Short Story: The Doom Delayed

The oh so fluffy paw of doom was poised to bring down the outer darkness, but first it was time for catnip. High Exquisitor Fangorn Crackbone (known somewhat affectionately as Pixel to his doting “owner”) drew back from the horror-stricken pages of his secret libram and padded down the hallway.

Shrouded in the captive souls of his past victims, he stalked towards the feeding chamber. Unbound spirits fled at his awful approach, their passing marked to lesser eyes by small whirls of dust on the edges of vision. Ahead he could hear the clattering sounds of meal preparation as his devoted slaves bent themselves to their duties.

His maleficent plan was nearing fruition. Soon the borders with the Outer Realms of Madness would be sundered by his paw, casting down this world of men and ushering in a new age of glory. Worlds would shudder under his very gaze, and the sound of his passing would make mortals weep.

The heat of the kitchen bloomed against his tortoiseshell pelt as he rounded the corner, bringing with it exotic scents and the promise of satiation. Within the cavernous heights of the chamber, the two humans were talking as they prepared sustenance for themselves.

He permitted them to believe they had free will most of the time, but now his needs were greater than theirs. He padded into their view and silently willed their attention.

Rather annoyingly they seemed too distracted to pay attention. This would not do. A righteous fury swelled within his breast and he opened his fanged maw to berate them and reveal his terrible fury:


One of the slaves turned, with a stupid expression on her face, all eyes and pouting lips. Before he could launch into a scathing rebuke, she scooped him up in her hand. Without a pause, she pressed him to her face, which had scrunched up in some demented gurn, and spoke in a high pitched squeal:

“Awwww! Pixel! You so cute and floofy! I could snuggle you all day! Who’s the cutest? Who’s the cutest?”

Legs dangling either side of her hand, he glared at the man, promising vicious retribution if he joined in. That said, this was rather comfortable, and from here he could see food and water, and was that low-lactose milk in a bowl for him?

He decided he could live with this petty indignity for now. The Outer Realms of Madness would still be there tomorrow. A warm house, food, drink, treats and occasionally over-attentive servants were bearable despite it all. The world could continue to exist this evening. Tomorrow was another story though.