Chapter Text
One may wonder what, exactly, drove the “Original Five” to desert the Horde. After all, they’d committed many atrocities before — why act then, some years ago?
For each, the exact reasoning, the final straw, was different. However, each depended on each other; without Kyle and Lonnie, there was no Rogelio, and vice versa. Without Catra, there was no Adora, and vice versa. Without the other three, Adora and Catra were loathe to leave. The other three were the same.
But, really, what were the final straws of the Horde cadets?
For Adora, it was simple: the abuse of Catra, Lonnie, Rogelio, and Kyle reached a breaking point.
Yes, Adora knew she should feel more about her own emotional abuse. And yes, she could acknowledge that what she went through was abuse. But the explanation for this was just as simple. Adora cared more for others than herself.
Adora couldn’t stand the “Golden Child/Scapegoat” dynamic any longer. Adora did anything wrong, the other four dealt with the downfall. Anything she did was highly conditional; Shadow Weaver would praise her, but grip her face far too tightly. Shadow Weaver could have the warmest voice, but be tearing Adora’s self-confidence to shreds.
And then… and then, Adora witnessed how Shadow Weaver treated the others when Adora wasn’t looking — when there wasn’t a “Lesson” to be taught.
Catra always knew the Horde was horrible. She always knew that it was irredeemable, and that she needed to run.
But she could never run without Adora.
Shadow Weaver, however, was starting to get too… extreme, for lack of a better word, to handle. Her most recent punishment for Catra, who was with Adora when they knocked over Shadow Weaver’s favorite plant vase, was to keep her in solitary for three days. Had Catra not found a way to sneak out once a night, she honestly thought it might’ve broken her entirely.
And that brought her to then, a week after her stint in solitary. She and Adora, despite knowing better, had decided to hijack one of the side rooms to make a ration-bar cake for Rogelio’s birthday. They stole a crate of gray-rations — no way in hell would they not steal this crap — and squirreled them away into the side room. Kyle and Lonnie were distracting the lizard in question so he could have it by the end of the night.
They were almost done with the odd, lumpy cake when the door quite literally slammed open, causing Adora and Catra to jump back and the cake tray to clatter to the floor. Shadow Weaver hissed, raising a hand to grab Catra’s shirt collar, despite her bodily flinch and Adora’s cry to stop. She dragged her out of the room, Adora following.
“Why can you not simply behave, Catra?” She growled, bringing her into the, unfortunately commonly used, punishment room. “Adora. Begone.”
Adora gave a panicked look to Catra. She raised a hand, one only Catra could see, as if she would try to step in. Catra looked her (almost) in the eye, and slowly shook her head. Dismayed, but trusting in her closest friend, Adora dashed off.
Little did both of them know, Adora remained close enough to listen. But that detail only became relevant to Catra … after.
“Catra… I do not understand why this is so hard for you, sweetheart, ” Shadow Weaver’s voice became sickly-sweet, but Catra watched as her shadows swelled around her and her mask’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You just love to disobey me, don’t you? Enjoy playing with people’s emotions, disappointing me?”
“N-No, Shadow Weaver, we were just--”
“ Silence, Catra.” Shadow Weaver growled, pinning her in place with foul magical energy. “Until you get back in your place , you’ll get a nice reminder from me.”
Something clicked into place on Catra’s neck, and her ears picked up a strange buzz. She was released from the magic, and stood, feeling her neck gingerly. A… collar. Shadow Weaver’s eyes crinkled into a smile, and one remaining tendril rose with a controller in hand. Catra barely had the time to feel dread before she was convulsing on the ground, claws tugging at the collar desperately.
Adora slumped to the ground outside, a hand over her mouth and tears streaming down her cheeks.
Rogelio almost didn’t leave, were it not for Kyle and Lonnie backing him up. He’d suffered horribly at the hands of the Horde, but he would not abandon his team for what he believed was selfish whims.
And then, it happened.
Rogelio, Kyle, Lonnie, Catra, and Adora had just gotten back from a training simulation, and the difficulty had been recently increased. As such, they didn’t do very well. Well, really… they failed pretty badly.
Their supervisor, in all of her high-up glory, decided that a demonstration was in order.
“So, cadets, care to explain your incompetence to me? How the fuck will I explain this to Shadow Weaver?”
“Well, Sir,” Rogelio began, his reptilian accent forcibly suppressed to sound more ‘professional’ (as per orders), “We were not expecting such difficulty in this simulation, and we will seek to correct our negligible performance in the future.”
“ Silence .” The goat-man barked, “Or I will make you .”
Rogelio gulped quietly, but continued, despite his better judgment. “Sir, with all due respect, you asked for an explanation. I am simply--”
“What did I just say, cadet?” The goat-man’s fur puffed in rage, and before Rogelio could blink, a knife embedded itself from under his chin through his muzzle. Rogelio blinked, and then raised his hands to his face.
And then, Rogelio screamed.
The goat-man seemed shocked at his own actions, taking a couple steps back with wide eyes. Rogelio curled up on the floor, quiet shrieks of pain escaping him without him opening his muzzle. Kyle and Adora hovered over him, trying to figure out what to do, panic etched into their faces. Lonnie and Catra turned on the supervisor, rage clouding their gazes. Sensing their oncoming attack, he bolted from the room, presumably to cover his tail with Shadow Weaver.
“Rogelio, R-R-Rogelio, hey,” Kyle could barely get the words out, anxiety nipping at his vocal cords. “You need, you need to, to sit st-still, we need to, to, t-t-to pull it out.”
The lizard whined, uncurling a minute amount. His eyes were filled with total panic and confusion. Even Catra’s heart ached at the sight.
Adora and Catra moved to hold the hulking man down, despite knowing that he probably could break loose should he feel real danger. Kyle had taken towels from their lockers (because who didn’t know their squadmates’ passcodes) in order to take care of the… aftermath. Lonnie had the unfortunate luck of being the one to pull out the blade.
This was going to be horrifying.
Lonnie was also a simple case; Rogelio and Catra’s treatment was abhorrent. However, her own breaking point was reached on an unassuming rainy day. She was eating a ration bar, the nasty ass brown kind, as she moved towards her watch station. As she walked, she always kept an ear out, knowing to never let her guard down in the Fright Zone.
Her daily ritual of listening offered her many insights into Hordak’s cruelty.
She learned about his relentless conquests, and joyful subjugation of countless peoples. She learned how he created orphans and indoctrinated them into the Horde. She learned how he kept them near starved for control , not from necessity.
And Lonnie had enough.
Kyle hated the Horde.
He always had, and now believes he always will. They took his family, they tried to take his new family, they attacked everyone just for a single man’s power hungry tirade. He still had vivid memories of being stolen from his mother’s arms, his other mother laying on the ground beside her. He was only four.
And then they burned his village.
And then they collared Catra, stabbed Rogelio, beat them down until they were nothing .
Kyle hated the Horde.
And nothing could ever change that.
Walking to the meeting, hands held by Lonnie and Kyle, Rogelio smiled to himself. They’d come so far. The smile slowly faded, though, at the thought of Queen Angella.
If the woman even dared to trample their years of hard work, she would have hell to pay.