(On the Hunt) Chapter 40

Pride: On the Hunt

Chapter 40

Attrition

It didn't take them the full five minutes to prepare for battle anymore. They grabbed their favored weapons, exchanged a few reminders not to die, and waited for the gate to open. Was adjusting this much to their situation a good or bad thing?

Couldn't be that bad, if it kept them alive. They had to keep telling themselves that.

"Okay. Heads on a swivel, everyone." Keith stepped up to the front of the group, swords at his sides. "We don't know who we're up against, but we know they're only getting tougher. I don't want any complacency."

"Think we've got this by now, boss."

"We have had a lot of practice."

"And practice makes, uh… more practiced!"

That was for sure. "We're practiced, alright." Lance hated that he was feeling impatient for this to start, but the sooner they got it started the sooner it was finished. "Let's just get this over with."

As the gate began to lift, they filed out into the arena, doing what they could to calm themselves. Sven was twirling his mace; Vince was just trying to keep his breathing steady. Cam glanced over at Daniel, who had his jaw clenched. "You scared?"

"I've kind of been in a constant state of terror since we got here," he muttered back. "It just feels normal at this point."

That was fair.

Loud cheers greeted them from the stands. That had been happening more often too… Hunk waved cheerfully to the crowd, blowing a few kisses to the loudest sections. Jace rolled his eyes and dropped an elbow into his ribs. "Giant donut dude, knock that Stockholm syndrome shit off."

"It ain't like that, Doc!" the big man protested. "I just think it's funny they're a bunch of Drules cheerin' for us, might as well encourage it, yeah?" He flashed the crowd a thumbs-up.

"…Yeah, okay." Jace shrugged and saluted the crowd too, though he used a different finger.

Lance snorted, flipping the crowd off too, and Keith frowned. "Alright, focus." Morale was important. Winning this battle was the most important. Across from them, a band of Drules was emerging from the gate. A large band of Drules, no less… he frowned deeper as the announcer's voice began to ring through the stadium.

Even he had to snort as they were announced in terribly-accented Common as the 'This Space For Rents'.

"Porra." Jace looked over at their banner hanging by the gate and shook his head. "Never getting used to that part."

"It's surreal as fuck."

"No kiddin'."

Even as he snickered at the announcement, Cam was listening carefully to the rest of it. "Apparently we're at the point where the announcer doesn't think we need any introduction? You know, except for being 'the alien pirates, the This Space For Rents'—"

"—We heard," Pidge said bluntly, and Flynn lightly elbowed him. "Sorry."

Cam decided it was safest to just ignore that, and a moment later any levity fled. "Oh, shit. It's the Crown Guard."

Those who'd gone to the arena on their day off froze; the others looked at them in confused worry. "Uh…"

"Wait, that Crown Guard?"

"Those… them? The ones that were…"

"Yeah." Cam swallowed and looked at the others. "They're supposed to be pretty vicious."

They certainly looked vicious. It was easily the most organized team they'd seen yet, standing in a relaxed formation as the announcer continued. And they looked eager for battle. Perhaps that was normal… or perhaps they'd heard stories of the fierce Earthling pirates, and were actually excited to face them down.

The feeling wasn't mutual. Mostly. Pidge was grinning. "Sounds fun." Though immediately he regretted saying it aloud; every time he looked forward to a fight he seemed to end up hurt. Fortunately, Vince had apparently given up bothering to glare at him for such comments, so he wasn't forced to acknowledge his regret.

"This is not good," Sven murmured, twirling his mace a little more emphatically.

Daniel didn't like the Viking looking worried. He didn't like it one bit. "So we're fucked?"

"No, we can do this." Keith gave them all his best commander's stare. They couldn't be intimidated, they couldn't back down. They had to—

"Megriz'ul gael ka'leir!"

They'd heard that line enough to know it meant the battle was beginning.

The Crown Guard charged.

"Oh great, they're in a hurry." Lance braced himself and gritted his teeth. The 686 hadn't charged an enemy formation yet, at least in any coordinated capacity; he was pretty sure this wouldn't be any different.

Next to him, Flynn dropped back a step and tightened his grip on his polearm. "At least they all seem to like coming right at us?"

"Try to take them fast if you can." Keith raised his sword in a guard position, watching carefully; they were outnumbered, and the more quickly they could remove that disadvantage, the better.

Jace stepped up and squinted, something in the line bothering him. It took him a moment… then he realized what he was seeing. And if he was going to make use of it, he only had a few moments. "Boss, permission to do some stupid shit worthy of giant donut dude?"

That was definitely not the person he expected that sort of question from. "What've you got, Doc?"

Was that permission? It sounded like permission. Smirking, Jace focused in on a Drule in the front of the enemy formation, and broke into a run. "Banzai, bitches!"

"What the fuck?"

"…Doc, you crazy ass…"

Almost instantly the Crown Guard line fell apart; maybe an inability to adapt to the unexpected was part of how they'd gotten dumped here. Half the charge continued, ignoring the one human barreling into their midst. The other half stopped, though there seemed to be further confusion on exactly what to do about it. Only three seemed confident on the correct course of action: the one he was charging, and the two on his target's flanks. They dropped into position to reinforce each other, and as he sprang at the one in the middle, the two on the sides attacked.

What Jace had seen had been a simple tactical miscalculation, or what he personally would have described as a 'fucking bad idea'. Two Drules carrying long pikes, with a knife-bearing ally in between. Pikes weren't maneuverable or versatile weapons. They were good for exactly one thing: stabbing. And fucking committing to it.

By the time he had knifey on the ground, the two with the pikes were too fully committed to back out. They tried, for sure. And they succeeded, in the sense that they didn't kill each other. But they certainly did stab each other.

"Well, if it works…"

Their enemies briefly unsettled, the team seized the initiative. Keith sprinted into the midst of those who'd continued their charge, dodging and weaving, slashing at anyone who came into range and getting one in the throat. He didn't stop to see if it actually killed her; no time. They had to do as much damage as possible, as quickly as possible, and assess once they got a moment to breathe.

Hunk and Lance had both moved to exploit the breach Jace had created. Hunk swung his mace between the two, catching them as they yanked their pikes free of each other and splintering one of the weapons like matchsticks. Lance went at the one who still had an intact weapon, figuring they had a better chance of becoming a threat again later. His swordsmanship was sloppy, but the Drule had a hole in his side. It evened out—he could do some damage. And he did precisely that, driving his blade into the enemy's other side and wrenching it through his ribs, grimacing at the spray of blood. Another one fell on him, landing a heavy blow with a mace before he clocked it in the jaw with the hilt of his sword, then kicked out and stabbed almost blindly. That one went down, leaving him panting and thoroughly grossed out.

"I miss guns."

Outnumbered as they were, Cam quickly found himself engaged with two of the Crown Guard at once. Both swung at him, and he dropped, rolling out of the way. Neither made the mistake their companions had—for one thing, they were both carrying swords, giving them a bit more room to break off the attack. But it got him out of the way and gave him an opening. Coming up out of the roll, he slashed one Drule in the back of the legs, sending them buckling to the ground.

The other tried to fall on him, only to be slammed in the back by Keith and go down with blood spurting from the small of her back. "Keep moving, Starr."

"Yes sir!" Jumping up, he charged back into the fray.

Jace's ploy had worked out for Jace himself for about thirty seconds; things had gone a little bit sideways after that. Literally. The problem was that he'd finally run into someone who could match him in ground fighting without the use of a tail. It took all he had to break free and retreat to a relatively open spot, nursing a cut to his chest and cursing profusely as he sought a new target.

Getting pinned down in duels was plainly not something they wanted to do. There were too many of the Crown Guard; like their enemies in their first battle, the team would be better served to remain mobile and unpredictable. Hopefully it would go a bit better for them than it had for that band of enemies.

Maybe it yet would. But as the melee unfolded, Flynn and Sven found themselves cornered back to back, with a pair of Drules squaring off against them and nowhere to run. Glancing over their shoulders they exchanged nods, a silent agreement not to break formation. If they had to duel, at least this way they were covering each other's backs.

Sven wasn't doing the greatest at covering his front. His opponent was carrying a light longsword, giving him both more reach and better agility than his mace could afford. Not for the first time, barely staving off a slash to his midsection, he lamented the absence of an axe in the armory.

Flynn wasn't doing a whole great deal better—he had a decided reach advantage on his own enemy, but he also only had so much understanding of how to use his weapon. Mostly he was blocking, giving ground until there was no more to give, hoping that if they kept these two occupied the others would have some better luck.

After clunking the two with the pikes, Hunk had settled into a pretty solid routine of wandering the melee, looking scary, and making anyone who stood still for him regret it—enough had gotten in return shots that he was going to have some nasty bruises, but the other guys always came off on the worse end. Vince was shadowing him, jabbing a few that he'd left staggering in circles until they went down and stayed down. It wasn't what he'd have called optimal, but at least it was working.

They were stuck in a gladiator arena, they'd blown by 'optimal' a really long time ago.

On the outskirts, Pidge and Daniel were doing their thing, and their thing was peeling bad guys off their teammates. Daniel had one Drule fully monopolized—whether she actually understood the things he was saying about her mom, he didn't know, but running his mouth seemed to be keeping her attention regardless. Pidge had managed to get three of the Crown Guard chasing him, mostly by taking shots at them while they'd been otherwise engaged. He'd caused more chaos than damage, but some Drules found that sort of thing far too insulting to ignore.

At some point he needed to actually stop and deal with them, though… his eyes darting over the battlefield, he saw Sven and Flynn pinned down and cut in to assist.

Around then, Sven actually got himself un-pinned. A little. He managed to gauge his opponent's swings and block one at the hilt, knocking the sword from his hands. Another strike sent the Drule to the ground in a heap. But he'd barely even had a moment to feel good about himself before another one came barreling in at him, blade flashing.

Both he and Flynn saw Pidge incoming, and on instinct they separated to give him room to slip through. He disarmed Flynn's opponent as he passed, forcing the startled Drule into retreat.

Then the three he'd had chasing him showed up.

"Ninja, really?" Stepping up and using his polearm much more like a staff than anything, Flynn managed to fend off a few slashes—made much easier by the fact that the enemy clearly hadn't expected to be intercepted, either. They'd had tunnel vision on Pidge, and in mere moments they paid for losing that vision; as his superior officer put up a defensive flurry, he'd circled back around and taken the largest of the Drules at the back.

Leaping up, he stabbed one knife into the back of his target's neck, and the Drule collapsed in a motionless heap. "Yes, really."

"…Okay, fair." He really should trust the ninja's combat instincts, he supposed. They just had a habit of making so damn little sense. The other two Drules, suddenly surrounded and wary, fell into a defensive position very much like the one he and Sven had been pinned down in not so long ago. He moved up to cover Pidge, trading wary blows with the one in front, still largely just trying to hold out. If he could hold his own, that was a win.

Sven was still having some trouble—he'd pulled a Jace and was just wrestling with the Drule who'd moved in on him. He was that sick of facing off against swords. Pidge had been fully intending to move ahead and help him before his opponent realized what was happening, but he'd lodged his knife too deep in his first victim's spine. That seemed to happen to him a lot too; in this case he was blaming the battered knife.

Regardless of why he couldn't get it loose, it slowed him down just enough. The tide turned around him as the two Drules broke out of their guard stances, both swarming in against Flynn and forcing him into a staggered retreat; he lost his balance, dropped, and snarled a few curses. "Pidge, watch your back!"

Pidge didn't hesitate. He'd abandoned his knife, and immediately turned his lunge to assist Sven into a defensive roll. The blade that would have skewered him through the spine arced down his left shoulder blade instead, cutting deep and drawing a sharp gasp. "Salys sa kye—"

Flynn's combat reflexes kicked in. Which was remarkable, given he hadn't realized he had any. Flinging the Crown Guard who'd followed him aside like a misbehaving engine part, he lunged forward and slammed the blade of his polearm straight through the stomach of the one who'd slashed Pidge. "Back the fuck off my wrenchling," he snarled as he yanked the weapon free, watching the Drule go down with rather a lot of his innards suddenly on the outside.

The one he'd thrown hadn't gone terribly far, and circled back as he freed his weapon. But then Pidge was up, recovering from the momentary shock of his wound, and landed an uppercut with his good arm that sent the attacker staggering. "Watch your own back, sir!" He dropped to the ground, gasping for breath, cursing the pain shooting through his left side. "…And thanks."

None of that had actually helped Sven, but it did get Jace's attention. He'd wound up in a grappling battle with one of the Crown Guard that had gone only slightly better than the first, until she'd made a fatal misjudgment trying to shake him. She'd shifted one direction at the same time he torqued the other; her own motion had as much to do with her neck snapping as anything he'd done. He wasn't going to argue with it. Jumping up, he looked around and took stock of the situation. Was gravitating straight to Sven a case of blatant favoritism? Possibly, but someone had to do it.

Wrestling, per se, was not one of the Viking's strongest skills. Glima was wrestling, yes, but decidedly not focused on ground fighting. He could generally at least hold his own sparring with Jace. He was not holding his own with this Drule. But suddenly Jace was there, and rather than trying for any technique he made the pragmatic move and just kicked the Drule in the head.

Slightly immoral. But unquestionably effective. It didn't actually knock the guy out, but it definitely cut into his effectiveness.

The fact that it had not knocked him out, and he was still attempting to put up a fight, just annoyed the medic that much more. "What fucking part of 'leave the Viking alone' was not obvious enough for you, motherfucker?" Grabbing the Drule by the back of his shirt, he yanked with all his might, then spun around and used the leverage to fling him squarely into one of his buddies. That was becoming a bit of a signature move of his anymore.

Smiling at Jace's Jace-ness, Sven rose up and reclaimed his mace—there was a sword he could've taken right next to it, but the thought of willingly picking up a sword when he had any other option was just slightly less attractive than brunch. But before he could even think about rejoining the battle, a shadow flickered off to his side and something crashed down over his head.

He blacked out.

Whirling back around to regroup with the Viking, Jace instead found his friend out cold on the arena floor. "I looked away for five. fucking. seconds!" he hissed, tackling the offending Drule before he could follow up and choking him out with extreme prejudice.

On the other side of the melee Keith and Cam were still going strong, fending off a steadily decreasing number of Drules as the effects of their own strikes built up. They were far from unscathed, though… they were just giving better than they got. It couldn't last.

It didn't.

They were pressing the advantage, a couple of the Crown Guard giving ground, the area around them seemingly clear. Except clearly not so much, because as Keith drew back and took a swing, someone grabbed his sword arm from behind and he felt a sickening pop. Screaming as much from surprise as pain—though there was no shortage of pain—he dropped his sword and spun, letting the one who had a hold of him stumble right into an incoming strike that had been meant to take advantage.

"Keith!" Cam took a stab at the one who'd grabbed his arm as well, and between the two strikes she went down. He barely paid attention to that, grabbing his commander's sword and turning to cover him. "You alright?"

"I'll live." He took the sword in his left hand and narrowed his eyes, breathing deeply, forcing the pain aside. "Let's finish this."

If only finishing this would actually finish this. One step at a time.

Cam's eyes widened slightly. "Can you fight well enough with your off hand? Do you need me to cover—"

"—Stop asking questions." They didn't have the time or space for questions. The Drule he'd been trying to focus on before came at them again, and he demonstrated just how well he could fight with his off hand by spinning into a savage slash across his chest. "Survive, Cameron."

Nodding, he fended off a blow and fell back into the rhythm of the battle. But he was definitely covering Keith's back from then on.

Daniel circled by them, his own Drule still on his tail, and visibly tiring. A lot. He was kind of impressed she'd kept following him this long, but maybe it was a weird honor thing. Giving up the chase would be weak. Or something.

Whatever the case, he was pretty sure he'd worn her down enough by now, and he skidded to a halt very near where Cam was engaged with one of her friends. The fact that he'd actually stopped seemed to stun her just enough to make her sluggish, and she went for his injured leg. Of course she did. Maybe Daniel wasn't much of a melee fighter, but he'd sure as hell learned to expect that.

He slipped that attack easily and circled her, stabbing repeatedly, going numb enough that he didn't even notice that some of his stabs missed and a couple of her counters connected. He was getting better at blocking things out, and he was very determined not to think about how unhealthy that probably was—it beat freezing, and that was what mattered.

As he was finishing her off he heard Cam yelling something at his current opponent in Drakure, and seized on that distraction. "Oooh, you trash talking the blue guys?"

"I'm trying. Told him his mom's so large she could be the moon, I think…"

…Of course he had. "Dude, don't insult moons like that," he sighed, and moved over to offer some backup. Or at least some snark. Though it didn't seem like the time to point out how incredibly lame that insult had been.

Vince was still giving backup, too. Hunk had not really changed tactics the entire battle—he was seriously starting to consider changing his nickname to Clunk, it seemed to be becoming his specialty. Skirting around him, his stabby shadow went after one Drule who looked particularly dazed, but either he'd misjudged or it had all been a ruse. As Vince moved in to stab the Drule, he caught a meaty blue fist in his face and stumbled back with a yelp, losing his spear as he staggered. A second punch sent him to the ground, and he desperately tried to roll away from any followup but his body wasn't moving the way he wanted it to.

"Hey!" Spinning around as he tracked one that was running literal circles around him, Hunk saw what was going on and almost panicked. No way he could break off from the one he was tracking without a knife to his own back, but… eyes narrowing, he lifted his gigantic mace and threw it.

The last thing Vince saw before unconsciousness claimed him was something like a small tree trunk clobbering the Drule who'd downed him, bouncing off his head, and landing on his face as he crumpled.

Lance took note of that and moved in to get Hunk's opponent off of him, only to be thrown to the ground by his own enemy. He was getting good at stabbing people on his way back to his feet—that was not a sentence he was happy about, objectively. But it was useful. Shoving that Drule aside he moved in to provide support; looking around for Jace, he saw him guarding an unconscious Sven and decided to check Vince out himself. The kid was still breathing, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Retrieving his thrown gigantomace, Hunk went right back to fending off the Crown Guard. But they were finally running out of Crown Guard to fend. A lot of them were going down from attrition—the one more punch, one more stab, that finally was enough to remove them from the fight. A lot of the 686 was coming closer to that edge themselves… Keith was the closest, dueling one last Drule as best he could. He was capable of fighting with his off hand, but damn, it was weak. Fortunately his opponent wasn't faring a lot better, and he finally managed a disarming blow.

A nice, clean slash to take advantage of the opening would have been his preference. Instead he found himself just pummeling the Drule with the hilt of his sword until they stopped moving.

Flynn and Pidge had dropped back to help cover Vince; Pidge shot Lance a quick nod of gratitude. He was frustrated. He was supposed to be looking out for Vince, not his boss—but again, circumstances had dictated otherwise. He took it out on one of the remaining Drules who was trying to flank Hunk, taking him out at the knees and slugging him in the stomach with all of his strength. The Drule dropped, groaning and retching.

At the same time Hunk clobbered one last Crown Guard aside, and Cam cut a straggler down, and suddenly they didn't have anyone left to fight. It always seemed to happen like that… caught up in the battle, the tide of enemies all blurring together, with no real sense of impending victory until suddenly they held the floor.

It had cost them, this time…

Romelle hadn't realized until the Crown Guard fell that she'd been half standing, gripping Lotor's arm in a rush of adrenaline. The battle had been brutal, the Earthlings seeming to spend the entire time on the verge of being crushed. But they'd danced expertly along that edge, and even she could recognize the incredible skill they'd displayed. Not just skill. A sort of desperation as they battled, and as she watched them checking their wounded she realized it wasn't for glory or honor at all.

They fought for nothing but each other, whatever they had to do. And she felt a soft pang at the realization. What exactly had brought them here, she didn't know, but she couldn't stop that sense of familiarity. Of understanding. How little they wanted to be here, but how determined they were not to fail. Because they had something to fight for.

The ache in her abdomen and her thighs as she stood reminded her again of her place. Things had been… very aggressive, last night. She shook off the pain, walking to the front of the box—she wouldn't, couldn't, show weakness here. Not in front of Lotor and Zarkon and a hundred thousand cheering subjects who'd come to see displays of strength.

What she could do was offer the Earthlings the slightest hint of respite. And that, she was more determined than ever to do.

The leader was looking up at her again… his eyes icy and determined, sword in his left hand, right arm dangling uselessly at his side. She met his gaze, giving a barely perceptible nod. Slowly, she raised her gaive'llar, feeling the hush that rippled through the arena.

And once more, with finality, she closed the blade.

Keith held the gaze of the princess for just a beat longer than last time. Returning the nod, equally subtle. Wanting—needing—her to know that whatever her reasons, she had the team's gratitude. What was the gratitude of gladiators worth, to a princess? He didn't know. But regardless, he raised his own sword in salute before turning back to the others.

Immediately he was all business again.

"How are they?"

Jace had been doing his rounds while the boss was having his moment. He'd had a look at Pidge's shoulder—bad, but no clear internal damage. He'd checked Sven and Vince's vitals as best he could—about four times each. Just to be sure.

Fuck, we got lucky. He tried to push it aside. Answer the question.

"Unconscious. Don't know what else for sure, but they don't look too bad… I'd put 'em under concussion protocols but we don't fucking have those here." Jace eyed his commander suspiciously; he could see just fine what was going on there. "And you're not looking great either, noodle-arm. I'll deal with you once we're back in the cell."

He snorted. "I'm sure you will… but I'm low priority."

"I will be the judge of that." He seemed to agree, though; he was already carefully lifting Sven off the arena floor. "I've got the Viking. Hunk, you get Vince."

Hunk blinked, staring at him blankly for a long moment before turning to follow his instructions. Doc had to be more shaken up than he let on, if he'd really just said… "You know my name?"

The medic's eyes widened briefly, then narrowed in a glare. "Oh, fuck you. Let's get out of here."

*****

"I gotta figure out a better fighting style than 'be better at running than the other guy'."

"If running keeps you alive, run."

"It's exhausting! I spent the entire fight wearing one bad guy out."

Pidge lifted his head and looked over at the discussion between Daniel and Lance. "Hit more than one of them," he offered helpfully; for some reason Lance glared at him.

Flynn did not glare at him, but did shoot a pointed glance at the blood smeared behind him on the wall from his slashed shoulder blade. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"…Shut up, sir."

Daniel wasn't particularly impressed either. "So more than one can chase me around? Sounds wonderful."

"You get the same level of exhaustion but wear more than one of them out, yes."

"Hmm." The gunner considered that; it was actually pretty decent logic. "That might work." Lance glared again.

"Again. If running works, run."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Stay alive."

"It's our fucking main objective."

Jace was checking Keith's arm on the other side of the cell, after doing what he could for the others. There really wasn't anything to do for Sven and Vince but lay them out in the recovery position and wait… unless they wanted to trust the Drule equivalent of smelling salts, which he most certainly did not. He'd patched up Pidge's back and the many, many other cuts people had returned with before trying to convince the Drule medics to give him a sling. Apparently slings were not okay, though. So he'd chased them off with a whole lot of cursing and gotten back to work.

They'd both known it was dislocated even before he looked, really, and sure enough. "Okay, boss, you want me to warn you when it's gonna hurt or should I just do it?" In the middle of asking he casually popped the shoulder back into its socket, and Keith squawked in pain.

"Fucking son of a bitch!"

Yes, indeed he was. "Aww, boss, that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

The commander glared at him, sinking back and panting as the initial surge of pain wore off. "Ugh… thank you, Jace."

A groan from the far wall drew everyone's attention; gray eyes fluttered open and immediately closed again. Jace turned and grinned. "The screams of profanity have awakened the Viking!"

"Language," their navigator grumbled through a pounding headache.

"My language is fucking perfect," Lance snorted.

Even Keith protested, holding his arm close. "I think my language was justified…"

"Yeah, yeah." Jace left him to check Sven over, but glanced back over his shoulder for a moment. "Don't move that arm for a bit. I'd sling it up if we had one but apparently that's not how these fuckers do things… anyway, everyone keep it the fuck down. Viking, don't look at the lights."

Sven hummed a vague agreement. Cracking his eyes open for two seconds had been enough to convince him he didn't want to see any light right now.

As Jace checked their navigator over, Lance eyed Keith's arm and gave an apologetic shrug. "I'd offer my shirt for a sling, but it's already down a sleeve."

"I'd offer my hoodie," Daniel volunteered, "but uh… I don't want to." He shot a look at Cam, who was all too obviously wishing he had something to offer, and stuck out his tongue slightly; fanboy glared.

Flynn looked between them, rolled his eyes, and shrugged out of his own jacket. "Here…" He looked up to see his offer was just a little too late. Keith was gingerly easing his arm out of his own shirt sleeve, wincing. "…He's going to kill you, Kogane."

"Who?"

Briefly distracted by Flynn, Lance blinked away and turned to Keith instead. "…For fuck's sake."

"Who the fuck do you think?!" Jace was looking over his shoulder again, and more or less stage whispering because he definitely shouldn't be yelling near Sven right now. It was plenty to get the point across. "What part of 'don't move that arm' didn't you fucking understand?!"

Daniel couldn't help a laugh. "Wow, even I don't disobey the doc."

Glaring at everyone, Keith got his arm all the way out of the sleeve and sighed. "One of you going to help me rig this into a sling or not?"

Hunk went over to help him; Jace was distracted by another groan. "Nnngh…" Vince opened one eye. "I'm still alive and in a gladiator pit, huh?"

"Yes and yes, mechka."

"Great." He tried to sit up, but his head felt like it stayed on the ground anyway; he opted to take the hint. "Ow."

"Okay listen up." Jace was still whispering loudly, but he still managed to make it seem like yelling. They really couldn't get these two into any kind of concussion protocol isolation, so… "Team KO, both of you stay still, don't look into any lights, and try not to use your brains for a couple hours." Pausing, he looked between the two who'd been knocked out and made a face. "…Why the fuck did it have to be you two, I'd have so many jokes."

"I don't know how to not think," Vince protested with a groan.

"Ask the boss, he can help."

"…Been there, done that."

Keith glared again.

"How'd I get knocked out?" Sven asked quietly. The last moments in the arena were a blur.

"Someone new showed up while I was dragging the one guy off you." Jace still sounded personally offended by that, as he was.

"Ahhh. My wrestling needs work."

"We can worry about that once you've rested a bit from the fucking concussion."

He wasn't the only one trying to sort out what exactly had happened out there. "How am I not dead?" Vince tried opening his eyes again and again thought better of it. "Did I spark?"

Finishing tying Keith's shirt into a makeshift sling, Hunk retreated to Jace's jacket and their hidden piles of loot. "Didn't see one, little dude."

"Whew… I think."

Flynn watched Hunk checking over the newest additions and frowned slightly. "How's our supply?"

"We're gettin' there." It didn't feel like they'd picked up much this battle, which was odd considering how much time they'd all spent falling down. But then, against enemies who'd been able to press them nonstop, there had only been so much opportunity. They'd managed a little. "This always looks like so much more when we bring it in."

A ripple of grim worry ran through the cell. Daniel was the one to voice what they were all thinking. "What happens if this," he pointed at the salt, "doesn't work?"

"…That'll suck?"

"It'll work." Lance wasn't sure he believed that, but saying so wasn't going to get them much of anywhere. He didn't have any other answer.

"It has to work," Cam agreed.

Daniel started to protest, but then reconsidered. Arguing about it wouldn't get them anywhere either. Except maybe mad and depressed, and really they had enough of that right now as it was. He shut up.

Oddly enough, Pidge offered the closest thing to reassurance. "We'll find a new plan." Even he didn't have a clue as to what kind of new plan. But he was strangely confident they would find one if needed, because when their backs were to the wall, that was what they did.

Were they optimal plans? Not generally. Did they work? Yes, and that was what mattered.

"The plan will work," Lance insisted. "It's just taking longer than we expected." Keep saying that, maybe they'll believe it. Maybe you'll believe it. He caught Flynn's eye for a moment, and the engineer gave the slightest nod before looking away.

Keith nodded too. "We're an Explorer Team. It will work. We've done harder and crazier things than this." He silently pleaded for nobody to ask examples. It wasn't that he didn't believe in his team… just with every new battle, every day they couldn't escape, it felt like they might finally be hitting the limits of what Explorer Team crazy could do.

That thought sent a little shudder down his spine. A shudder Lance noticed and felt strangely relieved by. At least I'm not the only one lying.

Hunk had just covered up their stash again when the door opened. Skalor was standing there, and not alone; two slaves entered with dishes and what looked like bundles of padding.

Reflexively, Keith stood, careful of his shoulder. "What's this?"

"Hail, gladiators." Skalor inclined his head respectfully as the slaves set down what they'd brought. "The arena master has ordered you to be given extra rest: you will have two days before your next battle."

"Wow, two whole days."

"How gracious."

Shockingly enough, their guard did not seem to understand sarcasm. He indicated the items as the slaves scurried out of the cell. "Additionally, you are granted new privileges for your victories."

"Oh, we hit the next reward tier?" Hunk grinned; Skalor just looked at him blankly.

Lance's eyes went to the mats. "Oh yeah, thanks. Been meaning to get back into yoga."

"You are welcome. What is yoga?"

A few disbelieving snorts greeted that, not least from Lance himself, who wasn't quite certain how to respond for a moment. This dude had less charisma than Sky Marshal Wade and less grasp of sarcasm than Pidge. Briefly he wondered if this guard, maybe all these guards, might actually be a robot… naahh. That would be silly. "…Warrior stuff."

"Ah! Yes. Take full advantage of these gifts to prepare for your next battle, warriors. You have been granted a rare honor." Bowing his head again, he retreated, leaving the team staring at the door in what might fairly have been called disbelief.

"Oh yeah," Daniel snorted, shaking his head. "Real macho warrior stuff there."

"Rare honor?"

"What rare honor? Pillows?"

"Seems a bit more ominous than pillows."

"I want a pillow."

Vince tried raising his head again; it went slightly better this time. "Did I hear pillow? I could use one."

Pidge had gone over to investigate the padded bundles while the others snarked. They unfolded into thin mats of some kind of soft foam, and did indeed come with pillows of the same substance. "These are… serviceable."

"For what?" Daniel smirked. "Macho warrior yoga?"

"Hey, downward dog is badass, kid." Lance went over to retrieve a mat—having one seemed better than not having one, even if this whole premise was ridiculous.

Did he just make a sex joke? That better not have been a sex joke. Suddenly Daniel found himself thinking about what else these mats could possibly have been used for, and he didn't want those thoughts. At all. "Nastiness," he declared with a disgusted look, grabbing one pillow for himself and another for Vince.

"…What?" What the hell was nasty about yoga? He looked over at Flynn. "What did I do this time?"

Flynn didn't know a damn thing about yoga, and frankly his sexual innuendo detection wasn't always what it could've been either. "Maybe he doesn't like dogs?"

"Who doesn't like dogs?"

"…Me?" Stupid fur.

Lance eyed him and smirked slightly. "You don't count."

"Hmph."

"I'm right."

"But fur."

Daniel looked between them and decided not to say anything. Dogs were fine, but reptiles were better. And saying that might lead to mentioning Bokar, and that would lead to Lance flipping out, and it would be a whole thing, and the mood in the cell was already more than awkward enough.

Rolling his eyes, Jace delivered mats to Vince and Sven, along with a pillow for Sven; Vince had already gratefully accepted the one from Daniel. "I think we just have questions about what you know about dogs with bad asses, caralho… but you know what? I for one don't want the answers."

"How did we end up down this rabbit hole?" Cam murmured; Pidge and Vince both fielded that one at the same time.

"We seem to end up down a lot of rabbit holes."

"Same way we always do."

"Explorer Team," Keith agreed, shaking his head. "Says it all."

"Better down the rabbit hole than some of the other options." Jace started another round of the cell, because fuck it, he was the medic and he'd hover if he wanted to. Pidge's bandages were already soaked with blood, Keith's ill-advised sling needed some adjustment, and Vince needed to relax. Sven actually was relaxing, as much as was really possible in this situation… as he so often did anymore, he found his team's random nonsense oddly comforting. Stopping to sit by the Viking, Jace exhaled slowly and shook his head. "We're coming too fucking close here."

That was for sure. Lance looked in the direction of their stash, remembering what it had looked like before the guard and his rare honors showed up. "Two more fights, you think? Maybe three?"

"Two or three if we can keep the rate up," Hunk agreed. "Didn't get a ton after this one, but at least we brought back the most important stuff, yeah?"

"Can't argue with that."

"Ugh." The prospect of two or three more of these fights was enough to give Daniel a throbbing headache; he tried banging his head against the wall to ease the pain. "This is never ending! And the fights just keep getting harder!" So much running.

"Porra—fallen angel, we've already got two probable concussions in here, stop that."

"Yeah, give the wall a break, kid."

"Daniel's right." Keith was careful not to say so until he'd stopped banging his head against the wall. No sense encouraging that behavior—though if he endorsed it that would guarantee Daniel never did it again. He put that aside. "We were outnumbered and we took too many injuries."

"And it's not likely to stop getting harder, kir sa tye? We have to be ready."

Their gunner shot Pidge a glare. "And how exactly would you suggest we get more ready than we already are?"

"Not banging your head on solid rock is a start." The glare turned into a pout.

"Fine, no more brain abuse. You guys smack my head enough anyway."

Keith decided he was just going to not address any of that. It was safer. "It seems like there must be some sort of… step system? Winners fight winners of a different fight?"

"Like a tournament?"

"Wonder if there's a bracket."

"Yeah, sure. March Sadness."

"It does seem to make sense…" Cam sighed, wishing he had something more useful to say. He could've told them all about Fourth Kingdom press gangs or Seventh Kingdom ransom privateers, but Ninth Kingdom gladiatorial arenas were not a subject that anyone had considered particularly important back at the Academy.

Daniel was back to glaring. "Who gives a shit how they choose who we fight? We keep getting more and more injured, the fights keep getting worse and worse, we're two or three more from getting out of here—"

"—We're trying to figure out the system we're stuck in." Lance walked over to him, though not too close. "To prepare for whatever comes next."

"And if it's only two or three more fights we're closer to the end than the start, yeah? That's gotta be worth somethin'." Hunk shrugged. "I just want a bracket, if we've gotta gladiate we should at least be able to bet on ourselves for the Final Four."

"How does knowing if it's a tournament help us prepare to get our asses kicked?"

"It means Pidge is right, too. They'll only keep getting harder…"

Well that was uplifting.

Flynn looked up, a small frown on his face. Something about this discussion, about the fight they'd just had, the extra time to recover… a realization hit. "It means that all the opposing teams are in the same condition we are."

The others shifted a little bit. "That's not a lie."

"…Tired. Worried. Injuries adding up."

"Those Drules we fought didn't seem all that worried."

"Oh yeah? The badass Crown Guard was off-balance enough to stab each other because some crazy fuck," Jace raised his hand, "tackled the dude between them. That's a lot of things, but it's not peak gladiatorial performance."

Daniel blinked. He didn't have an answer to that point.

"They probably don't think we're worried." Hunk frowned. "To hear Skeletor tell it, we're super badass too."

"…Skeletor?" Lance repeated, eyeing Hunk in confusion.

"It's his name."

"It's not," Sven murmured from his pillow. Lance decided to just set that aside.

"They believe everything they're selling us, kir sa tye?" Pidge shook his head. "That we're great warriors who should be honored to fight in their arena for their approval."

"They don't even get that our team name is a joke," Cam scoffed.

Daniel made a face. "I don't want anybody's approval…" He'd barely gotten the words out when he found himself looking over at Lance. Don't think about it, don't think about it… oh fuck, I'm thinking about it. He sighed.

"At least that princess isn't making us kill our opponents. I still wish I knew why." Keith sighed too. He knew they'd already had this discussion, watching the other gladiators, but it felt like there was something there he just… wanted, needed, to understand.

"Maybe she likes us," Jace suggested with a shrug. That sounded familiar.

"Maybe she hates us," Pidge countered; that was enough to get him a glare from Vince, though one he regretted immediately.

"Ow."

"Maybe she flips a coin," Hunk offered. "And uh… what's the line? Fate protects fools, little children, and Explorer Teams?"

"Which has a lot of overlap," Jace pointed out; Sven cracked a small smile. Hunk cracked a bigger one.

"Ain't wrong."

"She's been the only one to judge us, too…" Keith was still caught up on the original question, and Lance snorted.

"Now's really not the time for a crush, boss."

The commander stared at him; he shrugged. Cam grinned slightly. "He's got no chance anyway, she's supposed to marry the crown prince." Now Keith's jaw dropped and he whirled on Cam in shock.

Several of the others giggled.

"Bad fanboy."

"Good fanboy!"

"The best fanboy."

Daniel looked over at Jace, laughing. "Is this how you feel when Sven is an ass?"

"Fuck yeah it is!" The medic gave a huge grin.

Cam shook his head and tried to protest, for all the good it ever did him. "I'm not a fanboy…"

"Dude, some people get all dressed up and wave foam fingers and stuff, at sports, you learn swords and talk up how he's hitting on the princess." Hunk winked. "Embrace the fanboying!"

"Seriously. We've had this conversation like a dozen times, I'm not even gonna bother explaining it again."

Finally mustering a glare, Cam shot back, "And you're not a fanboy of Lance?"

"…Oh no."

"Enough, Cam."

"Oh fuck no you two don't, we've got two probable concussions in this cell."

Ignoring them all, Daniel took a deep breath and plastered his biggest, brightest smile on his face. "No, no. It's okay. I'm not mad." That didn't reassure anyone; Lance raised an eyebrow, and Cam stared at him in confusion—confusion that took on a tinge of resignation as he realized where this was inevitably about to go. Sure enough, still smiling, Daniel continued. "At least I'm not a kiss-ass who got shot trying to flirt."

"…And there it is." Lance shook his head, biting back more laughter.

"…Sandwich murderer," Cam shot back with a sigh.

"You've both got solid points."

Flynn looked between them and shook his head slightly. "Look, they gave us extra time to rest. Shouldn't we maybe… rest?" He looked between Vince and Sven, worried. "Or at least shut up so the injured can rest?" Daniel wasn't listening, as usual.

"Dude, that's not even an insult, I'm proud of that. Toast is way better than his sandwiches."

Jace glared. "Does this really seem like the appropriate place to piss off the medic, kid? Anyway, chief's right. Everyone shut up and grab a bed." He poked the mat nearest him. "They're about like what we had in the infantry, you'll be fine."

All that got him was ganged up on; Daniel and Cam both grinned. "Doesn't matter how pissed you are, you still bandage us up."

"Yeah, Doc is the real angel on this team. When we get out of here we need to get him a halo and a little harp."

"…Please, yes." The medic buried his head under a pillow. "Give me a harp so I can strangle you with the fucking strings."

The whole group burst into laughter, which Sven and Vince immediately regretted. And for a few moments, everything felt almost normal.

*****

Finally home… about as home as a half-ruined castle could get, anyway. There was still the scramble to see exactly what the Drules had done to the place. Some places had actually been fixed up, with the governor claiming it for himself. Many more had not. There was much damage to repair and many possible traps to clear, but for now, Allura had a spot she could hold all to herself and it was more home than the shelter tunnels had ever been. A small room, a threadbare bed, a window facing the north where she could see the Thunder Ridge in the distance.

Closing her eyes, she could see in her mind what was hidden there… Black Lion, lying asleep in his den. It may have been wishing, but she felt a slight huff as she envisioned him, the sound of a sleeping creature being made to wake and perhaps roll over.

Looking first to make sure she was alone, she spoke softly. "Oh, Lion of Storms… I hope that our reclaiming the castle is leading you closer to your reawakening."

A grunt rippled within her mind, like a distant peal of thunder. "I fear, royal cub… it is not."

Closing her eyes while leaning her head against the window, the princess nodded her understanding. "So, best to gather supplies and recover anything of value. Brace for the inevitable strike back from Zarkon."

"Do not lose hope…" The lion sighed heavily. "Perhaps with what has been removed, something will reveal itself. An opening… or what is needed… yet requires a chance to be found."

Allura pondered this. She was painfully aware that they had suffered greatly in reclaiming the castle. Casualties had been high. It couldn't only have been to stall, to go out in one last blaze of glory, had it? No. They still had a chance to survive, and she had to believe they were buying time to make it reality. Nipping her lip in her own frustration, she murmured, "I can only hope that such answers can be found in time."

"Your actions are still sound… let not your youth break… your focus."

The princess sighed as she heard the rumble of Black Lion drifting once more to sleep. Taking a deep breath, she went back to her father’s notes. The lion's own words were not much less cryptic than the ancient sources he'd been collecting. But if she could find more, maybe even bring it to the lion, she might find something her father might have overlooked. Again, a pressing need for time that she barely had…

A warning chirp from one of the space mice told of someone approaching her room. Stashing her notes away, she readied herself for a meeting with her council. There would be updates and planning to do, to consolidate their position. Most importantly of all, making sure there would be eyes on the sky for anything. They'd come so far…

They wouldn't fail now.