Chapter 4: Bad Vibes

“Sorry it took me so long to get up here.” Pumyra apologized to Cheetara as she entered Tygra’s study. “I had to fetch a few things from my herb garden. It’s so hard to see at this hour. I really need to install a few…Cheetara?” Pumyra looked up after a few moments of rummaging through her pouch and realizing Cheetara had yet to respond.

Cheetara sat at the drafting table; posture slacked and head hung low. Her spotted gold mane covered most of her face. Her breathing was slow, almost nonexistent. Pumyra couldn’t tell if she was awake or asleep. “Cheetara?” She addressed her fellow Thundercat softly, nudging her shoulder. “Cheetara, it’s me. Are you all ri-”

“SHUT UP!” Cheetara snarled out of nowhere slapped Pumyra across the face. The impact knocked Pumyra backwards to the floor. Her nails left four deep scratch marks.

“Cheetara what’s the matter with you?!”

Tygra’s voice snapped Cheetara back into reality. She spotted Pumyra on the floor, face bleeding. She immediately jumped to her aid. “Dear Jaga, I’m so sorry!” She offered her hand and pulled Pumyra to her feet. “I don’t know what came over me. I-”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine; really.” Pumyra smoothed down her tunic, trying to appear unfazed by the cheetah’s bizarre outburst.

“What’s going on? I heard shouting.” Lion-O entered the study with the claw shield and Sword of Omens at his side. The unmistakable smell of smoke filled his nostrils. He noticed the scorch marks on the walls and shelves and the scratch marks on Pumyra’s face. “What happened to you?”

“It was me, Lion-O.” Cheetara confessed, expression heavy with guilt. “I was waiting for Tygra to return with Pumyra when I started hearing strange voices.”

“Coming from the Sword of Plun-Darr?” Tygra interrupted as he entered.

Cheetara looked to the ancient mutant sword still dormant on the floor and hidden beneath the curtain. “I’m pretty sure they did.”

“You must have been in a state of mental shock.” Pumyra deduced. She led Cheetara back to her chair. “Sit and let me take a look at the burns.”

Cheetara held out her hands. Identical blistered eye marks had manifested themselves on the backs of her hands as well as her palms. Pumyra winced. That looks bad. Let’s see what I can do…” Tygra fetched a mortar and pestle. With them she ground the leaves and roots from her garden into a paste and spread it over Cheetara’s wounds. “The suthsice roots will soothe the burning and reduce scarring some, but I’m afraid you’re stuck with the eyes.”

“An eye for a claw, I guess.” Cheetara cracked a smile, but couldn’t force a laugh. She still could not believe she had struck Pumyra, when she’s pregnant no less. Pumyra was not far enough along to show quite yet, but the test results did not lie, neither did the healer’s instincts. She balled and relaxed her fists as the home remade soaked in. Her skin still felt tight and stung, but the pain was much more bearable than it had been minutes ago. “Much better. Thank you.”

“No problem.” Pumyra stood and began to put away her things. “What exactly happened between you and the Sword of Plun-Darr?”

“Besides the spontaneous combustion?” Lion-O added.

Cheetara paused. “I can’t remember. My head is still so cloudy…” She struggled to clear her thoughts and form a solid memory. “It came to life in my hands; that much I remember. I expected it to show some hostility towards me, being an enemy, but I never expected it to lash out the way it did. I thought it would be more lethargic after sleeping in the weapons room for so long. So much for that theory.”

“Did you see anything?” Lion-O inquired further.

“No. Nothing but blackness and then flames. I did hear something though. Voices. Hundreds of them. I couldn’t make any of them of them out exactly. They all seemed to be taunting me- threatening me…”

“You said it wanted to hurt you.” Tygra quoted.

Cheetara frowned. “Yes. I remember that.”

“Did it say why?”

“The Sword of Plun-Darr was forged to harm.” Lion-O reminded the architect. “What other incentive does it need?”

Pumyra shrugged. “Maybe it felt threatened.”

“Threatened and confused.” Cheetara concurred.

“Whatever its reasons, it nearly melted our heads off our shoulders.” Tygra cringed as the memory flashed by in his head.

“I’ll have to be more forceful with it next time.”

“No” Tygra protested. “It’s too dangerous for you to link with it telepathically. We’ll have to come up with another approach.”

“I have to agree with him. We’ll lock it back up for now. I’ll call an other meeting to order tomorrow morning and we’ll discuss a plan B.” Lion-O suggested. “Thank you for trying, Cheetara.”

“I think I can make more sense of it if I gave it another shot.” She insisted. “But maybe it would be wise to seek another approach. Sorry for shaking half the lair out of a sound sleep. I feel so foolish-”

Lion-O chuckled as he stood. “Don’t. Just get some rest and we’ll figure this out later. I’ll take the sword of Plun-Darr back to the weapons room. The rest of you can turn in.”

“Be careful, Lion-O.” Tygra warned as the young lord knelt down to grab the sword.

Lion-O’s fingertips came within an inch of the serpent handle when the eye of Thundera burst open and began to growl. “Danger!” he sprung to his feet and held the Sword of Omens to his face. “Sword of Omens, give me sight beyond sight…”

He looked through the hilt, eyes glowing as his vision enhanced. Through the apertures he saw a red light that consumed everything around it. In the center of the red void Lion-o spotted a tiny silhouette. He squinted struggling to identify the shape. The harder he stared the blurrier the shape became until it became completely indistinguishable from the light. The vision vanished abruptly. Lion-O lowered his sword.

“What did you see?” Cheetara asked.

“Nothing…” Lion-O answered looking quite puzzled.

“Are you sure?” Pumyra pried.

“I’m sure. The sword of Plun-Darr must be agitating the eye.” He re-sheathed his sword in the claw shield and quickly snatched the Sword of Plun-Darr off the floor, making sure it was wrapped securely in the curtain.

“If the eye growls again come get us immediately.” Tygra ordered.

“I will.” Lion-O promised, trying not to sound rude or annoyed, though he was sure it came out that way. “Good night everyone.”

The Thundercats exchanged goodnights , none feeling the least bit at ease. Pumyra left with Lion-O, following him half way to the weapons room until she came across her personal chamber. They kept silent for most of the walk; neither in much of a mood for conversation.

He quickened his pace the moment he spotted the archway to the weapons room. The sooner he dropped off the Sword of Plun-Darr, the better.

Two recently hired guards stood on either side of the door frame; one a leopard named Pardis, the other an ocelot mix named Celo.

“Evening lord Lion-O.” Pardis greeted him, saluting. “What brings you to our end of the lair this late?”

“Just locking up for the night and you can drop the Lord, Pardis.” Lion-o reminded the young guard with a friendly smile. He looked to Celo who was struggling to hold his helmet up. “Not falling asleep, are you?”

“No, lor-” Pardis elbowed him. “Lion-O” Celo quickly corrected himself. “We’re used to graveyard shifts. Blasted helmet’s too big.”

“I’ll have you fitted for a new one.” Lion-O offered. “Just remind me before the end of your shift in the morning.”

“Yes sir.” Celo saluted as a show of gratitude. His smile wavered a bit. “You all right? You look kind of pale.”

Lion-O shrugged. “It’s been a long day. If you’ll excuse me…” He motioned for the door.

“Right! Sorry…” Pardis chuckled as he and Celo stood aside, allowing their lord entrance.

Lion-O thanked them as he passed. He placed the sword of Plun-Darr in the iron chest Bengali crafted for it three years back upon its confiscation from Mumm-Ra. He locked it tight, tugging on its restraints to be sure. He pushed the trunk beneath the table where the Book of Omens sat on display. Lion-O’s stomach felt slightly calmer now that the Sword of Plun-Darr was under lock and key once again. He was about to retire the Sword of Omens for the night, but paused. “I better hold onto you for now.” He placed his claw shield and the sword back on his hip and turned for the exit.

“So in a nutshell, I was held together with glue for two weeks and no one told me.” Ratar-O chuckled as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. “I was pissed.”

Zucker sat across from him with a blank stare on his face. “That…that’s a weird story…” He said for a lack of a better response. In truth, he had not heard a word Ratar-O said. He had been too busy observing Ratilla’s war room the whole time. The infamous war room he and his cousins had been forbidden to enter their entire childhoods turned out to be a bit disappointing. It was your average mutant war room with no luxuries besides a heavy antique long table and a thick hunter green carpet. It was spacious windowless room with stone walls that seemed to absorb what little candlelight emanated from the gnarled iron chandelier overhead. Trademark rodent melee weapons hung from the walls and a few dust covered torture devices stood in the corners. Nothing to write home about. The only two items that caught Zucker’s interests were the table cloth, on which a detailed map of the vermin dynasty territories were embroidered in gold, blue, black and red and the haunting portrait hanging over the fireplace.

Zucker found himself shivering in its presence. Concealed in a gold serpent frame, immortalized in pigments was Ratilla the Terrible throwing the stolen (as the story was told to him) sword of Plun-Darr into the foreground. The legendary warlord scowled down at him through red eyes as fiery and vengeful as the sword itself. His resemblance to Ratar-O was uncanny. Ratar-O! Zucker kicked himself mentally for zoning out. “But what does it have to do with my initiation?” He finished his sentence quickly before Ratar-O took offense to his lack of focus.

“Initiation? What initiation? The Nine Torments of Plixitl are the initiation. I just made that up so we could slip away from the party.”

“Oh…nice.”

Ratar-O looked over his shoulder, noticing the portrait. “Kind of creepy isn’t it? I think that’s why I like it so much”

“Where his eyes really that red?”

“How the hell should I know. I never met the guy.“ Ratar-O took a long drag from his hookah, exhaled then offered it to Zucker. “You smoke, pup?”

“No sir.” Zucker lied. He had smoked dried scrum since the age of ten. All his friends did. He just wasn’t comfortable smoking around the warlord.

Ratar-O shrugged indifferently. “Good. Smoking’s bad for you. Besides, I haven’t much time for pleasantries. You and I have a lot to discuss.” He paused to collect his thoughts, expression sober. “You understand now that you’ve survived the torments that puts you next in line as heir to the Vermin Dynasty, yes?”

Zucker nodded. “Yes sir.”

“And you also realize that despite your survival and lineage I won‘t hand over my power and territories to you without a fight?”

Zucker didn‘t like where this was heading. “What do you mean?”

Ratar-O smirked. “In order to become a warlord, the position must be taken by force. As current warlord I have every right to defend my title. It‘s tradition. Your father and I took the title from our father and then I took it from your father. If you‘re lucky, I‘ll drop dead from a heart attack or something in the near future and your ascension to the throne will be a bloodless one” Ratar-O chuckled. “But don’t hold you’re breath. I intend to be around for a very long time and as long as I live I will defend what’s rightfully mine to the death.”

Zucker’s stomach sunk like a stone. He could feel the color draining from his cheeks despite his desperate attempts to appear unfazed by Ratar-O’s threats.

“Relax, pup. If I really wanted to kill you I could have done it the second the doors closed. On that note I could have done it when you were a new born when it was easy and convenient. I’ve sunk too much time and effort into your training to do away with you now. Which reminds me…I’m enlisting you.”

“I’ve been a soldier in your army since I was seven.” Zucker reminded him.

Ratar-O hissed as he raised the back of his hand to him. “Don’t tempt me, smartass.” He lowered his hand. “I’m enlisting you in a special force unit along with four other soldiers; three of my choice and one of yours.”

Zucker raised a curious brow at him. “Which branch of the special forces consist of only five mutants?”

“Six.” Ratar-O corrected him. “I am first in command. You could be second in command if you prove yourself in combat.”

Zucker nodded. “Of course, sir, but still, why recruit so few?”

“Because when I’m through turning you into super soldiers six is all we’ll need to carry out the mission.”

Zucker‘s whickers twitched, intrigued. Super soldiers? Him? “What is our mission?”

Ratar-O flashed him a fiendish toothy grin. “We’re going to finish what Ratilla started.”

“You mean-?”

“We’re going to destroy the Thundercats and take New Thundera in the name of Plun-Darr!” Ratar-O vowed. “And what’s more, I’m going to reclaim the Sword of Plun-Darr.”

“That sounds great for you.” Zucker remarked. “But I don’t see what I have to gain in all this. No mutant has ever defeated the Sword of Omens, so chances are I could get killed trying and if a Thundercat doesn’t kill me, you will.”

Ratar-O growled under his breath. “Well, my faith in you was short lived. I thought you had enough brains and a spine to take the opportunity of a lifetime. You could kill me first and take the Vermin empire, New Thundera and the sword of Plun-Darr, but it seems you really are a coward just like your-”

“I’m NO coward.” Zucker stated defiantly. Ratar-O knew just how to push his buttons. “I don’t trust you- for good reason.”

Flattered, he flashed Zucker a pleased smile and offered his hand to shake. “What do you say, pup? You in?”

The young rat sighed. “Do I have any choice?”

“None whatsoever.”

“All right.” Zucker exhaled a light chuckle and shook. “I’m in.”

“You might shape up to be a real warrior yet.” Ratar-O gave his hand a tight squeeze. His grin quickly faded. “You know I really don’t want to do this”

“Destroy the Thundercats?”

“Wha- NO! Of course I want to do that. I don’t want to kill you or at least I didn’t thirty seconds ago.”

Zucker shook his head. “Not buying it, sir.”

“No really…” Ratar-O’s ears drooped slightly. “If you can, kill me. Don’t hesitate. I would hate for you to go the way your father did. It was hard enough killing Ratillas. He was my best friend, but it was either him or me and it certainly wasn’t going to be me.”

“I know, sir.” Zucker looked to his lap. “You think my father would have been proud of me today, sir?’

“You’re dismissed.” Ratar-O motioned for the door. “Scram! We’ll discuss the particulars in the morning.”

“Yes sir!” Zucker stood, saluting him. He headed for the door, but stopped half way there. “Permission to ask a question before I retire for the night, sir?”

Ratar-O frowned, annoyed. “Make it quick.”

“You said I can choose one soldier to join us?”

“Correct. You have someone in mind already?”

“I might. ’Night, sir.”

Zucker left, closing heavy armored door securely behind him. Ratar-O took a final drag from his hookah. “Night.”

Zucker scurried down the long winding hallway, desperate to reach the questionable safety of his bed chambers. Fears and uncertainties raced through his frantic rodent mind. How did his life manage to turn to shit on one afternoon? Why did Ratilla the Terrible’s blood have to run through his veins? What in the name of all the vengeful gods had he gotten himself into?

He turned the corner quickly, looking back over his shoulder instead of looking ahead as he probably should have. He ran right into Meice, nearly trampling her.

They both exhaled startled squeaks. Zucker quickly grabbed Meice by the arm and pulled her to her feet. “Sorry! I didn’t hear you coming.”

“No shit, you clumsy oaf!” She snapped, jerking her arm free. “What’s with you? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“No, but I might be a ghost here pretty soon.” He muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing. Nothing.” Zucker ran his fingers through the fur on his scalp as he leaned his back against the wall. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

Meice crossed her arms, tapping her foot impatiently. “So?”

Zucker flashed her a confused look. “So…?”

“The war room?! Did dad take you to Ratilla’s war room?”

“Oh!” Zucker turned a bit paler. “Yes, he did.”

“Did you try to talk him out of our stupid engagement?”

Zucker kicked himself mentally. “It…never came up.” He admitted, ears drooping.

“How could you NOT bring that up?” Meice fumed.

“I just didn’t! We discussed other things.”

“What things?” She hissed, fist clenched at her sides.

“If I told you, you’d hate me.”

“I’ll hate you if you don’t tell me.”

No response.

Meice slapped her forehead. “You’re pathetic!”

“Look, I have a lot on my mind right now! This has been the worst day of my life and you’re not helping matters! Just shut up and leave me alone!”

Meice cocked her head a bit. Zucker had never yelled at her ever. It almost scared her.

Zucker forced his tone to soften. He hated to upset Meice. “I’ll try to talk him out of it tomorrow morning, all right? I can’t promise anything.”

“Forget it.” Meice shoved past him. “Stupid me for thinking I could depend on you for anything! I‘ll talk to him myself!”

“Fine! You do that! Ratar-O won’t kill you!” He shouted after her.

Meice flashed him a rude hand gesture in response.

“What the hell is happening to me today?” Zucker pouted as he continued down the hallway. He wished he were any other rodent on Plun-Darr that moment.

A/n: there was originally more to this chapter, but because of an annoying streak of writers block I’m going to cut things off here.