It took a surprisingly short time for the heroes of Eternia to gather at Grayskull. Joining the forces that had already been gathered were Stratos, leader of the bird people of Avion; Buzz Off, hero of the bee people; Mekanek and Extendar, two cybernetic members of the guard, and Katrina, the unofficial liason between an ancient race of near forgotten cat people and Eternos. Once everyone was present, Duncan explained the situation to the newcomers as Greystar, Gwildor and the Sorceress struggled with a dimensional portal. After several moments, Orko popped out of the portal, followed by his uncle, an aging wizard with a long white beard flowing out from under his scarf, and Dree-Elle, a female Trollan and the love of Orko’s life, close behind. The portal vanished with a sudden crack of thunder and a concussive blast of air that nearly sent the three Trollans rolling over each other.

“You said it might be a bumpy ride, nephew,” Uncle Montork said, catching his breath. “Remind me to take you at your word next time.”

“Everyone in one piece?” Greystar asked, concerned.

“I think so,” Dree-Elle said as she checked first herself, then Orko, over. “I’ve never had a trip like that before, though.”

“Things must be getting pretty bad here for the portal to be that shaky,” Montork surmised. “Orko told us we were needed, but didn’t get a chance to explain.”

“You are needed, Montork, all of you, very badly. All will be explained to you as we proceed, but we have little time.” The Sorceress gestured for them to join the others. Gwildor went with them, quickly summarizing the events of the past night and their role in what was to come.

At the same time, Greystar turned to the Sorceress and asked, “Have you had any luck contacting some of the other magic makers?”

“Yes, I have. Zagraz the comet keeper and Malach the wizard of Stone Mountain have already responded, and are turning their powers toward stabilizing things as much as they can. They, in turn, have contacted several others, asking them to do the same.”

He-Man joined the conversation. “They’re filling in for the magic that’s been drained?”

“More or less,” Greystar confirmed. “It’s not enough to put things right, but we need to stabilize the planet as much as we can. If things break down too much, the spell to reverse the process might not work.”

“Granamyr’s power would go a long way toward that end,” He-Man offered. “Have you been able to contact him?”

“The Dragons of Darksmoke are further away, and thus harder to reach with our current problems,” the Sorceress explained. “But I will continue to try.”

“Much as I hate to admit it, we could use that overgrown lizard’s help, if he’ll lower himself to helping paltry humans,” Greystar said, his mouth curled in obvious distaste.

He-Man looked at the Sorceress dumbfounded, managing only to mouth the words “overgrown lizard?” The Sorceress seemed equally shocked; Granamyr was the oldest and wisest of the dragons, and one of the most powerful magic forces on Eternia. Never had she heard him referred to with such disrespect or venom. Considering the crisis they faced, however, she decided to pursue the issue at a later time.

“For now,” Greystar continued, changing the subject, “we need to get after the stones. Gwildor, you finished briefing our Trollan friends?”

“They know what I know,” Gwildor replied proudly.

“Ancients protect us,” Ror sighed, earning a freezing stare from the Thenurian.

Greystar allowed himself a small smile. “I think we’re all hoping they will, Ror. If the team for Earth is ready, let’s try to get them there.” He waved the Trollans and Gwildor over.

The magic makers and the techno wizard combined their powers, and another gateway started to open, wavering and pulsing at first, then slowly growing in size and stability. A loud, uncharacteristic roar came from the portal.

He-Man, Teela, Duncan, Ror, and Man-E-Faces started toward the dimensional door followed by Battle Cat. He-Man turned, and shook his head. “Afraid you’ll be staying here, old buddy; Earth isn’t used to giant green tigers, and I think we’ll be conspicuous enough as it is.”

Battle Cat looked slightly hurt for a moment, but then composed himself. “If you find any big steaks there, pick me up a few.”

He-Man laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.” He felt strangely incomplete knowing his furry partner wouldn’t be with him, but knew also Battle Cat would be more useful here on Eternia where he wouldn’t have to hide himself from the populace.

“Okay, it’s open, but get through fast; we can’t hold it for long!” Greystar shouted. Orko, He-Man and company quickly jumped through the gateway, as Gwildor handed the key to Weldon. “The settings are stored in the key, and you should be able to compensate for disruptions the way I showed you. Any questions?”

“Yeah, can you bring me a steak, too?” Weldon asked.

Gwildor shook his head and smiled, then lunged through the portal.

“Okay, Fisto, Dree-Elle, you’re up next!” Greystar bellowed.

Weldon fidgeted with the Cosmic Key, bopped it a couple of times, cursed, and then reset the keys as he’d been shown. The gateway trembled for a moment, then settled down. “Okay, big guy, Etheria’s on the other side of this thing!”

Fisto leapt forward and dove through the shimmering portal with Dree-Elle on his heels. The portal began to quiver, and then exploded with a flash of blinding light. All around it were knocked back from the force of the blast. Greystar steadied himself and shouted in Weldon’s general direction, “Did they make it?”

Weldon checked the key, which took several moments. There was hardly a sound until the Thenurain finally looked up. “They got through before it went blooey,” he announced at last.

Greystar rubbed his eyes as his vision started clearing from the unexpected flare. “Thank the ancients,” he said quietly. He straightened, and walked over to the remaining warriors. “Time for us to get going, as well. Montork, after you,” Greystar said, ushering the wizened Trollan forward with a smile and an exaggerated sweep of his arms.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” Montork replied in an equally exaggerated tone.

As they left, Greystar looked back at the Sorceress, and mouthed, “We’re going to do it, don’t worry.”

She smiled, and nodded, and prayed to the ancients he was right.

Skeletor sat back in his throne, absorbing what he had just read, absently tapping the scroll in his hand on the throne’s arm. The scroll was a translation from the Disks of Knowledge, a compendium of wisdom and information left behind by the elders of Eternia centuries ago. He had had the disks in his possession for years, and had had almost three quarters of them copied and translated before that blasted muscle bound oaf of a hero had stolen them and turned them over to Zodac. The second of the disks had, fortunately, been completely copied before he lost them, and the translation had finally been completed a few months after Hiss first appeared. This disk contained the chronicles of Eldor, tales of Pre-Eternia, Hiss, and another meddlesome do-gooder, He-Ro (if only he had had the information sooner, he could have avoided releasing the slimy snake man, but that was how his luck usually ran). It brought a rare warmth to his usually cold heart to read of Hiss’ many defeats at He-Ro’s hands, so he had read the tales over a number of times, including a tale about three magical stones that hadn’t truly registered at the time. The translation in his hand was from the fourth disk, and it was incomplete at this point; it did, however, have more details on the afore-mentioned stones. Even between the two references, though, Skeletor would never have guessed their true significance; that tidbit must have lay in the portion of the fourth scroll that his minions had never gotten to. The events of this day, however, made everything quite clear to someone as skilled in magic as the Lord of Destruction. The stones were the key to vast amounts of magical power, drawn from the planets themselves. Hiss had obviously botched the procedure, not much of a surprise, and now the heroes were scrambling to fix his mess, leaving a situation ripe with opportunities for someone clever enough to outmaneuver both heroes and villains alike. A weak link was all he needed; with Hiss, he had numerous choices. The heroes, however, were another matter. Their egos were not as easily exploited as the Snake King’s, and even the troublesome little Trollan and that blasted Thenurian, incompetent as they were, somehow always seemed difficult to use as a weapon against their friends.

But there was Fisto. He had remained behind after the temple’s collapse as his cowardly minions ran off, and had observed the heroes from the shadows as they regrouped. His former lackey was obviously guilt-ridden by his apparent mistake, and that might be something the dark lord could use. As usual, his instincts had served him well; stopping He-Man from stopping Fisto might just have handed him the key to the power he had always craved. His fleshless face contorted in the closest thing to a smile he could manage…

Fisto and Dree-Elle were expelled by the portal with enough force to hurl both of them through the air more than twenty feet; the Trollan spun around several times and then finally righted herself a few feet above the ground. Fisto landed hard on his right hip, and rolled to absorb the rest of his impact. He scrambled to his feet, and instantly regretted his haste as a sharp pain shot down the length of his right leg. He grunted, and turned to Dree-Elle. “You okay, little one?”

Dree-Elle shook her head and rubbed her eyes, the only thing visible between her hat and the veil she wore over the lower part of her face. “I think so,” she said softly. “What happened?”

“Not sure. Something definitely went wrong with the tail end of the trip,” he observed.

“Are you alright?” she asked, noticing he was favoring his right leg.

“Been bumped up worse than this before; just a little sore,” he lied. The pain was throbbing now, and he was sure he had cracked a bone, or at least bent it badly. There wasn’t time to contend with that now, though, so he tried to push the pain aside and focus on their mission.

“It smells terrible here,” Dree-Elle noted. She looked around, and realized for the first time where they had landed: they were just on the outskirts of the Fright Zone, the huge complex that served as the main base for the Evil Horde on Etheria. It was from here that Hordak and his henchmen kept the planet they had conquered under Horde control.

“Okay, this is not a place we want to be,” he said, moving off towards the cover of the woods with Dree-Elle beside him. Once they entered, he noticed that the trees seemed to be closing in after them, blocking any possible pursuit. Fisto was relieved by that; it could only mean they were in the Whispering Woods, a forest possessed of an ancient magic that protected the Etherian rebels from Horde attacks. The woods kept evil from entering, but supposedly lead those on the side of good to their goal. He was hoping the latter was true, and that the reality breakdown hadn’t weakened the tree’s magics.

“We should be able to find the rebel base without too much trouble,” he assured his small companion. I hope, he thought to himself.

The wind was picking up again at the rebel camp, and it was starting to rain. The past few hours had seen storms forming with an alarming frequency, and their severity was increasing. Runners had already arrived with reports of devastating tornadoes in the village of Thaymore, and the kingdom of Brightmoon had been hit by a flash flood.

The latter had especially troubled the young woman named Glimmer, second in command of the rebellion. Brightmoon was her home and kingdom; she knew her mother, Queen Angella, could handle any crisis without her, but her first instinct was to rush to her people’s aid regardless. Unfortunately, her duties to the rebellion took priority, as the everywhere seemed to be under attack from freak storms and other inexplicable occurrences. They had been unable to contact the free kingdoms for some time, magically or otherwise, so she had been trying to gather as much information as possible however she could. Making sense of it, however, was another matter. And then there was the Whispering Woods itself. Pefuma and her plant based powers had been the first to notice the problem, but it soon became apparent to everyone that some of the trees were wilting, albeit very slowly. As time passed, more and more of the forest started to wither; a few of the trees now looked like they were dying. Losing the protection of the woods would be a crippling blow to the rebellion, and give Hordak the advantage.

She was also starting to worry about Adora; the leader of the rebellion had taken off on her horse, Spirit, over an hour ago toward the Fright Zone, suspecting Hordak’s hand in the disasters. There had been no sign of her since. Glimmer cursed under her breath in a little used tongue of her people, and shook her head. The rebellion had faced many challenges, but there was something about this, a foreboding she felt, that truly bothered her.

“Glimmer!”

She turned to see Bow running toward her, his normally perfectly groomed red hair flying wild in the wind. His face was grim, something else out of place for the usually upbeat minstrel. “Have you heard from Adora yet?” he asked.

“No, not a word.” She looked off in the direction of the Fright Zone. “She can take care of herself, but I’m still worried.”

“I can take Arrow and go after her,” he offered, gesturing to his steed, tied off a short distance away.

“No, there’s too much going on to spare you; I need you to take a small group to Thaymore, assess the damage, and see what we can do to help.” She grimaced as she saw another of their regular runners approaching, one from Mystacor; the look on his face told her it was not going to be good news. “I’ll get Madame Razz to fly out and check on Adora.”

“Alright, I’m off then,” he replied, a little disappointment in his voice. Glimmer picked up on his tone, as she had some inkling of Bow’s feelings for Adora. Unfortunately, he also seemed to bear similar feelings toward She-Ra, as well. She often wondered what would happen if he ever had to settle his sights on one woman, but part of her doubted he could ever bring himself to do that.

She had more pressing issues to attend to than Bow’s love life, however, and turned back to them. A crack of heavy thunder startled her, and she looked up at the sky. The clouds were darker than she had ever seen, almost unnatural, and they seemed to move of their own accord, ignoring the strong westerly wind she felt whipping through the camp, impossible as that might be. She shuddered involuntarily, and then hurried over to meet the messenger from Mystacor.

Adora and Spirit quickly hid themselves behind a thick group of trees as they heard footsteps approaching; she noted with dismay how sickly the trees looked as she crouched down.

“Are you sure this is the right way?” a soft, familiar voice said.

“I’ve only been here once before, so I’m not real sure of anything right now,” another, gruffer voice replied.

Adora stepped out cautiously, looked around, spotting a floating Trollan several yards away. “Dree-Elle?” she called, her voice hushed.

“Adora?” the small alien answered, matching her quiet tone.

“And Fisto?” Adora noted. “Welcome back to Etheria, though I have a feeling this isn’t a social call.”

“Afraid not, Adora,” Fisto began. “I’m figuring you’re having some problems here, right?”

“You know something about what’s causing this?” She held up a wilting branch from a nearby tree.

“Unfortunately,” he answered, a twinge of pain in his voice. “That’s why we’re here. It’s part of a huge mess we need to fix, and we need the rebellion’s help. And She-Ra.”

“I’ll see you get both. Is anyone else with you? Adam or He-Man?” Adora asked.

“I’m sorry, but we’re all you have right now,” Dree-Elle said.

“No need to apologize; we’re glad to have any help we can get.” She motioned the two visitors to follow her. “I need to get back to camp; I’ve been gone a while, and they’re probably getting worried by now.”

“Why have you been out here so long?” Dree-Elle asked.

“Horde Troopers. They’ve actually been able to penetrate the woods in a few areas. I’ve been checking the perimeter around the Fright Zone just to make sure there aren’t any real access points; seems they can’t get in too far anywhere, but it is farther than they’ve gotten before. The magic of the woods is weakening, and I think it’s getting worse.” Adora led Spirit out of the brush.

“It is. I’ll explain it all on the way.” Fisto said as the three started off for the rebel camp.

“Is someone responsible for all of this?” Adora wondered.

“Yes,” Fisto answered.

“Who?”

“Me,” Fisto said, a slight crack in his voice.

Evil Lynn landed the collector outside the city of Torin, and none too smoothly. The stabilizers were almost useless, and the manual controls were getting sluggish; Trap Jaw was thrown onto the floor, and Beast Man let out a loud growl as he nearly slipped from his seat.

“If you’re gonna fly this thing, learn how first, wouldja?” the cyborg griped.

“Quiet, fool!” Evil Lynn admonished. “Beast Man, Ninjor, you go out and find our target. She shouldn’t be too difficult to locate; she’s the closest thing this pathetic region has to someone of importance. And make sure she understands what will happen if she refuses to cooperate.”

Trap Jaw grunted and got up, nearly falling again as the servomotors in his knee supports glitched. He steadied himself, and made no comment. No need to let the others know the effects the reality breakdown was having on his cybernetic systems. He looked over at Blade, who stared at him with a particularly nasty grin. The swordsman had noticed the cyborg’s problem, and was thoroughly enjoying it. He kept quiet, however, and didn’t point it out to the others.

“Trap Jaw, you stay here and try to get this blasted vehicle running properly,” Evil Lynn ordered as she swept past him. “I’ll be outside waiting for the others to return.”

“He can’t even keep himself running right,” Blade noted, his vicious smile widening. “What can he do for this heap?”

“Maybe while I’m fixing the collector, I’ll fix your mouth, too,” TrapJaw shot back.

“You have fun, metal mouth; I’ll be outside with the lady.” Blade started to rise, then grimaced as his own knee gave out; Teela had done some serious damage. He looked over and saw the gleam in Trap Jaw’s eye, and curled his lip.

“With that knee, you’re of no use to me. Stay here and assist him.” She absently pointed at Trap Jaw and exited the craft.

“She’s got a point, buster,” Trap Jaw gloated. “You’re pretty well useless right now. More so than usual, even.”

“When this knee heals, you metallic mook, let me tell you the first place I’m going to put my foot…” Blade snarled.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m rattling in my boots. For now, why don’t you put your hand in the toolbox and give me a screwdriver.”

“I’d love to,” Blade snapped.

“In my hand, wise guy, not my back, okay? If I bleed on the seats, I’m tellin’ Skeletor who’s responsible.” Trap Jaw yanked off the access panel under the control console, and started poking around with his finger. Blade limped over and banged on the cyborg’s helmet with the tool’s handle. The metal marauder glared at him, grabbed the implement, popped the hook off the end of his right arm, and inserted the screwdriver. The arm’s aperture closed around the handle, locking it into place. “Now how am I supposed to convince this stupid thing to work when there’s nothing wrong with it and everything wrong with the planet?”

“Threaten to show it your face?” Blade said.

Trap Jaw ignored him, and started prodding the wires again. It was going to be a long morning.

Montork hovered patiently, waiting for the battle ram and the attack trak to catch up to him. The vehicles were sluggish, and they had already stopped twice to make adjustments. Fortunately, Extendar had extensive knowledge in the area of mechanics, and Mekaneck had picked up a good bit of skill tending to his own cybernetics. The fact that normal repair procedures weren’t working very well forced the heroes to improvise with mixed results, slowing their progress even more.

Aboard the ram, Mekaneck called back to Stratos and Buzz Off, “Can you two take another shot at some aerial recon? The terrain is getting rougher, and I think we need to know how much worse it may be up ahead. These things are barely holding together as it is; shaking them up won’t do them any good.”

The two winged warriors soared into the sky, only to be met by the same sudden bursts of wind and updrafts that had kept them grounded throughout most of the trip. Staying aloft took a concerted effort, but both were skilled enough to remain airborne for a short time. The trail ahead was a bit rocky, but no more so than what they were rolling over now.

A sudden gust had the force to knock Stratos back several feet; he was startled, but managed to right himself quickly. Buzz Off flew over, concerned. “Didn’t see that one coming?” the insect man asked.

“Caught me with my tail feathers down,” Stratos joked. “I can usually sense the wind shifting like that. It came out of nowhere. Literally.”

“I know. You can feel the pain in the air; it’s like the sky’s being torn apart, and crying out.” Buzz Off looked up at the solid cloud cover; they hadn’t seen a ray of sunlight all morning, and the clouds were continuing to thicken, growing noticeably darker. The others were ground-bound, and not as sensitive to the skies, so they didn’t feel these disturbances that acutely. To two who spent a good deal of their lives riding the air currents, however, the scene was enough to chill them to their core.

“The heavens are dying, and our spirits soar no longer,” Stratos said quietly.

“What was that?” Buzz Off asked.

“From an old poem I read as a fledgling.” Stratos answered, not taking his eyes off the clouds. “It’s about the end of the world.”

“I could do without any more quotes from that particular piece, thank you,” the insect man said. “Let’s get back down before we get blown down.”

Greystar piloted the attack trak with surprising ease, despite the mechanical problems. Weldon sat beside him, with Ram Man next to the Thenurian. He looked back at Extendar and Kittrina behind them. Extendar was quietly looking past him out the front windshield, his golden face almost expressionless; he had spoken very little from the start, and the older man just assumed that was his way. Kittrina, however, had been a bundle of energy when they exited Grayskull, bounding about on all fours at times. Now, however, she was also silent, and looking almost ill. “Everything okay back there?” he asked.

Extendar kept looking ahead. “Fine, under the circumstances. Just thinking.”

Kittrina was slouched down slightly. “We’re alright.”

“Convince me,” Greystar pressed; the cat woman’s voice was flat, and her eyes were dull.

“I’m alright,” she insisted. “I just…don’t travel well on long trips. I’m not used to getting around like this.”

“I think she’s gonna let loose all over the upholstery any minute now,” Weldon said. “This thing come equipped with a bucket?”

“Weldon!” Greystar chided.

“Sorry. If push comes to shove I’ll grab Rammy’s helmet.”

“You wanna bet?” Ram Man protested.

“Sorry for the bumpy ride, Kittrina. And my short, crude friend,” Greystar apologized.

“It’s alright. I just like the open air and a run through the forest a little better,” she offered weakly. She held her stomach involuntarily.

“Hey, sounds like we got somebody wants to yak with us,” the Thenurian interrupted. Weldon fiddled with the attack trak’s radio, trying to tune out the static and bring the arriving message in. He mumbled in Thenurian, then whacked it hard with his fist. The static subsided to some extent, and the message, though still garbled, came through. “Torin to anyone…Blackmore attacked just outside… people are miss…please send help if… skel…” Then the static re-asserted itself, and the transmission was lost.

“Blackmore is a small village on the outskirts of Torin. That’s not far from here. Sounds like there’s trouble.” Greystar pondered from the driver’s seat. “Skel something. Skeletor?”

“Duh, probably. But what would he be doin’ way out here?” Ram Man wondered.

“What are we doing way out here, lead head?” Weldon said.

“Oh, yeah. The stone thingy.” Ram Man scratched his head.

“If he’s this close to us, it may mean he’s found a way to track it through the interference. Just what we need. I know Hiss will be lurking around, and now we have Skeletor poking about, too.” Greystar reached over and hit the radio control to contact the battle ram. “We just got a message from Torin about trouble in Blackmore, Skeletor trouble, from the sound of it.”

“Think the palace will be able to send help?” Mekaneck asked, his voice muffled slightly by the ever-present static.

“I doubt they even received it,” Greystar replied. “We barely tuned it in.”

“So we’re the only ones in earshot,” Mekaneck said. “Do we have the time to spare checking it out?”

“We’ll follow Montork and keep after the stone. You and our flying friends head for Blackmore; it’s just south of Torin. It isn’t too far out of the way, so you can probably get there and then meet up with us later, technology willing. If it is Skeletor, I want to know what he’s up to,” Greystar answered.

“We’ll try to contact you when we get there,” Mekaneck replied.

In the rear of the trak, Kittrina piped up. “I’ll go with them,” she said, bounding for the back hatch. She tapped the controls impatiently, and slipped out the instant the hatch opened; it closed immediately after she passed through. She nimbly climbed to the top of the moving vehicle and skittered to the front end. Crouching low, the cat woman tightened her leg muscles and then launched herself forward, flipping in mid air, and landing lightly on the back of the battle ram.

“That is one crazy cat,” Weldon noted.