The sun was warm on Haggar's face as she stood in the middle of the shaft of light. With staff raised and arms uplifted, her hands clenched and unclenched, as she directed the swarm of insects the way that a conductor would command an orchestra.
Transfixed by an inhuman joy, she swung her staff in the air, relishing in the intoxicating feel of the magic that shimmered in her veins. Her powers intermingled with those that she had stolen from the Princess of Arus in a euphoric siren's song that was startling in its intensity.
The power within her demanded release and a song of power rose unbidden to Haggar's lips. "Quassa, Alweqwax, Opweaasn, Lujoqa, Moqo'wkiii!" she cried, raising her voice to the heavens and letting the winds snatch her words away.
The air around the witch thickened and shimmered with light. A kaleidescopic rainbow of lights formed, flashing turquoise, agate, citrine, amethyst, onyx and garnet in the brilliant morning sunlight.
The swirl of colors grew merged, grew brighter and dimmed as another horde of insects appeared in response to Haggar's summons. Satisfaction lightened the witch's golden eyes as she marveled at the ease at which she cast her spell.
What she was doing — summoning living things and binding them to her will — was something beyond the capability of most magic users... But then again, when HAD she ever been like others? Haggar gloated proudly as pride lifted lifted the corners of her mouth.
Even as a child growing up in the hidden royal palaces of Cador, the young Haggar — Zirra, as she had been named then — had never been like the other royal children. She had been blessed with a natural talent so strong that it astounded her teachers and terrified her parents, though they were magic-users themselves.
The Council of Elders, whose duty it was to train the Daughters of Cador in the magical arts, lavished Zirra with attention. Because they could not teach what she instinctively knew, they urged her to find her own Way and discover things for herself.
But instead of being guided by the light as they expected her to, the young princess' power blended into darker seas. Unlike the rest of her family, she was inherently cruel at heart and selfishness drove her to abandon the control that should have tempered the use of her abilities.
Whispers and gossip circulated around the planet, eventually reaching the ears of the Council and the Royal Family, telling tales of how the animals of the night would appear in response to Zirra's summons and how the Princess Zirra delighted in causing others pain.
But Zirra's appearance alone belied all those rumors. How could one so beautiful be evil? The Royal Family and the Council asked those brave enough to approach them. After all, the ancient legends told of the heavy price exacted by the misuse of ones talents and Zirra grew more and more exquisite everyday.
Haggar prided herself in being so cunning and so strong, that she had concealed her ambition and agenda from the divinations of her mentors. By the time the Council discovered what Zirra was, what she had become, it was too late.
Her expression twisted into a grotesque parody of a smile. Never one to leave anything to chance, she routinely cast scrye spells to watch over anyone who could be a threat. She congratulated herself for having been astute enough to do so — it gave her the chance to flee Cador before an organized offensive could be mounted against her.
Power without restraint. Knowledge without wisdom. Passion without love. Zirra had become the living embodiment of everything that the people of Cador hated most — cruelty, selfishness and malice.
The council had no choice. Cursing themselves as fools, they leveled the greatest possible punishment they could on the princess. Zirra, the Daughter of Cador and the descendant of a long line of bearers of the light ceased to exist, only to be reborn as Haggar, which meant "she without a name".
As a witch, Haggar's natural talent was impressive, but to establish herself as a force to be reckoned with, she had to set herself above all others. Her formidable talent was an advantage but it was not enough. Those who practiced the dark arts needed more — they had to learn new ways of inspiring terror in others.
She devoted herself to her studies with a passion that she had never quite felt before. For almost a century, she traversed the universe, galaxy-to-galaxy, planet-to-planet, propeled by her thirst for knowledge and the need to learn spells and new ways of doing things.
Haggar met the young prince Zarkon of Sketh on one of her trips and immediately recognized in him a kindred spirit — one full of fire and ambition even though it was stifled by the conservatism and cowardice of his peace-loving father and three older brothers.
Even though she was reluctant to involve herself, Haggar watched the handsome prince from a distance, feeling for him and sympathizing with his situation, not knowing that he had noticed her too.
She should not have been surprised, Haggar thought, the image of how she had looked then abruptly sparking to life in her mind with crystal clear clarity. Though stripped of her name and heritage, by birth, she was still a Daughter of Cador and she possessed the legendary beauty — sapphire eyes and sun kissed hair — that marked them all.
A brittle, humorless laugh escaped Haggar's lips as her face twisted with bitterness. How could she have been so gullible? She wondered, cursing — not for the first time — the effectively of her protective spells and wards. Despite her formidable power and her mastery of the dark arts, she had fallen prey to someone stronger and more cunning than she.
Zarkon's handsome cerulean face and flowing white hair disguised the predator hidden within. In no time at all, with prodigious use of his charm, he won her heart and aroused her passions to meet his own.
Knowing that for Haggar, the loss of her position after being stripped of her title and heritage was a festering sore, Zarkon promised her the chance to rule at his side as his queen, a position that Haggar accepted gladly.
Pledging her loyalty, Haggar dedicated herself and her talents to furthering her husband's cause, casting spells that made Zarkon's parents and older brothers sicken and die. Those who had freely waited on the old king and queen were now constrained to serve and were punished harshly — banished to the newly constructed Pit of Skulls — for small, often imaginary, mistakes.
Sketh eventually came to be known as Doom, a tribute to the gloom and despair that filled the air. Mourning replaced festivity and laughter. Grotesque and alien creatures inhabited the palace moat and cesspools — the result of Haggar's experiments to turn men into the monstrous weapons known as ro-beasts.
Watching benevolently from his golden throne, Zarkon was pleased. Helpmate, advisor, bedmate, witch. Haggar was all that he had hoped for and more than he had imagined — except for one major detail — her inability to bear him an heir.
Sensing her husband's disquiet, Haggar turned her talents to producing the desired heir with a singularity of purpose that bordered on desperation. Potions. Spells. Charms. Offerings to the spirits. Dancing naked under the blood red moon.
So desperate was she, so caught up in her pursuit that she failed to notice that her beauty was fading. To her dismay, she had failed to listen to the warnings contained in ancient legends of Cador about how corruption exacted a heavy price.
By the time she realized what had happened, it was too late. The desire that had once shone out of her husband's eyes gradually turned into revulsion as her golden hair fell out in clumps and her skin wrinkled and took on a decidedly green tint.
Repulsed by her appearance, Zarkon ordered their marriage dissolved, but refused to release her from her pledge of loyalty, despite her pleas and entreaties. After all, he mocked, she was more useful as a witch than as a wife.
Sick at heart, the witch withdrew from the world and cloistered herself in her laboratory. Fear wrapped itself around her heart and mind like razor-sharp talons of ice — she realized that not only was her beauty fading, her powers were weakening as well.
Haggar scoured Zarkon's empire and rounded up as many magic users as she could. Torturing and tormenting them, she pried out every bit of knowledge that they knew that she did not. She collected every scrap of written information about magic that she could lay her hands on — thousands of books, grimoires, fragments of manuscripts — and all the magical artifacts that she could find.
The witch was so intent on her search that she barely noticed when Zarkon took another woman to bride and to bed. A princess in her own right, Zarkon's new queen brought him a planet for his empire and also gave him the gift he had desired more than anything else in the universe — a son, his long awaited heir. Lotor, Prince of Doom.
Finally, at long last, Haggar discovered the spell she had been searching for — a spell of transference — one that would allow her to defy the limitations of her own body by transferring her disembodied self into a new host, taking the appearance and powers of the host for her own.
Emerging from her self-imposed isolation, she experimented successfully on her former husband's new bride. With malicious glee, she seduced her husband and reverted to her normal self in the lazy aftermath of passion. The look on Zarkon's face was priceless, Haggar cackled, remembering how horror had flashed across the king's handsome face and way that he had lurched naked from her bed.
The witch's face broke out into a small, satisfied smile. "Useless Old Witch am I?" Haggar laughed as she mocked one of Zarkon's favorite insults. "Let's see how useless you find me now! I am now as strong as I once was. You will pay for all the times you have humiliated me!"