(On the Hunt) Chapter 42

Pride: On the Hunt

Chapter 42

Glory and Blood

Today's festivities were beginning a little bit later than usual; there were, to be blunt, fewer gladiators to watch fight. But the battles among the strongest would be that much more spectacular. And there was a particular treat on the schedule today…

As Lotor and Romelle arrived to the royal box, Zarkon paused, a frown crossing his face. The princess was dressed as he hadn't seen her in quite some time: the gauzy whisper-thin garments the prince usually preferred for his slaves. Motioning his son over as Romelle quietly took her seat got him a resentful look; he knew where this was going.

"Lotor, what are you doing."

"Today is a special occasion! I thought it was best to have her dressed to reflect the—"

"—I know that not even you are stupid enough to be trying to convince me that formal slave attire is appropriate for your consort at one of the most important gladiatorial battles of the season!"

Lotor sulked. "Father, do you trust me or not?"

"Absolutely not." His eyes narrowed. "You give me little enough reason to."

"I believe my a'kuri is my business!"

…That, unfortunately, was true. By tradition and law it was not Zarkon's right to interfere—much—with how Lotor handled his courtship. Up until now, it had seemed to be going surprisingly well. He'd had the nerve to hope that might last. Why, in the name of Kus'da and all his Domains, had he thought that could possibly last?

Sighing, he waved his son away and took his seat. There was nothing he could do about it right now… but clearly he needed to pay more careful attention for awhile.

*****

From the moment Skalor arrived, everything seemed wrong.

"Gladiators. The time is come."

"…That's weird." Daniel muttered it even before turning to the door, where their guard had bowed deeply in greeting. The others were behind him as usual, heavily armed as usual, but looking somewhere between eager and reverent. "That's weirder."

"What's with the bowing?"

"Uh, can we say no?"

Skalor looked puzzled at their responses, then smiled. "The arena master has deemed you fit for the ultimate honor, and far earlier than most would even be considered. Steel yourselves, great warriors."

"Oh, that can't be good," Cam muttered.

"Great honor my ass," Daniel agreed. Anything the Drules considered an honor was something he was positive he didn't want.

"Uh… Skeletor, isn't it?" The hair on the back of Lance's neck was standing up, and he exchanged nervous looks with Flynn. "Can we get a hint about this great honor?"

The guard just shook his head. "I cannot give you any aid. Come, you will soon learn."

Keith took a deep breath. "Let's get this over with." What choice did they have?

"Never thought achievement would upset me this much," Vince muttered as they filed out of the cell. Sven and Hunk nodded in fervent agreement.

"No kiddin'."

"Boss, any guesses on this?" Lance murmured. He wasn't sure he wanted guesses, exactly, but he needed to fill the silence.

"None." As they entered the armory they could already hear the roars of the crowd from beyond the gate. "Sounds like they're enjoying the thought of it though, whatever it is." His mind was on the slave executions again. Surely they wouldn't…

Most of the team grabbed their usual weapons, or thereabouts—Daniel opted for a long dagger rather than a sword this time, it seemed better for quick strikes. Flynn found a different but similar polearm, one with a little more flex. And Sven finally found an axe. He'd have been grinning ear to ear at that small victory, in any other circumstance… but with the creepy feeling that had fallen over them, all he could manage was a brief, satisfied smirk before swallowing back a new flood of nerves.

Jace joined him by the door, muttering something in Portuguese that he probably didn't want translated. "Nothing's going down on my fucking watch," he growled at the Viking's questioning look, and he almost sounded like he believed it.

Sven lightly punched his shoulder. "We'll be okay." He almost sounded like he believed that, too.

Gathering at the gate, the team tried their best to work off the nervous energy, though everything felt more intense. "Are they louder than usual out there?"

"Seems like it."

"We got this."

"Come out alive, right?"

"We've come through so far…"

"Gladiators." They all jumped at the interjection from Skalor, who saluted as the gate began to rise. "Glory and fortune to you."

It seemed like that encouragement could have been a bit more… encouraging. But the gate was lifting and if none of them wanted very badly to move, they wanted even less to stay here where everything felt so damned creepy.

Walking out into the arena, they looked at the opposing gate, half expecting to see slaves and half expecting to see maybe a whole horde of Drules. Or maybe the Legend-Killers they'd seen that other time. Or really, just about anything but what they actually saw: nothing. The opposing gate was closed.

"Komora…?"

"I'm fine with fighting nothing."

"I increasingly don't like this at all."

The announcer's voice began to boom excitedly over the stadium, and Keith motioned for the others to fall in together. "Cam, what are they saying?"

"We're the final battle of the day." He frowned. "We're still the 'mighty Earthling pirates', obviously. Something about standing undefeated and nearly unscathed—I don't think that's what that word means—I mean, it's not the one I'd use? But anyway, no other gladiators can stand before our skill." It felt like that should have been more encouraging too. "Only one possible challenge remains for these greatest of warriors…"

"Never not-liked compliments like this before," Lance said quietly.

Rusty hinges and pulleys screeched, drawing their attention off to the right. There was another door there, quite a bit larger and heavier than the armory gates, and as it rose they could see movement within.

Something charged from the gate. Something huge—it was the size of a large horse, though it skittered on its four legs as if it would be just as comfortable on two. As it broke into the light it rose up, roaring an apparent salute to the royal box; the crowd burst into gasps, cheers, and even a few screams.

"What the fuck?"

"You've got to be motherfucking shitting me."

"Holy fuckin' fuzzmuffins…"

Even Vince found a whispered "shit" escaping him, and he really couldn't bring himself to care.

"What—what—what even is that thing?" Lance demanded. It was covered in spikes, spikes everywhere, though the most prominent were a ridge that ran down its back and muscular tail. Beneath the spikes its skin was scaley and dull silver-gray, like iron plates. The overall build was vaguely reptilian, though trying to associate it with any Earth creature seemed a little silly. It was, purely and simply, a monster.

The announcer was still talking, and Cam tried to get his wits back enough to translate. "They're calling it some… occult robot beast?"

"Robot? Looks all beast to me."

"A robeast?" Pidge whispered, looking back at the creature with more confusion than fear. Or maybe, for Pidge, the two feelings weren't all that different.

Vince looked at him. "You know what it is?"

"Only rumors about the Ninth using cybernetic monsters… on the battlefield. Nothing like this."

"This thing has a combat history," Cam announced, then swallowed. "…And it's not encouraging. I'm officially terrified now. Is that okay?"

Lance nodded, his eyes still on the monstrosity. "It's officially okay, Cam."

Nobody said it aloud, but the whole team's thoughts were tracking in a similar direction. They'd been worried about exactly the wrong kind of one-sided fight.

"…At least there's only one of it, yeah?" Hunk clutched his mace a little tighter, and his tone wasn't exactly full of confidence. Vince still nodded; he was all for going with that. Before anyone could respond verbally, though, the announcer had called for them to begin.

Well, hell.

"Die in glory?" Cam muttered; the announcer's parting line had been a little different than usual. "Fuck that."

"Die in…" Daniel shook his head. "I don't wanna die at all!"

"There will be no dying," Lance snapped, then turned to their commander. "Keith, game plan?"

For the first time in an arena combat, their enemy did not charge them. The robeast had dropped back to all fours, crawling forward a few steps and growling a challenge. It started to circle, hissing and snarling, its eyes roving over each of them in turn.

Was it sizing them up, the way they were it? Was this thing intelligent, too?

"Giant donut dude's right," Jace said quietly, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself than anyone else. "There's only one of it." There'd only been one Galra that time, too, but he'd bet they would at least be able to hit this thing better. Though he was wishing he'd grabbed an actual weapon now… he'd barely even had the thought when Lance passed him a spare knife, and he nodded a silent thanks.

Keith nodded, too. Hunk's point was a good one, and perhaps the only advantage they had. "Let's see what this thing has. We swarm it, wear it down as best we can, find any weaknesses and exploit them." A simple strategy, but those were often the best.

"Wear that down?" Vince repeated, though it wasn't as though he had any better ideas.

Pidge frowned. "Isn't there some human platitude about how the bigger they are, the harder they fall?"

"Y'know," Hunk gave him a little bit of a pout, "some of us don't like that expression."

"It's bigger than you."

He said nothing more, moving up beside Keith, who'd started advancing. Slowly—gauging the monster's reaction. It stopped circling and drew up, hissing louder, lashing its tail. They could hear the crowd volume increasing in anticipation. That, oddly, offered a sick sort of encouragement. If they were so eager, did they think the gladiators had a chance?

Did they have a chance?

"Fan out," Keith ordered.

"Fan out," Daniel mimicked under his breath, more to make himself feel better than out of any objection to the order. The team spread out just a bit, enough to not present a clustered target to the robeast, starting to move faster as the charge took form.

It countered the charge, driving in directly at Keith in the center of the line, and all at once the tentative standoff dissolved into chaos.

"Move it!"

Flynn broke left, while Lance broke right. Both of them took jabs as they passed, and both were rewarded with sharp vibrations running up their arms as their blades screeched along metallic scales. "Faex."

"Is that its skin or is it armor?"

"Yes, sir," Pidge volunteered, throwing a knife at what looked like an exposed armor seam. It struck clean, lodging between the plates, but didn't seem to cause the robeast any actual distress.

Keith had taken the initial brunt of the monster's attack as the others split up to surround it, fending off strikes from its clawed fists with his sword as best he could. Blocking directly was useless—it was too damn strong, he could feel it even as he deflected and dodged. And he wasn't really doing a great job of keeping its attention. Or more to the point, keeping its attention was only so much help. Anyone else who took a shot was still greeted with a slash from one of its claws, or the tail, and even the blows that landed largely skittered off harmlessly. Cam had managed to cut off a spine, but the thing didn't even seem to notice. Plenty more where that came from.

"It's got to have a weak spot somewhere! Find it!"

Lance took a stab—literally—and got his sword stuck in the robeast's armored hide. Yanking with all his might, he managed to get it free and dodge the counterstrike; hopefully he'd at least loosened something. "All we're doing is poking it and pissing it off!"

"Fuck that, man, it's pissing me off." Jace dropped into a roll and slashed at one of the monster's kneecaps, aiming for a seam and feeling the armor plate shudder. It didn't dislodge, though, and before he could try to force the breach the robeast kicked him away.

Hunk's eyes narrowed. Blades were only doing so much, clearly. Let's see how it likes this. Breaking into a run, he came around the monster's back as it slashed in the other direction. "Hey, big-ass beastie, meet big-ass mace!" Leaping to get every last bit of momentum he could, he clunked the beast right on the base of the tail.

Immediately it lashed out, several spines tearing long cuts into his arm, but the roar it gave was definitely one of pain.

"That's a start—"

As if to punish the presumption of even a moment's optimism, the monster drew its limbs in, dropping into a crouch and wrapping its tail around itself. Dozens of the spines that covered its body seemed to extend, and Keith yelled without fully knowing what he expected to happen.

"Duck!"

An instant later, spikes flew everywhere.

"Mijtairra…!"

"Dang it!"

"Holy fucking shit!"

Even with the instinctive warning, hardly anyone made it through the flurry wholly unscathed. Most were grazes, at least—Lance had been winged along the side of the head, Flynn in the ribs, a few cases of torn clothing. That was nothing new by now.

New was the nearly foot-long spine now embedded in Hunk's left shoulder. He reached for it, then remembered first aid and lowered his hand. Don't remove stabs if you don't have to, they'll just bleed everywhere and nobody needs that. Especially not in the middle of, well, this.

"Regroup!" Keith ordered, jumping up and running at the robeast again. But then the robeast, too, jumped.

High.

"What the fuck?" Lance demanded, skidding to a halt as the massive creature vaulted into the air. A second wave of spikes erupted, this time raining down over the arena floor.

"You fucking sure grouping should be a thing?" Jace demanded, rolling out of the way and just barely managing not to be skewered. Next to him, Sven got clipped in the arm and hissed something that probably wasn't profanity.

Getting back on his own feet, Lance's eyes immediately went to Daniel, making sure he hadn't wound up with any spines sticking out of him. He got a slightly reassuring wave; it would've been more reassuring if it hadn't been given through a large hole in his hoodie. Around him the others were recovering with varying degrees of quickness, watching the robeast land by the far wall of the arena and snarl a new challenge.

Keith's eyes narrowed. "We've got to come up with something better to take that thing down."

"How?" Lance pointed out. "It's made out of metal and shoots fucking spike fireworks!"

Cam took a step towards the monster, feeling ice run down his spine. Keith was right, they needed a better plan. Lance was also right, the thing had shown nothing in the way of weakness… and it was starting to lope forward, spines bristling. It seemed designed specifically to prevent them from having time to think…

"…I'll distract it," he said softly, tightening his grip on his sword. "Buy us some time."

Every single jaw around him dropped. "What."

"What?"

"You'll what?!" Daniel's yell drowned the others out. "This is not the time for dumbassery!"

Cam looked back at him and shook his head slightly. "I owe you one, remember? I'm paying it." He turned his attention to Keith. This was it. This was what he could do for his team, to live up to the legacy he'd been charged with and the commander he'd so desperately wanted to learn from. To prove he wasn't just some fanboy wannabe. He had learned. "Duty and honor… right, sir? Wish me luck."

"Cameron, no!"

For the first time, Cam outright ignored an order from Keith. And he sprinted forward.

"You don't owe me shit!" Daniel yelled after him, trying to follow; Lance grabbed him. Hunk tried to run forward too, only to have Pidge of all people shove him back—he'd been off-balance enough from running with a giant mace and a spike in his shoulder that even the ninja could bring him to a halt.

Keith had started to move up too, with Flynn on his heels, but Pidge hadn't stopped with Hunk. "Sir, we have to do as he said!" There was a tinge of ferocity in his voice that might have been adjacent to panic. "We can't fight it like this, if we're going to help him we have to use this time he's buying us!"

"Let me go!" Daniel was snarling at Lance, trying to pull free. When the hell had he gotten so strong?

"No. Listen to the ninja." Lance couldn't even bring himself to speak the rest. 'Cause the ninja's not wrong.

Staring down at Pidge, for a split second, Keith froze. It felt like he was being ripped apart—how was he here, how was he having to make this decision? No. Trust Cam's training, you've taught him everything you could. Trust your team. "…You're right." Closing his eyes, trying to calm his breathing, he forced himself to think.

Flynn had stopped, but his eyes were still on Cam, who'd reached the monster by now. He was dancing around it, striking and dodging, not seeming to do any real damage but putting on a remarkable display of swordsmanship nonetheless. There were gasps in the crowd, penetrating even the fog of the battle. But the robeast only needed one blow—how long could he hold out? "We can't let it focus on any one of us for too long," he said slowly, feeling his way. "And we can't group up."

The hair on the back of Lance's neck was standing up again. "Flynn's right."

"Then we what?" Jace had Sven's viselike grip on his arm, or else he'd have been right on Cam's tail as well. "Fucking split up? Against that?"

"…Hit and run," Pidge said softly. "It can punish us if we stay together, and it's more mobile than we are."

Keith nodded. "Split into teams. Don't give it anywhere clear to land. Random attacks. We take it down piece by piece if we have to."

"Beat it at its own game."

"It's our best plan."

"There's still only one of it. Let's do it."

Cam was still holding his own against the monster, to his own surprise and the apparent delight of the crowd. A dozen spines littered the ground in a trail from where he'd first engaged; cutting them off really didn't seem to have bothered the beast at all, but the moral victory made him feel better. He'd taken a few grazings in return, of course. Droplets of blood had accompanied the trail of spines. But he was doing it, he was holding out, and he was gaining hope with every slash and dodge…

Suddenly the robeast screeched and lunged for him, a completely different tactic than anything it had done yet. He had a feeling of weightlessness—flying through the air, slamming hard to the ground, the wind knocked out of him as a focused flurry of spikes sailed above. He heard cursing from behind him and twisted, struggling to get a view of what was happening.

The team had started to break out of their huddle, and it seemed that had gotten the robeast's attention. Its first volley of spikes—how many of the damn things did it have?—had forced them back together, and he could see it gearing up for a second, and half the team was on the ground from dodging, and he could see immediately what was going to happen…

Unless…

Gathering every bit of strength he had left, dropping his sword, he pushed himself off the arena floor. "Hey… you stupid… son of a bitch…" Whirling around, eyes blazing, he pulled himself up straight. "You weren't done with me yet!"

As he screamed it, the next barrage of spikes slammed into his chest. And for a moment—just for a moment—Cam knew he'd been victorious.

*****

For a moment—just for a moment—the whole arena seemed to freeze.

"No."

"Cevete…"

"Shit!"

It was all they had time for. Then the robeast sprang into the air again, as if emboldened by its success. As the next wave of spines rained down they scattered, and this time with a purpose.

Lance yanked Daniel out of the path of the spikes, swearing as his own arms took several stings. "Hit and run," he growled, more to focus on the words than anything. He could feel Daniel shaking—could see the rage in his eyes, no longer remotely conflicted about killing—and he felt it churning in his own chest. This thing was going to die, no matter what the hell it took. They charged.

Keith was already there, trading blows and snarling some particularly vile curses in Japanese. As they moved in on the monster he ducked away—it tried to spin on the new threats, and managed to get a couple of swats in, but they were nearly superficial in comparison. Lance went straight for the spot his sword had stuck in before, giving it another hard jab, while Daniel poured all his momentum into a stab that slipped right into a seam in the armor.

"Zalet take you," Pidge whispered as he drew himself back up from dodging the spikes. He wasn't entirely certain whether he was saying it to Cam or the robeast—that particular invocation could be either a blessing or a curse—and he wasn't stopping to think about it as he drew back and threw a knife. Flynn joined him, still gripping his spear so tight he could feel the splinters in his palms. Much as he wanted to run in immediately as well, they had to stick to the plan.

Cam had died for the plan. They owed him that, at the very least.

Still staring at the body, Vince felt a cold fist of shock clenching in his stomach. He couldn't wrap his head around what had just happened, but there was no time to try to sort it out. So he moved to try to support Hunk, who gave him a nod. "I've gotcha covered." Big-ass mace was harder to use with a spike in his shoulder, for sure, but he was getting by the best he could.

Sven and Jace cut in as Lance and Daniel got clear, chipping away at more armor. Sven had gone deadly cold; Jace was radiating searing fury. They split up as they retreated, much as the pair before them had. Keep moving, keep mixing it up. Don't let this thing focus.

Now it was Flynn and Pidge's turn, with the robeast's back to them. Both drove in at where Hunk had hit earlier—several of the armor plates over the base of its tail looked to have been partially crushed by that first hammer blow. Flynn stabbed at the top of the damaged area, his spear slipping through to pierce deep; it whirled with a roar and whipped around to strike him in return, but he was already gone. Pidge followed up by driving a knife in lower and leaving it there. Hopefully it would at least slow that tail down some.

It was as much abuse as the monster was willing to take. With Hunk and Vince breaking in, it jumped again, forcing the team to scatter against a new flurry of spikes—was it easier this time? Was the thing running out of spines, or were they just getting better at dodging as the battle wore on?

"Oh, hell."

"Mother of…"

Definitely not running out of spines. As the second wave came down the beast landed in what had been a free patch of arena floor. Now, though, Keith and Sven were there to greet it. It picked Keith as its primary target, lashing at Sven with its tail at the same time. The commander feinted, giving ground; the navigator took a swat in the arm but retaliated with an axe to the monster's hip, chipping a new armor plate away.

Despite its inability to get clear, the robeast seemed to be adapting quickly—it was retreating to try to keep them all in sight, firing a couple more focused spike volleys, though they weren't giving it time to concentrate much on those. Even Vince had gotten a couple of solid jabs in. But as the monster adjusted to their new tactics it was fending them off more easily, and they had little choice but to fade if it deflected.

What were they accomplishing, even? Wearing themselves out? Prolonging the inevitable? Even vengeful adrenaline could only get them so far…

As the others continued trading off, Pidge and Daniel exchanged nods across the arena. They were the hit and run specialists here. Maybe what this fight needed was a little extra chaos from the good guys.

Falling out of the team's rhythm they dropped into an attack pattern of their own, Pidge circling the battlefield to the left, Daniel mirroring him to the right. The others were still trading blows; Keith had just bounced off as they came in range and both broke into sprints.

Arriving a few seconds ahead of their gunner, Pidge veered and stabbed into the robeast's ribs. He didn't hit the armor seam he'd been aiming for as cleanly as he hoped, but managed to leave the knife stuck in again; this thing was starting to look like a pincushion in more ways than one. It snapped its tail at the ninja in return, firing a short spike burst that scattered over the ground just behind him.

That had not been the counter move Daniel had expected, and by the time he realized the monster was out of position he couldn't really adjust his own attack. So he committed. A piece of armor on its other side, just beneath its arm, hung at a slightly off angle. Eyes narrowed, he lunged and stabbed—the metallic plate dislodged entirely, clattering to the ground.

He'd been set to hit the thing more from behind. But its stopping to fire after Pidge had messed that all up, putting it in perfect position to counter. This time it was not a few superficial slashes. Roaring in anger it slammed its arm down on Daniel's, then threw the annoying little human across the arena.

Screaming in pain, he tried to catch himself as he tumbled across the floor. What he caught was a good look at his arm, the blood, the bone sticking out… oh, that's…

A wave of shock and nausea hit him, and for a minute his surroundings just blurred into nothing.

"Daniel!"

Lance started to rush for him, panic surging, only to have Jace raise an arm and cut him off. "I've got him. You keep that thing busy somewhere else." He darted forward, not entirely sure what he was going to be able to do—in the middle of a damn gladiatorial arena, and all—but fuck if he was going to just stand by and watch another of the kids die.

We're all gonna die here.

He shook it off. No time.

Daniel was still breathing, though obviously stunned. His wrist was bent at an angle wrists didn't properly bend at, and he could see bone poking through the blood, but it looked like the damage was limited to the limb. Good, that was something. Jace ripped a strip of fabric from his shirt. He couldn't deal with it properly right now, but at least he could stop the bleeding until—

"Shit!"

Spikes whistled overhead. Their compromised position had not escaped the robeast's attention. He heard the impact, even felt it in the ground, as the monster landed at his back.

Porra.

There was a moment of perfect clarity, where the whole world seemed to be moving in slow motion. He could have gotten up. He could've run. He could've left a patient—a teammate—there in the dirt.

Fuck that.

"Brace yourself, kid," he growled, leaning over him. "This is gonna suck." Up ahead he could see the others reacting to the threat, Sven and Hunk charging back to try to intervene. Maybe they'd make it in time. Maybe…

A shadow fell over them.

No time.

Jace gritted his teeth, bracing, and a sharp pain ripped its way down his spine.

For a second, it stopped hurting. Then it stopped mattering.

*****

Hunk had been the closest.

He didn't stop as the robeast slammed its fists down. Until he was informed otherwise he just had to assume they were both still alive—as unlikely as that seemed. Jumping up, he damn near tackled the monster, barreling into its chest as it reared back for an insurance blow. It was pretty much the only place this awful thing wasn't covered in spikes, though he'd still just thrown himself at the rough equivalent of an iron wall and it still hurt like hell. Didn't matter. He'd driven it back a few steps. Before it could recover he regained his feet and took a massive swing with his mace, forcing it back further.

The spike in his shoulder dislodged, and blood began to pour from the wound, but the monster's attention was now thoroughly redirected. Keith raced in to relieve him, snarling in rage, slashing at any damaged bit of armor he could see.

Both Lance and Sven had tried to run in and help the wounded, but Lance was driven back by a flurry of spikes. He cursed, but saw Sven get there and grab Daniel's hoodie, pulling them both well clear of the beast. He had a glimmer of hope…

Then he saw the look on Sven's face, and that hope gave way to a new surge of fury. He charged to pick up where Keith had left off, and this time he punched straight through with a stab that drew both sparks and blood.

"Daniel." He was alive. Sven could tell he was alive because of how bad he was shaking, gasping for breath, eyes wide and unfocused but far from dead. "Daniel listen to me, you have to get up. You have to keep moving and stay out of the way." Jace… Jace was another story, but he couldn't think about that or he would be useless. Right now he just had to keep this kid alive, to be sure the sacrifice wasn't wasted. And Daniel wasn't responding, so Sven grabbed his good arm and dragged him up off the floor. "You understand? Stay back and keep moving!"

Daniel understood, he just couldn't seem to form a response. It felt like he was moving through wet concrete, overwhelmed by pain and panic. Stay back. Keep moving. Stay alive. Finally he managed a nod.

Satisfied with that, Sven took off towards the robeast again, twirling his axe with determined fury in his eyes.

Recovery wasn't happening very quickly for others, either. Vince felt sick, and only the fear of staying still for too long was saving him from retching. Keith was covered in cuts by now, but he could barely even feel them. They were losing too many. One had been too many. Flynn had gone numb in a whole different sense, temporarily blind to anything but the monster, falling into a singular focus to avoid thinking of anything else. Lance scrambled back with a slice in his stomach, cursing under his breath, catching sight of Daniel standing and cursing even more at the relief that rushed through him.

Too early for any of that.

Pidge had ended up isolated on one side of the field, and as the others re-engaged he let the last of his throwing knives fly. He'd been going for the eyes, but the robeast didn't cooperate; it turned to toss Sven aside and the knife rang off its armored cheek. Salys sa kye. Looking around he caught sight of a knife he'd thrown earlier and ran to get it. Much as he wanted to go stab this thing up close and personal, repeatedly, they still had to fight with some semblance of strategy too.

What they were really fighting with was anger. Vengeance. This monster was built for fear—splitting them up, keeping them off balance, eliminating their advantage from numbers and exploiting any momentary weakness. But now fury was beginning to overwhelm that fear. They hadn't lost all sense of caution, but their attacks were coming faster, crashing relentlessly over the robeast as it fought back with its own increasing desperation.

And when this monster got desperate, it moved.

An eruption of spikes heralded another jump, and Pidge saw the shadow cross over him as he sidestepped. He was the only obstacle on this side of the field. Determined to punish the beast for thinking that made him the safest target, he crouched and sprang, ripping a chunk of armor from its chest and leaving that knife in too. As the beast swung its tail to counter, he kicked off hard, trying more to get clear than cause further damage.

Not fast enough. Not quite. The spiked tail slashed him across the back, leaving several new cuts and tearing the bandages from the deep slash over his shoulder blade. He went down hard, sensed it moving to follow up, and threw himself into a roll to get some distance.

Bad idea. Or at the least, suboptimal idea. It took all he had not to scream as salt and sawdust drove into the exposed wound, and he stumbled clumsily back to his feet. It was still behind him, he'd gotten some separation, but his injury was slowing him down.

The ninja's predicament broke through Flynn's tunnel vision. He'd never seen Pidge move so gracelessly, and the robeast was gaining on him fast. It lunged for him, just barely missing, its fist slamming into the dirt in his heels.

No you fucking don't. Eyes narrowing, Flynn charged in, raising his spear with both hands to block the next strike rather than trying to land a stab. All he needed was a moment…

The weapon shattered. And the monster's blow continued as if it hadn't been impeded at all, the massive spiked fist slamming squarely into his chest.

"Agh!"

Hearing the yell, Pidge whirled to see Flynn spun to the ground, slivers of the broken spear surrounding him and blood gushing from his chest.

"Flynn!"

He was struggling to rise, fighting for breath. Broken ribs. Several. He could feel the motion in his chest, the weakness as he scrambled for purchase in the dirt. Looking up he saw Pidge, momentarily frozen.

Their eyes locked.

Flynn nodded once. Accepting.

Pidge sprinted forward. Refusing.

The shattered fragments of Flynn's spear were strewn over a large patch of the arena floor, bits of polished wood glinting in the light. Pidge crouched without breaking his stride, picking up the two closest to him, vaulting into the air as the monster raised its arm for another blow.

They both struck at the same moment. The beast's arm fell, driving Flynn into the dirt, drawing a ragged gasp and another explosion of blood. Pidge hit the apex of his jump and snapped his wrist, the slivers of wood flying true and piercing squarely into the monster's eyes.

Dropping to the ground, he barely noticed the beast rearing back and howling in pain. All he could see was Flynn, silent and motionless.

"Flynn!" Pidge knelt next to him, trying to ignore the blood, the stillness. Denying the reality. The monster was flailing blindly, they couldn't stay here, Flynn couldn't stay here. "We have to move!" Still no response. He grabbed his wrist with both hands, trying to drag him clear, an endeavor that was as hopeless as it was illogical.

It had been a mistake. He couldn't ignore that the wrist he was tugging on didn't have a pulse.

Mijtairra…

Pidge dropped his arm and looked up, going as silent and cold as the body beside him. It was the monster that had blood in its eyes, but Pidge's whole world had gone red.

*****

Halfway to being in range to intervene, Lance felt his legs simply cease to work. There was no mistaking it. Not with that much blood. Not with the look of venom on Pidge's face as the robeast flailed. He went to his knees, dropping his knife, forgetting for a moment how to even breathe. Instead of air he felt rage swelling in his lungs, rage he knew all too well, filling his veins with cold fury and driving him back to his feet. The knife had clattered away somewhere; he grabbed one of the spikes from the dirt instead, it looked sharper anyway.

No more.

Keith had been behind the monster; he hadn't been able to see precisely what had happened. But he felt the new ripple of shock that ran through the team, saw the spray of blood, and saw Pidge launching himself at the beast in a wild fury. He knew.

Blinded and reeling, the monster still seemed able to sense the presence of its enemies. Before Pidge could hit it jumped again, not even taking the time to cover itself with a barrage of spines, vaulting to the other side of the arena and landing with a roar of defiance.

Vince was there. He spun on the robeast as it lumbered towards him—blind and wounded but still a huge spiny monstrosity that could eviscerate him in a single blow if he let it. And he could have panicked. Maybe he should have panicked.

As his guts twisted in sorrow and horror, something else was taking hold.

"Vince, down!" Hunk was the closest, again. He was pointedly refusing to accept what had just happened—anything that had happened here—but he saw what was about to happen and hell no, this thing wasn't taking Vince too. He sprinted to intervene, trailing blood, but he wasn't going to be fast enough.

It didn't matter.

—The light was welling up, he could feel it inside of him, and as he dropped beneath the monster's flailing claws a lifetime of confusion crystallized into a single moment of certainty—

Vince dropped his spear. The robeast was close, so close, it was going to trip over him, until he stood up inside of its guard and reached his hands out.

—Iron beneath his fingertips, sparks beneath the monster's skin, he could feel the currents inside him and between them and he could see Cam's last encouraging grin before his eyes in his mind—

Hunk skidded to a halt as white light erupted between Vince and the monster, damn near dropping his mace. The beast shrieked in pain and what might even have been fear, rearing back.

—And he knew what to do, and everything was surging, and he could hear Jace cursing about not being able to make sense of it all, and it all made sense and he couldn't even tell him, and a new wave of energy arced forth—

Sven and Pidge had both been breaking in, but they froze too as the light flared. The robeast was making odd hissing and popping sounds, trying to retreat but seemingly pinned in place by the blinding electricity that had sunk deep into its skin.

—And if he could just find a little more strength, if he could just burn a little deeper into this beast, he could maybe repay Flynn for the patience he'd shown with the sparks, except Flynn was gone too, and a sob tore free of his throat as a final inferno erupted—

"Holy shit." Lance had stopped by Daniel, who was just watching wide-eyed, cradling his shattered arm and not fully processing what was happening. Not that what was happening was anything that could be processed.

—And it was over, and he collapsed again, gasping for breath as sparks danced in his blood, and he fell into an exhausted fog, hoping against hope it had been enough—

Keith stared in disbelief as the robeast fell back, screeching in pain, smoke curling from gaps between its scorched armor plates. Immediately it was scrambling back to its feet, slamming Vince aside, attempting a new spike barrage. But several of the spines crumbled to ash, and the others flew only a short distance before clattering uselessly to the arena floor.

He had no idea what the hell had just happened, but he knew they couldn't waste it. They wouldn't waste it.

"ATTACK IT! GO!"

Lance didn't need to be told twice. He sprinted forward, sighting in on a patch of the robeast's exposed skin, the place Daniel had earlier torn the armor from. Daniel himself wasn't going anywhere; a weaponless Pidge moved up to cover him. They watched as the pilot cut in at a sharp angle, dodging a sluggish blow and driving the spine he was holding deep into the monster's flesh.

No fucking more!

Sven had come in from the other side, sighting in on the same weak spot as Lance, and his teammate's strike cleared the way. The robeast seemed to sense him coming as well, trying to lash out against him with its tail. That blow was sluggish too—eyes flashing, Sven brought up his arm and blocked it. Pain shot through his forearm, and he was going to have a bad bruise, but it was nothing compared to the strength the monster had shown earlier. It wasn't enough to stop him.

Leaping up and twisting around for extra leverage, he brought his axe down squarely on the spike Lance had embedded in the beast's side. It drove in deeper, and he heard what might have been a small internal explosion. Then the axe split the spike entirely and cut deep into its skin, ripping a hole that belched smoke and ozone.

Now it reared back in pure desperation, lashing out in every direction with its weakened limbs. And Keith charged in, eyes ablaze, tossing one sword aside and gripping the other with all his strength. The robeast loomed over him, screaming. Good. He jumped, landing on one armored kneecap, leaping up again with all his strength as the robeast gave its last howl.

Its last howl, because Keith slammed his sword into its open mouth, driving the blade up. Through the roof of its mouth. Through the brain, drawing a sharp crackle of electrical shorts as it ripped through the cybernetic synapses. Through even the skull, piercing an armor seam, the tip of the sword emerging into the light.

Leaving the blade there, Keith kicked off and landed hard on the arena floor. And suddenly, everything was deathly silent.

*****

The beast seemed to take a very long time to fall.

Romelle was clutching Lotor's arm. She didn't want to be clutching his arm, but he was there and she was terrified and her reflexes had betrayed her—and he seemed too shocked himself to even throw her off. Only a few moments ago she'd been certain she was going to watch the Earthlings all die. A strange irony for those she favored, given her own situation. And yet… suddenly the monster was collapsing, its huge form sinking almost gracefully to the floor of the arena. A few small electrical fires were visible through gaps in its armor, and a low mechanical whine echoed over them in the silence.

"They…"

"They actually did it."

"They defeated the Demonspine…!"

She heard the whispers around her, and within the crowd. The volume was rising. Her senses were coming back—she yanked her hands away from Lotor quickly, though he still didn't seem to have paid it any mind. The same spell that had fallen over the crowd seemed to have struck him, in fact; a few in the royal box were starting to stand, as were great swaths of the spectators beyond.

"Glory to the victors!" someone yelled—was it the announcer? Maybe the arena master? She wasn't certain. It had sounded more spontaneous than anything, but suddenly the crowd was seizing on it, the chant starting to spread through the arena. "Glory to the victors! Glory to the victors!"

The chants began to penetrate the fog the team was gripped in as well, though they had no idea what was being said and couldn't possibly have cared less. Keith had slowly crawled to his feet, looking around over the battlefield. Flynn, Jace… Cam… each body was like a new punch to the guts, but it was Cam his eyes finally settled on. He'd gone forward so willingly. For honor. For duty. For the team… and the team hadn't been able to save him. He dropped to his knees beside the body, reaching out and touching his shoulder. "Cam…" His voice was thick with tears he knew he couldn't indulge. "I'm sorry…"

Sven couldn't look. He knew already, why would he look? Yet he kept glancing at Jace's body despite himself, and the tears kept trying to force their way through. Pidge had gone back to Flynn as if to see if he was really still dead, as if there were any coming back from that. The cut on his back still hurt like hell, but it barely made it through the ice.

Not all the survivors were doing that much better. Hunk ignored the hole in his own shoulder in favor of running to Vince's side; he was breathing, but everything still seemed foggy as he stared at his wounded teammate. It slowly dawned on him that he was seeing blood. "You need…" He fell silent as he realized what he'd been about to say. He needed a doctor. There wasn't a doctor.

Lance had taken only one step towards Flynn before a small whimper of pain distracted him. Daniel. The kid was visibly fighting back sobs, and no question part of that was his injury, but the struggle to keep it together was increasing along with the volume of the crowd.

If there was anything the seven of them were all feeling as one, it was the desire to take those chants and shove them down the throats of every single Drule present. But they couldn't do that. They could hardly even move.

And then the gate was open, and Skalor was rushing towards them, shouting in excited Drakure. He'd probably never know how close he came to getting several pointy objects to the chest—it was only the sight of the medics behind him that kept Lance from lunging, and only Hunk grabbing his arm as he approached that stopped Pidge from doing the same.

Keith hadn't left Cam's side, and wouldn't until he was forced. But he lifted his head to glare up at the royal box. Nobody had come forward to judge the defeated. There was no need; the robeast was demonstrably dead. But as he kept his gaze focused there, King Zarkon himself stood. He approached the front of the box slowly, looking down over the victorious Earthlings, and raised his gaive'llar in a salute.

Watching them, Romelle stared at the leader, the one who'd paid her honor as she spared them the burden of executions. He did not show Zarkon any such respect. Why in the darkest hells would he? She couldn't catch his eye, and she wasn't sure what she could have offered even if she had. But a tear was trying to come to her eye regardless.

Zarkon kept his weapon raised, the crowd's chanting reaching a near fever pitch before he spoke. "Friends, subjects, and warriors, remember this day! We have all borne witness to a show of strength few are brave enough to even imagine. The blood of an occult beast stains the arena floor! To your feet! Honor the victors!"

What parts of the crowd hadn't already been on their feet obeyed in a moment, still chanting. Romelle felt herself pulled roughly from her seat, and leaned forward to look at the Earthlings better. They didn't look honored. They looked wounded, sick, sorrowful… and most of all, furious. But it felt like she was the only one who was seeing it. Or was she just the only one who cared?

"Gladiators, eternal fame and glory are yours. Go now. Take your well-earned rest. Know that future warriors will hear tales of this day for all time!"

The crowd continued chanting until the guards and the medics had, with some resistance, escorted the victorious gladiators from the floor. And Romelle found herself feeling violently ill all over again.

*****

In another circumstance, Keith might have pitied the medics.

They were only doing their job. Their duty. And they seemed dedicated to it, treating the gladiators as patients rather than slaves, administering painkillers that they certainly could have just skipped as they worked on the team's wounds. How much of that diligence was typical, and how much was because they were now honored slayers of an occult beast, they didn't know. Jace had never let the Drule medics work on them before.

Jace…

That was part of the reason the medics were working under a blistering collection of death glares. Part of why they'd been offered nothing but snarls as they tried to offer congratulations. Part of why they were clearly nervous, occasionally glancing longingly back at the door as they worked. And exactly one-third of why Keith didn't feel pity for them at all.

Even with the painkillers, Daniel was in nothing less than agony. He'd broken a lot of bones in his life, but he'd never had one where the bone actually poked out of the skin to say hi. What was it called… a compound fracture? They'd always sounded vaguely cool and badass.

This was not terribly badass and it definitely wasn't cool. It just hurt like fuck. As two of the medics worked on setting the bone, he bit harder and harder on his lip to keep from crying out. A few tears were leaking from his eyes anyway; if he tried really hard, he could tell himself they were only from the pain.

Lance was circling as the medics worked, glaring daggers and reminding himself punching one of them wouldn't help anything. Sven was alternating between scowling at the medic across from him—this one was patching Hunk's shoulder—and glancing over at Jace's jacket in the corner, still covering their escape supplies.

Escape. It felt almost quaint to think about escape right now.

Pidge had already been checked out, the wound on his back cleaned and re-bandaged. With an enormous amount of effort, he'd managed not to thank that medic by drawing his hidden shard knife and murdering her. He'd whispered the Baltan death mantras instead. Again. They hadn't made him feel any better any of the half-dozen times he'd tried it. Now he was just sitting by Vince in a vaguely protective posture; at no point had the order to look after him been rescinded, and that order was what he had to cling to right now.

The other engineer was staring blankly at his hands. It was gone now… that moment of perfect understanding when he'd unleashed the sparks and the light. Why? He was left hovering between trying to figure it out, and scolding himself for even thinking of it. It wasn't their biggest problem right now. But if only he knew how to harness whatever he'd done out there, maybe they wouldn't have…

Shaking his head violently, he forced that train of thought aside.

The medic working on Hunk finished his work, stitching up the wound and placing a bandage. "Thanks, blue dude," he muttered tonelessly; Lance shot him a look, and he shrugged. Which, under the circumstances, he really shouldn't have done. "Ow."

He got it. He should be angry. Angry at everything. But actually displaying anger took a level of investment he just didn't have right now. And maybe more to the point, if he let himself be angry, he had to accept what it was he was angry about… and he sure as hell wasn't there yet.

Daniel had just been trying to watch Lance; angry pacing was way better than whatever the medics were doing to his arm. But when they jostled him a little too much applying a new painkiller, he'd had it. "Will you please just hurry the fuck up?!"

Whether this group of medics understood Common wasn't clear, but the tone didn't leave a whole lot of room for interpretation. They jumped and redoubled whatever they were doing, and within a few more minutes they were leaving—really, fleeing—the cell.

Sighing, Lance stopped pacing and sat beside Daniel, wishing he had it in himself to offer an encouraging smile. But he didn't, and he couldn't find words, and finally as the kid leaned against him he just put an arm around him. Just focus on Daniel. Focus on Daniel, not… not…

He'd been focused on Daniel this whole time. He hadn't even entertained the thought of losing Flynn.

With the medics gone, Sven reached over and picked up Jace's jacket, then just stared at it. The rough camo fabric, the red crosses on the armbands, the—

"—Sir," Pidge said quietly, "don't move that. More guards might come."

Guards. Right. Their breakout stuff. Right. He understood the logic, but right now he just couldn't deal with logic. "Pidge…" His own voice was ragged. "Please fuck off."

The ninja's eyes narrowed, then widened, and he opened his mouth and shut it again before simply scooting over a little, between the door and their collection of wood and salt. "…Yessir."

"Thank you." Sven immediately wanted to apologize, but that took a level of energy he didn't have right now. So did acknowledging any of the stunned glances from the others. So he just went back to staring at the jacket, in some vague hope of accepting what had just happened.

Pulling off his own jacket—which had a lot of holes these days, but was still heavy leather—Lance covered the supplies up, then returned to Daniel. And everything was silent again.

Keith felt like he should say something, but what? All he could even say to himself was recriminations. Reminders that everyone had lost good friends, but they'd all been his responsibility. His people. His damn second… his team's medic… his self-appointed protege, for God's sake. He was so young. Hell, they were all… stop it! This wasn't helping anything, but he couldn't tear himself away from the thoughts.

Until the door opened again.

"Hail, gladiators!" Skalor sounded too damn happy as he bowed. Even reverent. A slave had come with him, carrying a tray full of shining gold goblets; they scurried into the room, set it down, and scurried back out just as quickly from the oppressive mood within. "I bring greetings and congratulations in the name of Lord Zarkon himself, and a gift. The finest Tyrusian blood wine, with his compliments."

Five people glared at him. Daniel didn't glare; he turned and buried his face against Lance instead, he didn't ever want to see another damn Drule if he could help it. Vince didn't glare; he was staring sullenly at the goblets, trying to figure out if he'd actually just heard the words blood wine and trying not to acknowledge the fact that there were ten goblets on the tray.

It was Hunk who found his voice first. "Skeletor, read the room."

"He can fuck his compliments," Lance agreed. Keith spat something similar in Japanese—English was hard right now—and got a snort from Hunk. Pidge grumbled in Baltan and got a snort from no one, but that was okay, he knew what he'd called him. Sven did not have the energy to snarl in Norwegian or English, so he just redoubled his glare.

As he usually did when the team's reactions to being 'honored' did not line up with his expectations, Skalor just looked confused. Then he brushed it aside. "Your triumph will inspire warriors for years to come, gladiators. Tomorrow, there shall be a grand feast to honor you properly… the night is yours to rest and heal." He indicated the goblets. "Toast your fallen, who bravely faced the most glorious death any human might hope for, and revel in your victory. Blood and glory to you!" Bowing once more, he departed.

"Fucking revel?" Lance repeated, jumping up; Daniel gave him a resentful look for moving, and Hunk jumped up and grabbed him before he could do anything unfortunate. Probably warranted.

Sven still didn't have it in him to speak or even move; he was shaking from some new mix of grief and rage. That left nobody to grab Keith, who pushed angrily off the wall and grabbed one of the goblets, glaring at the deep red-violet liquid within. It smelled sweet and sharp and sickening. With a snarl of fury, he flung it at the wall with all his might.

Vince gave a startled gasp as the goblet smashed into the wall and clattered to the floor; Pidge tentatively tapped his arm. "It's okay." Nothing was okay, but—

"—No, look." He pointed. "The goblet dented the wall."

A sudden hush fell over the team, something different than the empty silence they'd been wallowing in up until now. All eyes turned to the wall, the dark stain from the wine… and the small chip in the stone where the goblet had impacted.

"Wait. They what?" Hunk crossed over and picked up one of the other goblets, pitching the wine down the waste chute, then retrieved the one Keith had thrown. Looking them over he shook his head in bewilderment. "This ain't even scratched. Doesn't make sense. Gold's heavy, but it's soft…" Trailing off, he looked at the chip in the wall again. It really wasn't very much. But it was something.

Pidge shifted. "My people treat obsidian into a weaponizable form. The Drules may have a similar tempering process for gold, or an alloy, kir sa tye?"

"Yeah, they could…"

Lance was staring at the goblets. They were large and heavy and some crazy metal and Flynn would love this and no, he couldn't think about… "Are they really that stupid?"

Considering that for a moment, Hunk smashed the goblet in his good hand as hard as he could against the wall. It didn't warp or dent, even a little bit. Which was more than could be said for the wall; a new stone chip clattered to the floor. "I think they are, bro."

Vince stared at the new depression in the wall. "Guess so."

"They're not stupid." Pidge shook his head. "They believe their own… bullshit. They think we're all like those other gladiators out in the prison yard…"

"Stockholm syndrome," Hunk said quietly. Not because the others actually needed it spelled out for them again—just because Jace would've said it, if he'd been there.

It was all only slowly sinking in for Keith. Digging in through the grief, through the overwhelming feeling of failure. They'd lost three too many, but the rest of his team was alive, and they were counting on him too. The other three had died to keep them alive. To get them to this point. Don't let their sacrifices be in vain, Kogane. He swallowed hard—he couldn't even think his own damn last name without hearing it in Flynn's voice. "Okay. So how do we… weaponize… a bunch of cups?"

Vince looked from Keith to the wall and back, and just pointed at the chips in the stone. It seemed clear enough to him. Sven found his voice again, his tone as cold as his eyes. "Hit someone really hard in the head with them."

"Blunt," Pidge agreed. "But effective."

"We just need a chance…" Hunk considered what else Skalor had said. "So there's gonna be a feast tomorrow, yeah?"

"They can choke on it," Lance spat.

"I think that's what he's suggesting."

"Escape in transit?"

Looking back at Daniel, who'd gone back to fucking hiding against him—though he had shifted enough to keep one eye on the wall assault—Lance felt a whole new wave of righteous fury. And he clung to that, because it beat the alternative. Focus on Daniel. Just keep focusing on Daniel. "I'm for it."

"We can take the bomb stuff with us. Might be useful somewhere else." What they'd been planning to do after getting out of the cell had always been a little more up in the air. They had to use whatever they could.

"If they're bringing us this," Sven glared at the goblets, "they have to think we've bought in. They're letting their guard down. This might be our best chance." It might be our only chance.

"Who would run from such an honor?" Pidge agreed softly, clenching his fists. Even if they expect us to run, what does it matter anymore?

That was not the proper attitude, and he kept it to himself.

Keith looked at the others. Vince found himself nodding; it all made sense. Hunk nodded too, and Daniel gave a thumbs-up with his good hand. Returning their nods, the commander slowly exhaled.

"We have to do this. They'd want us to do this." He could see Cam charging in, to buy them time, to make sure they could win. They didn't die for us to just wither away here!

"They'd want us to fight." Lance caught a glimpse of Flynn's face in the back of his mind, those sharp eyes narrowed in determination. He looked over at Daniel. "Survive."

Clutching Jace's jacket tight, Sven nodded. "We have to."

"Then we will. We're an Explorer Team," Keith said quietly, his voice heavy with anger and grief, sweeping his gaze over the group. "We're a fucking Explorer Team. We owe them. And we're leaving tomorrow."

*****

The night air may have been cool, but it was also humid. Heavy fog was rolling across the land, making Allura's sleep uneasy. The damp air clung to her skin, making the fabric of her nightgown sticky in places. Muttering a wish for a breeze to blow through the ruins of the once grand Castle of Lions, she rolled over to try once more to get some much needed sleep.

It had been a couple of days since she could truly feel free of the caves. The militia and the space mice had investigated the castle thoroughly, clearing any traps or surveillance that might remain. Whatever shape the structure was in… it was completely in Arusian hands.

But the days were hard. Most of the castle was unstable, leaving only a few areas capable of housing anyone. Much less capable of supporting expeditions to recover anything of value. She did try to have her mice friends recover some items she knew to exist, but most of what she hoped to recover was information. Her father had kept his resources protected, and most of them couldn't be gathered. So her focus had been largely on shifting materials to the tunnels while keeping an eye out for the potential return of the Drules. The castle was nowhere near functional, in any capacity… while she did have some portable power, she was not ready to risk using it without being sure there was no risk of detection. Thankfully, there was still a large stock of candles and other means to get by.

The humidity, though… that was just something she still had to adjust to.

A slight breeze finally drifted through the hallways, causing her to smile softly as she drifted into a dream. Stars twinkled about her as she floated in the void. A tilt of her head, and she noticed great wings were unfolding from her back. Reddish in color, she could feel their strength with each movement they made. With a grin, she rushed forward to see how fast she could go. Looking about she could see almost all of Arus from up high, the moons just peeking out from the edge of her vision.

It was a glorious feeling of freedom, until something just out of view started to become clearer…

Flying closer she could see something falling towards the ground, burning a trail through the sky as it streaked towards the desert lands. Feeling drawn to see what it was, she followed the smoky trail back down to the sands where she found a strange formation in the ground. Almost in the formation of a five pointed star, were five different energies radiating out from the center of the impact. Something like thick black smoke was billowing from one point, so she landed across from it to see the others.

To her left, she saw ice formations, spiraling high from the central area. To her right, large rocks and chucks of earth had been thrust into the air. Making her way towards the center, she saw fire burning alongside the ice… and only fire, with no apparent fuel source, only the intense light and heat pouring off of it. Reminding herself that this surreal sight was a dreamscape, she looked to the other side of the rocks to see vines and roots, some thorns… all manner of plants covering the earth, swaying in the wind.

It was at the moment when her foot touched the center of the formation that her head snapped to look at the smoke. Or what she'd thought was smoke, but it was dawning on her that this was something else.She could feel it… trying to pinpoint what it could be, she noted the shape, rolling and seething like a fast-moving storm. The darkness of the clouds… how they thickened and piled on themselves, rising from the earth.

Something was moving within the smoky clouds, and she felt a shiver run through her. It was moving towards her. A shadowy form taking the shape of a man, and as he moved closer, jagged sparks flickered off and around him. Her feet moved against her will, drawing her closer, until he was close enough to make out the deep electric-blue of his eyes. She couldn't make out any other features, and yet she was struck by a certainty that she was waiting for him, whoever or whatever he was…

A whispered "You…" was all she could muster, any other words she might hope to speak tangled up in a sudden well of emotion.

His voice was deep, yet indistinct, seeming to waver just out of her grasp. "We’re coming."

Allura woke to a sharp crack of thunder off in the distance. Her heart beating a mile a minute, gasping for breath, she sat up to make sense of it all. Facing towards Black’s lair, she opened her mouth to call out to him. To ask what she'd seen.

And she felt it.

She could feel every one of them. Their presence, their power. She could feel it stirring, shifting, gathering… and most of all, their eyes were open. As if laying in wait for that one last nudge before waking up.