Fall Of The Empire
Rating: T-17+
Disclaimer: I don't own this. . . or do I? Nah, I don't. So don't sue me. I'm already in enough debt with my student loans.
Author's Notes: Thank you.
Thank you, readers and reviewers, for staying with me until thus far. I hope this final fight is everything you have wanted and more. I found out that it is impeccably difficult to write the final showdown between to figures, because there's a lot that animation can provide that writing just can't.
But I hope I was able to give you enough that you could see it in your mind!
But it's over.
And I hope it was an enjoyable ride.
There will be an epilogue, but it's going to be up within the next few days, pinky promise.
Warnings: Nothing, except for stylistic things FF loves to om nom. If you see anything with the first-person in it, it should be italicized. That is all. There might be a few tense whoopsies. I tried to catch them all but it was surprisingly hard!
. . . this text is here for a mysterious reason.
There was a lot to reflect on while Kit and Kat led him to his final destination.
There had been a lot of information to sort through on the night they'd met, and the many that followed, but Kit had sat patiently through all of his questions. She went through great lengths to answer as much as she could. She'd grown so much since he'd been away, it was utterly mind blowing. His relationship to the Wily twins had been quite strained, but the Cat that stood before him, once too energetic, brash, and reckless, had been replaced with an almost sage-like Cat.
She had been empathetic and kind as Lion-O had worked through glut after glut of emotion. She'd held his hands, hugged him when his sobs had been too much to bear, and tempered the fires of rage when he'd been given unpleasant news. It hadn't been all terrible tidings, but there had been no small amount of tears shed on his part.
An interesting phenomenon had begun to occur after the first night - Kit would sometimes have a dreamy look steal over her face, and her words would become slower and more slurred, like she'd drunk wine. It wasn't too much longer before she fell asleep, sometimes fitfully, sometimes whispering incomprehensible things.
Kat was always there to stay by his sister, refusing to answer Lion-O's concerned questions. Was she alright? What was happening?
Kat only grunted, shouldered Kit onto his back, and told the king they were leaving again. Kat refused Lion-O's help, bitterly stating he could carry his own sister, and Lion-O had let him. Kit would come around some time later, always confused and never quite knowing she'd fallen asleep. Over the past few days, her sleeping spells were becoming more and more frequent.
Lion-O was concerned, but Kat refused to inform his sister that something was wrong, and Kit seemed blissfully unaware of her episodes.
There were so many gaps in the stories he'd been told.
It was hard for Lion-O to fit the puzzle together. Kit and Kat had straight up forgotten a vast majority of their allies that had once fought on their side. Even the elephants, giving him puzzled looks when he'd mentioned Anet and Aburn. That had disheartened him, but only for a moment. They had more on their minds besides just the elephants.
Lion-O was determined to set this right, but things were looking grim.
Third Earth - not just Thundera, or the continent, but the whole planet - was on its last leg, just barely surviving as it were. Kit and Kat frequented the other animals as much as they could, but the communities were widespread and far apart - a security measure to ensure no one stronghold took too many of their remaining population should it fall. Animalkind's numbers were dwindling day by day, and soon, Kit had told him, Third Earth would have no more.
Another disconcerting piece of trivia: it was always eternally night, but Kit had simply replied that one got used to it. Regardless, he was taken aback by how peaceful and calm they both were to the whole situation. And the more he reflected on it, the more he found it was peaceful. Lion-O had to admit- his vision of armageddon was normally accompanied by piles of corpses, blood, fire, and war.
He never would have dreamed it was actually tranquility, accompanied with the soothing lap of waves that smelled of stars.
Lion-O had questioned Kit every chance he got, but most of the answers he received the shorthand, "Mumm-Ra."
It was Mumm-Ra that had plunged Third Earth into eternal night. Mumm-Ra had engineered the Soul Sea. Mumm-Ra had developed the Kumiho.
Ah, yes, their newest foe. The more Lion-O reflected upon them, the more he admitted that Mumm-Ra had been both clever and cunning, beyond what Lion-O had first thought him capable of. The Kumiho were forged from the Soul Sea itself, being made of earth and stardust.
One scampered on the roots next to him, and while he warily watched it, he made no move to attack. They were odd beasts, impossible to describe and put to words. Large was one of the only words that came to mind. Their form seemed to ripple and shift, blurred reflections of one another, but they held no distinct shapes. They were not different, physically. They seemed to be clones of each other, forged of an unknown magic. They were blind, and often bumped into their surroundings, but their hearing surpassed even the most sensitive-eared animal.
The Kumiho next to them bumped into a root, paused, and then shuffled away. The creatures had no eyes of their own, another small grace. It would make it easier (he hoped) to slay one if the need arose. He was cautious of engaging the creatures, for the more memories and souls the Soul Sea devoured, the stronger the beasts became. The Sea was the resting place for all the forgotten animals of Third Earth - the Kumiho devoured memories and (truly, the most ingenious part) donned the faces of the lost.
Lion-O had studied weapons of war (even if Tygra would claim otherwise), but never before had he encountered something so deadly. Kumiho responded to the cries of those still alive. Their ability in this regard was nothing short of awe-inspiring, hence why Kit and Kat had urged him not to make too much sound, and speak only in whispers. Their fabrics were also meant to stifle any wayward rustling, their masks meant to muffle even the quietest words.
Kit had also given him the misfortune of watching the Kumiho do what it was designed to do - lure those left alive into the Soul Sea. He had watched, helpless, as a dog, holding hands with one of the beasts, waded into the water. The entire exchange had been nonviolent, and one could even go so far as to argue it peaceful. The dog's face had been the picture of serenity and happiness.
But he had not surfaced when he'd gone under.
Kit's hand had been an anchor on his arm, a gentle squeeze telling him not to move.
"That's what they do." Kit whispered. "Mumm-Ra made them this way. Imagine seeing your loved one, there, holding out their hand to you. Nobody remembers them, and you can't either, not really, but you know you lost them. Whoever is dearest to you is right there, waiting. Few can fight them. Even Kit and I find it hard. So we just try to avoid them altogether."
A deadly, cruel, beautiful weapon.
Lion-O closed his eyes and pushed the image from his mind, massaging the bridge of his nose. A headache pulsed in his temples, warning him not to think on it more closely. The display had been three days ago.
Ahead of him, the kittens walked, ghosts making little noise as they traversed the roots. Kit had answered every question he'd had. And he had hated every answer.
He had been right, too, about the kittens being different. Taller.
Seven years had passed. Apparently, it had taken him seven years to scrape himself back together and remember his name. How he wound up in the Book in the first place was an answer he didn't have. And though it was his own personal torment, he revisited what he did know.
He remembered their surprise encounter with Mumm-Ra. He could still smell the disgusting amount of copper in the air from when he'd impaled Erica, and taking up his sword. . . but the rest fizzled into gray unknowing. He'd turned to Kit and Kat to try and answer the rest, but their memories were fickle, too.
. . . Lion-O held suspicions about Kat. Whenever he asked Kit of the Book, her brother's eyes became guarded and flinty. He debated pressing the kitten on the subject, but decided to table it.
He'd talk to Kat in due time. Currently, if he shared any space with the kitten, he simply received a hot glare and acidic silence. Kat's newfound anger was something Lion-O didn't understand, and Kat didn't seem to consider them on speaking terms.
And that was how their journey had endured. Hushed silence, disdainful glances, and the ruins of their world stretching all around.
Lion-O had been monitoring himself for the past few days as they'd walked, having nothing else to do. He cleaned Omens religiously, honing its edge to retain a sharp gleam. He'd been pleased to find that Kit had been in possession of his sword, but when asked how it had wound up in her hands, she'd given him an exasperated smile and said simply, "I don't know."
Shortly after, her eyes had glassed over, and she'd mumbled slurred sentences. Kat had tensed and glared at the trees, so Lion-O was fairly certain he knew who could answer.
He also checked his memories as frequently as he could, and was pleased to see he could recall everything. Panthro, Tygra, and Cheetara were all still solidly locked in place. When he'd asked about them, he hadn't gotten much information, save for a crestfallen expression from Kit and angry silence from Kat.
They were gone, Kat had said.
And not for long, judging by how they were able to understand who he was asking about.
And that was how he'd had to grapple with the grief of his closest friends and brother dying. It had taken him a good solid day or two to wrestle with the mourning. It was like his father, all over again, but this time, there was no one to share in his pain. They didn't remember who had been taken from them. He still wasn't over it entirely, to be honest. After all their adventures, he had imagined Tygra fighting by his side until the very end, but the truth had been entirely different.
No fair fights, no blood, no steel on steel. Just the endless expanse of the ocean, beckoning them to their graves.
Lion-O ran his claws through his fur, trying to sort through his thoughts. They were still tossing and turning, despite his attempts to try and calm them. Kit and Kat led the way, his ever-silent guide, thick robes doing amazingly well to minimize the sound of their trinkets.
"Are the robes purely for sound-dampening reasons?" He'd asked.
"No." Kat had snapped. "The Kumiho don't wear clothes. We're not lured in with false promises."
Lion-O wasn't born yesterday. He knew full well what that had meant - but he chose not to respond. He needed time to figure out how to deal with Kat, and time wasn't something he was sure he had. But getting angry at the kitten wasn't going to do much for either of them except make a fight.
And that, in turn, only aggravated Kat more, who seemed to be spoiling for a fight. The kitten kept jabbing at him, but Lion-O had faced a far worthier opponent: Tygra. Kat had a long way to go. He hadn't even insulted his birthright yet.
But this was their journey to Mumm-Ra. And apparently, he'd set up camp in the largest, most obvious place. Which made it easy for them. And if Kit and Kat were correct, they would be reaching-
Ahead of him, Kit missed a step, and slumped to the side. Lion-O and Kat were on her in a heartbeat, catching her before she could fall.
"Give her a minute." Kat said.
Lion-O looked down to Kit, who'd gone boneless in their hold. Her eyes glittered with a faraway light, and her head lolled back drunkenly.
"We're not safe here-" Lion-O started.
"She just needs a minute." Kat snapped back. Lion-O held the kitten's gaze and saw pain fracturing the kitten's gold eyes. He stared down at his sister, resigned and broken, sorrow weighing heavy on his frame.
So Lion-O let the second slip by, keeping a tentative eye for the Kumiho, and luck afforded them good graces. Lucidity filtered back into Kit's eyes, and she blinked, peering at the two. Behind her mask, Lion-O knew she flushed, because she moved, trying to escape Kat's arms and Lion-O's watchful eyes.
"I'm fine." She murmured. "We have to go."
"You'll be fine in a minute." Kat said, looping an arm around her waist and throwing hers over his shoulder, "For now, you're not."
"It's coming." Kit whispered, heartache bleeding through her words, "It's coming."
"What's coming?" Lion-O asked, keeping pace beside the kittens.
Tears slid down Kit's cheeks, her eyes cast to the ground as they walked.
"The end." She trembled, "It's coming."
"We have to go. Bite your mask, Kit." Kat said.
Lion-O heard the rasp of feet and paws clawing at the roots.
The Kumiho prevented any further conversation, and Lion-O watched as Kit shoved her mask and part of her cloak in her mouth to stifle her whispers.
They walked, the Kumiho around them, quietly bumping into things, searching for wayward travelers in search of the lost.
Kit stopped, pointing. "There." She whispered, "That tree on the horizon. . . that's where he is."
Lion-O stopped, shaking back the hood of his cloak and took in the sight before him.
He was unsure if it was hubris or egotism that fueled his greatest nemesis. In the seven years he had been away, Mumm-Ra held no fear of Third Earth or any of its remaining inhabitants. And not for lack of effort, if the scorch and burns on the trunks were any indications.
He was not the first to attack the stronghold, but Lion-O was determined to be the last.
The tree Mumm-Ra had set up his camp - if one could call it a tree - was more akin to a bunch of gnarled stumps that tangled onto each other, forming terraces and plains. The Kumiho came from the gaps of those roots, scampering forth and treading into the Soul Sea with little worry. It was wide, open, and had no impenetrable magical barrier protecting it. The roots formed many bridges across the Soul Sea, affording many opportunities to reach it.
Like he was inviting someone to come.
Like he was waiting.
Lion-O was ready to meet him.
Silence persisted as he and the kittens crossed one of the many bridges, the Kumiho thicker than ever before around them.
Lion-O frowned as he saw Kat reaching for his sister. First a hand on her wrist. Then on her shoulder. Until finally he was carrying her, like he had so many times before, Kit lolling again like a puppet with her strings cut. He wanted to demand that Kit and Kat turn around, so that Kit could recover, but there was no way he could risk sound in such a place. There were too many enemies, and too little time.
He grit his teeth and pressed on, overtaking Kat and leading the kittens up and away from the horde. They crossed the bridge and ascended, the Kumiho - thankfully - thinning around them. He watched, agonized as he stole glanced behind him, as Kit drooped more and more heavily against her brother, until finally, just a little ways from the top, Kat stopped.
The Kumiho were nowhere in sight, and the breeze from the Soul Sea brought sprites of starlight off of it, dancing in the wind around them like gentle embers of a flame.
Kat knelt, and Lion-O approached the kitten. Tenderly, and with the utmost care, he gently extricated her from his back, holding the nearly unconscious Kit in his arms. Kat, seated on the roots, reached for his sister, and Lion-O obliged, lightly placing her in his lap.
Holding his sister in a tight hug, Kit shrugged the hood of his cloak off and pulled the mask from his face.
"I was so angry with you." Kat said, gazing down at his sister's face, "The moment I saw you. I thought if I killed you, I could stop this. I thought if I killed you, we'd die a peaceful death."
Lion-O eased himself down in front of Kat. Kit appeared fine - unconscious now, but otherwise whole - but her brother was far from that. Finally, after days of silent resentment and brooding, Kat seemed. . . exhausted. Delicately, Lion-O eased his finger under Kat's chin and nudged the kitten to look up at him.
"Tell me, Kat. I'll listen."
Though the Kumiho were around them, and Mumm-Ra waited just a few tens of feet more, it could wait. Before the world, before the fight, Lion-O was king, and though precious few remained of his people, he would not forsake them.
"That day," Kat said, his voice thick and his throat tight, "You. . . you disappeared. There was light, and from the Feliner, I saw a beam of red. I knew it was the Book of Omens. I think. . . I think Mumm-Ra killed you. Rendered you to nothing - I honestly don't know. But one moment you were there, and then you weren't. And Mumm-Ra flew up into the sky, laughing, and the ground began to sink and become soft. . ."
Kat held his gaze, "And then the trees erupted. It was like Third Earth herself had burst forth to give us land when the Soul Sea came. So many died. It was worse than Thundera. There were so many screams, so many cries for help, and then. . . nothing. Just silence. Nobody knew what to do. It was chaos and confusion, and when the Kumiho came, it only amplified. Years went by like this. I forgot people I cared about. And I was so weak I couldn't keep any of them safe. One by one, they slipped through my hands. Except for her. Except for Kit."
Tears slid down his cheeks as he looked down at Kit, who was oblivious to her brother's pain. She slept, blissfully unaware, still and unmoving.
"And then?" Lion-O prompted.
"I was right." Kat said. "I knew the Book had protected you somehow. And it did. It surfaced a few years ago, and Kit saw it floating in the Sea, just a ways from land, drifting further away. It was too far for my flank to reach but Kit. . . she just jumped in."
It explained everything. Kit's grasp of reality fading, and her strange visions and whispers. Cheetara had once been gifted with knowledge of the future, and while her symptoms had been different, she had shared Kit's sleeping spell. But unlike the cleric, the kitten had seemed to see more, like the Sea had taken parts of her, but it had also given her something in return.
"I'm sorry, Kat." Lion-O said, reaching forward to hold the kitten. "I am so, so sorry."
"It's not your fault, I see that now." Kat replied. "Kit made her choice. Nobody forced her to jump into the sea, but she did. She lost part of herself that day, like the Sea had cracked her open and drained a little bit of her out. And it just keeps taking more and more of her. She just spaced off a little at first, but then the spells got worse and worse. Every time she falls asleep, I worry she won't wake up."
"She will." Lion-O said, brushing some of the kitten's tangled fur out of his face, "I promise, Kat."
"What I hated most of all," Kat said, breathing heavily, "Was the suffering. I thought that we'd live our days out before going into the Sea- just like everyone else. But then I saw you, and all I could think was, 'it's going to hurt so much more now.' And I was wrong. I'm sorry, I was wrong. I was so wrong. I was mean and nasty and I'm sorry."
"Shhh," Lion-O soothed the babbling kitten, "Kat, you have nothing to apologize for. You did what you felt was right. You two have grown so much in our journey - I almost didn't recognize you when I saw you. You two have so much more strength and fortitude than you know. And it's not fair that you've been tested and tried this way."
"I just want it to be over," Kat said, his shoulders slumping and his tears coming faster now, "I wake up every day and wish it was over."
His shoulders shook with silent sobs, and Lion-O smoothed back the fur on his head, stroking it softly.
"I'll end it, Kat. I'm going to end it. Can you watch her while I'm gone?"
Kat nodded, looking down at his sister.
"Yeah." Kat's hatred drained out of him, and when Lion-O met his eyes next, he saw the kitten had something different glittering there, some tiny emotion that flickered against the darkness in his eyes. Small, secret, and true.
"I'll do it." Kat said, a little bead of confidence bolstering his weak voice, "For as long as it takes."
Lion-O nodded, getting to his feet. "I won't take long."
Kat turned his full attention to his sister, and Lion-O took his leave. He didn't have to worry about the kitten's safety - there was no Kumiho here.
Mumm-Ra had set the stage, and Lion-O was no fool. He wanted his theatrical masterpiece to go according to plan, no distractions need interfere with his actors. Lion-O steeled his will as he ascended his roots, climbing up the few terraces that remained until he reached the top. There were no tremors or knots to set aside, no worries. For the first time in his life, Lion-O felt his courage and determination chasing away his fears and his insecurities.
Lion-O was ready.
When he reached the top, he found a wide, flat platform greeted him, obstructed by only one other figure: Mumm-Ra. He was in his altered, muscular form, towering over the roots, the tip of his blade embedded in the ground in front of him. His hands rested on the pommel of Plundarr as he gazed out at the landscape.
"Seven long years have I waited for this moment, child king." He spoke, without turning to regard Lion-O. "Your tardy policy is most unbecoming for one of your stature."
"My apologies," Lion-O replied, "I was. . . occupied."
Mumm-Ra let out a thoughtful hum.
"I am aware. When my blade cut through you, I did not feel your soul dissipate into the aether. But I knew you would come to me in due time. I waited. For you, I have waited."
"I'm here now." Lion-O said, "So we can finish what we started."
Mumm-Ra did not move, and either did Lion-O. There was no hurry to begin their duel. Nothing would come of it. Lion-O waited patiently, a calm that had been hard won over the years of his adventure. It was not odd to be talking to his greatest foe in such a way, because Lion-O knew, deep down, that only one of them would be walking away from this fight. If he did not keep some of his honor and virtue, he knew he would regret it for the rest of his days, even if his adversary did not follow such decorum.
The King of the ThunderCats had seen the power of hate, the way it festered in resentment like a sickness. He was not willing to wade into the muck a second time. In his mind, his journey through the spiritual realm of the Book replayed, flashing in segments. The clerics that had reminded him of his name. The great history of the tapestry before him. The angry words of one of his first ancestors.
He would not fail them.
Mumm-Ra finally moved, wrapping his hands around the hilt of Plundarr and drawing it from the roots. He turned, facing Lion-O, and for once as the lion looked at him, he found no trepidation or wariness of his power. The mummy smiled, sharp teeth glittering in the low light.
"Oh? Nary a tremor in your hand? Forgive me if I am mistaken, but is that growth I see?"
Lion-O drew Omens, the blade extending.
"It's been years. I'm not the kid I once was."
Mumm-Ra cast and appraising eye. "No, you are not. That much is clear to me. I do so hope you allow me to test your resolve."
Lion-O slid one of his feet back, narrowing his eyes.
And the fight started.
Mumm-Ra's actions were a blur as he sped forward, a grin on his face as he smashed at Lion-O's guard with his ridiculously oversized sword. Sparks showered when their blades collided, but Lion-O was patient, biding his time. Judge your opponents guard, he remembered Tygra saying, and then push through the gaps in his defenses. Lion-O remained firm as he gave ground, circling through the arena, dodging Mumm-Ra's attacks.
He was goaded, of course, but the words fell on deaf ears.
Keep it steady, Panthro said, let him think he's won. Fake it a little, suffer a few of his blows to make it convincing.
Lion-O did, Omens flying wide and his stomach aching as he suffered Mumm-Ra's shoulder into his gut. He toppled to the ground, wheezing, Omens just barely on the edge of his grip.
And when the time is right, when your mind is clear. . . Cheetara whispered. . .
You strike.
Lion-O swept Omens back up and drove it into Mumm-Ra's chest.
Mumm-Ra stared down at his mortal wound, blinking in shock. It was almost as though he hadn't been expecting Lion-O to actually land a blow. He rocked back, gurgling, and Lion-O extracted his sword, flinging it to dispel the black sludge that claimed to be Mumm-Ra's blood. The King stood there, grimly watching as Mumm-Ra expired before him. The fight and the world-
Mumm-Ra cackled, black fluid bubbling over his lips as the demented laugh evolved into a full-throated howl.
"Oh, how beautiful! You truly have grown! Above Leo, above your other ancestors - I wish to test your mettle more than I've tested any before. And I hope you do not disappoint!"
Mumm-Ra stood, the wound closing, and Lion-O tensed, his grip on Omens creaking around the well-worn hilt.
"Is it the power of the Stones?" Lion-O grit out, prepping his guard once more.
In response, Mumm-Ra lifted his gauntlet, and Lion-O grit his teeth to keep the shock from showing on his face. On Mumm-Ra's hand, there were no Stones. How could I have missed that before? When he cast his mind back, he didn't recall ever looking for any - he'd just assumed Mumm-Ra had had them.
"All that and more, child king. Finally. Finally! As both fate and my destiny have dictated, what I have sought for millennia is in my grasp!"
Lion-O rushed forward, hoping to cut down the demon lord once more, but was thrown clear off his feet by harsh winds and light. He hit the roots hard, Omens nearly ripped out of his hands. The wind was so violent he was having trouble breathing, and the bright, shimmering light was so dazzling it was blinding. But over the din, he heard Mumm-Ra's insane, cackling laughter. Lion-O grit his teeth, his gauntlet piercing the thick roots as he did his best to try and remain on the ground in the howling winds, his eyes wrenched shut.
The silence that descended in the next second was enough to make his ears ring. For a brief moment, Lion-O could only hear the rasp of his own breath in his lungs and the beat of his heart. Gradually, the buzz in his skull began to fade, and for the first time since their battle began, Lion-O felt a tendril of unease grip his heart.
He was slow to open his eyes, and once he reassured himself he wasn't dead (again), Lion-O looked around him.
The first thing he realized was the light from the Soul Sea had vanished. The second thing he realized was the Soul Sea was no longer there. He gazed in horrified awe at the great, yawning chasms filled only with the bleached tree roots that had spent years soaking in the mysterious substance. Third Earth was hardly recognizable. It had felt alien and beyond words when he'd been staring out at the sight of the Soul Sea, but without it. . . it was almost as though animals hadn't inhabited Third Earth at all.
Lion-O slowly got up to his feet, his head still a little dizzy, swallowing against a thickness in his throat. If the Soul Sea was gone. . .
"You are correct." Mumm-Ra answered, his voice again calm, "I have used it. Finally, after all those years, after all of my plans, all of the suffering. I have completed it."
He turned, though it felt like it took an eternity to do so.
Mumm-Ra stood behind him, admiring a stone that shimmered like a rainbow in his hands. It was small, only the size of a pebble, much smaller than the other stones. It shone with a beautiful radiance, gentle and pure, in his palm. Mumm-Ra turned it over in his fingers, bringing it up to his eye to investigate.
"Long ago, I found a chamber filled with the voices of the dead. They saw my plan - my vision - for the future, and told me they could help. Of course, I couldn't trust the nature of these deceased Terrans. There was a reason they had been Sacrificed, refused from the aetheric pool of their kin. So I took them into my body and forced them to obey me. There were. . . misfortunate accidents, momentary slips of power, but as with all things, I brought them to heel."
Who he was telling this to - Lion-O or himself, the king didn't know. But Lion-O stood there and listened all the same.
"They whispered of the Stones of Power. Ancient recipes that could coalesce the forces they embodied. I forfeited my own humanity to forge the first - the Soul Stone. But I knew, I knew I could surpass even those limitations. I would be the first. The last. The only. I would forge all these elements together to create the truest Stone of Power. And with this, the universe and all who inhabit it are mine."
Lion-O watched as Mumm-Ra brought the Stone closer to his face, as if wanting to examine the rainbow sheen of it more closely, but instead, he popped it into his mouth and swallowed. Immediately, his body shivered, and he closed his eyes.
Lion-O took his chance. Prepping Omens for a swing to decapitate Mumm-Ra, he ran forward and jumped-
Only to stop in the air.
"You cannot stop me now, child king." Mumm-Ra said, "All forces are mine to control. I can bend and tear the very fabric of this universe."
Lion-O struggled, fighting against the iron hands that held him fast.
"Your struggle is admirable, but pointless."
Lion-O crashed to the ground, and he wheezed as gravity locked him in place, settling over his back. Spots speckled his vision as he fought for air.
Mumm-Ra was wrong. Nothing was useless. Nothing was beyond his reach. He just had to fight. He continued, Omens still locked in a death grip in his hands. He battled against his restraints, gritting his teeth so hard he thought his jaw would crack. Finally, he felt himself pressing above the ground just an inch. But where there was one, there would be more. He would stand.
Mumm-Ra's feet stepped into his vision. ". . . I respect your resilience. But it is ignorant. . . I suppose, however, that now is a time for me to demonstrate how truly outmatched you are. Perhaps then, you will lose the will to fight. Or mayhap. . . "
Lion-O sucked in a breath of air right as the weights released, and he immediately jumped up, swiping at Mumm-Ra, but all he met was empty air. Water sloshed at his feet, and Lion-O prepped for an attack as he slowly turned around. Third Earth had been replaced by a void, calm and serene, with pinkish-white water. It was not unlike the Astral Plane, but he instinctively knew that this was different. More.
You labor under misapprehensions, child king.
The voice echoed, coming from everywhere and nowhere. Lion-O slowly turned, scanning the landscape as closely as he could. Where would Mumm-Ra appear? Where would he choose to strike?
I no longer have need of my blade. Finally, I may set it down to rest. I seek not to enslave the worlds.
"I have no interest in your lies." Lion-O snarled, "I have seen the past. I know what you've done!"
All of my actions culminated in the fruition of a plan long sewn. I will unite the worlds in peace and harmony. Never again will a war shed blood on the soil. Not so long as I reign. Those that disagree will have to face my wrath.
"You?! Bring peace?" Lion-O bit out a harsh, judgemental laugh. "Your hypocrisy blinds you. You're the one who did this!"
It was silent, then, for a moment, broken only by the slosh of water around his ankles as he moved.
I see now. As I have tamed the stones, I must first tame those who I rule. You will obey.
Or you will be broken.
Shapes rose from the water, and Lion-O tensed as they took decidedly familiar forms. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, hard enough to bleed, when the water fell away, revealing the faces of his most trusted friends and beloved family. Weapons were in their hands, and it took only seconds from them to reach forward and strike. Lion-O jumped and dodged, weaved and ducked through the gunfire, the nunchucks, and the staff.
They aren't real. He thought. Just illusions.
From somewhere, deep in the realm, Mumm-Ra laughed.
Lion-O fought back, shutting off his mind. Mumm-Ra was lying. There was no one - not a single person on this planet or at the core of the galaxy itself - that could remake a person's soul. When Cats died, they moved onto the next realm.
I control life and I control death, Mumm-Ra said, almost gently, none will escape my hands. I will cull the dissenters, and provide life only to the peaceful.
"Liar!" Lion-O yelled. He knew Mumm-Ra's intentions were not so noble. There was no way, after every horror and atrocity he'd committed, that he would seek to bring something like peace to the universe.
Lion-O struck, his blade flashing as he struck a shimmer of gold. The water splashed as she fell, injured, and Lion-O spun, blade biting into the Cat behind him who sought to defend his lover. A quick jump and he'd felled his last foe, his massive body slumping into the water. His pants and armor were soaked, water dripping off of his hands and face. Lion-O breathed heavily, his heart racing in his chest as he fought to quell the tremble in his hands.
They're not real, he repeated.
You doubt me. If I am lying, how did she come to be?
Another gentle splash of water. Lion-O didn't need to turn around to see who it was.
He tucked and rolled as stones ripped through the air with the intention to cripple him. He deflected one with Omens, batting it to the side, and cleaning splitting another. As he gazed upon her, seeing the gorgeous hazel of her eyes, a wound re-opened in Lion-O's chest. Pain blistered across his heart, and his knees almost buckled as he fought to breathe.
Another misapprehension of yours. It was she who called to me in the void. She sought vengeance against those who had wronged her. I told her my price, and she paid it willingly. There was no coercion-
"ENOUGH!" Lion-O snapped. "She's not real!"
Before him, Pumyra's eyes glinted dangerously. She sped forward, a dagger springing into her hands, and she swiped at him. Lion-O deflected, feeling hazy and off-balance as he tried to keep up. He ran, her blade screeching down Omens as he defended himself with the flat of his blade, and he tried to put distance between the two of them. He needed time to think. He needed time to figure out his thoughts and get back into the mindset he needed-
Why are you running?
The voice, small and quiet, whispered in his mind.
You've been running from me since you've learned the truth.
His hurried footsteps slowed.
He had been running. From the moment it had happened to every moment that had followed. He had been fleeing her ghost because it had caused him immeasurable pain. Not even his father's shadow had held such a sway over him. But her. . . beautiful, deadly Pumyra.
She had rendered him in two and he'd never been able to put himself back together.
Lion-O stilled, hearing her footsteps rushing up to meet him, and he glanced down at Omens. The last time he had lashed out at his pain, it had amplified tenfold. Resentment had mired her in sticky tar, capturing her in its hate. A tiny, niggling memory surfaced in his mind, of when he'd petitioned the release of lizards. He hadn't known it then, but beneath his father's steely gaze, there had been pain. A wound that had never truly healed.
Taking a deep breath, Lion-O sheathed Omens and turned, spreading his arms wide.
Pumyra rushed into them a moment later, and pain flooded through his senses as a blade plunged into his belly.
He wrapped his arms around her, holding her, and for a moment, lost himself in the warmth and scent of her.
"You were right." He murmured into the crook of her neck. "There is room for mercy in our struggle."
She stilled in his arms, and then softened. Something like a chuckle escaped her, and her hands fell off the blade in his gut.
"You always were such a fool."
And for the second time, Lion-O watched her die, her body dissipating in his arms. Without Pumyra to hold him up, Lion-O slumped to his knees, one hand coming to tenderly touch at the injury. Pumyra (was she real? Was that a phantom born of his mind) was gone, but the dagger was very real.
As was the blood that seeped into the water, staining it a murky brown. He knew it was stupid, and Cheetara would have chastised him, but he ripped it out and discarded it, pressing a hand to the wound.
Interesting. Mumm-Ra spoke. But again, unsurprising.
Mumm-Ra finally appeared before him, his form as tall and imposing as ever. Lion-O, from his position in the water, craned his neck back to meet his gaze.
You have given me much to consider. In this place, I will craft experiments to see what form I will allow the universe to be. There is something in your bloodline that inspires those around you to rally to your words. When last I met it, I thought it a passing fame and no more.
I was wrong. I will not be wrong again. But for this mistake, I think you, child king. For providing me another chance to remedy this mistake, and test a theory.
"Killing me won't do anything." Lion-O challenged, his breaths coming in short pants, "I'll be the mistake that haunts you every day."
I agree. And this is why I will not kill you.
The world around him swirled, as though caught in violent winds, and Lion-O felt the water rising around him, capturing him in a bubble.
I will strip you and leave little intact. I will reforge your mind to my liking. Perhaps in this, the universe may truly know peace.
Lion-O gasped as he felt something reaching in, alien and foreign, and it began to grab. Before his eyes, the world swirled with his memories. There were too many names and places to list them, but he recognized them all. His love and his fear and his anxiety.
And then they were ripped free, as though they had never existed.
Lion-O thrashed, screaming, pleading, begging.
But Mumm-Ra - was that his name? - said nothing as he stood, his palm outstretched. A kaleidoscope of colors cascaded around him, fragmenting and breaking. Sorrow. Guilt. Pain.
Gone.
Gold, orange, blue.
Erased.
His throat ached from his cries, his eyes stung from his tears.
But what was he trying to battle so desperately to keep?
There was. . . there was. . . nothing.
He needed to escape. He needed freedom. With titanic effort, he threw himself from the winds, the colors, the water. And he ran, wounded and ragged, through a world with little sense or meaning. Behind him, he heard a voice, powerful and commanding, and he feared what would happen if it were to catch him.
So he ran.
Limping and holding his wounds, he ran. Blood oozed over his hands, and as it struck the water, tattered remnants of the terrifying world he'd been forced to endure sprang to life around him. A palace. Caves. Snow. Blistering heat. Ghosts of people lived inside of them, phantoms chasing after him, claws reaching for him.
It only encouraged him to run harder.
Numbness began to set into his legs, and it was all he could do to go a few steps farther before he collapsed, sprawling out onto the ground. He shivered, ice seeping its frigid fingers into his veins.
Self preservation. What a stubborn emotion. It does not surprise me it is the last to leave.
A hand laid on his head.
He whimpered as the whirlpool opened a second time, but the colors and the emotions and the sounds cascaded into black.
He dreamed.
Or, he thought he did.
He did not know what it meant to dream. Inside himself, there was merely a yawning chasm of nothingness. And he knew it was best that way. That there should be nothing instead of something. To have something invited pain and suffering. To have nothing brought only stillness and peace.
It was odd, then, that this dream should have relics littered about. In the pinkish-white void that spanned around him, he saw the glint of metal, faded, burned stone, and other curios he could not name. And he knew this, too, was for the best. Anything that was Unknown should never be.
He ached. He was tired. He yearned to sleep. So he closed his eyes, determined to put the dream-vision behind him.
Water sloshed at his back, and he groaned as the sensation pulled him back to awakening. An Unknown was behind him, kneeling in the water. Such phantoms were to be ignored.
"I didn't think I'd see you here, after my rather gory death and everything. I really thought you'd make it. You have a knack for escaping death, after all." A voice said above him, gentle, yet distorted.
He would never understand the Unknown. That was what had been Decided.
"He did a number on you, huh? You know, I was turned into a doll like this once, believe it or not. It took me a solid month to get back to normal. But you don't have that time. And your condition is a lot worse than mine was."
He did not understand. His eyes began to close again.
"I know I said I would fight with you and try to atone, but I don't think I can. . . I really am sorry. To be honest, I didn't think enough of me survived to meet you in this place. But I heard you cry out, and suddenly I was here again."
The Unknown touched him, pulling him back from the depths of sleep. He tried to ignore her, but she did not understand. An Unknown never could. That, too, had been Decided.
"I'm here to tell you that you are there. Just a tiny fragment of yourself exists that can't be erased. Only you can find it. But I know if anybody can, it's you." Something dripped from her every word, but he could not comprehend it. Emotions were lost to him, just like everything else.
. . . were they, though? Or had they even existed in the first place?
"You can do it." The Unknown said, her voice fading. "I believe in you."
His eyes closed, then, and he slept.
And when he woke, the relics of Unknown were gone, and in place stood the Named.
Mumm-Ra was not Unknown, and he had relieved him of a great many things.
They glittered in his palm, he saw, as he pushed himself to his feet. Red stained the water, but he paid it little mind. The Named had guided him to Enlightenment.
Excellent, Mumm-Ra said, shifting his gaze from the glittering ball he held in his hand to him. This surpassed my expectations.
Time and time have you and your ancestors rallied against me, and I failed to understand why. I tried - unsuccessfully, I admit - to quash it, but all attempts failed. But now I understand.
He had helped Mumm-Ra Understand?
This will be my perfection vision for the future. By stripping these - memories and emotions alike - I can forge an everlasting peace and harmony.
Silence fell. He waited for the Named to speak again, though the meaning of his words was difficult to grasp. All he knew was he had helped somehow, and this was a Good Thing.
There is yet another experiment I need to do. In all my power, I was only ever able to capture a soul and provide it another container. The limits of my power prevented me from forging a soul. . . In my universe, such would be the purest soul.
One devoid of the option to choose. You have provided me great wisdom today, child king.
A soul?
What was a soul?
What was peace?
What was harmony?
What was choice?
His mind stretched, attempting to grasp these concepts, but he could not. They were an Unknown. They had to be. He watched as the Named began to manipulate the orb, the thing that contained the Unknown, and began to shape it and twist it in ways. There were things in that orb, including a glitter. . .
A glitter.
The Unknown filtered through his mind again.
Soul. Peace. Harmony.
Under that glitter, there had been something. . . not Unknown. Under that glitter, there had also been something Beautiful and Pure. Something that had not been Decided, yet it was. What could exist outside the Decided? What could exist that was Unknown and yet Known?
Belief.
Hope.
Belief in a hope that he could surpass even his greatest enemy and herald in a better future.
His answer. His answer for everything. This was his drive, his reason, his will. And with this clarity in his heart, he knew what he had to do.
He stepped forward, and before the Named could react, he reached into the Unknown. Chaos and cacophony pummeled into him, each struggling to get where they had belonged previously. It took only seconds for the disorganization and the insanity to settle, but when he closed his fist, the deed was done.
Mumm-Ra stared down at him in outright shock and surprise.
This cannot be.
"Nobody will be your puppet." Lion-O said, "We are not dolls to be commanded. Every single living being in this galaxy and the next has a voice. Has a will. They have hope."
Enough! Who are you to defy my will? I command you to be silent!
Mumm-Ra lashed out, but when Lion-O swept his arm up, he plucked the sword from his gauntlet. Omens extended, breaking the waves of energy buffeting into him. Mumm-Ra backpedaled, but Lion-O advanced, refusing to give ground.
With every inch he gained, the more ferocious and rendering Mumm-Ra's attacks became. Lion-O suffered wave after wave, some of them forcing to his knees. Pain unlike any he had ever known flooded his senses, but still, he stood.
Stay down!
A strong wave crackled into his body, and Lion-O nearly lost his footing. He staggered, and that opening prompted his greatest foe to strike him with a beam of sickly purple-black energy. He raised his gauntlet-clad hand, and though he had no shield to defend himself, he braced.
The agony was intense, harsh, bitter, and deep, but it was a reminder he was alive. He was here.
And he was not just fighting for himself, he was fighting for the glimmers of hope he'd seen. Every heart that had ever had faith in him, every person who had loved him, every laugh and angry word he'd ever shouted - they were the fuel to keep him steady.
Why won't you break?!
It was something Mumm-Ra did not understand. In his desperation, he had never thought this possibility to become reality. Likely, Lion-O reasoned, he had never believed this to be a possibility in the first place. His strongest adversary had never learned one of life's basic lessons: never be taken by the immediate moment, and always see the bigger picture.
So when the energy subsided, and he started forward again, he clutched his broken hand, and advanced. The gauntlet was melted and warped, but it would work.
Mumm-Ra staggered back another step, and Lion-O gave a battle cry as he drove forward, plunging his hand into the very heart of him. Lion-O met little resistance. The body that made up Mumm-Ra was little more than a shade, but Lion-O hadn't been trying to physically hurt him.
Lion-O grappled deeper, reaching down, down, down. Mumm-Ra tried to attack, lashing out, but despite the pain, Lion-O would not be deterred.
"You want to rule the universe with fear. But you don't understand. Or maybe, you never did."
Silence!
Claws flayed open his back. Lion-O grit his teeth and continued.
"Hope is always there. All of our emotions, all of our thoughts, they have so much more merit than your fear. It is unyielding, an ember that refuses to fade."
The impossibility of his recent feats were not lost upon him. Regaining his sense of self, and attempting what he was now. . . But Lion-O, through all the times the Stones had touched him, all the times his soul had been rendered and stitched back together, knew the weight of this burden was upon him.
What? You think this is enough to stop me? This is your ultimate weapon? A small amount of paltry hope?!
Lion-O grasped what he had been searching for, and he craned his neck back, staring up at Mumm-Ra.
Mumm-Ra buckled, a wheezing gasp echoing in the air around him. Regardless, he cackled, shuddering around his hand.
"You can't kill me child. I am immortal!"
His divinity, his all-supreme power, was leeching out of him.
"Perhaps." Lion-O said without missing a beat. He gripped the core harder, and staring intently at Mumm-Ra, he watched as the smile disappeared off of his face. "But there will always be another to meet you. Perhaps not now, maybe not in hundreds of years. Fear cannot exist without hope. You can smother the voices that yell in rebellion, but they will still exist as whispers. Those whispers will spark a new ember, and a new flame.
"Our dance has been done a thousand times."
With a strong twist, Lion-O felt a flicker of power, saw reality bending around him.
Before him, Mumm-Ra disappeared, replaced by a wholly surprised human Markata. The bewilderment on his face was almost comical, broken only by the fact that Lion-O had his hand sunken deep into the human's chest. He tightened his grip.
"I'm not afraid to exist a thousand years more to oppose you. I will fight you into eternity."
And he ripped his hand out.
There was no body - it simply darkened into shadows, dissipating when he hit the pink water.
"This fight will be done a thousand times more, even long after I am gone." He murmured.
Standing alone in the quiet void, Lion-O gazed down at his broken hand and unfurled his claws. The once-beautiful Stone radiated with a sickly light, but it was there, hale and whole, on the gauntlet's palm.
I thought I would cherish this moment, Lion-O thought, staring at the Stone. When I finally defeated Mumm-Ra. But there's. . . there's so much to be done.
Mumm-Ra was gone, but he knew there was a chance for him to be reborn. For his spirit to reach out and tether to another.
And Lion-O wasn't going to give him that chance.
So he closed his eyes as he put the stone into his mouth and swallowed.
Almost immediately, acid and glass began to flay at his insides. Clutching at his stomach, Lion-O struggled to breathe, his head pounding and swimming. The Stone began to beat, like a heart of its own, radiating like a power core as it flooded his body. It was enough to drive him to his knees, and force him to curl into a ball as he could only endure it.
Through his gasps, through the pain and his grunts and moans, Lion-O honed in on a single, tiny thread. He sought to understand what no one had dared to, or even entertain the notion of.
A new sensation began to sweep through him, shadows and ichor lacing his spirit.
Is it bad to want to cull them? Whispered the voice of his then-foe. To want them to fear you above all else?
"Show me." He grated.
The void shimmered, and Lion-O pressed a palm against the floor, trying to steady himself. The colors around him leeched into gray, and human constructed facilities surrounded him. Ahead of him, a human woman was kneeling on the floor, her fingers threaded through her hair as she rocked back and forth.
"My sons. My sons. My babies!" She sobbed, tears dripping from her cheeks.
A datapad laid in front of her, faces glimmering on its surface. Her sons had died.
Save for one.
Markata stepped forward, much younger, and only newly-introduced to the war. He reached out to his mother, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"Mama, please. Stop crying. We're here. I'm here for you. You have not lost this son."
The grieving mother whipped her head up and glared at him, despair and scorn clouding her eyes. "They died for us. For you. I want them back. I want all of my children in my arms. . ." She scrubbed at her face, dashing her tears away. "Leave me. I only wish to be alone."
She grabbed the datapad and stood, brokenly sobbing as she walked, her eyes never leaving the pictures of her boys. She entered a room, the door closing softly behind her. Young Markata knelt there, rubbing his hands together nervously.
The days past as Markata tried to reach his mother, but all attempts met with no success. The door remained firmly shut.
He knocked on her door again, for the hundredth time, and waited a few moments before speaking.
"Mama, I won't be like my brothers. I'm going to survive, mama. We lost Papa, but we still have each other. I'm strong. I''ll survive. I'll be strong enough for the both of us." he waited for a reply, and when none came, he knocked on the door again, calling for her.
Lion-O watched as the alarm grew, and Markata knocked on the door, again and again, before he finally burst through it.
His mother was there, in a puddle of her own blood.
The scene warped, and Markata entered another room, this one much more sterile and clean. His mother sat in a bed, covered in a thin sheet, humming idly as her clouded eyes stared at a wall.
"Hello, mama." He greeted. He walked over to her bedside and grabbed her hand, squeezing it gently.
She looked at him, smiling slowly. "My sons are all dead, you know. Have you lost your mama?"
Markata stiffened, eyes flashing in rage. "I'm alive, mama!"
Her smile was soft, yet broken. "Poor thing. Lost your mama like I have lost my babies."
Lion-O watched as Markata began to age, the hours and months flashing before his eyes. Still, Markata visited his mother, the young boy secretly hoping each time would be different. He got stronger, but every visit brought a new shard of ice to his eyes. He loved her, this broken woman, his defeated mother. A mother too lost in her dreams to notice her last child before her.
She passed away not long after, and despite what Lion-O had to assume was normal funerary rites, he, still as a young boy, carried his mother out of the human ship and onto Terran land. He shed no tears as he walked into the fog, cradling his mother in his arms.
He buried her and put her to rest, and as he finished, he stood before the mound of dirt that had claimed her.
"Is this what the meaning of our life is, mama?" He spoke, his words uncharacteristically raw, "To live and to die, broken and lost to the fate life has decided for us?"
He shook his head.
"No. I will forge a new fate. I will change it. I'll become stronger, mama. You will be the last - I will see to it. I'll be the strongest of anyone. An enemy even life itself will have to fear."
There were no spectators as he turned away.
The scene splintered once again, tracking him as he strode into a medical facility and stood before an array of doctors. He placed a sheaf of forms down.
"I'll be your test subject. For your experiment." He wiped his hands on his pants, the earth staining it. The soil is still there, on his fingers and under his nails.
"You? How old are you, boy?"
"Twelve."
"You will not survive." The doctor dismissed, waving an airy hand at him.
Markata smiled coldly. "I will."
The void returned, devoid of Markata's image.
Lion-O, free of pain, pushed himself to sit on his knees. In thousands of years, the lion did not think anyone had gotten so deep an understanding of Mumm-Ra. The human's intentions had been noble. . . at first. But by absorbing such corruptions into himself, his ideals had become warped and twisted over time.
Mumm-Ra's attempt to bring peace to the universe had been honest. Misguided, but honest.
His first goal - and primary one - had been to put an end to all strife and warfare. And what greater way to accomplish this than by being the worst monster? If worlds - or whole galaxies - were fighting against you, they had little time to quarrel with one another.
And a repeat of Terrans and humans could be avoided.
But power was not so easy to take. becoming the orchestrator of his own race's mass murder had not been enough. New standards had been set. New goals to meet. New threats to pose. And as his ever-growing pile of corpses had accumulated, his vision had shifted.
Peace to the galaxy was a noble goal. And he realized in this understanding, he could take Mumm-Ra's place. Finish what the conqueror had started.
"But I am not you." Lion-O murmured, placing a hand on his chest. He felt his heart beating there, strong and alive. He had not bargained his soul away for limitless power.
Animals deserve a choice. We deserve to use our words and our faults to discover what we may become.
"Our fate is never locked in stone, and that is what you failed to understand." Lion-O said, gazing at himself in the water. "Our fate is what we make of it, constantly shifting in response to our actions. . ."
When Mumm-Ra had stripped him of his will, Lion-O had glimpsed this truth. When he had sought to create a soul incapable of choosing, he had known that there would be no use for this power Mumm-Ra had forged.
But the choice yet laid in his hands. He had come to wield the weapon his enemy had created. Its blade was sharp, and the repercussions for any actions he did would probably echo into the annals of history. He was facing a fork in his path, and he knew he had to come to a decision.
Mumm-Ra's ambition was not his own. Lion-O did not seek to end war or tragedy - those same painful experiences had forged him into who he was. Free will was a beautiful, yet deadly, gift. It was up to animalkind to make their own decisions.
Yet he could not allow this Stone to reach the hands of any other living creature.
Nor could he release Markata's soul into the aether.
Taking a deep breath, Lion-O closed his eyes. He laid his hands over his heart. Light began to shimmer around him as he used the Stone, shaping and crafting its essence into the ultimate magic. The king made a cross between a prayer and a wish.
And the world exploded.