Wrapped in the oppressive darkness of the moonless night, WilyKat lies fitfully upon a makeshift bed of spruce boughs. The thick needles prick at his skin as he thrashes about, his heart racing. Each twist and turn is a futile attempt to resist the nightmare that has plagued him since receiving the vision from the Sword of Omens.
Each night, the vision comes for him.
The vision was forever burned into WilyKat's memory. It was as if he were watching from behind, a mere spectator. The Thundercat was on its knees, its head hanging forward, its spotted black fur matted with blood. Mumm-Ra stepped forward, towering over the defenseless Thundercat. Suddenly, Mumm-Ra looked up as if sensing WilyKat watching. Mumm-Ra used his magic to suck the life force from the Thundercat at his feet. The once muscular frame withered into a skeletal husk.
That's where it begins.
Then it changes.
Shadowy, blackened hands of ghouls reached out from the stygian abyss, their bony fingers grasping desperately for the shriveled Thundercat carcass, their nails digging into the brittle skin, tearing it to pieces.
Then, the location changes from some other planet to Earth. A small outpost community is under siege by a growing number of growling, hungry, decaying zombies.
Two brave souls face off against a relentless horde, fear and determination in their eyes as they fight against impending collapse. They battle not for themselves but to shield the ones they love from the gaping maws of the undead.
Arterial spray fills the dark air like sinister, warm rain. The squelch of innards falling on the ground, combined with the howls and groans of the undead as they feast on the fallen, attracts more ghouls.
Screams of pain echo out into the cold ether.
Suddenly, WilyKat jolts awake, the cool earth pressing against his palms as his claws sink deep into the soil beneath him. A pulsating red glow fills the small clearing in which WilyKat hides. Eerie shadows dance in the otherworldly light. Heart pounding, he reaches for the Sword of Omens, the Eye of Thundera calling to him. Steadying himself, he raises it before his bloodshot eyes, "Sword of Omens, give me sight, BEYOND sight." At that moment, he feels the ancient magic of the Sword surrounding him.
As the guard curls upwards, the Sword unfurls its spell, opening portals that reveal glimpses of what is and what could be.
Through them, he watches helplessly as a horde surrounds a settlement. The walls begin to tremble under the sheer weight of the relentless zombies. With a chilling groan, the undead masses surge forward, their decayed arms stretching and clawing at the air as they try to reach the defenders atop the wall.
The vision changes.
The screams of survivors are silenced. He watches feet dragging through dark puddles of sticky liquid. He sees bloodthirsty ghouls hunched over the crumpled forms of the brave defenders, their lifeless eyes staring at him.
Then, it all ends as fast as it began.
The Sword of Omens returns to its slumber.
WilyKat knows what he must do.
Before it registers, he finds himself racing through the dense brush of the woods, a subconscious pull guiding his every move. The cool evening air brushes through his fur.
He is keenly aware of the sounds surrounding him: the rhythmic chirping of nocturnal insects and the rustle of small animals. As he dashes onward, startled birds burst from their night perches, angrily squawking as they retreat to the darkened sky.
Then, it all goes deathly still.
An ominous quiet ignites something instinctual within him, sending the hair of his body to stand on end. Yet, he is undeterred and continues racing on.
As he navigates through the shadows, he hears the unsettling moans of the undead as they begin filtering through the trees. His nostrils shirk as the smell hits him, the fetid aroma of death and decay.
WilyKat breaks through the forest, emerging in a field of knee-length grass. Large swathes of vegetation are trampled into the earth, the result of the undead.
Realizing he had approached from the back of the settlement, he quickly advances toward the front, using the shadows of the encroaching forest to obscure his movements.
A makeshift wall encircled the community, constructed from an eclectic blend of materials: recycled fencing, wooden beams of varying size, large panels of plywood, several rusted shipping containers marked the sides of the main entrance, even old box trucks their tires flattened long ago made up the bulk of the wall. The rest comprised hundreds of car tires stacked tightly and filled with dirt, rocks, and debris, and raised hunting blinds stood as guard towers at the corners.
The community is little more than a collection of a dozen quaint Cape-style homes on a small culdesac. Outside the wall, the homes that once lined the streets are now little more than foundations. Someone had taken the time to ensure the remains of the neighborhood were gathered into piles of neatly sorted and stacked building materials.
The street leading into the settlement looked surprisingly well-maintained, showing visible signs of repair and upkeep.
Now, a growing group of zombies was pressing against the gate. WilyKat could see survivors—men and women—mounting a defense. The thrum of bow strings repeatedly sounded as the survivors shot arrows at the heads of the zombies, and others thrust long spiked poles into the skulls of the nearest ghouls.
Barely discernible over the groaning of the undead, WilKat could hear the cries of children inside the small settlement.
He watches as the volley of arrows decreases until he hears the last arrow released on its deadly flight into the gathered horde.
The massive gate shudders as the undead slam their bony hands against it.
One by one, the defenders disappear from the top of the wall.
The gate trembles.
He watches as two men stay atop, continuing to strike at the undead with the long pike poles, thrusting them down into the heads of the nightmarish creatures.
The gate bows, creaking ominously as the onslaught continues.
The echoes of the frenzied shouts from behind the wall rose.
The gate quivers.
WilyKat knows what comes next should the gate fail.
A cacophony of sounds assaults WilyKat's ears: the groaning of the undead, the creaking of the wooden gate, and the yelling of the survivors.
WilyKat steps out of the woods, unsure of his next move but knowing he must do something.
The Sword of Omens called to him. It guided his hand to the hilt. The cold metal felt alive as it pressed into his palm, and he wrapped his fingers around it. He carefully draws the Sword from its sheath, the Sword directing his movements.
He swiped the Sword through the air, invoking its power. "Thunder!" he commanded, and the blade ignited with a radiant glow, lengthening as its magic grew.
WilyKat slashed again. "Thunder!" Waves of energy pulsed outward, the atmosphere crackling around him, and the Sword blade grew.
Once more, "Thunder!" he boomed, the Sword extending.
He raised the Sword high above his head. "THUNDERCATS! HOOOO!" The words roared, a rallying cry that reverberated through the air. Flocks of birds fled their night perches and ascended into the darkened sky as his voice echoed across the landscape.
The atmosphere crackled with energy as a massive, shimmering red ethereal projection of a roaring Thundercat burst from the Eye of Thundera, a summons to any that could hear its call.
The undead turned as one and advanced on WilyKat as he stepped onto the road.
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