Disclaimer: I do not own She-Ra or its related characters. All is the property of Noelle Stevenson, Dream Works Animation, Netflix, NBCUniversal Television Distribution, Filmation, Larry DiTillo, and J. Michael Straczynski.

Ill Will:

King Micah was brought before the Lord of the Horde.

He glared up at the looming figure that was their mysterious Great Adversary.

A thrown wreathed in shadow, upon which sat a form as wraith-like and difficult to make out as the shadows that cloaked him. The only truly visible thing about him were the eyes. Red and glowing. Two embers of crimson coal burning in the dark.

Lord Hordak truly was as terrifying as the stories said.

It was such a rare thing for a person to live up to their reputation. To spite the dire situation he was in, Micah could not help the short clip of a laugh that escaped him. They called it the 'Evil Horde', but no one really realized that what they were fighting might actually be a physical embodiment of 'evil itself'.

"Does something amuse you?" Even the voice that issued from that shadowed throne was dark. Rumbling through the air like the warning clouds of a storm. Low thunder off in the distance, promising worse things to come.

"No." Micah gave another laugh. This one wasn't a short clip or a shallow bark. This was actually a true laugh. Almost hysterical. Micah was about to die. Truly. He was absolutely confident that the Evil Lord of the Evil Horde was about to kill him. He had reached the end of his days, his number was up, his candle about to go out, his threat cut, the period at the end of his sentence. There was absolutely nothing to laugh about. "And that's what's so funny."

Those glowing red eyes shifted. One narrowing, the other growing wider. On any other face –not that Micah could see much of a face- he could have called it a look of confusion.

The shadow stood from the throne.

One metal-plated boot appeared on the stairs. Then the second one. The tapered hem of a robe. Metal grieves. Dark blue skin of an exposed thigh. A V-shaped waste band that didn't quite meet in the middle. A chest with the emblem of the Horde blazing in red. More and more of the Evil Lord came into view as he descended from the throne. A cape whispered around his shoulders, hiding the monster's arms.

Micah looked up into the face of evil.

Paler than he was expecting. Almost a bone-white. With a square jaw and high cheek-bones. A vertical nasal cavity instead of a nose, more like a bat's… or a skull's. Those grown red eyes were rimmed in black. The top of his head almost completely baled apart from a single turft of blue hair, almost like a mohawk. Combed back and smoothed down.

Up close, without the darkness of the dimly lit dais obscuring his features, he still looked like a monster, but also somehow less… unreal. He was not a living shadow, or an anthropomorphic personification of evil. He was just a man.

To spite his dire situation –or perhaps because of his dire situation- Micah smiled. "You're taller than I expected."

Micah was used to people being taller than him. Angella was taller than him. But this dark Lord was like a tree! A tower! A sentient spire with no moral compass or regard for other sentient life.

"Your army is defeated, your Rebellion is crushed, and your Princess Alliance is disbanded." Sharp, predatory teeth, as crimson red as his eyes showed when he spoke. "What is there for you to find humor in?"

And then Micah realized it. It wasn't seeing his face that made this dark Lord seem less unreal. It wasn't seeing the body those glowing eyes were attached to make him appear less mythical. It wasn't the military cut hair, or the exposed skin. With that question Micah realized, this dark Lord, this Commander of the Evil Horde, was afraid. And fear was a mortal emotion. Fear was the most mortal emotion.

Hordak was afraid.

Of what, Micah had no idea. What he said was true. His army had lost. The Princess Alliance was disbanded. Their Rebellion was crushed. The Horde had won. What was there for Hordak to fear?

Micah laughed again.

"Kill me!" He announced. Commanded, actually. "It won't make a difference. You might have beaten us for now. But we'll come back. Maybe not any time soon. But eventually. New Princesses, with new powers. A new Alliance. Maybe even some of your own soldiers will defect to our side. Who knows?" He shrugged to spite his bindings.

Those crimson red fangs were bared in a silent snarl.

From somewhere up in the rafters above the throne room, Micah heard his own voice thrown back at him. 'Who knows? Who knows? Who knows?'

Hordak frowned. "So sure of this, are you?"

Micah smiled. A true smile, of affection. He close his eyes, shutting out the image of the Lord of the Horde and instead calling up a memory of Angella holding baby Glimmer to her breast. His wife. His daughter. The people who mattered most in the world to him. That was the image he wanted behind his eyes when he died. Micah sighed. At peace.

"I have faith in the ones I love."

No deathblow came.

Micah waited.

He opened on eye, curious. And maybe a little impatient. He was at peace now. He was good to go. What was the hold-up?

Lord Hordak was staring at him. A quizzical, almost confused look on his face. As if the dark Lord did not understand. As if there was suddenly some kind of inexplicable language barrier between them. "Love?"

"Yes." Micah nodded, not understanding the misunderstanding. Surely physical embodiments of evil had a concept of 'love' even if they did not feel it themselves. After all, the opposite of 'evil' was not 'good' but selflessness, and there was no greater selflessness than love. "I'm ready to die, knowing the ones I love will live."

"Pathetic." Hordak seemed unimpressed.

"You've never been in love." It was not an absurd assumption to make. He was, after all, violence and hate given physical form. Evil made flesh.

And then Micah realized something. As much as Lord Hordak was evil made flesh, he was also mortal flesh. And mortal flesh could be influenced by magic. He was the greatest sorcerer to ever live. He could curse the dark Lord. He could place a curse upon pure evil. He might die here, today, now. But Hordak would never be rid of him.

"You will experience love." Micah announced. Firm and resolute. Feeling the currents of power in the room shift. A subtle movement in the air, like a light breeze from the ventilation systems, but starting from the floor where he knelt and spiraling up around the dark Lord.

Hordak seemed not to notice the change in the wind. He only gave a short snort of derision.

"You will experience love." Micah said again. "And at the moment of your greatest success, when all you desire is about to be achieved- that love will be taken from you, and you will be broken!" This time, when Micah laughed, there was no humor in it, only malice and vengeance. "Kill me and be cursed!"

Now Hordak felt the energy in the room. The currents of power. Like wind, but they were indoors. He snarled another wordless snarl and called for one of his Force Captains.

"Take him away!" Hordak ordered. "Send him to Beast Island. Let him would-be magician rot in a cell. His parlor tricks have no power here!"

Hordak did not kill King Micah of Brightmoon.

He was not one to believe in silly local superstition like curses, but if he were, one would think that would nullify it. If the terms required King Micah's death, then the terms were not fulfilled.

But as anyone who studied magic would know, the final part of any spell was only the binding part. Not completing the binding did not erase the Will. And Hordak's throne room was filled with the sorcerer's Ill Will.

'You will experience love. And at the moment of your greatest success, when all you desire is about to be achieved- that love will be taken from you, and you will be broken!'

…

"Who do you think let the Princesses in?"

…

END