Ra-Heka
Mutants.
The derogatory term levied against the likes of Addicus and Kaynar had not simply been chalked up to minds so mentally unstable that they readily swore fealty to Mumm-Ra. The undying wizard's gifts had provided many boons to races once slower and weaker to Thundercats. Muscles gained unholy bulk, claws stretched and curved into obsidian edged blades, and lungs pressed against straining ribs to boost unnatural stamina. Panting, wheezing, twitching and crazy-eyed monsters, the whole lot of them! Mutants indeed, as far as Pumyra was concerned. They were hapless fools who pleaded for their strength and received it with indifferent waves of a mummy's hand. She had earned her lord's respect through refusal to go so quietly into the well of souls.
Her lord did not simply raise the dead and twist it into an abomination. Fingers curl and relax in a repetitive wave, testing the undulating sinew in her forearm, confirming that her body was as it had been before being broken under shattered masonry. She smirks. No, she allows a smirk. She is in control. No crazed thoughts like those ranting and raving fools. No enhancements to her body, save the ancient magics that effortlessly repaired a snapped spine and shattered pelvis. Yes, Mumm-Ra held her mind in those decayed fingers, and even then she would have willingly bowed to the one who spoiled her with a chance at revenge.
She only relied on herself, even as a soldier. Those petty royals, those spoiled clerics, none would understand what she went through to forge her mind and her body. Strength is what mattered as a gladiatrix. To overcome the sickly-sweet stench of bowls spilled to the whim of uncaring masters. To no longer care enough to shed tears as wounded warriors were dragged from dusty cells and tossed into pits. To fight and temper the mind and body, to only find true consolation in those who do the same, is what explained the respect shown to a warlord whose withered hulk still fought against time's decay.
It never crossed her mind that Mumm-Ra did not embrace his tortured existence to conquer pain. Her resurrection had been a simple affair, a testament to ungodly skill gained from forging oneself through eternity. Surely Mumm-Ra could heal his body whenever he so chooses. Surely his power was his own, and not an extension of the evil spirits that haunted the Black Pyramid. Surely his grunting and growling against the ancient ones' plans, his scheming and dealings with their machinations, that was not to extend his life just another day while they kept the secrets of permanently restoring the mummy to his strongest state. At least his scheming involved chomping at the bit as she had done as a gladiatrix. He chaffed at serving those who depended on him, just as she did against fat arena masters and Lions who only pretended to hold everyone's interests in mind when the doors were open.
She served one who valued her strength and at the same time did not rely so heavily upon it. Perhaps it is the reason unabashed conquerors are celebrated and those who apologize for their sins are reviled. The mortal soul instinctively respects power and superfluously denounces it as evil, while taking advantage of a good heart making amends for that very same reason. The mind of a gladiatrix would find time between matches in a rusty cage to be so brutally philosophical. Gladiatorial masters relied on their minions fearing one another to ever stage a revolt. King Claudus was just a sugar coated variant that reminded her of that sickly-sweet stench in the coliseum that confused young slaves up until they made the horrifying discovery of a cooling body drowning in blood. She now knows better than to be so easily surprised for a third time.
But, she was surprised.
What had been written off as another mutant did not join the lunatic cheering under a full moon this night. A pale vampiric visage belonged to a frail body that should have expired long ago. Flesh pulled tight around an ancient skull made it seem as though those cheeks were carved from stone, which made those black, sunken eyes appear even more like the abyss. Almost like her master's... Yes, almost. Mumm-Ra flowed with power. Even his hobbled steps seemed so indifferent to everything he gained, as though bored with every achievement and ready to grasp the next trophy. This creature, however, stood as though he felt disgust with weaker races, and while that sentiment could be something she agrees with, this vampire allowed his sense of superiority to control him. Lording. Glowering. Guarded by several minions where Mumm-Ra stalked the Black Pyramid alone.
After fat masters and saccharine kings, she finally discovered a third type of lord to despise, especially one followed by a thin feline scowling at the jackals wrestling over rights to rotting elephant bones.
"Hec-Tor Kur!"
Even the undead know how to give a flamboyant greeting. Pumyra follows Hordak's less than amused stare up to her lord and master stepping through the throngs of faithful warriors, his crimson cloak billowing with arms splayed wide. Their drunken revelry and haphazard dueling quickly faded, allowing the crackling bonfires a chance to sign their primordial chorus under the starry sky. The tiger-esque follower lost the facade of distaste and superiority with Mumm-Ra's visage, her jaw dropping before snapping shut with a disgusted gulp.
Hundreds of bare and armored knees thud on the cracked earth. To Mumm-Ra and Mumm-Ra alone did the enhanced soldiers show respect. So too did Pumyra kneel, a saluting hand clapped to the opposite shoulder. It only seemed that her eyes her closed. A nearly-lidded gaze keeps the guests in her peripheral.
"Wahankh."
Pumyra smirks. The visitor's silent, brooding nature broke to the use of his true name. His mutterings may have been overlooked by the foolish brawlers sprawled out over the barren fields but not her, and especially not the ancient conqueror. The vampiric lord's follower perks up, casting her master a questioning glance. 'Wanker?' she mouths out. A barely perceptible narrowing of Hordak's eyes quickly silences her. Pathetic. Even the tigers who remained loyal to Mumm-Ra had never acted out of turn, let alone dared treat Mumm-Ra's true name so carelessly.
"Ah, my apologies!" The ever-living sorcerer bows to hide a devious grin. "Lord Hordak! Master of Etheria!"He rises, as best a decrepit body allows, as both palms point up as though to gesture to the visitor's greatness. Pumyra and the lesser soldiers know it to be permission to stand tall. Her cheek quivers with another smirk. Hordak's jaw clenched at the message only leaders would pick up on.
Respect was earned by Mumm-Ra. He would not have his minions debase themselves before anyone but himself. Nor would he tolerate followers who knelt before the unworthy. Possessive? Perhaps. But he earned it. He could break the universe in due time. Minions existed only to hasten the inevitable. Hordak's confidence in his own power did not extend to approaching with no pet guard.
"To what do I owe the pleasure of Eternia's greatest threat?"
"Enough, Catra." Hordak's command silenced an intrigued whisper concerning Etheria's sister world.
Pumyra hums. Catra. Fitting for a castrated soul and a ball-less master. It is a great enough honor that Mumm-Ra bothered to remember the world of these visitors. The dimwitted mutants mutter to themselves, not recognizing the name themselves. Neither did she, but did it truly matter? The Black Pyramid had once beheld a hundred thousand worlds. A single world's greatest threat? Pathetic.
"To discuss matters of Pharnoor, o' Great Mumm-Ra."
Mumm-Ra's grin widens. Pumyra's eyes narrow. That is not simply the expression of one suddenly backed into a corner, nor one to give in so easily to insults. This Hordak clearly overstepped, and given that none of the Mutants were simply waved forth to tear him apart meant her master acknowledged just enough of the vampiric man's power. Hordak, Hec-Tor Kur, and like a cur he demanded to be given respect with what was clearly an insult. Pharnoor? Her eyes slightly glint in recognition to what her master had been privy enough to tell her before.
"Hunting for relics? I would have expected to forge your own power by now!" Mumm-Ra's eyes briefly meet with Pumyra's, their minds meeting over this teasing. Just like these Mutants, this Hordak sought power not his own. A rather far cry from raiding a star to forge it into a new state instead of looking for ancient artifacts to enhance one's strained authority.
"Would that not be Keldor's responsibility?" Mumm-Ra leads Pumyra's attention back to the frowning tiger. "Ah, replaced a minion again, I see! Well, I cannot fault you for that. Sometimes we choose the wrong followers to aid us!" His arms lower, giving the gladiatrix room to stand proudly at his side, her feet planted shoulder-width apart and arms crossed in martial command.
Hordak's chiropteran eyes manage to narrow even more.
Mumm-Ra scratches the top of his head with a boney digit. "Hm, I must be forgetting much in my old age. I remember this exact conversation with Keldor present as well, concerning his own predecessor."
The tiger's gold and blue gaze settles warily on Hordak, who keeps his attention square on Mumm-Ra. "You, most of all, would find merit in their -student- forging their own path," he strikes.
The ancient sorcerer does not even deflect the verbal thrust that seeks to finally put him on the back foot. His laugh is more akin to a shield smashing into an overly cocky gladiator running full tilt at an opponent. Pumyra's left arm tenses at the memory of a skull giving way to her back-handed slap of wrought iron. Hordak's ghoulish head could be the next one pulped. Cracking digits bound tight in grey, leathery skin brushes along her arm, as though her master had sensed her desire to lay the fool out.
No. Hordak is still powerful. He would not throw away her life to save his own honor, especially when true leaders should save it themselves.
Hordak finally smirks. "You need to calm your minions, o' Great Mumm-Ra?" He points with a finger just as weathered and far more bleached. "If you are looking for a better servant, I can always accept this one and teach her proper authority."
Pumyra does not flinch, unlike the -Cur's- servant suddenly haunted by a past experience.
"Surely you are not so attached to your followers."
There is no hesitation. Mumm-Ra's worn hand presses under Pumyra's chin, who in turn proudly lifts her head up with her master's approval. She stares down at the sickened tiger, golden eyes glaring at the -half- as worthy brat. One golden eye and one blue? So indecisive. Even her image is one of pure hesitation, and hesitation forfeits one's life in the arena.
Now comes the verbal shield-bash.
"To insult one's property, Hec-Tor Kur? Especially one who -willingly- follows?" Mumm-Ra's thumb stroke's across Pumyra's cheek. Her posture does not shift. She is proud, not a weak kitten who purrs, and especially not a horrified tiger. "I would hope to raise someone who would one day challenge me and lay claim to the empire I build, instead of floundering against the Mystic Wall."He gestures across the gathered soldiers. "Should I raise one to be so strong? Then to the victor goes the spoils!"Their cheers drown out the tiger's whimper and the vampire's growl. "But! I know there to be a reason -my- former master's protégé seeks console. Even if it is to help him understand the new powers he has clearly gathered. Come!" He turns, pauses, and smiles over a shoulder at the two guests. "You as well, Catra."
Of course the runt would stammer, softly asking her own master just how this ancient sorcerer already knew her name while shuddering away from a few Jackals leering closer, missing both her master's sharp ears and Kaynar's minions getting so close. As Mumm-Ra turns about, hobbling back up the steps to the Black Pyramid's sanctum, Pumyra casts a sharp glance back Hordak. Her nose curls as though attempted to snort. Stolen powers. Weak and rebellious minions that are a desperate means to an end. A child that has to be comforted by the stern mutterings of a man, reasoning that Mumm-Ra overplayed his hand, as though that would face face. Ha! That face alone shows one who is warped by that which he does not understand, unlike the mummy weathered by the ultimate power that is time.
A mutant, indeed.