Revival
(Revised Edition, January 2009)
by Cheezey
Part Two: Illusions
WilyKit set the ThunderClaw, the best vehicle available at the Lair at the time, down in the bleak lands that surrounded the ruins where Mumm-Ra’s supposedly “abandoned” pyramid stood. “Still creepy as ever,” she muttered as she took the sight of it in up close for the first time in many years. Lightning did not crackle above it, though, and by appearances it still seemed just like it did after Mumm-Ra’s defeat in the Book of Omens. But is it abandoned?
Scanning for the entrance, the gleam of metal in the edge of her peripheral vision caught her eye. It was the Feliner. “WilyKat!” she exclaimed, and ran first to the vehicle. He’s here after all, she thought, and then frowned when she saw that the old spacecraft was empty and there was no sign of her brother in it. Although no sign of a crash, forced landing, damage, or injury was evident, his total absence was disconcerting. Chet was right, but why would he land here? Curious, she switched on the radio, and it functioned normally. It’s working now… so why didn’t he answer my calls?
She hopped out of the Feliner and turned back toward the black pyramid once more. “Why on Thundera or Third Earth would you land here and go exploring?” the puzzled Thundercat said. If Mumm-Ra was back somehow, or the Lunatac he once teamed up with—she tried to banish the unsettling thought—the Thundercats would know, right? Why would the dark pyramid look so, for lack of a better word, lifeless, unless all the unnatural life was gone from it as they believed it to be?
Could some new, other evil force have moved in? That possibility was no less reassuring, and only strengthened her resolve to find her brother and get him out of there.
“WilyKat!” she shouted as she made her way into the pyramid. “Kat! Are you here?”
Just like her brother had earlier when he had come looking for her, the only answer WilyKit got was an ominous silence. She made her way through the dusty and twisty corridors, continually calling for her brother with no response. “Come on, Kat, what’s the deal? Did you miss Mumm-Ra’s old place more than your own sister?” she joked, more as a way to stave off her own uneasiness than anything else.
After what felt to her like an eternity, she finally reached the heart of the dark pyramid, Mumm-Ra’s sarcophagus chamber. The powerful sense of evil—evil very much vibrant and alive as opposed to the distant trace it should have been—overwhelmed her as soon she crossed the threshold. “Even worse than I remember when Mumm-Ra was here,” she muttered. Her skin began to crawl as she noticed not one, but two sarcophagi in the room, and that the pool in the center of the room was active and bubbling. “Gods,” she breathed, and raised her flashlight to scan the dimly lit area for any sign of her brother.
She nearly dropped it when the beam pierced the shadows behind one of the four grotesque totem statues in the room. WilyKat was there, bound in chains that were the telltale color of Thundrainium, and hanging limply from the wall.
“WilyKat!” WilyKit was at her brother’s side in a flash. “Oh, please don’t be dead!” Relieved as she could see him breathing up close, she realized that she had to get him away from the Thundrainium as soon as possible. “Hang in there,” she said, and then grimaced at her poor choice of words. “Your big sister’ll get you out of this.” Though she was the older of the twins only by a matter of minutes, it was something that she fondly teased him about, and she hoped that it would give him comfort.
The male twin stirred when he felt WilyKit’s touch and heard her voice. “Kit,” he mumbled, “Kit, is that you?”
WilyKit fished a pinpoint explosive pellet from her pouch and took careful aim at the chains above his head. Breaking the ones that suspended him would get him down, and from there she could figure out how best to deal with the Thundrainium in close contact. “Don’t worry,” she reassured him. “I’ll get you out of this horrible place and back to the Lair.”
“Will you now?” a cruel voice sneered from behind them.
Whirling around, WilyKit found herself face to face with Torlei. Though she had not seen the undead Lunatac when the Thundercats tangled with her all those years ago, she fit the description and to the startled Thundercat twin, was a frightening sight to behold. “What? Are you—?”
“I’m someone you didn’t expect to show up.” Torlei laughed nastily and raised her hand, aglow with evil energy.
“What have you done to my brother?” WilyKit demanded, and took a defensive stance.
Torlei hurled the energy blast at her. “So you’re the twin. Showing such devotion to your brother… how fortunate for me. I can have a matched set.”
WilyKit leapt out of the way, avoiding harm both to herself and the bound WilyKat. “I don’t think so,” she countered, and threw the pellet originally intended for the chains at the undead Lunatac instead. Torlei straightened and held out her palm as the Thundercat moved to strike, and the pellet exploded on an invisible shield separating the two of them.
“I do,” Torlei then said, and pushed her hand forward. The telekinetic barrier that separated them burst forward and barreled into WilyKit, knocking her to her knees and taking her breath away. Without giving her the chance to react, Torlei then summoned and hurled a burning globe of energy at WilyKit that surrounded and burned her skin, making her cry out in pain just as it had WilyKat when she trapped him in it. “And since he’s so dear to you, you can hang right next to your brother.”
With a wave of her hands and a quick murmured spell, Torlei had the incapacitated WilyKit bound into Thundrainium chains identical to WilyKat’s. When she was certain that they were both secure, she approached and eyed her newest capture curiously. “So tell me, WilyKit, how did you find him? Did that telepathic cheetah figure it out before I got the psychic block in place?”
“How can you block Cheetara’s powers?”
“The same way I can block your satellite signals and the magic of your nosy Thundercat sword. I was a master telekinetic when I was alive, Thundercat, and the Ancient Spirits of Evil have enhanced what I had in life to a level no mortal could ever match in death,” she boasted, and sneered at her. “But I suppose you might not’ve known that. You weren’t there when I met your friends, after all. You and your brother were with that blind old cat Lynx-O coming to save the day after your Lord called for you to come rescue him. In that case, allow me to introduce myself.” She swished her long gray hair over her shoulder in an arrogant flourish. “I am Torlei, the eternal bride of Mumm-Ra the Ever-Living.” She narrowed her blazing red eyes. “Or you may better know me as the one your brother shot into the volcano years ago.”
WilyKit struggled to keep her strength in vain as the Thundrainium sapped her energy. “You were supposed to be destroyed… dead…”
“I’ve been dead ever since Luna killed me the first time, but it didn’t stop me then, and it didn’t do me in when your brother tried to kill me either.” The undead Lunatac drew back her hand and made a striking motion that sent WilyKit’s head reeling with an equivalent telekinetic slap that packed an additional burning sting. “Like I defined it for your brother, ‘ever-living’ means eternal. Like weeds in a garden, you can try to get rid of us, and you may even think you have for a short time, but we’ll always come back.”
“Luna killed you… you were one of the Lunatacs,” WilyKit said, and recalled from the others’ accounts of the event that she and Mumm-Ra had attacked and attempted to kill them as well.
Torlei regarded her coldly. “I presume you mean Luna’s group on Third Earth and aren’t stating the obvious about my mortal race, but yes. In another lifetime, anyway, but make no mistake, my disloyal brother and his equally worthless friends are nothing to me now. Soon they’ll meet their end as will everyone who has wronged me. Mumm-Ra and I are going to destroy anyone that would stand in our way of ruling all of New Thundera, Plundarr, and its Moons in ultimate evil. And yes, WilyKit, before you ask, he is here, and very much alive and burning for revenge. You thought him eliminated in the Book of Omens?” She laughed. “Oh no. He was merely weak for the last twelve years, resting and biding his time, but he did survive, and he’s now stronger than ever.”
WilyKit glared at her gloating captor. “You won’t win. The Thundercats will never let New Thundera fall into your hands, and even if you can block the Eye of Thundera and Cheetara, they’ll still find us.”
“Oh? And how would that be?”
“Do you think that Cheetara is the only cat with a sixth sense on all of New Thundera?”
Torlei’s brow rose. “The only one close to the Thundercats… or is she?” She took a few steps closer to WilyKit and stared deeply into her eyes, using her psi abilities to pierce her mind. In horror, WilyKit realized the gist of what Torlei was attempting, and did her best to look away out of fear for Chet. Unfortunately the depth of emotion in her panicked thoughts essentially broadcasted the very name she wanted to avoid revealing.
“Chet,” Torlei said, enunciating the name the way a predator would speak of a mouth-watering morsel. “The toddler cub of Lion-O and Cheetara?” She grinned. “Ah, so the boy inherited his mother’s powers, did he? Who knew one so young could speak well enough to cause me such trouble? Well then, I suppose he’ll just have to be silenced—for good.” A diabolical smile spread across her face.
“No!” The groggy WilyKat growled with as much energy as he could muster, trapped as he was. “Leave him alone!”
WilyKit struggled with a desperate surge of adrenaline. “Chet’s an innocent child! He’s done nothing to you or anyone else!”
Their protests were in vain. “The cub’s existence, if he can block my powers, is a threat, and threats must be appropriately dealt with, Thundercat.” Her eyes glowed with malevolence. “His tender age is of no consequence to me, and besides, Lion-O and Cheetara won’t mourn their child for long. They won’t live long enough themselves.”
WilyKat snarled and struggled in his chains. “You lay one hand on that kid and I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” the unimpressed Torlei retorted. “You’re in no position to threaten me!”
The exchange was interrupted when Mumm-Ra materialized in the center of the chamber in his mummified form. “What in the name of Osiris is all this yelling about?” he demanded, noticing that now a second Thundercat had joined the first one his bride had captured in his absence.
“Darling, look what I’ve caught,” Torlei boasted, and gestured to WilyKit. “The female Thunder-twin. She came to save her brother. Isn’t that heartwarming?” she said sarcastically. “I should’ve had such loyalty out of Alluro.”
Mumm-Ra eyed the captive Thundercats for a moment, and then turned back to his wife. “You’ve been out playing again, I see. I do hope you haven’t tipped our hand?”
Torlei frowned at the implication. “Of course not. She came to me. I never had to leave the comforts of home.”
“Good,” Mumm-Ra replied. “We have no need to concern ourselves with them now, then. Before long, all of the Thundercats will meet their end, regardless of where they spend their final moments. Ratar-O is on his way to claim the Sword of Plundarr from me, at the urging of his ancestor ‘Ratilla’. From there, he’ll go to the Thundercats to avenge his Mutant pride, and by then, that fool Prince Silvian and his MoonSaber should make their appearance. As Lion-O defends himself at ‘Jaga’s’ warning, the three ancient swords will clash and all we will have to do is recite the Incantation of Destruction.” He cackled. “The Thundercats, Mutants, and Lunatacs will all be laid to waste and we’ll be there to take what remains.” Mumm-Ra turned and cast the captive WilyKat and WilyKit a triumphant grin. “You two may survive being so far from the battle itself, but most likely you’ll perish in the apocalyptic reaction. If not, you’ll make fine examples with which to frighten the survivors into submitting to our rule.”
“It won’t work,” WilyKit said defiantly. “The real Jaga will just appear to Lion-O and tell him the truth. Or Cheetara’s sixth sense will warn them. You can’t fool them all.”
“Can’t I?” laughed Mumm-Ra. “I fooled Silvian. I fooled Ratar-O... and if I do say so myself, I can be a convincing Jaga as well.” He stepped to the edge of his cauldron and raised his hands in supplication to his spirit masters. “Ancient Spirits of Evil, transform your servant Mumm-Ra into the likeness of Jaga the Wise, deceased Thundercat!” The statues rumbled, and projected a beam of transformative energy that surrounded Mumm-Ra and changed him into the spitting image of a ghostly Jaga. “It’s been delightful, Thundercats, but I must be going,” he said to WilyKit and WilyKat in an eerie mockery of Jaga’s voice. “I have an appointment with the Lord of the Thundercats to keep before Ratar-O and Silvian arrive.”
As Mumm-Ra vanished in a sinister flash of light, Torlei regarded the bound twins smugly. “As for your hopes of a psychic warning, consider them trounced. I’ve already got barriers to the astral plane, the magic of the Eye of Thundera, Crescent of the Moons, and Serpent Eyes of Plundarr, and to your friend Cheetara’s sixth sense in place. I do thank you for the tip about the loose end of the little cub though. I’ll take care of that right now, and actually, the disappearance of the child will serve as the perfect distraction to upset the Thundercats enough to not even think twice about whatever ‘Jaga’ tells them.”
She summoned Ma-Mutt to her side. “Keep an eye on our kitties like a good boy, and I’ll save some Thundercat bones or a snarf hide for you later.”
While the demon dog barked in acceptance of Torlei’s command, she folded her arms across her chest and vanished, teleporting herself out to see to her evil task. WilyKit and WilyKat were left behind in their binds, struggling in vain and praying that their friends would see through the evil ever-livings’ machinations in time.
* * *
As Prince Silvian’s ship neared New Thundera, the tension amongst the four passengers it carried was growing. Silvian paced the length of the bridge, anxious about the upcoming confrontation with the Thundercats. Even though he had the MoonSaber, which was supposed to give him power great enough that he should be near invincible according to legend, the fact that the Lord of the Thundercats had the Sword of Omens giving him equivalent power undermined his confidence significantly. In addition, Lord Lion-O was well seasoned in combat, unlike him. Frostor and the others had taught him basic fighting skills and how to defend himself, but as a ruler his experience was more in strategy and with a home court advantage. He had none of that working in his favor on New Thundera. Even the strength of his conviction that he was doing the right thing for his people and the support of his more battle-hardened companions was not enough to make him think that it would be easy.
Meanwhile, Chilla and TugMug also pondered how the upcoming fight with the Thundercats was going to go. The last time they had fought, when Captain Cracker had sprung them from their prison on Way Out Back, their entire group had been humiliatingly defeated in short order by a handful of Thundercats, a snarf, and Mandora. It seemed that they had no sooner broken out than they were locked back up locked up again. Fortunately for them they managed to escape and stay free not long afterward, but that was largely because they avoided any area associated with the Thundercats like a Thundercat did Thundrainium. Both Chilla and TugMug remembered that old humiliation very well, and while they were eager to deal the Thundercats some long overdue retribution, they also knew better than to underestimate them.
Seated farthest from the console was Frostor, buried deep in one of his tomes of Lunar-Plundarrian history. On the seat beside him was an array of other documentation, and two other books. Reading was the Governor General’s own way of keeping nervousness at bay. The trip they were taking to New Thundera with Silvian and the MoonSaber to fight the Lord of the Thundercats bore chilling similarities to the dream Psiarik had related to him, but Frostor clung to the hope that they had circumvented what the nightmare prophesized by changing the key point of leaving Selene on the Moons. Frostor had not put it that way to her at the time, but he figured if things did go badly and by some off chance Mutants did show up, Selene would be spared and the Moons would be safely in her hands. Since it was she that had been in the ceremony in Psiarik’s dream and not Silvian, things could not occur as they did in the psi’s nightmare, he reasoned.
Still, that was not enough to quiet all of Frostor’s ill musings on the
subject. The fact that Chillandra’s
ghost had appeared out of the mists of the past to warn Silvian to undertake
the mission meant that at the very least, the Thundercats had designs on the
Lunatacs’ sword, and other things hinted to him that some force was at work
that had full awareness of the ancient legends.
What it ultimately meant was anyone’s guess, but Frostor doubted that it
was anything good. He only hoped they
could piece it together in time.
He turned to a page of his book containing yet another biographical account of Chillandra, Mistress of the Cold. It was one of several he had read so far. Given that she was the one who had urged Silvian onto the mission without delay, it made sense for him to find out all he could about her. That particular account was the first he looked at that had a clear photograph of her. The others that had pictures at all were sketches or artistic renditions in portrait style, so while they gave him a basic idea of what she looked like and showed the resemblance to Chilla that Silvian and Selene had previously mentioned, they did not give the sort of detail an actual photograph did.
The icewalker’s eyes widened when he saw it, and he drew a
sharp breath. It was far more than a
passing resemblance. Chilla looked
enough like King Mallar’s long gone ice sorceress to be her sister, or her
daughter. “Dear gods,” Frostor said,
even as his mind raced through documented fact and rumor. Some said she went so far as to marry and
have a family to protect her identity when she went into hiding…
“What is it, Frostor?” Silvian asked.
“It’s Chilla, I mean, Chillandra! Look!” He held out the book and pointed to the picture, eyeing Chilla in a completely new light.
“What are you talking about?” Chilla frowned and walked over to take a look, while Silvian nodded knowingly.
“Yeah, I told you she looked like her.”
Frostor handed Silvian the book, who almost immediately passed it on to a curious TugMug while Frostor spoke. “Yes, I remember you saying that, and I’ve seen some of those artistic representations too. I think I might’ve even seen the image of the old portrait in the palace you mentioned, the one King Mallar commissioned. But those things are subjective and I’d chalked it up to coincidence.” He looked at Chilla for another long moment. “But now that I’ve seen an actual photo, I’m compelled to wonder. The resemblance is startling.”
“He’s right,” TugMug agreed, glancing between Chilla and the picture in the book. “You got something you want to tell us?”
Letting out a humorless hiss of frost as she yanked the book from the graviton’s hands, Chilla said, “Give me that!” She eyed the picture of Chillandra, which showed the long gone Mistress of the Cold from the shoulders up. She had to admit that King Mallar’s advisor did bear a strong resemblance to her, at least in facial features and bone structure, although she saw nothing compelling beyond that. She handed the book back to Frostor and shot TugMug an unimpressed look. “I have no idea why I would look like her.”
“Maybe you’re related,” Silvian suggested.
“I don’t think so,” Chilla replied icily. “I don’t have any family.”
“After the disasters a lot of us don’t, but it could be that she was a relation to you, couldn’t it?” argued Silvian, while TugMug laughed.
“Besides, Alluro said that and wound up with a son. Like they say, anything’s possible.”
“I’m not Alluro, and I don’t have children floating around the universe. If I had one, I’d know about it, don’t you think?” she said sarcastically.
That time Silvian laughed. “I’d hope so. Besides, she’d be old enough to be your mother, not the other way around.”
Chilla’s expression darkened dangerously. “My mother was no Third Moon courtier.”
“Touchy subject?” Frostor asked, noticing her sudden shift to a very foul mood. He thought again of the rumors about Chillandra hiding her identity by creating a family on Lixuvekh.
TugMug waved away the ice woman’s frosty demeanor dismissively. “With Chilla, anything can be a touchy subject. Like a true icewalker, she always runs hot and cold.”
“Would you prefer to be frozen or burned then?” the irate Chilla snarled at TugMug before addressing Frostor’s remark. “As for my mother, she had no use for me, so I have none for her. She was just some drifter that took up with my father. He probably picked her up in a bar. He wasn’t very discriminating. He always managed to find a whore to keep him company before they got sick of him too.”
Silvian offered Chilla a sympathetic look. “Your mother left him, I take it.”
“When I was a baby. I don’t even remember her. That’s what my father told me, anyway, when he was sober enough to get the story straight.” She looked away. “So I’m sure you’ll all excuse me if I don’t want to talk about her.”
Although he could tell that Chilla’s patience for the conversation was treading on thin ice, so to speak, given the situation he pressed her for more details anyway. “What about her family? Didn’t she have sisters, brothers, or parents that asked about her? Were you an only child?”
“I told you she was a drifter,” Chilla replied tersely. “She had no family that my father knew, and no, I don’t have any brothers or sisters. Being impregnated by him once was apparently enough for her.” She glared icicles at them, clearly fed up with the conversation. “And I can tell you flat out that my father and his family aren’t related to anyone who’d have been in the lunar king’s court. If they were, they’d have milked it for everything it was worth. My father loved to call in favors; it got him more money to waste on his pleasures.”
Chilla’s denial only made Frostor’s suspicions stronger. While the description of Chilla’s father was certainly not that of anyone a royal lunar would have been caught dead associating with, it also made sense that someone of his court trying to hide would have a perfect cover in seeking the company of individuals like that. What facts Chilla had given about her mother were consistent with speculation that had been made about Chillandra’s whereabouts after the recovery and hiding of the MoonSaber. The more he thought about it, the more the notion that Chilla was indeed Chillandra’s child made sense to him. “Chilla,” Frostor said, rising to his feet and meeting her gaze evenly, “I remember from my studies on Luna and those in her association that you were very adept with your ice-born powers. Yet you were young when you left the moons, barely out of your teens, am I right?”
She regarded him dubiously, but did answer. “Yes.”
“From what you’ve said, your father wasn’t high society. What class was he? Working class, I presume? Your average Lixuvekh citizen?”
“If you call being a drunk with a short temper that worked in the marine drilling docks that, yes. I’m not noble-born.” Her breath grew frosty with impatience.
“And your mother? I understand she’s a sore spot… but do you think it’s possible that if Chillandra did assume a new identity and sought a new and unassuming life on Lixuvekh, she could have been your mother? That it’s possible?”
Chilla had reached the end of her patience for the invasive line of questioning. “I told you that I didn’t want to talk about this,” she hissed angrily. “My mother’s name wasn’t Chillandra; I can tell you that much. So drop it and stop looking for things that aren’t there!”
Frostor was not deterred. “Are you sure? She looks a lot like you Chilla, and you can’t deny that. If you’re sure Chillandra wasn’t your mother, then who was she? Where did she come from? Who was her family and where did she go when she left you?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care!” Chilla raged, and spat a blast of ice at Frostor’s empty chair arm. She now understood why Psiarik had reacted the way he had about discovering that Alluro was his father. Having one’s family skeletons forcibly dragged from the proverbial closet in front of an audience by nosy strangers was a miserable experience.
Silvian meanwhile studied the photograph of Chillandra. “You know, as a name, ‘Chilla’ is a shortened version of ‘Chillandra’. If what you’re saying is true, Frostor, maybe Chillandra named her child after herself in memory of the life she gave up.”
Frostor glanced at the ice coating she had given his chair, but otherwise ignored it. “When and where were you born, Chilla? I know when Chillandra disappeared. If you want to prove me wrong, a date and place is an easy way to do it.”
“Fine.” Chilla glowered at him and gave him the date and place of her birth on Lixuvekh.
Unfortunately, rather than prove him wrong, Frostor reacted as though it validated his theory further. “The MoonSaber was recovered from the Thundercat about forty miles from that town, and you were born just shy of a year from when Chillandra and the MoonSaber disappeared.” A triumphant look crossed his face. “Long enough to meet someone and bear a child.”
While Chilla’s scowl deepened, Frostor took a step closer and challenged her further. “As I said before, Chilla, you’re very skilled with our natural powers. A number of full-blooded icewalkers can’t aim and channel heat even after years of practice after reaching adulthood. Yet you were young when you were with Luna, fighting like a pro, or one that had been trained from youth. You said your father was no one special, Chilla, so did he train you?”
“Only in defending myself,” Chilla snapped. “He was violent, and treated me like I was worthless. He saw me as a nuisance that my mother left him with. He resented me and directed what he couldn’t take out on her at me. Of course I caught on quick how to fight back! I’m not weak.”
Frostor nodded. “And our powers are hereditary. The daughter of someone like Chillandra, even without training, would be expected to be at the very least, above average. In the right circumstances, she would be exceptional. Many would call you that, Chilla. Do you disagree?”
Chilla’s ego would not let her deny that, although she refused to give Frostor the satisfaction of verbally conceding. “I’ve already told you what little I know about my mother,” she said with a tone of finality. “This conversation is over.”
Shaking his head, Frostor said, “We don’t have the luxury of time to do that now, Chilla. If you are Chillandra’s daughter, then it’s very significant considering she’s the one who sent Silvian and us on this mission.” He exhaled a frost-filled sigh of his exasperation. “Great moon gods, Chilla, don’t you see it? The ancient prophecy is coming to life all around us!”
“Prophecy?” a puzzled Silvian interjected. “You don’t mean that dream Psiarik’s been talking about with that riddle at the end?” When Frostor nodded an affirmative, Silvian sighed and shook his head. “I hate to burst your bubble, Frostor, but I think Psiarik’s just messed up and a step off of cracking. He can’t deal with stuff on a good day, but between what’s come up with the MoonSaber and his father turning up out of the past I’d chalk it up to being psychotic rather than psychic.”
“And I respectfully disagree,” Frostor asserted. “Think about it: ‘When the past becomes the present and the ancient struggle is set in motion, only the impossible can stop the inevitable.’ Well the past is becoming the present all around us! First there was the MoonSaber resurfacing after being gone fifty years.” He held up his hand, counting off the points he was making on his fingers. “Then Luna and her crew, a time anomaly themselves from thirty years ago, return, and two of them turn out to be blood relations to rulers in power now.” He lowered another finger. “Now there’s the ghost of Chillandra, from your grandfather’s generation, telling you that her old enemy—the Thundercat Snoelle—has been freed from the prison she put her in fifty years ago, and she’s inciting the Thundercats into completing her failed mission.” He shook his hands in an aggravated fashion and pointed to Chilla. “And whether she’s willing to believe it or not, I’m convinced that she’s Chillandra’s child, yet another tie of the past becoming present!”
The others fell silent while Frostor ranted in an almost feverish way, until TugMug ended it. “Frostor, have you been smoking something back here?”
“Gods damn it all, TugMug, I’m being serious!”
“So am I,” the graviton said, eyeing warily.
“Funny,” Frostor snapped with a clear lack of humor for the situation. “But this is no laughing matter. The past has already become the present, and now the second part, the ancient struggle being set in motion… I ask you, what struggle is more ancient than our Moons at war with Thundera or Plundarr itself?” When none of them immediately answered, he continued, “Our three worlds have been at odds for all of recorded interplanetary history! And here we go at it again, this time urged by Chillandra to fight the Thundercats—and specifically her old enemy Snoelle. Another, although not quite as ancient, struggle originating from the past. We’re playing out the prophecy of the legend of the swords and the end of our worlds as we speak! Can’t you see that?”
Silvian considered what the Governor General was saying, and a look of resigned comprehension filled his green eyes. “I—I see what you’re getting at, Frostor, but we don’t have a choice. Chillandra made it clear that if we don’t stop the Thundercats now then our Moons are doomed anyway. At least this way we have a chance. They’ll try to take what’s ours regardless, and we owe it to our people to stop that.”
TugMug frowned and shook his mohawked head. “I think I liked it better when I thought you were smoking something.”
“And frankly, I wish I had a good frost-weed cigar myself right now,” the ice general said with a sigh.
Chilla folded her arms and eyed her companions crossly. “I still think you’re all nuts.”
An alarm from the console sounded, notifying them that they had entered the airspace of New Thundera. “We can argue about it later,” TugMug said as he wheeled over to check it. “We’re here.”
Laying a hand on the hilt of the MoonSaber, Silvian took a deep breath to steady his nerves. “It’s now or never.” He drew the ancient blade and raised it high. “To victory!”
“To victory!” each of the other three Lunatacs that had accompanied the prince echoed along with him. Frostor, however, was no longer confident at all that victory was within their grasp.
* * *
Mumm-Ra, disguised in the false form of Jaga, materialized into the chamber where Lion-O was sitting, deep in thought about how to resolve a clan dispute that would soon be rendered quite trivial. “Lion-O,” Mumm-Ra called out in Jaga’s voice.
Lion-O looked up with a start. “Jaga! What have you come to tell me?”
“Your future is in jeopardy, Lion-O,” he said in a falsely somber tone. “Fierce enemies who want to destroy the Thundercats and all that they hold dear are on their way to attack. They mean to fight you to the death. You must protect New Thundera, Lion-O. The Sword of Omens and the Eye of Thundera will see you through it.”
“What?” the surprised Lion-O exclaimed. “Who? We haven’t had an attack aside from small gangs of raiders in years now. We’re peaceful.”
“Heed my warning,” the fake Jaga said sternly. “First to arrive will be the Lunar-Plundarrian Prince Silvian. He brings old foes of yours with grudges to settle—Chilla and TugMug of the Lunatacs of Plundarr, as well as his own Governor General. They know about Snoelle and have come to finish what Chillandra did not, to mete out retribution to her and those who took her in with the MoonSaber.”
“Chilla and TugMug?” Lion-O repeated, saying the familiar names first. “I thought all the Lunatacs had been locked up for good! And they’re bringing the prince of the Moons of Plundarr and his general? They’ve incited a war against us?” The lion’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “I don’t understand, Jaga. I’ve never even met the Lunatac prince.”
“Jaga” floated closer to Lion-O and leaned toward him with a sense of urgency. “Now that they have the MoonSaber once more, they know they hold a power equal to that of the Sword of Omens. They not only want revenge, but to take New Thundera for themselves once the Thundercats are defeated.”
Lion-O looked to his ghostly mentor with alarm. “They intend to enslave Thundera and colonize it? Just like in the wars you and my father fought?”
“Yes.” The false Jaga nodded to the Thundercat Lord. “But not only the Lunatacs. The Mutants have reclaimed the Sword of Plundarr from Mumm-Ra’s pyramid. Ratar-O’s ancestor appeared to him and revealed its location to him so that he could take it and revenge against us for when I took it from Ratilla all those years ago. The Mutants mean to repay the debt with your blood, Lion-O.”
“By Thundera!” Lion-O gasped. “And all of this is happening now? After all this time?”
“You must be ready, Lion-O,” the spirit form of “Jaga” told him. “Keep the Eye of Thundera close and use its powers to defend New Thundera. You must not let them win, Lion-O, not at any cost.” Leaving Lion-O to ponder that ominous warning, the fake Jaga then vanished from his sight. Just as Mumm-Ra predicted he would, Lion-O immediately ran from the room to warn the other Thundercats.
From his vantage point of invisibly watching, Mumm-Ra chuckled to himself. Easy as taking candy from a baby...
* * *
In another part of the Cat’s Lair, Torlei appeared in Chet’s room. Taking a cue from her partner, she too took on a disguise, that of Cheetara, so that anyone who might pass by would only see the cub’s mother in his room and think nothing of it. The false cheetah approached the now napping toddler’s bed and scooped him up into her arms. “That’s right, come to ‘mommy’, dear boy,” she said with dark amusement.
As soon as she picked him up, Chet stirred and cried out. “Momma?” He looked at the woman holding him; she looked his mother, but he knew she was not. She was not warm and loving, but cold and frightening. He opened his mouth to scream.
The cub’s cry was silenced with a telekinetic shock before it ever made it past his throat. “I’ll not be outmaneuvered by a Thundercat brat,” she hissed coldly, and shocked him again, that time enough to knock him unconscious. The frightened cub went limp in her arms.
“Good boy. After all, I can’t have you rousing that wretched snarf nanny of yours and bringing him in here yet, now can I? Not when I promised his plump chops to Ma-Mutt.” She tousled the boy’s spotted mane in a mockery of affection and used her magic to teleport with him back to the black pyramid. No one in Cat’s Lair was the wiser.
* * *
Hunched over a table in the MoonTower’s study, Psiarik languished in a miserable silence mulling over the confrontation with Selene. He knew what fate awaited her chasing Silvian to New Thundera, and he cursed himself for not being able to stop her from going. He felt the world crashing down around him and helpless to change it. There had to be something he could do, but he had no idea what. If he obeyed her command, both she and Silvian would die. Although his dream had not shown Luna’s presence, he had no faith that it would make any difference if Selene picked up the MoonSaber and sought vengeance on Silvian’s killers. How could he let her rush headlong into her own death without doing everything in his power to stop it?
On the other hand, defying her order also had its consequences. If what was destined to happen on New Thundera was inevitable and both she and Silvian perished, the Moons would be left without their rulers. Being the queen’s husband he, at least, would be able to maintain some semblance of peace before the throne was challenged and utter chaos erupted. If he went to New Thundera and died along with the others, that chaos was all but a guarantee. It would be the same lawless mayhem that they endured in the early days after the Thundera explosion disasters. He could not in good conscience let that happen either.
But then why did doing the “right” thing of staying behind feel so very wrong? A large part of it was his personal stake in it. Selene was not just the queen of the Moons; she was his wife, a wife he loved dearly. Yet in his dream, when he was there, it was clear that his presence was meaningless. He would be powerless to change anything.
Then why do I have to see it if it’s inevitable? He stared at the wood grain of the table, willing the gods to tell him that. There must be a reason I have these visions! If only I knew why they were shown to me...
From where he sat nearby, Alluro noted the troubled expression on his son’s face and found himself at a loss for words. He wanted to say something, but had no idea what, so he just remained silent and hoped that Psiarik would find his presence a comfort rather than a nuisance. The younger psi must have felt Alluro’s gaze on him, and he looked up at him with a baleful look that led Alluro to sigh and offer words of reassurance. “You know that she would’ve gone no matter what you said or did.”
“What if I’d forced her? Maybe the others would’ve agreed, and the guards wouldn’t have gotten involved at all if she couldn’t get to them.” He shook his head. “She would’ve hated me, but at least she’d be alive. I should’ve listed to that old adage of asking forgiveness instead of permission.”
“Not bad advice in general, but not so much in this case,” Alluro replied somewhat wryly.
“What would you have done?”
The elder psi raised a brow. “Marriage isn’t in my repertoire of life experiences, but I suppose if it were my wife running off to what I was certain was her demise, I probably would’ve tried to thrall her too if I thought it’d work.” He chortled. “Though unlike you, I know how resistant lunars are to hypnosis, especially when they’re wound up into a tizzy.”
Psiarik sighed and slumped over the table supported on his elbows. “It doesn’t matter anyway. As Silvian pointed out, I suck at hypnosis, and what you just witnessed was my best attempt.”
“My son a poor hypnotist, I never would have imagined that,” Alluro mused with a shake of his head. “What did Lurella teach you? Did you inherit her abilities? You must have some potential… you are the son of Alluro after all.” A smug smile tugged at the elder psi’s lips.
“My mother and stepfather would’ve been the first living examples of spontaneous combustion not induced by telekinesis if I told them I seriously wanted to be a hypnotist. They never wanted me to be anything like you, and they never thought much of any hypnotist after that,” Psiarik said with a rueful smile. “I didn’t get any formal schooling in my psi abilities, just worked with what came naturally. My stepfather—my mother married him when I was about six—was a seer and helped me develop that a bit. I can’t call visions forth, though, usually they happen at random like that dream. It’s more annoying than anything else. I’m better at mind linking with others because I pick up on outside energies and emotions easily. My mother did teach me how to shield out destructive and antagonistic auras, and how to refine the ability to reach others if I need to, although she made sure to emphasize not to impose my own feelings on it.” He eyed Alluro knowingly and added, “For obvious reasons.”
“Indeed,” Alluro said. “So you’re strongest in empath abilities like hers.”
Psiarik nodded. “They come fairly easily to me, though not like on the level of a psi healer or anything. The telekinesis aspect is too hard for me except in short, random bursts.”
“I found the physical manifestations of our powers draining too. My sister was incredible with it, though.” That time Alluro frowned, as he usually did when he thought of Torlei.
The same abilities that Psiarik had just been describing to his father tingled with a sense of bitterness, loss, and regret that seeped through his own depressed and anxious state, and he cast Alluro an understanding look. “You two were really close?”
“Very much so,” Alluro told him. “Torlei was the only family I had most of my life. We were the only children of our parents, and they died when we were young. I barely remember them, and most of what I know of them is from what she told me. She cared for me much of the time. We spent much of our youth on our own with each other. We were nearly inseparable until the end.” Alluro’s expression grew darker as he recalled the events surrounding Torlei’s demise, first the mortal one and then the immortal one years later. “Both times my sister was killed I was in the unenviable position of spectator. The first time it was Luna. Torlei had gone mad with power—she found some artifact that channeled the power of the same dark spirits that Mumm-Ra serves into her mind—and she went insane. When we wouldn’t do as she demanded, she tried to kill us all, even me. Luna managed to get a weapon and fire it to stop her. She did.” He paused and took a moment to steady his tone, although it did little to hide the magnitude of emotion behind it from Psiarik. “I didn’t stop Luna, and I even forgave her for it. Of all the things I hold against Luna, that isn’t one of them. Sometimes I loathe myself for it, but the truth is I can’t say I would’ve done differently. Luna didn’t intend to kill her.” He let out a sardonic laugh. “Small wonder that Torlei came back into the afterlife hating us all and calling me a betrayer.”
The hypnotist tapped his fingernail against the wooden table as he recounted the next part of the tale. “The second time around was no better. After Mumm-Ra resurrected her, she and he attacked and captured us, but the Thundercats managed to call for help—ironically, because I listened to their urgings to try and reach the sister I once knew instead of the insane hateful undead thing that called itself her. While I was trying to get through to her, Lion-O used the distraction to call his friends. She saw that as yet another knife in the back from me, and when the other Thundercats showed up, they blasted her into the magma of the volcano she and Mumm-Ra intended to seal us in. I still hate Lion-O for making her hate me that much more, although I suppose I could tell myself that she hated me already anyway, so what was the difference? I really had no choice, just like you didn’t with Selene.”
The mention of Selene brought the reality of Psiarik’s own misery crashing back to him. “I can’t live without Selene. I need her,” he admitted in a moment of raw honesty. “She’s what makes my life worth living. If she dies… I feel like I might as well die too.”
Alluro found the statement a bit melodramatic, but he supposed that if he ever fell deeply in love with someone he would be prone to acting irrational too. He considered what he would do if he was in Psiarik’s place, but knowing that what he would do generally got him into trouble that required smooth talking and use of his psyche club to get out of made him wonder whether he ought to give his son such advice. Therefore he only said, “If that’s truly how you feel, then you need to do whatever it takes to make it not happen.”
“Meaning what?”
So much for the easy way out, Alluro mused, and then offered his thoughts. “You may’ve had to let her go, but there’s nothing to stop you from following her now that she can’t get guards to stop you. There has to be someone here that can handle things with you all off-world. What about Lushara? She’s a part of your court, isn’t she?” When Psiarik nodded, Alluro nodded and smiled. “All right. Leave her then. Believe me, even though Selene claimed otherwise, a part of her will be pleased to see you show up to save her. Women enjoy being rescued. It feeds their egos.” Psiarik smiled in spite of himself at that remark while Alluro continued. “And if things are as dire as you say, they’ll need all the help they can get. Our powers may be needed.”
“My dream makes me feel like I’m supposed to be there, but it also makes it seem like anything I do will be pointless and all I’ll be doing is watching the inevitable.”
“Your dream doesn’t factor in the presence of Alluro,” the hypnotist said boastfully.
“Actually it does,” Psiarik said, frowning slightly. “You’re in it at the very end. You say something like ‘destiny’ before I hear that voice call out the prophecy line and I wake up.”
“That’s all?” Alluro found himself somewhat let down by that notion, but it only discouraged him for a moment before his ego bolstered him once more. “Well, then if nothing else, then it’s proof that we’re destined to be there, right? And who knows what can happen with what you didn’t dream?”
Psiarik rose to his feet. “You’re right. If there’s even a chance, we need to be there. I owe it to Selene to do whatever I can for her. Screw her royal orders. Let’s go.”
As soon as the two of them reached the door, they found Vultureman heading in, and the Mutant had overheard the tail end of their conversation. “Good luck trying to get there. All of the royal ships are gone. All the ones that would make the trip at a decent speed or in one piece anyway.”
“All the royal ships perhaps, but not all of them,” Alluro pointed out. “The ship that I came on with Luna and the others is still here. It’s no high-class royal cruiser, but its weapons are excellent and it goes fast.”
“You’re willing to take your only ship?” Psiarik asked.
Alluro smiled at his son. “Consider it one of your many missed birthday presents.”
“Thank you.” Psiarik turned and gave Alluro an impulsive, but heartfelt, hug. The gesture caught the older psi by surprise, but it was not unwelcome, and it made him happy to know that he had truly gained his son’s respect and affection. Psiarik then dashed to the door. “Come on. We don’t have any time to waste. You go get the ship ready while I tell Lushara. Vultureman, go and get some of your biggest and baddest weapons, whatever you think will help keep Selene and Silvian and the others safe.”
“Caw, you want me to go too?”
“Yes. You have experience with the Thundercats and Mumm-Ra.”
The avian squawked again in protest. “That experience is why I’d rather stay as far from New Thundera as possible.”
Alluro frowned at the Mutant. “I thought you were a vulture, not a chicken.”
“Hah! Tough words from the first of the Lunatacs to run from a fight as soon as his crystal breaks.”
“Any Mutant calling a Lunatac a coward is not only laughable, but insulting,” Alluro retorted with narrowed eyes.
“Can’t you have this argument on your way to the lab and hangar?” Psiarik prompted.
Taking the cue, both Vultureman and Alluro followed Psiarik down the hall. “You’ll be impressed with what I’m going to bring. I have an anti-matter bazooka that makes the vari-cannon look like a water gun.”
“It’s not going to blow up while we’re in deep space, is it?” Alluro asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm.
Vultureman let out an indignant caw. “Just because there were a few mishaps with inventions on Third Earth, it doesn’t apply to everything I build.”
“Only most of it, right?” Psiarik quipped knowingly. “That long-distance teleportation transporter you made a couple weeks back was a winner. Not only did it embed your test object halfway into a boulder, but when it overheated from burning too much Thundrainium at once, it took out half the patio and Selene’s favorite potted dark moon fern.”
Alluro laughed. “Sounds par for the course. Remember your little sound stone gun, Vultureman? Or how about your Thundrainium ray? And the vari-cannon, that blew up how many times?”
“At least nothing I created would’ve turned Selene’s fern into a giant carnivorous monster,” Vultureman retorted. Psiarik turned and cast a questioning look at them over his shoulder, and Vultureman cawed snidely. “Oh yes, ask Alluro about his ‘multi-octane high-potential maximum-velocity fuel formula’ sometime. It crashed Skytomb and then turned half of Castle Plundarr into plant food and its moat into fertilizer after Lion-O dumped it on Mutant-eating zinnias to get back at us for using it on them. Took us forever to clean it up.”
“Please, like you ever cleaned Castle Plundarr,” Alluro sniped back, while Psiarik shook his head and laughed.
“Nice work, Dad.”
Hearing Psiarik refer to him as such was enough to make him forget to continue to insult Vultureman, and he gave the other psi a quizzical look. He smiled back and gave an impatient gesture before rounding the corner that would take him toward Lushara while Alluro and Vultureman headed lower. “Have everything ready by the time I get down there.”
“Right,” Alluro replied, and continued on with a sense of peace. Despite the dire circumstances facing their friends and allies, at least some things were looking brighter.
* * *
The Rat-Star landed in the ruins outside the black pyramid on New Thundera. Ratar-O disembarked his ship, accompanied by Slythe, Jackalman, and Monkian. As soon as he had left after Ratilla had appeared to him, the Mutant Warrior King had summoned the Mutants that had been on Third Earth to him given their history and familiarity with Mumm-Ra. They had also escaped Way Out Back some years ago, and had returned to Plundarr afterward. They had received mixed receptions. The reptilians considered Slythe disgraced by his failures on Third Earth and subsequent capture on Way Out Back, and refused to reinstate him to any position of importance. Ratar-O had heard of that and took a sadistic sense of pity on his former cook, and offered him employment with him—starting in the kitchens. At first Slythe had angrily refused, but when Ratar-O promised he would promote him if he proved his worth and throw his clout in his favor among the reptilians, his pride forced him to relent. Ratar-O only forced Slythe to endure the humiliation of kitchen duty for a year before promoting him to an advisory position, although that duty included such mundane tasks as supervising the kitchen and janitorial staff and did not include anything political or military for another year.
Monkian’s reception among the simians had been more mixed. He had been of high military rank and brother to a clan leader before his stint on Third Earth, and although his brother was dead and his nephew in charge of the clan on his return, the nephew had always respected and thought fondly of his uncle Monkian and made certain that he was well received amongst the simian clans as a whole. Their military was less accepting given his history of failure, much like Slythe’s, so Monkian accepted an office in the private sector as a civilian noble guardsman for his nephew. The position included many creature comforts and a place in his nephew’s grand home in the southeastern lands that were home to the monkey races, so his years after returning home were different, but not unpleasant. It had come as a surprise, then, when Ratar-O summoned him to his court to accompany him on the mission to New Thundera.
Jackalman, however, had a warm reception amongst the jackal clans. He had been popular amongst his kin and clansmen before the debacles of Third Earth and Way Out Back, and they were far more forgiving of those humiliating defeats, blaming—and rightfully so, Jackalman thought—Slythe’s inept leadership. He was reinstated to his old position with the same honors, although he chose to retire from the military in favor of an office that his clan leader offered him—diplomat and courtier, representative of their clan in the royal house of the rats in the planet’s capitol. Jackalman wore the robes of his office proudly and thrived as a politician where he had flaws as a soldier and tactician. Over the years he had married a pretty jackal female with silken fur the color of copper and what he considered an adorable licorice-black nose, and she had borne him a twin litter of pups that were now four standard years old.
As made their way into the black pyramid, Ratar-O eyed his companions and his mind wandered through memory and his previous dealings with them. Time had changed them some, but not enough to make them likeable to him. Still, their experiences with the demon priest from Third Earth made them an asset this time rather than a liability, and Ratar-O did not want any of those to foil his plans for revenge and conquest.
The stone doorway leading inside was open and waiting for them, and the ominous darkness of Mumm-Ra’s abode bade them to enter. Ratar-O went first, with Slythe, Monkian, and Jackalman behind him. The Mutants had come to claim their fate, unaware that they were actually sealing it.
* * *
Torlei returned to the pyramid with the unconscious Chet in her arms. From where they hung helplessly in their chains WilyKit and WilyKat looked on in horror.
“Don’t you dare hurt him!” WilyKat yelled at the undead Lunatac.
“If you insist,” Torlei said sarcastically, and then added, “At least not until the hour is right.” She summoned a Thundrainium shackle that fit around the cub’s midsection to keep him weak and quiet and left him in the corner just out of the twins’ reach. “He’ll keep until the destruction is fully underway, and if that doesn’t kill him, he’ll make an even more meaningful warning that we mean business to any rebellious survivors than you two will. All things considered, I’d rather not stain my nice clean clothes with blood or have to smell burnt cat hair if I electrocute him. Even we ever-livings have a sense of smell.”
Mumm-Ra in the guise of the false Jaga rematerialized on the dais and morphed back into his mummy form to conserve his magical energy until it was most needed. “I have returned, and just in time. Ratar-O arrives with the Mutants as we speak.” He gestured to the image of the Mutants landing outside the pyramid and walking towards it in his pool and chuckled. “As a bonus, Ratar-O has brought along that fool Slythe and his band of idiots from Third Earth. This will be delicious, watching those buffoons finally get what they deserve along with Luna’s wretched crew and the Thundercats. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see that repulsive reptilian get his.”
Grimacing, Torlei said, “First these Thundercats, and now Mutants. We’ll never get the stench out of our home.”
“Two corpses talking about a stench? Did you two rotting bodies ever get a good whiff of yourselves?” WilyKat called out snidely. Even under such circumstances, he still had his wit, and at least he could insult the ever-livings if he could not break free and fight them.
Any response that Mumm-Ra or Torlei would have made was cut off when Ratar-O, Slythe, Jackalman, and Monkian entered the sarcophagus chamber. Mumm-Ra stood at the head of his platform while Torlei and Ma-Mutt joined his side. “Ah, Mutants. The Ancient Spirits of Evil told me that you would arrive. I’ve been expecting you, Ratar-O, but I didn’t realize you’d bring company.”
“Ugly company at that,” Torlei muttered, and Ma-Mutt barked in agreement.
Jackalman frowned at the unexpected presence of what seemed to be a female Lunatac, although he suspected that she was not a typical one but a witch of some sort given her pallor and glowing red eyes. “Nyah, and who are you anyway?”
Torlei’s eyes blazed in fury at his rudeness, and she scowled nastily in his direction. “I’m someone you don’t want to screw around with if you know what’s good for you, jackal!”
The exchange inspired Mumm-Ra to grin with amusement. “Ah, that’s right. You Mutants haven’t met my wife.”
“Hoo hoo, wife?” The Mutants exchanged incredulous looks, and Monkian nearly fell over in a fit of laughter at the preposterous notion. Jackalman, Slythe, and Ratar-O could not help but follow suit, albeit with less enthusiasm than the simian.
“So Mumm-Ra the Ever-Living now not only has pets but a wife too? What’s next, a white picket fence around the pyramid and two kids, yessss?”
Despite the apparent humor the other Mutants found in it given the reinforcement of their laughter, Mumm-Ra found no amusement whatsoever in the reptilian’s remark, and he shot the insolent reptile with a bolt of energy. “You will keep your mindless observations to yourself, Slythe!”
The display was enough to serve as a reminder of the ancient mummy’s power, and the Mutants cooled their laughter. Jackalman then noticed the chained up Thundercats on the far wall of the chamber and eyed Mumm-Ra curiously. “You’ve got Thundercats prisoner here?”
“It’s not a matter for you to be concerned with, jackal,” Torlei warned the Mutant. “Stick to your business with Mumm-Ra. You are not welcome for an extended stay.”
Although he knew he should have thought better of it, Jackalman could not resist making the quip that sprang to mind. “Nyah ha ha, does she boss you around too, Mumm-Ra? Wives are quite a handful, aren’t they?”
That time Mumm-Ra roared in outrage and fired another blast of energy at the jackal’s feet, causing him to yelp and skitter back several steps. “Don’t try my patience, Mutant, or I assure you, you will live only long enough to regret it.”
Irritated at the idiocy of his companions, Ratar-O turned and fixed an authoritative glare at them. “Shut up, all of you,” he snapped, and then addressed Mumm-Ra. “Since you’re eager to have us out of here, I’ll take the Sword of Plundarr now and we’ll be on our way.”
Mumm-Ra gave Ratar-O a poisonous smile and extended the sword handle toward him. “Of course. Make sure you succeed in defeating the Thundercats. I know it’s something you Mutants have had trouble with in the past.”
“He’s a fine one to talk,” Monkian muttered under his breath, but if Mumm-Ra or Torlei heard it they chose not to acknowledge the remark.
Ratar-O meanwhile grinned as he took hold of the mystical weapon of his ancestors and felt its inherent power in his hands. He gave the sword a confident twirl, pleased with how natural the handling of it came to him. He could already imagine the delicious moment of victory that awaited him when he defeated Lion-O and conquered New Thundera for all of Mutant-kind.
Slythe, on the other hand, regarded the pair of ever-livings dubiously. One thing he had learned in his past dealings with the demon priest of the Ancient Spirits of Evil was that he was never generous without an ulterior motive. Although Ratar-O had told him he had returned the Sword of Plundarr so freely at the command of his evil masters given a deal struck with their own Plundarrian gods, he remained skeptical. Mumm-Ra did not act without there being something in it for Mumm-Ra. Was it self-preservation, or was it something more?
“Before we leave, Mumm-Ra, I have a quesssstion.”
“What is it, reptilian?” Mumm-Ra eyed him with obvious disdain.
“Why are you giving ussss the Sword of Plundarr after keeping it for so long? What’s in it for you?”
“I told you that already,” Ratar-O snapped impatiently at the reptilian. “The Sword of Plundarr belongs with the Mutant Warrior King. Our gods only allowed it to remain with Mumm-Ra to punish Ratilla and Mutant-kind for losing it in battle to Jaga. They’ve agreed to allow us to have it again, and Mumm-Ra is returning it to its rightful owner.”
“Yes,” Mumm-Ra said, glowering at Slythe as though he was nothing more than an annoying insect that crawled upon the stone floor of his tomb. “I can use the Sword of Plundarr, but only the Mutant Warrior King can unlock its full powers. My magic allows me to tap into it, but I cannot control it like the one who is destined to wield it. Furthermore, the Thundercats are our mutual enemies. If Ratar-O can use it to wipe them off the face of the universe, why would I not allow him to do it? He is in my debt for the favor, after all,” he said with a pointed look at the rat, “and all I ask is that you Mutants not interfere with my own plans for seeing New Thundera turned into a haven of evil. You Mutants would be wise to accept me as an ally, rather than question me. You do not want me for your enemy, as you ought to well know, Slythe.”
“I won’t forget who helps me rise to the top just as I won’t forget who crosses me,” Ratar-O said with a twitch of his whiskers. “What’s important now is that I have the Sword of Plundarr, and the Thundercats’ days are numbered. Now we can all have our revenge, so let’s get on with it.” He twirled the Sword of Plundarr again, and the ruby-red eyes of the serpent heads in its golden hilt flashed to mirror his intent.
As the four Mutants then headed for the exit, Monkian remarked, “Hoo, it’s too bad Vultureman won’t be here to see Lion-O get it. I bet he would’ve enjoyed it as much as we will.”
“That turncoat buzzard?” snorted Slythe. “He left Plundarr to work for those miserable Lunatacs. He deserves nothing.”
Mumm-Ra cackled and murmured to himself as he turned toward his sarcophagus. “Vultureman will see plenty.”
Jackalman’s ears twitched; although the mummy had spoken in a low tone, canine Mutant hearing was as sharp as that of the lesser animal species, and he paused and looked back at him. “What did you say, Mumm-Ra?”
“Nothing, Mutant. I merely said that it will indeed be a sight to behold. Now go, before Lion-O and the other Thundercats realize that you’re on the planet. You should strike while you still have the element of surprise.”
Jackalman frowned, but Ratar-O spoke up before he could reply. “He’s right. Let’s not waste any more time, my fellow Mutants.” He strode out of the chamber with the others in tow, while Mumm-Ra, Torlei, and the captive Thundercats watched them leave. Mumm-Ra and Torlei then faced one another.
“Let the fun begin,” Mumm-Ra said and cackled. His bride joined in with him, and their maniacal laughter echoed throughout the black pyramid. Ma-Mutt chimed in with a gleeful howl, while the helpless WilyKit and WilyKat looked on in despair.
“You won’t get away with this,” WilyKat shouted at them. “The Thundercats will stop you!”
Mumm-Ra only laughed back at him. “Will they now? We shall see.” In a bright flash of magic, he and Torlei then teleported themselves out of the pyramid to watch the impending destruction begin.