Chapter 1

Adora punched the bright scarlet bag hanging from the ceiling under the watchful gaze of the white light above head, a picture of a princess tapped to the punching bag. With all her focus and her might, she punched, kicked and kneed the bag as hard as she could. Sweat beaded down the side of her face, her dark blonde hair sticking to her face in little wisps. Her hair was done up in a crown of braids, to keep her hair from getting in her face, her closest friend having weaved it for her that morning. Adora wasn't good at hair stuff so she just let her friend do it.

Her hands ached, the muscles in her body burned as fiercely as her devotion to the Horde. She was so lost in that trance, that deeply rooted focus, that she was not aware of her surroundings. She had not seen Catra slip through the open door just next to her. Shadow Weaver always taught her to be observant. She had failed her in this instance.

Without her having noticed anything, she appeared behind Adora. By the time she had sensed another body, it was too late. Swift like a cat, she tripped her up and she fell backwards on the cushioned matt, the wind knocked out of her temporarily.

"Ohhh," Catra said like she had been burned, "better not let Shadow Weaver know you're slacking off." Her voice was sultry, playful, teasing. She was toying with me. Adora smiled at her, gazing up at her lean body. She was quiet, stealthy. Catra made a gentle purring noise, her fangs a little more pronounced than the regular persons. Sweat was a heavy scent within the gym.

"Says you. You're supposed to be in training right now."

Catra raised a dark silver eyebrow. "And you're not?" a hand rested upon her hip.

"No," I huffed, "I have an hour to myself before my next training exercise."

"Lucky you." She offered her hand to help Adora up. She considered for a moment not taking it, knowing how much of a prankster she was. Yet the look in her deep amber eyes was serious. When the light hits Catra's eyes, it was like sun fire, a beautiful and deadly thing dance of flames. Adora takes her hand, gripping onto her for dear life, and gets herself upright once more. Catra's long black nails pinch into my skin. Her silvery hair was pulled into a long braid, little wisps escaping their entrapment.

"Hey, Wildcat, it's good to see you so chipper," Adora said. "What happened? Kill someone recently?"

Catra chuckled, white sharp teeth gleaming. "No, although that does sound like fun. We should do that later."

They were in the same uniform, a skin tight black top with long sleeves and a high neck, the Horde symbol painted in blood red on the back. Dark green tight trousers with a small dagger strapped to the thigh, thick boots to match. Adora had a red Horde jacket around here somewhere but in the gym it was too warm for that. Catra never wore her jacket, she hated it with a burning passion. If it were up to Catra, she'd walk around naked.

The gym itself was empty, safe for the two of them, there were several punching bags, a sparring ring or two and some buff training dummies in the corner, slashed to hell as if an animal had been eating away at them. Maybe it was Catra. It was nothing too exciting or elaborate. The Fright Zone was anything but fancy. It was just a bunch of metal buildings with simplistic designs on the inside. It wasn't made for comfort but rather practicality. The Fright Zone was the centre of the Horde's base of operations. Neither Adora, nor Catra have been outside of their home. They've seen bits of the Fright Zone from the windows but Shadow Weaver had forbidden them from leaving. They know so little of the outside world.

Adora had been raised by the Horde, as was Catra. Shadow Weaver said she was found as a baby and she took her in.

Catra's tale is a lot different, she was a newborn when the Horde brought peace to her village. Her family was killed by princesses who have been fighting against the Horde and so left her widowed. Lord Hordak could not leave Catra behind to die. Or that's what Catra had told her. They'd been raised together, through thick and thin, through sickness and in health. Adora owed her so much.

She let go of Catra's hand finally, having not realised she was still holding on. She threw an arm around Adora's shoulders as they strolled to the locker room.

"You're going to anger Shadow Weaver," Adora told her but she just shrugged it off, as if it was nothing. Just a blanket of shadows to be tossed away.

"Don't care." Shadow Weaver's punishments were harsh, for those who disobeyed she made sure they cried 'mercy'. Catra had been the subject of some of her physiological punishments, where Adora received more physical ones. Because that's what she did, Shadow Weaver liked to get under people's skin and turn their own demons against them.

At the locker, Adora undoes the coded padlock, punching in four digits. Four numbers, she wasn't sure why she picked those numbers, she was certain they were whispered to her once a long time ago.

The little scars on her right hand started her in the face, from all the times Shadow Weaver broke her hands. Mainly fingers, she liked to do those. But for Catra, her scars are hidden deep within the recesses of her mind. From within her locker, she took out a towel to dry her face free of the sweat. Catra reached in and nicked the deodorant can, spraying it everywhere.

"Woo, you could use this whole can," she jokingly says, waving her hand before her face. The amount she sprayed chokes me, it's stuck to the back of my throat leaving a horrid taste on my tongue.

"Catra!" Adora shouted, trying to knock the can from her hand. Catra laughed at her fumbling through a haze of scented mist.

"Maybe this will make the gym smell nicer too."

"Like my deodorant do you?" She teased the kitty cat the moment she got hold of the can and chucked it back in my metal locker with a bang.

Her tanned cheeks turned red at the thought. "Ugh, no! It's a horrid smell." She lightly pushed Adora into the lockers, a soft banging sound reached her ears.

"Adora, Catra," a stern woman's voice snapped from beside them. Adora's heart leapt into her throat and immediately she stood in formation. Back straight, chin up, eyes down, hand to the forehead in a salute. Catra followed suit. "Childish games are beneath you, both of you. I thought I raised you better than that."

"Forgive us, Shadow Weaver," they said in unison. Shadow Weaver, with hair like salt and pepper, black with white streaks flowing in an unseen force as if she's underwater, stepped towards them. She adorned a crimson robe to match the logo of the Horde, a belt around her thin waist where a whip dangles from, the tip coated with fresh blood. Her heels click and echo against the metal.

"Give me your hand," she demanded. Catra and Adora shared a glance. There was once a time where they would look at each other with fear and worry. Those days were gone. Without hesitation Adora raised her dominant hand to Shadow Weaver, palm facing up. She prepared for the oncoming pain.

Shadow Weaver, the dark sorceress, summoned an onyx cane from the shadows around her. The shadows that whispered into Adora's ear from time to time. The shadows that are always watching, even from afar. The cane made harsh contact with the bare skin, stinging pain rippled through her hand. She grinded her teeth together, suppressing the scream dying to come out of her throat. If she screamed, she would get more hits.

It was five in total hits, a lot less than what she normally dished out. Catra got the same. It doesn't scar the hand, there's no blood, it just left massive red welts. However it hurt like a bitch to use that hand and given it was her dominant hand, training will prove to be more difficult. More painful than usual.

"As soldiers of the Horde, I expect more discipline from you. The primary object is to bring peace to Etheria, to drive out the evil princesses and rescue the civilians. Bring them into the Horde. We won't do that with such childish acts. You need to be serious. If not, I'd be happy to send you to Bear Island." Catra audibly gulps, a single bead of sweat trickling down the side of her face.

Shadow Weaver used to tell them bedtime stories growing up and one of those stories was of Beast Island. A dangerous place where none survive.

"It won't happen again, Shadow Weaver," Adora stated.

"It better not." A shadow, like smoke, billowed up close to her hand. The sorceresses petted it as if it was a living animal. "I see all." She takes a breath. "Now, Lord Hordak would like to meet with you both. Follow me."

They followed Shadow Weaver through the Fright Zone's small halls, rounded as if they were in a large pipe. They pass the occasional window, secured in with thick rivets. All she could see were metal buildings, pipe work. Hundreds of flying spacecraft transporting goods across the land. This was once a mighty kingdom, Lord Hordak's first conquest, the royal family put to the sword, the princess nowhere to be found. There was nothing else beyond the horizon for her eyes to glance at.

Lord Hordak's throne room and lab were strictly off limits. Only those invited in can go. Shadow Weaver told Adora a story once about someone who snuck in to see what it was like in his lab. She woke up to find them quartered into four parts and scattered across the Fright Zone as a warning. The blood dripped for days. As a result, no one has set foot in there again without being called. Usually it was just Shadow Weaver he talked to. Well, 'talk' was probably the wrong word, more like 'gave' commands.

Before the door to the throne room, Shadow Weaver turned to them and instructed them both on the proper etiquette for meeting with Lord Hordak. Then, she left. The door, made from cold hard steel, was painted red with the Horde sigil. Two red bat wings fully extended towards the sky with a four pointed gem in the middle.

The soldiers that were standing outside, with their freshly sharpened spears, pulled open the massive doors.

Adora knew Catra wouldn't be able to do anything in there, much like herself, but she had found a certain amount of comfort in knowing that whatever she was to face in there, she won't be facing it alone. She had weathered many storms, she'd taken harsh punishments, she doesn't fear pain or death. Her only wish was that she didn't have to face it alone. My only fear was being alone. Not lonely, she didn't get lonely. She liked Catra's company was all she was trying to say.

Step by step, they enter the dark room and stop before a set of steep stairs. They go down on one knee before the Lord Hordak. The only thing in her vision was the red runner carpet down the middle of the stairs, clipped in with iron bars already going rusty.

"Welcome loyal soldiers of the Horde, Catra and Adora. I've had many positive reports about you from Shadow Weaver. We're currently preparing to invade Elberon and I have two new positions. I have an opening for Force Captain, Shadow Weaver has recommended Catra for this." Catra's head snapped up, eyes wide like saucers. She had forgotten the etiquette.

"I would be honoured to be your Force Captain," she said with a shaken voice. It was all she'd ever dreamed of being, a Force Captain. A soldier stepped up and held out the Force Captain badge, a shiny badge encapsulated within a red hexagon. The Horde symbol etched within the jewel like badge with a laser. She accepted the badge, grinning from ear to ear. "Thank you, Lord Hordak, I won't disappoint you."

"I hope not. Force Captains who fail at their missions don't last long," he said, pointing to the shadows next to him. From within the darkness, a light flickered and they both caught a glimpse of hanging people, skin falling off their bones, the rope swaying. It was only for a brief moment. "And you, Adora," her eyes looked at him, staring deep into his scarlet eyes, a face bone white and stripped of every emotion except disdain. His dark blue garments hung from his body. His arms and legs are exposed where veins of luminescent green shine through the dark. "I have something else planned for you."