"He's never alone in his head. He hears the others all the time. They are him, and he is them, but with each spin of the wheel, which each change of the mask, another Other steps into his skin and takes control. The charlatan, the monster, the robot, the hero. He wants to be the hero all the time, but sometimes he needs to be a liar, or a monster. He cannot remember his real name."
"He should have been king. They paint him as a villain, and perhaps that is the role he needs to play, but the gods gifted him with an intellect beyond that of his kin, and that intellect led him to hate the surface dwellers, their hooks, their nets, their shit and piss flooding into his kingdom. I am a monster from the deep, he thinks. I am their villain. But it is not I who rains down poison onto their world. And my kingdom is three quarters of the planet. They could not survive the horrors of the depths."
"Hordak didn't concern himself with pain when he twisted this body into its new, extended shape. Limbs that stretched and whined with mechanical expansion, every joint and bone screaming in agony as they reached for the sky. They say the rack is a terrible way to die. But what if, by evil sorcery and science, you live forever upon the rack, your body stretched beyond its limits to make you a better weapon?"
"I am a weapon. I know what I look like. I'm a parody of a thing, some sick gun-nut's wet dream. But if I am a weapon, I want to be pointed in the right direction. They replaced my lungs with more efficient, smaller things to make room for the guns in my chest. Scooped out my quads and replaced them with metal pistons to make room for more guns. grafted lasers onto my hands - I've been afraid to touch another living being for years, because I am a weapon, these hands are weapons, and they must always be pointed in the right direction. I don't know how to be anything else."
"They think he is a servant, a warrior, a soldier in this war. But he is not here for war, or loyalty, or payment. He would be here anyway, in this wasteland of violence, weaving his webs, terrorizing his victims. There is a man in his webs right now, a palace guard. No one will ever know his name. But this creature will remember the taste as he drains the man to a desiccated husk. This creature is not a soldier. He is a predator, and he is here to hunt. And to feed."
