Here's something the whole Internet needs to hear.
You have absolutely no right, no matter what religion, race, gender, or sexuality you are, to decide if a person is faking a mental condition.
Symptoms aren't always obvious. Stereotypes of conditions exist. The only right a person has is, if they have a condition, to say if misinformation is being spread. That's it.
Part of this is about DissociaDID. Dissociative identity disorder is rare: there are around 200,000 cases a year in the U.S. None of us have the right to judge them for something so personal. None of us have the right to say, "You're faking."
Stigmas need to freaking end. They are hurtful and disgusting. If something makes you uncomfortabl, try to learn before drawing conclusions.
If a disabled person at any time is in distress. Physical, mental, emotional, WHATEVER... and the very first words out of your mouth are “Did you take your medicine?”
Yeah, you know what, FUCK YOU.
That is serious textbook ableism and it doesn’t matter if you feel you are being helpful or not, you are an asshole, and you are implying that the disabled person’s entire existence is dependent on pills.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I had hoped to finish in the chapter, but it was already running too long and there’s still so much that needs to get done, so I have to break it up. But the end is nye! (Of this installment of the series. The series itself is barely just begun.)
Adora and her party arrive in the Crimson Wastes.
Catra and Hordak face off.
We get another flashback and Hordak sees Hode one last time (you won’t like it), and Hordak also meets another very important person in the Master of the Universe canon.
Adora’s party reaches Mara’s ship just as Catra is coming out from her fight with Hordak and... Entrapta does not react well...
...
It was evening by the time they reached the mainland. The Glow Moon dipping down low over the waters behind them.
Everyone was ready to get of the overcrowded ship. They didn’t even wait for Sea Hawk to tie off the boat. The moment the Dragon’s Daughter Five pulled close enough to the dock for her passengers to jump off, they did.
With everyone already disembarked, the pirate stopped mid-knot and re-cast off instead. “Whelp, guess Micah and I will just be off the Brightmoon then.”
The long lost King looked impatient and excited. He wanted to get home to his daughter.
For half a second, Sea Hawk looked like he was about to offer to go with Adora and Bow. But Micah flashed him a look that made the sailor pause. The King wanted to get home, and it wasn’t like Sea Hawk would be particularly useful in a dessert where there was no ocean, or on a ship that did not sail on seas. Besides, there were so many going already. Adora, Bow, Entrapta, Entrapta’s strange Hordak-clone baby, Scorpia, and all of their animal/robot companions; Swift Wind, Emily, and Imp. The combination of powers and talents wasn’t quite as balanced as the Princess Alliance team, but there was enough raw power and competence there to make up for it –also, She-Ra.
So, Sea Hawk concluded he was not needed. He would take Micah home, as was the original plan.
Adora and her party pressed on to the Crimson Waists, traveling across the landscape in the dark as the Glow Moon dipped lower behind them and night gathered. The bioluminescent glow of Dak’s eyes grew brighter as the evening grew darker.
It was full-dark by the time they reached the desert’s edge, and a little bit longer after that before they reached the cantina when Adora and Bow first met Huntara.
To spite the late hour, the bar was still crowded and roaring with noise. A few patrons looked up with the party entered, but they recognized Adora, Bow, and Scorpia, and very quickly went back to their drinks. Nobody wanted to get on the wrong side of any of them.
Adora marched right up to the bartender. “Has Catra been back here?”
“The small angry cat-girl I came with last time.” Scorpia clarified when the bartender looked momentarily confused.
There was another moment’s pause as the woman managed to process what these two frantic outsiders were trying to ask her. “Everyone in the Crimson Waste knows who Boss Catra is.” She informed Scorpia. “She passed through here earlier in the month.”
“Was she heading to Mara’s ship!?” Adora pressed.
“I don’t know what that is.” The bartender admitted. “Now, either buy a drink, tell me what happened to Huntara, or get out.”
While this conversation was going on, Dak had been eyes some of the drinks the patrons already had. They all smelled so interesting, and the people drinking them seemed to be enjoying themselves. “Can I try one of the ones with the froth on top?”
“No.” Both Scorpia and Bow choired with one voice.
“You’re too young for beer.” Scorpia informed them.
“I tried wine for the first time a couple weeks ago.” Bow added. “Wine is supposed to be one of the better tasting alcoholic drinks ‘cause it’s made from fruit. It still tasted bad. Trust me, kiddo, you don’t want to drink alcohol.”
Imp gave a squawk of agreement. Wine and other alcoholic beverages were for older Horde clones whom were non-hybrids and knew their limits. The little deamon helped Bow and Scorpia usher the child outside. They waited with Swift Wind and Emily for Adora. She finally came out, having to drag Entrapta by the elbow.
“…but I just thought she should know the alcohol percentages she was advertising were inaccurate.” The scientist was saying. “Watering down the drinks is fine, and probably healthier for her patrons in the long run, but that alters the ratios within the drink. She’s displaying inaccurate data!”
“We’re going to see a First Ones ship.” Adora reminded her. “Won’t that be much more interesting than watered down beer?”
That was the whole reason Entrapta came with them to the Crimson Waste after all.
They pressed on.
They reached Mara’s ship just as the Glow Moon was peeking out over the horizon. They traveled until the end of the night.
…
“Hey, Hordak.”
He was prepared for her return, but it still made his skin crawl when she said that.
He was standing. At a military rest. Arms clasped behind his back. A pose he assumed often, so it did not seem out of the ordinary now. There was no reason for Catra to assume he might be hiding makeshift weapons behind his back.
“It’s moonrise outside.” She announced. “End of the night, your time’s up.”
That statement required no response. Hordak did not give one, and Catra was not interested in one.
“Have you managed to retrieve the rest of the other She-Ra’s message?” Catra asked this already knowing the answer. If he couldn’t do it in a month, there was no reason to think he could magically pull out results in twenty-four hours. He hadn’t done it. Which meant that Hordak spent this time doing something else. Catra was many things, but foolish was not one of them. She was expecting some kind of a double cross.
“I have not.” Hordak stated flatly.
Loath though he was to admit it –even to himself- Hordak could be foolish from time to time. He was a fool to let Entrapta get so close, he was a fool to trust the natives of this world –even as nothing more than subordinates, and he was a fool to underestimate Catra. He would not make that last mistake twice. The Force Captain had proven herself equal parts capable, devious, and wildly intelligent more than once. Hordak knew, that she would know, that he had done something else with the time she gave him and expect a retaliation of some kind. His fingers curled around the bat-wing shaped throwing rangs held behind his back.
It had been years since he practiced with them, and these weren’t even real rangs. The shape was the same, so their aerodynamics should be similar. But the weight and balance was different. His throws might still be off. But they were the only weapons he had since there were no spears or pikes on this ship, and an arm-mounted canon was not something easily cobbled together from alien parts.
Hordak straightened. “So, what shall it be then?” He asked. “A public execution in front of the rabble you’ve collected into a following here in the Wastes? Or just a private killing? Quick and simple.”
Catra snorted at the sheer casualness he took to the idea of his immanent death –not that she was yet sure if death was the punishment she wanted for Hordak. At the moment, some kind of discipline for failure was necessary –just like he did to her when their roles were reversed- but said disciplinary action need not be as final as a death sentence.
“You’re in a hurry.” She commented with a bit of a chuckle. “What, is there someone you need to meet on the other side?”
Opening his mouth, Hordak was about to respond that there was no one –dead or alive- that he particularly cared to see again. Except, the image of Entrapta flash through his mind. While he did not believe she was dead, he did still very much want to see her again. For revenge, obviously. And if he were rendered too infirm by whatever Catra did to him to exact said revenge, then at the very least, to demand an explanation for her betrayal. So, there was someone –alive, not dead- that he cared very much to see again.
Right on the heels of the image of Entrapta, was the memory of Hode. Dark cape sweeping in dramatic folds, hood pulled up over his head, partially turned so that all Hordak could see was the lower half of the older clone’s face. ‘Yes, Zero-Zero-Three, I am.’ Hode’s retreating back after he demoted and abandoned him on a random world within a larger Empire. That was the last time Hordak ever saw his mentor. He never got the chance to ask the old man ‘why?’ either. To demand an explanation from him.
In a glittering moment of horrifying clarity, Hordak realized, there was someone on the other side he wanted to meet again. Almost as much as he wanted to meet Entrapta again.
And for the same reason, too.
Why? Why did you do that to me!? I thought I was special to you!
Hordak stood there. Frozen.
Catra raised an eyebrow at him. Tilting her head to the side, her lips stretched into a taunting smile. “Aw… did I hit a nerve? Is there someone you wanna see on the other side? Some little Horde Mommy you never met, or maby Daddy that never loved you.”
“Horde clones have no parents.” Hordak informed her, suddenly being reminded that he never actually took the time to read her in on Horde Prime or what he was actually trying to do with the portal. She thought he was trying to reconnect with his separated unit and bring more Horde forces to Etheria. Catra didn’t realize that, originally, Hordak just wanted to go home. She didn’t know his history like Entrapta did. She didn’t know he was a clone, and she certainly didn’t know about Emperor Prime.
Her expression turned suddenly sharp. “Neither do Etherian Horde soldiers.”
Neither of them had moved, but Hordak felt a shift in the mood of the room. Like he was suddenly no longer standing on stable ground. One misstep and he would fall at her mercy.
“Spare me your ‘oh woe is me’ speech, Force Captain.” He began. “Civilian casualties happen in war just as often as soldier deaths. Do not try and lay your anonymous parents’ lives at my feet, as your precious Adora tried to. I have never known any of the parents of the orphans raised in the Fright Zone.” He left out the part that he never cared either, that was definitely a misstep. “You may direct your complaints for your troubled childhood to Shadow Weaver.”
Her hands balled into fists at her sides. She thought this was just gonna be a little light intimidation and a reminder of who was in charge of this new power dynamic of thiers. But he pushed both the Adora button, and the Shadow Weaver button at the same time. He shouldn’t have done that. Catra’s eyes went wide as her pupils went smalls. Glaring up at him. How dare he try and tell her who she should and should not be upset at for her bad life. Everyone in her life contributed to her suffering. Not just Adora leaving her, and Shadow Weaver using and manipulating her. Scorpia siding with Entrapta over her. Entrapta changing sides again and refusing got open the portal. Kyle for his constant incompetence, and Lonnie and Rogelio for always covering for him. And Hordak, for just existing in the first place. For bringing the Horde to Etheria. For creating the world she lived in. The world that shaped her and made her what she was. Most of all Hordak.
How dare he.
“You’re right.” She informed him. Voice calm and even. Deceptively so. On the inside, Catra was anything but calm. “You probably didn’t know my parents. You probably never even saw their faces, never mind learned their names. You weren’t the one who orphaned me, or brought me to the Fright Zone to be raised. You probably don’t even care.”
He didn’t.
She reached a hand up. Instinctively Hordak shied away, stepping back from the touch. Catra’s claws traced the outline of the crystal on his exo-suit without actually touching it. She couldn’t read the First Ones letters that were inscribed on it, but she understood its significance. Entrapta loved her first Ones tech. She would not give it away to just anyone.
“But there is a person on Etheria you do care about.” She announced.
Shifting the rangs he still held behind his back, Hordak freed one of his hands to place it protectively over the crystal. “You are mistaken Force Captain. Princess Entrapta was a useful tool at one time. Since her betrayal, my only desire for her, is to see that she is adequately punished.”
Catra laughed at that. A mirthless, rueful laugh. One full of malice and scorn. “Wow, you really are so gullible.”
“What?” He blinked glowing ruby eyes at her, not understanding.
She grinned a wicked grin at him, a smile without humor. “I told you Entrapta betrayed you, and you believed me. You didn’t even question it.”
“What!?” His glowing eyes went wide at that statement.
“I guess you must not think much of her.” Continued Catra, crossing her arms over her chest. The action was casual. As if this were just an easy conversation between friends. Her tone was matter-of-fact when she spoke. “To just accept that she would stab you in the back, after all those months you spent holed-up in the Sanctum together. I guess you two weren’t all that close after all, and this new armor doesn’t really mean anything either. It’s only Entrapta’s precious First Ones tech she had us drag all the way from her mines in Dryl.”
Hand still resting on the crystal, Hordak’s fingers clenched, his talons scraping the hard shell of the exo-suit. “What- what are you saying?” His hands were shaking. Not just the one over the crystal, the one behind his back too. It threatened to drop the makeshift rangs we was holding. “If Entrapta did not betray me, then how did the Princesses get in?” He shook his head. “It does not make sense!”
Catra laughed again. “You may direct your complaints for Princesses in the Fright Zone to Shadow Weaver.” She flashed sharp feline teeth. “She and Sparkled teamed up, made each other stronger somehow –more powerful- that was how the Princesses got in.”
All this time… he’d been hating her… for something she didn’t do.
But…?
“If Entrapta was innocent in this, then where was she?” Hordak demanded. “Where is she now? Where is Entrapta!?”
Before he was even aware that he was moving, Hordak surged forward to try and grab Catra. The hand that had been covering the crystal reaching out, fingers spread, talons extended. He snarled a wordless snarl.
Catra seemed unconcerned. She jumped into the air, doing an unnecessary summersault mid-air, and landing on the console behind Hordak.
“Probably dead by now.” Admitted the cat-girl, there was the slightest hint of regret in her voice. Entrapta had been very useful to her in the beginning. But while there was regret, Catra did not betray even a hint of remorse. She felt no guilt for what she did. Entrapta always frustrated her to her wits’ end. They were not friends. That was fine. Catra didn’t need friends. “I sent her to Beast Island.”
“You- What-!?”
Hordak’s vision blanked for a half a moment. His breathing hard, as if he’d just run the endurance course, but all he’d done was stand there talking to Catra. His nasal cavity flared as his senses sharpened, narrowing in on Catra. His hindbrain no longer reading her as ‘subordinate’ or ‘ally’ and seeing only ‘enemy’. He experienced a feeling Hordak previously only thought could be felt in the thick of battle, when the air was filled with the sound of screams and the spray of shit and blood.
The killing edge.
In the space of a second. With only a single statement, Catra had driven him to the killing edge.
He wasn’t even aware he’d thrown the rangs in his hand until Catra was jumping off the console to dodge them. The wing shaped blades impaled themselves in the crystal keys of the panel, causing the machine to spark and wine in protest.
The already dimly lit bridge of the First Ones ship blinked warning lights before going even darker.
His eyes glowed even bright in the darkness. Two smoldering coals of crimson, searching the shadows, seeking the enemy he needed to destroy.
He sniffed the air, primal instincts buried by programming pushing their way to the surface.
But Catra could also see in the dark, and her primal instincts had never been suppressed or buried like his. With a deep and throaty growl, she pounced on the taller being. Claws slashing at his face and his throat. Blood trickled from the gashes in his face and trickled into his eyes.
The clone struggled to shake her off him. His own talons finding her sides where her kidneys should be. But Catra was wearing a Horde issued unitard, over thick fur. While his sharp talons did succeed in breaking the fabric, and cutting through the fur, he only succeeded in making shallow, superficial scratches on the skin underneath. Curling his hand into a fist, the clone punched the spot instead. Hitting Catra hard in the side, just above her kidney.
Gasping, one arm curling around her mid-section, Catra half-jumped, half-fell off of the alien. She got her feet under her quickly. Turning to face her opponent.
In all her years with the Evil Horde –in all her life- Catra had never seen Lord Hordak look so… wild.
Eyes that always did glow an unnerving shade of red were wide, and blazing brighter. So bright, that they cast a hellish red shine on the dark purple blood that dripped from his face and neck. He was breathing hard, filling the otherwise quiet bridge with the sound of deep panting. He snarled a wordless snarl of his own, showing sharp teeth and even sharper fangs that were as red as his eyes. Thick saliva mingled with his own purple blood dripped from his mouth.
“Catra…!” She more felt, rather than heard her name escape that monstrous, dripping, red hole of a mouth.
Unconsciously, Catra took a step back. He looked almost mindless.
“You took her from me…” He growled. Voice, barely above a whisper. Issuing from the depths of that red throat and drifting through the dark between them. “She was my- my…” He struggled with the vocabulary. None of the 47 languages he was programmed with in the crèche included a term that felt appropriate. “She was mine!”
But he wasn’t completely mindless. Obviously. Just, half-insane with rage –and other emotions he never received any programming in how to process.
“She was going to shut down the portal!” Catra shouted back, trying to regain some measure of control of the situation. “She might not have betrayed you yet, but she was going to!”
Surging forward with only talons and teeth, Hordak closed the space between them. He had been warrior trained since before he gained conscious thought. Programmed with all the knowledge and information a being needed to be an expert in hand-to-hand combat. Then given the physical conditioning and training a being needed to execute that knowledge.
But in his enraged, almost feral state, all that knowledge and training went out the airlock. The clone over extended himself. Stance too wide and unbalanced, arms outstretched too far, movements slowed by the pull of his own body.
Catra was able to dodge him easily.
Hordak stumbled and almost fell. Having to brace his hands against the bridge’s command console to keep from falling. Purple blood dripped on the crystal keys, but he ignored it. His defect prevented him from healing. The cuts would never close. Even if he did manage to defeat Catra now, he would still die. If not from blood loss, then from infection of the open wounds.
Eyes shifting to the rangs that were still impaled in the console, Hordak pulled one out. Taking more time and care when he threw it this time.
His aim was still bad, but it connected with it’s target this time. Sort of.
He had been aiming for Catra’s head, right between her eyes. The blade just barely nicked her ear and a few strands of coarse brown hair.
With a snarl, Catra put one hand to her hear. It came away with blood. He might not have done much damage, but he did open a wound.
The scent of fresh blood –that was not his own- bolstered his confidence. Took him back to the days when he was a competent soldier. When he could run through a battle field, vault across buildings, take out three opponents in close quarters by himself, and still complete the mission. The scent of blood, and adrenaline, and anxiety. The scent of prey. His hindbrain readjusting his mental balance to better stand on the killing edge.
“Setting off the portal destroyed my Sanctum!” He shouted. “Destroyed the empire I built here! The only one who betrayed me is you!”
That statement cut Catra deeper than she thought it would. Deeper than the mention of Shadow Weaver, or even Adora. ‘The problem is you!’
Now it was Catra’s turn to go almost half-mad with rage. How dare he!? He didn’t know her. Or her life. Or what she’d been through. What his empire put her through. What he put her through. He did not get to call her traitor! He did not get to say she was the problem!
Jumping high in the air, Catra leapt over Hordak’s head to land on the console. She plucked the second rang from between the crystal keys and stabbed it into the back of his exo-suit, getting the wing-shaped blade in the joint between two armored plates. Right where his arm met the shoulder.
The whole limb sparked. Sending pins and needles pain through out that whole side of Hordak’s body. He snarled at the sensation. The first rational fear crawling into his brain since Catra confessed his- his Lab Partner had been sent to Beast Island. He was weak without this armor –armor that Entrapta made for him- and Catra knew that. She knew how to kill him, and she very well could.
Trying to move his arm, Hordak was horrified to realize that the armor had locked up on that side. He could not move the arm. Just the tips of his fingers a little bit. He stared at Catra. His instincts for self-preservation overriding his rage at the loss of Entrapta. His hindbrain giving way to rational thought. Hordak stepped back from the killing edge.
Catra did not hesitate. Taking advantage of his fear, and the hesitation that came from it, she jumped on the alien clone again. This time, instead of madly clawing at where his skin was exposed, she had a target and a purpose. She had already ripped his heart out metaphorically, it was time to rip his heart out literally.
Or, at least, literally-adjacent.
She closed her hand over the pink First Ones crystal on his collar. Hand etched with a word neither of them can read, and placed there by Entrapta. It wasn’t just the power source for his exo-suit. It meant something to her. It meant something about them.
Getting her claws in the seem between crystal and setting, Catra pulled hard and- -ripped it out.
The setting sparked.
The whole suit sparked.
Even Catra felt a little jolt of electricity when she ripped out the power crystal.
They both fell to the ground. Catra holding the gem, Hordak sparking and twitching –almost like he were having a seizure.
Catra blinked, staring at him. Watching his body shake and seize. Only looking away when the armor finally shut down and locked up.
She looked at the crystal in her hand. She knew it was the power source for his armor. She knew Entrapta built the armor for Hordak and that it was glitch and didn’t always work right. Hell. Just a bit of sand in it made the thing go into a tizzy. She also knew that Hordak was a lot frailer and weaker than he let on. She knew he visited the First Ones’ med bay regularly and had wide marks and discolorations all over his body. He was sick. Somehow.
But, she didn’t think just shutting down his armor would defeat him.
So easily.
Adora wasn’t even this easy to beat.
Pushing herself to her feet, Catra prodded at Hordak’s prone body with her toe. He groaned, but did not move. He was alive, just not conscious. Kicking him, maybe a bit harder than was necessary, Catra rolled his body over. His eyes were closed, lips slightly parted, breathing uneven and labored. The scratches she dealt to his face and neck were deep and still bleeding. The neck wound in particular was almost a fountain. Spurting fresh bursts of dark purple blood out in time to the uneven beating of his heart.
Hordak wasn’t dead yet, but he would be dead soon. He would bleed out on the floor.
Catra stood there, staring at him. One arm curved back around her mid-section where he had punched her in the kidney earlier in the fight. She was at a bit of a loss as to what to do. She won. But there was no satisfaction in it.
There was no satisfaction in any victory.
She didn’t feel happy.
She just felt… tired.
Not knowing what else to do, still holding the First One’s crystal in her hand, Catra exited the ship’s bridge.
She would deal with Hordak’s body later.
…
To the vast majority of races in the known universe, it was called ‘Horde World’, but to the Horde themselves, the clone troopers, their commanders, their Captains, the cabinet Lords, and –of course, Horde Prime himself, it was Capital Core. The center of the Empire. The seat from which the Emperor ruled, and the birthing place for his brood of clone soldiers.
A gas giant orbiting a single yellow star. There was no terrestrial surface on Capital Core. The cities and settlements, more importantly, the cloning crèches floated on the layers of the planets gasses. The largest of which was Kurgrad, what could be considered the ‘capital city’ of Capital Core –although, Horde Prime did not rule from it. He ruled from his flagship, the Velvet Glove.
Docking with Kurgrad –or any of the floating settlements of Capital Core- was an experience unto itself. It wasn’t like two ships docking in space. In a zero-gravity environment, without outside forces pulling upon the ships, without particles or corrosive gasses threatening the integrity of the clamps and locks. In space, all anyone had to worry around was maneuvering and making sure not to collide.
But in addition to being a gas giant and having a strong pull that fought with capital ships’ propulsion, the atmospheric layers of Capital Core were also highly acidic and corrosive. The Horde employed various static fields and distortion fields to keep the corrosion at bay. But those fields had to be lowered to allow clamps to lock into place so that ships could dock and an airlock could be established. Docking in Capital Core was an adrenaline pumping ballet of split-second timing between pilot and docking bay engineer.
Once the Leather Vest did dock, however, one could disembark same as any other time a capital ship connected with another vessel.
Zero-Zero-Three stepped off the ship and navigated his way through the narrow corridors of Kurgrad towards the central hub.
The central hub was a wide, circular chamber. With a dome celling of laminated transparasteel and glass so that if one looked up, they could see the ‘sky’ of Capital Core. During cycles of clear weather, the view was that of stars, or maybe some of the planets many moons. On cycles of poor weather, the view would be clouded by swirls and trails of yellow, orange, and cream.
Today seemed to be a cycle of bad weather, Zero-Zero-Three noted. The view outside the dome was a deep caramel orange with a dark streak of scarlet and crimson cutting through on a south-westerly path –a direction the winds did not usually travel.
So preoccupied was Zero-Zero-Three at studying the sky, that he almost didn’t notice the Display.
The central hub was also were Horde Prime staged his examples of what happened to those who betrayed the Empire. Nothing squashed dissent faster than gruesome Displays. Usually, the bodies erected in the center of the hub were those of aliens. Scientists that tended the cloning crèches, engineers that maintained the static fields, mechanics that serviced the ships, and any other variety of imperial subject that served in a menial labor job. Every now and again, one of them would grow malcontent and have to be put down. Their body then put up on Display as a warning to any others who might try and use their job to sabotage Horde Prime’s mighty Empire.
Today, however, the Display was not an alien.
Zero-Zero-Three stared at the body. Not quite sure what he was supposed to think.
Tall, like himself. With long legs, a narrow waist and wide ribcage. Hands that ended in talons just like his own. A pike was driven up their cloaca, the point of it coming up out of the stump where their head used to be. Even without the head, Zero-Zero-Three would recognize the body. It was his own body –minus the discoloration caused by his defects, of course. It was a clone body.
The traitor on display was a Horde clone.
He stood there, staring at the body of one of his brothers. Faceless, numberless, anonymous. And tried to imagine why and how a Horde clone could ever even think to betray their Brother. Zero-Zero-Three didn’t think it was possible. Horde Prime was the Empire, to betray the Empire was to betray Horde Prime and vice-versa. What defect in programing could lead to such… heresy –for lack of a better word.
Zero-Zero-Three stood there for so long, in fact, that Red Hord had to pull him by the arm. “C’mon, let’s get some gray rations.”
He allowed the other clone to pull him through the hub to the canteen district. A corridor lined with kiosks and stalls dispensing food. Alien dishes for those that lived in Capital Core to serve the Empire. Creatures that took advantage of the fact that it was the Core of the Empire, and bartered for foodstuffs from cargo freighters. Grilled vegetables, freeze-dried meats, powdered grains, and boiled roots. Red Hord pulled Zero-Zero-Three past all of this, uninterested. Horde clones had no taste for non-processed foods and preferred the flavorless ration bars provided to them by the Imperial canteen.
The Imperial canteen was decidedly absent of alien dinners. Anyone who was eating from the Imperial canteen was a clone.
The moment their brothers noted that it was a cabinet Lord striding through, they immediately moved out of the way, some of them even humbling themselves with a polite bow. Zero-Zero-Three used to do the same thing until just recently. Until just recently, he was the same as all their other brothers. But this was not an entirely new experience for him. In fact, walking with Red Hord and watching their other brothers bow out of the way, reminded Zero-Zero-Three of his time serving under Lord Hode and the comparison suddenly made him miss the old clone.
Clones died all the time. In droves. The loss of a brother should not have been a big deal for him. Zero-Zero-Three should have felt nothing. But, when he was reminded of Hode, he felt an uncomfortable sensation of… something missing. Something that he’d assumed would always be there and took for granted but was now inexplicably gone. Zero-Zero-Three didn’t know what word to call this feeling. The appropriate vocabulary hadn’t been programmed into him for this kind of sensation. None of the 47 languages the clones of Horde Prime were programmed with seemed to include something to describe what he felt. ‘Loss’ didn’t quite seem to cover it. ‘Bereft’ maybe, but it still felt off.
Then movement out the corner of his eye caught his attention and Zero-Zero-Three looked up, forgetting thoughts of his incomplete language programming.
He looked up, eyes scanning the corridor they’d just stepped through, sure he must have been mistaken. Sure his defects were manifesting again and his eyes were playing tricks on him.
A figure weaving between the aliens of the canteen district. A figure wearing a dark cape and a hood. The hood throwing their face into shadow so that no expression –or even identity- could be seen.
Without even making the conscious decision to, Zero-Zero-Three left Red Hord’s side to follow the hooded figure. It couldn’t be. Academically, Zero-Zero-Three knew he must have been mistaken. But his feet still led him to follow.
Red Hord looked up when the younger clone dashed away, sprinting after someone in the crowd. Maybe it was true what he’d heard about his brother. The man was not smart. Red Hord took a bite of gray ration bar and watched Zero-Zero-Three sprint through the crowd, terrifying every alien he passed, and irritating every clone brother.
Zero-Zero-Three followed that dark cloak to an almost deserted part of the station. Pipes and boiler tanks, rust and steam. Dim lights, low hanging cables, poor visibility.
“Wait!” Zero-Zero-Three was almost on top of the hooded figure by the time he realized that, no, this was not Hode.
The figure paused, finally turning around.
He still couldn’t see their face, but they were much too short to be a clone of Horde Prime. All of Zero-Zero-Three’s brothers were the same height. His height. But this hooded figure only came up to about the clone’s collarbone. Too short to be Hode.
Their face was hidden, but the cape parted enough for Zero-Zero-Three to catch a glimpse of the body underneath it.
Steel toed boots with mean-looking horns that might have been decorative, except they could do some serious damage if a being were kicked with them. Metal grieves that went up to the knee, but no combat stockings or other such armor. Bare skin exposed to the air, blue, but not clone blue. Horde clones’ skin was more of a gray-blue, while this was closer to azure or jewel-blue. An alien blue. A leather, studded, and armored loincloth hung from narrow hips. The chest was just as bare and exposed as the thighs. Displaying more azure blue skin, pulled tight over toned and sculpted muscles. Hard abdominals and chiseled pectorals. A pair of crossed belts, like bandoliers, but without weapons crossed over that impossibly muscular chest, with a motif of bones for decoration.
That was all Zero-Zero-Three could see. Everything else was concealed by the hood and cape.
This wasn’t Hode.
But it was an alien that was standing in what definitely looked like what should be a restricted area of Kurgrad.
“Who are you?” Demanded the clone.
The hooded figure did not answer immediately. The head tilted up, the folds of the hood pulling back just enough to expose a square, bone colored chin.
Then Zero-Zero-Three heard a familiar squawk and all thoughts of the mysterious alien he mistook for Hode vanished from his mind.
Hode’s deamon fluttered down from the pipes and cabling above their heads. The tiny android landed on the hooded figure’s shoulder. If Hode’s deamon trusted this alien then perhaps they were not an intruder. The alien nodded at the deamon, as if telling him ‘it’s okay, go ahead’, before the android flapped its wings again and fluttered over to Zero-Zero-Three. Unconsciously, the clone reached a talon up to scratch under the deamon’s chin as if it were an organic being.
“Hode wished him to be given to you.” Said the hooded figure. Voice high in pitch, almost screechy, and very very nasal. The voice did not entirely seem to fit the body it issued from.
Zero-Zero-Three looked back at the alien. “You knew Lord Hode?”
“Intimately.” Confessed the figure.
But Zero-Zero-Three had never heard his Lord mention any alien allies he might have. Certainly none that he would know intimately enough to entrust his deamon to. Unless…
Unless this hooded figure who would not show their face was lying. Red Hord did say that Hode’s deamon disappeared upon Hode’s death. What if Hode did not entrust his deamon to this alien, what if he stole it from the Empire. Lord Hode did store countless files of information inside the small android. Even added extra memory to him to accommodate it all.
But the deamon did not seem like a hostage being released.
In any event, Lord Hode’s deamon had been found. Even if Zero-Zero-Three wasn’t already about to be promoted to the cabinet, this would be a feat worthy or earning favor from the Emperor. “Horde Prime will be relieved you’ve been found.”
At that statement, the deamon did look concerned. He gave a squawk of disagreement and hopped off Zero-Zero-Three’s shoulder to flutter back to the hooded alien.
The alien only sighed. The sound issuing from the shadows of the hood carrying nothing but disappointment, and for some reason, Zero-Zero-Three was reminded of Hode’s ear-droop when he asked the younger clone ‘what is the Empire’.
“Hode was right, you are a slow learner.” He said. “Imp will stay with me until you’re ready for him.”
“Imp?” Echoed the clone. Androids can’t choose their own names.
“When you’re ready, come to Eternia.” Continued the hooded figure. “Imp will be waiting for you on Snake Mountain.”
…
A strand of course, messy brown hair had fallen over the front of Catra’s headdress and she had to brush it out of the way with a sigh. Her heart was still pounding and her side still hurt from her fight with Hordak. But she won. She was still Boss Catra of the Crimson Wastes. She was still on top.
Now she just had to figure out what she was going to do now.
The previous She-Ra’s mysterious First Ones weapon was a bust. With Hordak gone, and Entrapta probably already dead on Beast Island, the only other people on Etheria capable of working with First Ones tech were with the Rebellion. They wouldn’t help her. Not even if she asked nicely. So, what was she going to do now…? What came next? What did she… want…?
What was that running across the sand towards the ship?
“Catra~a!” Adora came from out of literally nowhere! “For the Honor of Grayskull!”
And punched her in the face with a golden, glowing fist.
But Adora wasn’t alone. Fast behind her were Bow and Scorpia. So, she decided the betray Catra after what happened in Entrapta’s old lab. Fine. That was fine. Catra didn’t need Scorpia. Just like she didn’t need Shadow Weaver, or Hordak. She didn’t need Adora either. Catra didn’t need anyone!
Entrapta’s bot, Emily, came up next, being helped up the dune by Adora’s talking horse. Of course, the robot would side with the Princesses after what she did to the tech Princess. Emily probably wanted revenge for what was done to her creator.
Behind Emily was some kind of creature. Catra had to rub her eyes. There must be sand in them or something. Or maybe She-Ra’s punch gave her a concussion. It looked like Hordak. A child-Hordak, running up to her. Imp flapping next to them. But that couldn’t be right. Hordak was dead –or, would be dead very soon, she had no idea how long it took a creature like him to bleed out- and Hordak had no children of his own before they left the Fright Zone. What was this thing?
All thoughts of the mysterious and inexplicable child-Hordak went out of Catra’s head, however, when she saw the final member of their part run up. “Entrapta!? But- you’re dead-!”
“Catra! Hey!” Entrapta paused, unsure how she was supposed to act now. She thought Catra was her best friend. According to her Interpersonal Relationship Algorithm, Catra was her best friend. But then, Catra tazed her in the back and shipped her to Beast Island, so… maybe the data was wrong. Entrapta didn’t know what to do. “Did you come to see the First Ones ship too?”
Frozen for a moment, Catra just stared at the other woman. If she had arrived just a little bit sooner, just a little bit, that whole fight with Hordak could have been avoided. She would have had two frustrating nerd to fix her ship for her and it probably would have gotten done in a day with Entrapta. Now… with Entrapta’s precious ‘lab partner’ bleeding out and probably already dead by now, there was no way the tech Princess was going to help her.
That didn’t even cover all the others that came with her. All of whom looked like they were out for Catra’s blood –Adora included.
Catra locked eyes with Adora –with She-ra. She hated that glowing aura, that long golden hair, that all white uniform that never seemed to get dirty no matter what kind of fight she was in. Princess. Ugh! Catra hated it. If Adora had never become She-Ra, none of this would have ever happened! Catra felt more than heard a hiss escape her throat. How dare Adora do this to her!
Her hands balled into fists at her sides and the Frist Ones crystal she ripped out of Hordak’s armor slipped from her fingers.
Entrapta was the only one to notice it when it fell in the sand.
“What’s that?” Before anyone else could move, she had slithered over with her hair and scooped the item up out of the sand.
Then she froze.
Recognizing it instantly.
“This- this is-“ A tendril of hair slithered up to try and lower her welding mask over her face, but it was trembling and did not connect. Her mask stayed up, allowing everyone to see her expression as her brain tried desperately to process information and emotions she did not know how to process. “I gave this to Hordak.”
But Scorpia told her he died.
If Hordak died in the Fright Zone, what was his crystal doing here?
She looked up at the scorpion woman. “Where’s Hordak?”
“I’m Hordak.” Dak tried to remind her.
But she wasn’t listening to them. Her gaze shifted from Scorpia to Catra. Eyes wide, but pupils small, brows down at a sharp angle. Her hair lashed out, intertwining around Catra’s body. Holding the other woman immobile and lifting her up off the sand. Entrapta slammed the younger woman against the exterior plating of the First Ones ship. “Where’s Hordak!?”
Catra groaned, gritting her teeth. She’d never seen Entrapta act this way before and she had no idea what to do. How did one talk one’s way out of being strangled by the magical hair of a Princess that couldn’t tell the difference between a forbidden Sanctum belonging to an evil overlord, and fun workplace where she hung out with a gloomy goth cyborg?
“Pro-probably dead by now.” Catra managed to squeeze out, Entrapta’s hair really was holding her tightly. Like, really tightly. Like, getting hard to breath, shadows behind the eyes, tightly.
“But he was alive!” Entrapta pressed. She needed accurate data. She needed to know. People had a tendency to make vague statements and just assume that she would understand. She did not understand. She was missing whatever it was that everyone else had that allowed them to understand and communicate with each other. She needed explicitly clear statements. “How recently was he alive?”
Catra gasped for air. Entrapta was holding her so tight. It was supposed to be morning. The Glow Moon was high in the sky. Why was everything so dark?
“Entrapta!” That was Adora’s voice. Why did Adora sound so far away? Why did Adora sound scared?
“Entrapta, let her go! Please!” That was Scorpia.
Why did all of them sound so far away?
Then the pressure constricting her was gone and Catra fell to the sand.
Gasping.
She lay on her back, breathing hard. Filling her lungs with oxygen as long snake-like bruises formed on her skin where Entrapta’s hair had constricted her. Her vision began to clear and she was inexplicably reminded of the way Hordak had choked her by sucking all the oxygen out of the room. Entrapta almost killed her, she realized. Catra didn’t think Entrapta could be capable of something like that. She was a Princess, after all.
She and Hordak were suited for each other.
Catra laid in the warm sand. She was alive. But still so inexplicably tired.
“Inside.” She finally answered. “Hordak’s bleeding out inside.”
Catra’s eyes were already closed, she passed out before Entrapta had time to jerk her way out of Scorpia’s arms and dash inside the ship.
As Catra said, he was inside. A long, thin body playing prone on the floor. A wide pool of dark purple blood had pooled around his head and shoulders, leaking from deep gashes in his neck. Catra must have cut his species’ equivalent of the jugular vein with her claws.
Putting most of her weight on her hair, not caring that she got the sensitive strands soaked in blood, Entrapta hovered over him. She hesitated for a moment. But, it was Hordak, her Lab Partner. Her… she didn’t know the appropriate term. Scorpia was her Best Friend, but the way she felt about Hordak… he was also very special to her, just in a different way. He was her ‘Extra Friend’? She shook her head. Terminology and classifications could come later, she had to assess his condition right now.
Setting her misgivings aside, Entrapta peeled one of her gloves off.
She pressed two fingers to the side of his neck that was not open and leaking vital fluids.
At first, she thought Catra was right. That she was too late. That he had bled out. That Hordak was dead.
But just as she was about to pull her hand away, she felt the slightest of pulses. One small ‘ba…bump’. It was faint. Perhaps just the last impotent beat. It wasn’t like there was much left in him to pump. But it gave Entrapta hope. If she could just get some fresh blood in him from a compatible donor…
“Mother…?”
Entrapta looked up.
Dak, the clone she made of Hordak, had followed her into the ship.
i really hate infinitive or qualitative compliments that i can theoretically in the future fuck up about and make the person regret saying in the first place because my brain loves to latch onto those and go “i’m gonna make SURE you fuck this up ASAP”
We need to start calling out “Christians”, mainly female ones, for pretending selfishness and neurotic erotophobia are the same thing as a calling to consecrated lay celibacy.
You just don’t want to take the trouble to be in a relationship with another person, it’s not some fucking spiritual calling. There’s a goddamn difference between a misogynist, self-indulgent lifelong bachelor and a monk. And you sure as fuck ain’t no nun.
