Warning notes: Graphic violence this chapter, please proceed with caution if you are triggered by blood, torture and descriptive imagery.
As Color Fades Away
Chapter Fourteen
"Holy fucking shit!"
Pidge kicked the laptop away from her as Lance's hand was impaled and the crowd roared above the sound of his strangled scream, trembling. Hunk was being violently sick off the back of the couch and Keith kept glancing between the two of them, unsure of what to do but feeling he should do something as the sounds of torture and cheering continue to emit from the laptop speakers.
They'd sequestered themselves in a corner of the main lounge and within seconds Pidge had hacked onto the transmission the castle was receiving. It had picked up with a very large Galran introducing himself and the start of the Kri Za Kri. None of them had known what that meant, but it likely wasn't good for Lance.
When they'd first seen Lance, kneeling on the floor and restrained and clearly hurting and scared, his entire body trembling, Hunk had almost turned the laptop off then and there.
They should not be watching this.
He didn't want to see this.
Pidge had practically bit his hand though, hunching possessively over the laptop to protect it from his interference and Hunk had tried some of the deep breathing exercises Coran had been showing hm and telling himself it wasn't going to be bad and that whatever he felt was nothing compared to what Lance was feeling and this was to stand in solidarity with Lance.
When Lance had spoken out there had been a collective wince on all of their parts, which had turned into absolute horror as he went down screaming, what seemed to be a shock collar activating around his neck.
Hunk had been too overwhelmed to even try and close the laptop, sitting there and shaking himself and repeating over and over that it was going to be okay, that Lance was going to be okay.
A series of charges were read – Lance had done all that? Lance had tried to escape? – and then..
Then it had gotten bad.
Again.
The Galrans had pulled out the syringe they had all seen from the recording and Lance had been forced to the center of the dais, a measure of strength and alertness restored although nothing close enough to truly fight back.
And now they'd just seen that and...
And...
"Holy fucking shit," Pidge repeated breathlessly, shaking her head. "Holy..."
The laptop continued to play. Based on the sounds and renewed screams from Lance they could assume his left hand had just received the same.
"That's enough," Keith made the decision for them all. He reached out a hand towards the fallen computer, intending to snap it shut.
"No," Pidge gasped, catching his hand. "No."
"Pidge," Hunk pleaded, face pale and red and green all at the same time. "We can't."
"I'm not a child," she protested.
"We all are," Keith snapped at her, regretting the tone as Pidge shrunk back, the laptop once more in her hand, but not his words.
Shiro had been right. He should have listened to him. He had enough nightmare fodder from both recordings. This...
This he knew would haunt him.
Lance had no business looking that scared, that hurt.
When he'd fallen to the ground, breathless, gasping screams torn from his throat as he writhed and the Galra cheered...
He felt sick.
Keith raked a hand through his hair, trying to ignore the Galrans' cheering on the speaker. "Look, I'm sorry. But we should not be watching this. Shiro was right."
"No," Pidge protested again, although tears were sparkling in her eyes behind her steaming up glasses. She pulled them off, rubbing at her face. "I have to know. I can't... I can't stop thinking about what they're doing to him. I can't sleep. I can't focus. I just… " she let out a soft sob. "I have to know. I imagine it otherwise and... and... and that's worse, Keith."
Her brain filled in the blanks around the information she did have. Pidge didn't know if it was actually worse, because reality was terrifying, but she knew she would be haunted more by the unknown.
At least this way... At least this way she knew. And then she could fix it.
Knowledge was power, ignoring it was folly. It was simple math; the more facts, the more data, the better chances of a successive outcome.
And all of this?
It was one, huge, complicated, horrible equation.
And if she had the data she could solve it.
She winced at her own train of thought then. Lance was no math problem, no impersonal string of numbers and codes. But it stood. She needed to know so she could help him.
When they rescued him.
She would not accept any other outcome.
Keith let out a low, resigned sigh and Pidge felt her heart clench at the sounds.
Keith didn't sound like himself either.
"Okay," Keith agreed quietly. "Okay." He met her tear-lined gaze, his own eyes dry but shadowed. "But... but you're not watching it alone."
"Guys," Hunk whispered, "please. No more."
This was not what Lance would want, he knew that. Lance wouldn't want them to see him like this. He wouldn't want them to suffer as he was.
Pidge extended a small hand and dug it into Hunk's vest, keeping him rooted to the couch. "Please stay," she whispered. "You don't have to watch. Or listen. Just..." She reached her other hand into her pants pocket, removing her music player and set of headphones.
"Oh Pidge." Hunk patted the couch between his legs. "Come here."
She needed no second urging, scrambling over his leg and settling herself down within his embrace, tucking her head up against his chest where his heart was racing and she could feel him shaking.
Even then she felt comforted. Hunk always made her feel safe even when he was scared. Because for all his fears he always came through when they needed him and she had come to rely on his steady presence during her time at the Garrison.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He gave her a squeeze.
As Pidge got comfortable Hunk cast a glance over to the other member of their group.
Keith was sitting perched on the edge of the couch, set away from them. There was a rigidity there, a reluctance to get close, but Hunk could see past that. Keith needed a hug just as much, maybe more, than Pidge.
"Keith," he said gently and large purple eyes, no longer narrowed but wide, and Hunk felt his gut clench as Keith's words from just a moment came back. They were all still children, even someone as strong and independent and fierce as Keith.
Hunk didn't delay any longer.
He reached out, wrapped an arm about Keith's shoulder, and bodily dragged the smaller boy against his side.
Keith stiffened like a rod.
A moment later though all of the tension seemed to go out of him and he tentatively lifted one of his gloved hands and hooked it in Hunk's vest.
"Thank you," came the barest whisper.
Hunk squeezed his shoulder and wrapped his other arm about Pidge. She leaned back and adjusted her headphones over his ears, flipping on the music player and moving towards some of the pre-loaded sounds; this one of an industrial fan that Hunk found both comforting and familiar as it reminded him of his dad's garage. It was loud and Hunk gave her a small nod.
He would not be able to hear the video over this. He closed his eyes then and focused on offering what little support he could to the people, the friends, in his arms right now.
And soon, he prayed, Lance would be safe and sound and wrapped up in his embrace too.
Pidge and Keith exchanged a look as Hunk bowed his head over Pidge's, seemingly oblivious to the goings on around him now.
"You sure?" Keith asked quietly, almost hesitatntly for him.
Pidge gave the barest nod.
And with a deep breath she opened the laptop screen back to full and they were plunged right back into the Kri Za Kri.
xxx
Lance wasn't sure he'd ever felt pain like this, this stabbing, pulsing sharp ache that only worsened with every exhale.
He swore the blades were digging in deeper with every second although he knew that was impossible as their hilts were flush with his blood-covered palms.
He could still feel them moving around, sending fresh rivulets over his hands, down his wrists and dripping along his arms.
His blood was warm.
There was so much of it.
Blood for blood.
It had just started.
And already his hands...
His hands were ruined.
And his feet were next.
He tried weakly to kick out at Theodek again as the Galran bent down to roughly grasp his left leg, but between the ankle chain and the way he felt his hands tear against the embedded dagger it did no good.
The collar around his neck lit up for his attempt.
Lance had almost no air left to scream but his body gave it its best effort as he jerked and writhed and felt more blood
When it finally stopped he found that both of his ankles had been attached to similar black discs, his heel against the restraint and not allowing him any way to try and shift to put some weight onto his feet.
His hands wept.
The knife brought out this time on another tray was wider than the daggers.
It looked like a butcher cleaver.
Lance faintly wondered if they were going to chop off his toes.
He tried to curl them back but Theodek grabbed hold of his foot, claws digging in, and raised the knife above his head once more.
The crowd roared.
And Lance screamed again.
His cleaver bit through the whole length of the bottom of his foot.
Lance swore he felt it hit bone.
He couldn't see it but he could imagine the torrent of blood, of jagged flesh, as Theodek ripped the knife free.
He...
He wouldn't be walking again.
No more escape attempts.
Lance let out a sound between a sob and a laugh.
As though they'd have given him the chance again.
He was crying, he realized, tasting salt on his tongue as they dripped down his face.
He hadn't meant to.
But he wasn't surprised.
He welcomed them as they blurred his vision, turning the crowd of screaming Galrans into indistinct purple blobs.
He was at the beach.
This was just spray from the waves. The pain from his feet from stepping on a buried seashell. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine the salty breeze, turn the roar into that of the ocean.
His left foot was butchered too and Lance was thrown from his thoughts.
"We now move onto the other charges," he heard the Galran judge intone to renewed cheering.
Lance shuddered.
He couldn't do this.
They hadn't even started the assault charges and already he...
He could feel himself fading.
He was breaking.
He couldn't break though. He couldn't give in.
Haggar was waiting for it. A broken body, a broken spirit and then a broken mind. She'd said so; she wanted to crush him.
She wanted information.
And if he broke now...
She would get it.
She would get it and his team would pay the price. She would hurt them.
He had to stay strong.
For them.
Dios, he prayed silently. Por favor. Dame fuerza. Necesito ayuda. Tengo que protegerlos. Por favor. Ayudame.
A Galran had disentangled himself from the crowd during that time and he was striding towards Lance with a smug grin while the judge made note to the audience that they were starting with battery charges.
Lance recognized this Galran; he was the guard who had nearly strangled him and whose gun he had stolen.
He gave himself a mental nod. He hadn't given into the fear then, he wouldn't give into it now.
They would not get one more scream from him.
The soldier was in front of him now and despite the fact Lance hovered a couple inches off the floor he was still much shorter than the Galran, his sightline coming to the base of the Galran's neck. He didn't tilt his head up to meet the yellow gaze he could feel smoldering down, instead keeping his eyes firmly fixed forward and staring at where the Galran's armor connected to the shoulder plate.
The Galran apparently did not like that. A clawed hand gripped his chin and yanked his head up, neck aching at the position. Lance slid his eyes past the Galran's face though and focused on a point of the ceiling behind him.
No fear.
No fear.
"Look at me," the Galran growled.
Lance absolutely did not.
No fear.
Be strong.
He could get through this.
His chin was abruptly released and a tick later an open hand smacked against his cheek, jerking his entire head to the right and unfortunately pulling his matching hand against the dagger.
He felt it tear.
Somehow he swallowed back the cry and managed to keep his eyes open after the initial flinch, once more back on the Galran's armor.
"Enough," the judge ordered, a note of impatience in his voice. "Carry out the charge or forfeit your turn."
"My apologies," came the reply that sounded completely unapologetic.
And a closed fist rammed into Lance's stomach.
It was like getting hit with a sledgehammer. His torso responded to the force and swung back, although his hands and feet held fast.
Blood gushed.
He choked out a groan.
The crowd screamed for more.
To Lance's relief more did not come and he took in several shaky inhales, trying to replenish his air from where it had been literally knocked out. Over the sound of his breathing there were heavier footsteps.
Somehow he knew they belonged to Theodek.
His head had dropped to his chest as he breathed, but he found it being forced up as a clawed hand descended into his hair once more.
He pointedly kept his gaze straight and focused this time on the far wall of the audience chamber.
A claw dug itself into his chest and he pressed his lips together as he felt it being dragged in a circle, a thin line of fire behind.
"This," Theodek rumbled, "is a fatal spot for humans."
His heart.
"Do not," and there was a sharp warning bite on Theodek's voice, "enact Kri Za Kri within that mark. The penalty will be your own death."
And Theodek would be the executioner. No one, no one, had the right to kill this Paladin save for him. He knew he could not actually do so; Emperor Zarkon was using the boy for his own means and Theodek would never dare go against his wishes. He accepted that, knew his brother's justice would have to be found through screams and pleas.
But.
If any dared to get such a notion to try and take even that away from him he would make them regret it.
Theodek released the Paladin and stepped back, gesturing for the foot soldier who had allowed the escape to happen to continue. Normally such a failure would be punished severely, but to his surprise the soldier had been pardoned for the lapse. Theodek had no doubt the witch was behind it for reasons unknown to him. Perhaps she just wished to see the human suffer even more penalties? He would admit, he could agree with that.
A gun – the one that had been stolen and then recovered with the Blue Paladin – was presented to the soldier and he took it with a low chuckle... and then strode right for the Paladin.
Theodek raised an eyebrow. Most Galrans used opportunities like this to demonstrate their marksmanship, to work the crowd into a frenzy. But, a cruel smile turned up his face as the Galran pressed the muzzle of the gun flat against they human's chest just beneath his collarbone, he would not admit this had a certain style too and settled back to watch the show.
Lance meanwhile had to force himself to keep his eyes angled back across the audience hall as he felt cold metal grind against warm flesh.
He was going to be shot point blank.
Dios.
He couldn't stop his heart from racing though, beating so fast he swore his chest was vibrating.
The Galran must have felt it too because Lance could see his face morph into a sick grin out of the corner of his eye. "Scared, Paladin?"
Breathe, Lance told himself. In and out. He could do this. It would be fine, over in an instant.
No fear no fear no fear no fear.
"Act the part all you want," the soldier hissed, breath hot on Lance's ear. "But we both know the truth. All humans are the same. Scared, pathetic little fools." Lance heard the gun whine to full charge. "Now scream."
The gun went off in a sizzle of light and sound and fire and agony.
And Lance...
He screamed. He tried not to. He did. Really. But it felt like his entire chest had just been filled with liquid fire and it was burning right through him. He was literally going to go up in flames.
Over the sounds of his own cries he could hear the Galrans shrieking in an excited frenzy and the soldier's quiet, smug chuckle.
His eyes rolled up in his head and the bitter taste of blood filled his mouth and he realized he'd bitten through his tongue.
The fire burned hotter and hotter and he wondered if it was possible to combust from the inside. It felt like it.
Was he going to die?
Was... was he okay with that?
The fire burned hotter and he shook, feeling new tracks of tears coating his cheeks that did nothing to soothe the burning.
It was getting worse.
And then it stopped.
Like a bucket of cold water had been doused over him but with none of the relief it cut off and Lance wrenched open eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed.
In his blurred vision there was the shape of a hooded figure, bird-like mask hiding the face.
A Druid.
The Druid had healed him.
He knew now why the sensation had felt so familiar; he had felt it just a bit ago when he came to on the table with Haggar standing over him.
Druid haling was nothing like the Altean cryo-pods; it felt like he had been stitched from the inside and the thread was made of molten lava. But it had worked.
Whether for better or worse Lance did not know.
Exhausted eyes lifted as the Druid stepped away, landing on the horde of Galrans who were all clamoring for more blood even as he faintly heard the judge ordering them all that any more shots like that would be punished and to rein it in so they didn't kill him.
The warning was of no comfort.
There were so many.
And that had been the first of the assault charges. There were... ten more? Something like that.
He didn't know if he was going to make it through ten more.
He had to though. He had to.
His team, his family, needed him to.
He couldn't fall here. If he fell here he knew it was over.
He wouldn't be able to pick himself back up, not when it mattered when Haggar returned with her questions, with her magic and pressure on his mind as she sought a way in.
It was just...
It was hard.
They weren't actually asking him questions. This wasn't an interrogation.
It was torture for the sake of torture no matter what label of justice they threw on it.
He had already shown his fear. The Galrans knew he was scared.
They would use it.
He couldn't let them.
He had to be brave, to be strong.
Strong like Shiro.
He let out a shuddering breath as another Galran ascended the dais, the gun now in his hands.
He reminded himself that he had held Haggar off. In his mindscape where she said she was in control. He had beat her. He did that. Him. Lance. The weakest Paladin on the team. He had stopped her. That had to mean something. That had to mean he wasn't as weak as he thought.
Maybe he was strong.
Just a little bit.
Maybe he could get through this.
He clung to that thought as the new Galran approached, the second guard from the cell.
He could do this.
Just ten more.
Ten more and then it was back into Haggar's hands.
Lance's eyes widened at the thought.
As horrible, as painful, as this was...
At least his friends were safe. He was the target here.
Once he left the Kri Za Kri... they were.
It wasn't just getting through ten more hits.
It was surviving through infinity.
There was no end.
And fire exploded against his inner right arm.
The Kri Za Kri had continued on.
He barely choked down the scream – born of both surprise and pain – before another shot took out his right shoulder and this time he bit down on his tongue, feeling blood well inside his mouth and drip down his chin as he opened it to gasp for air.
He didn't scream.
He took the barest measure of pride in that although the Galran who had shot him looked extremely displeased by the lack of reaction.
Lance managed a bloody smile at that and lifted his chin high.
It was what allowed him to see the next Galran step onto the dais, this one strangely not screaming for blood or wearing a cruel smile. He... he looked impassive.
Lance recognized him after a moment. It was the soldier he had shot in the hallway; the one who had lowered his gun.
"Lieutenant Yanden of the Third Batallion," the judge addressed and Lance realized he'd been missing all of the introductions.
Yanden. Lance ran the name over in his head, committing it to memory. There was something... different about this Galran.
"Do you invoke your right to Kri Za Kri?" came the judge's voice and Yanden inclined his head.
"I invoke my right," Yanden said, his voice a quiet rasp compared to the others. He strode towards Lance then, steps silent on the platform, and reached out a clawed hand.
Lance didn't even flinch as it descended on his chest, curious and confused more than scared.
He welcomed the change.
The claw dipped into the bloodied circle Theodek had made and used it to draw a red dot just above it where his own injuries in the escape attempt had been made. Lance tried not to gape in the fact when given an opportunity to inflict a new wound this Galran had not hurt him.
Who was he?
Yanden then retreated down the steps, heading towards the back of the room to murmurs of excitement from the crowd rather than the former roars of just bloodlust. Lance caught the word sniper.
Sniper.
This Galran was going to snipe at the mark he'd made with Lance's blood.
With a short range pistol.
Lance's head spun. He knew firsthand how difficult – how insane – it was to try to shoot without the proper gun. It's why there were so many models because every one had a different purpose. His own bayard was good at cover fire but streamlined enough to allow him to make finer shots.
That pistol?
Short range only, probably twenty feet maximum to hit within the target.
This Yanden was at least one hundred feet back.
Was he trying to kill Lance?
Lance's breath caught.
Maybe he was.
Maybe this was an act of mercy.
But...
Lance trembled.
Why did this question keep coming back?
Did he want to die?
He had no control over it, his opinion didn't matter. But if it came down to it did he want the lieutenant to kill him?
He didn't know.
He hated that he didn't know.
He had to protect his family. His death would ensure that.
But...
But he...
Yanden fired.
Lance watched with a sort of apathetic horror as the bright beam closed the space.
Live or die?
Live or die?
It struck dead center on the bloodied circle.
It...
It barely hurt.
It was like knicking himself on a kitchen knife or a very large bee sting; there was pain but nothing like what he'd been experiencing.
He wasn't even sure the strike, had it hit him in the head, would kill him.
So was this... was this mercy of a different sort? A break from the overwhelming pain?
Why?
The second shot went off and it struck the same spot. That one hurt slightly more, smarting on top of the previous hit, but still, nothing.
Lance tried not to stare.
Why?
The Galrans seemed to be taking it as a display of marksmanship, clapping the still impassive Galran on the back and cheering and expressing their desires to one day shoot as well as he.
Lance figured that had to be it as well. No Galran would ever risk the wrath of Zarkon to spare a few moments of pain for their prisoner, and if he were a Blade he would not have made so obvious a statement to single himself out.
But still...
It had been a small act of kindness, no matter the reason. Lance appreciated it, feeling a gentle warmth filling his stomach.
It might be the very last one he'd ever see.
And with next Galran ascending the stage he knew the kindness was over.
It was Yanden's companion, the one Lance had likened to an angry bull and even now that analogy seemed appropriate. How many times had he shot this one? How many had he gone through?
Lance tried to count. There had been the first guard with one and then the second guard with two for a total of three strikes. Yanden had two which made five and had it been ten or eleven total? Um, this one, of whose name he had missed again, had been three, he thought. Eight, then?
The raging Galran entered Lance's line of sight and he cast his eyes upward again, chin raised ever so.
Even though he didn't feel very brave right now the action gave him the tiniest boost.
"I'm going to enjoy this, boy," the Galran snarled.
Lance ignored him.
"I'm talking to you," came an angry growl.
Well Lance was not talking to him. He pressed his lips into a thin line, tongue tasting the blood that coated them still from where he'd earlier bit his tongue.
"Fine." He felt the gun press directly against his upper right thigh through his underarmour that would do little to protect him in this circumstance. "This'll loosen your lips."
He wouldn't, Lance thought, heartbeat quickening. The judge had told them off for such a close shot last time. He wouldn't—
He did.
The shot went through Lance's leg and he could feel the burn as it went out the back.
He shrieked.
It was torn out of him as he could do nothing else against such brutal agony. He tried to curl his legs up, as though to make himself a smaller target, but all that did was jog his feet against the manacles and new pain blinded him.
It was getting worse.
The fire was spreading from his thigh, pulsing up and down and he swore his skin was being melted right off.
How?
What?
Why?
How did this hurt more than the previous point-blank hit in his chest? It shouldn't. Not like this.
The gun was ground against the wound it had created and Lance let out another howl, vision flaring.
Something was wrong.
The Galran lifted it off then to re-position it in the same matter on his other thigh.
And even with his vision blurred by tears and pain, Lance saw something different.
The muzzle of the gun was black.
It was supposed to be silver.
That meant something.
What did that mean?
The second shot went off.
Lance blacked out.
He came to with that icy hot fire racing in his veins that still had nothing on the pain emitting from both of his legs now.
Cold metal pressed against the side of his face and exhausted eyes drifted towards it.
The muzzle was still black, but closer up Lance could tell there was something smeared on it, and it wasn't blood. It smelled... oily.
It was saliidda.
Dios, the gun was coated in saliidda. The stuff that amplified pain.
The Galran brought the gun down from Lances face and ran the muzzle across his chest, grinding it into the earlier wounds.
Lance bucked, hands dragging against the daggers again.
"Having fun yet, boy?" The Galran chuckled. "I am." He tapped the gun against Lance's shoulder, smearing more saliidda into his earlier wounds.
Lance didn't have the breath left to scream and only let out a pathetic whimper, body trembling.
"Two shots left," he grinned. "You gonna stay awake or pass out like a weakling again?"
Lance closed his eyes.
He didn't want to see anymore.
He couldn't see anymore.
The gun sizzled its final shots of the set, cutting into his chest and then into his arm. Neither one was made point-blank again, no saliidda behind the pain, but it didn't matter at this point as the saliidda had worked its way into his bloodstream and they hurt just as much.
Lance discovered he did pass out as he woke up to find the final Galran he'd attacked standing in front of him. This one wasted no time, firing two shots rapid-fire into his stomach.
Lance passed out again.
They didn't let him remain that way.
His head hung when they brought him back, no strength left to lift it, and dulled eyes catching sight of the pool of blood that had formed on the ground below him.
It was a lot of blood.
He wondered how much more he could lose.
He wondered if it mattered.
"The Kri Za Kri has been fulfilled," came the bellowing voice of the judge. "Now it is time to release the charged."
Lance didn't know if he should feel relieved or terrified.
All he could feel was pain.
He let out a whimper as he felt more than saw Theodek approach. His right ankle and then his left were released from the bonds, toes dangling limply down.
He couldn't have kicked out if he'd wanted to.
His hands were next.
But before the manacles could be released...
The daggers came first.
Theodek pulled on the one embedded in his left hand, a dull, wet squelch sounding.
Lance gagged, tasting blood and acid. The second one was pulled out the same way and he let out a low moan, unable to do anything more.
And then he was falling.
It wasn't far, just a foot, but it felt like forever.
And the landing...
Lance wanted to die.
Every single piece of him seemed to light up; his hands his feet his chest his legs his throat and he let out a weak sounding keening noise that despite everything had him flushing with shame as he heard Theodek laugh and the other Galrans join in.
So much for remaining strong.
Tears burned his eyes and they somehow hurt more than any other wound.
He tried to curl up then, to hide his face, his tears, his pain, but the Galrans would not him have even that.
A clawed hand grabed onto his ankles and another onto his hands and they were pulled away from his chest. He heard the clank of chains and felt the manacles being reattached.
And then his arms were being dragged upwards.
Lance had no strength to fight back, to assist even in lessening the agony as his wrists and arms cried out, and he was dragged back to his knees with his arms pulled high above him. The chain gave an impatient tug and Lance realized after a tick that they wanted him to stand.
On his feet.
That had been butchered.
The chain gave another tug, slightly lifting his knees from the floor and more of his weight on his mangled right wrist.
Lance tried to stand.
He placed his right foot out in front of him, trying to balance solely on his toes, and push himself to standing.
He didn't make it.
His legs gave out below him, he felt the gush of blood from the shots that had gone through his thighs, and his stomach heaved.
"Up," Theodek ordered harshly, yanking at the chain again.
Lance weakly shook his head. He couldn't.
It was the wrong answer. The collar activated around his neck and he collapsed back to the ground, shaking and gasping and crying.
Theodek dragged at his wrists again, attempting to pull him back to kneeling and then to standing, but Lance couldn't do it.
"Up."
He shook his head again, although at this point it was more of just a loll in a horizontal direction.
He couldn't. He had no strength left.
He couldn't do it.
More shocks.
His body refused to pass out.
And even if it did it wouldn't matter.
"Pathetic," Theodek snarled, voice sounding as though from far, far away.
Lance hated that he flinched.
"If you will not walk than you will be dragged."
It was all the warning Lance had as the chain slackened for the barest of moments, allowing him to draw his ruined hands back towards his chest, before they were pulled away from his body and he hit the ground with a thump, vision flaring as every wound on his chest took the impact and his chin clipped the floor.
He did not have the energy left to cry out as he was dragged forward, open wounds being torn further against the floor and his wrists and arms at this point just one mass of fire.
Lance closed his eyes, trying to find solace in the darkness, praying he could find real escape soon.
He couldn't be strong anymore.
He'd failed.
He'd broken.
He was weak.
And now...
Now his family would pay the price.
xxx
Off to the side, Haggar smiled, a dark, dangerous thing.
She had felt it. She had felt it so so clearly.
She had felt the Blue Paladin's spirit, his quintessence, unfiltered and raw and so beautiful and strong.
She had never felt anything like it.
It was intoxicating.
She had to have it.
Druids thrived on the quintessence, the life force, of others. It was the power behind their magic. And this blue quintessence, this stunning, beautiful blue quintessence that had surrounded the human, that had kept his head high, was the most powerful she had ever felt.
She would be invincible if she could harness it. She would turn that light into the deepest darkness and it would be hers.
There was going to be a change in plans, she decided, lip curling. She would still attempt to get her lord his coveted Black Lion, but she was no longer willing to so easily hand over the Blue Paladin.
No.
Her Blue Paladin. Yes. She liked the sound of that.
Hers.
She desired his quintessence. And she would have it.
Every.
Last.
Drop.
Author's Notes:
Fun Fact: In the original draft I actually had a Druid escorting Lance out by floating him after he was released from the restraints. I realized that was far too benevolent so re-wrote it to this instead. Sorry I'm not sorry.
So, that Kri Za Kri (pronounced Kree zah kree for those wishing to chant it themselves) is over and for now our blue boy still has all limbs and body parts attached (there is a wide divide of y'all from those chanting for limb removal and others crying to leave him alone) so I can say that he literally did come out of this in one piece. :p For those wondering about the Paladin's reactions; you got most of them! We'll check in with the others next chapter because Haggar still has to deliver a message after all. I wonder what it could be...
Given the results of the poll last chapter we are going to attempt Tuesday AND Friday updates starting this Tuesday! -cheering- It will depend upon my schedule and life if it happens every week, but there will still be at least one chapter a week and hopefully two! Yay!
And wow, you guys, I am blown away. This fic has hit over 500 reviews, 100 favorites and 150 alerts. I'm speechless. Thank you so, so, so, much for the warm welcome into the Voltron community. I never thought this story would resonate with so many and I'm just... wow. Thank you so much. You are all the reason this has gone from a planned 15-chapter fic to looking closer to 40+ and I'm so excited to see where that journey takes us.
Special thanks and kudos to the fabulous reviewers for getting this fic to where it is: Agate, PaintedWings45, LishaChan, wingedflower, dragoscilvio, Alexa, KarleighH, Luna8325, toomanyFandoms18, Bryler, SonoSvegliato, Guest, unicornpie, Guest, Jadegem02, Violinworld, Guest, DoctorMerlinReid, sally3015, vickydd, Guest, deaththecripple, Arivoctix, Abbeyisactualtrash, PurpleJediCat, Therabidsquirrel, cookiebook322, SamTheShortyMan, Swirly Rainbow, Blakeyfur, Guest, FanaticFangirl2602, StrawberryFever3, Gemini, Stargirl720, Lasagna, DawnoftheShadows, graceblushes, fandomspotatoes, WhiteWolf100101, Guest, ukara, and BigPandaBear
Also, to the "Guest" who offered up their heart on a silver platter; I am so sorry for your pain! -many hugs- Please don't be scared of reviewing! Think of it as a balm to get all those feelings off your chest and then you'll feel better. If you create an account and leave a signed-in review I also do my best to reply so you can get virtual hugs and cuddles and reassurance that (somehow) everything will be all right.
As always, reviews feed the author's soul and make her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Thanks so much for your encouragement and support; I can't wait to see what y'all thought of the chapter!