Lance could vaguely feel Hunk's grip like a vice clenching his hand, tight enough that he could feel his stuttering heartbeat thrumming beneath the surface. But regardless of the terror that enveloped the pair of them, Lance could do nothing to tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of him.
He didn't realise he had front row seats to the beginning of the end.
And he wasn't even wearing shoes.
They weren't the only ones to have noticed the mass gathering beyond the gates: a couple of guards inquisitively stepped closer, unsure of how to disperse such a large group of people. From here, Lance couldn't make out any faces, any defining features: just blank slates which stirred no recognition within him.
Eerily, the crowd made no movement. Made no sound. Not one sniffle of a running nose in the cold night, nor a cough to clear a tickling throat. The purple lights were held still in their possessor's hands, their light almost engulfed in the obliterating dark. They cast a dim glow, astonishing in their sheer number as opposed to their weak brilliance.
One of the guards came to a stop, gripping the pistol at his waist, taking a moment to take in the massive gathering before him. Lance was too far away to see how he gulped uncomfortably, fingering at the holster's release nervously. On the ground, the crowd seemed to carry on endlessly before him, a swelling mass, their true number lost to the winding alleys which led from the palace.
The other guard carried on forwards, not having realised his partner was hesitating in the face of this unknown threat. Five steps ahead, ten. He was almost to the gates, trying to square up the whole group in his gaze. Unbeknownst to Lance, this was Victor Lorievski, a man who lay in the limbo between being middle aged, and elderly. Whom had spent the better part of his life pacing the palace grounds, glaring at the passers-by who came too close. Through his years, he had learned this was his weapon of choice, and had spent time honing and perfecting it. One look and people scurried away from him, unable to stay beneath his gaze longer than a few seconds. The glare had never let him down.
It was from this distance that he could make out the countless pairs of eyes illuminated in the purple gloom, glowing dark with pupils blown wide. He took his pause, not far from the locked gates separating him from the crowd. He stood tall, with his back like a poker, chin held high. He turned the intensity of his gaze up a few notches, and cleared his throat loudly.
Victor opened his mouth to speak, and it was then he noticed the rifles that many of those in the crowd clung to, grasped with white knuckles. It was the last thing he took note of, before the bright flash of light.
Lance choked on a scream as the gunshot echoed in the dark night, as the heavy body of the guard collapsed to the ground in a steadily-growing pool of his own blood. The second guard froze, wide eyes taking in the toppled form of his former partner. Neither of them had seen who had fired the shot: the bullet could have come from anywhere, the entire crowd suspect. But this wasn't important to the partner for long, for as he stumbled back in fright another blinding flash erupted from the faceless crowd, the shot catching him in the shoulder. He fell heavily to his knees, gripping at the bleeding wound as he began to shout for aid.
Crying out in pain, unable to rise from the ground, he promptly received a matching bullet in the centre of his frontal lobe. His shouts died in his throat with a silence that rang with finality, and he fell to the ground, hand still resting uselessly on his pistol. The holster's release remained firmly closed.
Each and every muscle in Lance's body was seized tight, locked in a tomb of his own making. Hunk's hand trembled against his own, but Lance could not move, could not blink, cursed to bear witness to the gruesome scene unfolding before him.
In the fading echo of the gunshot, the crowd began to shuffle amongst themselves, growing rowdy and impatient as the blood spread further and further from their victims' still forms. They were a singular mass of darkness, flashes of purple catching in eyes, wrapped up in the same chaos and bloodlust. The energy was building, the crowd stirring, requiring release and direction.
A sharp whistle cut through the night, and from the front one person drew their hand back, taking the purple crystal with them. They paused a moment, evaluating the scene before themselves, before spurring back into motion and throwing the crystal towards the palace.
Lance waited with baited breath as the small light soared through the air, unsure of what was going to happen. It felt like the crystal stayed in the air for an age, suspended in the darkness as though the night had claimed it to add to it's collection of stars.
Then, it collided with the gate.
Where it struck, purple flame erupted, devouring the wrought iron beneath it and feasting hungrily. Multiple crystals joined the original, each bursting into licking flames until the entire structure was engulfed in a ravenous blaze. Lance could feel the blistering heat from here, hot air whistling past Hunk and he as though trying desperately to escape the fire.
In moments, the gate was reduced to nothing but mangled iron, collapsing beneath its own weight as it came crashing down to the ground in a screaming heap, hinges tearing away in a squeal. The flames died in a moment, leaving behind the charred skeleton of the outer gate, and from here the crowd began its descent on the castle.
They came, cautious at first, unsettled by the silence of the palace grounds, uneasy as they crossed the threshold to what had always been kept just beyond reach. Some grew in confidence, whooping loud in excitement, raising their rifles up towards the sky. The footsteps fell faster, yells came louder, and violet flashes grew as more and more crystals were hurled out into the palace grounds. The grass and trees, the leo flowers: all burned with unnatural fire that flickered and crackled for a mere moment before fading from view. Each place the flames touched was left charred and ashen, dark patches littering the lush green of the gardens.
Gunshots began to ring out, firing bullets up into the sky, taking aim at the palace windows to shatter glass. The crowd were picking up speed now, having zeroed in on the main entrance to the castle.
"Lance," Hunk said, voice a deathly whisper.
His hand was being crushed beneath the grip of the other boy. He felt light headed, his vision of the scene before him swimming and refusing to focus. Hunk started to shake his shoulder, desperate to bring Lance's focus back to him, back to what they were supposed to do now!
The palace doors were hurled open, and a swarm of bodies clad in palace uniforms rushed out. Their rifles were raised in an instant, fingers drawing triggers without a second thought. The crowd stumbled momentarily, those at the front line quickly gunned down and reduced to nothing but a barrier to keep the threat back. But they were quick to return fire, calling up a shout as bullets rained on both sides. The guards stayed in tight formation around the door, denying entry and rotating out as chambers were emptied and required reloading. There was no hesitation, no doubt in their actions: Shiro was right, they were trained to shoot first and ask questions later.
But Lance could see how hopeless it was.
The mass of the crowd spread easily across the palace grounds: while those at the front fought with the guards, others looked for more creative methods. They branched out, began searching out windows that they could smash and crawl through. They threw the crystals into rooms of the palace above them, the rooms beyond erupting in purple frenzies as flames tore through the insides. The guard was there to protect, but Lance knew they would be nothing against a force of this size: a force of this nature.
There were too many, their fury too strong. Their energy was palpable, floating from their fighting and bleeding bodies to coat the air in Lance's lungs: he didn't know why they were here, but he knew this was no random attack. Whatever was being done here was happening for a purpose: there was order and reason. The guards were falling back, he could see, the barrier of bodies between the two sides a mere obstacle as the crowd came forwards, refusing to be denied entry to the palace anymore. With a primal shriek, someone hurled a crystal at the guards desperately attempting to defend their position.
They had been observant – they had seen what the crystals could do. With the threat descending, their nerve snapped. Men who had been trained for any outcome broke, turned and tried to save their own skins. No longer clustered together, the guards were easily being picked off.
One man was not lucky enough to be ended with a quick bullet. As his comrades fled, he froze beneath the earth-drawn crystal. His eyes were alight with glowing purple as the rock crashed into his chest and erupted.
He screamed.
Fire leapt, ravenous, devouring cloth and skin alike. It licked and tore skin, muscle, prying and curling flesh away from the pale bone below. It was unlike anything Lance had ever seen before, the human body stripped away layer by layer as the fire dug deeper, deeper. And still the guard held on to the ability to scream. Every inch of his frame was alight: he had fallen to his knees as he was devoured alive, and yet nothing could stop his screams and pleas, tearing from his throat in bloodcurdling wails that echoed out into the dark and refused to lose volume.
His comrades watched in horror as his flesh seemed to melt away, purple fire taking all it touched. His mouth opened wider than was humanly possible, muscle disintegrating into ash as the jaw fell open into a never ending scream, pearl white teeth visible for a mere moment before they were blackened in the fire's onslaught.
The scent of burning flesh filled the air, and Lance found himself retching onto the roof, body shaking as it desperately tried to expel the demons of what he had seen. He lay there a moment, and breathed heavily. Spittle and bile clung to his lips and he roughly wiped it away with the back of his shaking hand, closing his eyes to fight back tears. The stench was everywhere: filling his nose, laying thick on his tongue and in the back of his throat, threatening to make him retch again.
His head snapped back up without his consent as, amidst the gunshots, the wailing was abruptly cut off with a guttural choking sound. The burned body fully collapsed to the ground in a cascade of cinders, still smouldering, flames licking at the bullet wound that extended from the back of the head and out between the eyes. A nearby guard lowered his pistol, features twisted with nausea. He looked away, unable to bear the sight a moment longer, and was granted the small mercy of a bullet between his ribs.
"Lance," Hunk hissed, tone insistent as he shook his friend's shoulder. "Lance, we need to move!"
But he couldn't. He was enraptured by the scene before him. Of his home burning and crumbling, of the guards who had pledged to keep them safe falling and dying, some turning and running back into the palace, clinging desperately to their empty, useless rifles.
Many of the attacking party had gathered at the base of his father's marble statue. It glared disapprovingly down at them, as though suspecting their devious intentions. Two individuals stepped forward with coils of rope, throwing them into the air to catch on the statue. More people joined in, rushing forward with their own rope to ensnare the patiently waiting statue. Marble steadily disappeared beneath woven fibre, the disapproving scowl seemingly twisting and deepening as more and more loops of rope ensnared him. Someone had managed to wrap a coil of rope around the statue's neck, and it briefly hung there like a hangman's noose.
But not for long. The people on the ground all came to one another's side, fiercely gripping their lengths of rope. On the count of three they all began to pull. The knot at the king's neck tightened on his alabaster throat, the same happening across his body. The people pulled as a single unit, heaving as one, hands slipping and burning on the rope beneath them. But they didn't care: regardless, they carried on until the stone king seemed to be leaning forwards, a crack appearing at his base. In the face of progress their force increased and grins began to spread on their faces.
They were near their end: the king was balancing precariously above them, desperately clinging to the earth with the last of his might. As someone below screamed, "HEAVE!" it was over. The crowd stepped back as the king fell, his displeased glare splintering as his body crashed to the ground, marble smashing and cracking into disparaging chunks, rolling as far from the chaos as they could.
Lance couldn't watch anymore. His gaze was glazing over, his brain stuttering while trying to process the images and scents and sounds of death and destruction and fire and screaming and gunshots and-
A large hand slapped across his cheek, leaving the skin sensitive and likely bruised. Lance's hand rose to cover the injured flesh on instinct, indignantly crying out, "What the hell?"
Hunk grasped both of his shoulders, demanding he maintain eye contact. "We need to go. Now." He said slowly, voice slightly breathless. Lance could feel his friend's hands quivering where they gripped him with crushing force. "They're here for you. For your family." There were tears in the corners of Hunk's eyes, and tracks of moisture down his cheeks. "We need to go." His friend was pleading with him, begging Lance to snap out of his shock and take stock of what was happening around them. His family was in danger, wrapped up warm and content in their blacked-out rooms at the palace's core. What if they didn't know? What if they had no idea what was happening - what was coming for them?
Staring into Hunk's eyes Lance felt his mind clearing slowly, and he managed to take a deep breath to try and shake off the remaining cobwebs of terror. The constricting tension remained, but it didn't hold as much power over him: he knew he could move, could think.
Lance nodded tersely.
Hunk's relief was a brief flicker at the corner of his tense mouth. "Good," He sighed, nodding his head distractedly as he set about thinking of what they needed to do. "Okay. Now, we need to work out how to keep you safe."
"Woah, woah!" Lance shook his head vigorously. "I think you mean we need to work out how to keep my family safe."
"Lance-"
"Nuh uh!" His head was still shaking – he had to make sure Hunk understood that there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that he would hide away and wait for this all to blow over while his family were left to the mercy of the impassioned crowd below them. "I have to help them!"
"No," Hunk said, firmly. "That's Shiro's and the guard's jobs: we are a prince, and a servant boy. We cannot and should not try to do anything." The grip on Lance's shoulders was tightening, Hunk drawing him closer to him. "We need to keep out of harm's way - keep you safe until the guard have a handle on the situation."
As he spoke, the guard in question were being gunned down in cold blood. A weary group had somehow regrouped by the door, surrounded by their comrades that had fallen beside them, desperately trying to hold the crowd back.
"What if the guard won't get a handle on the situation?" Lance heard the words leave his lips without much thought, but he couldn't argue with them. He should wonder what would happen if the guard failed. What if he kept all of his faith in them and they fell – if the attackers gained complete access to the palace. He had to be realistic: things were not going well down below.
"They will-"
"Look, Hunk!" Lance burst, pointing. Hunk refused to look, unable to face the sights again. "Any minute now those people, with their guns and magic, are going to storm into the castle. The guard can't stop them!"
"Either can we!" Hunk's eyes were pleading with him, tears continually rolling down his cheeks with terror as he considered what Lance was asking of him.
Lance stared long and hard at his friend, the two boys trying desperately to convince the other to see their point of view. "We don't have to," He finally said. "All I am asking is that we help them get out: that we all leave together. You can't ask me to run and save my hide and leave them behind: surely you understand that?"
Hunk sighed, and Lance knew he had him. He had always been grateful that Hunk was willing to help him, even when he knew it was a terrible idea. He had been there for him his whole life, through thick and thin, and would remain with him during Lance's stupidest idea yet.
"Okay," Hunk nodded, biting his lip as he continued to convince himself that this was a good idea. "We run down, find them, and all of us get out." His friend rubbed at his chin, thoughts grinding so hard Lance could almost hear the gears turning in his head.
Hunk's eyes took on a keen glint as he began to think: viewing their situation as a metaphorical problem that he was able to take a step back from and get a clear overview of what was happening. "Okay." He sighed, mulling over his thoughts. "Advantage: your family are not in their usual bedrooms so shouldn't be so easy to find.
"Disadvantage: when they do get found they are all together in the same place, ergo making the bad guys' lives easier.
"Advantage: there should be lots of secret escape routes out of the castle, in preparation for a situation just like this.
"Disadvantage: we have no idea where any of them are."
Lance waved him on impatiently, "We can cross that bridge when we come to it. What else?"
"Okay, okay…" Mumbled Hunk, now rubbing his jaw furiously. If anything it was a distraction from the train of thought: he hadn't had time to shave today, and the presence of stubble on his chin was infuriating him, jagging at his skin as he ran his palm and fingers over it. "Advantage: no one knows where you or I are.
"Disadvantage: we're both idiots. Strike that – we're both unarmed idiots. We'd get gunned down in a second!"
"The armoury." Lance's clipped voice said. That was the answer: nip down, grab a few rifles, a couple of pistols, and bam! Get to his family and get everyone out.
Once Lance had a gun in his hand, there would be no stopping him. Regardless of the fact that he had never, technically, shot someone before…
Allura didn't count.
He shook his head, and made himself stand, desperate to get moving. That was another bridge to be crossed if they came to it.
"Anything else?" Lance asked with a raised brow, holding his hand out.
Hunk sighed. He grabbed his hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. "Only that, again, we are idiots. And there's a good chance we are going to die."
Anger surged in Lance for a moment, and he heard himself growling, "We are not going to die!" He pulled Hunk towards the roof's edge, refusing to entertain the idea that this is where the two of them - where everyone he knew and loved - would end. Whoever these people were that were destroying his home, for whatever reason they were doing so, he didn't care. He could find out later what had sparked this destruction.
For now, they had some kind of idea what they were doing. Lance was chilled to his bones as they gently removed themselves from the roof, turning for the briefest of instants to the scene below as the crowd gave off an almighty cheer.
The last of the guards had fallen.
The palace door was open, unmanned, and ready for the taking.
As the crowd started forwards, Lance swallowed the lump stuck in his throat. They didn't have much time.
"How many?" Hunk hissed, aghast at the display of weaponry. He kept his voice low, but couldn't quite take his eyes away from the rows of artillery laid out before him.
Lance shrugged. "As many as we can carry? Bullets too – we can't forget those!"
Hunk nodded diligently, grabbing and thrusting pistols into the satchel at his side, shoving in boxes of shells and bullets on top of them. Hunk couldn't aim a firearm to save his life (his words, not Lance's) but the prince was well-versed with using two pistols at once and was confident he could shoot for the both of them. The rest – for his family when they found them. They had managed to find steel breastplates hidden away at the back: heavy, and hopefully thick enough to protect against bullets. While they brought the boys a mild comfort against the image of being gunned down, they were far too heavy for them to carry spares for Lance's family. He wasn't sure he would be able to handle the guilt of the extra protection when he finally got to his family, clad in nothing other than their night clothes. For good measure, Lance strapped a rifle to his back, instructing Hunk to do the same.
After a few minutes, they stared at the display that had been looted by the prince and the servant. There was nothing else to take, nothing else that could possibly help prepare them for what was to come. What they had now was all they had to work with.
"Okay, so, we make it to my family's rooms-" Lance started.
"Wake everyone up quickly and quietly-" Hunk seamlessly continued.
"Arm everyone, and have father tell us an acceptable escape route to use."
"And then, we live happily ever after." Hunk shakily grinned.
Lance threw an arm around his friend's shoulders and tried to squeeze him encouragingly. "That bit's new?"
"I added it in – thought you would like it."
Lance smiled despite himself, and couldn't stop as he pulled Hunk into a tight embrace. "I do. You're the best."
Hunk let out a shaky sigh, his warm breath tickling the fair hairs at the nape of Lance's neck. "You're my best friend, Lance. I love you, man."
Lance clung to him extra tightly for a moment, trying to squeeze the moment for all it was worth. "I love you too, big guy."
They parted and made their way from the armoury.
The corridors were black.
Not dark. Not filled with shadows. Black.
All of the Balmeran crystals were still disabled beneath the surge of the solar storm: the only light Lance could make out came from the dim blue glowing of his royal marks. It made Lance wonder briefly about the crystals the enemy were wielding: they looked scarily similar to the one Haggar had held, although he hadn't managed to get a decent look at either of them up close. Still, the eerie glow matched up in his eyes. Whatever kind of crystal they were, they did not short out beneath the storm's display, remaining powerful and dangerous, providing light as well as wicked destructive powers. The enemy had the advantage of sight, while he and Hunk were stuck in the dark.
Good thing the two of them knew the palace like the back of their hands.
They managed to move quickly, with little delay. Each turn and twist in the corridors familiar, and it seemed no one untoward had managed to venture so deep into the castle. They were in luck.
Distantly, however, they could still hear the shouts of angry strangers. The shots of rifles firing – into what, he dared not guess. There was a far off smell of smoke and burning gently drifting down the hallways, and Lance had to bite his lip to keep himself from thinking of the man had been set alight outside. They could hear smashing glass, doors banging open, laugher and wonderment at what treasures had been uncovered within. The palace was truly a trove of riches – Lance could only imagine how many trinkets were being looted and stored in the pockets of the invaders.
The pistols were held in a crushing grip. This palace was all he had ever known: the thought of it being desecrated and torn apart by these people made his blood boil. This was his home! The place where he and his family fought amongst one another, and where he and Hunk skulked around hallways, and where is mother would hold his hand and walk with him through the boundless array of blooming leo flowers of summer. But to them it was merely a free-for-all.
And the flowers were burning.
And Lance's family could already be dead.
He shied away from that thought violently, refusing to have it engulf his senses and douse him in fear. He took a hasty step forwards, only to be forcibly dragged back by the rifle strapped to his back.
The strap pulled tight across his chest, and the air in his lungs fired past his lips in a violent 'whoosh'. He rubbed at his bruised sternum, glaring at the patch of darkness he was only half sure contained Hunk. "You know," He wheezed, "Maybe next time, instead of roughly pulling on the goddamned loaded fire arm attached to my back, you could ask me to stop nicely?"
"Shh," Hunk whispered.
"You're in desperate need of some health and safety training," he grumbled back, but did as he was told. It took him a moment to pinpoint the clip of a heel upon the wooden hallway up ahead, echoing quietly towards them. Lance's stomach dropped, his chest constricting painfully: someone was headed straight for them. He knew this corridor well: enamoured with portraits of his ancestors, the hall carried on for what felt like leagues. Especially with his mother at his side, stopping to quiz him at each of the portraits for the previous monarch's name and what they achieved in their reign. There were no twisted corridors merging with this hall: it was designed to have its length walked fully whenever some unfortunate soul stumbled this way. Whoever was ahead, there was no where else for them to go: they were going to discover Lance and Hunk, cowering against each other, desperately hiding against a wall.
Hunk found his hand in the darkness and clung to him tightly, the two boys trying to keep their panicked breathing under wraps. In the dark, Lance could now make out a threatening purple glow in the hallway ahead, floating closer as the footsteps continued on the varnished ground, confident and steady.
Lance backed up a step, walking into Hunk. He could feel the other boy trembling through his thin pyjamas – why hadn't he worn decent clothes before clamouring up onto the roof? Is this how he ends, the prince of Altea, killed in his night clothes?
It almost seemed fitting.
Gulping, Lance pulled his pistols close to his chest, trying to calm his nerves with their familiar weight. That light was coming closer, closer. They had the advantage in the dark: could hopefully make use of their element of surprise before their guest caught on to their presence.
That is, if there was only one of them.
What if there were more?
And then comes the question, he thinks, of what to do. The pistols were familiar to him, sure. But gunning someone down in cold blood, when they have no way to expect it? The mere thought turned Lance's stomach: it didn't seem honourable. Shooting fish in a barrel. He felt like it would sit better with him if they had a chance to defend themselves. If they attacked first – then whatever happened would be in self-defence.
Then he wouldn't have to make the first move.
Granted, they had burst into his home – plundering and destroying as they made their way into the castle's core. Granted, they were here for his family. He had every right to defend himself: to help defend the lives of those he cared about, locked away behind the gates. He should feel the bloodlust rising within him, the anger and protectiveness that would fuel him to pull the trigger without hesitation.
But instead he just feels his hands shaking. He can't even tell if the quivering in his body was coming from Hunk, or himself. His gaze was hyper fixated on the steadily growing light, and panic was licking at his insides. Could he do it? Could he pull that trigger – could he protect them? His family were waiting on him, defenceless and ignorant to the imminent danger. Nothing should be able to keep him from them.
Could he do it?
Alfor could.
Allura could.
That light was only meters away now. Hunk's hand was clasped tightly over his own mouth, trying desperately to muffle his breathing. For a moment Lance let himself sink into his friend's warmth, his sweet friend who had never done anyone any harm. What if these invaders didn't care for the staff who lived and worked here? What if everyone living within the palace was fair game? The image of the guards being gunned down outside twisted his stomach: he couldn't have Hunk's death on his hands, not because of him.
He stepped forward, away from that warmth, hands still shaking but with a pistol facing forwards confidently. He had a chance to make a difference here – he had a chance to help. Hunk would not die for him. His family would not die because he had stood aside and done nothing.
He could help.
He took a breath: the waiting was tying his stomach in knots. He waited for his target to step closer, shed some light on their body: he needed something to shoot at. Firing blindly into the black corridor would not be a good plan, and would give away their presence.
He only had one shot before they revealed themselves.
Not to mention others may hear the blast and come to investigate: they had to finish this quickly and move on as fast at they could before anyone got curious and came looking.
The purple light drifted closer, those clipping heels deafening in the silence, his heart stuttering with each step. Closer, closer.
Slender fingers gripped the crystal lightly: hands rough and calloused against its glow. Lance altered his aim slightly, moving with his target, working out where the connections of the body were. It was a painstaking game: the light was so, so close now. It was do or die time.
The light swung up to the left suddenly, directing its weak glow up to one of the many portraits lining the hall. After such regular steps, the sudden change almost had Lance lose his nerve, finger jumping on the trigger before he was certain he would make the head shot. He managed to rein in his reaction.
Hunk, however, did not.
The sudden swing of the crystal had his eyes bugging out of their sockets in stress, and before he could stop it a single squeak of fear had worked it's way past his lips. Regardless of how tightly he clung to his face, the noise still escaped in to the open air of the corridor. Lance felt his muscles lock up: there was no way their guest hadn't heard that.
The light swung back, violently. Whoever held it leant forwards, trying to cast light on the source of the sound. Lance's heartbeat was thundering, pounding hard enough that his hand shook in time with it. He had to pull the trigger – now, now, NOW!
Wait.
He knew to wait.
He knew to be patient.
He knew he couldn't miss this opportunity.
They heard the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn from it's sheath. It would now be drawn in their direction, ready to hack them to pieces as its owner stepped closer.
The light shifted as the intruder raised their hand, bringing it towards their face as they struggled to see in the gloom.
The dim glow caught on the edge of a sharp jawline, and Lance couldn't wait any longer – couldn't find any reason to hold off. He directed his aim, and snapped.
The trigger felt stiffer than it ever had before, the shot bearing more weight. He didn't realise that he was yelling, words nonsensical to his ears, willing his eyes to shut against the years of training he had gone through to ensure they stayed open at this moment. He didn't want to see!
The light glided up the jawline, over a cheekbone, caught on the ragged edges of a large scar over the bridge of the intruder's face. Purple light played on a tuft of white hair, greyed before its time due to the weight of responsibility and stress. Light danced in dark familiar eyes, trying desperately to see an opponent in the darkness.
The trigger was drawn, and Lance had his shot perfectly lined up with Shiro's forehead.
