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 Seventeen
This time Lance awoke to darkness.
It wasn't the dull purple glow of his cell or the comforting hues of the night sky. It was solid, deep black without a pinprick of light to be had and Lance hoped that this was still some part of his dream.
But he was in too much pain, every part of him feeling like it was on fire and and he couldn't help the whimper that escaped him, for it to be his imagination and he didn't think this was his mindscape.
That meant though, if this wasn't a dream and he wasn't in his mind, then this was reality and he could not see. He blinked furiously and definitely felt his eyelids opening and closing, but the blackness remained.
Had he gone blind?
His heart began to pick up tempo, a heavy thud echoing as blood pulsed in his ears and he strained his eyes into the darkness.
Lance took a shuddering breath to try and steady himself, which turned into more of a gasp as his body protested the inhale and he felt something constrict around his throat, at the same time igniting a new flare of pain.
Shock collar, his brain helpfully reminded him, and the aggravated flesh below it. One of the many new things bestowed upon him during the Kri Za Kri.
He brought a hand up towards his face, but it held fast and he figured he was once more restrained, likely on the same table he'd already been tortured on.
He moaned softly at that, the throbbing of his broken wrist making itself incredibly apparent now that he'd just jammed it against the cuff. His fingers clenched and he winced as he remembered that he had a new set of holes in him. But to his surprise his fingertips met the soft linen of a bandage and the pain wasn't anything like it had been. Still awful and terrible, but no longer excruciating.
He tentatively wiggled his toes and although he felt the skin pulling, eliciting another moan, they didn't feel like they were gaping open wounds any longer. He felt the tiniest bit of relief that maybe, just maybe, he could still walk. Although what good it would do him now he wasn't sure. It wasn't like they were going to give him any chances to escape again.
The rest of him still hurt and ached and stabbed, but as he continued to lie there it was fading to a duller ache now. Except his wrist. That still most definitely felt very, very badly broken and they clearly weren't putting any resources towards it. Made sense on their end; he was a heck of a lot less dangerous without a working hand.
But even more than that he was absolutely useless without his sight. And the small measure of calm he'd forced himself into disappeared as he thrashed his head to try and dislodge the blindfold that must be on him. To his growing horror he could not feel any such obstruction.
Breathe. He just had to breathe. In and out.
The heavy inhale had his chest aching again — how many times had he been shot there again? Two? Three? Five? — but it had the desired effect and halted the blind (haha, blind, Dios, oh no) panic that was trying to take over.
He couldn't actually be blind, he reassured himself. He couldn't. It was some trick of the light. Maybe he was in a pitch dark room. That made sense. It made a lot of sense.
It was okay.
He released another breath, this one stronger. He was fine. Well, his sight was fine. He most definitely was not.
He was strapped down to a table likely about to be interrogated again and he had no idea how long he could keep resisting. Haggar had been right, his mindscape proving it.
He was breaking.
But he couldn't. Not yet. Not until...
Not until he could draw his last breath and guarantee that he couldn't hurt his family with his words, with his memories locked inside his mind behind a mental shield that even now he could feel was smaller.
He shoved back at it, trying to force the tidal wave back to a roaring height. He had to keep Haggar out of his mind. He had to protect his friends. He could do it.
He had to do it.
If he stopped believing that he could protect his friends, then he had nothing left to believe in and they would win.
And no matter how far he fell he could not let them win.
He wouldn't let them be hurt.
Not because of him.
He took another breath. He had to remain strong. Like Shiro.
Thinking of Shiro though made him think of his other friends and felt his chest tighten. He wondered what the others were up to. Haggar hadn't mentioned them at all recently and he didn't know if he should take comfort in that or not.
He knew they weren't coming. He knew that. They couldn't.
He still wished they could.
Was Hunk trying to go around Allura and Shiro's orders and rescue him? He could almost see that; Hunk teaming up with Pidge and the two launching their own rescue mission. But they'd be caught by the Galra. And then they'd be tortured and hurt and it would be all his fault.
It was better this way. For them. They were safe right now. He had to remember that. He was doing his best to keep them safe.
And to continue doing that...
He had to let them go.
Picturing their faces was both a comfort and a loss and he couldn't fall back into that sobbing, pathetic boy he had in his mindscape. Not out here. Not where Haggar, where the Galra could see.
Although they had all already seen him fail.
He could almost feel the gun pressed point-blank against him again and hear the sizzle of burning flesh, feel the blood dripping and dripping and dripping. The Galran's dark amusement and the cheers of the crowd washed over him and he whimpered at the memory that was suddenly all too real.
The urge to curl up into a comforting ball was suddenly overwhelming, but he was held fast by the restraints. A soft keen made its way past his lips and he turned his head down as far as he could, squeezing his eyes shut and fighting back the sudden influx of hot tears.
He couldn't cry. He couldn't. Not again.
He tried to think of something, anything, to focus on.
The majestic image of his Lion was pulled to his mind, standing tall and proud as the ocean burst behind her and despite the power of the image there being only a comfort in his mind.
"Bl-Blue," he rasped, chapped lips stinging but the painful ache in his throat at least reduced. He would give anything to hear her purr in his mind whispering assurances and comfort. He just wanted someone to tell him that it was going to be all right. That he could get through this.
That it would be over soon.
"Blue," he whispered again, fingers curling into his palm.
Tears were making trails down his cheeks now and he bit his lip to keep from making any noise, ashamed enough of the tears he couldn't seem to stop. He was sure they knew he was awake already. They were probably watching him on some night-vision camera and laughing.
It made him let out another sob, this one echoing.
What was the point? They already knew how pathetic, how weak he was.
They were the ones that finally made him see how true it was.
Even when he tried to be strong he failed.
He failed at everything.
He closed his eyes. He was so tired. He wanted it all to stop.
He wanted his mom.
"Mamá," he whispered, voice cracking. "Quiero... quiero ir a casa." He let out another sob. "I want to go home."
A chuckle sounded right next to him and Lance jerked against the restraints in surprise.
Someone was there.
Someone was watching him.
The surprise morphed to horror as a hand descended out of the infinite blackness and pressed against the top of his head.
"Oh, my sweet Lance," Haggar's voice crooned. "You are never going home."
Haggar.
Haggar was here.
Her hand was moving then, sliding through his bangs in a sick caress.
"St-stop," he finally managed to get out, breath locked back in in his throat. He swallowed thickly, trying again and pitching his voice lower. "Don't touch me."
Haggar hummed.
She continued to stroke his hair.
"Don't touch me," he repeated, voice cracking that time.
Haggar's hand lifted away but before he could even blink it was back and cupping the side of his face.
He struggled uselessly as she forcefully turned his head from the side to look straight back up, gripping it painfully.
"Tears, hmm?" she murmured, thumb brushing underneath his eye. "How delicious. They make your eyes even a prettier blue."
What?
How was she seeing him?
"It is no use trying to see me," she said, both hands now pressed to the sides of his face and thumbs brushing back and forth against his cheekbones. "I placed a darkness spell on your eyes. Much better than those archaic blindfolds the Galra use."
Lance felt his stomach turn to ice at her words. "What?" he breathed.
"You fear the dark," Haggar observed, her hands continuing their stroking. "Or, more accurately, you fear not being able to see."
What? When had she...?
"The commander may be rather brutish but I do find his methods rather... thrilling. Your reaction upon entering the hall filled me with great joy, my Lance, and I knew I had to see it firsthand myself. I am not disappointed."
She patted his cheek then in a gesture that had Lance flinching. "You also fear gentle touches more than painful ones." She laughed. "I find you fascinating."
Lance didn't know how to respond to that. She was right. As terrifying as Theodek was he would take his brand of pain any day over whatever this was.
Her touch made him feel sick.
"But I am not as cruel as the commander," Haggar continued.
Lance didn't bother to try and refute that statement.
"You can remove the darkness spell right here and now and return your sight," Haggar said. "All you must do is say, 'please.'"
That... That seemed too simple.
"I promise, that is all it is," Haggar said, her hand back and petting his hair. "I can set any number of words or phrases to activate my spells and this one is straightforward... perfect for someone like you."
Lance hated that he couldn't help but wince at the dig to his intelligence.
"Well?" Haggar prompted, hand tightening painfully in his hair.
"No," Lance said instead.
He would not beg.
He'd done so once, or so he recalled, pleading for water after days without it or medical attention, nearly delirious from it and the sickness that had descended upon him.
He would not do it again.
He still had his pride. He clung to it, the one thing he was determined to take with him to the very end.
Not once during the Kri Za Kri had he begged or asked for mercy.
He would not start now.
He would not play Haggar's game.
"You willingly chose to remain blind, interesting," Haggar mused. "Such a decision means you cannot prepare for something like... this."
Something plunged into his calf.
A knife, he realized, choking back the reflexive cry as he felt it tear into his flesh and hot blood gush down his leg.
It was fine. It was okay. It didn't hurt, it didn't hurt, it didn't–
Haggar twisted it.
And Lance could not contain the scream any longer.
His head smashed into the back of the table as his body jerked.
Haggar pushed the blade in deeper.
"We shall carry on as we were then," Haggar said, almost conversationally. "I will ask you a question and you will answer my query to my satisfaction. If you do, you shall be rewarded and if you fail..." she twisted the blade again and Lance let out another hoarse scream. "You will be punished."
She pulled the knife free, a wet squelching following it, and Lance gasped, trying without succcess to draw the limb up to himself.
All he felt was blood smear beneath him.
"Oh. And my Lance?" Haggar's hand was back on his face and the scent of copper assaulted his nose.
Blood.
His blood.
She ran her fingers over his cheek, across his nose, a line of metallic, cloying warmth left in its wake.
"You may still choose to return your sight at any time." He felt her bend over then, breath hot on his face. "All you need to do is," she pressed a bloodied finger against his lips and Lance tried not to inhale, "say 'please.'"
He shuddered.
"Now," she straightened. "Provide me information on the Paladins."
He concentrated on his breathing instead of answering her, inhaling only through his nose lest he taste the blood now on his lips.
His stomach heaved anyway.
The blade stabbed into his right shoulder directly where he'd been shot.
He screamed again as warm blood flowed down his chest.
"Provide me information on the Paladins."
No.
Never.
Haggar twisted the knife.
He shrieked and tried to shift away, which only buried the blade deeper. He swore he heard over his cries the sound of metal on metal.
The blade had gone through him into the table.
Dios.
"Provide me information on the Paladins."
He remained silent.
He wasn't going to say anything.
Stab.
Cut.
Shock.
Dios, por favor.
Stab.
Twist.
Stab.
Burn.
Quiet. Not a word.
Shock.
Shock.
Pet.
It would end soon. It had to end soon.
Cut.
Stab.
"Provide me information on the Paladins."
Burn.
Stab.
Caress.
Twist.
Lance screamed.
Darkness darkness darkness.
Push.
Lance startled.
Push the sensation came again, not one of the torments he his world had centered into but something different.
Something more dangerous.
It was a pressure building on his mind, digging into the wave that had been sinking lower and lower.
Haggar was trying to get into his head.
He pushed back, putting all he had into summoning another wave. It rose highe–
Stab and twist.
Lance screamed
The wave crashed back down.
The pressure increased.
No no no no no–
Shock.
He threw his head back, smashing it on the table, writhing with no place to go.
Something dark touched against the wave.
No! Stop!
He slammed all he had left back into the wave and it grew.
And grew and grew.
He felt his limbs growing weak, flopping on the table, and he pushed further.
The ocean roared and crashed down, drowning out the pressure.
It was gone.
Lance lie there panting and gasping, chest heaving, and darkness staring back at him
"Well." It was the first word Haggar had spoken other than her demands and something Lance couldn't describe was in her tone.
"You continue to surprise me, my Lance." A hand carded through his hair, smoothing down sweat-soaked bangs. Lance was too hurt, too exhausted, to even try and shake them away.
He hated that they almost felt nice.
His stomach curled.
"I see such rudimentary methods are no longer enough to loosen your tongue," she continued. "It is time we move onto phase three."
Phase... three?
No.
There was more?
There was something worse?
His chest hitched and he heard Haggar chuckle. "Oh, my sweet Lance," her hand continued its caress. "There is so much more still to try. We have only just begun."
Just...
Begun?
Dios no. Por favor no.
He couldn't do this.
He couldn't do this anymore.
Was there no end?
He choked on a sob.
He knew there wasn't. Not until he broke or he died.
There was no escape.
Haggar's hand shifted from his head to rest against his shoulder, tightening against one of the many wounds she had created.
And then agony.
Molten fire filled him and a shriek was torn from his throat.
Even around the pain he knew what this was.
Haggar was healing him.
She was healing him for this next phase.
He didn't want to think on what that meant.
The fire continued its journey, searing through his body and leaving him trembling and shaking in its wake.
He still hurt.
She was healing him to the point where he would not die, where the wounds were sealed, but...
But nothing more.
And he knew without a doubt she could keep doing it. She could keep him alive for as long as she wanted no matter what she put him through.
There was no escape.
The hiss of a door sliding open sounded and he tensed, as though bracing himself for whatever this new phase was could help.
Heavy footsteps sounded.
Somehow he recognized those footsteps.
Dios no. Not him too.
"Hello, boy," growled a familiar voice right next to his ear and then a furred hand – and how had he ever found that amusing? – landed on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. "My turn."
"I want him back alive, Commander," came Haggar's warning.
There was the clink of a chain and Lance felt his broken wrist being lifted from the table and snapped into a manacle, sounding over the Galran's grunt of acknowledgement and his own low moan of both fear and pain.
Oh no.
He knew what happened next.
His left wrist was snapped into a tight ring as well and the chain clinked louder.
And then he was being pulled as the restraints released, his weight a counter to the grab and he struggled as best he could to sit up to lessen the fire shooting up his right arm.
Haggar chuckled. "Look how eager you are, my Lance."
Lance didn't bother trying to respond, feeling his body listing sideways at the change and only a clawed hand catching hima round his shoulder kept him upright.
It pushed down on him, as though trying to indicate stay,and Lance let out a wheezing breath, hunching over and cradling his hands to his stomach.
They didn't stop him.
He could feel Theodek down by his feet, swapping out the restraints pinning him to the table with another set of chains.
Then silence.
It was the worst kind as he knew they were in the room, knew they were right there.
And just...
Nothing.
His eyes blinked against the never-ending blackness and he hunched over further.
He felt exposed like this, legs splayed out in front and two sets of invisible yellow eyes staring at him.
He could fix it. Just one word and he could at least then see again.
No.
He would not beg.
Instead he carefully pulled his right leg inwards, chain clinking softly, to fold it up against him.
Silence.
No one stopped him.
What were they waiting for?
He pulled his left leg up as well, frigid toes tucking themselves underneath his knees and he started at that.
What had...?
He lowered his left hand down.
He encountered cold, bare flesh.
He felt his cheeks heat.
They'd taken his pants.
There was the barest whisper of cloth as he moved his hand further up his thigh and there was a gut-wrenching relief inside him that he was still wearing his boxer shorts.
He heard Haggar let out another low laugh and his face flamed again.
It paled a second later.
He'd just given her another weapon, another thing to take away.
Dios, he was so stupid.
Stupid and weak and pathetic.
The shame burned hot again as surely as the heat he felt beneath his fingers as they ghosted on his thigh where knew he'd been shot. It pulsed again, a sicker heat than his face.
Infection, maybe.
He didn't dare check the other one although he was certain it was the same.
"Enough," came a low growl and he felt the chain tug on his wrists. "I grow tired of this." The chain tugged again and Lance was forcibly pulled on the table, towards where he could only assume there was an edge.
He hurriedly uncrossed his legs as he continued to slide and they went over the lip of the table, dangling off into space.
"Stand," Theodek ordered, giving another yank and Lance had no choice but to comply as the agony of his wrist was too much to resist and he had no doubts Theodek otherwise would merely drag him off the table.
He...
He couldn't be dragged again. Even that hazy memory had him cringing.
Lance lowered his feet tentatively, unable to fully stop the hiss as pain flowed up his legs as butchered feet tried to take on all of his body weight. Theodek gave another jerk of the chain though and Lance found himself stumbling forward, each step like walking on knives, but he remained standing, somehow, feet splayed as far as the ankle chain would allow.
He was standing.
Hope flared for a single tick before it was smothered.
He was barely standing and he didn't think he was capable of much more.
"Walk."
The command was followed by another yank and he took a staggering step in that direction and then another.
Theodek started to walk and Lance hated that he followed.
What choice did he really have though?
It was walk or be dragged. No matter what option he would be taken to this new destination.
But still...
How pathetic.
He wasn't even resisting like he had going to the Kri Za Kri, jerking back on the lead and bracing his feet.
He just plodded along as best he could, feeling blood already dampening the bandages he was still surprised to find. It was all he could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other, dizzy with hunger and moreso from the darkness.
Weak.
He was no Paladin of Voltron.
He hung his head, trying to blink back hot sting of his eyes.
A Paladin would still be fighting. Still resisting.
He couldn't find the strength to do so.
Weak.
"This is where we part ways, Commander," Haggar's voice sounded from behind and Lance took an extra half-step forward, sightless eyes widening.
He hadn't realized she was still there.
A hand descended on his chin and Lance stiffened as she tilted it up. Her other hand came up and caressed his cheek again. "I will see you soon, my Lance," she murmured. "And perhaps," a low laugh, "you will even be able to see me."
She released her grasp and Lance found himself being pulled forward a tick later, the sound of a door hissing open his only indication they had left the main hall.
Well, that and the cold.
He shivered as the temperature dropped all around him and his shuffling footsteps and the dull clinking of the chain began to echo.
What was this?
Were they going to leave him alone again? To freeze to death?
No.
They wouldn't be so kind.
This was something far worse than the isolation of before, which Lance was realizing had been some distorted mercy torture now.
They halted abruptly, sending Lance tottering forward and he crashed to his knees with a jarring thud. Instinctively he brought his hands out to catch him, and regretted it immediately as white-hot fire lanced up his arm and he let out a short wail, dropping completely to the ground on top of his mangled limb.
Theodek did not allow him to remain there.
A clawed hand dug into the top of his hair and dragged him forward, Lance's body scraping on the ground.
He was dropped a moment later and his head struck the ground, a dull ringing sounding in his ears. Over it he heard his ankles being uncuffed and then his hands were pulled out from beneath him and released as well.
Lance didn't even try to resist.
Pathetic.
Heavy footsteps stomped away.
He was alone.
Unshackled.
He didn't move.
He couldn't move.
What was the point?
Instead Lance tucked his nose against his shoulder and pulled his legs up to his chest as though if he tried hard enough he could make himself disappear.
Where else was he going to go?
A screech echoed in the room and Lance winced and then again as it sounded even louder.
What was happening?
A clanking sound, much louder than his chains, began to sound and there was a strange vibration coming up from the floor.
"Welcome to phase three, boy," Theodek's voice sounded as though from a distance. "It's going to be a lot of fun."
The vibrations were becoming stronger now and there was the senation of something moving beneath him.
No.
Not moving.
The floor was retracting.
Lance scrambled to sit up, to try and push himself away from the dissolving floor.
His foot hit air.
Too late.
Always too late.
And with a choked scream Lance plunged into the unknown.
Author's Notes:
Bet y'all thought we were done with phases, right? A proper phase set has to have at least three (two just doesn't cut it) so here we are. I wonder what on earth I have dreamed up? Any guesses?
Thank you all for the patience with this chapter. I know it's been a long week. Unfortunately next week is likely looking to be the same scenario because, surprise surprise, I have another convention. I am so sorry D: But you can come meet me if you're in the area! I'm at Anime Midwest in Rosemont, Ill. this weekend (Table N3; IcyPanther's Art Shop) and I'll be at Kitsune Kon in Green Bay, Wis. next weekend. If you will be in attendance stop by the table and tell me your penname and the title of the fic and get a free button. Spazzing about Lance and Voltron also included :D
Despite all the con prep I still did get today's chapter out and a large part of that goes to the wonderful reviewers who keep me inspired. Huge thanks to: Alexa, JinsTales, Guest, Jennyfish, vickydd, sally3015, Lance McClain.45, LishaChan, Guest, DoctorMerlinReid, Guest, Swirly Rainbow, Guest, Wolf of the Demise, Bryler, BlueCookiesforRick, wingedflower, Jadegem02, GryffindorkofOz, SpiritNeigeNouzarAnael, StrawberryFever3, cookiebook322, Guest, PaintedWings45, Guest, Arivoctix, Lasagna, FanaticFangirl2602, natrogona, Guest, Death Jump (and damn darling, your review just made my night! Thank you for the small novel!), and KirochkaSveta.
I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter. What do you think is in store for Lance (I'm honestly really excited to hear your guesses as to what new torture I've come up with that'll really mess him up :D), favorite scene/line, questions, hopes, dreams, number one way you'd kill Theodek and Haggar? Please do drop a comment if you've got a tick! Thank you!