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greatdevourer1231954 · 1 month ago

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She-Ra and the Masters of the Universe: Prologue

Synopsis: Set one year after season 5, this is a continuation of Adora and her friend's adventure, WITH HE-MAN!

Notes: This fic will have it's own lore regarding He-Man and Eternia, it will also be a mix of cgi MOTU and SPOP lore as well

Long ago, in the infancy of the universe—when stars were still young and galaxies had only just begun to spin in the void—there rose a race of unparalleled brilliance and ambition. They were known only as The First Ones.

Beings of high intellect and purpose, the First Ones were driven not by conquest, but by an insatiable hunger for understanding. They voyaged through the cosmos aboard starships that pulsed with living light, their vessels crafted from a fusion of hyper-advanced technology, organic material, and something far rarer—magic. Not the crude spells of mortals, but primal, cosmic magic that whispered from the heart of creation itself.

With every new world they encountered, the First Ones left behind wonders: crystalline archives that sang knowledge into the minds of those who listened, great forges that created artifacts imbued with soul and purpose, and machines that healed, grew, and even dreamed.

Their empire expanded not through war, but through awe.

Across tens of thousands of star systems, civilizations rose in reverence of them—guided, protected, and in some cases, uplifted by their presence. Their influence was subtle, yet undeniable, etched into the DNA of worlds and the very ley lines of reality.

Among all these worlds, there was one that held particular significance—a planet teeming with wild magic, untamed beasts, and ancient power. A world cradled by twin moons and wrapped in mystery.

Its name was Eternia.

To the First Ones, Eternia was not merely another world—it was a keystone, a nexus where the energies of science and sorcery interwove in perfect harmony. Here, they constructed temples that shimmered with arcane light, laboratories nestled deep within crystal caverns, and monuments that reached skyward like the fingers of gods.

But even the brightest stars must one day fade…

Absolutely! Here's a more immersive, richly detailed version of your scene, with added emotion, atmosphere, and worldbuilding elements to really bring the setting and characters to life:

---

ONE THOUSAND YEARS LATER

A millennium had passed since the age of the First Ones. Their ruins still slumbered beneath the soil of countless worlds, whispering secrets to those who dared to listen. But above ground, life had moved on.

On the mystical world of Eternia, peace now reigned like a soft lullaby over the capital city of Eternos. The sun shone like gold across pearl-white towers, illuminating marble streets etched with arcane runes and winding through lush gardens of blue-leaved trees and floating crystal lanterns. Market stalls bustled with life, the air alive with laughter, song, and the hum of magic-infused technology.

Children chased tiny elemental sprites through the gardens. Merchants offered glowing fruits and singing baubles. The city—so often battered by war in the time of legends—now stood strong, proud, and serene.

At the heart of this paradise rose Castle Eternos, an imposing yet elegant fortress of golden spires and soaring battlements, a fusion of ancient magic and futuristic design.

And within its throne room, beneath a vaulted ceiling of stained glass and celestial carvings, sat King Randor, ruler of Eternos.

He was a broad-shouldered man of regal presence, his golden and blue royal clothes etched with the crest of Eternia, his once-bright blond hair now streaked with gray, evidence of years spent guarding his realm. His face, though aged by time and burden, still held the dignity of a warrior-king. But today, there was a shadow over his features—a tension that even his royal bearing could not hide.

He stared, not at the crowd of noblemen and advisors, but at an empty throne beside his own.

Prince Adam's throne.

It was the fifth time this week the young prince had failed to appear for his duties.

Randor’s jaw clenched. His hand tightened around the armrest of his throne. The muscles beneath his clothes tensed—not with anger, but with disappointment. And perhaps... something closer to fear.

Beside him, Queen Marlena, ever composed, signed a treaty with a quick flourish of her quill. Dressed in regal robes of starlight blue and teal, her crown resting lightly on her flowing red hair, she passed the scroll to a waiting advisor. Only then did she glance at her husband, noting the way his brow furrowed like storm clouds over calm seas.

“You know,” she said with a gentle smirk, “the more you frown like that, the more you‘re starting to look like your father.”

Randor huffed through his nose but turned his brown eyes toward her, the corner of his mouth twitching in reluctant amusement.

“Aren’t you the least bit concerned that our son is avoiding his responsibilities?” he asked, his voice deep and tired, but laced with concern more than condemnation.

Marlena tilted her head, her sapphire eyes thoughtful. “Adam has always had a certain... rebellious energy.”

“Hmph. And I suppose you think he got that from me?” he said, his tone sharp but teasing.

She gave him a sideways glance, that familiar spark dancing in her gaze. “Well, before I met you, I was a space pirate. So… yes.”

Randor chuckled—just for a moment—but the weight soon returned to his shoulders. He looked again at the empty throne, as though willing it to summon his son.

“Marlena,” he said softly, the king's mask slipping to reveal the worried father beneath, “he’s eighteen. I know he’s still young, but I wasn’t much older when I had to rule this kingdom. I just... I want him to be ready.”

“And I want him to still be a child while he can,” she replied gently, placing a hand on his. “Do you remember the last time you two went fishing together?”

That caught him off guard. His brow rose. “Fishing?”

She nodded. “You two used to go every other week. No advisors, no duties. Just the two of you by the lake.”

He blinked, memory stirring—cool mornings, laughter echoing off the water, the way Adam used to run barefoot through the reeds, catching frogs and pretending they were monsters. And now? He couldn’t remember the last time they’d truly spoken, father to son.

He sighed. “Maybe… maybe I am asking too much.”

Marlena smiled warmly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Lucky for you, that’s why I’m here. To remind you when you forget.”

Randor reached for her hand and gave it a firm, grateful squeeze. “I know, after all, you did save my life when we met. I suppose I do owe you.”

“You suppose?” she smirked, raising a brow.

They laughed softly together, their moment of levity briefly pushing aside the tension—until Randor’s gaze drifted once more to the empty throne.

But this time, his expression shifted—not just troubled, but... mournful.

“You ever wonder,” he said quietly, “how things might’ve been different... if she hadn’t been taken?”

Marlena's breath caught. Her eyes shimmered, but no tears fell. The pain in her chest was old, yet still sharp. She looked down, her voice tinged with sorrow.

“Yes... Sometimes I wonder. Sometimes I even imagine she’s still out there. Somewhere.”

A long silence stretched between them. Randor reached out again and took her hand in his, grounding them both.

“At least we have Adam,” he murmured.

Marlena’s fingers tightened around his.

“Yes.”

And with that, the king and queen turned their attention back to the matters of state—treaties to sign, laws to pass, problems to solve. But in the back of both their minds, one question loomed like a storm on the horizon:

Where was Prince Adam?

---

Elsewhere

Far from the polished halls of Castle Eternos and the scrutinizing eyes of the royal court, nestled on the outskirts of the Wind Forest, lay an old training camp—a place where aspiring warriors of Eternia came to test their strength, hone their skills, and push the limits of their endurance. The clearing was surrounded by towering trees whose leaves whispered with the breeze, and the air was thick with the earthy scent of pine, sweat, and steel.

The clang of practice swords and the grunts of sparring soldiers echoed in the distance, but near the edge of the forest, beyond a small hill crowned by ancient roots, all was calm.

There, beneath a massive, moss-covered tree older than any stone in Eternos, lay Prince Adam—blissfully asleep.

Dressed in his casual attire—a faded pink jacket, a loosely buttoned white shirt, deep purple pants, and worn-out boots—he looked nothing like the heir to the throne.

One arm was folded behind his head, the other resting over his stomach, gently rising and falling with his slow, contented breaths. A single ray of sunlight streamed through the canopy, landing on his messy blond hair, making him look almost angelic.

His sword—a beautifully crafted weapon pulsing faintly with ancient power—was propped against the tree nearby, its handle wrapped in worn leather and gleaming gold.

For Adam, this spot was sacred. A hidden nook in a busy world. A place where the weight of crowns and expectations couldn’t reach him.

Unfortunately, peace rarely lasted long.

“Look at him. Sleeping on the job.” came a sharp male voice, laced with dry humor.

“Unbelievable.” a female voice added, the tone as exasperated as it was familiar.

Adam blinked, stirring from his nap. The sunlight stung his eyes for a moment before his vision adjusted, and he recognized the two familiar silhouettes standing above him, arms crossed and expressions unimpressed.

It was none other than his best friends—Krass and Teela.

Teela stood tall and fierce, her posture straight as a blade. She wore her signature white and gold armored bodysuit, fitted and functional, each plate etched with the sigil of the Royal Guard. The golden tiara resting above her brow shimmered faintly, catching the sun as her auburn hair, pulled high into a ponytail, danced with the breeze.

She looked every bit the captain she was meant to be—strong, commanding, and far too serious for Adam’s liking.

Krass, by contrast, exuded playful swagger. His spiky blue-teal hair popped against his rugged, dark-purple outfit, adorned with straps and armored pads that spoke of dozens of daring adventures. His most iconic piece, the ram-like helmet, hung from his hip, its curled horns gleaming with scuff marks and glory.

His grin was cocky, but behind his eyes, there was always concern—especially when it came to Adam.

“Shouldn’t you be with your royal highness, performing your kingly duties?” Teela asked, arms crossed, brow arched like a disapproving sister.

Adam stretched with an exaggerated yawn, rubbing his eyes lazily. “Decided to take a personal day.”

Krass scoffed, voice thick with sarcasm. “Really? A personal day? Didn’t you just have one yesterday? And the day before that?”

“Exactly,” Adam replied with a cheeky grin. “I’m on a roll.”

Teela narrowed her eyes. “Adam, your father’s already furious. You’ve skipped out on five council meetings this week.”

Adam waved a hand dismissively, leaning back against the tree again. “Oh come on, Teela. I sit through those meetings and all I hear is talk about taxes, border maintenance, grain shipments to the provinces... stuff that hasn’t changed in centuries. Trust me, Eternos won’t collapse because I missed a few.”

“Yeah, but it might collapse when you have no idea what you’re doing when you’re actually king,” she snapped, stepping closer.

Adam sat up slightly, his forearms resting on his knees as he tilted his head toward his friends, a mischievous twinkle dancing in his sky-blue eyes. The corners of his mouth curled into that familiar, troublemaking smirk.

“Then it’s a good thing you two will be by my side when I’m king,” he said with casual confidence, his voice light but sincere. “Just imagine it—Krass and Teela, standing proud as Captain and General of the Eternian Guard. Trusted royal advisors to the future King of Eternos.”

Teela narrowed her eyes, not impressed in the slightest. Her arms remained crossed, her stance unflinching as she replied dryly, “Do you really think flattering us is going to convince me you’re off the hook?”

Her tone carried a challenge, one sharpened by years of knowing Adam’s antics far too well. She wasn’t buying it—not for a second.

Adam grinned, not the least bit deterred. “...Yep. Pretty much.”

Krass let out a low chuckle, slapping Adam’s shoulder as he leaned in. “He’s not wrong. That actually convinced me,” he said with a smug grin, always happy to back up his best friend.

Teela groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose in exaggerated frustration. “Krass, I already have to deal with Adam’s laziness and chronic irresponsibility. Don’t tell me I’ll have to deal with yours too.”

Krass lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I never said I was responsible. I just look amazing while winging it.”

Adam stretched, still lounging against the tree as he tried to play peacemaker. “Teela, come on. I know you take your job seriously, but just relax for once. Nothing bad is gonna happ—”

“HEEELP!!!”

A desperate, terrified scream shattered the light-hearted moment.

All three of them snapped to attention. Adam immediately leapt to his feet, his expression sharpening with sudden alertness. His hand went straight to the hilt of his sword, which shimmered with latent energy as he drew it in a single motion. Teela and Krass were right behind him, drawing their weapons and falling into formation like instinct.

They sprinted across the clearing, their boots thudding against the dirt path as birds scattered from the trees above. The cry had come from deeper within the forest, somewhere near the camp’s eastern ridge.

The brush thinned as they emerged into a small clearing—and there, trembling behind a bush, was none other than Cringer.

The massive green tiger with yellow stripes—Adam’s loyal but far-from-fearless companion—was quaking with such intensity that even his whiskers were vibrating. His long tail was curled tightly between his legs, and his huge paws were covering his eyes.

As soon as Cringer saw Adam, he galloped toward him in a panic and skidded to a halt behind him, nearly knocking Adam over. He crouched low, trembling behind his friend like a cub hiding from a thunderstorm.

“Cringer?” Adam lowered his sword, alarm giving way to confusion. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Cringer peeked out from under one paw, his wide eyes filled with terror. “Don’t let it get me! It—it had teeth, Adam. Teeth!” he cried, shivering.

Adam raised an eyebrow and turned toward the bush Cringer had fled from, sword still at the ready. Teela and Krass mirrored him, weapons drawn, bodies tense, expecting a wild beast or some rogue creature.

The leaves rustled.

The tension grew.

And then…

Out hopped a tiny rabbit. Its soft white fur was spotless, its nose twitching innocently as it blinked up at the three armed warriors. Its ears perked as it nibbled at a stray flower, entirely unaware of the chaos it had caused.

A silence fell over the group.

Then Krass let out a loud snort. “Seriously?” he said, breaking into laughter. “Cringer, you were scared of a bunny?”

Teela tried to stifle a grin, but a small chuckle escaped as she lowered her staff. “You screamed like a demon was chasing you.”

“I-I-it was huge when it got close to my face,” Cringer stammered, trying to justify himself. “And the way it stared at me! With those—those teeth!” He staggered slightly, as if reliving the traumatic moment.

Adam sheathed his sword with a chuckle and reached down to scratch behind Cringer’s ear, where the tiger was most sensitive. “Only you would manage to get terrified by something this fluffy,” he teased.

Cringer whimpered softly at first, but then slowly began to purr, the gentle scratching soothing his nerves. “It was very fluffy,” he admitted, “but I still think it had bad intentions…”

The bunny, meanwhile, turned its back and hopped away into the underbrush—clearly unimpressed.

Krass wiped a tear from his eye as he kept laughing. “I swear, Cringer, you’re gonna give me a heart attack one day.”

“Add him to the list,” Teela muttered, glancing at Adam.

“Aw, come on,” Adam said with a sheepish grin. “It wasn’t that bad. Besides, what’s life without a few surprises?”

Teela rolled her eyes, but despite herself, she smiled.

But then, her eyes narrowed, her instincts flaring like a silent alarm.

“…What the,” she said, her voice low but sharp.

Krass followed her gaze and blinked. “Uh, dude? Your sword is glowing.”

“Huh?” Adam’s brows furrowed as he looked down.

Sure enough, the Sword of Power, which he still held loosely in one hand, had begun to radiate a low, ethereal glow—soft at first, but pulsing steadily like a heartbeat. Runes etched into its hilt shimmered with ancient light, and the air around it began to hum with barely-contained energy.

Adam’s expression shifted immediately. He knew what that glow meant.

Raising the sword slightly, he angled the blade so he could see its polished surface—almost like a mirror. Then he closed his eyes, steadying his breath, opening himself to the presence he could already feel reaching out.

“…Sorceress?”

From the glowing blade, a gentle, melodic voice echoed in his mind. Mystical, feminine, wise.

“Adam.”

It was the Sorceress of Castle Grayskull. Her voice wrapped around him like a whispering wind.

“A city to the south is under siege. The Snake Men have returned… and their attack has already begun. You and your allies must go there—now—before it is too late.”

Adam took a deep breath, her words settling over him like a weight—and a promise. A slow smile touched his lips, one of courage, one of resolve.

“You can leave it to us, Sorceress. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t. You never have.”

The light faded gently from the sword’s surface as the connection ended. Adam lowered the blade, his demeanor now sharp, focused—gone was the joking, lounging prince. He turned to his companions, his voice now edged with purpose.

“The Snake Men are attacking a village just south of Eternos,” he said. “We don’t have much time. Are you ready?”

Teela twirled her combat staff and took a determined step forward. “Do you really have to ask?”

Krass cracked his knuckles with a fierce grin. “Let’s go wreck some snakes.”

Adam nodded, pride and loyalty burning in his chest. He turned back to the Sword of Power, gripping the hilt tighter as he raised it high into the air. The runes along the blade flared to life, glowing with otherworldly energy.

His voice rang out, bold and powerful, echoing through the forest.

“BY THE POWER OF GRAYSKULL!!!”

The skies above them shifted, clouds swirling in a vortex of divine power. The sword ignited in a brilliant beam of light that shot upward, crackling with raw energy. In a flash of blinding radiance, the power surged into Adam’s body, surrounding him with an electric storm of transformation.

“I… HAVE… THE POWER!!!”

In seconds, Prince Adam was gone—replaced by a towering warrior over six and a half feet tall, a paragon of strength and heroism. He now wore gleaming silver and grey-blue armor, its surface etched with glowing patterns. A crimson "H" emblem pulsed with energy at the center of his chest plate.

His arms and legs were armored with a fusion of ancient steel and advanced technology, blending the old world with the future. His golden hair whipped in the magical wind, and his eyes shone with righteous fury.

He was no longer Adam.

He was He-Man, champion of Eternia.

Teela shielded her eyes slightly from the afterglow of his transformation and rolled them. “Do you always have to yell ‘I have the power’? Every. Single. Time?”

He-Man gave a smug grin, flexing a bit for emphasis. “What? It’s catchy. Everyone loves it.”

With a laugh, he turned toward Cringer, who had very clearly taken a few steps back during the transformation.

“You ready, buddy?” he asked, lifting the sword again.

Cringer sighed, ears flattening. “Do I ever really have a choice?”

The sword pulsed once more, casting a beam of radiant light over the tiger. In moments, Cringer began to grow—massively. Muscles rippled beneath his fur as his frame expanded, his eyes glowing with fierce purpose.

Red and gold battle armor formed over his back and head, and his usual quivering demeanor was replaced with one of roaring confidence.

Where once stood Cringer, now loomed the mighty Battle Cat.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Battle Cat roared, pawing the earth. “Let’s go teach those reptiles a lesson.”

He-Man leapt onto Battle Cat’s armored back, sword gleaming in the light. “Are you coming?” he called back to his friends.

Krass was already moving, punching his fists together with excitement. “We’re right behind you, He-Man.”

Teela gave a tight nod, her staff spinning into position as she ran to keep up.

And with that, He-Man and his allies rode off toward the horizon, the forest disappearing behind them as they surged southward—toward the besieged village, and the battle that awaited.

The power of Grayskull surged through their hearts.

Eternia would not fall this day.

---

Far away in another side of the galaxy

On the far edge of the universe, past the stars where the light of civilization dims and ancient secrets slumber…

There are whispered legends.

Of a world once bursting with untamed magic, where nature and sorcery danced together in harmony—a world so powerful, so radiant, that the First Ones themselves came seeking to bend it to their will. They charted its skies, colonized its lands, and forged tools to siphon its raw energy.

But this world resisted.

Etheria, as it was called, refused to be chained. Its heart beat with defiance, and though it bore scars from war, it vanished from the cosmos—hidden from those who would weaponize its soul. It escaped conquest.

But peace never lasts forever.

Smoke billowed high into the atmosphere, black and angry, marking the location of a small village under siege. The morning sun was swallowed by the rising flames. Crops were trampled, homes shattered, and terrified screams echoed through the woods and hills surrounding the village.

“THE HORDE!! The Horde is here, run!” cried a panicked villager, clutching a child as he dashed through the gates.

Metallic footsteps pounded against the earth like a thunderstorm of steel.

Hundreds—no, thousands—of Horde soldiers advanced in wave after wave, their armor polished and bloodstained. Each wore a visored helm shaped like a predatory beast, their cuirasses marked with the crimson bat-like insignia of the Horde—an icon that hadn’t been seen in over a year, not since the great war had ended.

But these weren’t remnants.

They were fanatics. Sympathizers still loyal to a cause that had long since collapsed, zealots who wished to see Etheria burn if it couldn’t be ruled.

Leading them was a monster not easily forgotten.

Force Captain Grizzlor.

He stood tall amidst the chaos, a towering brute of fur and fury, muscles rippling beneath his beastly hide. Dark brown fur cloaked his body like a mane, and his snarling face was framed by yellow, predator-like eyes that burned with rage. His thick fingers clenched into fists as his voice cut through the smoke like a war horn.

“Leave no civilians alive! Burn it all—to the ground! For the Horde!!” he roared.

Tanks rolled forward with screeching metal, their turrets lighting up the streets as homes exploded in flame. Skiffs flew overhead, dropping firebombs and energy bolts, scattering terrified villagers in all directions.

Among the chaos, a tiny girl, no more than five, stumbled in the middle of the road. She clutched a soot-stained rag doll in her arms—its threadbare face shaped like a smiling blonde warrior. Her cheeks were streaked with tears and dirt. All around her, the village crumbled.

She looked up—and froze.

A Horde tank was bearing down on her, its monstrous treads shaking the earth. The soldiers inside hadn’t even noticed her.

She couldn’t move.

The tank’s cannon began to hum as it prepared to fire again.

But then—

Everything stopped.

A blinding flash of radiant light erupted between the tank and the girl, forcing her to shield her eyes with trembling hands. The heat of the explosion never came.

The noise went still. Instead, there was a low, humming power… and a silhouette.

Through the smoke, a figure stood—bathed in a rainbow-colored glow, defiant and tall.

As the haze began to clear, the child’s eyes widened with awe.

It was a woman—a warrior goddess, almost impossible to look at without feeling the sheer power that radiated off her.

Her skin glowed with magic. Her hair, a golden waterfall tied into a flowing ponytail, shimmered with every color of the light spectrum. She wore sleek white pants tucked into gold-trimmed boots with wing motifs, a white-lined tunic shaped like a noble blouse, emblazoned with a glowing heart trimmed in gold.

A golden tiara gleamed upon her brow, its red gem pulsing with the rhythm of her magic.

In her right hand she held a long, majestic sword, its blade shimmering with ethereal energy that danced in soft hues of violet, blue, and pink.

The hilt, golden and ornate, bore a luminous blue runestone at its core.

With her left hand, she held the tank.

Lifted it.

As if it weighed nothing.

The tank’s drivers jumped out, scrambling to flee the moment they realized who had stopped them.

The child, still on her knees, looked up at the woman, for she knew her name.

“...She-Ra…” she whispered in awe, voice barely audible.

The woman turned to the child, her sky-blue eyes glowing with warmth and strength. She gently set the tank down with one arm and knelt beside her, hand outstretched.

“Are you hurt?” she asked softly.

The little girl shook her head and clutched her doll tighter.

From behind them, a sob of joy—her parents emerged from the rubble, their clothes singed but their bodies intact. They ran to the child, scooping her up and thanking She-Ra through choked tears. The warrior smiled and nodded once.

“Get somewhere safe. I’ll handle the rest,” she said firmly.

The family ran, disappearing into the smoke.

Behind her, Grizzlor’s soldiers began regrouping, now realizing who had arrived. Their panic was evident.

They remembered her.

She-Ra, the Princess of Power, stood alone against their horde—glowing like a sun in the ash-filled gloom.

She turned, her face hardening as she faced the Horde line. Magic crackled around her like a living aura, her sword gleaming with celestial might.

“Come on, then,” she said, lifting the blade high. “Let’s finish this.”

In the blink of an eye, She-Ra surged forward, a streak of radiant light amidst the gloom.

Her sword, still pulsing with rainbow energy, slashed in graceful arcs as she swept through the line of Horde soldiers.

Each swing released bursts of magical force, shimmering like starlight—non-lethal, but overwhelmingly powerful. Bolts of luminous energy exploded against shields, armor, and the very ground itself, sending soldiers flying in disarray.

She was unstoppable.

One soldier attempted to flank her. Another tried to shoot her mid-air with a plasma bolt. She spun with dancer’s grace, deflecting the shot mid-strike. Magical rays burst from her blade, carving cracks into the street, erupting with harmless concussive force that knocked the attackers off their feet.

From above, a squad of soldiers emerged atop nearby rooftops, energy rifles trained on her. Their armor gleamed in the rising firelight, red visors narrowing as they prepared to fire in unison.

But She-Ra saw them.

In one fluid movement, her sword shifted shape, folding and glowing as it transformed into a broad, golden shield just in time to block the barrage of sizzling plasma. The shots ricocheted in all directions, blasting apart chimneys and rooftops as she dashed forward through the gunfire, agile and precise.

With a surge of magic, the shield morphed again—this time into a glowing lasso, its rope composed of pure magical energy. She hurled it skyward, and it whipped around one of the rooftop soldiers, catching him by his metal wing.

Before he could even scream, she yanked him downward with incredible force—swinging him like a flail, smashing into his nearby comrades and sending them tumbling from the rooftops. As they crashed to the ground in a heap of groans and scattered armor, She-Ra landed beside them in a powerful crouch, cape flaring with magic.

Suddenly, a Horde tank rumbled from the village gates, its massive frame crushing a cart beneath its treads. Its cannon turned toward She-Ra with a high-pitched whine, preparing to fire.

She didn’t flinch.

Her lasso twisted back into her sword mid-run, glinting as she dashed head-on toward the war machine.

In one powerful leap, she soared through the air, landing atop the tank with a thunderous clang.

With a fierce cry, she drove the blade down into its armor. The metal screamed as her sword sliced cleanly through it—not cleaving it—melting it apart with raw power.

Sparks exploded. The tank split clean in half, the rear sliding one way, the front the other, crumpling into the dirt like tinfoil.

Smoke filled the air.

The village had become a battlefield—and yet, at its center, She-Ra stood like a myth.

Seeing the hopelessness of the fight, the surviving Horde soldiers began to flee, scrambling over rubble, dropping their weapons. Some called for retreat, others simply ran, knowing their cause was lost.

But Grizzlor remained.

“Where are you going!? Come back here, that’s an order! Cowards!” he bellowed, his voice breaking from rage.

She-Ra turned her glowing eyes on him.

“Grizzlor!!” she shouted, stepping forward.

The brute snarled. “Well, look at that—Adora.” He spat the name like venom. “You decided to face me, traitor?”

Adora didn’t flinch. “I came to give you a chance. Just like we gave the other Force Captains. Surrender, and face justice. You can still make this right.”

Grizzlor barked a hollow laugh. “And why would I do that?”

“Because the war is over,” Adora said firmly, her voice steady but passionate. “The Horde was disbanded. Hordak himself gave the order. As part of his sentence. If he hadn’t, you’d all have been executed.”

“Hmph. Our former leader may have abandoned the cause—but not me. I joined the Horde to destroy the Princess Alliance, and I will not back down. Not now.”

With a growl, he raised his massive energy weapon, a brutal cannon charged with flickering red plasma. It hummed, growing brighter. “I’ll finish what we started.”

She-Ra raised her sword, preparing to intercept—her eyes locked with his, body tense.

But then—

Whoppsh!

A loud crack filled the air—sharp and sudden.

“AAAGH!!” Grizzlor howled, his cannon flying from his hand as a whip lashed across his arm, leaving a sizzling red mark. He staggered, confused, spinning around.

Then—bam! A powerful punch smashed into his jaw, spinning him around and dropping him flat into the dirt.

She-Ra blinked. “What the—?”

And then she heard it.

That voice. That teasing, unmistakable voice that made her heart skip every time.

“Hey, Adora.”

She turned—and there she was.

Catra.

From the smoke and magic-haze of the battlefield, Catra stepped into view, materializing from the shimmering shimmer of invisibility field like a phantom from a dream.

She looked… stunning.

She wore her classic maroon-red leotard, the same one she used to wear when she commanded fear and fire as the Horde's second-in-command.

It hugged her frame perfectly, overlaid with a sleeveless black shrug top that rose into a sharp, stand-up collar.

Gold accents traced the edges, catching the sunlight like tiny embers. Around her hips hung a diagonal black belt, slung low and loose in her usual rebellious style. Her lower half was clad in form-fitting burgundy pants that reached mid-thigh, attaching seamlessly to sleek black stirrup leggings, perfectly made for agility and danger.

But what really caught Adora’s attention—what always did—was her hair.

No longer the short, unruly pixie cut from the early days, Catra's wild mane had grown longer, even more untamable, pulled back into a rough ponytail that somehow made her look even more dangerous—and more beautiful.

In her hand, she twirled her signature whip, the very one she’d won in combat against Tung Lashor. Its edges now glimmered with faint energy, still hot from the strike that had just disarmed Grizzlor.

She rolled her wrist casually, like it was no big deal.

And standing loyally beside her was Melog, her shapeshifting alien companion, coiled like a shadow with glowing edges.

The burgundy feline creature gave off an otherworldly aura, its mane and tail composed of flowing blue energy that danced like fire in the wind. Its pupil-less eyes glowed the same brilliant shade, locked protectively onto Adora with a quiet hum of trust.

“Catra…” she breathed, her voice soft and full of emotion.

Her chest swelled with warmth. No matter how many battles they'd fought side by side, how many times they stood together after coming through fire and pain—it still felt surreal. Even now, after a year of calling her girlfriend, the word still curled like a secret wish in her heart.

And yet… here she was. Real. Solid. Smirking.

“So…” Adora crossed her arms, trying not to smile, even though her cheeks already burned pink. “Deciding to show up only after I scared off the bad guys? That’s low, Catra. Even for you.”

Catra arched a brow, cocking a hip as her tail swished behind her with slow, lazy confidence.

“What can I say?” she drawled, her voice thick with that playful sarcasm that had once driven Adora crazy—and now made her knees weak. “Sometimes you gotta play dirty. And besides”—she twirled her whip once more and let it retract back to her belt—“I was a little busy helping our friends evacuate the village. Oh, and I captured a few soldiers, too. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Her signature smirk deepened, the one that always curled just a little too smugly at the corner—dangerous, proud, and utterly irresistible.

Her heterochromatic eyes, one glacial blue, the other golden amber, sparkled with mischief—and affection. Adora felt her breath hitch as their eyes locked, a blush creeping higher along her cheeks.

Of course, Catra noticed.

“Aw,” she teased, taking a slow step forward, “still blushin’ when I look at you? Adora, we’ve been dating for a year now. You’d think you’d be used to me by now.”

Adora shook her head with a helpless laugh. “That’s the thing,” she murmured, stepping forward too. “I don’t think I ever will be.”

Even though every part of her wanted to close the distance between them—wanted to feel Adora’s lips against hers, taste the dust and adrenaline on her skin—Catra held back.

Grizzlor was still groaning nearby, and unfortunately, some things needed to be handled before kisses.

Sighing, she walked over to the fallen Horde captain, his bulk crumpled against the scorched earth.

His energy weapon lay discarded nearby, sizzling slightly in the dust. Catra crouched, grabbing him roughly by the collar of his black-and-red military uniform, and yanked him upright with her arms, baring her fangs a little as she glared into his face.

“Don’t move,” she growled.

But before she could drag him off, Adora’s voice rang out behind her.

“No, it’s alright. I’ve got him,” she said, that familiar confidence threading through her words.

Catra shot her a look over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Oh sure, you got him?” She scoffed and unceremoniously dropped Grizzlor, who hit the ground with a satisfying thud and a grunt of pain. “I just took him out for you, remember?”

Adora crossed her arms, that stubborn smirk tugging at her lips. “Sure, you took him out—after he was already focused on me.”

“A fact I exploited,” Catra retorted smoothly, standing and dusting off her hands. “Just like plenty of times when I was actually doing my job.”

“My job, you mean?”

“Oh please,” Catra said, her smirk widening as her tail flicked behind her. “A simple ‘thank you’ would be enough.”

Adora tilted her head and smiled, just a touch smug. “Thanks,” she said, voice warm. “But I still could’ve handled it just fine.”

“Ugh, whatever happened to ‘girlfriends first’?” Catra asked dramatically, her voice dripping with mock offense as she placed a hand on her hip.

Melog, still seated nearby like a giant shadowy housecat, gave a low amused purr—head tilting as if watching a favorite sitcom unfold in real time.

“I think you mean ‘ladies first’,” Adora replied, raising an eyebrow flirtatiously. “And I could ask you the same.”

Grizzlor, who was still on the ground holding his arm and trying to process what had just happened, groaned loudly. “Can’t you two do anything without all this romance nonsense?!” he barked, his voice half-snarl, half-wince.

The two women turned their heads toward him in perfect unison, like jungle cats spotting prey. Their smiles slowly vanished, replaced by identical looks of amused irritation.

They shared a glance.

A spark passed between them—mischievous, wordless, dangerous.

Adora extended her hand, palm open. “How about… together?”

Catra didn’t hesitate. She slid her hand over Adora’s, her fingers locking into place. “I would love that.”

A flash of heat passed between them—not just battle-born adrenaline, but something deeper. They shared one last grin before turning to face their grumpy, injured enemy.

Grizzlor looked up just in time to see their joined hands—and the glint in their eyes.

“…Damn it,” he muttered.

POW!

---

In Eternia...

Though the golden towers of Eternos gleamed under a sunlit sky and peace reigned across its lush, fertile lands, danger always lurked beneath the surface. And from the ancient shadows of the past, that danger had risen again.

The Snake Men.

Once the cruel overlords of Eternia, these serpentine beings had returned to finish what they started—to subjugate, devour, and destroy. Hailing from the dark deserts and venomous swamps, their twisted forms slithered into battle once more under the banner of their monstrous sovereign—King Hiss.

At the forefront of their latest invasion stood General Rattlor.

A towering brute of a serpent, Rattlor's massive body was a wall of mottled orange and gray scales, the muscles beneath his armor shifting like coiled steel cables. Jagged plates of bone-forged armor protected his shoulders, forearms, and shins—each etched with the sigils of past conquests. His neck, grotesquely long and flexible, extended skyward as he surveyed the carnage below.

Fires blazed in the small Eternian village.

Homes were reduced to smoking rubble. Terrified villagers fled through the streets, only to be snatched by clawed hands or cut off by flickering, forked tongues.

Rattlor's emerald eyes narrowed with wicked glee as his long tongue flicked out, tasting the iron tang of blood in the air. He let out a deep, satisfied hiss.

“Ahhh... Excellent,” he rasped, the word lingering like a curse. His tail lifted, the rattle at its end shimmering in the smoky sunlight. He shook it sharply—the rattling sound slicing through the screams and fire like a war drum.

The other Snake Men halted mid-pillage and turned to him, their grotesque reptilian faces awaiting command. Some held crude weapons, others simply relied on fangs and talons, but all of them were hungry—both for battle and for flesh.

“Take every Eternian you can sink your claws into, my brothers!” Rattlor roared. “Let them feel the ancient wrath of our people! This village is only the beginning. All shall fall—for the glory of King Hiss!!”

“FOR THE GLORY OF KING HISS!!” the soldiers screamed in unison, their voices rising in a monstrous cacophony as they surged forward like a scaled tsunami, ready to crush what little resistance remained.

But then—

A calm, commanding voice cut through the chaos like a blade through bone.

“Too bad… that won't be possible.”

The ground trembled with sudden presence as the Snake Men skidded to a halt, their eyes drawn forward.

From the settling dust and smoke walked a lone figure clad in green and orange armor, broad-shouldered and unwavering.

Dulcan, known across the land as Man-At-Arms, stood tall with his spiked mace held at his side, his silhouette lit from behind by flames and fading sunlight.

His helmet gleamed, and his stern eyes—beneath that thick mustache—burned with righteous fury.

“Because Eternians,” he growled, “are off the menu.”

“Man-At-Arms…” Rattlor hissed, his sneer twisting with hate. “You meddlesome soldier. You don’t seem to understand—when our king demands food, he will have food!”

Dulcan shifted his stance, planting his feet like roots in the ground. “Then you’ll have to go through me… and my friends.”

Rattlor tilted his long neck, laughing, showing rows of yellowed fangs. “And what friends?”

As if in answer, the air around Man-At-Arms shimmered—and with a gust of wind and a buzz of wings, two powerful warriors materialized beside him.

To his left, a gust of air spiraled down, and from it emerged Stratos, King of Avion. His feathery wings, spanning nearly twice his height, rustled with tension. Goggles shielded his eyes, but the rest of his hawkish face was set in battle-readiness. A glowing jetpack on his back hummed with rising energy, ready to launch him into the fray.

To Dulcan’s right stood Buzz-Off, the commander of the Andreenids. His towering, insectoid frame was sheathed in a segmented carapace of golden-yellow and deep black. Multifaceted eyes scanned the enemy ranks while his wings vibrated with growing aggression. His long claws flexed, eager for combat.

“These friends,” Man-At-Arms said coolly.

Rattlor’s eyes narrowed, the muscles along his jaw flexing. He raised his rattle again—this time in fury.

“DESTROY THEM!!” he screamed.

The Snake Men surged forward with a chorus of hisses and screams, claws bared and fangs ready. The ground shook under their charge.

High above the burning village, the sky tore with the clash of wings and war cries.

Stratos soared in broad, graceful arcs, the jetpack on his back roaring with blue energy as he darted above the battlefield. His keen Avionian eyes scanned the chaos below with razor focus. Every beat of his feathered wings carried him like a missile through the smoke-choked air.

Below him, Buzz-Off maneuvered with sharp, agile precision. His membranous wings beat rapidly, emitting a loud droning hum as he zipped through the narrow alleys between ruined huts. With a fierce buzz, he slammed shoulder-first into a Snake Man, driving the brute through a wooden beam and into a collapsing wall.

The two warriors moved in perfect synchrony—aerial predators in a deadly dance.

Stratos dove from above, launching spinning kicks and winged slashes that sent enemies tumbling. “Two down!” he called, arcing upward again.

Buzz-Off ducked beneath a sword swing, delivering a bone-breaking uppercut to the attacker’s jaw. “Three down here. Try to keep up, birdman.”

Their motions were fluid, precise, and practiced— a storm of wings, strikes, and teamwork.

Meanwhile, in the heart of the battlefield, Man-At-Arms and Rattlor clashed like titans.

The Snake General roared, baring his jagged fangs, his body rippling with power. He lunged at Dulcan with primal fury, claws sweeping in a blur of orange and gray.

CLANG!

The blunt mace in Dulcan’s hands met Rattlor’s forearm with a sickening crunch.

But Rattlor didn’t flinch—he didn’t need weapons. His strength alone was enough to tear steel apart. He slashed again, narrowly missing the general’s chest.

Their battle was brutal—raw muscle and calculated strikes colliding in a maelstrom of sparks and blood.

"You fight like a beast," Dulcan grunted, side-stepping another claw and striking the serpent’s thigh.

Rattlor hissed, eyes burning. “Your king doesn’t even have the courage to face me himself. This only shows how weak he is!”

Dulcan rolled under a wild swing and countered, “I could say the same for your king. The only difference is—Randor isn’t a coward like Hiss.”

“DO NOT MOCK MY KING!” Rattlor roared.

With a guttural cry, he suddenly extended his neck like a whip, fangs bared as he lunged for Dulcan’s throat. The strike was lightning-fast—but too obvious.

Dulcan twisted away and slammed his mace into Rattlor’s exposed face with a deafening crack!

The Snake Man tumbled across the dirt, landing with a growl.

“Predictable.” Man-At-Arms muttered with a smirk.

But the blow only enraged Rattlor further.

With a monstrous hiss, he dropped onto all fours and charged like a feral beast, claws digging into the earth, mouth open in a ferocious snarl. His movements were wild now—chaotic, instinctual.

He slashed, bit, and tore, trying to rip Dulcan apart. The general barely kept up, deflecting strikes with his mace and dodging snapping jaws by inches.

Elsewhere, Stratos was mid-flight when he spotted a Snake Man lunging at Buzz-Off from behind.

“Watch out!” he shouted, diving with a gust of wind. He collided with the attacker mid-leap, sending the serpent sprawling.

Buzz-Off turned and buzzed with irritation. “He was in my sights!”

Stratos glared, panting. “A simple thank you could be said, don’t you think?”

“You two, don’t even start!” Man-At-Arms called out, ducking under Rattlor’s furious swipe. “Focus on the battle!”

The fight raged on—dust, fire, and smoke cloaking the battlefield.

But even skilled warriors can be worn down.

As the minutes dragged on, more Snake Men poured in—their numbers seemingly endless. Stratos took a gash to the shoulder.

Buzz-Off was winged mid-air, crashing hard onto the ground. Dulcan’s armor was dented and scorched, sweat dripping from his brow as he blocked another heavy strike.

They were being cornered—forced back against a crumbling wall, flanked on all sides.

Rattlor rose from the dust, towering and triumphant.

“It seems you are at a disadvantage, General,” he said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Devour them—all but the general. He’s mine.”

The Snake Men hissed with delight, stepping forward like a wall of flesh and fangs. The trio braced themselves, bloodied but unbroken, back-to-back.

Buzz-Off gritted his teeth. “If we go down… we go down swinging.”

Stratos narrowed his eyes. “For Eternia.”

Man-At-Arms didn’t speak—he simply raised his mace one more time.

And then—

A sudden gust tore through the battlefield.

The clouds above parted with a thunderclap, and the Snake Men looked up—startled. A golden streak burst from the heavens, crashing into the earth with a shockwave that scattered serpents like leaves in a storm.

The miracle had arrived.

The ground shook as the golden streak struck down like a lightning bolt from the gods themselves. The Snake Men reeled back, hissing and snarling as dust and blinding light swirled around the impact point.

From the center of the crater, standing proud was He-Man, Champion of Eternia, his mighty Sword of Power raised high, the blade still crackling with residual energy.

To his right stood Teela, her armor gleaming with silver trim as she brandished a dual-bladed staff that glowed with tech runes. Her eyes burned with determination—sharp, calculating.

To He-Man’s left was Krass, the young powerhouse warrior clad in high-tech blue armor with glowing highlights. His fists were massive gauntlets, powered by ancient tech, each strike capable of shattering stone. His stance was solid, his gaze locked on the enemy lines.

And looming behind them, letting out a bone-rattling roar, was Battle Cat, his eyes glowed with fury, his claws scraping against the stone as he let loose a thunderous growl that froze the Snake Men in place.

Rattlor’s smug grin faltered.

Man-At-Arms grinned through his bruises. “Looks like our luck hasn’t run out after all.”

Stratos smirked. “Nice timing.”

Buzz-Off let out a breath. “Finally.”

He-Man stepped forward, his voice calm but commanding.

“Rattlor. You’ve terrorized this village long enough. It ends now.”

The Snake General snarled, snapping his jaws in frustration. “You think you can stop the will of King Hiss? You’re nothing but a pawn of Randor!”

“I fight for everyone who calls Eternia home,” He-Man said, stepping between the Snake Men and the injured warriors. “And today… you picked the wrong village.”

Teela twirled her staff, the energy pulsing louder. “We’ll give you one chance, Rattlor. Slither back to your master.”

Krass slammed his gauntlets together, electricity crackling between them. “Or we’ll send you back in pieces.”

Rattlor’s eyes darted between the new arrivals. His numbers were greater, but the tide had shifted.

And then He-Man turned to the trio behind him. “Stratos. Buzz-Off. Man-At-Arms. Rest if you can. We’ll handle this.”

Man-At-Arms nodded, though bruised and weary. “Give ’em hell.”

With that, He-Man pointed his sword at the enemy line.

“For Eternia!”

Battle Cat roared, launching forward like a battering ram, claws slashing through the first wave of Snake Men. Krass followed, leaping over him and delivering a ground-shattering punch that sent three serpents flying. Teela darted in next, a blur of red and silver as her staff danced with precision and deadly grace.

And He-Man?

He charged straight for Rattlor—his blade gleaming, his heart steady.

The battlefield shook once more, and the true battle had only just begun.

In the heat of the fray, the battlefield was alive with the clashing of steel, hissing serpents, and the thunder of war cries. Dust rose in thick clouds, mingling with sparks of magic and the metallic ring of weapons meeting armor.

Teela moved like a tempest—fluid, fierce, and unrelenting. Her staff spun in a blur of silver and energy, sweeping low to trip a serpent warrior, then twisting high to strike another across the face. Her movements were practiced perfection, every step a calculated maneuver, every strike a deliberate response.

As a Captain of the Royal Guard and Prince Adam's sworn protector, Teela had trained in nearly every known martial discipline across Eternia. Her muscles rippled under her armor with each precise swing, her stance shifting effortlessly from defense to offense. Two Snake Men charged her at once—she pivoted, ducked between them, and in a single sweeping arc of her staff, sent both flying backwards, crashing into their allies.

“Too slow,” she muttered under her breath, her eyes scanning for the next threat. Sweat clung to her brow, but she showed no signs of tiring.

Meanwhile, Krass—arms encased in his heavy-duty tech gauntlets—was having the time of his life. Every punch sent a Snake Man flying, bones crunching beneath the raw power of his enhanced fists. He grinned wide, dirt on his face, eyes gleaming with thrill.

“Oh-ho! Come on, snakes! Who’s next?!”

His joy was short-lived as he noticed the enemy shifting—dozens of Snake Men had encircled him, their weapons raised, fangs bared. But Krass didn’t falter. Instead, he tilted his head, cocky and confident.

“Big mistake, guys. Did you forget?” he said, lips curled into a smirk. With a sharp motion, he slammed the switch on his gauntlet, pulling down the heavy helmet over his head. The glowing red visor lit up.

“There’s a reason they call me…”

He hunched low, power surging through the gauntlets and armor. A soft hum rose, growing into a sharp whine of charging energy.

“RAM-MAN!!”

With a roar, he launched forward like a living wrecking ball, his body a blur of force and fury. He smashed through the front line, the impact sending Snake Men flying like rag dolls—some landing with a painful thud, others crashing into their own allies.

Several tried to regroup, only to be swept aside as Krass continued barreling forward, turning in tight arcs and ramming through clusters of enemies like a meteor crashing through walls.

And not far from the chaos, Battle Cat stood tall—a living beast of war. His emerald fur bristled, crimson armor shining beneath the sun. Two Snake Men lunged at him from either side. He leapt straight into the air, twisting mid-pounce, and landed with claws first, pinning one beneath him while slashing the other across the chest.

He growled low, yellow eyes narrowing.

“You’d think after the first ten of you went flying, the rest would’ve learned.”

A Snake Man tried to flank him. With a flick of his massive paw, Battle Cat backhanded him into a crumbled wall, the impact shaking nearby rubble loose.

He licked his fangs, snorting.

“Idiots.”

The trio fought back to back now—Teela’s staff whirling, Krass charging like thunder, and Battle Cat roaring like a storm incarnate. Together, they turned the tide, their combined strength cracking the enemy lines, sending fear rippling through the once-confident Snake Men.

And above it all, the sound of He-Man's sword clashing with Rattlor’s claws echoed, like thunder meeting fire, the final confrontation looming ever closer.

Steel clashed against scale as He-Man swung the Sword of Power with precise, powerful arcs, the air crackling around him from the sheer force of each blow.

Rattlor, agile despite his massive size, twisted his serpentine body in evasive coils, narrowly dodging the blade’s glowing edge.

Then, with a sudden burst of speed, Rattlor lunged—his muscular form snapping forward like a whip.

Fangs bared, he slammed into He-Man’s sword in a brutal collision that sent a shockwave rippling through the air. Sparks flew as steel scraped against sharpened scales.

They locked eyes. Rattlor's pupil-slitted eyes burned with hatred. His mouth cracked open, revealing a forked tongue and razor fangs, as he hissed directly into He-Man’s face.

“Hsssssss…”

He-Man flinched slightly, nose wrinkling.

“Yeesh, Rattlor… You ever hear of breath mints? Seriously—did something die in there?”

The Snake General snarled, his long neck arching back like a striking cobra.

“Mock me while you can, He-Man! Because this time… this time will be your last!”

He-Man tilted his head with a smirk.

“Pretty sure that’s what you said last week. And the week before that. It’s getting old.”

“SILENCE!!” Rattlor roared, and with explosive fury, he lunged—his jaws aiming for He-Man’s throat.

He-Man stepped aside just in time, twisting his sword to parry the attack—but what he didn’t see was a Snake Man warrior sneaking in behind him, dagger raised, fangs dripping with venom.

“HE-MAN!!” Teela’s voice cut through the chaos.

Without hesitation, she hurled her Eternian staff like a javelin—it sailed through the air, spinning once, twice, then cracked into the side of the ambusher’s skull, knocking him out cold.

He-Man turned, eyes wide.

“Thanks, Teela! I owe you one.”

He refocused. Rattlor was circling, winding up for another strike. He-Man narrowed his eyes, his grip tightening around the Sword of Power.

“Enough games. Let’s end this.”

With a roar, he lifted the sword to the sky, the blade shimmering with energy. Above him, the clouds churned in response, thunder growling across the heavens.

“LIGHTNING STRIKE!” he bellowed.

In a flash of divine fury, a massive bolt of golden lightning cracked down from the heavens and struck the sword, which absorbed the energy like a beacon.

The blade flared, now glowing with radiant golden power, humming with raw elemental might.

With a mighty swing, He-Man channeled the energy, hurling a blinding blast of lightning directly into Rattlor’s chest.

BOOOOOM!!!

The Snake General’s body twisted midair, violently flung across the battlefield by the sheer force of the blast.

He slammed into a rocky outcrop, cratering the stone as he collapsed to the ground with a pained growl, steam rising from his smoldering armor.

All around, the Snake Men froze, staring at their fallen commander in horror.

Rattlor groaned, forcing himself to rise on one elbow, scales scorched and tail twitching. He snarled bitterly, then raised the tip of his rattle high.

“RETREEEAT!!”

At once, the Snake Men obeyed, their war cries turning into frantic hisses of retreat. Dozens of serpentine warriors scattered, slithering and sprinting back into the wilderness, defeated.

The battlefield grew still.

He-Man and the others stood tall amidst the ruins of the battle, watching the enemy vanish into the distance. But before disappearing completely, Rattlor turned one last time, his voice filled with venom and hate.

“Mark my words, He-Man! One day… ONE DAY… there will be a force you can’t defeat—not even with the power of Grayskull!”

Then he was gone.

A heavy silence settled over the village, broken only by the crackling of distant fires and the soft groans of wounded warriors.

Teela approached, wiping a smear of dirt from her cheek, her brow furrowed.

“Do you think we should be worried about what he said?”

He-Man, still holding the glowing Sword of Power, looked out over the ruined battlefield. Then he shrugged with a smirk.

“They always say that. And yet here I am… still standing.”

Battle Cat growled in agreement, nudging He-Man with his massive head.

“Come on,” He-Man said at last. “We’ve got villagers to help. Let’s make sure everyone’s okay.”

And with that, the heroes set off to assist the survivors, bringing hope back to the people of Eternia—one battle at a time.

---

In Etheria

The sun cast a warm golden light over the recovering village, its rays glinting off the scattered debris of broken buildings and scorched ground. Despite the scars of the recent battle, there was a tangible sense of hope in the air.

The Alliance of Princesses had once again repelled the Horde, and the people—tired but determined—had begun to rebuild.

Amid the hum of activity, Adora, in her radiant She-Ra form, stood like a beacon among the workers.

Towering, confident, her golden hair catching the sunlight as it flowed like a banner behind her, she carried a half-destroyed Horde tank on her shoulders with ease. Each step she took sent small clouds of dust swirling into the air, her boots crunching against broken stone as she carefully placed the wreckage on a growing pile of scrap.

Around her, Alliance soldiers and villagers worked shoulder to shoulder.

Even reprogrammed Horde bots, clumsily obedient thanks to Entrapta’s genius tinkering, lent their aid—some clanking around with toolkits while others awkwardly swept debris with built-in brooms.

Standing a few meters away, Catra scanned the reconstruction site, her tracker pad flickering with information about resource deliveries, captured Horde remnants, and zone clearance progress.

Her voice rang out clear as she commanded squads, assigning units to damaged homes and rerouting supplies to where they were needed most.

Despite the authority in her tone, there was a tightness in her expression—one of lingering guilt.

Though she now served as Queen Glimmer’s second-in-command and advisor, Catra still carried the weight of her past. Once the leader of the Horde, she had caused devastation across Etheria.

Many had doubted her change in heart, but she’d chosen to prove them wrong—not with words, but with action. And she was damn good at her job.

Still, even her sharp mind faltered when her eyes drifted—again—to Adora.

The Princess of Power had just finished lifting a mound of collapsed rubble, her powerful muscles flexing beneath her glowing skin. She arched her back slightly, letting out a low groan as her shoulders cracked, then wiped her brow, streaking dirt across her glistening cheek.

Catra's mouth parted slightly. Her grip on the tracker pad loosened. Her ears twitched faintly.

She tried not to look. She really did.

But then Adora stretched again, the subtle lines of her abs tightening beneath her armor, the soft sheen of sweat gleaming on her arms.

Her hair sparkled.

Her eyes caught the sun.

Catra blushed hard. Her tail twitched. Her pupils dilated.

And Adora definitely noticed.

She turned slowly, a knowing smirk on her face.

"Enjoying the view, Catra?" she asked, feigning innocence with just enough sass to sting.

Catra snapped out of her trance like a startled kitten.

"What? Pfft, no!" she scoffed, fur fluffing slightly in embarrassment. "Why would I enjoy watching you dirty, sweaty, and—ugh—grunting like a lumberjack?"

Adora raised an eyebrow, taking a slow step forward. "Really?" She pointed subtly behind Catra. "Then why is Melog like that?"**

Catra followed her gaze—and immediately groaned.

Melog, who had been lounging beside a stack of planks, was now a glowing shade of bubblegum pink, their mane and tail shimmering like a starry valentine.

The feline alien blinked lazily, curling its tail into a heart shape, making no effort to hide the bond it shared with Catra… or the emotions Catra was desperately trying to suppress.

"You dirty traitor..." Catra whispered, narrowing her eyes at her psychic partner.

Melog’s only response was a cheeky, purring meow, their tail swishing smugly behind them.

Adora chuckled, her laughter light and teasing, but full of warmth.

"It's okay, you can look. I mean, I am kind of amazing."

Catra rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth tugged into a smile she couldn’t quite hide.

"You're insufferable."

"And you're adorable when you're flustered." Adora winked.

For a moment, the world around them faded into a comforting blur—the dust in the air, the muted sounds of reconstruction, the gentle hum of magic in Etheria’s soil—none of it mattered.

Adora and Catra, standing close, caught in their own gravity, felt nothing but the pull of each other. Their foreheads touched, eyes soft, breath slow and even. Fingers intertwined. A soft breeze fluttered the ends of Catra’s cropped hair, and Adora leaned in, her free hand gently cupping Catra’s cheek.

No words were needed. Their smiles said everything—peace, affection, maybe even something dangerously close to bliss. Slowly, inevitably, they began to lean in for a kiss—

"Seriously?"

The voice snapped the moment like a branch breaking.

"Don’t you two have anything more important to do than flirt?"

They pulled apart with a sigh, heads turning toward the source of the interruption. Standing at the edge of the path was none other than the Queen of Brightmoon, Glimmer, arms crossed, hip cocked, and visibly unimpressed. Beside her, cheerful as ever, was her boyfriend and Etheria’s most tech-savvy archer, Bow, grinning like this was the most entertaining thing he'd seen all day.

Glimmer’s expression carried the weight of someone who had seen one too many mid-mission make-out sessions.

"This is the third time today," she muttered under her breath.

"Oh come on, Glimmer," Bow chimed in with his usual bubbly optimism. "It’s kind of sweet! Let them have their moment. Love wins and all that, right?"

"It was sweet the first fifty times," Glimmer said, exasperated, waving her hand. "Now it’s getting predictable—and kind of gross when they do that lip-staring thing."

Catra, unbothered, let out a purring chuckle and tilted her head, eyes glinting with mischief.

"Well, Sparkles," she said with a devilish grin, "no one’s forcing you to stand there and watch. You could always turn around and pretend we’re just hugging."

Glimmer narrowed her eyes. "As much as I’d love to not see you two slobbering all over each other, some of us have responsibilities, Horde Scum." Her tone was dry, but the corners of her mouth tugged up—just a little.

Adora raised an eyebrow, wrapping a thick, muscular arm around Catra’s shoulder and pulling her close.

"Don’t be jealous, Glimmer. We know you love our love."

"Oh Please," Glimmer groaned.

Before she could say more, Bow stepped forward, looking out at the rebuilding village.

The scattered bits of metal, stone, and wood were steadily becoming homes again, thanks to a joint effort between the villagers, the Alliance, and even the now-obedient reprogrammed Horde bots clanking about with lumber and wiring.

"Wow, looks like the reconstruction’s going better than expected," Bow observed, taking in the organized chaos.

"Yeah, actually, we’re ahead of schedule," Adora said, beaming. "And it’s all thanks to Catra’s planning skills."

Catra shifted slightly under the praise but didn’t pull away. She pretended to look smug, but the way her ears flicked told another story—one of surprise, maybe even a little pride.

"Well, I’m glad," Glimmer said, letting the sincerity shine through her regal posture. "You’ve really pulled this off, Catra."

There was an awkward pause—brief, but real. Though things had changed, and wounds had begun to heal, the memory of the war still lingered in the space between Glimmer and Catra. Still, Glimmer’s words weren’t hollow. She meant them.

Catra nodded. "Thanks. But we’re not done yet." She looked down at her tracker pad, fingers scrolling through data. "We’ve almost cleared the southern sector, but we’ll need another shipment of food and medical supplies. And most of the villagers still need a place to sleep."

"Brightmoon has room," Glimmer replied instantly. "We’ll set up housing until their homes are ready."

"Perfect. Bow, do you think you can—" Catra began, then paused, staring at Bow’s face with a puzzled look. "...What... is that?"

Bow blinked. "What?"

Catra leaned in slightly, her nose crinkling. "That thing... on your face."

Bow brightened. "Oh! This?" He pointed to the thin, wispy strands of hair awkwardly sprouting above his lip. "I’m growing a mustache. Sea Hawk says it’ll make me look more mature—and maybe a little dangerous. Pretty cool, right?" He wiggled his eyebrows dramatically.

Silence.

A long, brutal silence.

Everyone stared at him with pained, pitying expressions.

"Is it... that bad?" Bow asked, his grin faltering.

Adora tried to soften the blow, stepping forward. "No, no! I mean... it’s not that it look’s bad, it’s just that-."

"It’s horrible," Catra deadpanned.

"Yep." Adora nodded.

Bow winced. "Glimmer?"

Glimmer hesitated, her face tightening like she was physically bracing herself.

"...No?"

"Aw, man!" Bow groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I really thought I was looking good..."**

Melog, who had been lounging quietly nearby, let out a low, almost sympathetic meow.

The group broke into laughter—Adora's deep and hearty, Catra’s laced with mischief, Glimmer’s reluctant but genuine. Even Bow managed to laugh at himself as he ran a hand over his tragically tiny mustache.

Catra nudged him playfully. "You might wanna leave the facial hair to Sea Hawk, Romeo."

"Noted," Bow said with a dramatic sigh, making them all chuckle again.

And in that moment—amid rebuilding, past regrets, and ridiculous grooming experiments—the four of them shared something rare: peace

However, for some reason, the world decided that peace just wasn’t meant to last.

"Ow! Hey—stop that! Quit it!!"

A high-pitched, panicked voice echoed down the dirt road, cutting through the warm atmosphere like a blade.

The Best Friends Squad instantly turned their heads toward the sound.

Without a word, they took off in the direction of the commotion, boots thudding against the packed earth and cloaks fluttering behind them.

When they arrived at the source, they all stopped dead in their tracks.

Before them was a scene no one had expected—a group of young Etherian children, no older than eight or nine, surrounding a captive Horde soldier, who was curled up on the ground in a fetal position, arms over his head for protection.

The children were armed—not with anything dangerous, but with long twigs, branches, and an impressive amount of indignation.

"Get him!" shouted a small girl with glowing butterfly wings, swinging her twig like it was a divine blade.

"Not so tough without your creepy robot army, huh!?" yelled a boy with goat horns, stomping the ground as if summoning power.

Thwack!

Smack!

Whack!

Each blow landed with harmless but dramatic flair, causing the soldier to flinch and yelp like a scared animal.

"O-OW! That actually stings!" the soldier cried out, voice cracking as he tried—and failed—to crawl away.

There was silence from the squad. Then—

Catra snorted.

Then snickered.

Then outright cackled.

"Pffft—okay, I know it’s wrong, but this is hilarious." She crossed her arms, watching like someone enjoying a particularly chaotic puppet show.

"Catra!" Adora scolded, eyes wide.

"What? Come on, it’s a little funny. Like, look at them. They’re so tiny!"

Adora let out a sigh and rolled her eyes, stepping forward. Despite the humor, she couldn’t let this continue. The Horde soldier may have been part of an invading force—but he was still a person. And more importantly, he was in custody, not a piñata.

She lowered herself slightly to be eye-level with the kids, her tone calm and kind.

"Hey there, little warriors." Her voice was enough to stop the next swing mid-air. Every child turned toward her, faces lighting up in awe.

"She-Ra!" one of them gasped. "Whoa, she’s huge!"

"Did you see her lift a whole tank earlier!?"

"Can I touch you muscles?"

Adora smiled, slightly flustered. "Uh, maybe later. First, can you tell me what you're doing to this poor guy?"

A small, determined girl with butterfly wings puffed out her chest.

"We’re teaching him a lesson!" she said proudly. "So he knows what happens to people who mess with our village!"

Without hesitation, she turned and gave the soldier another solid thwack on the cheek with her twig.

"OW! Stop them! this is so humiliating..." the soldier whined, squirming helplessly.

Catra sighed, finally stepping in beside Adora and putting her hands on her hips.

"Okay, okay, even I have to admit this is getting out of hand. Look," she said, squatting down and speaking to the kids like a big sister scolding younger siblings, "I get it. You’re mad. But this guy? He was just following orders. Bad ones, yeah—but he didn’t have a choice."

A boy with mismatched eyes looked skeptical. "So what? He still helped the bad guys!"

"And now he’s gonna pay for what he did, by helping us rebuild," Adora added gently. "Just like a lot of the former Horde soldiers. People can change. Right, Catra?"

Catra gave her a look. "Smooth."

Some of the kids glanced at each other, uncertain, but eventually one dropped their twig. Then another. And another.

Until finally, the last girl—reluctantly—let hers fall to the ground with a pout.

"Fine... but only because She-Ra asked."

"Thanks." the soldier muttered weakly as he was gently helped to his feet.

As the group escorted the wounded pride—er, soldier—away, Glimmer’s eyes lit up with mischief. She watched Catra and Adora still surrounded by the excitable kids, their small faces beaming with curiosity and wonder.

She clapped her hands together dramatically.

"I just had the best idea," she said in a too-sweet voice. "Bow and I can finish up the reconstruction… while you two take care of these adorable, energetic little cherubs!"

Both Catra and Adora snapped their heads toward her.

"Wait, what?" Adora asked, blinking.

"Sparkles, no." Catra raised a finger, looking alarmed. "We are not babysitters. We-"

"Hey!!" one of the kids suddenly yelled, now holding their twig like a spear. "Whoever takes down She-Ra gets to pet the cat-girl!"

"YEAHHHHHHHHH!" the kids chorused, their shrieks of war-paint glee echoing through the air.

Catra’s pupils shrank to slits, while Adora slowly turned her head toward her.

"GLIMMER!!!" they screamed in unison as the children lunged forward in a chaotic charge.

But Glimmer and Bow were already strolling away from the scene, the queen looking entirely too satisfied.

"Are you sure this was a good idea?" Bow asked, glancing back with a wince.

"Nope," Glimmer replied with a wicked grin. "But it’s definitely going to be funny."

---

A few minutes later...

Despite what either of them might claim in casual deflection—or muttered sarcasm—Adora and Catra were surprisingly great with kids.

There was something about their chaotic but sincere energy that children gravitated toward. Maybe it was the way Adora glowed with warmth, or the way Catra wasn’t afraid to speak to kids like real people.

Or maybe it was the presence of Melog, a mystical, color-shifting alien cat-creature who had already let half the kids braid flowers into its fur.

Whatever the reason, the children had settled down—finally—and gathered around the two women in a loose circle. The grass was warm beneath them, and the orange sun dipped lower in the Etherian sky, painting the village in soft golds and purples.

Adora sat on a sturdy wooden bench, now in her civilian attire: an apple-red short-sleeved jacket with a high pale-beige collar, white turtleneck with pointed cuffs, and light gray accents tracing down her sides. Taupe leggings clung to her legs, tucked into calf-length boots with white details that still managed to shine, even after all the chaos. Her golden winged belt caught a ray of sunlight, gleaming just slightly—almost like it was listening, too.

Catra was lounging comfortably beside her, one leg casually thrown over the other, Melog curled behind her like a warm cushion, purring softly. Her arms were folded behind her head, but her eyes were on Adora, tracing every word she spoke with quiet amusement.

“…And so, in the end,” Adora said, her voice soft and animated, “the little donkey found his mommy again... and they lived happily ever after.”

A chorus of cheers and giggles erupted from the children. Some clapped, others squealed in delight, and one tiny kiddo with oversized glasses fell backward in joy.

Adora beamed, cheeks flushed with pride.

“Good job,” Catra murmured, flashing a genuine smile that made Adora’s face warm even more.

Adora turned to her, eyes crinkling. “Thanks.”

But the peace didn’t last long.

“Question!” piped up a boy with grass sticking out of his hair. He raised a hand dramatically like he was presenting a scholarly thesis. “Why did he go home? Why didn’t he just stay with the rabbits?”

Adora blinked. “Well… because…” She tried to think fast. “Because he wanted to be with his family.”

Another child, a butterfly-winged girl with a very serious expression, leaned forward.

“But the rabbits were his family, too, right? He lived with them. They loved him.”

Adora froze for a second. “Well, yes, but—”

“He should’ve stayed with the rabbits,” another added, arms crossed.

And just like that, the room (or field) turned into a tiny panel of literary critics.

“It didn’t feel earned.”

“There’s no arc.”

“Did the donkey get therapy afterward?”

Adora rubbed the back of her neck. “Okay, maybe next time I’ll tell… a different story about the donkey.”

A small boy in the front squinted up at her. “Also, ‘donkey’ isn’t technically accurate. It’s called a ‘wild-ass.’”

Adora blinked.

“...Okay. The little Wild-Ass went home to his wild-ass mother—”

The kids exploded with laughter. Uncontrollable, gasping, face-palming, rolling-on-the-grass laughter.

Adora’s eyes went wide as realization hit. “Oh, come on! See? This is exactly why I said donkey!”

Catra tried not to laugh, but her body shook beside her, and she bit her bottom lip to keep it in.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.” Adora grumbled, poking her.

Another child raised their hand. “Can the donkey have a stomachache in the next version? That would be way more interesting.”

“BORING!”

“I don’t get it.”

“Not a satisfying conclusion.”

“Sometimes I throw up.”

Silence fell.

Adora slowly turned toward the last girl, staring at her like she'd just confessed to ancient wisdom.

“…Okay.” She blinked. “That’s… good to know.”

But then, she straightened, brushing her hands on her knees and regaining her storytelling pride.

“Listen, I appreciate the feedback, but the donkey lived happily ever after with his family. That’s the best kind of ending. A big, happy family—that’s how it should be.”

“So where’s your big, happy family?” a child asked with innocent curiosity.

And just like that, the air changed.

Adora’s chest seized.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her hands stiffened against her legs. Her smile faltered.

Her pupils shrank slightly as if the words had echoed down a dark hallway in her mind and reopened a door she’d tried to keep closed.

Because the truth was—she didn’t know.

She had a family. Somewhere. She knew that now. But she had never met them. Never knew them.

She was taken, raised by the Horde, taught to fight and obey, never question, never wonder. Even now—after all the victories, after saving Etheria—that wound still stung.

And in that moment, surrounded by giggling kids and the golden light of a peaceful sunset, she felt… empty.

And Catra noticed instantly.

Her ears flicked. Her eyes softened. Without missing a beat, she stood up, cracking her knuckles dramatically.

“Alright, that’s it. Story time’s over.” Her voice shifted into theatrical villain mode. “Because NOW the hungry alien cat is gonna eat ALL the rabbits!”

Melog perked up, eyes glowing.

RAAAWRRRRRRR!

The illusion worked instantly. The kids screamed in delighted terror, scattering like flower petals in the wind as Melog gave a playful pounce and chase, eyes glowing mischievously. Some squealed and ran, others giggled as they hid behind barrels and fences.

Catra watched the chaos with a smirk, then turned to see Adora quietly rising from the bench.

“Hey...” Catra stepped toward her. “You okay?”

Adora didn’t look at her at first. “I… I’m okay.”

But it was tentative, not convincing. Her tone wasn’t defensive, just uncertain—like she wanted to believe it, too.

“You sure?” Catra stepped a little closer. “Because if you want, we can—”

“I’m okay, Catra. Really.” Her voice was firmer now. Then she looked up and offered a small, grateful smile. “But thank you for asking.”

Catra nodded slowly. Then, without a word, she gently reached out and placed her hand over Adora’s.

Adora looked down at their joined hands… then curled her fingers around Catra’s, leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Catra’s cheek.

They stood there like that for a moment, hand in hand, the sun dipping lower behind them and the laughter of children fading into the distance.

Eventually, they turned back toward the village, ready to return to the reconstruction efforts. But as they walked, Adora couldn’t stop the question from echoing quietly in her mind.

Where was her big, happy family?

#he man #she ra #she ra and the princesses of power #he man motu #she ra adora #she ra catra #she ra glimmer #she ra bow #he man adam #teela #he man sorceress #spop catra #spop adora #my fic

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