Chapter Text
Catra had to admit, in that darkest, most cynical part of herself that her banishment was pretty hilarious. A perfectly placed kick off the abyss that was her sorry excuse of a life. She would have laughed if she could feel anything other than the emptiness that had been gnawing her insides. She really thought for a little while there that she could rise above her station and be something, anything other than the waste of breath that Shadow Weaver had tried so hard to beat into her head. She did, for a little while. Power over and recognition by her peers, the respect of her authority figures, and her own self-worth affirmed as something more than Adora’s pet. She could honestly not remember a single moment in her life in which she had felt more satisfaction then crushing Shadow Weaver and usurping her position. Everything was as close to perfect as Catra could ever remember. Then she had been pushed from Hordaks good graces by Entrapta. Then Shadow Weaver had used her like the tool she was raised to be one last time, throwing her to the wolves when she was done with her. And then she was banished. It fit the general theme of Catra’s wreck of a life up to this point.
Banishment to Beast Island. The worst punishment one could get in the Horde. Summary execution within the Hoard did exist, mainly used by force captains for execution of attempted desertion, (let it never be said that she didn’t eventually read the force captain orientation) the preferred capital punishment method was death by Beast Island. Hordak hated wasting anything in the Horde, even traitorous soldiers. Instead of merely killing them and maybe scaring a few potentially rebellious soldiers, leaving their fate to death up to the imagination of the soldiers and their habits for idle gossip and rumor starting ensured that a culture of fear grew around Beast Island until even the mention of it could cause frontline troops to sweat. Afterall, you may be killed on the frontlines in an unlucky skirmish, but it would be quicker than whatever monstrosity would do to you on Beast Island.
She could see it in the distance, an ominous black mass with storm clouds swirling around it. She couldn’t not see it with her restraints keeping her facing straight dead ahead on the skiff. With Hordaks preference of fear and intimidation she had no doubt that her positioning was intentional, to generate as much dread as possible within her as she slowly inched closer to it on the skiff. There were a lot of things in the Horde that worked like that. Buildings were formed in a sort of looming manner, hanging over those who marched between structures. Piping and wiring were left open, disappearing into walls in dark openings and ominous pits. Jutting edges and sharp corners, all slightly off center to convey a feeling of discomfort and foreboding… or at least that's what Entrapta said that they were meant to do. Seeing as the Frightzone was the only home that she or any other cadet in the Horde had ever known, the overarching buildings were comforting, much like the darkness afforded by all those open maintenance shafts, concealing many a cadet getting up to all sorts of minor trouble. As for those edges and corners, cadets adored them for allowing access to rooftops for impromptu sparring sessions and gossip dens. It was for that reason that Catra felt no fear or dread at that mass of rock that she starred at as her little skiff raced ever closer to its shores. The small amount of dread that she felt deep in her chest, constricting her heart, and making it hard to catch her breath seemed only to appear as her thoughts turned from what she had lost to whom she had lost.
Scorpia and Entrapta…
Scorpia had been by her since her abandonment by Adora for a bunch of strangers she’d just met. Did her relationship with Catra mean that little to her? Was she that worthless? Catra was in a dark place then and Scorpia acted as a light, bringing her out of that mire of bitterness and hopelessness Adora had left her in. She’d tried so hard to connect to Catra, but she just wasn’t ready to open up to Scorpia, too afraid of the sort of stab in the back that Adora had given her to ever really let Scorpia in. And despite all that, Scorpia had still been there for her, understanding of her situation. She’d even agreed to go against the terror that was their commanding officer so Entrapta’s plan could succeed. Catra regretted how she had treated Scorpia and wished she could have been better to her and Entrapta.
Entrapta’s support had been a complete accident if Catra was being honest. A princess left for dead in enemy territory. Not too dissimilar to what had happened to Catra herself. Catra would admit to being dishonest and playing upon her fears to push her to support the Horde against her previous allies. But once she had turned she proved to be an enthusiastic inventor for the Horde. She had supplied the plan for breaking the woods and destroying the rebellion. She’d found that she had been the key to her overthrow of Shadowweaver. Whatever happened after, she was thankful for the opportunity to beat that witch into the ground.
They had been constants by her side in these past few months. Solid rocks in her chaotic life that she could find some semblance of comfort. They had helped her rise above her station and for a short time be something, anything, other than the waste of air that everyone around her and the voices inside her told her she was. They had been her comrades… friends even.
She hoped they would be ok, that their association with her wouldn’t drag them down with her.
As the skiff coasted ever closer to the island, Catra could do nothing but hope.