Shadow Bound
More AU than a barrel of Hunkies. Based mostly on the original Voltron continuity, but incorporates some elements from the comics. And no, Balto wasn't fully evacuated before it blew up. Did anyone really believe that?
Not even bothering with the accent. (...I've always wanted to say that.)
She swept through the corridors of Castle Doom, Coba at her side, focusing on the currents of energy and magic which swept through the dark citadel. Something had come in with the latest slave ship. Something familiar, something she knew, if only just.
Something important...
The guards were herding groups of slaves through the castle. The strong would be put in the arena, the weak left to die in the cold stone cells. Or thrown to the robeasts, if the slaves chosen to fight didn't put on a good enough show, but Zarkon preferred to avoid this. Butchering the weak without struggle only made his war constructs soft.
What she was following now led her to a cell, with a single Earthling sprawled inside. Castle Doom's cells were spacious; the one small concession to comfort for the prisoners. It was not compassion or mercy. If the slaves were to put on a good show in the arena, they had to have room to move, to keep themselves fit and limber while awaiting their turn to die.
But this slave was not concerned with that... his energy was weak. He was wounded, gravely so, and he would not be fighting. He would be left to waste away, except...
Her golden eyes narrowed as she studied the injured Earthling. She knew those wounds. Knew them because they had been inflicted at her command, though at the time she'd thought they were mortal.
I am impressed, human. I am impressed, and I know how to use that which impresses me... she raised her staff, shining brilliant light over the interior of the cell. Waking him. She wished to see, wished to know for certain.
He shifted, painfully, pulled himself into a sitting position. He looked different now, dark hair long and ragged, wearing loose clothes that would not aggravate his wounds. Ebb was a hospital planet, after all. Or at least it had been.
After several moments his eyes adjusted to the light. Deep, dark, almost empty eyes. But when he realized who was watching him fire flared up within them.
Groggy, but not too clouded to recognize her.
Damaged, but not too broken to hate her.
Haggar smiled, dispelled the light from her staff, and turned away. That will change, little Earthling. We'll make good use of that spirit soon. She would require Zarkon's express permission to take custody of a slave. But there was no doubt he would grant it—no doubt at all. He would never deprive her of this new and auspicious weapon.
This lost, forgotten member of the Voltron Force.
It had been a dream. It had all been a dream, hadn't it? The witch... the slave ship... the attack... in the past, in another life, he'd have said it hurt too much to be a dream. But he didn't believe in that anymore. He always hurt. Everything always hurt.
Right now he was starving and desperately thirsty, but it seemed to hurt slightly less, which lent some credence to the idea that he'd been dreaming the horrors on Ebb. Besides, the only thing colder and filthier than the slave ship had been the cell they'd thrown him into once arriving on Doom. It wasn't cold anymore. In fact there was a wonderful warmth flowing over him, pouring into the jagged scars and easing his tensed muscles.
For the briefest of moments, Sven let himself relax. Then he opened his eyes.
Two glowing golden slits stared back at him. "Mrreaow!"
He'd have cried out if his parched throat allowed it. As it was he gave a rather undignified sort of rasp-squeak and jerked back, only to find his arms and legs anchored and unmoving. He was strapped to some sort of table. The cat watched him, bristling, but didn't move to attack. Which was probably a bad sign, all things considered...
"Awake at last?" a familiar voice observed, grating his ears like the proverbial nails on a chalkboard. Sven wasn't sure what a chalkboard was. Some ancient relic that made unpleasant sounds. Not possibly as unpleasant as the witch cackling somewhere behind him, and he couldn't even turn enough to see...
"Myaow!"
"Ah, of course. Do forgive my rudeness." Haggar appeared before him, one twisted blue hand clutching her staff, the other holding... Sven squinted, despite himself. A glass of water. Indeed. Well, if the old witch really thought she could torture him more than she already—his thoughts were cut off by her shoving the glass up to his face. "Drink!"
Yes. Right. He pulled back, grimacing as his battered body protested the motion. Chained to a table he may have been, but he had enough range of motion to make himself miserable.
"Now now," Haggar scolded, moving closer. "You don't think I'd kill you like this, do you? When you can be so useful to me later? Drink!"
Briefly, he entertained the thought. Very briefly. It would be good to drink, to be able to talk, to be able to call her a bitch, to be able to spit in her face... also undignified, but really, little things like pride had no place in a battle of life or death. Wasn't as if she had any honor.
Haggar glared at him; he glared back. "Of course you're going to be difficult. I ought to have expected as much."
He managed a nod, and her expression was worth the pain that lanced up and down his spine.
"Coba!" The cat hissed and crouched, and Sven braced himself for the worst. "Unchain him."
...Huh?
With a growl, the cat jumped up, brushing against his side. He felt the bonds holding him fall away and knew this was his chance. His only chance. Gathering all his strength, he attempted to lunge at the witch, only to end up face-first on the floor, feeling like he'd just lost a fight with a robeast.
Not an inaccurate perception, other than the time frame.
Haggar looked down at him and raised an eyebrow. She didn't really have eyebrows, but the gesture was clear. "Do you feel better now?"
He wasn't going to dignify that with a response, but opted not to struggle when she raised her staff and muttered a few incantations, levitating him back onto the table he'd just fallen off of. Again the glass of water was shoved in his face.
"Now, for the love of Sarga, drink."
Maybe it was poison, and maybe at this stage he was okay with that. He drank. Slowly, as they'd had him do on Ebb, not straining his throat muscles by gulping it down. And as the cool liquid trickled down his throat with no ill effects, it really didn't make him feel any better.
In fact, it made him that much more suspicious. "What..." His voice came out as a crackling hiss. "Whatever you're trying to do... I'm not going to fall for it."
Haggar raised a non-existent eyebrow again. He wished she'd stop doing that. "Your suspicion wounds me. There are a thousand things I could do to you that you would have no say in at all, but you'll notice I'm choosing not to. You could do with better manners." She lowered her staff in what was probably meant as a gesture of reassurance. "I just want to have a little talk... with my favorite Voltron Force member."
He glowered, hoping the expression would cover the pang that shot through him at those words. A wave of agony that had little to do with his wounds. "I," he muttered, his accent coming out even harsher than normal, "am not a member of the Voltron Force anymore. You should know this. Pay attention to your own plots, crazy witch."
As a general rule, Haggar was not inclined to tolerate condescension. Especially not condescension from half-dead Earthlings. Then again, this particular half-dead Earthling would have been fully dead if not for her own carelessness, so perhaps there was something to it. More to the point, she could be very, very patient when required.
It still took an impressive bit of restraint not to just turn him into a robeast on the spot.
That had been the initial plan, of course. But even the greatest plans of the greatest witches could be overtaken by events, and the same had happened when she'd started to study him, preparing for the transformation. It was no simple matter to turn living beings into cybernetic terrors, and Haggar had never converted an Earthling before. Careful examination was required. And what that examination had found was greater than any robeast.
She'd found Voltron. Traces of the mighty robot's power, still flowing through the blood of its lost pilot. Traces she could use. Or more to the point, traces he could use in her service. If only he were made to see through the light, into the darkness...
Looking at him now, meeting his fiery gaze with icy calm, she let a smile creep over her features. "But that just isn't true, little one. Voltron himself says that just isn't true."
He drew back. "What are you ranting about?" Suspicious. But... curious.
"Observe." She reached out and took his wrist; he jerked back as she'd known he would, but in his fear and revulsion he failed to notice the spell—just one of many subtle patterns of magic she'd been weaving since before he even opened his eyes. With a flick of her hand the human's palm split open, blood spurting into the air. He looked like he was going to do something stupid like jump at her again, so she froze him briefly with a muttered incantation. "Watch."
The wound closed itself once enough blood was taken, the thick crimson liquid twisting in midair, taking on a clear form. A lion, growling softly as it coalesced.
"Do you see?" she asked, watching his dark eyes follow the blood. His expression was a mix of terror and longing, confusion and wonder. At the same time she began triggering other spells. Haggar was no fool; she'd planned for this very carefully before allowing the Earthling to wake, and he would not be permitted to slip out of her web. "Do you want to reconsider now?"
"No." With what looked like a physical effort he tore his gaze away. "I'm not one of them, I..." A pause. "I..."
Detecting her magic, no doubt. He'd shown a gift for that before. But this was going where she needed it to go, regardless. "It's right there in front of you, human. Voltron has not relinquished his claim on your soul."
"Well maybe he should've!" Sven snapped. "I'm not one of them, I failed!"
With those words he was hers, whether he knew it yet or not. "Failed, human? Failed? I would hardly call it that... in fact," she leveled her staff at him, "I find that insulting. I meant to kill you and you didn't have the decency to die, and you call that a failure on your part?"
He drew back, off-balance. Resisting. But the spells were sinking in, opening his mind. "I... have failed at many things."
"I very much doubt that." Haggar cocked her head. "I was there, I saw... how all of them failed you. How bravely you came to throw your life away on behalf of your friends. But why were you alone?" She sneered as he winced. "Why were you the only one to save that hotheaded fool who fell into my trap? Why did your supposed friend flee so easily when you told him to leave? That isn't how you heroes work. I know, I've seen many of you..."
"No!" The human shook his head, too quickly, cringed and slumped over. It was no wonder he'd taken so long to recover if he couldn't keep from aggravating his injuries any better than that. "I told him to... I made him run..."
"Of course... of course." Sympathy came easily to her. To survive in the turbulent court of Doom, one learned to say what royalty wished to hear. Such talents could be turned to any purpose, so long as she didn't let silly things like dignity get in the way. How long would she build up a mere Earthling in order to destroy the hated Voltron? As long as needed. "I do remember. You were brave and loyal, and he was unworthy. They were all unworthy."
Coba had curled up in the human's lap, purring. Her familiar was good at this act too, though it only seemed to be making the human more uncomfortable. He gave the cat a tentative poke which turned into scratching its ears. "They were not... they had to survive. So that my failure didn't ruin everything. So that Voltron could still protect..."
"Protect who? Ebb?"
That drew a slight gasp. A nerve had been struck. "That... that's not what I—"
"—Of course it isn't. You don't think that way, honorable little Earthling. You don't want to think that way. You've probably convinced yourself that saving that world was your duty, even half-dead in a hospital cot, haven't you?"
At that point the human did the most intelligent thing he'd done since he woke. He stopped talking.
"Where were they?" she asked softly. Press the advantage. "Voltron claims to be the defender of the universe, but couldn't even look after their wounded friend on a helpless planet?"
It might have been the wrong thing to say; his eyes hardened briefly. "A helpless planet you destroyed," he hissed, "so don't think that—"
"—We expected to be stopped," Haggar interrupted. A dead lie, of course. But what he didn't know could only help her. "This is a war, little one. Nobody has any illusion about the motives or methods of Doom. What of your defender? We struck at the finest hospital world in the galaxy, expecting such a prize ought to bring out the mighty robot without fail. But it didn't. And then we found you there." Her eyes glowed. "Where were your friends?"
That shut him up, again. "My... they... they are busy."
"Too busy for you."
"Too busy for a failure like me," he agreed softly.
He was stubborn. It seemed to be an Earthling trait. Intensifying the magic in the air, she waited a moment before countering. "You deserve better, you know. Your courage should have been rewarded... not tossed so casually aside. Forgotten. Here you sit, crippled by your so-called failure. Do you think they were ever so shaken by how they failed, and continue to fail, you?"
Silence again.
The blood lion was still hovering in the air, a silent witness to the proceedings. Haggar gestured and it vaulted over the human's head to the open floor of the laboratory, roaring as its form shifted again. Changing from an organic beast to a robotic creature, swelling to the size of the Voltron lions as her spells began to take effect. "Look," she instructed.
No struggle this time, but when he turned he cried out in pain. Since he wasn't facing her the witch let herself smile.
"Are those old scratches still bothering you?" she asked sweetly, laying one gnarled hand on his back. Who would ever have foreseen this... but the universe works in mysterious ways. With the grace of Sarga, all ends for the best. "Let me fix that for you. A small gift for a wrongly forsaken human."
The healing arts were not difficult. In theory they were far from the black magics she usually wielded, but in practice they were surprisingly similar. To strengthen a body, to make it greater than it once was, to simply make it whole again. All these things were related.
By the time she was finished repairing the same damage she'd once caused, her other project was complete as well. A dark replica of Voltron's Blue Lion stood at the center of her lab, forged of black steel, blood-red eyes gleaming proudly. It was the Blue Lion... but better. More powerful. A Blue Lion capable of standing against Voltron at its mightiest, in the hands of a skilled pilot.
And she happened to have a skilled pilot wrapped around her twisted fingers.
"There. That is your rightful place." Her hands gripped his shoulders. "Will you take it?"
Hesitation. But not much. He could not escape her magic... no. The blood magic of the dark Lion might keep him in her grasp, but it could not force him to take the first step. But he cannot escape his own bitterness.
"...Yes."
The alarms were shrieking, again. Another day, another Doom fleet. Pidge was the first pilot into the control room, and quickly began looking over the monitors. Something struck him as off immediately; the incoming fleet looked far too... conventional. A couple of cruisers, plenty of fighters, but that seemed to be it. "What, no robeast?"
At this stage that was almost insulting. Even on Balto there'd been...
There'd been...
He viciously shook that out of his head.
Coran, seated at the console, shrugged. "Nothing detected yet, though one of the cruisers could be carrying it."
"Yeah." Pidge frowned as the rest of the team filtered in. There was something about this attack putting him on edge, something he couldn't quite place. Only that this was too abnormal to be taken at face value.
A tremor ran through the Castle of Lions as weapons began to impact. "Strange or not, let's go put a stop to it quickly," Keith ordered, drawing answering nods from the rest of the group.
It took exactly twenty-six seconds for the lion chutes to bring their pilots to their shuttles; the trek beneath the forest to Green Lion took another two and a half minutes. The whole time Pidge's mind was racing. This didn't make sense, and he really disliked things that didn't make sense. Zarkon wasn't stupid... and if Lotor could be obsessive and lacking in the common sense department sometimes, he didn't usually get a whole fleet to waste on a hopeless attack.
He was on edge, and when he placed his key and activated Green Lion, he found he wasn't the only one.
"Everyone to the front of the castle," Keith was saying. "Let's form Voltron before they can spring the trap on us."
"Best idea I've heard all day," Lance muttered.
Pidge fell into formation beside Hunk; Green and Yellow Lions had the furthest lairs from the castle. So far things looked okay... he fired a few cannon blasts at a fighter group which unwisely strayed too close. "This is silly." He was careful not to transmit. "Haven't they learned their lesson yet?"
As if to respond—with a resounding NO, no less—a fighter dove at him from out of nowhere. He triggered his lion torch, watched the cyclone slam the Doom craft to the ground, and sighed.
Silly...
The other Lions were gathered in front of the castle bridge, shooting fighters out of the sky with the usual arrays of lasers, missiles, and elemental weapons. The cruisers were backing off; at least someone in this attack fleet had some brains. Or maybe they were preparing for... whatever they'd come to do. More likely.
As Pidge and Hunk came bounding up Black Lion turned, nodded to them, and took to the sky. "Let's go!"
Pidge closed his eyes for a moment as his cockpit reconfigured. Keith was talking, but he felt the words more than heard them. Always the same words. Always the same feeling that somehow managed to be familiar, comforting, and disconcerting at the same time. Joining together. Becoming a greater whole, physically and mentally.
Activate interlocks.
Dynatherms connected.
Infracells up.
Megathrusters are—
There was supposed to be a 'go' there. Pidge had about half a second to wonder what had happened to it before something ripped through his—no, not his Lion. One of the others had been hit, or at least, his own displays weren't showing any damage. The neural link from forming Voltron did have its drawbacks. "Agh!"
With the formation disrupted Green Lion fell out of its left arm configuration, the cockpit reorienting itself again. Pidge took a few seconds to shake off the last vestiges of the feedback, then checked his monitors just in time to see Red Lion slamming into the Black Lion's tower. Oh, that's no good.
The comms were in chaos, which was only natural.
"What just happened?"
"Lance, are you okay?"
"How did that get past the shield?"
"Lance!"
"Hunk, cover him. We need to regroup."
Pidge tried to tune it out. His job was to figure out what had gone wrong. It wasn't the first time they'd been attacked while trying to form Voltron, but it was the first time in a long while that the attack had been successful. The sheer quantities of loose energy involved in the process usually deflected such attempts.
That was the theory, anyway. The pilots knew Voltron quite actively shielded itself against that sort of interference, which made the successful attack even more worrisome.
First priority was to get a look at what had attacked them. It couldn't have been the cruisers, they'd retreated too far, and the fighters were inconsequential at best... he was fighting his sensors, which wasn't a good sign, but was finally able to make out a wavering outline. Not a ship, but a shadow of one. Circling around...
Coming back.
"Guys, heads up! Scatter!"
To their credit, the team scattered without asking him what he saw, and the blurry reading shot through empty space where Blue Lion had been a moment before.
His best efforts to get a weapons lock were giving Pidge nothing, and he could see Black Lion shifting in midair, probably having the same difficulty. Some kind of stealth tech, but how? If Doom had anything like this...
Blue Lion moved ahead slowly, tentatively, as the phantom craft was reorienting itself. "Keith, Pidge, back off a bit. Give me some space."
Keith started protesting immediately. Pidge, deciding it was too urgent for little things like respect for authority, overrode him. "Princess, what do you see?"
"I'm not sure. But I think... I think it's water."
Oh. He ran a scan, confirming Allura's guess, though that made the whole situation make even less sense. A robeast made out of water. The implications were fascinating, but that was just weird. In any case it was certainly Blue Lion's area of expertise, so Pidge pulled back to help cover Lance. Black Lion joined him after a moment's hesitation. "All yours, Princess."
The blur was coming back, even faster this time. Allura's Lion took up a position directly in its path, leveled its head, and let loose with a stream of freezing water—still oh-so-incongruously called her lion torch. Some weapons just didn't have to make sense.
Coming in much too fast to dodge, the enemy made a valiant attempt at it anyway, twisting halfway out of the water's path. The wavering stopped; it was phasing into a more solid form, and Pidge's instruments were all screaming for attention. He ignored them, busy looking at the main view screen. The thing Allura had just fired on was...
A Lion?
No doubt. There was no mistaking that design, but the materials and colors were all wrong. The craft was built completely of a glossy black metal, giving off a faint blue sheen in the Arusian sunlight. Its eyes glowed red as it turned on Allura and unleashed a storm of energy darts. "Princess, watch it!"
"I'm watching," she promised, countering with a barrage of missiles, but the dark craft dodged quicker than even a Lion had any right to move.
"Um, guys?" Hunk's voice was uncharacteristically low. "I'm reading that as a friendly."
The dark Lion reared back and launched a volley of missiles at Red Lion, which was just now getting itself off the ground with some help from Keith. "It's not friendly." Lance dodged half the flight of missiles, took the other half to the face, and went right back down.
"Obviously. But..."
Pidge retreated further, running more scans. Lance was right about the hostility, of course, but Hunk was right about the readings too. "My computers are pretty certain it's Blue Lion," he reported after completing the scans—and running them again for good measure. "Blue Lion, with some anomalous readings. But they're within the acceptable margin of error."
Lance was struggling to his feet again. "This is acceptable margin of error?"
"It's a pretty wide margin. How many other lion-shaped spacecraft are running around the galaxy?"
"You might point out to your computers that it's trying to kill us!"
Keith broke in before Pidge could defend the honor of his sensors. "Don't shoot the messenger, Lance. Everyone in the air. Let's try to form Voltron again now that it's out of that water phase."
Bad idea. "Keith, the water isn't why it disrupted us. If Voltron really thinks that's a Voltron Lion, it's going to penetrate our energy field every time."
"...Oh. Okay, then we do this the old-fashioned way." Without another word, Black Lion rocketed after the fake Lion, ion cannons blazing.
"And hope they don't have four more of these on deck," Lance added.
"Thanks, Lance. You always know how to keep things light."
"Any time." Red Lion took to the air and started spitting fire, ending the conversation.
There was only so much space in the melee, with five Lions all trying to get a shot at one Lion-sized enemy craft. Pidge stayed on the outskirts, keeping out of the way, looking for a clear shot and running every long-range diagnostic he could pull up. Green Lion's computers were having a terrible time distinguishing Blue Lion and its shadowy twin when they got too close, which wasn't helping matters at all.
But Lance had a point and Pidge found himself watching the sky where the cruisers had long since vanished over the horizon. One Lion. Blue Lion, even—not Black, which would make far more sense if Doom could only replicate one of the machines. Why Blue? And if Blue wasn't the only one, where were the others?
Mentally, he tagged the enemy craft the Doom Lion. It wasn't creative, but it would suffice. "Be careful," he warned as one of his scans came back, "those missiles have corrosive warheads." He could see why the computers were confused; though its armaments had been modified, the Doom Lion did share Blue Lion's precise structure and weapon mounts.
It makes no sense... Doom shouldn't be able to do this so easily.
Maybe it wasn't easy. Maybe that explained why there was only the one Lion. Still—
"I've got a lock, out of the way!"
"Lance, look out!"
Hunk's warning came a second too late; the Doom Lion slammed into Red Lion as it was orienting itself for a full barrage. The two locked together, claws at each others' throats, plunging together to the ground. No.
The moat!
Red Lion hit the water in a hissing explosion of steam, and both combatants vanished.
Not good. Definitely not good. Blue Lion was the only one of the Lions really suited for underwater combat, and the Doom Lion clearly had inherited and improved on that characteristic. Not to mention that Red Lion, being driven by fire and all, was the absolute worst candidate for a water fight.
That thing really seems to have it in for Lance...
"I'm going in," Allura announced. "You three stay here."
"No way, Princess—"
"—She's right, Hunk. We'll just get in the way." Keith didn't sound too happy about it either, but he had a point. "We'll wait here. Drive him back to us."
Trying to monitor the battle with his sensors gave Pidge fits quickly. Too much interference, not to mention the look-alike Lions. He gave up, resigning himself to watching the water like everyone else. A faint, moving cloud of steam marked the general location of the battle; Red Lion really didn't like being wet. "Lance, talk to us."
Static cloaked the response. "Little busy here!"
Well, at least he was in good enough shape to be talking. The day Lance couldn't talk, things would be dire indeed.
After a couple of minutes, another cloud of steam heralded Red Lion's return to the surface, clawing its way out onto dry land. The machine slumped over, displaying several deep gouges along its left side, but at least the armor hadn't been breached. "That Doom Lion doesn't like me."
Pidge grinned at the use of the nickname. "No kidding."
"I think I'll sit here and wait to shoot it with the rest of you," Lance continued in his most nonchalant tone. "Allura's holding her own. But since it was focusing on me, you might want to go ahead and expect it in three... two... now."
Perfectly on cue, the dark shape sprang from the water, Blue Lion right on its literal tail.
Four lion torches converged on the Doom Lion, which responded with a flare of golden light that overloaded every sensor Green Lion had. It wasn't an explosion, more like an EMP pulse... when the interference faded the phantom craft was gone.
"I've got traces lighting up everywhere," Allura said, a little tentatively. "Some sort of decoys. I'm sending the locations."
"Right." Black Lion looked around for a moment, settling on one of the signals. "Lance, stay here... go back to Red Lion's lair and recharge. Everyone else, split up! Find it!"
Sven waited until he was a solid half hour from the Castle of Lions before bringing his battered craft to a rough landing in the caves. Hopefully the people of Arus had fully abandoned these caverns by now; he wasn't here to kill innocents. That put him at odds with his new benefactor, yes...
He was cooperating with Haggar. It didn't mean he had to like her. No matter how much he resented those he'd nearly died for, he hadn't forgotten who'd actually been trying to kill him.
Fleeing the battlefield had been planned from the start, if perhaps not under those exact circumstances. A test. Probing their defenses. The initial skirmish had not gone badly, really, but he was pretty certain now that he wanted them to form Voltron. One target was much easier to track than five. His Lion's quickness would put the massive robot to shame, anyway, and he knew much about the so-called invincible knight.
Enough to defeat it... a small part of him protested that his vengeance couldn't be worth this. End this. Accept that you were sacrificed, forgotten. Voltron is still the hope of the galaxy, the hope that not every world ends up like Ebb. You have no right.
He pushed it aside as best he could. No. Failure and lies had to be punished. This was an absolute truth. They have to pay, no matter how harsh the cost.
Shaking his head to clear it, Sven climbed out of his Lion's exit hatch and dropped to the ground, walking a bit and savoring the feeling of the movement—or more accurately the lack of feeling. The lack of pain. It had been so long since he'd moved without pain...
As to the Lion, he would wait for it to repair. The damage he'd taken in the battle had been light, but not insignificant. Already the machine's dark steel was glowing, flowing back together, patching its wounds. It healed quicker than the Voltron Lions, unless they'd been improved since he was last here. He doubted that.
So close... so close to getting Red Lion down for good. But it had worked out for the better anyway, if he wanted them to combine. Lance would die first, but he could wait a little while longer.
And Blue Lion. A slight shudder ran through him; he couldn't tell if it was more pain or anger. He had been replaced. Of course he'd been replaced. They'd had no choice. Still, coming face to face with the new pilot of Blue Lion had shaken him in ways he had not expected. Knowing he had been expendable was one thing. Seeing it was something else.
Grudgingly he admitted that the Princess wasn't a half bad pilot. She'd gotten quite a few good hits in while they were in the moat; his Lion was mostly repairing her handiwork.
Somehow those facts made it still worse.
Noise. Familiar noise. He looked up, eyes narrowed. No craft made noise like that except for the Lions... and sure enough, Green Lion was descending, landing between himself and his own ship.
You idiot! You can't fail here too! This is your last chance to prove... anything.
Fortunate that Pidge was the one to find him. Hunk or Lance would've just shot the dark craft to pieces, but not Pidge. He was too curious. Green Lion had barely settled into a sitting position before he darted out of the hatch, approaching the other machine with absolutely no caution.
Admittedly, not being attacked upon the landing probably didn't make the other Lion seem like a credible threat just now, though the kid had never had much sense of self-preservation. Using Green Lion as cover Sven moved forward. Quietly, but not quietly enough.
"Who's there?"
Oh for... cursing in his native tongue Sven launched himself forward. Nothing else to be done for it now. Lunging in a manner that usually would've taken an opponent out at the knees, he caught Pidge square in the chest as the small pilot started to crouch, then ran for his Lion as fast as he could. He would pit his piloting skills against Pidge any day, but he really wasn't interested in hand-to-hand combat with the Voltron Force's craftiest member.
Leave it to Pidge to notice exactly what he was trying to avoid, and not let him avoid it; by the time Sven clambered back into the dark Lion's cockpit, he wasn't alone, and his unwanted companion had sealed the hatch behind him. Wonderful.
Pidge looked up, gasped when he realized who he'd just locked himself in with. "Sven!"
"Well I'm glad you remember that much," he muttered darkly, drawing his sidearm. "Now why don't you leave?" He really should not talk and just shoot him. Kill him. That was the point of this whole operation, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.
Not like this. Not so quickly. Let him go back, make sure they know why. Make sure they understand this is... this is what they deserve.
"Why don't you tell me what you think you're doing?" Pidge answered, sounding a little too calm given the circumstances. "There's no way you could've healed that fast, you shouldn't even be walking around! Let alone, uh..." For the first time a spark of uncertainty, perhaps even fear, came into his eyes. "...trying to kill us?"
Sven glowered. "I'd like to say your concern is touching. But it isn't."
"Sven...?"
An odd pulse of heat shot through him; in his reflection in the monitors he thought something gold sparked in his eyes. Just for a second. Then there was only rage. "Stop calling me that! The Sven you knew is dead!" He leveled his blaster. "How dare you speak that name when he's dead—because of you!"
For a moment, Pidge seemed taken aback. Then he very neatly disarmed his opponent with a leaping kick that sent the blaster sailing across the cockpit.
Well that went beautifully.
"What are you talking about, Sven? What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing's wrong with me. No thanks to you." He tensed, waiting. In about two seconds the little pilot was going to be trying to break his neck, and he didn't even have a weapon. This was not how things were supposed to work out.
But in the end, no magic can change the fact that you are a failure...
His fists clenched. "You should get out of here while you can."
"I don't think so." Pidge was looking at him with something closer to concern than the scorn he ought to have shown. "What are you doing here? Fighting with Doom, are you crazy?"
"Maybe I am!" That would explain a few things. "You'd be crazy too—now get out of my sight before I—"
"Shoot me?" Pidge suggested wryly, and Sven winced. The little pilot's expression became serious again, quickly. "Come on, Sven. Talk to me. This isn't like you... you're one of us."
Despite the fact that everything had gone downhill since this became a face to face confrontation, Sven still had more than enough anger in him to be triggered by such a shallow, foolish lie. "One of you! Don't be ridiculous. Of course I'm one of you when it's convenient! But where were you before?"
Pidge was clever; this was taking him too long. Finally comprehension seemed to be dawning. "Sven... did something happen on planet Ebb?"
"Of course something happened! What do you think I'm doing here, sightseeing? Ebb belongs to Doom now! The hospitals are destroyed, the people are slaves... where were you? Where was Voltron?"
The genius had no answer for that. There was no answer for that.
"...But I'm not seeing the causation here," Pidge mumbled finally. "Ebb got attacked. So you're here trying to kill us. Come on, help me get from point A to point B, buddy."
"Buddy," Sven repeated contemptuously. He'd had enough of this nonsense.
He struck.
Much like the rest of the known universe Sven was no match for Pidge's agility, but he wasn't exactly slow himself. Lashing out without warning he managed to get in a fair hit, though somehow it didn't make him feel better when Pidge went tumbling to the back of the cockpit. "That was uncalled for," his victim half-whined, nearly masking the fact that he hit back twice as fast. Sven took the blow to the chest, crying out as several scars protested.
"I'll tell you about point A to point B!" He kicked, missed, spun before Pidge could jump up and land on his back—a favored technique which would most definitely aggravate a twice-broken spine, no matter what dark arts had healed it. "Where were you? Where were you when I almost died? But that doesn't matter." Punches, kicks, blocks... they came easily, spurred by his fury. He wasn't hitting anything, but he wasn't giving Pidge a chance to hit back, so that was something. "Where were you after that? I never heard anything... you didn't even know Ebb was attacked! Didn't any of you care?"
"Of course we cared!"
"Prove it!"
"What do you mean prove it?" Pidge's eyes were darting about nervously; he was getting a little closer to a corner than anyone so fast should like. "How do we prove that now? You've obviously made up your mind," he ducked beneath a punch and dove into the open center of the Lion's interior, "what's left to prove? You can't just listen to the enemy! Whatever they told you on Doom, you can't believe it!"
What they told me on Doom... Sven hissed and made another lunging strike, one that missed miserably, and wound up backed against the pilot seat. "Yes. You would like me to not believe them, wouldn't you."
Pidge frowned. "Generally a good idea, yeah."
He actually laughed at that, but tried to cut it off quickly, cringing at how awful his laughter sounded. Too harsh, too ragged, too... broken. The laugh faded into a howl of anguish as the whole conversation with Haggar flooded back to him. Everything she'd said...
Of course he couldn't believe it...
"Of course she lied! Of course I'm a failure!"
Pidge drew back. "Huh?"
"So easy for you to say," he spat, launching a new blitz that pushed his opponent back again. "You don't know what it's like to be beaten... you don't know what it's like to watch everything, everyone dying around you and be helpless to stop it... you don't know anything! You wouldn't understand," he swept the little pilot's legs from under him—why did Pidge suddenly look so distracted?—and waited, power coursing through him, straining against the urge to land the killing blow. Not yet. "You could never understand!"
Silence. There shouldn't be silence. This was combat, the most terrible battle, a battle between those who had once been brothers. Silence had no place...
Pidge erupted, driving him back several paces, something new blazing in his vivid green eyes. "DON'T TELL ME I DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT'S LIKE!" His usual chirp had become rough and fierce. Sven recoiled, frozen for several seconds in the face of the little pilot's sudden rage, and to his surprise he didn't take any attacks despite his distraction. "Don't you talk to me about being helpless!"
"Why not?" he snarled, recovering a bit. His sidearm was on the other side of the Lion; maybe it was best to keep his opponent talking. The whole hand to hand thing wasn't accomplishing very much, and Pidge suddenly looked ready to kill. "What would the left arm of Voltron know about helplessness?"
"Plenty!" Pidge shot back. "Let me tell you something you don't know about. You don't know what it's like to see your planet being bombarded into dust while the person you've sworn your life to says you can't even try to help. You don't know what it's like to abandon all your promises to your princess and her world to go save it... and be too late to do any good anyway." He moved forward, the fury still building in his eyes. "You don't know... what it's like when it's your people dying. To know that you not only failed billions of strangers, but you'll never go home again!"
Well. It was out now. Fighting could only go on so long... fighting physically. Fighting mentally. Pidge had strained against his own mind for as long as he could, but his mind was his greatest weapon and he couldn't win that battle.
He should be crying. He should be crying but he couldn't cry, the white-hot wrath in his eyes was burning away the tears before they could form. It was all there in front of him, playing out so slowly in his mind, letting the helplessness sink in deeper than ever. Explosions. Eruptions. Shattering...
For all the tears Pidge had shed for his home, he'd never let himself rage until now, and it was as cathartic as it was terrifying.
Sven was staring at him blankly, combat momentarily forgotten. "Pidge...?" Then his own eyes hardened, dark and empty once more. "Very creative. Congratulations."
"Do you think that was theoretical?" Pidge spat. "Or don't you know? I suppose you wouldn't, since you've been too busy feeling sorry for yourself—"
"Shut up!"
"—I will not shut up!" He made his move. Sven had been expecting it and still couldn't block it; quicker than the winds Green Lion commanded, Pidge was on him, pinning him to the floor with his blaster at the bigger pilot's throat. "I watched Balto ripped into nothing but trillions of bits of space debris. I was there. Don't you ever talk to me about helplessness!"
That was the last straw, the moment where his heart shattered just as his beloved planet had not so long ago. Forgetting the threat, forgetting that it was an agent of Doom he'd just vented his rage at, the tears overcame the fury and he sank forward, sobbing.
For one interminable moment it didn't matter anymore. His rage was spent, his sorrow would never fade, and if he got himself shot while he was mourning, maybe he would awaken back on Balto forever...
Pidge had no idea how long he remained in that awkward position before his captive shifted, very slowly. He didn't move. It wasn't that he didn't notice, he just didn't care. He knew why he tried not to get angry much... righteous fury he could do, but true rage was unsustainable. It burned, then it fled, leaving nothing but emptiness... cold logic was better in battle. Shutting everything out was always better. The worse the injury, the more important to go cold in its face as quickly as possible.
Dark-gloved hands reached up to his shoulders. Gently. Too gently from someone who'd been trying to kill him five minutes ago... he opened his eyes.
Sven was staring at him, traces of tears in his own eyes. "Pidge, I..." He trailed off, sympathy turning to contempt, contempt giving way to emotionless void. "...The Lion," he barked, shoving the green-clad warrior away. "Destroy..." A golden aura flared around him for a moment and Pidge caught his breath. He knew that power.
Of course! Haggar. It all goes back to Haggar. Why didn't I see it sooner?
"GET OUT!" the other pilot roared, retrieving his blaster and leveling it. He fired twice. Missed twice. At point blank range? Pidge knew better; Sven wasn't incompetent. But how long could he keep it up? Impossible to say...
Vaulting back, he slipped out the Doom Lion's exit hatch, hitting the ground running.
Keep fighting it, Sven. We'll get you out of there.
Already he was forcing the thoughts of Balto aside, again. Mourning won no battles. He had a war to win, a friend to save, and purpose dulled the pain.
As he ran back to his own craft, he heard the Doom Lion launching behind him. Heading for the castle, which was no great surprise. But Sven had passed up a perfect shot at Green Lion as he took to the sky, and that couldn't have been just because he failed to notice.
Keep fighting. You've got to keep fighting. We'll get you back.
Pidge slammed the comms. "Guys! The Doom Lion's coming for you. Get ready." The dark Lion was close enough to him that he could feel Green Lion's sensors piercing it, trying to seek out a lost, fallen brother. Everything made sense now. It was a Voltron Lion... corrupted and defiled, perhaps, but still one of them. Just like its pilot.
Unlike its pilot, the Lion would have to be destroyed. It was almost a shame.
"Come on Sven." He wasn't transmitting again, but somehow he felt like Sven could hear him just the same. "Fight it. Your heart isn't in this, you know it isn't."
Was his heart on Ebb, as Pidge's remained in the ruins of Balto? No. I know better. His heart stayed on Arus where Haggar's monster tried to rip it out. And we're gonna take it back now.
Static. A soft hiss. "You need Voltron." It was Sven, straining against the invisible bonds around his mind, but then his voice strengthened. "Go on. I'll give you time. Face me with Voltron if you dare... show me your great defender." That last had been broadcast on an open channel.
It got about the reaction anyone might expect.
"Is that...?"
"Sven?"
"Sven!"
"You've got to be—"
"Better do what he says, guys," Pidge broke in. "That Doom Lion's pretty wicked." As if responding to his words, Green Lion's cockpit began to reconfigure again, even before he hit the proper switches. The neural link had its advantages.
He left the Doom Lion far behind as the formation took hold, pushing his own Lion to speeds far beyond its usual maximum, calling out the same words again.
Activate interlocks.
Dynatherms connected.
Infracells up.
Megathrusters are GO!
No interruptions, as promised. Pidge focused, trying to keep a small part of his mind off their mental grid. Keeping his secrets. They didn't need to know he and Sven had spent the last twenty minutes matching hurt for hurt, rage for rage. All they needed to know was that their friend was in that Lion, and if they destroyed the Lion he would be saved.
"Watch the cockpit, Lance," Keith warned. "We don't want to hurt him."
"Yeah." Lance sounded a little disgruntled. Pidge didn't need the psychic link to feel it and understand. It had to be a little awkward, finding out the man who'd once saved his life had just tried quite desperately to kill him. "I'll aim for the back."
"Right. Form Blazing Sword!"
"I am not impressed," Sven mocked, darting away as the first slash went wide. True to his nature, he didn't bother to add anything else but weapons; energy darts and corrosive missiles scattered over the mighty robot's form. Voltron didn't care much for that, and lunged again, grazing the Doom Lion with the sword. Lance followed up with a second stroke but his target was already gone.
"He's too fast! And my targeting systems are still damaged," the Red Lion pilot growled. "We've got to slow him down. Allura, can you—"
"I can hear you, you know."
Well that explains some things. Pidge scolded himself for not thinking of it sooner; of course the Doom Lion would have access to their private comms channels. Yet... given that obviously nobody had thought of it... why tell us? He winced as the implications sank in. Not sure whether to be glad that he's fighting it, or worried that he thinks that Doom Lion can beat us even with one paw tied behind its back.
There was a brief hesitation from Keith. Uncertainty. The enemy was listening, and the psychic bond granted by Voltron really wasn't precise enough to coordinate a battle. But their commander hadn't reached his position without having the ability to improvise. "Okay, team, we can play it that way. Fire at will."
"I love that order." Voltron's left leg kicked out and unloaded missiles and cannon blasts. The Doom Lion darted aside, but committing to that action took it squarely into the path of Voltron's eye beams. And a flurry of ion darts. And two lion torches. And a few more missiles for good measure. "Ha! Can't dodge everything, can you?"
"Hunk, this is probably not the time to gloat."
"Right, chief. Sorry. ...But it was kinda awesome."
The Doom Lion wrenched itself out of the line of fire, and somehow the infernal thing even stayed airborne under the assault. But several gashes were open in the black metal, leaking an oily crimson fluid. "Okay." Sven's voice was strained. "I'm a little impressed." The liquid pouring from the holes in its armor seemed to almost have a mind of its own, covering the damage rather than dripping off the stricken Lion.
Pidge's eyes widened as he realized what he was watching. It's repairing itself.
"Now's not the time to let up," Keith ordered, presumably seeing the same thing. Voltron rocketed forward, raising the Blazing Sword for the killing strike.
Too slow.
With a roar that seemed almost indignant the Doom Lion sprang to meet the sword, ducking in under the arcing slash and sinking its fangs deeply into the Red Lion's chassis. It pulled back almost immediately, but rather than offering a reprieve from the attack, opened its mouth and spat a stream of acid into the breach.
"Gyaggh!"
Blue Lion acted immediately; Voltron hunched over and kicked the Doom Lion away with such force Sven seemed to have some trouble righting it.
"Lance? Lance!"
"Lance, you still there?"
Static. But that doesn't make sense. The comms didn't appear to be damaged. Show me something, show me anything... aha! Red Lion's power levels had dropped to almost nothing, and Voltron had deemed the communication systems superficial while trying to compensate for the loss. Pidge's hands raced over his own controls, reassigning priorities, trying to at least get one channel clear. "Lance, can you hear us?"
The response came slowly, fuzzy but at least audible. "I... ugh. I hear you. I'm intact." Searing pain shot through Pidge's head with every word Lance spoke; it was bad. Really bad. "Monitors are out... no internal power... movement's sluggish... range of motion limited. Pidge, you're going to have to take over with the sword."
"Got it." He took the weapon with some apprehension as the Doom Lion turned its attention to him. This isn't working. At this rate... On a whim he reached out mentally, not really sure how to reach someone outside of the Voltron formation, but giving it everything he had. Sven! Sven, you've got to fight! You don't want this. None of us want this. Remember...
He'd tried a little too hard, maybe, because suddenly he felt everyone else there with him.
Remember you're one of us.
The crest on Voltron's chest glowed blue, and the Doom Lion halted in midair. Stared at the seal with blazing crimson eyes, transfixed by the power. The memories. Golden lightning crackled around the dark craft but it seemed to be resisting... something. Leaving itself open. It could be a trap, almost had to be a trap, but Pidge knew better. They all knew better.
Come back to us.
For a moment, there was a flicker on Voltron's psychic grid. A presence that had not been there for so long... too long...
NOW! Six voices united as one.
Pidge wasn't used to working Voltron's iconic weapon, but it came easily this time. As easily as if he were being somehow helped along... there were fascinating psychomystical implications to that. He decided to ignore them.
The Blazing Sword flashed in the sunlight, and the Doom Lion shattered in a spray of blood.
Sven had no recollection of the moments after the Lion's destruction. The first thing he remembered at all was being pulled out of the wreckage and into Black Lion. Keith might've been trying to talk to him, for all the good it would have done. Everything was a blur—it was as if the destruction of the dark Lion had resulted in a sympathetic explosion somewhere in his brain. At least the awful haze of thoughts and feelings and confusion had toned down a little since then.
What was fairly obvious was that he'd just taken quite a fall and that couldn't be healthy, so here he was in a hospital bed. Again.
The infirmary was mercifully empty right now; he'd spent an hour fending off some angry, overbearing woman who merely called herself Nanny. When he heard the door open he winced, expecting her return, pretty certain not even a failure and traitor really deserved to be subjected to that.
When a pair of emerald eyes masked by owlish glasses peeked around the door, he relaxed. Slightly. "Hello Pidge."
"Hiya. I came to chase Nanny off for you, but I guess you already managed." He shrugged and entered the room. "How are you doing?"
Sven sat up. He wasn't used to being able to sit up when being asked that question, which led to the truthful if not terribly detailed response. "Better than the last time I was in a hospital."
Pidge giggled and sat on the edge of his bed. "That's a start, at least." He hesitated, then gave his old friend a worried, wide-eyed stare. "So um... Sven."
"Yes?"
"Do you think we could maybe... keep that little freakout between us? Our little secret."
Oh. Well. He actually hadn't expected that at all. "If that's what you want, of course we can." He sighed and straightened, wincing as old wounds protested again. Without the witch's magic, the last vestiges of pain still took that far more mundane magic—aspirin—to keep pinned down.
To his own surprise, the worst of the injuries seemed to have truly been healed. Maybe someday he would thank Haggar for that...
...By relieving her shoulders of the burden of carrying her head around.
He focused on Pidge as the daggers of pain subsided. "Though you were completely right."
"I don't know." The little pilot shook his head, eyes glittering behind his glasses. "Maybe I was right, but that isn't why I'm asking. It's just..." His gaze became distant. "I haven't forgotten, I haven't forgiven. I never will. They destroyed my planet—how do you get over that? But I'm not that person you fought." He shook his head sadly. "I refuse to be. I won't be... I won't become all twisted and hateful for their sake. I do that and Doom wins."
Sven flinched. Pidge wasn't the type for sniping, but it was really difficult not to take that as a shot at him. A well-deserved shot. "I understand. Our little secret, then." His voice came out rather sharper than he'd hoped for.
Pidge looked stricken. "I didn't mean it like that."
"I know. Don't worry about it."
"I'm gonna worry about it." The little pilot frowned. "You were right too, you know?"
What now? "Don't even try to justify anything I said or did out there, Pidge."
"But you were! It's easier... even when you fail, it's easier when you can get out to fight another day. We couldn't save Balto. But we could save other worlds, and we do." He took Sven's hand. "You're right. We don't know what it's like to lose for good... to never be able to fight again."
Something about the words stung even as they soothed him. Sven didn't want pity. He wanted to be able to change things, to make things right. To fight again.
Before he could say it, Pidge added, "Allura said you wouldn't take Blue Lion back."
"Of course I won't." Despite everything he couldn't help a rueful smile. There he'd been, the best navigator in the Galaxy Alliance, piloting a cloned Lion coursing with the might of Doom and Voltron, and the Princess had faced him with no hesitation. She'd changed. For the better, unlike him. "She's earned her place Pidge, I can't ask her to stand aside for me."
Shrug. "Sure, I understand. But you're going to stay here, right?"
"I..." He cut off the reflexive denial. There wasn't anywhere else for him to go, so why bother? He'd known it was coming. They had offered him Blue Lion back. "If you'll have me, I suppose I am."
"If we'll have you," Pidge snorted, rolling his eyes. "What kind of question is that? No, don't tell me, you didn't put it in the form of a question. You're staying." He winked. "And you're still one of us, and you're still an awesome pilot. So if you won't take Blue back permanently, we'll just have to train you in all the Lions. You never know when a backup would come in handy... I mean, I can think of a dozen occasions off the top of my head, so..."
Sven blinked. Did he just...? "Pidge, I can't—"
"Oh stop that. Of course you can." For a moment the little pilot's smirk softened. "If you really don't want to fight anymore, we're not gonna make you fight. But you do. We both know that. Doom never would've gotten their claws in you if you didn't care." He peered at his wounded comrade, a disturbingly soul-searching gaze. "What're you so afraid of?"
The suggestion that he was afraid shot through Sven like another physical wound. He'd have been insulted... if it weren't so true. "What do you think?" he murmured. "Failing. Again."
"Again? You mean the failure where you took on Haggar and a robeast by yourself and still lived to tell about it? Or maybe the failure where you couldn't single-handedly fight off a Doom assault fleet with a broken spine?" Sven blinked; somehow those points seemed a lot more convincing when he wasn't sitting on a lab table on Doom. And they'd been pretty convincing there. Pidge gave him a knowing smirk. "Sounds pretty silly when you put it that way, doesn't it?"
"But—"
"No buts, Sven. If anything we should be apologizing to you. Actually, here, let's get that out of the way." Their eyes locked. "We should've kept track... there's really no excuse for us not even knowing what happened on Ebb. Let alone not doing anything about it. I'm sorry... and I know the others are too."
Both of them were quiet for a minute. The apology seemed to have physical force; his breath was shallow as he tried to find an answer. If he had not truly failed... if this whole grand battle had been a lie... if Haggar had, through any means of deception, stumbled upon a shred of truth... he dared not deny it. Dared not leave himself vulnerable again. Accept it. Let go of the darkness.
Maybe he was still too stubborn to just admit Pidge was right. But admitting he was a little bit right was a start. "You aren't going to give me any peace until I at least meet you halfway on this, are you?"
"Nope! You can't win this argument. I happen to know you haven't actually failed anything since second-year Spanish at the Academy."
"That's n..." Pause. "Wait. How do you know about that?"
Pidge winked again. "I hear things." His smile faded. "You've got to stay, Sven. Please. I know we didn't do so well for you before. But we need..." He stopped, shook his head. "We want you back."
After everything... of course they wanted him back. He still wanted to argue, to call it a lie, but Pidge had never been a very good liar. Maybe I failed. Maybe I didn't. But we are friends no matter what... we are brothers and we forgive each other's failures.
If only one dark shame could be buried. He'd shared it once; it did not need to burden the others.
"Maybe," he said quietly, "we don't need to tell them I wasn't entirely being mind controlled, either. Our little secret?"
Pidge nodded, squeezed his hand. "Our little secret."