All that is needed for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing. Obviously, the converse is true as well. Something to always keep in mind.

- Glaincer Drummond

Grywich Village

Kingdom of Brightmoon(conquered by Hordak)

Princess Glimmer of Brightmoon hugged herself tighter to keep in the warmth in her dark colored robes, as well as hiding her face from the other customers in the tavern with her hood. She stared at the plate of bread and cheese in front of her, trying to control her shivering before starting to eat.

The sound of thunder rumbled again, sending a dull shiver through the ramshackle building. The constant pit-pattering of the rain on the rooftop served as a reminder of the atrocious weather outside.

If anything, the poor weather made Glimmer feel worse. Here she was, enjoying a plate of food and some warmth from the fire in the corner when poor Bow and the shattered remnants of the rebels hid out in the Whispering Woods, undoubtedly trying to shelter themselves amongst Madam Razz's even flimsier tents.

It can't be helped, she told herself firmly. We needed somebody to keep an eye out for Horde movements, and with Peekablue and so many others captured, my powers would give me the best chance for escape should I be discovered.

For the umpteenth time, she wondered what had happened to the Rebellion to land them in such dire straits. She-Ra was gone, captured, an unwilling guest of Hordak in the Fright Zone. Adora had disappeared at the same time as She-Ra. Frosta's kingdom was bombarded into vapor from orbit by a Horde warship, and nobody knew if the Ice Queen was still alive. Mystacor fell when Castaspella did while engaging in a spell duel with Shadow Weaver, attacked from behind by Horde Troopers. Her own mother was captured when Brightmoon fell under the offensive prowess of the Horde. About 90% of the Great Rebellion was dead or captured.

Glimmer snorted. She wondered if they could be called 'Great' anymore, after the disaster of the past few years. Something had changed within the Horde just before the massive, sudden offensive which had destroyed the Rebellion.

Hordak was never the most imaginative nor capable commander the Horde had. He was, at the most, an efficient administrator, but not a true warrior. But just before the offensive, Horde Prime assigned several overseers to the Horde forces on Etheria with devastating effect.

Despite their best efforts, the rebels were unable to get detailed information on those overseers. Hordak was publicly still in overall command, but those overseers were the true power on the planet. They stayed in the background, even more than Shadow Weaver did in the past, never appearing in public, and even Horde warriors could only catch the fleetest glimpses.

Glimmer shuddered. If half of what they heard was true, those overseers might be even worse than Hordak, both in looks and demeanor. Despite everything Hordak had done, she remembered late night conversations with Adora about the Horde commander. He had a strange soft spot for Adora, and there were many times in the past where some plan of his failed because he made some stupid error just when he was about to win, and then lost because of that error. Adora had suggested that it was because he had an unconscious mind block against defeating the Rebellion, perhaps because in some way, he still cared for Adora.

If only he had remained in command, Glimmer thought bitterly.

She was shaken out of her thoughts as the tavern door crashed open. Everybody in the tavern turned their heads to the door.

A hooded black clad figure in a dark green cloak strode into the tavern as the doors swung close behind him. Water dripped down from his wet cloak, forming a puddle around his feet.

A pale hand drew back the hood. Green eyes below a head of short brown hair pierced through the room, looking around the small tavern as though looking for prey. Glimmer might have thought him handsome, if not for the way his mouth formed a bitter gash on his face, his eyes hard and angry, carrying a silent menace.

His eyes fixed on the tavern owner, he walked forward, removing his cloak and folding it into a bundle as he walked up to a table. He sat down, and placed his cloak on a nearby seat. As the tavern owner Kruter approached him for his order, one hand reached inside his clothing and took out a gold piece, placing it on the table.

Though she could not see his face, Glimmer was sure Kruter's eyes were bugging out. Gold pieces were very rare in recent days, with only the richest Etherians, all of whom were in cahoots with the Horde, and the Horde commanders themselves, in possession of them. For this stranger to have them was quite an event.

The sound of several chairs being drawn back did not surprise her, and Glimmer did not need to look behind her to see Rosteen's gang standing up. A bunch of ruffians and street toughs, Rosteen acted as the Horde's unofficial 'enforcer' in the village. In exchange for informing the Horde on possible subversives and events in the village, he was given a small sum of money.

Glimmer had been very careful not to let Rosteen know of her presence in the tavern, and she was both worried and strangely excited when he and his gang surrounded the man. She was reminded of the way Adam, prince of Eternia, had first met Bow, in a situation similar to the one she was seeing.

Eternia had also fallen to Horde Prime, and no help was going to come from there. Glimmer wasn't sure what happened, but the disappearance of He-Man was surely an important reason. She pushed those thoughts of the way, and focused on the scene in front of her. Likewise, the attention of everybody in the tavern was fixated on the stranger.

"Hey there," Rosteen said, standing over the man. Rosteen was a tall man, and heavily built. He was a good fighter, but ill-disciplined, and Glimmer had heard rumors of him being drummed out of the Horde because of disciplinary infractions.

"You seem a very rich man, my friend," Rosteen continued. "How about sharing some of that wealth with me and my boys?" The men behind him grinned.

In addition to the sum of money given to them by the Horde, their power in the village enabled them to steal and bully the villagers with impunity. Extortion and 'protection' money enabled Rosteen and his gang to live like kings while the rest of the village suffered.

Glimmer clenched her fists, trying hard to resist the urge to reveal herself and blast the street toughs into snail snot. Kruter, for his part, was trying with various expressions on his face to convince the toughs to leave the man alone, at least while they are still in his tavern. The tavern owner was a rebel sympathizer, which was why she was able to eat at his tavern for almost free, and in relative safety as long as Rosteen and gang did not find out.

"Why should I?" The stranger asked in a low tone, edged with warning.

"Because we say so. You'll need to pay us for protection, my friend, or else you'll be missing a few choice pieces of your hide."

The man smiled, and Glimmer shuddered. It was a smile she had seen only a few times before, always on the most evil of Horde warriors. It was a smile that promised pain, death, and suffering. She found herself hoping that Rosteen would leave the man alone before something bad happened to everybody in the tavern.

"No money for you. Sorry." The man said, still smiling. His eyes told a different story.

"Too bad then." Rosteen turned away and started to walk away, before suddenly swinging around with a roundhouse at the seated man.

Except the man had already got up into Rosteen's face, and he kneed Rosteen right in the crotch before the roundhouse could hit him.

Rosteen collapsed backwards with a whimper as his men charged in.

Glimmer had never seen anything like it, not even fighting beside She-Ra, the Rebellion's finest warrior. The man did not rely so much on his strength, using his skill and reflexes to land accurate and damaging blows on his enemies. He weaved in and out of the thugs, and they could not seem to be able to hit him even once as he floored them with chops to the throat, vicious blows to the face to break the nose, as well as rapid kicks that sent more than one thug crashing back.

One thug grabbed his bow from his back, and swung with it. The man snaked an arm through the bow, using his elbow to block the bow's forward momentum. His other hand grabbed the thug and pulled him into a vicious kick to the stomach.

The thug fell onto the floor in front of the man groaning while the bow remained in the man's hand. The last two thugs remaining on their feet started to take off for the tavern door.

The man reached down with a hand to the thug's quiver in front of him, and took out two arrows. With a single, blinding motion, he placed both arrows on the bow, aimed, and let fly with both arrows simultaneously.

The arrows punched through the thighs of both fleeing thugs just as they were about to reach the exit. They went down, clutching their legs and screaming in pain.

By the gods, Glimmer thought about the dual shot, not even Bow could do that!

The man broke the wooden bow, snapping it across a thigh, and threw the splintered pieces away. He walked up to a petrified Rosteen, cowering in a corner. He kneeled down to look Rosteen in the eye.

"Protection, my friend?" The man asked sardonically. "I think you're the one who needs protection, quiaff?"

Rosteen nodded quickly, his eyes open with fear.

"Any more trouble you're going to give me?"

Rosteen shook his head vigorously, unable to speak up.

The man smiled again, the same bone chilling smile that sent shivers up Glimmer's back. He got up, and flicked a gold piece at Kruter, who caught it hurriedly in both hands.

"For damages," he explained. "Now, where's the food I ordered?"

The tavern owner gulped audibly. "This way, sir." He showed the man to another empty table. Meanwhile, the tavern was silent with shock, and not a little bit of fear.

"Carla, where's the food?" Kruter yelled in the direction of the kitchen. He turned back to the stranger. "Sir, forgive me for saying this, but you have brought a great deal of trouble upon us…"

The man held up a hand, forestalling the rest of Kruter's words. "Let me guess. These 'men', he sneered, "are connected to the authorities. You're afraid that you'll be held responsible for hurting them after I leave."

Kruter wiped away the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "Why yes!"

"Then here's the reason you're going to give them," the stranger said, "Tell them you didn't do anything, because if you did, I would have just killed all of you."

The clearing of throats throughout the tavern adequately conveyed the occupants' acceptance of his statement, as well as the implied threat. Rosteen and his men curled up in a corner, trying to stay away from the stranger while being tended to by Kruter.

Everyone was relieved when the man left after his meal.

Glimmer, who had finished her own food, followed him into the rain.

Micheal Sandoval, freelance ranger and former soldier, snarled as he stepped on a puddle of mud, splattering his boots with brown flecks.

He was in a foul mood, especially after the fight in the tavern. It had been such a temptation to simply cut his enemies open with Shadow, appeasing the god of murder residing in his mind. The lousy weather didn't help.

Well, to be truthful, he was constantly in a foul mood these days, especially after Bhaal set up shop in his body. Having a formerly dead god of murder in his mind would do that to anybody.

You should have just killed them, boy, Bhaal commented languidly as Micheal made his way through the rain. Ahh, the sweet sight of blood. Not enough spilled for my liking.

Shut up, Bhaal, Micheal shot back. Those men did not deserve death. It'll be too honorable an end for them. Petty thugs and scum would only soil my blade.

Is that really what you think, or are you just trying to justify not killing them at all? Bhaal asked. No need to answer. After all, I am in your mind.

Yeah, yeah. How about you make yourself useful and 'discourage' the person following me? Michael had picked up the woman following him almost immediately on leaving the tavern.

Not 'me'. Us. Bhaal corrected. I'm the god of murder, not illusions or telepathy. I can discourage her, but I'll have to take over… Micheal could almost feel Bhaal's smile as he anticipated an orgy of blood, no doubt.

Then forget it. Sorry for attributing abilities to you which you never had. Micheal grinned to himself at the cheap shot, which apparently hit the mark as Bhaal sank angrily back into silence.

It had not been a happy two years for him, or Bhaal either for that matter. Ever since that bloody affair on Mount Celestia in the Lost Tesseract where the essence of Bhaal had somehow merged into his body, the two of them had been sharing an uneasy existence together.

Even as a resurrected god, Bhaal found himself unable to overcome Michael's own mind and take complete control. Similarly, Michael couldn't get rid of Bhaal, no matter how hard he tried. Heck, he had even tried to kill himself, but every time he tried to do so, Bhaal had managed to prevent him from carrying the action.

In addition, Bhaal's presence had conferred onto him a terrifying array of powers and abilities. Rapid healing, shadow-walking, enhanced strength, speed, endurance, and a few other 'perks' that would appear only when Bhaal was in control.

In the end, they had made a deal. They would travel around and search for a way to get Bhaal a physical body into which the dark god's essence could be stored. Neither of them doubted the first thing they would do when that happened was for one of them to kill the other. They hated each other, and the past two years of co-existence had only deepened that hatred.

After all, Bhaal was a god of evil, while Michael worked for the other side. And their search was still going nowhere. Their latest stop on this shithole of a Horde-held world was to look for a series of scrolls which were said to describe the creation of physical bodies for spiritual entities. Not for the first time, Michael wished they could have used clones, which would have been so much simpler. Too bad clones came out already possessed of a individual spiritual essence, no matter what they did.

Making a decision, Michael spun around to face the woman following him.

"What do you want?" He yelled as the hooded woman, who had been trying to follow him discreetly about 20 meters back, tried to hide from his angry gaze.

"No need to hide, I've already seen you." Michael walked up to the woman, who simply waited in the middle of the dirt road for him. She obviously knew that hiding was no longer an option.

"I'm asking you again, what do you want?" Michael asked as he finally reached her.

The woman lifted up her hood slightly, giving him a glimpse of purple colored hair, as well the beautiful face of a young woman. "I am Glimmer. My friends need your help."

Michael stared at her incredulously. Then he laughed.

Glimmer stared in puzzlement as she watched the man in front of her laugh, feeling a horrid fear pool in her guts. It was a laugh of dark humor, one that promised nothing good. She wondered if she had made a mistake trying to recruit him into the Rebellion.

"Sir… "she asked before he cut her off.

"Sorry, not interested." The cold gaze returned to the man in an instant. She found herself preferring the cold gaze over the dark laugh.

"But we really need your help!" Glimmer insisted. "The Rebellion is the last hope for the people of Etheria! Children are starving, the people slaves! Our world is dying! The horde kills without reason. Our people are being massacred!"

Glimmer thought she saw the man's grim visage crack for a moment, which lent her strength.

"We need every warrior we can find to help us. I saw what you did in the tavern, you have to help us."

"And how would you know I'm not an agent of the Horde, eh?" The man asked. "Revealing such things to a stranger. Tsk, tsk, not a good idea at all."

Glimmer was taken aback for a moment by his words. She plunged back in. "If you were of the Horde, you would have killed Rosteen and his goons on the spot. You would not have come up with that excuse for the villagers to avoid the Horde's wrath."

The man shook his head. "Too trusting. You're still too trusting. Back where I come from…" He sighed.

"Does this mean you'll help us?" Glimmer asked hopefully.

The man looked at her for a moment, before he sighed again ruefully. "Why the hell not? Nothing else better to do."

"And your name is?"

The man thought for an instant, before speaking. "Call me Bhaal."

What the fuck are you trying to do, using MY name! Bhaal roared angrily.

Sheesh! Get off your high horse! Who the heck cares about your bloody name anyway! I'm a wanted man, remember? That 'teeny weeny' incident on Gracux? Michael yelled back in his mind. That one was your fault!

Oh yeah! Who was it that wanted to go there in the first place? And now this stupid side show to help these pathetic do-gooder rebels against the Horde! Don't we have better things to do? Bhaal complained loudly.

Maybe they'll just be able to help us, idiot! And besides, didn't you say you wanted blood? Well, maybe this'll give you the chance to spill some of it! Michael gritted his teeth. These arguments in his head always gave him a headache afterwards.

"Bhaal, are you alright?" Glimmer asked him, noting the strain on his face.

"I'm fine," Michael replied. They walked quietly in the forest, heading towards the rebel camp in the Whispering Woods.

He didn't want to get involved. He had told himself and Bhaal that he wouldn't get involved in anything like fighting against the Horde. But that resolve weakened the moment Glimmer told him about the plight of the Etherian people. Most important was that single word, 'massacre'.

No matter how he tried to avoid it, the defense of innocents was his sworn duty. Dark god or not, massive enemy force or not, he had to do it. Because once upon a time, in a garden of black roses, he had sworn an oath.

He turned to Glimmer. "So tell me about the history of your world. How the Horde conquered it. Stuff like that."

Even as he listened to Glimmer's tale, Michael was already hatching plans. Plans to infiltrate, attack. Assassinating enemy leaders, poisoning their troops. Demoralizing them, controlling their supply lines. And a few other stuff that Bhaal would be more than happy to help him out with. At least he could turn the dark god's desires in more positive directions. That was the way he had been raised. The foundations for any military victory were preparation, vigilance, anticipation, and direction. It was never too early to start on preparation.

Time to teach the natives how a Sandoval fights, he thought to himself wryly.