Everything hurt. It was as if every atom in his body had been soaked in kerosene and lit on fire. The pain should have driven him mad, he mused, but wasn't he already there?

His body didn't work anymore. He'd spent his waking hours zeroing in on the one thing he could seemingly control: his smallest toe on his left foot. It took every ounce of energy to move it more than a twitch, and that was rewarded with the sharp crack of a bone snapping in two. Even his skeleton, the toughest part of his body, had surrendered to the battle raging inside him.

He was sure he screamed.

Nothing came out.

Not nothing, but not something. A slight gurgle in his throat which, if he was breathing without a tube, might have choked him. Apparently one can't swallow properly if one's jaw is dangling, chin nestled on the crook at the bottom of the neck. He couldn't even be sure if his tongue was still in his mouth at this point.

His ears had, almost certainly, melted shut. No matter how hard he strained to hear what was being said the voices always sounded muddled, like he was listening while underwater. The difference between light and dark was easier to make out from behind his fused eyelids, but that only told him when he was or wasn't being observed.

He was no more than a specimen. An oddity. He should be dead already.

There were times when I stared Death in the face and laughed at its powerlessness against me. Defy it enough times and it becomes less threatening, like a lion cowed by the mere crack of a whip. Yes, I did indeed mock Death's incompetence each time I evaded my enemies. Even more so when I finally ended my Father's long reign.

The last thing he remembered was the fight. It was her fault, after all. She'd pushed him to the edge of reason by rejecting him. She chose her path, and now she would suffer for it.

He had been enamored by her beauty, impressed by her strength, and smitten by her charm. The way she cared for others made him want to do so himself. It made him want to work harder to defeat the Galra, no matter the cost.

But why couldn't she understand that? Why did she question my methods? My plan was perfect! A mere handful of Alteans, who wanted to be freed from constantly hiding in the far corners of the universe, volunteered happily for the mission. They were heroes, all of them, and she spat on their sacrifice. She'd slept peacefully for ten millennia, ignorant to the suffering of her own people, yet had the gall to call ME a murderer?

Yet, in the end, all he wanted was to be loved by her. His entire life he was denied the most basic of needs by parents who were power-hungry parasites with a taste for genocide. She could fill that hole in his heart, working by his side as he built a new kingdom. With her as his queen, he could easily win the war and be the ruler his father never was.

And Allura? She would be his quiet supporter, the secret power that would ensure his legacy lived on through the ages.

Anger churned inside him as he played the scene over in his head. "You're just like your father!" The accusation stung worse than anything his parents had ever done. After all, they'd never loved him so he'd never really lost anything with their rejection of him.

But the Princess was his, if only for the shortest of moments. Their brief kiss lasted almost as long as their entire love affair. He knew she was using him as much as he was using her, but the moment their lips touched his soul lit up in a way it never had before.

Not flying through space. Not winning a duel. Not even conquering an entire planet. None of those things stoked the low burning flame that had long been deprived of the fuel it needed to survive.

No, Allura was his air.

His lungs were full of her: the scent of her hair was sunlight pouring through a window; the smell of her skin a blade of grass dipped in morning dew.

If anyone ever accused him of being a monster he took it in stride. For a Galra it was a badge of honor. As heir to the throne, it was job security. Before he'd have encouraged the comparison, chest bursting with pride.

Or did he? The story he told the princess about his youth was true, after all. He hadn't wanted to kill people, especially those that trusted him. He loved impassioned chatter and yearned for lifelong friendship.

Fool! That's because you were weak! You didn't deserve the title of Galran Prince.

There it was again. The remnants of the dark creature that had lurked in his heart for millennia, the one who steered him into the bleak coldness of night and away from the hopeful warmth of day.

At least that's what he wanted to believe. He abhorred the notion that he alone was responsible for anyone else's suffering. After all, he was following orders anyway and therefore blameless.

Am I really such a coward? I acted alone when I hid the Alteans away, an act of defiance against my father. I created the technology to extract their quintessence. I should be proud of what I accomplished while risking it all! I could have died for their sake, couldn't I? But the foolish Emperor and his ancient witch were none the wiser, therefore I alone am the savior of the Altean people!

Savior. Such a funny word, definition changing with the landscape of the user. He'd taken up the mantle without knowing how to use it in a sentence. The only books read to him as a boy were of generals who had the most successes in battle. Of planets that had sold out to the Galra in order to survive. The heroes were the villains in every story, and the villains were the heroes. In the end, what did his efforts earn him?

Does it matter? Those paladins have ruined it all for me. I hate them all so much, especially the one named Keith. He comes barging in with accusations about me and she instantly chooses his side!

What was his story, anyway? He was always running around the universe like a pup nipping at a robeast's heel, barely breaking the skin of the monster that was the Galra empire. Yet there was something about him, a fierce determination in his eye that could freeze his enemy in his tracks. He was part Galra, therefore the most ferocious of the Voltron team, yet they didn't seem to fear him in the least.

Especially Allura. Yes, she was strong with friend and foe alike, yet somehow she became weak with him. Many late nights, when Lotor would seek her out, she was pouring her heart out to Keith over the comms despite the light-years that separated them. Once, when she seemed inconsolable at Keith's long absence, Lotor thought he had an opening to drive a wedge between the two. Instead that pest, Lance, offered her a shoulder first.

When I'm healed, those are the first two I'll challenge. Lance will be an easy defeat, but Keith? He will be a worthy opponent in a fight. I'll prove to Allura that I'm the only one who can protect her. She'll forget the others even existed!

Yes, that's what he needed to do. Somehow, someway, he needed to stand on his own feet again. To command his mighty army as he cut down his enemies once again. He would do anything, no matter how difficult, to turn her attention his way.

Determination welled up inside him, and he could feel his body begin to change. Was this a dormant Altean healing ability, similar to what Allura used? At this moment he was certain that his determination, his love, would be the thing to free him from the cold slab he'd been tethered to.

Soon he felt a lightness- as if floating in a sea of stars. The pain was subsiding but not disappearing entirely. He could feel his fingers flex, and his eyes began to process their surroundings. That's when he realized something wasn't quite right. He'd spent time on the castle ship and was intimately familiar with almost every corner of it. So why did this look so foreign? And why was it still so dark?

"It worked!"

He heard the voice clearly, the points of his ears twitching as they tried to register the direction it was coming from. There were figures in the distance, small but somewhat clear. Lotor blinked a few times to clear the fuzziness from his vision.

But it wasn't his eyes that solved the mystery. His keen hearing couldn't escape the familiarity of the deep voice he'd grown to fear as a child.

"Hello, my son."

Instinctively he froze in place, his chest so heavy he doubled over as he wretched violently.

Nothing came out. Perhaps it was the lack of food in his stomach, but all he could manage was a few dry heaves that left his body shaking violently. Collapsing to his knees, he waited for the inevitable. There was no way he could defeat his father again, not like this.

As the imposing figure loomed larger on the horizon, Lotor dropped his head to his fists as they made their way to the cold floor. Every muscle of his body tensed as he anticipated the edge of the broadsword his father carried at all times. The weapon that was stained with the blood of thousands, perhaps millions, of innocent and guilty alike.

Zarkon was not one to be bothered with such trifling things as judicial proceedings. He prided himself with simply cutting down anything that didn't serve him, including his own son. Lotor recalled many near misses which eventually hardened him to his father's ambitions, to his cruelty.

Today was going to be his end. He was certain of it.

As the footsteps grew louder Lotor waited for the voice which had long been his companion. It always reared its ugly head at times like this, invoking his anger to prompt action. By now it should be chastising him for surrendering so easily, mocking his trembling body for its lack of reflex.

Nothing. The only sound was silence, both welcome and unpleasant to the broken prince.

Zarkon's steps stopped just inches from the crown of Lotor's head; it was so close that he could feel the slight breeze caused by the royal robes worn by his father.

"Stand, my son. I'm here as your father, not your enemy."

Fear is one of those things that seems easy to overcome from the outside. Lotor had often laughed at those who fell prostrate before him, yet now the most he could muster was to uncurl his fingers towards the feet of the man standing before him. Once again he found his body unresponsive, useless as every muscle shut down and left him paralyzed. Begging for mercy was his last, best hope now. The words his father uttered may have sounded promising, but Lotor learned not to trust them at an early age.

He was sure that, when he failed to rise to his feet, his father would take advantage of his weakness and immediately sever his head from his neck. Snapshots of his life flashed in his mind, a tangled mess of using and being used. Of dominating, and being dominated. Of loving, but never being fully loved.

Any other moment he'd have dwelled on the last one, but this was not the time. He drew his shoulders upwards in a feeble attempt to protect his neck as he waited for the inevitable.

"Lotor, you're safe now." This time the words were spoken not by Zarkon, but by Shiro. For some reason that alone caused Lotor to release all of the pent-up tension he'd been storing, allowing him to raise his head to look before him.

His father, the Emporer of the Galra, knelt before him, his hand extended as if asking for his son to reach for it. Lotor's eyes widened in disbelief. Here was the most powerful man in the universe lowering himself to the level of a failure of a prince. Never in his long life would he ever have imagined the scene before him.

Zarkon's eyes were warmer, his smile softer. There was no trace of the cold-blooded killer that had terrorized galaxy after galaxy, leaving nothing but destruction in his wake. For once in his life, Lotor saw the genuine love of a father towards his son.

Maybe it was this place; this strange, desolate place that bore no resemblance to any reality he'd ever faced. It wasn't the afterlife he expected, having been taught as a child that after death he'd be rewarded with unlimited power and riches. Nothing resembling this dark, lifeless plane where he had neither.

"As touching as this reunion is, may I remind you that we're on a tight timetable here?" This time the voice came from a little farther away, but Lotor recognized it immediately. His lip curled into a snarl as he looked in that direction, confirming his suspicions.

"Keith," he drolled, his icy candor rising to the surface once again. "I can't tell you how happy I am to see you again."

The paladin stepped forward, his arms crossed tightly. "I'm sure the feeling is mutual."

Lotor knew better than expect a full pardon, suspecting that there was a purpose bringing him here other than to mend his relationship with his father. "So, what could you possibly want from me? I'm not exactly capable of fighting a battle in my current state."

The paladin's eyes quickly darted away as he mumbled a cryptic response. "We've got a solution, but I doubt you'll like it."

As annoying as the half-hearted response was, Lotor's curiosity was piqued. "Just tell me what it is, I'm willing to listen," he offered, standing as he completed his thought. "Then I'll be the one to decide whether or not it suits me."

Keith opened his mouth to respond but stopped abruptly, his right hand rising to cup his ear. "Do what you must to neutralize the situation," he commanded, but to whom Lotor could not be certain. "Just be sure not to do any permanent harm to his body, or our plan will fail."

Confusion set in as the Galra Prince tried to decipher the meaning of the one-sided conversation. He knew it wasn't about him, given the state he was left in after the battle in the rift. But then again, if it was a person then Keith would have said a name, not just referred to the body alone.

Kuron!

Ah, yes, the spy clone they sent in to replace Shiro had been compromised, and most likely the witch had disengaged him to prevent any critical information from leaking. Given the capability of the ship, and the Princess herself, they could likely transfer Shiro's memories into the clone so of course they'd want to protect him. However, if he reawoke he might be wreaking havoc on the team at the current moment.

Strangely enough, Lotor found himself worrying about Allura. She was a gifted, agile fighter, always quick of mind. Still, he was concerned that her kindness might get in her way if she had to fight the creature that looked like her friend. Truth be told, the same would be said of anyone in the group, and that put them all at a severe disadvantage.

While these thoughts swirled in his head, Lotor casually kept an eye on the captain of Voltron force. His demeanor changed several times: first agitated, his fists firmly by his side as he paced frantically; then shocked, suddenly freezing in place as his left hand raised as if reaching for an invisible item; then resignation, his shoulders slumping as his hand dropped towards the ground.

"I'm so sorry, Shiro." His voice barely registered in Lotor's ears, as if the wind had been knocked out of him. "Lotor got into his body and escaped. They didn't have a choice-"

Curiosity quickly turned to rage. Keith dared to make such accusations even while standing right in front of him? With just a few long strides Lotor stood nose to nose with his accuser, ready to challenge the younger man to fight to the death for his insolence.

"Keith, you should go now," came yet another voice as a hand broke their locked eyes. "My daughter needs you now more than ever."

Lotor watched with great curiosity as Keith's head turned to the direction of the speaker, his eyes widening with realization. The Galran could only guess who the man was, an imposing presence with unmistakable markings under his eyes along with dark skin and white hair that matched Allura's perfectly.

"King Alfor?" The words flowed from his mouth in an awed whisper, a reverence not for the dead but for the life lived. "How? But you-"

The Altean King chuckled at his confusion. "What, you think the lion would save sour grapes over there but just let me evaporate into thin air?"

"Could you stop calling me that?" begged Zarkon. "You know how much I hateit."

Keith shook his head in bewilderment. "Do I want to know where that nickname came from?"

"Let's just say that Shiro and I have had a lot of time with precious little to do," Alfor lamented. "We've come up with several nicknames. My favorite is 'Emporer Stickbutt', at least so far."

Lotor couldn't help but smile to himself. He'd heard the paladins use that term to describe Zarkon before, but he would have never expected it from a man of royal upbringing. He took a few steps backward to give King Alfor and Keith room to speak privately. The conversation was short, ending with a brief hug before the paladin faded from view.

Lotor turned his attention back to Zarkon who, strangely, seemed far older than the Emporer who commanded the Galra army. Despite his stature he seemed uneasy, his gaze trained to the ground before him. His lips moved silently, as if he were speaking to himself.

In the past Lotor would have viewed the behavior as proof his father was unfit to rule. Now he saw it as simply being a man without a cause. No battles to plan. No enemies to crush.

No family to love. He needs me now, for something other than winning battles.

It was a strange thought, this. How did his mind manage to conjure such an image? Lotor wondered if, now that he too was freed of his tormentor, his need to be a son outweighed all other desires.

Cautiously he approached his father, his right hand grabbing firmly onto the elder man's shoulder. Zarkon looked up, his eyes brimming with hope as well as apprehension. Lotor understood that feeling, wondering what turmoil would rise from facing Allura once again.

"I was nothing but cruel to you, Lotor. I'm so sorry."

"Yes, you were," Lotor responded firmly. "And you created a monster in the process."

Zarkon's face darkened. "I created two monsters," he admitted. Lotor's stomach knotted as he anticipated the next phrase. "Your mother, Honerva, was the first."

This can't be. She was Altean. She was a scientist.

"My mother died when I was born."

"Your mother died before you were born," he continued, tears brimming his eyes. "She was resurrected as Haggar, and I lost every part of your mother to her."

The words had barely met the air when Lotor's fist flew, landing square on Zarkon's jaw. He stumbled backward, his hand gently cupping his cheek. The prince raised his hand once more but froze, his heart no longer in it.

"I'm going to get her back."

"You can't do it alone, she's too powerful."

"I have….help," Lotor countered. He almost slipped and said "friends" before remembering his betrayal of the team. "We'll figure this out."

At this Zarkon smiled and nodded. "I trust your judgment. I know you've examined her research in the past. I'd like to see it fix- to see your mother as she was one more time."

Lotor couldn't help but puff out his chest on hearing his father finally say that he trusted him. This was one mission he could not fail, but he was willing to die if he did. Now that he'd felt affection from one parent, he craved it from the other that much more. Anything less would haunt him forever.

"We've both done horrible things, haven't we?" he mused aloud. "Hopefully the universe is feeling benevolent today."

The elder man smiled morosely, as if he were a gambler facing long odds against a rigged deck. "The universe has a short memory; the people we've hurt do not. Be prepared to humble yourself. More importantly, be prepared to accept no for an answer."

No? That's not an option. Even if I have to swear to rebuild Altea with my own two hands, Honerva must be saved from the witch's grasp!

Distracted by these thoughts Lotor was completely unaware that another soul had joined them. The only sound that brought him to his senses was a deep cry from behind, not unlike the ones he'd heard many times on the battlefield as warriors wildly swung their blades. Realizing he had only moments to act, he drew his sword from its hilt and pivoted swiftly to block the blow, raising the blade horizontally just inches from the bridge of his nose.

Metal clashed loudly with something that hummed with electricity. The pale blue light that emitted from the saber pulsed through the smooth metal of his own blade. The sharp edge of it was being pressed towards his face, blocking his view of his opponent; still, his gut instinct told him that his attacker was not from this reality. He'd fought many foes, and none had such a weapon in their arsenal.

The swordsman continued to bear down, bending Lotor backward to the point he thought his spine might snap in two. Despite his immense strength he was somehow being overpowered by this person. The closer the silvery fuller came to his face, the wider his eyes appeared in its reflection.

Panicked, he resorted to the only means of escape he could think of. "Father! Help me, please?"

He grimaced at how pathetic his voice sounded. Unfortunately, pride had no place here. He still needed to find a way to save his mother and put an end to the war.

If I am to die, it will not be here. It will not be now.

Thankfully Zarkon seemed to agree. Just as Lotor lost his footing and dropped to the ground, the tell-tale clink of his father's chain-whip breezed across his torso, cutting a swath that ran red from the man's right hip to his left shoulder.

As Lotor watched the assailant slump forward, his weight shifting precariously onto the tip of his lightsword as it dug into the ground, the realization hit him.

Snow white hair. Amethyst skin. Cadmium-colored eyes.

If it weren't for the hideous scars imposing on smooth skin, it might have been like looking into a mirror. The irony of always having believed he was his own worst enemy was not lost here. In some strange, twisted fashion, he was nearly killed fighting himself.

This must be who Keith was referring to. But why is he here? HOW is he here?

"Look out!"

Lotor blinked up to see the other version of himself standing upright, sword hoisted over his head. His twisted features were dewy with sweat- likely the result of his near-fatal wound- as his arms thrust the blade down towards the defenseless Prince. Once again the unarmed Lotor pinched his eyes shut as he waited for the burn of severed flesh.

The blow never landed.

"GAHHH!"

No! No no no no no no no no no nooooo!

Without having to open his eyes, he knew.

The crisp pop as electricity met steel. The sick thunk of armor split open. The blood gurgling in a clenched throat.

Forgetting the danger he was facing just moments before, Lotor scrambled on all fours to his father's side. "You'll be okay. This isn't real, right?" he pleaded, his eyes scouring the room for someone to provide confirmation. "Souls are immortal, aren't they?"

Despite his desperate insistence, he could hear Zarkon's breathing become more labored. Hands busied themselves, attempting to remove the damaged armor piece by piece to gain a better view of the injury. The longer he worked, the more blood-soaked his fingers became. Eventually, the wet stickiness prevented him from releasing the final two clasps. He couldn't even use them to wipe the rush of tears that eroded his vision and dried salty on his cheeks.

"I'll be okay," Zarkon uttered as his body seized in pain, the words barely audible. "I've survived worse. Now go find your mother, quickly."

Lotor shook his head defiantly. "I'm staying. You need me to protect you."

"You need to leave." The order was firm but kind. "I'll finish this. Go save my daughter now."

King Alfor's face was grave, but his eyes were pleading. Raising one hand before him, palm forward, he used his Altean magic to open a passage back to the real world. With his other hand he lifted Lotor by his scruff as if he were a mere doll, hurling him through the vortex.

The last glimpse he caught was of Alfor running his blade through the other Lotor's abdomen, no doubt a fatal cut. Mixed emotions of sadness tinged with guilt filled him as he felt his soul being sucked back into his body so fast his neck whipped down and then back. Instinctively he felt every part of his body that should have had an injury.

There were two, but not where he expected.

Blood ran hot down his chest. One wound showed raised flesh that angled down his torso. The other was a sizeable cut just above his navel. The room began to spin as the realization hit him: this was not the puddle of mangled flesh he'd left behind.

He was now a specter possessing another man's body.

As his vision began to blur from blood loss he saw his beloved Allura approach, her eyes glowing with quintessence. Strangely enough, for a brief moment after her hands touched him there was a strange sense of familiarity. It vanished almost as quickly as it arrived. His soul settled like silt once been sloshed around by ocean currents.

His hermit mind now lived inside an abandoned dwelling.

It wasn't ideal, yet it beat the alternative. Now he could walk again, talk again, feel again. Now he had one more chance to prove to the Princess that she didn't make a mistake choosing him. Any error was on him, and him alone.

As he drifted to sleep, his thoughts raced with possibility, with hope.

With love- both given and received- for the first time in a very, very long time.