Wake-up Call

[Roger Smith]

The insufferable ghost-child that called itself Omni faded to nothing, the area slowly brightening from darkness to illumination with no clear source. The eyes of the ever-living source of evil narrowed in contempt at the bright, pure white glow, one frail arm lifting to shade his face. An eternity in darkness made even dim lights arduous to bear, let alone this exhaustive light shining from nowhere. It simply was.

"O, Ancient Spirits...of Evil..." the decrepit figure hissed, the shielding arm slowly lowering from before his face. Baleful red eyes stares out at the nearly empty expanse of whiteness that he had appeared in. "What manner of place have you sent your loyal servant, Mumm-Ra to..?" A dull red glow sparked within the mummified sorcerer's eyes, a low growl rasping from his throat as he lifted a shriveled, claw-bearing hand up, the glimmering orb of 'omnilium' that the strange little spirit child had given to him. "And what sort of vile...creature have you presented me with?" His other hand slowly lifted, taking the iridescent orb between both hands, and lifting it to his eyes, staring at it intently. "With this substance, I was told that I could possess anything...I desire..."

Slowly his gaze lifted, looking over the orb. "I see now, Ancient Spirits...this is another test for your loyal servant..." he hissed, grip on the gleaming orb of supposed infinite possibility until spidery cracks spread over its surface. "Whether this offer of new power will be enough to sway Mumm-Ra from your service..." His grip increased, until the orb shattered, the fragments dropping to splinter into dust on the unseen ground. "This power will not sway me! Mumm-Ra is beholden to only one master!"

His glowing eyes locked onto the distant form of the gates on the horizon, and without further ado, he slowly set off. His pace was slow, nightmarishly so, and it would no doubt take an eternity for him to reach such a distant objective.

But Mumm-Ra was patient. And there was no hurry.

[Roger Smith]

Slowly.

Ever so slowly.

Across the empty expanse of the pale void, the ever-living source of evil made his way.  It was torturous for him to traverse such a distance on foot, his awkward, shuffling gait making the normally laborious trek into something infinitely more arduous. It was so easy to forget the trivial difficulties associated with travel when you were so accustomed to crossing entire planets in the blink of an eye. But here, now...he felt so weak. Separated from the source of his immense power. It was all he could do to maintain some semblance of his strength in this feeble, decayed body.

"Ancient Spirits...of Evil..." the ancient sorcerer growled, the words barely a whisper past his deformed, fanged maw. "Why have you taken your gifts of power...from your faithful servant?" He did not falter in his slow, steady shamble across the nexus, but his hands slowly reached up, grasping at the deep red cloak shrouding his bandaged form, pulling it closer about him, as if cold. "I...am so weak, O Ancient Spirits..." The brief moment of defiance and anger at his initial arrival had exhausted what power he did possess. Now he needed rest, in the rejuvenating embrace of his sarcophagus...but he had no such thing here. No such safe place, entombed in darkness and wrapped in a blanket of suffocating evil to replenish his spent strength.

The words of the ghost-child slowly returned to him, echoing tauntingly in his head.

“This is Omnilium. It’s what ties the Omniverse together. Without it, you are nothing. With it, anything you desire can be yours.”

A dim red glow sparked in Mumm-Ra's eyes, head slowly lowering. "...I see now. You set forth a test, Ancient Spirits... I have been placed in this foreign world, without a direct connection to your power...to see how I would fare...how I would survive until I could bring your eeeeevil to bear here..."

The hands clutching at his cloak clenched tightly, clawed fingers digging into the tattered fabric. "Very well, my dark...masters..." He lifted his head, red eyes glowing fiercely. "Mumm-Ra will not fail you." Hands dropped from his shoulders, rising to spread before him, palms facing each other. Slowly, ever so slowly, an orb of glimmering omnilium flowed together between his hands, flickering in myriad colors, each of which shone in distorted reflection in his glassy, red eyes.

Once more his hands closed around the orb, cracking and crushing it, drawing the mass toward his body.

Strength renewed by the foreign substance, the ever-living source of evil set out on his way once more, toward what he could now see was an archway, covered in or made of ice and snow, it was impossible to tell at this distance.

[Roger Smith]

The archway still loomed distant, never seeming to actually draw nearer despite the ever-increasing length of time that the ancient servant of evil slowly trudged across the void. The dull, flat color and the constant illumination flaring from no discernible source had long since ceased to faze him, his face locked in a grimace, glimmering crimson eyes curled into narrow slits against the glare. Such a place of brightness was not his preferred place, and the sooner he could escape it, the quicker he could begin constructing his pyramid, and securing a small domain for him to rest in once again. Recovering his strength, restored for the moment as it was by embracing the accursed Omnilium of the pale god-child that had brought him here, was his most immediate priority. Beyond that, there was evil to spread. He could practically feel it, even now: the overwhelming lack of the sinister blackness that could only flow forth from the most corrupt and evil of souls.

It was there, of course; undeniably so. Here and there, in some corners of this wretched place, the wicked winds of malignancy gently whispered, heralding that there was not cause to truly lament. There were seeds here, and they were already beginning to blossom. They only yet needed proper care, and nourishment, and a careful hand to guide them and let them spread to blot out this insufferable light and goodness in the rest of this blighted world. And Mumm-Ra was nothing if not a master of cultivating the wicked growths of a world.

His mind turned away from such things, letting the sorry state of affairs of this world fade into the background of his mind. There were more pressing matters to be tended to and ruminated over. Pulling his ragged cloak closer about himself, the ever-living source of evil allowed his footsteps to wander as did his mind. He would eventually find a destination suited to him, whether it was an intentional act or not. Evil would always find its way to him, calling him to it, insistent and unfaltering in its siren song; just beyond the edge of proper hearing and impossible to ever truly register it, but undeniable in its lure. He would find his way to where he was most needed, that was not even to be questioned. The much more important matter would be what his plans were when he found the place where his guiding hand was needed to direct the course of Evil.

In his present state he was far too weak to engage directly in a campaign as he would normally have done, on Third Earth. He lacked the all-encompassing power of the Ancient Spirits of Evil to bolster his decaying form. Until he could reconstruct the altar and statues that honored them, they would no doubt not hear his pleas for their aid and strength, no matter how desperate. He was but a servant, borrowing their strength to enact their will. And as loath as he was to admit it, he had made a complete mockery of himself, and of their unfathomable power and mighty name, in his battles against the eternally-cursed Thundercats. Defeated time and again by his own hubris, and by the infuriating teamwork of the wretched kittens...the Ancient Spirits had been mightily displeased with their servant, and had several times locked him away, stripping him of their power and punishing him for failure. Always had they brought him back to continue serving them, but only when his penance was done, the price for his failures paid, and they deigned to entertain his crazed desires for power.

Having been so soundly defeated in the past, and now banished here to this strange Omniverse, it was doubtful they would be so forgiving. His very first failure, so very, very long ago when he had been but a humble human man called Wahankh, had seen him mummified alive and locked away in a pyramid of black stone, left to rot there for all eternity. The great pharaoh of the time, who had loved the foul sorcerer like a brother, had called it a kindness. 'Repayment for a lifetime of honorable service.' he had said, giving the traitorous sorcerer an internment reserved only for royalty and their families. The Ancient Spirits of Evil were greatly displeased by this, and swore to only aid the entrapped sorcerer when he had broken free of his crypt and constructed great statues in his tomb to honor them.

It was an impossible labor, to escape his mummification and crawl from his sarcophagus, but he managed it. It was the labor of six centuries to construct the massive statues that would stand to honor the four great spirits. Only then, with his labors completed and his body broken and withered beyond any hope of repair, did the Ancient Spirits relent and take pity on their servant. They robbed him of his life, and humanity, reducing him to the destroyed, desiccated corpse that would become Mumm-Ra, but gifted him with the enchanted sarcophagus that would revitalize his strength, and fuel his constantly decaying body. They endowed him with immeasurable mystical strength, letting him subsist solely on the cosmic energy of all things mystical, in exchange for an eternity of service.

It was a price gladly paid by the newly born servant of Evil.

...but he had done naught to ever truly repay that initial debt. He had waged a dark, terrible conquest, ravaging the planet that had given rise to him when it was still merely First Earth. It was reduced to a broken, uninhabitable world fit only for the most cruel, savage of life. And the ancient spirits were pleased, and commanded their servant to rest. When the world slowly began to revitalize, and was renamed Second Earth, the ancient sorcerer was awoken from his slumber of uncountable years to once again blast the world, driving out all the light and hope that had taken root on it. And then he slept again.

But when the planet was rechristened Third Earth...he did not awake. Not until the gross, overbearing incandescence of the Thundercats, and their thrice-damned Code of Thundera landed on the planet, did the Ancient Spirits of Evil see fit to awaken Mumm-Ra again, and send him forth to do battle with them. Time, and time again...each time facing defeat. Each time, hatching a new plot, coming perilously close to defeating them, but always falling prey to some bizarre twist of fate, or some impossible accident of luck, or unplanned interference from the wretched friends and allies those insufferable cats gathered.

And it had eventually spelled his doom, forcing him into an eternal banishment between dimensions for his failure. Until he was brought here. A new world, without the sole thing which had bested him so soundly in the past, and with endless chance for him to redeem himself to his dark masters.

His eyes glowed, the piercing red glare shining as it reflected on the fangs gleaming in his maw. "Yeeesss, Ancient Spirits...of Eeeevil..." he hissed, his horrid visage curled into a smile. His gaze settled on the archway of ancient, worn stone, covered over in dry, graying moss. "Mumm-Raaaa....will not fail you...again."

And he passed through the gate, out of the empty expanse of the nexus.