11-27-2016, 02:47 PM
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.
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.