(On the Hunt) Chapter 37

Pride: On the Hunt

Chapter 37

Gladiators

The trip to the capital of the Ninth Kingdom had been swift. Remarkably so, really. Drule faster-than-light travel was significantly slower than the Alliance's, when forging out among the open stars. But they could create jumpgates: not quite wormholes, but high-speed paths, like highways through extraplanar space. The Calidar system maintained a jumpgate to Korrinoth, given its strategic position, and the Scarborne Fist had wasted no time in carrying its prisoners home.

Not that those prisoners had been aware of most of it…

Vince's eyes fluttered open, and his immediate thought was one of pure confusion. This was definitely not a ship. The floor and the walls were hard stone, and the hum of the engines was replaced by a distant murmur of ambient… well… something? Muffled footsteps caught his attention and he raised his head to see Keith pacing, his eyes lowered and his movements a little sluggish.

Pidge, too, was already awake; he was sitting in a corner keeping watch. The others were just stirring, a chorus of groans and murmurs of confusion as they slowly regained consciousness.

Hunk was snoring.

"Ugggh… what the hell happened?"

"What the fuck do you think happened, Cam?" Daniel grumbled. It got him a look of relief from Lance, who then turned to check for Flynn; the chief was awake, though still curled up on the floor. No real reason to bother moving at this point.

What had happened? Sven sat up and closed his eyes. He remembered being transferred over to the dreadnought, herded into a cell, though it had been strange. The armored guards had treated them with more awe than anger, saluting with the same guns they'd been using as threats. It hadn't made any sense. And then the cell itself, where they'd barely even had time to try to get their bearings before… he remembered a faint hiss, a fog…

"Fuckers drugged us," Jace snarled beside him.

"They wanted us to behave in transit," Pidge said softly.

Looking around, Vince did a quick count. It looked like they were all together, and a wave of relief flooded him for about half a second before the words for now popped into his brain. He shook his head to force that thought aside.

"Transit to where?" Lance was looking around too, taking in the stone walls and the heavy steel door. "Where the fuck did they put us, that's the question."

"In a fucking prison cell," Jace retorted.

Keith stopped pacing and looked over his team. They were a little banged up from the boarding; he could see a few cuts and bruises. Beyond that, well, they'd just been drugged and brought who knew where. "Is everyone okay?"

"Never better, are you kidding?" Flynn didn't lift his head from the floor.

"Fucking peachy," Lance agreed, throwing the engineer a worried look.

"Wonderful."

"I'm alright."

"Do you mean physically or psychologically?" Vince was probably the only person in the room who'd taken the question seriously. "Because those are different answers."

Daniel nodded, though it was hard to tell, since he hadn't gotten up off of the floor either. "I'm with Vince."

Hunk snored.

It was a distraction Vince was happy to have, and slightly worrying on its own. "Should we poke him?"

"If you're feeling brave enough," Sven answered, earning a look that he would've liked to have answered with a smirk. He couldn't quite get himself there, though…

"I've got this." Jace stood, stretched, walked over to where Hunk was sprawled, and paused. "…How did they even get him in here?" After a moment's thought he shrugged it off and dialed up his most dramatic voice. "Oh no! The Drules took all our murder pepper sauce!"

"And we're out of donuts," Lance threw in.

"WHAT." Hunk sat bolt upright, looked around, and blinked a few times in confusion; then recent events flooded back and he shot the two of them a dirty look. Though technically he supposed they weren't wrong.

Shaking his head, Keith crossed over to a wooden bench jutting from the back wall and sat. "As long as we're all physically alright, that's a start." Psychologically was an entirely different question, and one they could hardly hope to answer quite yet.

Lance rubbed the back of his neck, a little sore, though it was nothing serious. "So what do you think, they just keep us here? No way, right? Gotta be more surprises."

"Don't know, but I don't have a good feeling…"

"No," Daniel snorted, "I'm sure they just like keeping humans around like tchotchkes—"

"—How do you know that word?" Cam asked blankly—

"—oh, and we have a Baltan!" Daniel didn't bother to dignify the question with a verbal response, though he did lift his hand just enough to flip his roommate off. "Makes us a limited edition set."

"Gives you a fighting chance, you mean," Pidge muttered. He absolutely did not know what a 'tchotchkes' or whatever was, but he doubted it was relevant.

"Sure." The gunner didn't bother flipping him off. He liked his fingers attached. "Thank you for being captured with us, Pidge. You make us more valuable."

"A fighting chance for what?" Vince asked, feeling like they'd glossed over something important here. "Are we escaping?"

Nobody seemed to notice his question.

"Pidge, do you have anything?" Flynn asked, shifting a little bit. His sidearm was no longer in its holster, unsurprisingly, but maybe the ninja had done a better job.

He had, producing his shard knife seemingly out of nowhere and making it disappear again a moment later. "They got some. Not all."

"Shit." Lance abruptly realized his own lack of Axels or anything else. "I'm naked!"

Keith and Flynn both shot him looks of varying exasperation; he smirked at Flynn, who promptly went back to staring at the floor. On the other side of the cell Daniel raised his head for just a moment to look at their pilot, then snorted again. "And yet I'm not blind, it's a miracle."

"No guns," he clarified, though he supposed at least they had left him his jacket. Otherwise they'd have some real trouble.

Checking his vest pockets as the others came up empty, Hunk made a face. "I tried to smuggle in some BOOMS, but guess they recognized plastic explosive when they saw it…" A small grin followed, as his fingers came across a small metal device tucked away in an inside pocket. "But they didn't get the blasting cap! Just need somethin' to blast."

"Where the fuck do you expect to get that?" Jace demanded, receiving a shrug in response. Big Dumb Hunk could only do so much.

Vince was seriously beginning to wonder if he needed to repeat his question, but then Keith stood, walking up to the door and peeking out the tiny barred window. Nothing was really visible except more stone. Turning back to the others, he shook his head and frowned. "We have to do what we can to get out of here, but we can't make any solid plans until we know what we're looking at."

"We're looking at a fucking prison cell," Jace said helpfully.

"Outside the cell! For crying out loud…"

"We can't just fucking sit here." Lance shook his head. Nothing was immediately springing to mind as a solution, but that was clear enough. "We need intel. Hopefully our hosts won't keep us waiting too long, and we'll get a look at what's on the other side of that door."

"At least they didn't separate us," Sven mused, drawing a vigorous nod from Vince and a slightly panicked look from Daniel. "…Isn't it a bit strange that they didn't separate us?"

"Not necessarily…" Jace frowned, looking around the cell again and considering what his SERE training had led him to expect. This wasn't it. It was reasonably warm and dry, with what looked like a small alcove in one corner for waste, and what looked like a fair quantity of food and water had been left by the door. "Fuck, this is all strange. I mean for a Drule dungeon this place is actually less miserable than I would've thought."

Several of the others turned to stare at him. "Seriously?"

"…Yeah, it's at least two stars. For a dungeon."

"Makes a gulag look like a dump."

"Maybe they're intending to ransom us back?" Flynn suggested, taking Jace's actual point. "They'd want to keep us… relatively healthy."

"Could be why they've kept us together too, then?" Lance frowned. "How would they know we'd be worth anything, though?"

"Unless we missed something on the ship?" Keith shook his head, trying to think of what they might have missed. "There are the uniforms, but…"

"The Alliance has been known to pay to recover traders and cargo ships who ended up in the wrong place." Flynn remembered going through a few drills on the Magnusson for just such an occurrence, though they'd always included the crew being left on the ship. …It had been a much bigger ship.

Daniel made a face. "Wouldn't a ransom be admitting they broke our shitty—I mean, super useful treaty?"

"Why did they break the treaty?"

"They could use the same justification they played on us. Entrapment. Bait and threaten us into attacking them, then claim we were the aggressors."

"Yeah, they couldn't prove otherwise if they don't give the ship b…" Hunk trailed off. "…Even if they do give the ship back, cuz we wiped the drives. So there's a chance, yeah?"

"My head hurts," Daniel groaned. "There's too many maybes running around, I'm not meant for all this thinking." Cam chuckled weakly, Sven rolled his eyes, and Lance reached over and lightly tapped his shoulder.

"Kid, breathe."

He tried it, but none of the maybes seemed to go away. "That helped nothing."

"Just keep doing it, kid."

"That's the plan, old man."

"I'm with the little dude, nothin' makes sense." Hunk shrugged and leaned back against the wall, then his tone brightened. "So, we'll find out eventually. Charades?" Jace smacked him.

Across the cell, Flynn raised his head and rolled his eyes. "Hit him again, Doctor."

"Do it yourself."

"Doc's a one-hit wonder," Hunk agreed with a grin; the medic immediately smacked him again.

Though still worried—no, 'worried' wasn't nearly a strong enough word—Keith couldn't help a small grin at his team starting to act somewhat normal again. The grin didn't last very long. A loud metallic bang cut off the banter, followed by the heavy cell door slowly sliding open. A force field flickered to life, sealing the doorway in front of a tall, slim Drule who looked over them with what might have been genuine interest.

"Ah, finally awake, and just in time."

"For what?" Lance asked immediately, eyes narrowing. He unconsciously shifted a bit, putting himself between Daniel and the guard. The kid had scooted back, deciding this was a good time to not be lying in the middle of the cell anymore, and didn't mind Lance's intervention one bit. Vince hid behind Sven, who was entirely okay with it; Pidge stepped up next to Flynn and struggled mightily to not pull one of the knives he wasn't supposed to have.

Keith stood and moved forward, placing himself between the guard and the rest of his team, though Cam was right behind him. "For what?" their comms officer echoed in Drakure. The guard turned the curious look on him for a moment, and he stared back evenly.

"I am fluent in Common, young Earthling. You may speak your lesser language." He did seem to speak it easily, and turned to give Lance a short nod. "And the answer to your question is, to be honored for your prowess as warriors, of course. You will accompany me."

Several eyebrows shot up.

"Do we have to?"

"Warriors?"

"What are you talking about?"

Daniel and Vince exchanged glances; they were both certain nobody had ever spoken of their 'warrior prowess', at least not without a hefty dose of sarcasm. Lance and Flynn looked at each other too, pretty certain this wasn't going anywhere good regardless of warrior prowess…

"Your great victory over the full complement of a troop frigate, of course." The guard seemed confused by their confusion. "By the benevolent will of King Zarkon, your slaughter grants you the chance for glory."

Keith stared. Nothing about that sounded like anything they wanted any part in. "As… kind as that offer is, I think we'd rather decline." He didn't really expect that to work, but…

"The alternative is immediate execution for your crimes."

"Why did I see that coming?" Jace muttered.

Lance shrugged. "We'll go for the glory."

"There any way you could give a better description of this glory we're supposed to attain?" Daniel demanded, glaring at the guard. He distinctly remembered no glory at all involved in fighting the boarding party.

"And how are we supposed to obtain it?" Keith asked with a grimace. It still didn't sound good; knowing what they were going to face ahead of time felt like it was worth a try.

It didn't work either. "You will follow and learn." If anything the guard still seemed just as confused as they were.

"Learn? Now I have to learn, too?"

"Kid, shut up."

"Honestly I probably can't," he protested, though he did lower his voice a little. "When I get nervous I talk a lot, it's kind of out of my control—"

"—Well try to curb it, alright? We don't know what the fuck is happening."

"Oh yeah, because now that I'm in the most stressful situation ever I'll suddenly be able to curb my behavior, makes sense…"

"Everyone stay behind me," Keith ordered, looking over his shoulder at the team before returning his attention to the guard. "Let's go, then."

"Oh, boy." Hunk shook his head too, standing and moving to follow. "Okay, let's do this thing." He started humming Ride of the Valkyries, just for a little comforting familiarity; Vince shot him his best look of disbelief, perhaps also for some comforting familiarity.

The others fell in behind their commander as well, both nervous and wary. For a moment there was a sense of hope, given just the one guard. That hope lasted until they got into the hallway, where half a dozen heavily armed guards were waiting to keep them in line. Of course they were. Why wouldn't they be?

"Most stressful situation of my life just got more stressful," Daniel muttered; Sven hit him. "Ow."

"So many guards for little old unarmed us," Cam observed, looking around at them and raising an eyebrow. None of them seemed to understand, but each bristled and tightened their grip on their weapons as he looked at them.

The guard who'd been speaking started to lead them down the hallway—it was all more stone and metal doors. "Your reputations precede you."

"I have a few reputations, which one are we talking about?" Lance smirked; Flynn elbowed him. "Ow…"

"Why are we always so abusive?" Daniel muttered, definitely not curbing anything. "You guys keep hitting my head and then complaining that I don't use my brain…"

Jace smacked his shoulder. "This isn't abuse, kid, it's percussive behavioral maintenance." He looked back at the guards and frowned. "You guys know we got the reputation when we had guns, right?"

Nobody answered, and the team briefly fell silent, trying to keep an eye on their surroundings. A few cross corridors came up, though there was no telling what lay down them. Then a rough, sloping tunnel that gradually ramped up—had they been underground? It seemed like it. Finally the corridor ended in a massive door, and the guard walked up and placed a hand on the control panel.

What greeted them first was the sight of an equally huge, barred gate some distance beyond the door; a stretch of something like glittering sand lay beyond it. Between the door and the gate was a chamber lined with dozens of weapon racks.

The guard motioned them in. "Now, you have five minutes to prepare. Arm yourselves as you see fit."

As they saw fit? Lance looked at the weapons and frowned. "Any guns?"

One of the armed guards gave a derisive laugh; their guide just shook his head. "You will fight hand to hand, blood for blood, and if you succeed you will live another day."

"What the fuck is going on? What the fuck are we preparing for?" Daniel looked around at the bewildering array of melee weapons. "I think I have too much brain damage to think…"

"Uh, what are we fighting, exactly?" Hunk had his eye on a huge spiked mace hanging in a corner, but knew there were situations where hauling a big-ass mace around might not be the best idea.

"You will know when the gate opens."

Oh. Wonderful.

"Alright, team. Let's grab some weapons, then." Keith wasn't sure what else to even say in this situation. Confidence and go from there, he supposed. A rack of swords caught his eye; he and Cam both approached and checked them over, picking out a couple that looked serviceable. "Remember, Cam, balance is the key."

"Right." He twirled the slightly lighter sword he'd selected—one that reminded him a bit of the one his own family kept—and nodded. "What do you think of this one?"

"If you think it'll work for you, it's good."

Lance had joined them at the sword rack—it seemed like the correct default when he knew how to use absolutely nothing in this room. Then he looked back at the guard. "Is there a limit on what we can take?"

"Whatever you can carry and use."

"Great." He grabbed a sword and a couple of knives from the next rack over, muttering under his breath. "Don't know what the fuck I'm doing, but…"

"Pointy end goes in the other guy," Keith instructed. "Use the flat part to block."

"…Okay I knew that first part. Thanks for the second."

Vince was still standing at the door, feeling a little bit dizzy. He did not belong in this room. He really did not belong in this room. Now is the time to wake up from that coma you definitely fell into somewhere… he squeezed his eyes shut, opened them, and still saw weapons. Darn. Sighing, he picked out a stick with some kind of rounded blade on it. It didn't really seem that sharp, but he wasn't sure he trusted himself with sharp.

Sven had circled the room and found nothing sufficiently axe-like, so he chose a mace instead. He'd always wanted to use one. Next to him, Jace had found nothing useful either, but mostly because he fought better barehanded; he didn't see any reason to grab a weapon he'd be less effective with than just using his fists.

That dilemma was going on with Daniel, too, minus the part about being good with his fists. "This is gonna be like sparring, except this time when I get pinned I'm going to die."

"Daniel, you aren't dying."

"You've seen me not spar, right?"

Lance just glared at him until he turned away, joining Pidge at a rack of knives and picking out a twisty dagger that looked, if not necessarily effective, at least totally badass. "Pidge, is this any good?"

The ninja had selected a knife and what was either a long dagger or a short sword, and had been testing the balance between them. He blinked in surprise at being addressed. "It's fine? But you might want something with more reach if you don't know how to use it anyway. Try a spear?" He had once saved his own life with a spear he hadn't known how to use; given Daniel had graduated from the Academy, he had to believe the gunner was at least as competent as his seven year old self. Hopefully.

"Got it." Daniel swapped the dagger out for a wicked-looking spear he knew even less about. "You really do up our value, dude. Though we're more like action figures than tchotchkes in this situation, I guess…"

Pidge stared at him blankly until Vince interrupted, having overheard the advice. "Pidge, is this a spear?" It seemed structured correctly, but he'd thought they were supposed to be pointier…

"…Yes, mechka."

"Yes it is or yes I'm a mechka?"

"Both."

Somehow, Vince had known he'd say that.

Chuckling, Hunk walked up and stood in front of the gate, hefting his huge mace over his shoulder. "Just hide behind me, little dudes, it'll be good."

"Totally my strategy."

"Thanks, big guy."

Flynn had picked out the closest knife he could find to Alliance standard issue, and found himself glancing nervously at Lance. No, he needed to focus… "Pidge. Look after Vince."

Eyes widening slightly, the ninja looked up at him and nodded. "Yessir. You look out for yourself."

Look out for himself? Right. He could try, anyway.

Keith was studying his team, and couldn't help feeling a twinge of fear in the pit of his stomach. They weren't all cut out for this. Specialization had worked for them before, but now that they were on someone else's terms… "Alright. Best fighters, handle as much of the work as you can. Everyone else, watch and learn and don't get killed." He hated it even before he said it, but what other options did they really have? "…And Jace, get that jacket off, it's going to make you a target."

"Que…? Oh, fucking…" The medic shrugged out of his field jacket—which was definitely not something he'd ever actually been allowed to wear in the field, given the very large red cross patches on the armbands. "I knew that." He tossed it onto a nearby weapon rack and made a face.

Not a moment too soon. The gate started to creak open, and the guard spoke again from behind them. "It is time! Blood and fortune to you, warriors."

…Here it goes. Keith held his breath, stepping out into the stretch of sand—actually a mix of wood chips and gravel—and nearly freezing up again as he saw where they actually were. An arena. It was huge, filled with Drules, a murmur of anticipation starting to build as they made their way out onto the floor. Across from them, another gate had opened up, admitting a small cluster of armed Drules who moved with predatory intent.

Cam looked over at Vince and Daniel—who were both definitely hiding behind Hunk now—and attempted to give them an encouraging grin. Vince nodded weakly, while Daniel turned and gave his roommate a light punch to the shoulder. "You'll probably be fine, dude."

"Just… be careful out there, okay?"

"You too."

Looking around the crowd, Flynn stepped up next to their pilot, a surge of something that wasn't exactly panic welling up. Maybe dread. What the hell were they really getting into here? "Lance…"

Lance turned, meeting his gaze. "Yeah?"

It almost slipped out. Almost. Then his better judgment reasserted itself. You cannot do that to him right now, are you insane? He doesn't need that distraction. You don't need that distraction. He shook his head slightly. Besides, if you say something now, you're as good as saying you don't think we're going to make it out of this… "…Don't do anything crazy," he finally offered with a weak smile.

Blinking, Lance took a moment before giving his best, most bravado-laden smirk. "Me? Never."

A voice began to boom over the arena: the harsh but strangely lyrical cadences of Drakure. All eyes immediately turned to Cam, whose brow furrowed in concentration.

"He's welcoming everyone to the… performance? Spectacle? I'm not sure about that, the Ninth's dialect is a little weird. They're introducing the members of the royal box." He gave a low whistle. "King Zarkon himself is here."

A few of them looked to the royal box, both from surprise and sheer curiosity. It wasn't every day you saw the ruler of an interstellar empire in person, even if it was an interstellar empire that had unjustly taken you prisoner. Zarkon cut an impressive figure in a huge golden throne, black and red silks setting off weathered indigo skin, bright yellow eyes outshining his own crown. There were others in the box as well; several Drules in ceremonial garb, some guards, a couple of aliens… including, curiously, a rather human-looking young woman with blonde hair, pale golden skin, pointed ears, and lavender markings on her cheeks.

"…Prince Lotor and his—uh, court-target? Court-victim? That can't be quite right—Princess Romelle of Pollux…"

As Cam continued to relay what he could, stumbling a bit more over the dialect, Hunk glanced back at the gate they'd come through. The guard was standing just behind it, apparently to better watch the proceedings. "Yo! Threepio! Can we get a translation here if we're gonna fight in this fishbowl for ya?"

The only thing that startled the team more than their bomb tech's yell was the response; the guard actually bowed slightly. "As you wish." He stepped closer to the closed gate, clearing his throat and speaking below the announcer. "Today's first battle shall feature the crew of the Breaking Shadow, cowards who abandoned their comrades in battle. They are damned warriors now, seeking their redemption in victory." A wave of clearly unimpressed murmurs ran through the crowd. "Against them stands a fierce band of Earthling pirates, captured at great cost, with the blood of one ship's crew already staining their hands."

This time there were gasps, and what seemed like scornful snarls. Not that the Drule crowd was all that had been stirred by the description; several of the team bristled at the characterization of just how they'd ended up there, and Pidge bristled a little extra at being called an Earthling.

"Ready yourselves, gladiators; blood and glory await!"

"Gladiators?" Lance repeated, looking around the crowd in disbelief. "Gladiators?!"

"Fucking…"

Keith looked across the arena again, eyes narrowing as he looked over their opponents. "They don't look so bad."

"Neither do we, boss," Jace pointed out with a snort; he had a fair point there.

"This is not gonna be good…"

"We'll be alright. Going in there planning to die is not going to help you survive."

"When it begins, let them come to us. Stay together and make them find an opening."

"And don't run. These guys don't like cowards."

"Woulda thought there'd be more of 'em," Hunk mused as the others debated strategy; he'd only counted seven among the opposing team. Pidge shook his head slightly.

"We aren't worth more of them…"

Any further discussion was cut off by a blast from something akin to a trumpet, and as one, the Drules charged.

*****

"…So what do we do if we can't run?" Daniel was holding his spear and looking around at the others. "That's my main tactic! I'm fast! Good at running away!"

"Don't run away. If you have to run, run at them."

"Kid, don't run at them."

None of that was helpful. "I'm so confused… I should've taken sparring more seriously."

"You're not the only one," Flynn muttered, dropping into a guard stance and holding his knife level. He'd rather have charged, really—letting the enemy come to them was just that many more precious seconds to panic. Vince, too, was panicking; his moms had never prepared him for this. No, he should definitely not be thinking about them right now, it could only freak him out more.

On the subject of panic, Hunk realized as the Drule charge took shape that no less than three of them were coming right at him. "Uh oh." He clutched his mace tighter and took a step back, then took a series of wide, wild swings. The mace caught one Drule solidly, knocking them flying with a loud crack; the second swing caught a second Drule, but not at a particularly good angle, and all she did was stumble off to the side. The third one ducked beneath his third swing and got well inside his arc, jumping up and slashing his side before he could recover, then darting away.

Only to be snagged from behind by Jace, who wrapped an arm around his neck and held on with all his strength. If he had to actually choke this guy to death, he would damn well do it—if he could just lock him down while the others handled his buddies, that was fine too. Either way, it would prevent any of the other Drules from getting a clear hit in on him, and he was pretty sure not getting hurt was still part of his job right now.

Sven had charged just enough to grab the initiative as one Drule got into range, swinging his mace and driving them back. On the other side of the team's formation Pidge had crouched in front of Vince and tackled one to the ground, pinning her, though getting a disabling blow in was proving to be a challenge. He sprang off her after a moment and reoriented. The other two Drules had gone at Cam and Lance; their pilot managed to block and force his opponent back, somehow, while Keith stepped in to intercept Cam's and send them reeling with a feint and a sharp kick to the shin.

With their first charge blunted, the Drules backed off to regroup—other than the one Jace had locked down, anyway. "Just like that," Keith said quietly, nodding. "We've got this." He wondered about their opponents. Another ship's crew. Were they as far out of their depth here as half of his team? Had they been forced into this just as unwillingly?

Not that it really mattered. They were hardly backing down, and that meant his team couldn't afford to either.

The Drules charged again, this time trying to break the 686's line, and did a fair job of it as they lashed out with their weapons. None of them were interested in getting pinned down into duels. They knew they didn't have the numbers, and were switching between opponents to stay mobile. Good tactics, really. Cam kicked one away from him, traded slashes with another, punched a third in the face, and pulled back to let Keith take over as he checked the shallow cut on his cheek. Nothing too serious.

One of those had moved from Cam to Daniel, and Daniel raised his spear, ready to stab or run or stab and run or whatever the hell he was supposed to do, but then he locked eyes with the Drule and froze up. His brain was helpfully supplying him images of the Bolt, of the two he'd killed there, of their eyes wide open as blood pooled around them and how warm their bodies had been—why the hell had their eyes been open? Movies always showed them closed!

His brain was also screaming for him to do something as the very alive Drule in front of him raised his sword, but if it wanted him to do that it really should've backed off with the damn flashbacks to—

—Lance noticed Daniel wasn't moving and ran for it, dodging a blow from another Drule as he lunged. Not fast enough. The kid finally seemed to get his wits about him enough to move, but not quite fast enough either; what would have been a killing blow got him in the leg instead, slicing down the side of his calf and sending blood spurting. "Fuck!" His eyes narrowed and he dove in at Daniel's side, stabbing the pointy bit straight into the Drule as instructed, then tearing the sword free and slamming the hilt into his throat for good measure. "Kid, you with me?"

The enemy dropped like a puppet with his strings cut, and all Daniel seemed able to do was keep staring at where he'd been, trying desperately not to look at him on the ground because holy fuck, what if his eyes were open? There's no fucking time for this! Do something! But he couldn't make himself do anything but panic. He felt sick. They were going to die here, they were all going to die, he was going to see Lance and the others warm and bleeding with their eyes wide open and—

"Daniel!" No answer. Shaking his head, Lance turned to fend off another, keeping Daniel behind him and trying to force the worry aside. Right now they just had to get through this intact.

On the other side of the line Vince was not doing a lot better, at least as combat effectiveness went. He was panicking and frozen, for sure—trying to figure out what he could actually do if he had to fight, how to use this spear he'd picked up, why he was even here, why he hadn't worked harder at combatives. He'd just wanted to do wiring!

He was hiding between Pidge and Hunk, trying to pretend he was cool and calm and looking for an opening. Maybe he really was looking for an opening. Wasn't sure what he'd do with it, precisely, but looking for it nonetheless. Pidge was in a rematch with the Drule he'd fought in the first charge, tying her down, not letting her get away from him to take a shot at one of the others—though it was also keeping him fully occupied.

Hunk was having more trouble. The Drules were swarming him again. And the problem with having a big-ass mace was that it was, well, a big-ass mace… he just didn't know how to have a sustained fight with this thing. He knew how to clobber dudes over the head with it and hope they didn't get within his arc, and they weren't cooperating with that last part one bit, and the cut he'd taken before was slowing him down—like he'd been all that fast to begin with. He managed to slam a fist into one's guts, and that gave him a moment of breathing room as the other enemies decided they wanted no part of that.

One of them opted for the second-biggest target, closing on Flynn, who'd so far done very little. He'd been trying to cover the back of the line, and look scary enough to not have to back it up… he'd known it couldn't last. Keeping his knife up he stepped back and started circling, his mind racing with what very little he remembered from hand to hand classes. It didn't help that one of those things was knife wounds are hell and this is a tactic of last resort. He did not want to have to stab someone to death at close range. He really didn't.

Maybe it was his determination to not have to do that that kept his hand steady. Whatever it was, it worked—finding no opening, unwilling to stay in one place too long, the Drule moved to disengage and find a new target. Which… wasn't what he'd been going for either. "Excuse me?" he snarled, either feigning or actually feeling some indignation—too much adrenaline to tell which—and lunging forward, determined to take the opponent's back after all if they were going to offer it that easily.

Immediately they spun around, too fast for him to react, almost too fast for him to follow. By the time he realized what had happened he felt a sharp pain slicing down his forearm. Faex!

Rather than pressing that advantage, the Drule turned back to the melee and selected a new target anyway, leaving a retaliatory stab to hit empty air. It was Vince he sighted in on. The engineer had no idea what hit him. One moment he was watching Pidge slipping free of a tenuous chokehold—the ninja had seen the Drule get away from Flynn, but Vince had no way of knowing that. The next thing he did know was someone had grabbed him from behind and flung him into the dirt. His spear went tumbling away somewhere and he reflexively squirmed and tried to roll; he felt a rush of wind, his shirt torn open by a stab that would have taken him straight through the back if he hadn't moved. The Drule snarled something, probably profanity, trying to tug his sword free of the arena floor—he'd stabbed down way too hard. Unable to reclaim his weapon he went for Vince's throat instead.

Flailing more, he managed to keep his attacker's hands off his throat, but just barely. Dirt was getting in his mouth; he tasted salt and sharp pine. New panic was setting in along with it. Pidge was running towards him at full speed, he could see the approaching shadow… could even the ninja actually get to him in time? The Drule was big, and he was winning, and his grip was tightening, and as panic surged Vince felt a crackling somewhere just below his skin and the world went bright and he rolled with all his strength and slammed his hands onto whatever he could reach and everything went blindingly white—

—Pidge skidded to a halt as light flashed from where Vince had fallen, and the Drule on top of him was thrown bodily across the arena, trailing the scent of ozone and burnt flesh. "Mijtairra…!" There was a gasp from the crowd as well—he wondered if they'd seen what had really happened. He kind of doubted it, considering every single Drule yet standing didn't immediately fall upon Vince as he slowly sat up. "Vince…?"

"I…" He was just staring at his hands blankly, a trace of smoke still drifting between them. What just happened? He watched the Drule struggling to stand, then going down again in a moaning heap. I couldn't have done that… could I?

Pidge didn't try to get through to him, not least because he had no idea what to say. He knew what he'd seen but it didn't make sense. He didn't like things that didn't make sense. So he stepped back and covered the other engineer, keeping the best view of the battlefield he could.

Another Drule tried to charge in while they were distracted, but Flynn intercepted her, throwing a punch and barely connecting, mostly just hurting his hand. Naturally. It was enough to send her seeking easier prey, though. That easier prey turned out to be Hunk, who was back to trying to fend off several of her teammates. He was keeping them at a pretty good distance, too… but wasn't watching his back at all. He never knew what hit him, either. A sharp impact on his upper back, and the whole world went spinny and gray; he dropped.

Immediately half the team collapsed in on his position. Keith, Cam, and Sven had been mimicking the Drule tactics, taking what hits they could while Hunk occupied their attention. Now they fully committed to an attack, intending to force their foes to engage them properly. Jace had still been holding down the one he'd grabbed at the start—choking someone to death took a lot longer than the movies liked to pretend. He had been fully intending to hold on until the unconscious Drule didn't have a pulse anymore, but under the new circumstances he twisted around and threw his captive at the one who'd hit Hunk instead.

Sven had not actually been enjoying the mace as much as he'd hoped, though maybe it was just because the enemy wouldn't stand still and fight. As he pressed the attack he took one Drule squarely in the chest, watching her stumble aside and fall. He was pretty certain he'd heard more than one bone crack somewhere in there. Feeling more than seeing a second enemy turn to face him, he whirled and cracked them in the ribs. Maybe this mace isn't so bad after all. This one went staggering back into Cam, who didn't have an opening with his sword. So instead he tackled them to the ground before bashing their head against the floor with his hilt.

"Stay down."

Keith moved in on the Drule Jace had thrown, who'd regained consciousness but was wandering about in a daze. Most likely he'd suffered some brain damage from the extended chokehold, even if it hadn't killed him outright. He barely seemed to know where he was. It really wasn't in Keith to just kill him in that condition, so he threw a fairly light punch. It was plenty to send the Drule down.

Which left the one Jace had thrown him into, who had her wits quite a bit more about her. She darted at him with her own blade raised, and he met it, ringing several blows off her sword as she matched him strike for strike. But he refused to lose this battle. He'd heard too many cries of pain from his team, seen too much blood trailing to the arena floor. As she launched another attack he ducked around it and swung hard, forgoing defense in favor of ending the combat. He felt his sword hit something soft, hot liquid splattering over his arm, and jumped back as she collapsed with a deep slash in her belly.

Lance had still been focused on protecting Daniel, and was engaged with one last Drule as the swarm around Hunk went down one by one. His opponent punched him hard in the nose and he dropped back, cursing; for a moment dark spots swam in front of his eyes. He'd lost the sword somehow in the chaos—he could've sworn he'd sheathed it in an empty gun holster while grappling with one earlier—whatever, no time to worry about it. He went for one of the knives he'd taken and stabbed blindly through the haze, felt resistance and warmth, heard the scream… the Drule went down.

Spinning around, he sought a new target. And after a few stunned moments he realized there were no more targets to be had.

"…Is that all of them?" Keith asked, coming to the same conclusion.

"I think so." Cam was panting, staring at the one he'd told to stay down, fully expecting it to jump up again. But not one of them did; some were twitching or struggling, but there was no question the fight was won.

Lance turned back to Daniel and grabbed his shoulders. "Kid? Come on, talk to me." The gunner just stared at him, through him. He was focusing on the combat breathing he'd learned at the Academy, trying to focus on anything but his badly bleeding calf and the dead Drules all staring at him. "Kid—Jace! Get over here, the kid's bleeding and I think he's in shock."

Everyone was bleeding to an extent; Jace could hardly stop to worry about that here, they could deal with it once they got somewhere else. Though looking at Daniel's expression… the second part of Lance's guess was a bit more critical. "Think you're right. I've got him." He slung Daniel over his shoulders, careful of the cut on his leg, and turned back to the gate.

Flynn had turned to check on his wrenchlings as well. Pidge and Vince seemed okay—more or less okay, at least? Vince was staring blankly at his hands still, but Pidge was tugging him back towards the gate and he was quietly acquiescing. Then he caught sight of wrenchling number one. "Hunk!" The big man was motionless on the arena floor. Don't. Don't you dare be…

"…donwanna go school… 'sall fuzzy. Snow day?" He stirred and forced his eyes open with a great deal of difficulty. "Oh… wha hitme?"

Letting out a sigh of relief he hadn't realized he was holding, Flynn moved forward to help him up, along with Sven on his other side. "I'm sure you'll remember. Come on, let's get the hell out of here."

Herding his team back to the gate, Keith drew up short as he realized it wasn't opening. The guard was still standing there; he motioned for them to turn back around.

"Are they fucking kidding?"

"They don't seem to have much of a sense of humor."

"Dude, we are not gonna have another round right now… are we?"

The guard, once again, seemed surprised. As if they were supposed to have already known how this gladiator thing worked… maybe the Drules should have considered gladiator orientation. "Turn back to the royal box, warriors. Once the defeated are judged and their fate is carried out, your battle will be finished for the day."

Silence fell over the team. Or perhaps more to the point, stillness, as the words sank in.

"…I'll do it, sir," Pidge offered quietly. "If necessary."

"Do what?" Vince whispered.

"Kill them, Vince." Sven was also whispering. "That's what's being decided. The losers' fate." As he spoke Lance and Jace glared up at the box. They didn't have time for this…

Keith looked over at Pidge and shook his head slightly. He thought he understood the offer. Baltan morality was different; the ninja was offering to shield them from the act. He appreciated it… but knew he couldn't live with himself as a commander if he let a subordinate take it all on. So he turned his gaze to the royal box, breathing slowly, hoping against hope that it wouldn't come to pass.

The blonde woman stood and stepped forward.

Romelle had never seen Earthlings before. She'd heard they bore a superficial resemblance to Polluxians, and she could see it in them. But it wasn't why she stood. That was a deeper sense of familiarity. It had taken hold when they'd first stepped into the arena, confused and so clearly out of their depth. It had strengthened when they'd tried to leave, not knowing the traditions of these battles, just wanting to take their wounded and heal. To be somewhere other than here, as playthings for an empire they surely hadn't volunteered to belong to.

She swept her gaze over them. The looks on their faces. Anger, horror, grim determination. Yes, she knew them…

Raising her gaive'llar, for just a moment, she wondered if this was right. If the defeated had shown enough honor, if the victors deserved their blood. But no. The victors didn't want that blood. And so she snapped the blade shut, setting it on the railing, and the crowd roared in approval.

"…What just happened?" Vince asked, blinking up at the royal box.

As the creak of the gate sounded behind them, Pidge looked up at him and smiled faintly. "I think that means we don't have to kill them." He'd barely finished speaking before several slaves ran into the arena, starting to gather the wounded and dead Drules onto stretchers.

"I think that means we're done," Keith agreed. "Let's get out of here."

"About fucking time," Lance growled, shooting another worried look at Daniel.

The guard bowed deeply as they reentered the armory, and even the armed guards looked slightly more respectful. "Well battled, gladiators. Replace your weapons and I will lead you back; the medics will come to your cell shortly."

"Exfuckingscuse me?" Jace snorted. "Nobody's touching my team, just give me some bandages."

"You'll have to take that up with them."

Lance dropped off his knives and grabbed Jace's jacket for him, since the medic was carrying his kid. The others replaced their own weapons, assuming they'd made it back with them; Hunk gave his mace a little pat. It had been a good mace. Pidge considered palming another knife but decided against it—they might keep inventory, and that would just make things inconvenient.

"I dropped my spear," Vince said worriedly.

"They'll figure it out."

"Don't think the other guys were bringin' their weapons back."

"…Yeah, good point." Nonetheless he licked his lips nervously, still tasting traces of salt from the arena floor.

As they left the armory Daniel finally shifted; he was feeling lightheaded and more than a little nauseous, and the combat breathing wasn't keeping him one damn bit calm. "Jace please put me down." Before I puke.

As Lance gave a sigh of relief, Jace helped Daniel get right side up again, keeping a strong hold on him. "Use my arm the rest of the way back. No weight on that leg until I can look at it."

"Okay."

It wasn't ideal, for sure, but it would be good enough to get back to the cell. And then, well… who the hell knew.

*****

In the relative 'safety' of the cell, silence reigned for what felt like a very long time. Jace had done initial rounds, taking stock of the cuts and bruises. Everyone was banged up, and Hunk and Flynn had taken pretty solid slashes, but only Daniel's injury was serious—Lance had donated a sleeve from his shirt to rig up a makeshift bandage until the Drule medics turned up.

They could really hurry the hell up. It had been a matter of minutes, but it already felt like hours.

Shock might have been setting in for all of them. They'd done what? They'd been what? Gladiators? How the hell had they gone from searching for some mythical weapon to being forced into blood sport by a hostile empire, all in a couple of days? It was too much to take in, and whatever adrenaline and survival instinct had gotten them through it was rapidly starting to crash.

Maybe.

Flynn was watching Lance, who was watching Daniel. He was scolding himself for the near-slip before the fight. He hadn't even gotten to scolding himself for the actual fight yet, but he was about to be spared that effort…

"Get up."

He blinked, raising his head more out of surprise than anything. Pidge was standing over him looking angrier than usual. "What?"

"Get up," the ninja repeated icily. "You need to work on a few things."

'Work on a few things,' really? He looked at the blood still seeping down his sleeve and frowned. "This really isn't the time for—"

"—Shut up." That shocked him enough that he did, settling for a wordless warning glare. Not that those glares ever did anything. "You were useless out there."

…Accurate as it was, he was not at all in the mood to take it while he was literally still bleeding. Nor was he particularly in the mood to take it from someone who'd trained his whole life for this sort of thing. "Sit the hell down, Stoker. I'm aware of my limitations."

Pidge hissed something in Baltan that was undoubtedly better left untranslated. "You think that's good enough? You don't have that luxury. You're one of the biggest targets here, especially now that they have seen you can't fight worth a—"

Flynn jumped up, glowering down at a not remotely impressed ninja and fighting down the urge to throw a punch and prove him wrong—for one thing it was more likely to prove him right, for another even if it landed it would only hurt their situation. Instead he grabbed Pidge's shoulders, shoving him back onto the bench along the wall. "I said sit down," he snarled, "and I won't say it again."

For a very long moment they stared at each other, smoldering. Neither of them was going to back down. But Pidge had one advantage: he was right, and Flynn knew it.

He's trying to care, in his own little jackass way. I think.

Getting his temper under control, Flynn drew a deep breath and nodded once. "Now if there's something you'd like to discuss, let's do that."

"Discuss? Fine. The next fight can't possibly be that easy, and everyone has to be ready."

Hunk looked over from where Jace was poking at his wounds. "That was easy?"

"Compared to what it could have been? Yes. We outnumbered them!"

"He's not wrong, Flynn," Lance said quietly, his gaze drawn away from Daniel for the first time since they'd gotten back.

Their chief engineer sighed. "I know he isn't."

"He's not wrong in general." Jace didn't like the look of Hunk's cut—it wasn't too deep, but it was in a damn inconvenient place, right down the side of his chest and half the ribcage. It would make a real mess of his range of motion, and the sooner it could be properly patched up the better. "Where's those Drule doctors we were promised, I need to steal their shit."

Cam was still stuck on the idea of that being easy, and grimaced. "What could be worse than what we just went through?"

"Doing it again," Vince suggested dryly. He was staring at his hands again. Could he do that again? Did he want to do that again? No, he definitely didn't… what would he do if it happened again?

Even Hunk looked reproachful. "Why would you even ask that, little dude?"

Daniel wanted to say something snarky. He really wanted to say something snarky. All he could bring himself to do was close his eyes and lean his head back against the wall. The thought of more dead Drules… ugh, he'd been such a loser, freezing up like that. Next time he'd probably actually die…

"Next time," Jace said with a deadpan look at their comms officer, "someone gets their jugular slashed instead of their extremities." That shut everyone up for another minute.

Finally Flynn exhaled and nodded. "Alright. So… working on some things? We don't know how much time we have."

"We do need to work on some things," Keith agreed, "and not just Flynn." His second was not the only person on the team with questionable hand to hand skills—and even those of them who were good at it hadn't exactly escaped unscathed. Though escaping unscathed was not a realistic expectation here… but they could at least try for it. "We don't have a lot to work with in here, but we're going to have to do our best."

As if summoned by his words, the door opened and the force field sprang to life. Three Drules were standing there: one with a rifle, two with large cases marked in Drakure. "Gladiators."

He spun to the door, standing between them and his team. "What do you want?"

"Medical team," the leader said gruffly, gesturing to the other one with the case. "Ordered to treat your wounds."

"About fucking time." Jace jumped up too, approaching the door. "Give me the kits and get lost, I've got this handled."

The Drule stared uncomprehendingly; Cam tried translating. "He's our doctor. He wants to treat us himself, if you'll give him supplies."

"That is unnecessary." He said it in Common again—maybe he only knew a couple of key phrases. "Our honor to give gladiators care."

Glaring, Jace stepped closer to the force field and shook his head. "Cam, tell him his fucking people cut my people up and they're not laying a fucking hand on any of you."

Blushing a little, their comms officer obliged… more or less. "It may be unnecessary, but he would rather do it himself." Antagonizing the medics with the supplies more than necessary just seemed like a bad idea.

This time he answered in Drakure. "Very well… he will not be the first. He may treat you, but we must observe, to ensure nothing unfortunate happens." He handed one of the cases through the field.

Cam exhaled a little. "He says it's okay, but they have to watch. So we don't do anything… unfortunate."

"Unfuckingfortunate?" There was much more Jace would've liked to say about that, but giant donut dude still had an oozing chest wound so he just took the kit and retreated. The Drules remained in the doorway.

Keith frowned as their medic started going through the supplies. "Will that be enough to patch everyone up, Doc?"

"Surprisingly good kit." Though Jace couldn't read Drakure in general, the Alliance did instruct medics on the names of basic medical gear. Just in case they captured enemy supplies. The irony of this situation wasn't remotely lost on him. "Should do the trick, how about you focus on making sure people don't need it next time?"

"We will. Just checking."

Daniel had retreated more aggressively, or attempted to—from the moment the Drules appeared he'd tried to burrow further back into the corner he was in, doing his best not to even look at them. It wasn't working. Lance crossed over to sit next to him, giving him a small nudge. "Talk to me, kid."

Talking was not high on his list of fun things to do right now, and that was definitely not normal. "…'Bout what?"

"What happened out there? You can't… do that again."

Duh. He'd actually figured that out on his own; the pain in his leg helpfully kept reminding him. "Didn't mean to."

"Didn't think you did." Lance shook his head slightly. "But look, I… need you to keep moving, to defend yourself."

…That hadn't been exactly the argument he'd expected to make, though it wasn't wrong. And it seemed to get through; the kid grimaced. "I… I was moving. And then," his gaze flickered over to the Drule medics for a moment, "I kept seeing eyes."

Glancing between Daniel and the Drules, Lance felt himself only getting more confused than he'd been before. "Eyes?"

"Big dead eyes staring at me. The ones from the Bolt. And then I couldn't move."

"The Bolt…?" Lance still wasn't following, and he felt like he should be, like this would all make sense if he had just one more piece.

It got him a mildly resentful look that didn't last; Daniel really didn't want to talk about this, but he knew what happened if he tried to tell Lance he didn't want to talk about things. Better to spit it out and get it over with and move on to something else. Anything else. Running his hands nervously through his hair, he closed his eyes and muttered, "I had to kill two of the Drules who made it to the bridge, and then we had to move them, and they were warm and their eyes stayed wide open and it sucked." This was not making the images in his head any better at all.

Lance stared. Shit. "Alright… yeah, uh, not ever really prepared for that…" He briefly wondered if any of the Drules he'd shot had kept their eyes open. There had been way too much going on for him to notice it, really—there had been no killing and then just having to sit around with the bodies and wait. "…I've got nothing on making it better," he admitted.

"Then why are we still talking about it?" Of course Lance had nothing. He was fine, they were all fine, clearly nobody else had had a problem with killing. Daniel shook his head, trying to force the images out, but they wouldn't go. What was wrong with him?

"Because it's stopping you from protecting yourself, and…" Realizing what he was about to say, the pilot grimaced, but forged ahead. "I need you alive, kid. You dead isn't an option. Them dead is."

"Them dead is what?" Words weren't entirely making sense, and the options his brain kept supplying weren't making things any better either.

"Better than you dead!" Lance was struggling. How else could he get it across?

They'd been speaking quietly, but there wasn't a whole lot of privacy in the cell—especially not when everyone had fallen more or less silent to let Jace work rather than picking up their own conversations. Hunk had just been introduced to Drule disinfectant, which stung like hell, and covered a yelp by jumping into the conversation. "He's got a point!"

Keith decided this was the time to join in as well. "He's right. We need you alive, Daniel. We… I need all of you alive." He crossed over and crouched next to them. "It's us or whoever gets thrown at us, and I don't want it to be us."

Daniel scowled. None of them were getting it. Him being alive wasn't the problem, the Drules being dead was the problem. How the hell were they all just okay with it—why the hell wasn't he okay with it? He was supposed to be the fuck-it-all direct-to-Explorer-Team badass here, not some little kid. "Why doesn't anyone else here have this problem?" he finally erupted in frustration. The team's veterans he could understand, but Cam? But really—"Even fucking Vince could move!"

Vince, who'd barely been able to stop staring at his hands for the last twenty minutes, looked up. "I just got lucky," he said hesitantly. The Bolt felt like a distant memory, where he'd never had any time to think about what he'd done. In the arena he'd been too lost in whatever was going on with his sparking to freeze; he wasn't sure that was really a good thing. It's all just a fluke…

Looking between them, Pidge spoke up quietly. "Reactions to killing aren't always logical." Hopefully nobody would ask him what a logical reaction to killing was. That was something he knew he couldn't answer, but then, perhaps that was why he said it. "Especially the first."

"Pidge is right," Keith agreed. "He's rather blunt about it, but he's right."

"It's not easy for any of us." That much Lance was sure about. Nobody else was dwelling on the deaths? Maybe so. But maybe that was more survival instinct itself.

Cam nodded his own agreement. He'd been focused more on following his training, on successfully implementing what he'd learned, than the end results. He didn't want to think about the end results. "People who are just okay with killing are the scary ones. But the Commander is right too, we just… have to survive and get through this."

"Damn straight." Jace had finished patching Hunk up and now brought the kit over; Flynn's cut was in an easier spot, it could wait. "Let's do a better job on that leg."

As Daniel shifted to let Jace get at his leg, Lance felt an overwhelming pulse of near-panic. He needed the kid to understand. "Kid, listen, I need you alive."

It wasn't helping. "I get that! I get the words coming out of your mouths, okay? But I don't get… none of that… how does that stop… fuck." Putting it in the form of a question was just going to make them try to answer again, and he was pretty well over that. "Can everyone just leave me the fuck alone?!"

"No," Jace snorted, starting to untie the makeshift bandage around his calf, then turning to glare at the others. "But the rest of you are upsetting my fucking patient, back off."

As the others backed off—though very reluctantly, in Lance's case—Daniel gave their medic a weak smile of gratitude. "You're my favorite right now."

"That won't last."

"Didn't think it would. It's such a rare occurrence, that's why I had to tell you."

"Fair enough." Smirk. "Brace yourself, this is gonna hurt like a bitch." He pulled out the disinfectant and started cleaning the wound, and Daniel nearly jerked away from him.

"Fuck!"

"At least he warned you," Hunk grumbled, glowering at their medic, who just shrugged unapologetically and continued his work.

Lance had drawn back, but was still wound up; Flynn moved over and put a hand on his shoulder, earning a thankful look. It only calmed him down a little, but in this situation he'd take a little. The chief's own problem child had spoken with a little too much authority on the subject of killing, but he was damn glad he hadn't been put in Lance's spot. He sure as hell wouldn't have any answers.

As Jace started stitching his leg up, Daniel realized he officially wanted Lance back. But he was way too prideful to admit that out loud—and maybe being prideful was a good sign? Either way he bit his lip and stared at the pilot. If he didn't read his mind and save him from talking and sounding like a giant baby he was going to be so, so damn resentful…

"Is that a leave me alone glare, or a get the fuck back here one?" Lance murmured, catching the look.

Having seen his share of both types of glares, Flynn cracked a weak smile. "Yes."

Shooting him another grateful look, Lance scooted forward again, sitting by Daniel and getting what was definitely a thank you for reading my mind even if it's kind of worrying glare. Right now he'd take it.

Keith looked around at the team and inhaled slowly. They still had work to do… on skills, not just acceptance. But the Drules were still in the doorway, and he didn't really want to start discussing such things with them there. They could be faking not understanding Common. So he waited as Jace finished his rounds and returned the medkit, handing it through the force field with a glare. "Thanks. Get lost now." As they left and the door slammed shut, he turned back to the others. "Okay, now what?"

"Now we have to get to work." If they were going to get out of here, surviving the arena again would almost certainly be part of it.

Sven nodded. He'd remained silent during the killing discussion; he had little to say that would help. Training with lethal weapons had always been a sport to him, really—and as long as he kept looking at it as a sport, he didn't have to think too much about the actual consequences. Which may or may not have been healthy, but it was getting him by. It definitely wouldn't have helped Daniel, though. Now he could help a bit more. "We may not have much to work with in here, but we can still practice basics. And stances help." He'd done a good deal of empty-handed work before anyone had ever let him touch a battle axe.

"Right. We'll make do." Keith looked over at the food they'd been left, frowning. "Can we break one of those plates into knives?"

"Would they give us somethin' we can turn into knives that easy?" Hunk asked. Not that he was an expert on how to run a prison, but it just didn't seem like something a brutal empire of conquest would be dumb enough to do.

Still standing by the door, Jace figured there was no point theorizing when practical testing would do; he picked up one of the plates and chucked it at the wall. It didn't shatter. It crumbled. "Nope."

"Perfect." He shook his head. "Alright. So, what's our plan? Start from the beginning? That doesn't seem efficient. We don't have a lot of time."

"Shouldn't need that, should we? Even I passed combatives." Flynn made a face. "The issue is more in the execution."

Pidge looked over at him. "Was that a joke?"

"…No?" Did he just recognize a pun? "Not intentionally, at least. But the point stands."

"It does." Keith frowned, considering their options. "Maybe start with what you are good at. Work from there. Daniel, speed can be a weapon. Flynn, didn't you tell me you play lacrosse?"

His second snorted. "I said you could call it that, mostly I just threaten to hit people with a large stick…" He trailed off, blinking. "…Oh."

"I don't threaten to do anything," Daniel grumbled. "And the large pointy stick didn't work so well last time." Yeah, it was the large pointy stick. Definitely not operator error, freezing like a wiggy little wimp… He tried to shake that off. "You said I can't run away and I can't run at them, what am I supposed to do?"

"Hit and run," Pidge offered. "Flanking strikes. I'll teach you."

Vince made a face as several people turned to him. "I really don't have any physical talents." Sparking didn't seem like it ought to count.

"Really, no sports? Exercise routines? Video games?"

"Of course video games, but what good is that?" He made a face. "Great, I know Mortal Kombat."

"That's somethin' though." Hunk cocked his head. "You're used to seein' the whole fight, yeah? Tactics and stuff. We can use that. Uh, somehow."

Keith nodded. They could definitely use it. "It's a place to start… and if we're going to live to get out of this mess, we'd better get started. Right now."

*****

The liberation of the Castle of Lions would be carried out in two phases. The first was misdirection. According to the space mice, as well as a few militia scouting attempts, the Drules kept to a strict patrol schedule. They'd counted two units of roughly thirty soldiers each that frequented the castle: the patrol unit, and then a palace guard of sorts that protected Governor Tarlok himself. A third unit had occupied Dolce Vita.

The village was the weak point.

Long since abandoned, with what was left of its inhabitants hidden away in the tunnels, the castle village had been turned into a makeshift barracks. The occupying soldiers and the castle patrol were both housed there, and it seemed they were even beginning to reactivate some of the infrastructure; smoke had started coming from the village forge recently, and several gardens were being tended. The ancient fortifications built to guard the castle were manned for the first time in centuries. And with no Arusians there to bear the cost of retribution, it could be attacked with impunity… or, more importantly, odd happenings could be afoot.

Danor, from the castle workshop, had modified three of their remaining comms relays to block all nearby signals. Larmina had helped with that part. Scouts had slipped them into the village, hiding them in long-emptied caches where no Drule would ever dream to look. Oh, they'd tried… they'd searched everywhere for the source of the interference. But in the meantime the occupiers had to send runners to get clear of the village grounds in order to contact the castle. Response time was down.

Terrain would be their friend. The Chayvos Pass which Dolce Vita stretched across was mostly flatland, with Lake Almeria on one side and a scorched swath that had once been part of the Forest of Altair on the other. But the pass, too, had old fortifications. Fortifications buried over millennia of peace. Fortifications that could still be accessed from the tunnels, if one knew where to look. Fortifications built specifically to facilitate ambushes against anyone who got past the village.

We will strike. They won't know what hit them. They won't know we're coming until it's too late. And then…

Allura walked at the front of the ragged Arusian army, her bow in her hand, Coran at her side. The three Captains walked behind her, flanked by two priests in full ceremonial armor—battered but bright, cleaned and consecrated in the shelter's waters for this desperate battle. Behind them came the guards and the militia, Larmina among them; two dozen volunteers from the shelter population brought up the rear. Some had little more than pointed sticks as weapons, but they'd insisted on fighting for their planet.

For the Crown, perhaps…

Much further down the tunnels, Miralna led the knights. There were five of them, herself included. Theirs was the key to this whole plan. The other four had been stationed in the castle; they knew the lay of the land. Miralna didn't, but she carried the sacred sword, and she would lead the charge. They had to convince the Drules there were more of them. That the village was under a full strength attack, enough to require reinforcements from the castle…

"For the Radiant Warrior, for the High King, and for Arus!"

Sending the first signal to the Princess, they charged from the tunnels. The sky was dark, though it was just barely midday; a storm was rolling in from Thunder Ridge, hanging heavy in the air. They came across a patrol first, two guards who barely had time to raise their rifles before the knights fell on them. Two knights took the guns from their fallen foes—this was no time for tradition. They needed firepower. One took aim at the forge, laser fire stitching over the chimney and toppling it. Denying the enemy a resource… and more importantly, getting their attention.

"Split up," Miralna ordered, beckoning to the others. "Remember, silence anyone who sees you, but give them time to report your position first."

"Understood."

"We're on it."

The streets of Dolce Vita were narrow and winding, and she knew the locals would use them to their full advantage. Her job was to be a symbol. With the sacred blade drawn she moved ahead to the village square, which was empty—the Drules weren't much for recreation, perhaps. No matter. She'd brought something with her aside from the sword, a challenge the sinycka couldn't refuse.

A tattered banner: a crown and a sword backed by patches of blue and gold. The mast at the center of the square had stood empty for too long. As she heard shouts from the streets around her, Miralna ran the banner up that mast, tightening the straps and sounding a war cry of her own.

"The flag of Arus flies again, sinycka—come and take it!"

It was too much for the Drules, who'd been sent for what was supposed to be light garrison work. Arusian knights seemed to be lurking around every corner, and the flag being raised was the last straw. A runner was sent, sprinting from the village, to bring the patrol unit from the castle and crush this counterstrike.

Nobody paid any mind to tiny, beady eyes watching the runner depart… as he called his report in, the mice scurried back to make their own.

It came only a few minutes after the signal from the knights. Allura turned back to her warriors, raising her bow. "They're calling for reinforcements. It's time."

"To the fortifications," Coran ordered, echoed by the captains as they raced to their positions. Long-sealed openings in the earth opened up, unnoticed beneath the darkening sky. Unnoticed until the Drule ranks began advancing from the castle, anyway. Then, with Allura taking the first shot, the arrows began to rain down.

She lost herself in the rhythm as chaos engulfed the pass. Load, draw, release, repeat. Her eyes narrowed as the Drule soldiers returned fire, lasers scorching off the ground, unable to see precisely where they were even being attacked from… but that wouldn't last, and when they were able to regroup the tide would turn.

Unless the Arusians turned it first.

"Second wave!"

The melee forces scrambled from the fortifications, the guards at the front, the volunteer forces behind them. The enemy had been expecting none of this. Half of them simply dropped their rifles outright; confronted with swords and spears waving at them, they drew their own blades out of misguided reflex. The ambush was working perfectly as intended…

That wasn't to say they weren't acquitting themselves well. Allura tried to cover the volunteer forces as best she could. The guards were well-trained, and could hold their own against an equal foe. The untrained volunteers, well… she doubted any of them had signed on without knowing what they faced. But they were her people, and she would protect them to the best of her ability. Several times when a Drule thought they had one pinned down, an arrow would strike, the princess' deadly precision suddenly far more than a proper royal hobby.

Soon enough, for the first time since the War of Golden Revival, blood stained the Chayvos Pass. The Drules had been routed—though not flawlessly. A few of her people had fallen, but Allura knew they couldn't stop. To stop was to waste their risk and their sacrifice.

"Nanny, Elder Ollar, the pass is clear." They had been waiting, ready with other volunteers to come and retrieve the wounded. She would trust them to do so; it was her only option. Turning and beckoning her standing forces forward, she glanced over them briefly as they gathered the fallen Drules' weapons and let herself simply feel. A twinge in her stomach at their reduced numbers, a surge of new confidence as she saw the knights arriving from the village. A flicker of relief as she saw Larmina's fiery hair among the militia. And a redoubling of her determination as she turned to face the distant castle.

"Princess?"

"That's half the battle," she said softly, then raised her voice as the winds picked up. The dark clouds overhead were starting to crackle with electricity, and she could smell the rain coming near. "We won't settle for half of this battle. You've seen it. The enemy occupies our homes and plunders our resources. But most of all, they've tried to destroy our confidence. Our hope. Our belief in anything beyond defeat, our right to stand on the surface and breathe in the sun and the storm." Her eyes narrowed. "They can't have our hope. We will see nothing beyond this victory. We will live or die on the surface, reminding them whose land they've dared to claim. And we will not stop until the Castle of Lions returns to its rightful owners, even if it has to run blue with their blood!"

A thunderclap shook the sky as the soldiers cheered her words, and she could have sworn she heard—even felt—the roar of a lion beneath it.

"Now! For Arus!"

"Diya Poratn! For Arus!"

As the rain began to fall, they charged.