TITLE: "When Fates Collide"
AUTHOR: Abby
EMAIL: DISCLAIMER: Rights to MOTU are all over the place but I can guarantee that they certainly aren't with me. I am in no way profitting from this piece of fanfiction.
SPOILERS: Well if you didn't know that Adam had a twin sister named Adora who was kidnapped as an infant well then...I guess you do now. Seriously though, this story is all over the place. I've drawn on elements from the Filmation He-Man and She-Ra series and from the more recent Mike Young Productions Masters of the Universe. However I have not seen all of the episodes from these three series. Also, character design is definately in the 200x style.
Date Started: October 2005
Date Finished?
SYNOPSIS: "Who is She-Ra"
"She is the light"
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm not trying to reinvent the wheel. There are other fics out there that deal with the same themes as this story and 99 of the time do it so much better. I have been directly inspired by them and this is just my own stab at fic while throwing in a few things that I would have liked to have seen in those fics.
FEEDBACK: Heck I've always been lousy at giving feedback but if the mood strikes 'ya send it on down. It will be obsessively read and re-read regardless of whether it's good, bad or indifferent
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PROLOGUE--REQUIEM FOR A DYING PLANET
A strong, biting wind sweeps across the desolate field. A series of great battles had once been fought here. Despite the passage of so many years the earth still bears the scars of all that drew their last breathes upon it. Nothing living has grown in its soil since those days. It remembers. It remembers bodies scattered like fire wood on a forest floor. Spilt blood pooling next to where there once was greenery, before the blood began to seep into the ground below. This place can scarcely remember what life was like before. Shortly after those decisive battles everything was launched into darkness. Warmth from the sun above could not cut through the layer of sooty film that now encircles the planet. Fires burn uncontrolled and unmitigated throughout the land and their smoke only adds to the ever present haze. This planet is in the process of dying. All that was once good and pure has been eliminated. Darkness overwhelmed the light and this planet was the spoils of war. Gone are its guardians. Gone are its protectors. Gone is the future. The mechanized rule supreme.They care not for the planet's current state. The filthy air does not contaminate their nonexistant lungs. The absent greenery is not missed by their robotic brains. The biting wind that continues to sweep across the field does not chill their metalic armor. All that remains now is for this dying planet to wait for its inevitable death. Once that happens it does not know what will happen next. Will these intruders move on and leave this shell of a planet like some desecrated carcass or will they continue to pillage from the dead like they still do to the once mighty keepers of this planet?
A lone figure clad in black from head to toe emerges out of the smoke.
"These people were weak," the mysterious figure thinks, "What good were all the riches this planet had to offer if they couldn't effectively harness them."
"Resistance on their part was foolhardy and for their troubles they gained nothing but destruction. In fighting for a lost cause they were the creators of their own fate. What little energt they mustered to fight was not even enough to sustain them. No one outside this planet has mourned its loss and now it serves as an example. 'Don't let yourself fall prey to primitive magic and sorcery.' Those that put their faith in it will inevitably lose. They path to progress can best be found in unity and in organization. Those that fail to see that suffer greatly for their foolishness."
If there had every been any doubt in the methods used on this planet they no longer exist.
Slowly, the ruins of a once massive structure appears over the rise. It's destruction was the crowning glory of the occupation of this planet for it was central to the people's misguidedness.
The dark figure walks amongst the ruins, retracing steps from previous visits. The sense of power and connection to this is place is now long gone. It had once been quite overpowering.
The remnants of a modest pedestal lies half hidden underneath an assortment of boulders and the shattered remains of what was once probably a gargoyle. Gloved fingers clear the rubble and sweep over the semi smooth surface. Previous experience dicates that the pedestal was meant for armory. The secrets of Grayskull will forever remain a mystery but apparently its place as a mystical site did not stop its resident from arming herself with at least one sword. This particular pedestal had grooves for not one but two similar swords.
"Force Captain, the preparations are complete. The slave transports are loaded with the still able-bodied and the explosives in the ruins are set for detonation on departure."
The unwelcomed intrusion on the communicator was met with a deafening silence.
Time to go home.
The Force Captain gave the ruins one final glance and turned toward the city ruins and the site of their operations. A large, majestic sword, a trophy from the planet's supreme warrior, laid strapped to the hip of the warrior. It wearily gave off a faint glow until it finally faded away.
A pair of piercing blue eyes open with a start. They won't stop. This was the latest in a series of recurring dreams that are increasing in frequency and everytime the imagery grows bleaker. A light breeze from the window cools the sweat on the skin of the room's occupant. Sleep is useless now. It usually is after one of these nightmares. The room's other occupant continues to sleep silently. In frustration and still a little unnerved by what appeared in the dream, the tangled bedsheets are pushed aside in favor of a perch by one of the room's windows. It's a quiet night and only the night watch is out and about.
The dark of night hides many things, but the stillness it creates can allow the mind to wander. Past, present, and future can be ruminated on. The darkness is a mistress that witnesses all without judgment. All thoughts are equal regardless of their origins. If only the night could provide some counsel on those frequent dreams. Could they be prophetic, the product of an overactive imagination, or the by product of what lies inside the dark corners of the mind?
"Trust your instincts," the recollection of a familiar voice advises.
The nightwatchman finishes his round several stories below the window and returns inside only to have an additional nightwatchman mimic the earlier round. The fragrance of an approaching rainstorm is in the air as the breeze picks up. A sense of uneasiness works its way at the base of the spine until it is fully imbeded.
Something was indeed coming and it wasn't the rainstorm.