Elsewhere, not far from WilyKat, in a secluded part of the forest, a mysterious figure lay swathed in shadows, his body clad in black as if sculpted from the darkness. The mask concealing his face bore a striking resemblance to that of a cat, with sharp features hinting at a life filled with hard times. His hands and wrists were wrapped tightly with tattered strips of fabric, their dirt-stained appearance evidence of previous combat.
In the stillness of the forest, he lay asleep, oblivious to the world around him.
Suddenly, a jolt of energy surged through him, pulling him instantly from the depths of sleep.
His eyes snapped open, ablaze with a fierce yellow light that pierced the darkness.
A wave of confusion washed over his features, etching deep furrows across his brow as he grappled with an instinctual pull that seemed to call out to him, a deep, resonating, primordial pull that gripped his soul, a call he knew he must answer.
Springing to his feet, he ran into the woods, abandoning his meager belongings. The dense wilderness seemed to respond to the urgency of some unknown force, with branches seemingly parting and foliage swaying aside as Mother Nature recognized an ancient call. He sprinted through the wood, heart pounding, guided by a power older than the magic that had ensnared him in its curse.
He bursts through the darkened forest to see the undead attacking a small village. He stands to one side of a well-maintained road, the town lying at the dead end of a culdesac. The rest of the planned community had been torn to the ground, little more than foundation slabs and stacks of bricks marking where the homes once lined the street.
In the middle of the road, a man faced off against the hungry horde. Their face was hidden behind a mask, bearing a red sigil on its forehead. It was a symbol he had seen in his dreams, a roaring cat. The fighter's eyes glowed a pale yellow as if lit by some internal light source. They wore a uniform of olive green and midnight black, yet there were hints of something metallic. The warrior swings a gleaming sword; even from the distance between them, he can see the curling guard wrapping protectively around a gleaming red stone. No, not a stone, an eye. The other hand was a massive clawed paw, the color of a tawny lion.
Something instinctual told him that it was this person that called to him.
As WilyKat fights the attacking ghouls, something in his peripherality catches his attention; a black cat looks back at him from the tree line. The cat looks 6'5" and has at least 250 pounds of massive muscle. It carries no weapons, and its eyes lack the shine of the big cats.
The Sword tells WilyKit they will be the first of the new Thundercats, then urges him to focus on the battle.
The newcomer rushes into the fray.
The primal growls of WilyKat mix with the hungry groans of the undead, sending waves of terror crashing over the survivors who can hear them behind the town's walls. With each slash of the Sword of Omens, WilyKat dispatches a ghoul to the ground.
At his back, he hears the grunts of struggle from the black cat as it uses not its claws but its fists to strike the undead. He catches glimpses of the anonymous fighter as they battle the ghouls. Any creatures that get close enough to try to lock their jaws on the attacker find themselves struck down in a fury of ferocious blows, their teeth never getting close enough to sink in.
Desiccated hands stretch outward, and blackened nails, like beastly talons, strain to latch onto WilyKat. Broken, jagged teeth snap at the empty air, desperate for a taste of fresh flesh. Undeterred, he continues to dispatch ghouls, one after another.
WilyKat dares to look at the stranger fighting alongside him. He watches as the fighter unleashes an uppercut on a zombie that snaps its head back with such ferocity it is nearly torn from its shoulders.
The thunk of an arrow sinking in the decayed forehead of a shambling gray corpse brings his attention back to the fray. Cracked teeth had nearly sunk into his shoulder, and now the body lay crumpled on the hard earth, the shaft of the arrow swaying like grass in the wind.
The sounds of combat attract more ravenous undead from the surrounding wood. The gates no longer bow against the weight of the mass of decaying flesh, leading the terrified occupants of the small town to begin retaking their positions on top of the walls. The villagers' calls add to the cacophony of noise. More arrows start flying through the air as those gathered atop the protective barrier fire their bows, targeting the approaching undead to lessen their numbers.
WilyKat and the black-clad warrior press on, their movements fluid and determined as they battle the ever-diminishing horde. A growing number of the once-mighty swarm of ghouls lay on the ground, having been given over to true death.
After what feels like an eternity, the last of the horde finds its end, collapsing lifelessly to the ground, the top of its head missing. WilyKit surveys the scene, panting heavily from the exertion. He glances at his fighting partner, who sits on a nearby tree trunk, his breath calm and smooth.
As the swirling dust settles, WilyKat looks at the stranger beside him. Hidden beneath a feline mask, pupil-less white eyes look back at him. WilyKat asks, "You're human?" as confusion sets in.
The masked figure straightens up and spits at the ground, dark liquid falling from his knuckles as he tightens the tattered wrappings around his hands. "Yeah, what of it?" he replies, his voice low and gravely, carrying the weight of experience to WilyKat's ears.
"Why did you come here? WilyKat questions.
The stranger's gaze narrows, grunting, "You tell me." A flicker of challenge ignites in his eyes.
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