By RD Rivero

January 24, 2001
 
 
 

Ever-lengthening shadows snaked across the land until the last, dim rays of sun set and faded below the horizon. Massive clouds cast gloomy darkness throughout the slumbering forests of Third Earth. A sense of death and despair permeated the vast, misty wilderness.

The entire world was silent and still - a mute witness, helpless against the events set to transpire that night.

A gang of creatures - alien and unfamiliar - treaded among the trees, over the jetting roots, under the cover of entangled shrubs. The stealthy band was inconspicuous, except for the rustling and jostling of the equipment they carried on their backs that hinted of their darker, devious designs. The three had come a long way but were now close, very close to their intended destination. Only a few obstacles remained in their path.

The one in the lead stopped abruptly. Much to his displeasure the two behind him continued to lumber forward until they had crashed upon him. Angrily, he struck his fist into the loose soil and flung the humus-infested dirt back toward them.

"Hey! Watch it!" one of his companions shouted - the sod had hit him squarely in the face.

"Shhh!" the others whispered loudly at once, at the same time.

The three men stood, their heads and upper chests jetted up from the field of tall grass in the clearing they stumbled into.

The leader was nervous but his friends were oblivious to the problem. They had veered off course but they were too busy in the doldrums of their own problems to have noticed. Nevertheless, the man in charge was quite sure of himself. He knew what to do, or at least he thought he knew what to do and that was more than enough as far as he was concerned.

"It's all right to talk," Vultureman said. His eyes were pointing up to the sky, hoping vainly that a patch of clouds would spread to reveal segments of stars. He had no other landmark to guide him.

"Why did you do that for?" Jackalman bellyached. He wiped the soft, sandy soil from his eyes.

"You fools!" the avian cawed. "We're lost!"

"Lost? You were supposed to keep us on the right track," Monkian gibbered, waving his limber arms in the air over his head. "You're the fool!"

"It happened because we never practiced!" he retorted, still waiting for the sign from above.

"We never practiced because -" the canine butted in, regretting then that he had even opened his mouth.

"Because?" Monkian asked, knowing the answer already.

Jackalman slowly inched into the background.

"Because a certain Mutant I know was too afraid of the dark to practice." It took Vultureman all his self-control to keep from exploding any further. "I've been too busy making sure you guys were behind me to notice were the error was made!"

"Enough of this bickering!" Monkian stepped between the two, dragging Jackalman into the group. "We're liable to get spotted."

"Spotted?" For a moment Vultureman thought about the situation, rubbing his beak as though it was a bearded-chin. He paced, his eyes roaming around the swaying tufts of grass. Its serrated leaves and insect-infested structures made his fur itch. Looking to the side he saw that his friends were also uncomfortable in the vegetation. He sighed - the clouds had thinned but not enough for the moon to be seen clearly despite its intense glare.

"I've got it," he said, turning back to them. "Let's move away from this clearing to those trees over there."

He pointed to the surrounding shadows where tall, thick branches moved in the strong currents of the night. A mass of cold air was ebbing down from the distant mountains to the vast plans of the lowlands. Without the benefit of the sun's heat, the front was exceedingly cold.

Jackalman shivered but for other reasons - but he found the courage to reach the boundary of the forest on his own two feet.

"Now, if we are anywhere near our intended target then we should be able to see it from a suitable height off the ground."

"What are you saying?" Monkian asked - often the avian's talk went over his head. Not that he minded - most normal conversations had that affect on him, but at least his friends did not make light of his particular deficiency.

"That means you have to climb up that tree and look around. The target's beacon should be on by now."

Monkian put down his equipment and handed his weapon over to Jackalman. Considerably lighter, he vaulted up to the lowest-hanging branch. Climbing onto its thick body, he repeated the maneuver, swinging around the wide trunk of the tree repeatedly, each turn bringing higher, closer to the arbor's peak. The two on the ground lost sight of him very quickly but they could still hear him, ruffling through the entangled innards of the canopy.

Vultureman stepped back to get a better view from the clearing. Yet he could see only shadows, moving shadows - random and indistinct. Jackalman remained in place. He did not like being left alone - even though the avian was less than twenty feet away, in his mind he was still alone in the murky forests.

The chill that until then he could bare was suddenly too much. His teeth chattered and as he shivered and moved about the base of the tree he feared he saw little red and green eyes staring at him from the underbrush. Eyes that were there one moment and gone the next. Eyes that - 

"Ahhh!" he scurried to Vultureman's side.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." He looked up to the tree. Its top swayed more violently than he had last seen it.

The air was scented in a sweet, cooling fragrance.

"The night-bloomers," Vultureman said. "Flowers that only open at night."

His voice was cut off - his eyes at once pointed to the base of the tree. Monkian had made his way down. He and Jackalman rushed to the simian's side.

"What happened? What did you see?" Vultureman helped him up.

"The tower is over there," he aimed to the right of the grassy fields. "Just past a chain of ragged hills."

"Did you see the Thunder Tank? Any vehicles? Anything?"

"No - all is quiet." Jackalman helped him put on his equipment.

Again, very silently but side by side the three crawled on their hands and knees in the proper direction. Vultureman and Monkian stopped every so often just to make sure that they were on the right track. They were determined not to have such a close call again.

Nothing mattered more than the mission and failure simply was not an option. The Tower of Omens was a dangerous fortification built against them and the Lunatics. It had to be destroyed. Mumm-Ra himself had commissioned the crime. He had even instructed the avian in the methods to prepare the correct explosives. The Ancient One had revealed to the Mutant the tightly held secret of dynamite and its various derivatives.

The clearing ended in a tract of black, moist soil, dotted with shrubs and small growths of vegetation. The trees had thinned - the forestland was coming to an end. On their feet again, they hiked through the dewy mists. All the while the earth beneath them became rockier, coarser. The ground sloped up and there, at the crest, was the start of the hills that the Monkian had spotted from on high.

The chain of mounds was many miles long but exceeding thin. Nevertheless, the trek across them to the flat lowlands would not be without risks. Sensing the danger of damaging their well-packed equipment, Vultureman implored his fellows to crawl across at a slow, deliberate pace. He had not revealed to them that they were carrying around dangerous explosives - and though he knew he had to tell them eventually, he judged that right then was the proper time. He saw them down the cliff side to their safety, proceeding onward, taking their mistakes and missteps into account.

For the first time that young night the tree Mutants stood face to face with their target - the Tower of Omens. Soft, glowing lights were inside, visible through windows. No activity could be seen or heard. No vehicles were parked around it, near it. All the signs indicated that they had dropped in unannounced and were as of yet unnoticed.

"So now what?" Jackalman asked. A chorus of 'shhh' met him.

The three crawled back into the cover of the bushes.

"I don't think we've ever been inside that place," Monkian said.

"No - not that I can remember," Vultureman added.

"Why didn't Mumm-Ra choose the Lunatics to do this?" Jackalman added his whimper.

"Those mercenaries failed to destroy it once. Besides," the avian whispered, "we have something they don't have."

"What?" the simian asked in utter confusion.

Vultureman was about to slap his head in disgust but restrained the impulse. "The tanks you're carrying contain a high-grade explosive."

"What, what, what?" Jackalman stuttered the words out.

"A concoction so powerful that just one tank could -"

"And when where you planning to tell us this, bird-man?" Monkian grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

"Right about now," he managed a weak smile.

"Come on, you two don't want something bad to happen," the canine said, more worried about his own mortality than anything else. "We've come this far, I guess it wouldn't be right to back off now."

The three sat quietly. While their tempers cooled they were startled by a loud, rushing disturbance ringing from above. A bright light swooped down out of the sky. The shrubs and bushes around them swayed violently in the wake of the on-coming interloper.

"What is it?" Monkian howled, covering his face with his helmet. He followed the others back to the fifty-foot cliff side, into a small cave carved out of the craggy bluffs.

The air whipped about them ferociously. The loud, crashing sound grew nearer and nearer. The walls of the tiny nook did not deafen or muffled the din.

At once the light began to dim and pass overhead, onto the fields around the imposing tower. It was the Feliner and it hovered next the beacon then sunk slowly, steadily until it was at the same level as the garage. The bay's massive doors opened and the Thundercat vehicle vanished into the superstructure.

"We must have caught them at a shift change - or something," Vultureman said. "We better act now while we still have time. That ship is going to leave back to Cat's Lair soon."

"But how can we get in there? And what do we do inside?"

"We can't use the front doors, Jackalman," the avian responded. His sarcasm was lost on everyone. "Here," he opened a compartment of one of the bags he carried on his back, "take these," he handed them small, metal objects that resembled phasors.

"Blast our way in?" Monkian speculated.

"No, these shoot ropes. When we get to the tower, we'll circle around to its back so that the Feliner won't see us on its way out. We'll aim the gun to the top of the insignia and it will fire a grappling hook. And we climb up to the roof."

As soon as the air had calmed outside the three left the cavern and dashed a hundred feet until they reached the lower rim of the mound upon which the stronghold rested. Perched above them was the garage doors, they were partly open and a thin, sliver of light angled out of the vertical crack. It would have been easy enough to climb the slope and sneak into the tower that way - but the chances of being discovered were too great to do it that way.

Vultureman theorized that the Thundercats now in the tower were most probably around the Feliner in the garage. The only one actually minding the controls would have had to be one of the snarfs. The avian's plan of getting in made more and more sense to him then - indeed, it was a fortunate turn of events, he told himself, that the vessel came just in time.

The three were just past the area under the large doors heading to the other side of the tower when Jackalman stopped them. He pointed up slowly and silently in the anonymity of the shadows. Monkian was about to shout out something rash but Vultureman caught him mouth shut and motioned his head up so he could see what the canine had found.

In the short time that it had taken them to walk by the docking bay its doors had opened so that it was wide enough for a man to pass through them. Yet not one but two figures stood on the rocky ledge a mere yard or so above them - they were only a stray gasp away from being discovered.

Liono stood ablaze in the outpouring light. His mane was wild and unkept. He held the Sword of Omens in his hands, troubled and perplexed by the designs of its deeper meaning. Leaning on the frame just behind was Panthro - he was in silhouette but his form was unmistakable.

"What is it?" the panther asked in a gruff voice. He cleared his throat. "What's the matter?"

"It's the sword," the lion answered without looking back. "The eye is open and growls of danger but I don't understand - there's nothing wrong."

Panthro grunted and stepped forward. A sliver of light painted his dark face in the tones of a flattened rainbow. From within the garage an unseen Thundercat shut one of the Feliner's doors, moving the glass out of the way of the lights, killing the colorful display instantly.

"Why don't you look in? What does it show you?"

Liono turned around. "I have and, like I told Tygra, it only shows me the Tower of Omens."

The panther smiled and let one of his beefy arms fall across Liono's shoulder, drawing him closer to his warmth. "Is that why you came here? Worried about ol' Panthro?"

"Egad," Jackalman murmured.

"Did you hear that?" Liono asked, breaking away from Panthro's lips.

Vultureman and Monkian dragged the canine off and in one fell swoop managed to ascend the steep embankments until they were on level with the visible base of the tower.

"Do you want to get us all killed?" Monkian growled.

"Sorry - I just never thought the Thundercats were that close," Jackalman said. "Makes me wonder -"

"Wonder what, canine?" Vultureman had led them to the safety of the back of the tower.

"Wonder what it would be like if we Mutants were close like that, too."

"Is there something you want to tell us, Jackalman?" Monkian asked in a lighter tone.

Vultureman aimed his pistol up to the red-black face of the hated insignia. "Come on - it's even worse than I thought."

The others followed suit and all three fired at the same time.

The situation had become quite complicated. Vultureman's original impression had been that the Feliner was there for a shift change. Now that he knew it was there because Liono had been forewarned of danger, now it was another matter all together. Nothing made sense and anything could happen.

Up the first two hundred feet, one of the Mutants asked how many Thundercats they might find inside the tower. The avian paused but for a second to contemplate. From experience it seemed to him that Snarfer was always at the tower while that other vile creature remained at Cat's Lair. Usually there were only three adults at the tower at any given time. He got the impression from the conversation he had heard that Panthro was in the tower already - "and Panthro always hangs around Tygra and Cheetara. Hmmm." The only other question was who, if anyone came along with Liono in the Feliner.

When he saw that his companions had a sizable lead on their ascents he stopped thinking and started climbing faster.

"Four adults," he said at last, "Liono, Panthro and two others. Possibly Cheetara and Tygra."

"You think Liono came alone?" Monkian asked.

"That doesn't make sense to me - if he came alone why did he take Feliner? Why not the Thunder Claw?"

"Elementary, my dear canine - Liono thinks there's going to be danger so he brought along a heavy-duty ship just in case."

The climb took only a handful of minutes. At the end the three were huddled under the rotating Thundercat symbol. It had only been five hours past sunset and at that time of the year night came early. With any luck, the avian told them, their enemies would be in the galley, eating dinner.

The question on how to get in was soon solved by the location of a steel grating. It was the outer cap of a ventilation duct. Under it a sharp fan rotated slowly. Its curled blades shimmered in the obstructed moonlight. Crumbling the plate in half, Monkian jammed the thinned piece of metal into the area of the fan, stopping its revolution. Jackalman used his fingers to unscrew the blade from the shaft.

The path was clear but a new problem confronted them. While they could easily fit though, they and their equipment together could not. Acting fast, Vultureman had them remove their bags. He gave each one a single canister of explosive - they had been carrying three at a time before. The cylinders were surprisingly lightweight. The sizes were small, too - one and a half foot long, six inches in width.

"Are you sure one is enough?" Jackalman asked. The winds were terribly strong up at the top of the tower and his words were carried away inaudibly.

"Yes," the avian directed them inside the shaft. "OK," he began, the air was warmer and calmer in the duct, "and this is what we're going to do. We're going to split. I'll take the basement, Monkian'll take the upper parts and Jackalman will take the middle sections of the tower. Look for a small, little room that no body seems to use, a backroom, hidden and out of the way. Plant the bomb in it. One of the canister's end is flat, the other curves in. The indented end has a small, red button. Press it to activate the bomb - once it's on it cannot be turned off and you only have fifteen minutes before it blows." The other two nodded in silent approval. Vultureman regretted having talked so loudly in the vents but he had no choice. "We'll meet back on the roof as soon as we plant the explosives."

"It's just like those Thunderians to design their buildings with huge air vents," the avian squawked in his mind. "At least we Plunderians are smarted than that," he smiled coyly. It was rather difficult for him to smile. His beak had more muscular structures than a regular bird's but it was still not the usual thing a Mutant of his kind would do.

In the semidarkness behind him his friends crawled on hands and knees through the metal tubes, warping and deforming the rough, abrasive surfaces. To their right were grates that led to other passages or rooms. Light and cold air came in from those portals. Vultureman stopped by one of them - his fellow Mutants crashed onto him. Silently he pointed and they looked.

The view was from just above the floor. Open to their eyes was the tower's control room. A central console kept them from seeing everything in the room yet from what they could tell the place was silent, unoccupied.

The grid was carefully freed from within the duct. Monkian crawled to the gaping hole - the others had moved away from it. He grabbed the frame and pushed it outwards. Still holding it, he set it down slowly and softly on the floor. Again, with utter caution, he slid it across so it would not be in his way and in one, last move he broke free from the vent and stood alone in the control room.

He looked around the small, circular scene, taking in its every detail. His heart beat rapidly, his body jerked about in response to the slightest sound. Gradually he calmed down and - what? Something, something was touching his leg. On the verge of gasping aloud he looked.

From the cover of the duct Vultureman had extended the cylinder out and was poking him with the bomb. "Oh, that's right," the simian sighed and took the instrument, annoyed that his momentary discomfort might have been noticed.

Vultureman and Jackalman continued on their trek alone. The internal path they followed slowly twisted around the body of the tower in a simple spiral. One third of the way down the vent suddenly came to an end. The two panicked but managed not to yell or scream in the process. The dead end was darkness absolute so they had to feel their way around in the unknown.

"Here," the canine whispered.

"Where?" the other questioned.

"It's another shaft." He stuck his head and upper body into the hole he had discovered.

"Wait - don't go in." Vultureman rushed to Jackalman's side and pulled him back. "Remember our adventure in Cat's Lair?" He reached into the hole, exploring it with his hands. "Just what I thought. It goes straight down. There's no way we can do it, Jackalman."

"Oh?"

"We can't climb down with the equipment. We have to go back - to Monkian."

Jackalman paused a moment letting Vultureman pass him. "What if we put one of the bombs here?"

The avian sighed. "Fine, fine. Try to be careful and not let the canister drop."

The canine fumbled about in the dark, trying to separate his bomb from Vultureman's - both were tied together on the same tow line. It had taken Jackalman a considerable amount of time untangling Monkian's before and he was having just as hard a time now. He undid most of the knotted loops but it was so dark he simply could not tell what he was doing. Not that he ever let that stop him.

"What's going on?"

The fidgeting Mutant could have jumped three feet. In shock he let the canisters tumble out of his hands. He struggled to get them back.

"We don't have all day," Vultureman continued.

"It was just Vultureman," Jackalman told himself, "he didn't sound like any of the Thundercats."

Satisfied that he had separated the weapons, he took the free explosive and flipped back its upper lid. The red glow of the awaiting button was bright and stabbed his eyeballs. He pressed it without looking, turning around quickly, holding on to the other bomb by its tow rope and crawled his way to the distance where he could still see Vultureman.

"What's that sound?" the avian asked as soon as he realized Jackalman was right up behind him. "Scraping - scuffling."

"What sound? I don't hear anything."

"Never mind."
 

In the spacious and isolated control room Monkian had searched but could not find a suitable place to hide the bomb - everything everywhere was open and revealing. He looked up at the ceiling but anything up there could have been easily spotted through the light-bathed rafters. He was forced to consider stepping out of the chamber and increasing his risk of discovery.

He approached the door a heard a voice - a shrill, screechy voice that sounded like fingernails on chalkboard, a voice that made his blood boil in rage. At once he ran for cover, behind and under the central console and there, securely, he waited.

The door opened with a telltale hiss - a quick mechanical sound whose timber faded softly only to be replaced by -

"Snarfer, snarfer! Liono sure has me spooked!"

"Rowl! I'm sure it means nothing. He tends to over react a bit."

Monkian peered out of his hiding spot. He saw two pairs of feet treading over the shiny floor. One was that wretched snarf, the other was that vicious white tiger that he had, unfortunately, gotten too familiar with. At least they were the only two to enter the room - the doors shut behind them.

A buzzer sounded and Bengali rushed to a monitor while the small creature continued on its way to the central console. The simian crawled into a tight hole so as not to be seen. The dreadful snarf assumed its guarding position on its hind legs and could not see him under the control pads and keyboards.

While the tiger was busy talking to someone from Cat's Lair, Monkian acted out a hastily-conceived plan. In a lightning fast move he grabbed onto Snarfer's lower body with one arm and reached up for his face with the other. The creature struggled and bit hard on the simian's fingers that were wrapped around its snout. Scratching with sharp claws, drawing blood in a violent writhing, the Thundercat servant made no sound throughout the whole ordeal - or if it had then it had been muffled by the chatter of Bengali lucid conversation.

Monkian jerked back Snarfer's head until it could be bent no further. Pinning the small body on the floor with his knees, the Mutant arched the vile creature's back all the way, too, until it snapped in half.

"What was that?" Bengali asked, looking back. He could not see Snarfer. "Snarfer? Where did you go?" His call with WileyKit had ended and for a moment or two the large room was basked in an eerie silence. He walked steadily to the center console, looking from side to side often for any clue, any trace of his small, red companion.

The snarf in the simian's hands was not dead yet. It could not move its lower body but it continued to struggle with its arms and teeth. Monkian twisted the neck until it snapped. The crushed bones popped loudly. He feared he had caused too much commotion.

Bengali had his hammer in his hand, armed but unaimed.

Sensing he would have no other opportunity to do it, the Mutant armed the bomb then stuffed the canister into a crevasse behind him. The tiger was then only inches away, stopping right where Snarfer had stood not more than half a minute ago.

"Snarfer? What's wrong? What happened?" As of yet he could see nothing but slowly he began to crouch down to get a better view of the darkness below the control boards.

Judging every moment to be his last, Monkian threw the snarf carcass - the only thing he could spare - at Bengali. The tiger screamed seeing that mass of blood-stained fur whacked at him and drew back. It hit him in the face and in the time it took him to shove it out of his way the Mutant had already darted out of cover.

"Mutants!" the tiger shouted and pointed his hammer. The plasma shot he released struck a gray, metal panel that dissipated in a thin haze. Monkian kept circling around him at top speed, throwing chairs and keyboards wildly though the air. Monitors and banks of control knobs were smashed and destroyed in the ensuing chaos.

The riotous commotion caused alarms to go off in the Tower of Omens.

The large view screen turned on - WileyKit's face was displayed, her voice called through the deafening din: "Cat's Lair to the tower, Cat's Lair to the tower, come in please. Your alarms are going off. Over." A stray shot from Bengali's weapon shattered the monitor.

The control room was filled with smoke. The tiger coughed and rubbed his eyes. Monkian lumbered close to the ground on his stomach and was not as badly affected as the Thundercat by the dense haze. Bengali kept firing at random, moving shadows, making the situation far worse than it had been - or had to be.

He reached the blacksmith without being noticed and suddenly stood just behind him. Bengali caught a glimpse of his enemy and was able to fire off a shot, grazing Monkian's upper arm at the same time that the simian struck him on the head with his blunt-faced club. The bat broke in half, the white tiger flopped back onto the floor.

Frantic sounds and rushed footsteps echoed up from the lower floors of the tower - the others were coming to see what had happened.

On his hands and knees Monkian looked around, trying to find the open hatch that led back to the vent.

"What in blazes!" the vulture squawked.

"I - I ran into a problem," the simian answered. He used Vultureman's voice as a clue to find him. Together they helped Jackalman out of the hole.

Bengali moaned, desperately inching for the door.

"He's still alive, I don't believe it," Monkian cried.

Jackalman pulled out the tow rope on which the bomb he had carried along was attached to. "We got lost and ended up coming back here," he said - then he looked, "Oh, no!"

"What is it?" The other two asked in unison - but it was Vultureman's eyes that widened.

"You fool!" he yelled. "You've been dragging both bombs with us?"

"I thought I had cut it free," he said, fumbling with the knots again.

"We don't have much time," Monkian said, looking at the door.

"There's smoke coming from the control room -" an unseen, female Thundercat said.

"Hurry! Back into the hole!" Vultureman ordered the others through the grating. He took the bombs Jackalman had totted and activated the one that remained unarmed. He rolled it toward the doors that Bengali was scratching at on the floor. He wanted to say something witty but had run out of words - and there were only a handful of minutes left on the timers.

He had his body almost completely thought the hole when he the doors were finally blasted open. Apparently the damage that Monkian and Bengali had done had been severe enough to disrupt most of the tower's hardware. Gruff and angered Thundercats rushed into the control room - arching plumes of fire flamed out of the battered electronics and hid their faces, their bodies from the legs up.

"Bengali!"

The tiger was lifted up from the floor - "Mutants, Mu -" his voice trailed off.

"Pumyra, get him downstairs."

A dark, blue figure skirted through the fog. It was barely visible but the avian paid little attention. He was back in the shaft, crawling desperately to the roof of the tower.

"Liono," Panthro said in the hall, holding a metal canister. "Liono."

The lord of the Thundercats coughed and looked up at him.

"It's a bomb, we have to get out of here!"

"Can't you diffuse it?"

"We have only minutes - and I've never seen this type of explosive before."
 

"Hurry," he shouted, "we don't have enough time!"

The open hatch on the wind-beaten roof remained impossibly distant. Moonlight and the red, blinking glow of the rotating insignia showed them the way to safety in a way that was perhaps unintended by its creators. One by one they came out of the shadowy hole.

The violent torrents of air gushed around them in a sound so loud that the ringing of the security alarms could not be heard above it.

"To the ropes!" Jackalman shouted, pointing to the edge of the rounded roof where the grappling hooks were still attached to the stucco. The Mutants rushed forward - then looked down to their collective horror.

In the time that they had been exploring the tower the unyielding winds had entangled the ropes that they had foolishly left dangling down the structure's facade.

"What in the name of Plundar?"

"I don't believe it!"

Vultureman peered down the multi-hundred-foot drop. His stressed hands combed his head. "Grab the line!" he said at last, holding onto the entangled mess. The others followed his lead as soon as he had descended a few yards.

The two side ropes had all but been bradded into one another while the third, though tangled, remained loose and was completely free about a hundred feet above the ground. Vultureman and Jackalman hung onto that twisted mess of hemp for dear life. Monkian had grabbed hold of the other line and quickly reached the awaiting earth below. He looked up to see his two companions dangling still - the rope they were on was so completely twisted that it ended twenty feet above the base of the tower.

Loud but low rumbling came from within the superstructure. The garage doors opened slowly, letting out a gush of bright, white light. Monkian moved back into the bushes to stay away from the intense glare.

"The rope is too short!" he heard the avian cry.

"Jump it - it's not that bad," Monkian shouted.

"Jump? Are you crazy?"

The first of the bombs exploded - the violent action caused the others to go off. The top of the tower shattered into a dense spray of ash and large chunks of concrete. The red insignia was catapulted high in the air until it was lost to the darkness of the massive clouds. A great fireball raged in a miniature mushroom formation that faded rapidly in a craze of heat and strong gusts of wind. Power had been extinguished and the Feliner - that only then had made it halfway out of the garage - was caught in the aftershock. Dazed, it slid uncontrollably down the sloping side of the mound around the base of the Tower of Omens.

When the roof shattered, the Mutant's ropes were cut free. Vultureman and Jackalman plummeted to the earth and crashed upon one another. Monkian rushed to their side to get them on their feet. A rain of brittle sediments was beginning to fall - the larger rocks would drop soon.

Jackalman snuck a quick peak upward. The explosions had destroyed the top of the column, leaving behind a jagged crown complete with dangling pipes and exposed bulkheads. The superstructure was starting to give way.

Injured but still able to move on their own, the Mutants dashed across the flat lands to the well-hidden and secure cavern in the craggy hillside. By the time they were only a stone's throw away from it, the unmistakable red-black insignia - the large, circular beacon that had adorned the top of the tower - tumbled down from the heavens and landed on a spot near the Feliner. The crippled ship moved out of the way. The Thundercat symbol, that continued to roll down the plain, had made an impact of such violence that its tremors caused the tower to form a large, long crack down its side.

The gap widened until, at length, a huge portion of the upper side collapsed. The Tower of Omens had not been completely destroyed but it had been damaged beyond repair. It stood like the sharp edge of a knife, stabbing into the darkness of the night.
 

Thunder.

Lightning.

A screeching echo sounded through the vast, inner halls of the Black Pyramid. Cold air permeated the stone masonry while thin sheets and streams of water poured down from the roof. Trickles had formed pools around the floor of the main chamber.

A curled tongue darted into the still waters -

"Ma-Mutt," the ancient mummy said at last, his maddening cackle complete. "Ma-Mutt, come here, my sweetness."

The dog that had been drinking from the drainage pool scurried up to its master.

"Look at it - look at my genius, my brilliant plan!" He waved his bandaged arms above the circular pool. Upon its boiling froth was the battered image of all that remained of the Tower of Omens. "One snarf down, Bengali injured, the outpost destroyed! The screw has turned, the Thundercat's tide had ebbed and I, Mumm-Ra, am victorious!" He picked up his pet and held it in his folded arms, petting it with his free hand. "All things transitory are but parable. Here insufficiency becomes fulfilment, here the indescribable is accomplished - the Ever-Living evil drives them deeper into hell. Mwahahahahahahaha!"

From the pool he saw that the Feliner powered up and hovered over, taking one last look and then headed to Cat's Lair. The Mutants were next to leave. The three ran over the rugged hills, evading the Thundercat vehicle's search lights. They would be in the forests soon enough - there they could hide easily in the trees.

"Even the Mutants managed to live through this one."

With a wave of his arm the waters calmed and emitted a dull, metallic smoke. The Ancient One let his dog go. He limped slowly to his sarcophagus, his mind wandering for a moment, thinking about what to do next - to Cat's Lair.

In his coffin, the lid slid in place and with it the world faded into black.