Duncan’s hand hovered over his wrench. “You’re not him. You’re not my…”
“The Havoc will obey me, not the other way around,” Keldor hissed. “I saw the web-future, Duncan. In one timeline, I become Skeletor. In another, I become… nothing. A footnote. But this third path? The one where I win?”
The hologram glitched. Duncan leaned closer. He-Man and The Masters of The Universe 2021 WEB...
A hologram erupted in his lab. Not a file. A memory. Grainy, jagged, half-erased. It showed a throne room he didn’t recognize—darker, older. And standing there: . But not the skull-faced warlord. This Keldor had flesh. Blue skin, yes, but unrotted. Whole. He was arguing with someone off-screen.
Duncan had three seconds to choose.
Then the image shattered, and his comm screen displayed a single line of clean text:
Duncan’s blood went cold. He reached for the power switch—but the hologram laughed, a dry, digital rasp. Duncan’s hand hovered over his wrench
Not in the water itself, but in the old Pre-Eternian data-web—a ghost network the Elders had sealed centuries ago. Duncan, ever the tinkerer, had cracked its encryption while testing a new sonic wrench. Now his wrist-comm flickered with corrupted glyphs:
The lab door hissed open. Man-At-Arms himself stood there—Duncan’s hero, his mentor, the father he never had. Except his eyes glowed faintly green. Havoc-green. “I saw the web-future, Duncan
Keldor turned—and looked directly at him. Through time. Through code.
Duncan’s hand hovered over his wrench. “You’re not him. You’re not my…”
“The Havoc will obey me, not the other way around,” Keldor hissed. “I saw the web-future, Duncan. In one timeline, I become Skeletor. In another, I become… nothing. A footnote. But this third path? The one where I win?”
The hologram glitched. Duncan leaned closer.
A hologram erupted in his lab. Not a file. A memory. Grainy, jagged, half-erased. It showed a throne room he didn’t recognize—darker, older. And standing there: . But not the skull-faced warlord. This Keldor had flesh. Blue skin, yes, but unrotted. Whole. He was arguing with someone off-screen.
Duncan had three seconds to choose.
Then the image shattered, and his comm screen displayed a single line of clean text:
Duncan’s blood went cold. He reached for the power switch—but the hologram laughed, a dry, digital rasp.
Not in the water itself, but in the old Pre-Eternian data-web—a ghost network the Elders had sealed centuries ago. Duncan, ever the tinkerer, had cracked its encryption while testing a new sonic wrench. Now his wrist-comm flickered with corrupted glyphs:
The lab door hissed open. Man-At-Arms himself stood there—Duncan’s hero, his mentor, the father he never had. Except his eyes glowed faintly green. Havoc-green.
Keldor turned—and looked directly at him. Through time. Through code.