CHAPTER 23
Disclaimer in Chap. 1
CHAPTER 23
Dusk was approaching. Usually before a great battle, any battle in fact, his nerves were calm, focused.
Not this time, and it bothered him.
Damas felt like he was on fire and freezing at the same time. His senses were acute, waiting for something to happen but nothing was in front of him. In fact, the forest around him was quiet except for the common sounds of nature.
He had no real reason to be alarmed.
He knew the portal to Etheria would open soon and hundreds of Horde troops would cross through. He had spent the rest of the day finalizing plans for the attack. Shadow Weaver, claiming the need to rest, had disappeared again.
So now, with just moments between him and destiny, Damas knelt crouched behind a boulder, staring through the brush at his mark: the Castle Grayskull.
It fascinated him that Horde Prime wanted control of the ancient ruin so badly. On appearance, it looked haggard, with hundreds of years of moss and vines growing up the sides. The rock it was built of even looked more ancient.
"This old castle will probably fall over during the next heavy storm," he mused. "We'll be doing these people a favor."
The fact that a large skull stared back at him made it even stranger. It was definitely not a grand palace for kings and queens to reside in.
But Prime wanted to control whatever "great source of magic" laid within its realms, which posed an even greater question to the General.
"Magic," he whispered to himself. "Why should Prime have need of magic? He is the most powerful being in the universe. What is so important about this magic, this power, Hordak spoke of?"
Damas was frustrated. He knew he should not ask such questions. He had been given a duty and he should fulfill it.
But he could not maintain his focus and it flustered him. No matter how hard he tried, thoughts of the Eternian queen's words kept racing through his mind. As did the memory of the look he exchanged with Randor the coward. Not too mention thoughts of the red-headed warrior and her sparkling eyes. It was as if something had passed between them before.
And then there was this old castle. It should mean nothing to him but for some unexplainable reason, he felt different in its vicinity. It was a feeling he had never experienced before. It was almost as if he belonged there.
This troubled him more than anything, especially since he would soon lead the invasion that would ultimately destroy it.
That's when it struck him. The thought of Grayskull's destruction was torturing him with something he had been trained never to feel: Guilt.
He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples.
"Why should I care what becomes of this place," he thought. "Its for the good of the Horde. The good of the Horde. Good of the Horde....the Horde....."
Suddenly, Damas felt the bile rise in his throat and he lurched forward from the nausea. Dizziness overwhelmed him and he sank to his knees.
"What's happening to me," he asked himself shakily. "Surely this can't all be from magic."
His eyes still closed he tried to focus, to gain some clarity to the situation. He forced himself to empty his mind. He would rest and meditate. Perhaps that would help him.
Almost as if he were asleep, he found himself lost in thoughts of his childhood and he resigned to them. The memories of long days spent in tutelage to be a good soldier. Hordak and Shadow Weaver towering over him, commanding him to do better, think faster, get results. All for the good of the Horde.
Among them, a specific memory floated into his mind. He was young, barely 16-years-old, when some troopers brought a man accused of stealing from the Horde stables in front of Hordak. Damas was taught early on the laws and punishments of Hordak's rule and he knew full well the penalty for theft, as was with many others, was death.
He also knew there would be no trial and as he stood at the left arm of his father, he watched as the man begged for his life, denying the charges and pledging his loyalty to Hordak.
He had looked on the man in pity and while the memory was hazy, he seemed to recall questioning his beliefs as to what was right in this situation. That was when Hordak handed him the laserblaster and ordered him to "Prove his loyalty to the Horde."
Damas was dumbfounded. He had never taken a life before. After several moments under his father's reproachful eyes, under Shadow Weaver's fiery stare, after listening to the man groan and whimper endlessly, he did something that was entirely different from any other time he recalled the event: He handed the laser back to Hordak and ran from the room.
His eyes snapped open and he gulped for air. He had broken out into a cold sweat and put his hands on the ground to steady himself.
"No!" he thought frantically. "That's not what happened! I shot him! He was the first person I ever killed! I killed him like my father asked me too! I killed him and many others! I didn't, I couldn't have turned away!"
He searched his memory for what he believed were his true actions but nothing made sense. He couldn't picture the event that he had been reminded of for years by his "proud" father.
He searched his mind again and again and again. He searched for other memories. Great battles. Prisoner executions. Raids. Ceremonies. Each time, the haze of a false memory became thicker and thicker and his past began to escape him.
"Was it nothing more than a farce?" he asked himself bitterly, knowing in his gut to be true. It was as if by admitting such a thing, someone somewhere was lifting a dark veil that had been in front of his eyes, but he still couldn't believe it.
Exhausted, he closed his eyes again, hoping this time, meditation would overcome what he prayed was simply magic playing against him.
After a few moments in the darkness of his mind, Damas heard a strange tune. Soft and melodic and comforting. He slowly lifted his head. It was the song he had heard some many times in his dreams. It was a song he recognized.
It was the song that was coming from the Eternian Queen's chambers the day of his inquisition.
Only this time, the humming was coming from his own throat.
For a moment, he felt like he was not breathing as her words kept echoing in his head: "Oh my son, what have they done to you?"
Over and over again. It would not stop. Despite Damas' sobs, despite his fists pummeling down on the ground beneath him. Despite his pounding heart, the voice would not go away. Then, without warning, he heard his own voice, his own words in his head, and the message was clear:
"Your whole life has been a lie."
Finally, he confronted the truth, the real truth and what he was left with at that moment was havoc. He threw his head back and roared his soul-breaking anguish to the heavens above.
Nearby, from within the walls of Castle Grayskull, the Sorceress smiled.
"Welcome home, Prince Adam," she whispered.