#prince hec-tor kur

[emperorsfoot]

Learning that Hordak is gonna be in the CGI show has really rekindled my interest in Entrapdak!

Does anyone have some good Entrapdak fan fic recs on hand?

[EDIT]

Squick and triggers:

The Catradora ship (and just Catra in general) is a big squick for me. Please do not send me recommendations that feature Catra prominently, or feature the Catradora ship at all.

Thank you for your understanding.

[revasnaslan]

Everything But A Door

Rating/Content Warnings: Mature, Abusive Relationships, Possessive Behavior, Ableism Relationships: Hordak&Horde Prime, Entrapta/Hordak Chapter Length: 9k

Prince Hec-Tor Kur had never known the world outside of his older brother’s ship, nor had he ever been out from under the ever-watchful gaze of his Minders. He understood why, of course. His brother had always insisted that the greater universe was disorderly and chaotic, that it was far too dangerous for him to go there when he had always been of such… delicate condition.

It had made for a very lonely childhood, but for much of his life, Hec-Tor had been content enough to listen. After all, he had the sanctum that his brother so graciously gifted him, he had near limitless access to the Archives aboard the ship, and his brother almost always returned from his campaigns with a new book for Hec-Tor to read or a piece of tech for him to dissect. He had plenty of ways to occupy his time, even if he sometimes found himself staring out longingly at the stars.

And then, a seemingly vanished planet reappeared out of the blue, and his entire worldview is thrown into question.

Read on Ao3

[emperorsfoot]

Or, hear me out here, what if Hordak was never a clone to begin with and actually IS Zed. That’s why his hair isn’t white and his teeth are red. He inherited his coloring from his mother. Prime, fearing Zed would usurp him one day mind-wiped him and brain-washed him into believing he was just another clone. 

Dumb idea for She-ra on Netflix:

Somehow the name Prince Zed is going to be worked into Hordak's story.

-Horde Prime mockingly gives the name to the mind wiped Hordak, especially as a jab to the Etherians.

-Hordak doesn't get his memories back (completely or immediately) and everyone wants to distance Entrapta's boyfriend from the negative past he can't even remember.

-Hordak recovers, he and Entrapta become an official couple, they somehow (science!) have a baby boy together with pale purple hair and long pointy ears.

[forestfairyunicorn]

Ask Back for the Fan Fiction Ask game: What inspired you ro write "Survive Another Day"?

Ohhh, this is a pretty big answer ;)

I think it started when I watched season 3 of She-ra and the Princesses of Power, and after being convinced of Entrapdak, I joined my first Discord group for a fandom. And I met a lot of cool people, specifically @thewitchoftherock and @b-dazzled, who created their versions of post season 3 fanfics, on AO3. B_Dazzled's "I'll be Your Lab Partner, if you be my life partner" introduced the idea of Prime having children, including her version of Prince Zed (based off of the 80s show's version of Zed) I would say that the period between Season 3 and 4 was a boom of Entrapdak art and such, and come Oct 2019, I made a fanOC named back then as the Violent Gremlin. An offspring of Horde Prime who acts as his executioner, displaying the might of the Galactic Horde.

I can't really remember exactly when I made the desision to make a fanfic, but I kept creating different scenes with all these characters (Keen followed after the creation of Violence, and also a clone named Delta), and I get inspired by different content (specifically "Sonnie's Edge" from Netflix's Love Death + Robots, Ava's Demon (webcomic), Little Nightmares (game), Starport by George R. R. Martin (graphic novel), Wakfu (Netflix), moments from Fate Zero, RWBY, Daughter of the Lilies (webcomic), and a remix of a fanOC of The Spectacular Spider-man).

I had the idea that  these three kids found the transmission and then decided to explore for themselves (and their goal of defeating Prime) and then many, many things happened that involved more fanOCs, more fan lore, and getting inspired by different fan content and the increasing desire to make more OCs who are based off of me (such as Princess Corva of Pandemonia), a family member of Entrapta called Aunt Quib.

Then season 4 came along, and I realized that I wanted Entrapdak to happen much sooner, and then it started to get serious. I had the outline created before the season dropped, which is mostly a scenarios listing. Certain scenes I want to write, how the sequences will play out. I still have the online doc called "Misadventures of Zed, Violence, and Keen."

Highlights include:

Opening: spaceship falling into Etheria's orbit. Zed, Violence, a clone ('ghost', Horde Delta) and Keen are on it, and they land in the Crimson Waste.

According to Zed's intel (really a group chat of his friends of First Ones descendants, including Adam), the coordinates revealed an old First Ones project that Adam's family want to reverse the damages, amid political powers.

Problem: no outside connection aka Wifi's down.

There would have been an Overseer who helps the group, and also, manipulated events so that Hordak would go to Beast Island, and possibly created chaos. (this is now scrapped as it would’ve been too much like Deus ex Machina, but the possibility is there)

The group goes to the outpost, where they stand out and Violence makes quick work of destruction and establishes herself as the Strongest. They meet Huntara, who tells them of the Horde and the Rebellion. Zed is scared, but curious over Hordak.“The one that got away Father talked about.”

Zed gives Huntara a handshake, which allows him to see through Huntara’s memories of the Horde, the Crimson Waste, and of the Rebellion. Huntara sees Zed’s memories, and after the ordeal, is shaken. In a private booth, Zed talks with Huntara and learns about the Horde and the Rebellion.

Huntara pays for their meal, and after the trio left, Huntara tells the waitress her thoughts. “Those three are going to spell chaos for all of Etheria, for the good and bad.” The waitress said that Violence dumped an entire bottle of extremely spicy sauce on her meal and ate it all without trouble.

The group is torn over going to Bright Moon (Zed wants to learn more about magic *he can do healing and raw light manipulation* while Keen wants to go where the tech is for science, and “don’t you want to help our brother?! The one who saved us?!”) Before making a decision, they got what they needed from the ship. Keen switches backpacks, making last minute instructions to the ship.

Catra would've controlled the Horde, officially, and then a new ally arrived and caused havoc, trapping Catra.

Zed and Keen brought Hordak up to speed about Prime. (“Yeah, he’s a bit pissed you’re alive. He’ll be even more pissed when he finds out that you’re, yanno, a person.”)

The planet is dying, due to the Heart absorbing more and more magic, and in response, more and more shadows are taking over. The choice: Activate the Heart to get Etheria out of Despondos and in the pathway of Prime, or let the planet die a slow and painful death.

There would have been an appearance of King Randor (or a godly figure), and he would have mentioned how Hordak looked familiar: “There was a young boy, in our youth with the man you know as Horde Prime. I almost forgotten his name, but it was Hec-Tor Kur.” And this name triggered a memory overload that rendered Hordak unconscious, and then the Best Friend Squad (Adora, Glimmer, Bow, Catra; people who have interacted with Hordak and Prime) underwent a journey into his mind. Inception Style.

As you can see, a lot of things are Very Ambitious.

And I officially started writing the early chapters and various scenes of Survive Another Day, on March 19, 2020. And kinda flying by the seat of my pants, because when writing, new inspirations happen and apparently, scenarios get expanded on and chapters are becoming longer.

I made a buffer before the final season dropped, and I’m now even more determined to continue my fic, because I wanted to focus on character interactions, lore, and it’s more of a Wish Fulfillment because while the show is good in terms of emotional things, it was lackluster in disability rep and in resolutions. And Launch. May that episode rot

Fun thing: I did NOT plan to have the Horde Trio play a larger part in my fic when I was doing the outlines several months ago, but when I was writing that chapter, things happened and now I have a focus on character interactions and delving more into the Etherian history and why and how the Horde gained power. Bascially, a Wish Fulfillment of how I wanted Season 5 to really address.

I had the help of @thewitchoftherock for feedback, beta-reading, moments of character RP, and help. Sidenote, read her spacebat space soap opera called Synth. It’s so good X3.

Hope that answers your question! I gotta say, it’s wonderful to go down this memory lane, and to reconnect with a love of fan-writing, and to be a part of a creative group that encourages this!

[princehec-tor-kur]

'Destiny. Destiny is the voyage to fate. It is inevitable and inescapable. Destiny determines the role of hero and villain. Destiny is but one possibility of infinite paths. Some of these pathways led to grand adventure, true love and saviour's praise. However, when you travers and witness countless possibilities and start to see the patterns, the cycles. You realise... that some are destined for so little.'

-An extract from 'Imperfection - Philosophy of Primacy, Defection and Beauty' the legendary autobiographical tome written by Hec-Tor Kur, the Prince of Dryl three years after the end of the war.

[its-a-trapta]

Some Little Known Hordak Facts!

So, being new to the She-Ra/MOTU universes, I was reading Hordak's Wikipedia page to better understand his past versions and found out a lot of cool lore stuff I may incorporate into future prompts! I thought I'd share. :)

According to his original action figure box, his true name is Hec-Tor Kur, second born heir to the Horde Empire.

He has a brother or brother-in-law, named Horde Prime who rules the galaxy-wide Horde Empire who travels in a ship called the Velvet Glove. In an episode of She-Ra, 'The Peril of the Whispering Wood', Horde Prime's son, Prince Zed, calls Hordak ‘uncle.’ Also in this episode, in a letter, someone calls Zed ‘your nephew’ to Hordak. Though never ‘confirmed’, many versions of the show and their lore reflect this as being true. (The UK version explicitly states they are NOT related, however, Hordak looks different than in She-Ra.)

His home planet is known as Horde World. (The UK version says his homeworld is Acedemica.)

Hordak was Skeletor's mentor and saved him from acid burns, giving him his skeletal face and new name of Skeletor.

Hordak was betrayed by Skeletor and trapped on Etheria. He then worked hard and got to Eternia.

He defeated the Snake Men to rule Eternia, but was then defeated by King Greyskull and banished to the dimension of Despondos.

(King Greyskull may also be Hordak's brother?? According to a bio description??)

He's able to transform his mechanical body parts into weapons.

He may be able to astral project because he's been seen is astral form.

His She Ra and the Princesses of Power version has armor made of First One's tech and gives him super strength.

And, that's it! If anyone sees anything I got wrong or could add, please let me know!

[weaverworks]

SHE-RA: FYI

For those who don’t know of the Mattel’s Masters of the Universe Canon and the recent She-Ra and the Princesses of Power:

Lord Hordak was once known as Hec-Tor Kur, the second born Prince of the Horde Empire which is an technology advance Vamperic-like race.

Coming from vastly superior race of mixing magic and technology and known conquering other planets and Demensons, Hec-Tur actually joined a group of sorcerers and save the universe from an unnamed evil.

Yeah he was once a good guy and hero from the past thousands and thousands years ago. Before King Greyskull, He-Man and She-ra and the others.

At some point he betrayed his comrades for power—absolute power.

That is something you guys need to think about.

[h0rdak-blog]

NAME:   Hec-tor Kur commonly known as Hordak

NICKNAME(S):    none would dare give him a nickname but ig Hordak technically?

THEIR PROFESSION:   Leader of the horde; Prince

WHERE THEY CAN BE FOUND:   In their SANCTUM (lab/throne room)

FAVOURITE FOOD TYPE:   Meat

FAVOURITE ALCOHOLIC DRINK:   anything really. They don’t have a preference

FAVOURITE TRAIT(S):   Intellectually stimulating, loyalty, emotional security, someone he can be with in the moment

WHERE THEY WOULD GO ON A DATE:   Probably training, dinner, or even just walking around 

IDEAL GIFT:   Something sensible or beneficial. One that says I care about what you want but want to also give you something you NEED/is USEFUL to you.

WHEN WILL THEY DRINK ALCOHOL:   Not often, only on special occassions.

HOW MANY DATES UNTIL THEY GO TO BED:    Hordak isn’t what he was as a cadet, his heart has hardened and his mind is scarred from the constant manipulation so it WILL take some time truthfully. 

STOLEN FROM:  @hopelived !!

TAGGING: , @wasdiamond , @aurriferous , @adcrka, @blackstardiopside, @baddeleyite, @extrahoo, @partcfyouruniverse, @strykingback , & anyone else who sees this ❤❤❤

[emperorsfoot]

Question for Hordak fans: If someone were to write an AU in which Hordak actually was Horde Prime’s younger brother and not a clone -like in the original- how would you feel about the narrative calling him by his old name ‘Hec-Tor’ instead of Hordak? Would it enrich the world-building, or just be confusing?

[revasnaslan]

Hi, out of curiosity towards your fic, what compelled you to name Hordak and Prime Hec-tor (is that how you spell it?) and Anillis? Any reason why those names specifically?

hec-tor and anillis were their first names in one of the old continuities, but since i did like net-zero research outside of that, i couldn’t tell you which one. they also seem to have been implied to be brothers considering they shared the same last name (which is ‘kur’ and i also use that).

that aside, the main reason i gave prime a first name in my au is because ‘horde prime’ is actually a title in my fics. it’s the moniker given to rulers of their species, and they kept it when they rose to a seat of galactic power following the collapse of the eternian (first ones) empire. i actually took the time to name about fifteen to twenty primes who came before our prime in the line of succession, just so that i had names to drop if i ever needed it in my narration. i have them all listed out in my appendices sheet for ease of reference.

our prime is styled as Horde Prime Anillis Kur, the Fifth of His Name... in addition to a very long list of titles he’s acquired over the time of his reign. he wouldn’t be able to fit all of his titles on a business card, that’s for sure.

if hec-tor ever ascended to the throne, he’d be styled as Horde Prime Hec-Tor Kur, the First of His Name as there have been no other hec-tors who ascended to the throne. as it stands right now, his title is ‘imperial prince’.

thanks for the ask! :D

[revasnaslan]

What's your latest wip!!??

it’s a sequel to another fic of mine called where one fell, which is an au where hordak and prime are blood brothers. i started it before S5 and intend to finish out the au since i’m so attached to the idea and S5 is dead to me anyway, so why not.

the summary (which is subject to editing but i’ve had this written out since i finished the draft for chapter one all the way back in june) is as follows: 

Prince Hec-Tor Kur had never known the world outside of his brother’s ship, nor had he ever been out from under the ever-watchful gaze of his Minders. He understood why, of course. His brother had always insisted that the greater universe was disorderly and chaotic, that it was far too dangerous for him to go there when he had always been of such… delicate condition.

It had made for a very lonely childhood, but for much of his life, Hec-Tor had always been content enough to listen. After all, he had the sanctum that his brother had been gracious enough to gift him, he had near limitless access to the Archives aboard the ship, and his brother almost always returned from his campaigns with a new book for Hec-Tor to read or a piece of tech for him to dissect. He had plenty of ways to occupy his time, even if he sometimes found himself staring out longingly at the stars.

And then, a seemingly vanished planet reappeared out of the blue, and his entire worldview is thrown into question.

as of right now, the fic is about 60,000 words, and if i keep writing as i have been, i should be done with the draft in time to start posting in october :3

[revasnaslan]

WHERE ONE FELL

Content Warnings: Mature, Alternate Universe, Prime and Hordak as Blood Brothers, Abusive Relationships, Possessive Behavior Relationships: Hordak & Horde Prime

Hec-Tor’s ears gave a little twitch as he smiled nervously, tilting his head to the side. “Um… hi?”

“Is this where you’ve been all morning?” Prime questioned, frowning at his brother. “I have had the Attendants scouring the entire ship for you, little one!”

This time, Hec-Tor’s ears pinned back. “Kur—I-I mean 066-5555 and I have been here the whole morning,” he said, shaking his head. “He was just teaching me constellations, that’s all.”

“I could have taught you,” Prime retorted stiffly as he leveled an annoyed glare at 066-5555, who was no longer making eye contact. His gaze was instead trained upon his boots, his mouth set in a hard line once again.

“But you’re always busy.”

Prime’s gaze moved to his brother instead. “… what?”

Hec-Tor’s ears gave a noticeable twitch out of nervousness, avoiding Prime’s eyes. But then, he took a deep breath and steeled himself again, squaring his shoulders. “I-I said that you’re always busy,” he said, pouting irritably. There was a determined crease on his brow despite the slight shake of his voice. “I wanted to learn constellations, so I asked 066-5555 to teach me.”

066-5555 spoke up then, finally lifting his gaze to meet Prime’s. “My purpose to serve my Prince,” he said, as if reciting the words from a card that had been placed in front of him.

CHAPTER 3 || READ FROM THE BEGINNING

[emperorsfoot]

Horde Prime might be a gross creeper and you’re not supposed to like him. But at least he honestly loves his son. 

...

Hec-Tor was alone when he woke up.

The bed wasn’t even warm where Entrapta had slept. She must have fled the bridal suit the moment the sun came up.

That was fine. Hec-Tor didn’t know what he would have said to her if she was there anyway. He got up to start his own day. Hopefully one that was closer to his regular schedule then this past week had been.

Stoppering his ports with silicone plugs, he started with a dust bath. Letting the powder-fine dust cleanse him of the dried sweat and –other- bodily fluids that crusted him over. Sex could be enjoyable, but it was also a messy business. Hec-Tor rubbed down every inch of himself, giving special attention to the most affected areas. Not just his thighs and abdomen, but underarms and back. Where sweat liked to collect. When that was done, he wiped around his ports with antiseptic just to make sure they were clean and sanitary.

A dutiful servant, or maybe even a member of his own staff, must have slipped in during his bath, because when Hec-Tor stepped out of the washroom, the bed was made and his armor and a fresh gown were laid out on it. They had also left a scale and his personal data pad on the bedside table. Good ol’ Mantenna and Grizzlor, they were the best lieutenants a leader of the Horde could ask for.

Placing the scale on the floor, Hec-Tor weighed himself, and- a sigh. Yes, he was still losing weight. Another hundred and ten grams since the previous day. Not as much as he’d lost over previous days, but still a loss. Hec-Tor logged the loss in his health tracker app before getting dressed for the day.

There was a week’s worth of work waiting for him on his desk and he needed to get to it.

There was more than a week’s worth of work waiting for him.

Datacards stacked upon datacards. There were more piles than just Imperial business, personal business, and household business. The Imperial business had been split up into multiple piles, each one meticulously labeled with sticky notes in Grizzlor’s surprisingly refined hand writing. The uprising in the mines on Krytis. Famine on Antares now, on account of burning out the blight. The rebellion on Denebria. Issues that, just one short week ago, were small matters that could have been handled in a day, were ignored and allowed to grow into more serious problems for the Empire.

Hec-Tor rubbed his forehead. The day had barely even started and already he had a headache.

This was a lot to tackle in… however much time Brother was going to give him before he was sent to Etheria and Dryl to oversee his new wife’s weapon’s manufacture.

He took a breath. One thing at a time. Hec-Tor was good at his job. He’d been doing it almost all his life. For about as long as Brother had been the Prime. He would get everything sorted out and the Empire would continue to function like a well-oiled machine. Like the engine of domination it had been since the early days of the First Horde Prime.

Hec-Tor moved all non-critical datacards off to one side. The ones for his personal business ventures and household concerns were shifted to the side. Along with-

Hec-Tor paused.

There was one stack missing from his desk.

Although, ‘stack’ was inaccurate. It hadn’t been a ‘stack’ of datacards in many, many years. Lately it had just been one sad, lonely, little data file that always read the same thing. ‘No new leads.’ Even so, Hec-Tor wanted to see it anyway. But it wasn’t there today. There should have been more than one. There should have been a week’s worth of them. But there were none.

There was no update on the search for Keldor on his desk.

Hec-Tor yanked open the drawer he threw them in when he wasn’t ready to read them. Those were gone too. He pressed the intercom in his desk.

“This is Grizzlor, attendant to Imperial Prince Hec-Tor Kur of the Great and Eternal Horde Empire.” The deep and gravely voice of Gur’Rull Gu’Rrooow Arrrk, given Imperial name: Grizzlor answered. Originally from the planet Jungulia, Grizzlor looked like a rough and brutish thug who didn’t have two brain cells to rub together. But he was actually a graduate of the Horde Academy on Horde World, not just a graduate, but in the top percentile of his class. Meticulous, organized, and good at his job. Grizzlor would not have just ‘misplaced’ something as important to his Prince as the search for his missing husband.

“Where are the updates on the search for Keldor?” Hec-Tor demanded.

“Ah-uh.” Grizzlor hesitated before answering and the channel crackled. Grizzlor never hesitated. Grizzlor was competent and decisive. “The search for Prince Keldor was ended, Your Highness. As- as per order of the Emperor, all remaining datacards containing information on the search were to be delivered to processing to be wiped and repurposed.”

“What!?” Hec-Tor snarled an expletive that was most unbecoming of a Prince of the Horde Empire. How dare he! Brother had no right! “How long ago were they taken to processing?”

“I just dropped them off this morning, Your Highness. Right before heading to meet with Princess Entrapta’s Lady in Waiting in preparation for your journey to Etheria.”

“I’m here too, by the way.” Said a female voice Hec-Tor recognized as one from Entrpata’s party, but he hadn’t yet memorized the face or name that corresponded to it. “What’s a keldor?”

Hec-Tor ended the transmission.

He stormed out of his officer, and stomped down twelves floors, through countless corridors, shoving palace staff and visiting dignitaries aside, to get to data processing and card scrubbing.

Two dozen startled IT technicians looked up when he barged in. They almost never got members of the Imperial family down here. This was basically a boring basement. Was he lost?

“Where are the cards my lieutenant dropped off this morning?” He demanded.

There was a pregnant pause in which no one did or said anything. Still just a little too shocked to process. Hec-Tor grew impatient and angry and snarled a wordless snarl at the lot of them, displaying his razor sharp crimson teeth. Very few in the Empire got to see members of the Imperial family up close, still fewer got to see them angry and live to tell the tale.

One terrified tech dared to approach, holding out a half-empty tray of less than a dozen cards. It was maybe an eighth of what Hec-Tor had allowed to accumulate on the search for Keldor.

“Th-these are the only ones that haven’t been scrubbed yet, Your Highness.”

All that information, lost…

Hec-Tor suppressed another snarl. He snatched up the tray –making the tech wince as he did so- and counted the cards. Seven in total. Dates all out of order. Some from only last month, others years old, from all the way back when he first stopped reading them. Hec-Tor gathered up all the cards, turned, and left the room. He discarded the now empty tray by the door where it clattered loudly to punctuate his exit.

In the lift back up to the administrative floors of the palace, Hec-Tor seethed silently. Standing at a disciplined rest, his arms clasped behind his back, both hands wrapped around the datacards.

He had half a mind to track down Brother, wherever he was in the palace, and give him a piece of his mind. How dare he! If he wanted to have Keldor declared legally dead, that was his prerogative as Emperor. If he wanted to marry Hec-Tor off to some foreign arms manufacture, whatever, the Empire needed weapons. If he wanted to take Keldor’s wedding ring- Hec-Tor felt the pressure of tears building and he hoped he didn’t start crying before he got back to his office –if he wanted to take the ring, Hec-Tor would adjust. He had a different wedding ring now, and besides, it wasn’t like he didn’t have anything left of his husband. He still had Imp. But where did Prime get off calling off the search for Keldor! Taking away the last scrap of hope Hec-Tor had that his husband might be found.

By the time the lift opened up on Hec-Tor’s floor, he still hadn’t decided if he wanted to confront Brother or not. But he didn’t get the chance to decide. He was distracted by something else.

Imp and Zed came running up to him.

Actually, Imp was flying. Zed was hobbling quickly, the breathing tank of his respirator clanking loudly against his armor.

Imp screeched at him loudly, making his displeasure known. Though, what he was displeased about was unknown.

Zed grabbed Imp’s hand the moment the other boy was no longer moving. His breath wheezed out when he spoke, but his voice was firm, almost commanding. Like the young Horde Prime-to-be that he was. “You cannot take Imp when you leave. I will not allow it.”

Still flapping next to him, Imp squawked an agreement. He tried to Sign a more detailed explanation to his father. That they had always been together. That Zed needed him and he could not leave. That if the adults tried to separate them, they would fight back. They were sons of the Kur Dynasty same as their fathers. They would be respected.

But it was difficult Signing with only one hand and only half Imp’s message got across.

Hec-Tor glared at the boys.

At any other time, he would have been proud of them for asserting themselves. For digging their heels in and refusing to back down. For demanding to be taken just as seriously as any other Princes of the Horde Empire.

But they cought him at a bad time.

Hec-Tor was already in a foul mood and was not in the right state of mind to entertain children’s tantrums, or explain how the world worked.

“Enough!” He snarled at the boys, voice louder than he needed to be. Behind his back, his hands tightened around the few datacards on the search for Keldor. “Horde Prime has dictated that I must go to Etheria, so to Etheria I will go, and my son shall remain with me.”

Imp was all he had left of Keldor.

“I will fight you, Uncle!” Zed was probably the least threatening creature in the universe.

“You will return to your keepers and continue with whatever items your father placed on your agenda for today.” Hec-Tor informed him. “Imp, you will report to Mantenna to help you prepare for our immenant departure.”

Both boys hissed. Zed’s sound morphing into a snarl half-way. Mouth open, teeth showing. He let go of Imp’s hand and assumed a fighting stance. It was off balance. The placement of his feet clumsy. Zed was not a great warrior. Zed was also a five-year-old child with severe physical limitations that would prevent him from ever becoming a great warrior. The idea that Zed seriously wanted to fight him was laughable.

Hec-Tor actually laughed at him.

Zed pounced on him. Trying to jump to compensate for the height difference. Failing to get more than a couple centimeters off the ground and still stumbled on his landing. Zed tried to kick Hec-Tor in the shins instead.

Imp squawked.

The metal plating of Hec-Tor’s boots absorbed Zed’s blow and the child ended up doing more damage to himself than to his uncle. His toe and whole foot erupting with pain. The boy hollered.

Then paused.

“Is your infantile tantrum over?” Hec-Tor glared down at the boys.

Zed did not respond, his expression oddly blank. Hec-Tor also froze, recognizing the warning sign. Zed went still as a board, his muscles rigid. Then collapsed.

Hec-Tor went down next to him. Dropping his handful of datacards as he tried to catch the boy. Or at the very least cushion his fall.

Zed’s body began twitching and jerking. His muscles seizing.

Imp shrieked in distress.

“Stay back.” Hec-Tor growled at his son. When a person was having a seizure, you wanted to keep the area clear. Give them room. Hec-Tor also swept the fallen datacards aside, out of the way. Removing anything from the immediate space that Zed mind injure himself on during his uncontrollable convulsions.

Imp fluttered into the air, keeping his space from his cousin. Squawking with concern. This was not the first seizure he’d witnessed. But each time was still concerning for the still very young child.

Hec-Tor looked around, checking the chronometer on the wall to time the seizure. It wasn’t even a full minute yet. That wasn’t that bad.

A passing secretary paused, staring at the scene. Unsure and slightly scared. That was the Heir Apparent on the floor twitching.

“Go get Horde Prime!” Hec-Tor snarled at him.

They ran away immediately. Presumably to go get the boy’s father. Or someone with enough clearance to get the boy’s father.

Hec-Tor glanced at the chronometer on the wall again. Now it had been a full minute since the seizure started. Hec-Tor rolled Zed onto his side, to help keep the boy’s airway clear. Zed had enough breathing problems as if was without a seizure constricting his pipes.

The seizure was entering its second minute when Horde Prime arrived. Immediately going to his knees next to Hec-Tor.

“How long?” He demanded, all pretense of a calm and commanding Emperor gone. Voice tight. Expression concerned. The image of a fearful parent watching their child suffer and knowing there was nothing they could do. All one could do for a seizure was wait it out.

“It has not yet been two minutes.” Hec-Tor informed him. This was not the first seizure of Zed’s he had attended.

Prime nodded. Two minutes was about average for one of Zed’s seizures. Less than two minutes was great! More than two minutes was concerning. Five minutes or more and you had to pick him up off the floor and rush him to the palace infirmary because that was a medical emergency.

Finally, the convulsing subsided. Zed stopped twitching. He lay on his side, still and unconscious. The only sound in the corridor, the respirator strapped to his armor breathing for him.

Hec-Tor looked back up at the chronometer on the wall. “One minute, fifty-six seconds.”

Just under two minutes. The better side of average for one of Zed’s seizures. It wasn’t that bad.

Horde Prime gathered the unconscious boy up into his arms. “I shall see to my son.”

“Of course.” Hec-Tor backed up to give his Brother some space.

Prime paused, looking at Hec-Tor. Holding Zed in his arms, he paused. “You…” It seemed almost as if he did not know what to say. “I have always appreciated how you treat Zed as if he were your own.”

“He is my nephew.” Hec-Tor stated, as if confused. Why wouldn’t he care about Zed and treat him as family? They were family.

Still holding the unconscious boy in his harms, Prime took a step closer to Hec-Tor. Leaning in. So that their faces were unnecessarily close together. “Brother…”

Then Zed groaned in his sleep.

Prime turned his attention back to his one and only living child. “I will be indisposed for the rest of the day. Any matters that require the Emperor’s attention will be forwarded to you.”

Prime carried Zed away.

Hec-Tor stood there, watching his Brother’s retreating back.

Imp gathered up the discarded datacards, crawling around on the floor to make sure he got all of them. Then tugged on the hem of his father’s gown. He offered up the handful of datacards when his father looked down.

Bending down, Hec-Tor picked the boy up, hugging him to his own chest. He was never more thankful for the magic that made Imp than right after one of Zed’s episodes. Magic that allowed for Keldor to combine their genes safely to creature a –comparatively- healthy being. Imp might have his own physical deformities and be functionally mute, but he would never have to suffer the same afflictions and impairments as his cousin.

“I want this to be the end of any tantrums about leaving.” He told the boy. “Zed must stay with Anillis and you will come with me, and you will not get Zed worked up over this again.”

Imp gave a forlorn little chirp and nodded against his father’s armor.

Hec-Tor carried him back to his office with him.

He set the boy down in his own chair and paced the room, feeling anxious and worked up. Nothing wracked the nerves harder than watching a child you helped raise convulse on the ground uncontrollably. Even if said convulsions were a semi-normal thing. Add that to the already stressful week he had and Hec-Tor was having a somewhat difficult time calming down.

Unfurling his wings, Imp flapped out of the chair and fluttered over to his father, trying to give him the datacards again. Maybe Dad would feel better if he had this work that he was carrying around before Zed had his episode.

This time, Hec-Tor did take the stack of cards from the boy.

Then he sighed. “Sometimes I wish you did remember Keldor.”

Imp tilted his head, not understanding.

“Etheria, the planet we will be going to, is located in the same system as his home planet. Eternia.” Hec-Tor informed him son. “You are half-Eternian.”

Or would Imp be considered half-Gar? Since that was Keldor’s race, Eternian was just his nationality. Nationality was a circumstance of birth, not a characteristic of one’s genetics.

Imp only gave a half-hearted little trill. He didn’t really care. Horde World and the Imperial palace was all he’d ever know.

Finally, Hec-Tor calmed down enough to sit at his desk, Imp perching on the back on his chair. He tapped Keldor’s datacards on the desk. Going all the way down to processing to collect them when all they would probably say was that there were no new leads and Keldor remained lost seemed so absurd now.

And he lost an entire morning of work too.

Any moment now his staff would be bringing lunch and medication to him here in this office. The day was half gone and he had nothing to show for it. He opened a drawer in his desk, the same drawer he’d been throwing them in for years. The same drawer they were taken out of to be sent to processing. Hec-Tor losed the drawer without stowing the cards in it.

Instead, he passed the stack back to Imp. “Pack these for me.” He commanded. “I will read them after we have left Horde World.”

Not understanding, but still feeling the obedience of guilt over Zed’s seizure, Imp took the cards. He nodded to his father then fluttered out of the room.

Hec-Tor massaged his forehead. He had the absolute worst headache.

[princehec-tor-kur]

So I was clearing out and cleaning up some stuff in my desk and found this old Hordak fic from before season 3 and man is it different. So... enjoy?

Universal Chromotography

By Prince Hec-Tor Kur of House Prime

A great civilization is not conquered from without until it has destroyed itself from within.

-Ariel Durant

As I write this text, I have explored countless worlds. I have sailed through an ocean of stars and fields of solar systems. You'd think that over time it would all meld into one, unable to separate one memory from another. Not so. Perhaps this is a problem for other immortal beings, but the implants in my brain keep fact and memory in clean condition. I remember every planet, every species, every monarchy and every enemy. And over time I have seen a pattern...

I call it Universal Chromotography. The eternal failure of society. Do not be mistaken, this is not a theory. But rather an observation. A cold, calculated, not so distant fact. Often rejected, because of it's cruel and, some might even dub 'evil', nature. I have seen this act take place on very planet, in every galaxy. Over the course of thousands or hundreds or hundreds of thousands of Horde years to a measly 24 human hours. I does not matter how long it takes. It always happens. (Pardon my fellow Horde readers for using human terms and time units, but like ink I wish for this to permiate throughout the known universe. Human terminology is most known, commom and spoken. This message is to all, allie and foe alike.) The collapse of society, through people.

'Universal' meaning to all, for all, in all. This applies to every living sentient being in existence. No exceptions. This pattern is seen over the span of every carbon and non-carbon life form with the priviledge of free will. It is not genetic, not magic. You can't cut it out, can't seal it away with a charm. It's nature. Inevitable.

'Chromotography' the process of separating soluble substances in a mixture on chromotographic paper. Often using dye. To get nice colours. In this instince, meaning to separate society into different colours that comprise society using a powerful, unstoppable force. The force being usually emotion or propaganda. A disection of reality we function in and see how far a surtain colour - a surtain people - goes. How bright will they shine? A beautiful autopsy of a cosmic sized corpse. Seeing how everything went wrong. I always considered surgery to be a marvelous form of art. Not many agree with me.

Of course my findings had to be begin somewhere, that somewhere being my home planet and my birth place of, HordeWorld. Universal Chromotography began as a theory as all claims do. I can't help, but think back to my younger days, I used to be so naive. "Violence solves nothing." "Violence is never the answer." Can you fathom that? I used to write that. Actual quotations from my old papers. Still keep some of them, good food for the fireplace when the void of space gets chilly. Such nonsense. I do still retain my old love for poetry, I find it another facinating form of art, one which requires less handling of blood. So depends on your tastes, really.

However, my old views I do not retain. Violence and effects it spawns is a constant and shall remain one until heat death. It's our nature. Nature of all things. Not DNA. Not magic. Nature.

It is a tradition for every Hordak, from first to last, that each 'Supreme General' of the Horde produces a piece of rememberence of their age. Hel-liox the XIV displaced The Anti-Sun's broken armory in The Velvet Hall. Tern-Mohrnis the III framed the burned prophecies of Despitalus. Those are the most interesting ones. But the most common trophy of each general is ashes of that generation's He-Ro. All spoils of war. I decided that if I were to construct something to remember my reign by, it should be the assimilation of all my thoughts about all that is and will be.

This shall be the centre piece of all that is: 'Hordak'.

Hordak. That is as good of a place to start as any. Hordak is, was, and shall be. It is a title even to every Supreme General in the army, a rank, it can be held by many at the same time. I oversee all others, across the ages. The name I hold was once not my name, it wasn't a name at all. But rather a slur, a curse and an insult. It is derived from ancient Hordeian, long before it was an honor and legend. 'Horotic' meaning unworthy or unchosen. It was used to insult many groups on my world, preferably for the physically weak or non-believers. As they were seen as incapable and inferior to the rest of the race. The Horde - the species not the miliataty organisation - saw themselves as the master race.

Horde saw themselves as above other species we shared our world with, such as humans and the spirits. And take a look at them now. Horde near extinction, while humanity thrives in dominance across the stars and the spirits are praised as gods. So much for the perfect race. Idiots.

Ironic. Poetic. How my race ended up. But now I hold their name, a name repurposed for something greater. A grander cause. One species no more, but many, a call, a concordat. Hundreds of thousands of races fighting as one. Under one banner. One purpose. One mission. One master race.

We Are Not One.

We Are Horde.

I was born weak. Little to no muscle mass, brittle bones, and a hole in my heart. Long gone, my heart that is. Lost it half a million years ago. There now sits an empty void where the organ of compassion once pumped. Now my blood is cold. Replaced with an Elemental Converter. The generator machine links to every system in my body through a network of 'leeches'. Mechanisms that steal and absorb elemental factors in the enviorment and atmosphere through touch. I even named one of my commanders after them.

So clearly I was not the ideal of health, I was looked down on because of my disadvantages. The Council of Sorcery stated I was a lost cause, any child like me was and I quote "Abandoned by the holy Darkness destined to suffer!" Such was the will of the Darkness, the magical force my people worshipped - nonsense. The very philosophy of the Darkness was intriguing as it was comparable to the concept of 'evil' I've heard across the universe, but moronic in the end. HordeWorld was ruled by three governing bodies.

The Council of Sorcery, the religious morons. The Ethics Council, the spinless cowards allergic to progress. And The House of Prime, power hungry corrupt frauds run by my familly.

I was lucky to be born into a rich family, which controlled a third of HordeWorld and it's colonies. Lucky for me, not for my parents. My poor parents, an alcoholic mother and an abusive father. A happy little plutonic family. My poor parents, people always told them that their luck ran out. I never understood that concept, luck. Such a vague and strange term. And I don't use the term strange often. Luck is an undefined factor, unworthy to be called a variable. No evidence of it's existence have been presented. Magic must be mastered, so luck can't be a product of such regularity and commonness. It's such an illogical idea, based souly on, hope. The very mention of the word makes me ill. No luck wasn't it. Probability more likely.

I was not cast out to the poor slums, I retained my position of power as the child of two of the most influencial people on HordeWorld. I grew up in luxury with gifts that would have drove the poor to stone each other to death. I suppose in their eyes I was lucky, I am a prince after all. But no amount of pillows could've covered up the piercing feeling of a pea. The teasing. Name calling. Pushing. Punching. Shoving. Taunting. Mocking. Laughing. It hurt.

I was protected by my name. I ran that name into the ground. Poor mother. Poor father. The embarassement must've been unbearable for them. The most powerful family in Horde space, raising three children all wrong in their own unique special ways.

I suffered, because of my physical disadvantage. The Horde were known for their thick skin, large muscle mass and great height. I had none. Thin, short, a walking skeleton. It was ironic, my birth name was Hec-Tor Kur, named after my father's dog. A dog. That's what I was to them.

The paper is set. Cold world with little compassion, little to no hope, three ruling elites and a broken boy, crying his for his old brother to save him.

Now comes the spot of ink. It is plotted at the beginning of civilization. All people and their levels of potentials, call mixed together in the substence - society. The religious zealots, the ethical cowards and the corrupt politics. All throughout the ink, all one, sharing a single home, a single colour. The poor, the rich, the boy inbetween are all apart of the same ink spot. We were all in the smelting pot. And so the solvent front comes, the unstoppable force, usually in the form of propaganda or emotion. And society splits apart.

A force of change. A rebellion. Uprising. An alliance, which wishs to do good, that believe they are good, the pure definition of good. Everyone believes they are the hero of their own story. I assure you that if good existed, and it doesn't, it would be far beyond their conprehension.

For my homeworld it was my brothers. Two of the greatest men I ever knew, only reasons I continue my crusade. In their name, through in different ways, I dedicated all my achievements and all that I am. I may not show it, but I love them with whatever piece of my soul reamains and I don't have the strength of character to tell them in person.

It is funny that though HordeWorld could defend themselves against any and all threats from across the cosmos. That when the universe was playing with matches for the first time, the Horde were firing off rifles. It's funny that their doom came from within, born in the underfunded husk of St Adora's Hospital, in the slums of the Tri-City-State of Catrax. In the form of my older brother.

If there was anyone of the face of the planet that was taunted, insulted and abused more than myself, it was my older half-brother. He was born nameless, but in time of his uprising he took apon himself the designation of Horde Prime. Named after the house that spawned us. The reason for my brother's torement, other than standing up for me in our younger years, was because he was a mutant. My brother fell victim to probability. A heraditary condition plagued his image. My half-brother was born with two heads. One with a face resembling that of a Horde and the other an insectoide species in far edges of our collonies space. My mother almost killed them at their birth, her hand steadied by the doctor's hand, he was the first to be born into a cruel reality.

He was the strongest of us, carved out a path for me and our younger brother. Isolated from the feeling of love and acceptance, raised by two parents ashamed of him, who hated him. The only reason he survived was because of the intervinenence of The Ethics Council, so I thank them for their vigillance, but they became more of an inconviniance as they went on.

Next was me, but after me was our last brother, Zodac. He too was nameless, so me and my half-brother took it upon ourselves to name him and raise him right. Since our parents seemed to have complete given up on parenthood and its duties. 'Zoerotic' meaning the chosen or worth something. A total mirror opposite of what we were. All to make him feel safe, to make him feel like there was still light in the world, which there wasn't.

It's poetically comedic how abuse and neglect affects a young mind, because it's amusing that all three of us proceeded into the field of politics, but once again in different ways. On diverging paths. The solvent front is in motion, the force is incoming. A society shattering power began its process on our spot of ink, the act had been set in motion from birth.

So we continued on our path, pain fueling our emotion and emotion fueling our propaganda.

Zodac too was born with a rather unusual heraditory condition. My little brother was born with the appearence of a human. No grooves ran through his face. His ears weren't pointed or elongated. No fangs. No blue or pale white skin. But rather a dark brown. His teeth and eyes did not share a singular colour either. His teeth far more blunt and whit, with a short tongue. He was a curious sight to behold. Although the family ginger hair remained, all three of us held that in common. Both Prime and Zodac shaved of course in their older years, I preferred, and still do to dye my hair. A pleasing sapphire blue.

Humans were regarded by many as Horde's natural enemy, like we were still savages in caves or animals. Humans were seen by the Council of Sorcery as the decendents of the ancient enemies of the Darkness. Slaves of the Light. They said the same about the spirits, I suppose they weren't creative to make something new up. Which was strange as pulling lies and false prophets out of their asses was the thing they were the best at.

The Council of Sorcery constantly sent its thugs and low lifes to stalk our house. The Weavers used to come to the playground with played in, just watched, in silence. No one said anything, because they were affraid of being charged with 'abstructing religious freedoms' and taken away to the pites by Wraiths. I remember me and Prime used to hide Zodac under the floor boards at home and stare the Weavers down through the blinds. I sometimes even won. We never separated, we stayed together, stayed strong. Alone we were easy targets to pick off. The chain is as strong as its weakest link, well we had no weak link.

Together we were able to take anyone on, no bully stood a chance. I was the more fraile of the three, but I had a quick mind... and sharp nails. Zodac though human in appearence, he didn't inherit their flaws, he was the healthiest of us all. He had no problem taking the front of the fight. Prime was a proper Horde, he was massive, torso twice the size of mine and puffed out proudly, supporting two heads. He was the one who usually jumped in first, heads first, got behind the bullies. If anyone got through them I always had Imp - a small rock I sharpened - found it near the sandbox. It was my sword. The weapon of a knight in shinning armour. How foolish I was. None the less, it coused some bleeding foreheads.

I remember my, our, drunken mother told us stories of miscivious imps watched naughty children and brought misfortune apon them. The imps would settle near a sleeping child's ear and screach so loud it made their ears bleed. Our mother told us many drunken bedtime stories, she was the more entertaining one of our parents. Her ramblings - nonsensical as they were - were the interesting part of living in that damn mansion. Though absent and delusional, she was Prime's and Zodac's favourite parent. Not that there was much contest, the bar wasn't set high. Not mine however. My favourite parent was our father, who beat us til we stopped crying. He couldn't pick on my brothers, both out grew him in size and smarts.

That's was why in the rare instinces where not by my side, he loved to get his day's frustrations on me. Why my favourite? Well it was the day my brothers and me moved out of the house. Prime and Zoe were both out already, I was the last to pack up and get out. I didn't have much, some self-made dolls from cloths and rags, and of course, Imp. Hidden under my pillow. My father saw this as his last oppertunity to feel superior over a child, so he dedcided to give it his all. His hand swung from left to right, right to left. My lips were swollen, my gums bleeding, eyes black and struggling to stay open. He kept yelling about me being a failure and what not. I've heard it all before, a thousand times. And I suppose some of it sunk in. I fell to my knees, to my father's pleasure, but I swiftly reached under my pillow. And with a single swing to the eyes, he was down. In pain on the ground. Screaming. Screaching. At that moment I understood, the animalistic nature of... people. The screams were so satisfing to hear.

And so as he lay there on the floor, I stood over him and began to repeatitively beat him with the rock. Soon, I believe it even flew out of my hand and I just teared through him with my bare nails. As he bled out his eyes. I lowered myself down to him and whispered, "Thank you".

He was my favourite parent, because he tought me to hate and tought me hate could be rewarding and satisfing. Thank you, father.

So the three of us set out into the terrible world that awaited. We set out knowing what the universe had in store for us. Four heads, three brothers, two and half hearts. One a mutant. One a muse. On a monster. One would fly. One would fail. One would fall. Which is which is debatable and to a surtain extent interchangable. The force is in motion, the ink ready to be split apart, with no way to return back to it's original state. Nothing would ever be the same. We all changed our colours then, me, I turned to a everlasting blood red.

And that's all she wrote folks. Course I never finished it because I have the attention span of a gold fish. I luv high concept character studies. And Hordak, I luv Hordak.

[princehec-tor-kur]

'Mirrors. Mirrors can be scary. That's why they put them in Carnival FunHouses and mazes. You can get lost in it. Your reflection. Yourself. We see that same face everyday. In a short glimpse, we recognise it. We know ourselves. But if you stare at that face for too long... it becomes alien.'

-An extract from 'Imperfection - Philosophy of Primacy, Defection and Beauty' the legendary autobiographical tome written by Hec-Tor Kur, the Prince of Dryl three years after the end of the war.

[princehec-tor-kur]

A Perfect World - SPOP - AU

They were taking it down. He couldn't believe it, he should have. It was a miracle that the wall mural stayed up for so long. In this new world, the past doesn't last long. The painting on the side of the old, worn building was of his father. Lord Hordak. And later in life, Prince Hec-Tor Vesselak Kur of Dryl.

The mural itself was already long worn, paint chipping off, the paints fading and the colours dulling. But now it was being washed off. Like a stain. Like he was nothing. The mural of his face and shoulders, in black and purple, with the Dryl gear insignia around him like a halo. Underneath him was his catchphrase, his slogan, the ideal of unideal. 'IMPERFECT' bold in white with the 'perfect' being crossed out.

The last reminant of his father gone, nothing else of him remained on Etheria. The message is now gone and one is willing to continue teaching it. Imp watched as the 'im' turned to slug and ran down the wall into the drains. He looked at his father's face for the last time and said his goodbyes.

He couldn't stay, he had to move. It's dangerous praising the past in the open. Currently between two apartement complexes, he loosens his foot and tail on either side and slides down walls.

Down on ground level awaits for him an open grate. He climbs in. It was easier for him to travers freely out of the world's sight. Away from the watchful eyes of the Princess Alliance. They saw everything. He remembered the Alliance. The second Alliance, from back when he was just a little boy. He remembered hating them. He rememebered Catra lying, taking mummy away. He remembered Adora killing daddy. He remembered the Queen destroying home.

And now. They're heroes.

He reached the underground travel station, crowded and busy with creatures of every species. A nexus of transportation around The Bright Zone. He kicked down the grate, rememebered having races in the vents with mommy.

He jumped down. He doned a trenchcoat, it helped with the homeless ex-Horde soldier look. Which ironically was a common sight in the self-proclaimed 'perfect world'. The lower levels of the Bright Zone were filled with slums on top of slums over flooded by ex-Hordesmen. There is no place for the 'Fright Ones' in the upper levels. That's were the Princesses rule supreme.

A positive for Imp was that the mighty protectors of Etheria didn't bother dealing with the mess downstairs. As long as the 'FOs' didn't bother them upstairs, all was fine. Although, it wasn't fine. The years of extreme training and conditioning of the Fright Zone didn't prepare the soldiers for starvation and lack of medicine.

But that's the Alliance's plan. Keep the flame in the jar until it burns itself out.

Imp got on the train, on the back cart. The train shot off like a bullet. The young clone watched the public rail tracks map light up as they passed different stations. The train dipped and it didn't take long for the doors open back up.

He was at his destination. The Weaving Cauldren. A safe haven for 'FOs'. Carved into the cliff side, looking as stable as a mountain of garbage, which was esentially what it was. The pit stop was run by Old Lady Beatrix. A scared and devious old creepy woman. Her hobbies consisted of spreading fause rumors to people at the bar and also knitting.

The moment Imp opened the rusted, rackety doors to the dwelling of rechid scum and villainy, a disguisting odur assulted his nose. Beatrix noticed him immediately and waved drunkingly to attract his attention. He ignored the old crown and continued to push through the crowds of dancing masses.

Finally he reached the back stairs, which led to the rondevu location. A smoking room to which only Imp had a key. Well, him and his sister, Emily. Whom was already inside. Standing over a ceared body of a rat she just shot, her left leg still acting up, still calibrating to her huminoid body. So familiar to mommy's.

"Emily."

"Imperium."

She places a briefcase on a small wooden table. She mentally decodes it, the case opens and the insides extend and unfold revealing it's contence.

Father's old suit. The one mother made for him. With four crystal tech circuits, each with the same description. "Loved." Imp was finally big enough to dawn the suit. The two siblings stare at each other in silence and with a nod from Emily, Imp lifts the suit up. It is time.

And underneath is stick note. From mother. 'I packed snacks. ♡'