentice’s; Lotuswhisker, Poppyflame, and Mothfoot.

He must have been born in the Wooded Cove.

Coldrush felt a cold satisfaction as he led the kitten to StarClan’s Claws, careful not to lose him with the length of his stride and the ease with which he moved over the unfamiliar ground. The tall spires of StarClan’s Claws, rising up to touch the moon like jagged, rocky talons, were about to become this young tom’s crypt. Though Coldrush suspected his father would not want to kill the kitten on sacred ground (though Whiteshade’s continued existence was proof enough that StarClan was not as powerful as the medicine cats would have them all believe), he imagined the hunt could start there.

Red gleaming eyes met icy blue, as father and son met after what felt like many moons.

”Coldrush,” he corrected coolly. ”And I have brought you…entertainment.” A white ear rotated behind him to catch the kitten’s quiet footfalls; this time Coldrush turned and faced the brave little apprentice. He knew his father’s penchant for killing anything he could get away with. Coldrush’s tail-tip flicked to and fro, giving away the lethal buildup of excitement in his body. It was time the Loyalists evened the score.

Words: 507 Words Tags: Phoenix @jem Notes: 2/31 words used

DON'T CRY MERCY, THERE'S TOO MUCH PAIN TO COME

[Deleted]

GOLDPAW

Night had draped the lands in an almost haunting sort of darkness that left the tom hardly able to see beyond his own whiskers. It was overcast and the moon provided no help in letting cat's see their way around. However there was a brisk wind tugging at the tips of his bright coloured fur and it didn't take long for the clouds to be blown aside and the moon to make an appearance, bathing everything in a silver glow. A bit later it was covered again, then visible, then poof gone. It seemed the sky was dotted with large clouds that would pounce over their light source before leaving again to let another take its turn. It was kind of funny.

Goldpaw had slipped from the small makeshift camp located in the Wooded Cove, getting away with ease as he moved as silently and smoothly as a dispatched shadow until he stood amongst the large trunks, crisp night air stinging at his pink nose. He couldn't stand that place, they weren't even a real Clan and they were being led by a medicine cat. What kind of sense did that even make? He did however, enjoy how the other cats (they were called Loyalists) seemed to fear them and so they should. The tom leaned back on his haunches, hooking a claw through a deadened leaf having fallen from the first leaf-fall winds. The Loyalists feared them because they held the upper paw, because they had the guts to make the first move. Soon they'd be at their mercy, they'd hold power. A smirk curled over his features as he pushed his paw back onto the grass, leaf flattened helplessly beneath it. He'd been seated at the edge of the Purist's claimed lands and so when he spotted the other, larger tom moving quietly and briskly not too far off it left curiosity churning within him.

Without hesitation, Goldpaw stood and followed. To be quite honest, the whole Purist Loyalist thing was a bore to him, he didn't really care much about it or why it happened but he knew they were enemies and he knew he liked winning. Yet although this cat was a so-called enemy, the Loyalists hadn't seemed to have much bite yet. Maybe he could change that...he didn't particularly want to die but he didn't plan on fighting the other tom. Maybe just messing around a bit. Having fun. He was spotted, he felt the burning icy gaze of the other bear into him for a moment before he turned and kept going. Goldpaw followed wordlessly. It felt as if he were following the phantom of a cat as he followed the pale form silently through the dark lands.

It wasn't long until they had left RainClan territory altogether and Goldpaw felt a flicker of interest glow within him. He'd never roamed this far before. He recognized this place now from talk of the other cats, this was where Gatherings were held. A sacred place. Another ghostly cat stood there, appearing almost otherwordly down to the crimson coloured eyes that made up his appearance. Goldpaw had never seen a cat like it and he blinked in mere awe, his own gaze appearing simply black in the darkness. In all reality they were actually green but it took full sunlight to make them even appear slightly bright. Goldpaw stepped forward confidently, having yet to experience the feeling of fear in his life the tom simply observed everything with an amused yet thoughtful gaze. A smile so beautiful yet devilish slipped easily into place as he nodded towards the two. Mist ringed the clearing as he curled his tail neatly over his paws and simply meowed. "If you's plan on killing me I dare say that would simply ruin any fun that could be had" He cocked his head to the side. "I mean I am just an apprentice, you may make my parents sad but that's the length of it. There's so many other cats that could enjoy you's...or us, more." He didn't really kill for sport, didn't appeal to him all that much but if he had to he would. But Goldpaw manipulated cats, he made himself appear just like them so that he was accepted and then he could do anything he wanted, that's when the real fun began. These looked like father and son but he had no real proof and they were of different clans, the older tom held himself in a menacing manner, the younger one had called him entertainment. They wanted to at least toy with him and everything about the two screamed 'evil'.

Goldpaw wouldn't call himself evil, he simply did what needed to be done to benefit himself. He felt having these two ally with him would help that. Plus, if he failed he likely died. That made it all so much more interesting! He didn't have much skill meddling with evil cats but it could be a test of sorts. He lifted up a pale paws and ran it over his whiskers thoughtfully before dropping it with a thud. "So what'll it be?"

858 | Fawn Phoenix | 17/31

[Phoenix]

now was acknowledged the presence of the red death

Coldrush. A pleased smile pulled the corners of his mouth upward ever so slightly, and inclining his head, he acknowledged his son’s correction. ”Coldrush,” He repeated firmly. ”Well done.” Much had changed since they had last met, and the least of it was the younger tom’s name and rank. Under Whiteshade’s careful eye and meticulous undoing of whatever revolting banalities his RainClan mentor taught him, he had matured into a predator in his own right. The LightningClan tom could see it in the way he held himself so carefully poised and controlled – so very like his father.

Ears flicked at the mention of entertainment, and when the subject of their discussion stepped forward, his grin turned wicked. Their entertainment was barely an apprentice – easy prey. A piercing crimson gaze assessed the stranger thoughtfully, noting the confidence with which he held himself and the apparent lack of fear in those green eyes. He was, it seemed, either perfectly at ease despite the air of danger that lingered in the air or too foolish to realize that he ought to be running home to his mother as fast as his paws could carry him. Whiteshade did not think the latter was true, for an intelligence shone in those dark eyes. Entertainment indeed. Hunting an intelligent cat was always more enjoyable.

His thoughts were confirmed when the apprentice opened his mouth and words came tumbling out, though the devil of LightningClan found himself more amused than intrigued at the younger tom’s blatant attempt at manipulation. Perhaps the other feline was not as perceptive as he had thought. He did not kill simply for the sake of causing others pain. No, he had perfected his ability and made it a form of art. Only the keenest eye would appreciate the ghastly beauty of brilliant red splashed across stark white fur, and only a master in the most macabre of arts would truly understand the rush that came from standing over a bloodied corpse knowing that he was the one who had put it there. A master in this art, he held in his claws more power than StarClan and all the leaders combined; when he stepped forward, his prey bowed before him.

Whiteshade returned his gaze to Coldrush as he silently considered the entertainment. He was not overly impressed, but that the apprentice, pinned as he was by piercing blue and merciless crimson, had kept his wits enough to string sentences together hinted at potential. Confident as he was (and rightly so) in his ability to silence anyone should they need silencing, the senior warrior was in a fairly good mood; he was willing to be generous tonight. ”Do you have a name?” For the apprentice, there were two ways this night could end, and one was far more likely than the other. The devil didn’t need to know the young tom’s name before he ended up in a shallow grave somewhere in the mountains, but it was only polite to ask. He did not, however, feel the need to introduce himself.

A brief glance at the white warrior once more. ”A hunt tonight, I think,” He spoke shortly, and that was the only warning he gave before turning and beginning to lead the way down the familiar path toward the shadowed peaks that stretched into the sky on the horizon. A lesser predator might have glanced back to ensure that his companions were following him – or perhaps more wisely, to ensure that he would not feel claws raking down his spine – but Whiteshade was no such weakling. When the sun fell and darkness cloaked the land, he became the top predator, and like a phantom, he moved through the night, entirely comfortable in his element. After all, he had nothing to fear when he was the most dangerous beast in the mountains.

and the red death held illimitable dominion over all

whiteshade | lightningclan | senior warrior | Fawn @jem

masque of the red death | background image

5/31 words

[Fawn]

TOM RAINCLAN 17 MOONS

Under the chilly white eye of the moon, father and son were like wraiths, alabaster fur gleaming so bright a hue, they looked almost ghostly and could have been mistaken for StarClan cats - if not for the dreadful crimson of Whiteshade’s eyes and the emotionally vacant blue of Coldrush’s.

Perhaps their foolish little friend wasn’t as stupid as Coldrush had previously suspected. The ginger kitten was at least trying to talk his way out of the spider’s web he caught himself in, by appealing to the very spiders who sought to trap him, bleed him and leave his corpse to cool in the light of dawn.

Coldrush’s lip pulled back, the tom fixing the apprentice with a terrible, mocking expression as his father’s words ghosted over him.

”A hunt tonight, I think,”

Whiteshade had not given away his intentions for Goldpaw, but Coldrush found that he did not care. The kitten had little comprehension of what he was getting himself into (there was a strong possibility it would be a shallow grave dug so far away, no one would hear his petrified wails of protest), and it was not in Coldrush’s interests to enlighten him. Goldpaw would find out soon enough.

At his father’s summons, the sleek RainClan warrior followed. Whiteshade led the small patrol - a patrol of monsters - into the mountains. Coldrush felt the terrain change under his paws, and though he found it unpleasant, more used to the soft banks of the river and flattened, wet grass than the unforgiving mountainside, he was content. There had been a pit in his stomach prior to this meeting; not out of nervousness to stand before his sire and be invited to hunt alongside him. That pit had been born of denying himself something for so many moons. Something he had wanted for… countless seasons.

There would be some who found him wicked, if they knew of his eagerness to take a life. The thoughts that flickered behind his ice-blue eyes would horrify and disturb most of his Clanmates, and if thought alone was enough to be exiled, he would never have made it through apprenticeship. However, Coldrush knew he was different, a predator forced to live amongst prey; it was wise, then, to blend in. That didn’t mean there wasn’t a yearning inside of him, as deep as blood-lust, hauntingly overpowering whenever the moonlight shone down upon him, that needed to be sated.

The others. They could never understand. They would think him a monstrosity, with his shallow emotions and his lack of humor, but they did not know what he was like when he felt… unburdened by the expectations of society. Coldrush did not glance back at Goldpaw, but the cat was the focal point of his thoughts. Coldrush had no interest in kinship with anything that did not share his blood - but it would perhaps not be such a surprise if Goldpaw was following them because he felt that same burden.

502 Words @jem Phoenix Notes:

DON'T CRY MERCY, THERE'S TOO MUCH PAIN TO COME

11/31 Words Used
Wraith, Wicked, Petrify, Moonlight, Monster, Grave, Ghostly, Dreadful, Corpse, Horrify, Haunting

[Deleted]

6 Moons // RainClan // Tom

He returned the larger tom's gaze with his own unwavering and unnervingly empty blackened gaze. Whilst a simple glance from those unique crimson coloured eyes would petrify some, it simply left Goldpaw intrigued. Who would know an appearance could match one's personality so well? It must actually be a burden really, one would suspect badness from a cat who looked like that deep down before even knowing anything about them.

He was personally thankful of his innocent and well, rather charming appearance. It seemed to help him get out of many situations without him even having to put any effort into his words. It seemed however like this would not be the case here. How exciting. When the older cat asked of his name Goldpaw let a small smile creep across his features as he purred out silkily. "How nice of you to ask, it's Goldpaw. I don't suppose I get to know your names hm? In that case I'll call you's blood and ice going on your eyes, makes life a little easier." A simple blink of eyes appearing black in colour was given as Goldpaw fell back into a thoughtful silence. 

There was definitely something corrupted about the pair, others would say there was something 'wrong' with them. But could one really say that? No one really had the right to choose what was right and wrong. The line between the two often became blurred and with time it had kind of just became a matter of opinion. Some found certain things wrong, others didn't. He craved to know more about the two, yearned for the knowledge he could gain here and probably nowhere else. This is exactly why he remained rooted with the two despite the evident threats they poised. A hunt...His observant gaze narrowed but not a word was uttered as he met Ice's sneer-like expression with a simple cold glare and followed Blood from the hollow, the tom looking like nothing more than the wraith of one who had already passed on.

He followed behind the two, grateful for the silence as it gave him time to think. However not many rational thoughts could be made out over the excited hum of adrenaline filled blood pumping through his veins leaving him crazily energized. No doubt the cats here wanted to at least appear frightful  and their efforts were note worthy but Goldpaw sensed that as well as that, they craved to hear his bloodcurdling  yowls and eventually leave him in a shallow grave where one would never discover him. It'd be presumed that he merely wandered off and got himself killed. Ah well, they probably wouldn't be completely wrong with that theory but he felt his muscles tense with determination for if he was to die they would not get the joy of frightening him into submission first. Of course if things went well these mountains would not become his crypt at all. 

He ran his tongue thoughtfully over his pearly white fangs as he continued after the two, not falling behind once as he moved at a disbelieving speed for such a small cat. It was if someone had come along and enchanted him. He felt so alive despite the likely ghastly intentions the two had for him but he felt weirdly content in their presence. He felt a uniquely strong wave of intellectual ability waving off of them that he didn't feel from other cats whom just blindly followed a code without stopping once to question it. So despite the red flags everywhere, the young tom moved forward without hesitation.

597 // Fawn Phoenix // 31/31 

[Phoenix]

now was acknowledged the presence of the red death

Relatively even ground gave way to a rough and rocky terrain that was unforgivable to even the most sure-footed feline, yet the devil of LightningClan barely hesitated before he crossed the border and stepped into the mountains, continuing on with the ease of one who had walked these paths many times before. It was, after all, not his first time venturing into no man’s land. For his son and their unexpected companion, however, that might not be the case. Again, he found his thoughts straying toward the young tom who had boldly introduced himself as Goldpaw and proceeded to assign them names in the absence of their joint unwillingness to offer him the same courtesy. Blood and Ice. Crimson eyes strayed to his son’s pale form. The RainClan apprentice had no idea just how fitting those were.

With Whiteshade himself lost in thought and Coldrush as reticent as the frozen substance for which he had recently been named, the trio walked on in silence. He flicked an ear. It was interesting how so many of his hunting partners were more inclined to perform their macabre dances with only the sound of their steady breathing and the frantic heartbeat of their prey to guide their way. A respectable medicine cat though he was, Rookfrost had the conversational abilities – and the same amount of patience for pleasantries – of a rock, and Cherrypool was always too consumed by her guilt and whatever other anxieties ran through her mind to hold a reasonably interesting conversation. Of the three cats with whom he hunted the most, Nightstep was the most likely candidate to respond to him, but even he was more inclined to silence than chatter. While such silence was necessary in some areas of their work, the alabaster tom did not see why it was the norm for so many other parts; there was nothing quite like some pleasant small talk as they strode forward to do what monsters like them did best. Even though their work silenced one voice, it did not mean that it had to silence theirs as well.

“Goldpaw,” He began smoothly, glancing back at his youngest companion as they walked on. “What brings you out here so late at night? Monsters lurk in the darkness.” It was possible that he had simply spotted Coldrush and decided to follow his clan mate, drawn by nothing other than pure curiosity – but even then, that begged the question: why had he still been awake in the first place? After a long day of training, most apprentices were more inclined toward collapsing in their nests and spending the time from sundown to sunrise doing their best imitation of a corpse. Even the sight of a warrior exiting camp would not be enough to warrant more than a flicker of confusion that would soon be forgotten.

When they were sufficiently far from the nearest border, the senior warrior’s steps slowed and he drew to a halt, tail flicking as he scented the air. The curls of mist that rested low to the ground did little to hide the traces of a foreign scent that lingered in the air. His lips curled upward; a loner had passed through recently. Crimson eyes flicked from Codrush to Goldpaw thoughtfully. With his tail, he gestured at the apprentice. “Run,” He instructed coolly, “As if your life depends on it. Follow that scent trail. Ice and I will be there momentarily.” Blood red eyes watched the young RainClan cat for a moment longer, almost daring the other tom to refuse his direction. Although Whiteshade had found someone else to hunt now, his intentions could very easily shift. An apprentice might not have posed as much of a challenge as a hardened loner, but in the end, his monster was not picky.

The devil of LightningClan turned and faced his son. “We are letting this loner come to us. Most cats are sickeningly sentimental; a hero may jump to Goldpaw’s rescue if he thinks there is trouble,” He explained lightly, tail tip flicking. ”Chase him. There is no need for silence.” While his son pursued the apprentice, Whiteshade himself would be moving separately from the pair, as silent as the phantom he so resembled. When the loner came to save the apprentice, they would be met with death’s ghostly companion. And then the fun would truly begin.

--

Blissfully ignorant of the horror in store for him, the gray loner strode swiftly along the mountainside. Revadac thought only of the warm nest and the pretty she-cat who waited for him back home. They had spent the last few moons together (they had been the happiest of his life), and he knew deep in his heart of hearts that she was The One. Theirs was a simple life. One day, they would raise a family, and as he pictured them with three little bundles of fur by their side, his heart felt like it would burst with joy. Life was good; after all, they were both young and had so much to look forward to. Together, they would build the perfect future, and—

A noise caught his attention, and after further investigation, he finally spotted a ginger feline streaking by with another white cat on his tail. Immediately, his pulse quickened as he realized that the golden cat was barely older than a kitten, and without another thought, he burst forward, claws slipping from their sheathes as he came to the defense of the young cat. “Oi! Pick on someone your own size, why don’t ya!”

and the red death held illimitable dominion over all

whiteshade | lightningclan | senior warrior | Fawn @jem

masque of the red death | background image

So I have the general idea that they'll probably pin the loner or get him to stick around long enough for Whiteshade to appear. Whiteshade will talk with the loner and inform him that if he wishes to return to his mate, he'd better start running. Then the hunt will begin.

[Fawn]

TOM RAINCLAN 17 MOONS

“Run,” He instructed coolly, “As if your life depends on it."

At last, the words he had longed to hear. Coldrush's gelid gaze narrowed into frozen slivers, watching as the apprentice was given instructions; there was a subtle nagging desire to see Goldpaw rebel against his father's orders. He would have enjoyed watching Whiteshade ripping him apart; he wuld have enjoyed a taste of the mayhem himself. He did not like this apprentice who had encroached upon one of the rare moments he had to bond with his father.

How dare this little tadpole interrupt the only thing he felt true excitement for.

Crimson eyes alighted upon him, and Coldrush met his father's keen, intelligent stare with disarming coolness as if they were no more discussing the weather than the life and death of a loner. Coldrush's ears swiveled, the clean, almost mechanicl shift all that showed he was listening - apart from the often-times considered unnerving stare he directed at others.

”Chase him. There is no need for silence.”

Yes. He would chase him. Turning to follow Goldpaw, before he so much as set one paw down in the direction of the RainClan apprentice, Coldrush, without looking back, mewed icily. "Accidents may happen." This burning feeling in his stomach...the urge to flex his claws and dig into Goldpaw until he ripped the life from him - it was a feeling he didn't like.

It lacked the purity of murder unadulterated by emotion. This was an emotion he was feeling, wasn't it?

Coldrush stalked his quarry, across the mountains. He could not hate the roughness of the ground nearly so much as he enjoyed the pursuit; they did not cancel each other out. Any grievances about the terrain were swallowed up, leaving only a cold rush of adrenaline in it's place. He watched the ginger pelted tom put on a burst of speed, but it wasn't going to save him.

Jealousy was a blue-eyed monster, tonight.

“Oi! Pick on someone your own size, why don’t ya!”

The flash of unsheathed claws drew him to a stop more than any words could have. Recalling with cold efficiency his father's words, Coldrush came to a halt, his flanks rising and falling, his large icy stare set upon the loner who had no idea what he had just gotten himself into. Coldrush's hackles did not raise, and he did not hunker down into a threatening posture; there was nevertheless something wrong with the way the white warrior approached.

"Alright." Coldrush mewed tonelessly. "I shall pick on you."

432 Words: Tags: @jem , Phoenix Notes: So jealous!

DON'T CRY MERCY, THERE'S TOO MUCH PAIN TO COME