Birds of a Feather… Get Fried Together
In the depths of the Fright Zone, four loud-mouthed Tengas discover why legends are better left unchallenged.
They were warned not to enter. Goldar snarled at the Tenga Warriors to stay away from the Fright Zone’s cursed cave, claiming a Horde Wraith lurked inside, eager to suck the souls from anything foolish enough to disturb it. But arrogance is second nature to the Tengas, and mocking legends is their favorite sport. So when they stumbled into the cavern’s damp shadows, wings flapping and beaks cackling,the clash of the Tenga Warriors vs Horde Wraith was about to begin.
The Legend of the Tenga Warriors vs Horde Wraith: The Warning Ignored
The caves of the Fright Zone stank of damp stone and long-dead fires. The air clung wet and heavy to every feather, carrying the faint, bitter tang of rust and ash. It was a place few dared to enter, for the stories said a Horde Wraith haunted these tunnels—an old spirit, bound in shadow, chained by magic to guard secrets no living soldier should see.
The Tengas, naturally, laughed at such tales.
They were warned by Goldar to never enter. He warned them the Wraith would suck their souls dry and leave empty husks in its wake. “That cave is cursed,” Goldar snarled. “Even I do not step inside.”
But the Tengas, forever squawking and strutting, defied their master. They convinced themselves the story was nothing more than one of Goldar’s scare tactics, a way to keep them in line.
So they went anyway—mocking, daring, eager to prove themselves braver than their commander.
The mouth of the cave yawned like a wound in the earth, its jagged stone teeth glistening with condensation. The moment the Tengas stepped inside, the temperature dropped; a clammy chill wrapped itself around their feathers, seeping into their joints. The air hung thick and stale, carrying the sour reek of rot and sulfur, mixed with the metallic tang of rust that clung to their tongues when they breathed too deeply.
Every sound echoed strangely—each talon-scrape and squawk bounced back distorted, like the walls were mocking them in whispers. The floor was uneven and slick with patches of damp moss, forcing the birds to shuffle rather than strut. Stalactites dripped steadily, their droplets splattering like distant footsteps in the silence.
The shadows felt heavy, almost physical, sliding over their wings as though alive. Every gust of stale air carried with it the faint char of long-dead fire, smoke long since burned out but still clinging to the stone. A faint ozone sting prickled at their nostrils, a scent like lightning trapped underground.
Laughter in the Dark
It was not a place of the living—and though the Tengas squawked and joked, their feathers bristled with every step deeper inside.
“Where is this great phantom?” one jeered, peering into the dark. “Goldar just didn’t want us finding his secret nap spot, that’s all.”
Another puffed his chest, waving his wings. “Beware the ghost of the Horde!” he shrilled, his voice bouncing off the walls. “OoOoOo—he comes to tuck us in!”
The third shoved his brother with a beak-snapping laugh.
“The only thing haunting this cave is the smell. Smells like old socks!”
The fourth clutched his sides, doubled over, his screeches high and wheezing.
“Maybe the Wraith took Goldar’s brain years ago.” He cackled, snapping his beak. “That would explain a lot!”
“Hey, Wraith!” the other shouted into the shadows, wings spread wide in mock challenge. “You home? Or did you hit the snooze button for another century?”
Their laughter rattled the cave… until the torches along the wall sputtered out one by one. A deeper shadow fell. The air grew colder, heavy with the stench of ozone.
Then came the sound—low and dragging, like stone grinding against stone, as if the cavern itself had begun to breathe. The walls seemed to exhale cold mist that coiled around the Tengas’ feet, tightening with every heartbeat.
The Wraith Awakens
At the far end of the chamber, a single ember flared to life—red, steady, and hateful. The glow spread, outlining the Horde sigil burned into a chestplate, its edges pitted and corroded as though it had weathered centuries in the dark.
From that ember of light, a shape unfolded. Cloaked in robes that swallowed the torchlight, the Wraith drifted forward, gliding soundlessly. Frost spread in his wake, the stone floor crackling with ice as he passed. His hood bowed low, yet the weight of his presence pressed into their feathers like iron.
The Tengas had joked and squawked their way into the cave. Now their laughter died in their throats as the shadow thickened. Then, almost desperately, they cackled again – louder, shriller, trying to bury their nerves under the noise.
“All that buildup, and we get a guy who looks like he lost a fight with his own laundry?” one Tenga mocked.
“That’s not a Wraith, that’s Goldar in a bathrobe.” Another sneered, though his wings twitched restlessly.
The Wraith stopped. His voice rasped out, dry and sharp as bone splintering—more annoyed than regal:
“I’ve waited a hundred years to be left alone, and now I have a migrane from you four loud mouthed parrots!”
A Lesson in Fear
Before the Tengas could muster a reply, slowly, the Wraith’s pale, clawed hand rose, curling like the talons of a corpse with sorcery crackling in the air. One of them screamed as his body jerked upward, feathers tearing free, wings thrashing against invisible chains. A violet glow wrapped him like a coffin, hoisting him high above the ground. His caws of mockery broke into shrieks of panic.
As the Tenga thrashed helplessly in the air, the Wraith leaned in, his ember eyes flaring:
“Still think this is funny? Let’s hear you laugh without air.”
The others shrank back, wings pressed tight, eyes wide. Their laughter drained away, leaving only the sound of talons scraping stone as they retreated. One staggered backward until he hit the wall, wings trembling. Another threw his arms around his brother’s shoulder as if bracing for the same fate. Their beaks clicked nervously, all bravado gone, eyes wide with animal terror.
The Wraith tilted his head, almost amused, his voice low and cold:
“You wanted attention. Congratulations—you’ve got all of mine.”
The Wraith’s ember eyes burned brighter beneath the hood as he tightened his grip. The levitating Tenga gagged, his talons passing through nothing but air, each sizzling feather popped like fat in a fire.
With a flick of his hand, the magic shattered. The Tenga fell like a broken puppet, crashing into the dirt and lying there, trembling, beak clacking in terrified gasps.
The chamber was silent but for his ragged breathing.
The Wraith turned and leaned in closely to the Tenga on the ground, letting his ember eyes burn into his. The other’s wings drooped, their heads bowed, their talons scraping as they cringed away from him.
Mercy and Malice
The Wraith swept his gaze over the others. His voice cut through the cave like a blade of ice:
“I’ll let you keep your souls—for now. They’d taste better when seasoned with fear.”
None dared answer.
The Wraith turned, his robes dragging shadows that clung to the walls like oil. He drifted back into the dark without hurry, as though confident they would not move until he allowed it. The cave sealed around him, swallowing the last trace of his presence. For a long moment, only the rasp of fading magic and the birds’ ragged breathing disturbed the silence.
The Cowards’ Retreat
Then, one by one, the Tengas began edging toward the tunnel mouth, their wings twitching with every step.
“I told you this was a bad idea,” one muttered, jabbing his brother with a talon.
“Bad idea? You were the one flapping your beak the loudest!” the other snapped back.
“I wasn’t scared!” the third squawked, puffing out his chest, though his feathers still shook. “But YOU! You were scared.”
“Me?!” The fourth Tenga nearly tripped, “You were hiding behind me the whole time! Don’t even deny it.”
“Oh please,” the first squawked, “I was just making sure you didn’t fall over from terror. You should be thanking me!”
“Thanking you?! You were crying louder than the Wraith!” another screeched, snapping his beak.
“Doesn’t matter,” another grumbled. “Just—nobody tell Goldar, alright? He’ll never let us hear the end of it.”
“Pfft, I’ll tell him myself!” one puffed, strutting for a second. “I’ll say I chased the Wraith off.”
“Chased him off? You couldn’t even chase off your own shadow!”
Run, Little Birds
As they squawked and bickered toward the exit, a low hum built in the stone, like the cavern itself drawing breath. Then, from deep in the dark, a piercing shriek split the air—an unearthly howl of rage and echoing power that rattled the very walls.
The Tengas froze. Every feather on their bodies flared.
“…RUN!” one screeched.
They bolted in a panic, wings flailing, squawking over one another as they stampeded for the daylight. Their cowardly retreat sealed the tale of the Tenga Warriors vs Horde Wraith, a warning never to be ignored again.
Behind them, the echo of the Wraith’s scream lingered in the stone, a reminder of the price of waking what should never be disturbed. The Wraith’s ember eyes glimmered once more in the dark as he whispered after them:
“Run fast, little birds… fear makes the soul sweeter.”
– Copyright © 2025
About These Figures
This short story was inspired by a toy photography scene featuring:
- Horde Wraith from MOTU Classics by Matel – Cloaked in black robes and burning with eerie yellow eyes, the Horde Wraiths are sorcerers and elite minions of Hordak in the Masters of the Universe franchise. Part spellcaster, part army-builder, these spectral figures embody the Horde’s dark mysticism.
- MMPR Tenga Warriors by Hasbro – Squawking, strutting, and always looking for trouble, the Tenga Warriors are bird-like foot soldiers who serve Rita Repulsa and Lord Zedd in Mighty Morphin Power Rangers. Their arrogance and comic relief often mask just how dangerous they can be in numbers.
All figures were staged indoors with controlled lighting to create this toy photography scene, blending the pulpy worlds of MOTU and MMPR into one crossover of shadow and feathers: Tenga Warriors vs Horde Wraith
