(On the Hunt) Epilogue

Pride: On the Hunt

Epilogue

Unjust Reward

The royal cruiser had left Pollux several days ago. A Drule dreadnought had returned with it. King Kova frowned as his aides reported the arrival, not certain what to make of it. Were there threats? He hadn't been informed, but perhaps that was why Avok had been summoned to begin with. King Zarkon didn't seem to like working with the actual ruler of Pollux. Kova was fine with that; he didn't like working with the Drules either. But this had been the only way to save his planet and his crown.

The dreadnought was worrisome enough on its own. When Avok arrived to the throne room with a Drule soldier instead of his own honor guard… he stood, stepping down off his throne, looking as impressive as he could in the face of the unwanted arrival. "Well? What did they want?"

His son studied him with cold eyes. "Lord Zarkon can no longer tolerate your weakness, father."

Kova glared. "What is that supposed to mean?" Avok made no secret of how he hated this alliance, nor how weak he considered his father for it, but invoking Zarkon seemed very out of character. "If you disagree with my handling of matters, as I keep telling you, there are proper—"

"—This is no longer mere disagreement." Avok's tone was venomous. "You have failed our lord and our people. I am to return you to Korrinoth to answer for your crimes."

…What in the void's name? "He could have simply summoned me," he scowled, "but of course I will return with you, and counter whatever charges are brought. Pollux is loyal." He stepped forward.

His son watched him, then gave a low, harsh laugh. "No, father. Pollux is finished."

Before Kova could even demand an explanation for that, the shriek of metal against a scabbard rang through the throne room. He saw the light catch Avok's blade, reflections dancing over the walls and the ceiling. His body, his reflexes, told him to move—but all he could do was stare transfixed as the sword came down.

We did nothing wrong! I did nothing wrong!

Without another word, Avok slashed a deep cut down his father's face, and drove the blade directly through his heart.

Corek, the guard who'd accompanied him, watched silently as the execution was carried out. King Kova would be returned to Korrinoth, of course. His head would be displayed on a pike as a warning to any other would-be traitors. The Ninth Kingdom did not tolerate betrayal… and it tolerated fools only so long as they were useful.

As for Prince Avok…

"Begin the assault," he murmured into his communications handset, reporting their successful task to the waiting dreadnought above. And then, as ordered, he raised his own rifle and shot the Polluxian prince through the spine.

It was almost a shame, really. But as he motioned for the rest of his team to come and gather the bodies, he smiled. This wasn't the end.

*****

The phylactery had been calm in Haggar's hands, until now. Energy danced within its crystalline facets, glowing in unidentifiable colors and swirling into shapes that didn't exist. Avok was dead… again. As planned. Her orders to Corek had been clear.

Dead he may be, but far from finished.

"Maluxeß î konvra gul-eçspek tenßraxlur," she murmured. "Vortha ændrkrînos. Ak-fça." The ancient incantation far predated Drakure, or even the Drule Supremacy itself. Only the most powerful of witches would dare to speak the Forbidden Tongue. "Gøa ulmçkra!" In response the energy in the phylactery seethed, flowing away into nothingness.

On Pollux, the royal shuttle's cargo hatch cracked open. What waited inside was a cybernetic monstrosity, bristling with blades and sheathed in heavy armor. One of the Ninth's rarest and most brutal weapons: a fully empowered robeast. Energy was swirling behind its blank eyes as the door opened to the landing pad. A beacon in its heart, attuned to the phylactery, calling to the soul held within it.

The robeast's eyes blazed to life, and it emerged from the hold with a howl of rage.

"Go, Prince Avok. Burn this traitorous world to the ground."

*****

Prince Bandor was visiting his mother.

Queen Ansala had been unusually agitated today. Even Lady Zeralle, her usual caretaker, had triggered a full-on fit when she'd entered; the Dead Queen had chased her from her chambers, screaming accusations of her being in league with the devils, demanding to see her children. Only Bandor's arrival had calmed her. So here he was, sitting on one of the covered chairs, chatting about nothing in particular.

It was hard to chat about much of anything but nothing in particular. The Queen had no knowledge of what went on outside these walls. Bandor couldn't even tell her where Romelle and Avok were, let alone what they were doing. So he'd opted to tell her all about his latest adventures raising Dóro: the calcatrix was getting big enough to drape himself over both Bandor's shoulders, sitting there and cooing unrepentantly at a story about him running amok in the castle kitchens.

On a related note, the castle's supply of rivenberries needed replenishing.

"Lady Aldrys says I'm going to have to go help collect them," he pouted. "I don't mind the work, but the farmers always act weird around me."

Ansala chuckled warmly. "The people can often sense the presence of ghosts, my little one. It unnerves them. But be kind and protective and they will take to you."

Ghosts. Right. He nodded slowly. "Yeah, you're right." Being kind to the farmers was easy enough, at least. He paused a moment, thinking about what else he could tell her.

In that moment, everything went to hell.

The door burst open; he jumped and dropped his hand to his sword, turning to see a pair of Drule soldiers shoving the drawn curtains aside. Though he didn't draw on them, his eyes narrowed. They were not permitted to be here.

"Whatever you need can wait," he snapped in his most commanding tone. It wasn't entirely convincing. "This chamber is off limits without my father's express order." He was positive they wouldn't have that—his father refused to even acknowledge that this room existed.

The lead soldier laughed harshly as a second pair came in behind them. "Your father has no say in this matter, Prince Bandor. You are hereby under arrest, to be taken to Korrinoth and placed on trial on behalf of your planet. You will come quietly, or as a corpse."

"…Huh?" That didn't seem like the correct answer. Defiance, or dressing them down for their disrespect, something like that would have been more appropriate. But he was entirely too confused for confidence. "What are you talking a—"

"—Begone with you, devils!" While Bandor had been trying to get his wits back, his mother had torn one of the covers from what had looked like a lamp. Now she brandished a huge two-handed greatsword from its decorative sheath, and charged. "I will not lose my son again!"

It didn't make Bandor any less dumbfounded. But the Drules seemed to share his shock—at least until Queen Ansala fell on their leader and, with a single clean stroke, removed his head from his body.

Blood and laser fire broke the spell. Bandor seized his own sword and lunged for the other Drule in the lead pair, several shots from the second pair brushing by him. His mother was beside him, and he saw one laser flash into her side, but she didn't even seem to notice. Both brought down their targets and spun on the last guard, who was fumbling with her rifle in confusion.

Maybe she hadn't expected the child prince and the insane queen to put up a fight. Probably not actually unfair.

"Your resistance will earn you nothing," she snarled, giving up on the gun and drawing the pistol at her side instead. "Surrender!" Rather than shoot immediately she reached for Bandor, maybe thinking she could take him hostage.

Dóro shrieked as the soldier grabbed for him, and lifted from his shoulders in a flurry of glossy black feathers. The Drule tried to shoot, but the calcatrix was faster, clamping down on her wrist with his hooked beak. She screamed, staggering backwards; her veins were visibly taking on a sickly greenish color below her skin, spreading swiftly up her arm. The pistol clattered to the floor.

"Bandor! Are you alright?"

Grabbing the gun, Bandor shot the Drule in the stomach and turned to his mother, panic in his eyes. "I don't know what's going on!"

"The devils have come for you. It was always inevitable." Ansala wiped her sword clean on a chair cover. "You must run. Escape their clutches."

What? He couldn't just run. He couldn't just leave the castle, he couldn't just leave her. "Come with me!"

"No. This dead realm is your home, it is you they seek. I have life yet left in me." The Queen's eyes flashed. "I will draw their attention while you flee."

"Mother—"

"—You must do this!" She hefted the sword. "Fetch Romelle and Avok and flee this place. Flee as swiftly and as far as you can. Do not let the devils catch you!"

But…

A tremor ran through the walls. A few pebbles raining down from the ceiling. Orbital bombardment? Possible. No, if the Drules had turned on them, that was less possible and more inevitable.

But…!

No. Move. He had to move. "Mother, I…"

"Go, Bandor." She leaned over and kissed his forehead. "I love you, my little one. Now save yourself."

"I… I love you," he whispered, swallowing hard. Then he turned and ran for it.

Why?!

He could hear weapons fire in the halls, the screams of servants and the war cries of guards. Dóro flew beside him, scaly neck snapping back and forth, but the corridor leading to the royal escape shuttle was shockingly clear. He wanted to stop and fight… he kept running.

Pollux had always expected a reckoning. But it was supposed to be at the hands of the Galra, the near-mythical foe from the past. Not from their own alleged allies. Not from the empire they'd done everything to appease. But regardless of where it came from, they'd left themselves a way out. Fetching Romelle and Avok wasn't an option, given as far as he knew they were both on Korrinoth—

—lord of the void, they're on Korrinoth!—

No! He couldn't think about that either. His orders came from the Queen. His orders were to escape. If he was all that was left, it was all the more important for him to save himself. That was how it worked, wasn't it?

He felt sick. But he reached the hidden tunnel to the shuttle without incident, sprinting down the rocky steps and lunging through the hatch with Dóro on his heels.

Would the Drules catch him when he launched? Was he about to die despite it all? The shuttle had some countermeasures, he knew that. But he didn't really know what they were, let alone how to use them to their full effect. He barely knew how to fly it to begin with. But as he brought the engines up, he felt another tremor. There were cracks forming on the walls of the hidden hangar…

No time to fear. He had to go. "Dóro, hang on!" The calcatrix squawked.

With a roar, the shuttle's engines erupted in flame, and the shuttle shot forward. The thin canopy camouflaging the hangar entrance tore away as a few dozen tons of rocket-propelled steel ripped through, and the pale Polluxian sky spread out before him.

And it was… empty?

Gritting his teeth, Bandor pitched the shuttle upwards. He'd expected to see Drule vessels everywhere, maybe even Polluxian ships fighting back, though he was pretty sure they'd been deployed a long way away. All he could see on his instruments was a single large ship, and he didn't know how to pull any more information about it.

Cycling through monitors, he got a look at the ground. And that was when he saw what was really happening. Some kind of giant monster—there was no other way to describe it—was physically dismantling the castle piece by piece.

It felt like a fog was falling over him. Nothing made sense. None of this made any sense. Closing his eyes, he leaned back in the seat and listened to the soft hum of the engines, trying to find answers when he wasn't even sure of the questions anymore.

Except one question. Why?

Bandor didn't open his eyes again until a soft beep told him they'd escaped the atmosphere. He looked at the instruments, interpreting what he could, not really wanting to see what was happening below. But he'd left the monitors set to the ground. He could see fire…

Were his people fighting back? Did they have any way left to fight back? Even their prince was abandoning them.

No. He was following his mother's last command…

It didn't make it sting less.

"Dóro, here…" He paused a moment, staring at the calcatrix as two bright, beady eyes stared back at him. For a moment he wanted to grab him and fling him out the hatch. Dóro was a gift from Lotor, and the Drules had just…

What the hell had just happened?

Why?!

With a mournful little squawk-screech, Dóro nuzzled up against his side, and Bandor gave in and hugged the calcatrix tight. It wasn't his fault.

"Guess it's just us now," he murmured. They had to get help somewhere… didn't they? "What do we even do? Where do we go from here?"

His pet had no answer to that. How would he? And so silence fell over the shuttle as it slipped into lightspeed, leaving Pollux burning behind them.

*****

*We should do 'a little' prequel stuff, we said... (No regrets!) Part 3, From Ashes, will be up sometime in July... and not to spoil things, but there's actually gonna be Voltron in this Voltron fic. Thanks for reading this book full of Explorer Team crazy!