"Wait here, don't leave," Shiro told Iverson. He didn't wait for a response, trusting the man's apparent respect for his authority to keep him behind. He darted out his room, hurrying down the hall. He wasn't exactly comfortable with this man being in the same room as him when he went into the vulnerable state required to Project his lion.

"Pidge, I'm coming to you and Allura," Shiro informed the Green Paladin.

"Understood," Pidge said. No doubt she'd gone through the logic herself and knew exactly why Shiro wasn't starting his Projection in the same room as Iverson.

"What's going on?" Allura's voice startled Shiro when he made it to her room. She blinked groggily from her place on the bed, eyes bleary, face pale.

"Allura!" Shiro gasped, not believing his own eyes and ears for a moment. She'd been unconscious for so long, he'd started to prepare himself for the idea that she might never wake up. Even after everything the night before. "You're awake." He felt his jaw ache.

"That's debatable..." she muttered, before levering herself up unsteadily into a sitting position.

"What's going on?" She asked again.

"We have some unwelcome guests outside our bunker," Pidge said. "Galran," she clarified, and Allura's eyes hardened.

"Then I must put up shields for you all." She said. Her hair started moving in a sourceless wind as she slowly began to gather her own power. He Altean marks were a dim mimicry of their normally radiant glow. Already, though, Shiro could feel the tell-tale signs of her powers wrapping themselves protectively around his physical form.

"Allura, wait," Shiro said, heart leaping to his throat, "You're too weak for that right now. You just woke up. You're still recovering."

"Shiro," Allura said, "I can't afford to rest, you all are in danger, and if both your and my state is anything to go by, I've been leaving you without aid for much too long as it is.

"Besides," she said, more softly, "I know my limits, I promise not to go beyond them. Now go. I'll watch over you guys, as I'm meant to do."

She held his gaze for a moment, her hard expression brooking no argument, and Shiro finally relented, even as his chest clenched with a burgeoning new anxiety. "Alright," He said, reclining on the sofa next to Pidge so his body didn't collapse while he entered the complex, dual-conscious state of Projecting into their lions.

He couldn't help the wave of relief he felt at her magic's presence, though. They'd gone so long with only Coran's more mundane protection, open and vulnerable since her fall, his shoulders already felt lighter at the knowledge of her guardianship. Beyond all that, though, there wasn't much time to argue. He still needed to gather his powers for a projection.

He did it quickly, pressing his hand to the crystal hidden in his armor's side pouch, and immediately felt the familiar, comforting presence of his astral companion.Black, he said, projecting as much relief and warmth as he could into the words, even as he struggled to convey his urgency. The lions understood intentions and feelings better than any words, they'd come to realize. We need your help. Invaders.

He felt a low, rumbling growl as a reply, and knew with a certainty that couldn't be expressed in any language that she was prepared to aid. "Okay," Shiro said into the com to his team, holding on tightly to the connection with his lion. "Going astral in three...two... one"

Shiro felt a corresponding distancing of awareness of his body as he simultaneously became hyper-aware of the astral plane beyond himself. He melded consciousness with his lion while maintaining his much more tenuous connection with his body.

His lion never failed to awe him, a large, glowing creature with a mane as dark as pitch. The long fur around its head and on its tail writhed and twisted like flames, as if made from pure energy. One by one, his fellow paladins joined him on the astral plane, all embodying their own lions' forms. He knew from experience on the other side of things that on the physical plane, the lions would appear as giant, vibrant glowing spirits of lions. Larger than life. Alone they were forces of overwhelming destruction. As Voltron, they were virtually unstoppable.

Or so they'd had been before the Blue Paladin, Matt, had gotten separated from the team.

He felt a flicker of pain and longing through Pidge's connection at the aching awareness of their missing companion, but it was quickly overtaken by determination and a steely spite that raised the hairs on the back of Shiro's neck. He'd have to talk to her as soon as things slowed down, he told himself for the millionth time since her brother's disappearance. If he let this go on much longer, it would fester into something darker and less controlled.

Together, their lions surged forward out of the astral plane and into the physical world just outside their bunker to meet the Galran intruders.

One unlucky soldier was close enough to feel the breath of Shiro's lion on his skin, his eyes widening and his posture going rigid when he looked up. His boot squelched in the mud as he took a jerking step back. "P-paladins! It's the Voltron Paladins!" He screamed, just before Shiro clawed his chest with his lion's paw, the glowing, semi-transparent arm looked almost ghostly, but it rent a very real gash in the soldier's armor. There was a palpable sense of spreading panic among the soldiers.

"Hold strong!" A commanding voice shouted, even as the line of fighters in the front stepped forward to meet the incoming rush of the other three paladins' lions. Their movements were erratic and less disciplined than usual. This was no well-trained force straight from Zarkon's palace. A local group, then?

What's with these guys? Pidge's sharp tone was easily recognizable through their connection.

Yeah, Hunk asked, uncertain, Aren't they the ones who attacked us?

Shiro had to agree. This group definitely wasn't acting like the usual strike teams sent to target the Paladins. Well, they're attacking us now. We can figure it out later. Stay focused. Shiro urged them over his own misgivings.

Yeah, Pidge said, Let's make them rethink coming at us at all.

They fell into the oncoming force with renewed energy at that, throwing every ounce of desperate, frightened frustration that had built over the past three weeks. Shiro swung hard and fast, not wasting a single movement. They'd just gotten the princess back, after facing much worse threats than this along the way. He wasn't about to lose their current refuge to a group of underprepared Galrans.

We're under attack! Allura's voice cut through their connection. It came through much steadier than it had been in her physical form. Shiro felt his and the others' confusion before Allura's next words stopped him cold. Something just took out the wall to your room, Shiro.

Oh no! Hunk's worry was almost physical, The healer?

I'm on it , Keith said before Shiro could react. Already, he felt the Red Paladin pulling from their connection to return to his physical body.

Shiro smothered his frustration with Keith's lack of any forethought before it could seep into their connection. A soldier to his left took advantage of his momentary distraction, though, stabbing purple glowing blade straight at Shiro's chest. He barely managed to dodge the blow, and grunted when its edge cut through his lion's shoulder.

As much as he wanted to return with Keith, he couldn't afford to take his attention away from the fight at hand. He'd just have to hope Keith could return to his physical state and reorient himself fast enough to make a difference. In the meantime, he, Pidge, and Hunk would have to pick up the slack to keep these attackers at bay.

Iverson's boots were wearing holes in the rough cement floor of the Black Paladin's room, though it was the only sign he let show of his agitation. If it had been anyone other than a Paladin of Voltron ordering him like that, he would've balked. But he knew his place, unlike many others out there. He followed orders when he received them. He glared at the darkling curled up pathetically on the floor, lip curling. Some might never learn proper discipline no matter how much good influence they had.

The only warning Iverson had that their location wasn't entirely secure was a barely audible, low humming noise at the edge of his hearing. Then suddenly, the entire room shook with the force of an explosion that tore apart the far wall, deadly debris flinging from the detonation point. One large rock struck the lamp hanging from the ceiling, and one of its bulbs shattered apart with a flare of blinding light, leaving the surviving bulbs flickering erratically. Iverson was thrown off his feet and into the wall behind him, the breath punched from his lungs in a rush. His vision flickered briefly back to a different time, a different battle, and his veins hummed with a surge of electrifying energy.

Waiting hidden underground like a coward while the Paladins fought had been difficult. This was going to be as easy as breathing. Dust clouded the air, and he could see a mass of shapes moving through the flickering light.

He pulled out his blaster and let out a defiant cry at the sight of the first soldiers rushing through the jagged hole they'd torn through the wall. They must've dug all the way underground, he realized. He wondered just how long they'd been at it to make it all this way without detection. He fired three shots rapid fire at the first body to come through and watched with satisfaction as they slumped forward, their torso hanging halfway over the edge.

He ducked to avoid return fire, diving behind the bed to land next to his slave, who was breathing rapidly, his eyes still closed. He'd been lucky enough to be shielded from the brunt of the blast by the bed, though his skin was sooty. It figured the ungrateful darkling would stay unconscious when he was most needed, a coincidence that was reoccurring with disturbing frequency lately. No doubt a result of the dark magic's subtle influence. No matter, Iverson was used to picking up the slack of others, and he wasn't about to let these Galran scum infiltrate a stronghold of the Paladins of Voltron.

There was a brief lull in the incoming shots, and Iverson leaped to let off another rapid succession of shots, taking down two more of the Galrans. He dove back for the cover of the bed, but not before one of the soldiers threw something over the side of it. The instant before the object burst open, Iverson recognized it for what it was, but he didn't cover his eyes fast enough to avoid the searing light that burnt a brand of agony into his retina.

He let out a cry, dropping his gun instinctively to cover his face with both hands. "Damn you!" He shouted, hand already scrabbling to the holster in his boot in a motion so practiced he didn't need to see to unclip the weapon. His vision was a confusing blur of swirling lights that wouldn't go away no matter how much he blinked.

There was a stirring of air behind him, and he twisted without thinking to fire. "Take that you piece of shit," He growled low when he heard the unseeable attacker fall over with a grunt.

"Master!" Iverson heard the darkling cry, just before a body struck him and threw him to the floor. He felt a hot rush of air stir his hair as a barely-avoided projectile of some sort torpedoed over them.

For one of the few times in his life, Iverson was at a loss as to what to do. It was only a brief moment of indecision, but the fact that it was there at all set his teeth on edge. Iverson heard the telltale signs of heavy boots clambering over the ledge and approaching them. They were surrounded. He touched his finger to the tattoo on the back of his hand.

As much as he hated the feeling of the dread magic brushing its rotten tendrils against his senses, it was fast becoming apparent that there wasn't much choice. Depleted as the darkling was, Iverson would need to use whatever was available to cover their retreat. The magic worked exponentially more efficiently on the offensive anyway. It wouldn't take much to turn the tables.

The darkling's body began to tremble, and Iverson threw the mewling bodyweight off himself with a grunt of effort.

"No, master, please-!" The darkling pleaded. Even now, of all times, when their lives hung in the balance, he clung to his own selfish well-being. Typical darkling.

"Quit whining!" Iverson ordered, "It's our only option."

Iverson didn't wait for a response from the darkling before he activated the tattoo's powers. Instantly, his sight was restored, though it took even his experienced mind a moment to reconcile the fact that he was seeing through the darkling's eyes and not his own. The darkling's movements were uncharacteristically stiff and sluggish, no doubt from the aftereffects of the recent darkling was looking at Iverson's own face, and he turned the darkling's head to take in the incoming threat.

There was at least a dozen more soldiers filing in, the odds impossibly skewed.

"There he is!" one of the soldiers shouted, pointing straight at the body Iverson controlled.

"What's with his eyes?" another soldier asked, alarmed.

"It's the tattoo!" An overly excited voice crowed, "Looks like our intel was right! Quick, take him!"

Iverson couldn't waste any more time. With a sick swell of revulsion in his gut, he pulled at the darkling's magic, bending it to move offensively, and let the tendrils leap out at the nearest soldiers, yanking the life force out of them with cruel efficiency. He shuddered inwardly, but he couldn't let his compunctions hold him back. This is what he was here for. He did what needed to be done, no matter the cost to his conscience. That was his sacrifice to the Coalition's cause.

The other soldiers shouted in surprise, and Iverson reached to draw on the life energy he'd just pulled from the enemy. Already, he could feel the energy loosening the darkling's muscles and easing the tenderness. He moved the darkling's body back behind the cover of the bed as the enemy combatants reached for their guns.

"No!" the same overly excited voice from before commanded, "Our orders were to take him alive."

Iverson narrowed the darkling's eyes at the information. He'd assumed this force was after the Paladins. Was it possible they'd come specifically for the darkling healer? He could feel the darkling's consciousness pushing against his own, struggling to retake control of his own faculties, but he brushed it aside easily with the power of the tattoo.

Regardless of their goals, these men couldn't be allowed to survive.

Realizing there was no danger of death for the darkling, he sent him back out from cover and flung another array of tendrils at them. With an ease that made Iverson shudder, the life force was ripped from their bodies as well, and as one they fell to the ground.

Iverson shed the darkling's body with a shiver of relief. The darkling's knees buckled and his frame folded in on itself as he fell to the floor. Iverson wasn't unduly worried about possible damage by now. If anything, the amount of life energy he'd pulled from the soldiers would help the darkling recover from the poison. Once he woke, he'd probably feel even better than before. Lucky ingrate. He'd no doubt wallow in self-pity after this.

Iverson, on the other hand, was left to suffer the aftereffects of the unsavory powers of the tattoo. He couldn't seem to rid himself of the disgusting, cloying sense of the darkling's power. His skin felt covered in the wretched stuff, a lingering residue oozing across his senses. It made him want to retch. Sometimes, he swore it had a mind of its own, seeking to prod and unnerve him whenever he opened himself up to its influence. Luckily, he was made of sterner stuff than that and pulled himself together enough to sit up and blink through his now-recovering eyes to assess the situation.

He pulled himself up to his legs, scowling at the way they shook, and surveyed the downed forms of their attackers strewn about the floor. He stepped over to check each of their pulses and put to rest any lingering doubt of each and every one of their fates. He'd reached the second to last one when, just before he'd reached to check, the soldier jerked away from his hand, and he grabbed him by the sleeve of his uniform before he could twist away.

The soldier panted fearfully as he struggled to escape, but weakened as he was by the dark magic, he was no match for Iverson. He dragged him closer until he had both hands affixed to the sides of his face, then, once he had proper leverage, he twisted.

"No!" an unfamiliar voice called out just as the deed was done. "We could've used him for information."

Iverson turned to see the recently healed woman, Princess Allura , he now realized with the context of the Paladins, leaning heavily against the doorframe. It took him a moment to force his mind to reconcile the taint of dark magic still clinging to his skin with the awe at the sight of the Princess of Altea, second only to King Alfor as leader of the Coalition.

"Your Highness," Iverson said as the now dead soldier's head slipped from his hands. He accorded her the respect she was due by her position, dropping to his knees and bowing his head.

"What…" The Princess said, sounding winded, "What the hell happened here? That energy, it…" Her muscles convulsed, even as her eyes took in the devastation before her with the efficiency of a seasoned commander. Apparently, she could sense the dark magic with whatever divine power drove the Paladins of Voltron.

"It's the darkling's power," Iverson said, his voice heavy with a sudden onset of exhaustion now that the rush of battle was behind him.

"Darkling?" She asked, and Iverson realized she must not have been up long enough to be briefed properly on the situation.

"A dark magic user," he explained, "There's no need to be alarmed, though. I keep the powers in check. There's no danger of them being turned against us."

"I...That's...dark magic?" the Princess asked.

"It's a dangerous, insidious thing, Your Highness," he said, glad for her more receptive response to his information. Maybe the Paladins could be better reasoned with once he'd helped rid them of their ignorance. "But under well-trained supervision, they can be turned to good. The darkling's power is what healed your wound, in fact."

"Oh," the Princess said, then straightened even as her hand strayed unconsciously to where her wound had been - or rather, apparently still was. "I'd like to see this…'darkling.'" She said the last word like it was foreign to her.

"There's no need," Iverson said, "His penance is its own reward."

"'His?'" the Princess asked, and Iverson could sense an undertone of something he didn't much like in her question.

"Him," Iverson nodded and pointed toward the boy's crumpled form on the floor.

The princess's eyes followed his indicated direction, then widened in horror when she spotted him.

"What's he doing on the floor like that?" She demanded, striding forward, all signs of weakness erased by a hard disapproval. "I should think my savior would be treated better than a discarded tool."

She knelt down next to the darkling, hitching her arms under his shoulders to pull him up. Her muscles shook with the strain, and Iverson hurried forward to help her, despite his disgust.

"Your Highness," he said, though he helped to lift the boy's feet, "You don't need to worry. He'll be fine."

The Princess turned an icy stare on him, and Iverson had never seen such utter contempt conveyed so vividly with an expression alone. "I'll decide what I need and need not worry about." She said, "And I'm not in the habit of mistreating those who've done me a good turn."

Iverson sighed inwardly. Clearly, his hope had been misplaced. Were the Paladins of Voltron really so ignorant of the ways of dark magic? He'd have thought that, fighting against the Galran infestation as they had, that they'd be better informed.

"Yes, Your Highness," he said. "My apologies." She outranked him, after all. Besides, even if for the wrong reasons, her actions weren't without some logic. The darkling probably would recover more quickly if left in a more comfortable position. All this misplaced sympathy for the boy was making him a bit irrationally defensive. That was okay. He'd explain things properly to them, then they'd understand.

Keith returned to self-awareness with a gasp, back arching as he struggled to get used to how his own body functioned again. He wasn't sure how long his reorientation took, but when he finally felt less like he was wearing an oversized shoe and more like he was in his own body, he sat up. He swung his legs over the other side of the bed, hand already unsheathing the blade from his belt.

He raced straight to Shiro's door, grabbing the doorway and using his momentum to swing into the room. All he saw upon entry, though, was the prone form of the healer being laid out by Iverson and Princess Allura. That and over a dozen dead Galrans.

"Allura!" he cried out. He'd felt her protection around his mundane body during their defense of the bunker, but he hadn't expected her to go clomping around the bunker exhausting herself even further. After everything she'd been through in the past weeks, and extending the effort it took for her to put up her magical barriers for them, she had to be pushing her limits, if not well beyond them.

"Calm down, Red Paladin," The Princess said, in the weary tone only someone who'd had to deal with the same objection multiple times could effect. "I'm quite alright."

"Like hell you're alright," he said, heart leaping as the Princess swayed and tried to cover it up by setting down with less grace than she normally would on the bed beside the prone healer. He hurried to her side, his heart clogging his throat the same way it had when she was first injured. "You can't even stand."

"Your-" Iverson started and Keith shot him a death glare,

"You have nothing to do with this conversation," Keith said, temper flaring red hot in his chest. "All you've managed to do since you got here is be annoying while that guy does all the work." He jabbed a finger at the healer.

"My apologies," the much taller man said, though it was clear his calm tone was taking some effort "I've failed to show you your due respect." Here, he bowed his head to Allura and Keith, and they both exchanged a glance while the man's eyes were still downward. "But with all such respect, anything he does is thanks solely to my efforts. Not to mention the fact that I helped head off a major assault on your base here. And if you allow me, I think I can be of further assistance."

Keith snorted and pretended not to notice when the man side-eyed him. This guy's tune had changed pretty abruptly. He wondered what Shiro had said to bring that on.

"The Black Paladin informed me who you all were," the man said. That answered that question.

Allura gave him an uncertain nod, and Keith watched her closely. Obviously, she'd gotten the same weird vibes from this guy as the rest of them. Now that she was awake, even as weak as she clearly was, he had to admit she looked worlds better than she had the night before. "We made an agreement. I would be accompanying you with the healer," he gestured to the unconscious form on the bed, and Keith was momentarily distracted from the man's words as he finally took in the prone shape. He'd been so worried about Allura these past few weeks and then last night when it had felt like their last effort had been for nothing, this was the first time he actually got a good look at the healer.

He wasn't sure if it was because he was finally paying attention or it this was new since the last time he'd seen him, but there was twisting, unnerving aura oozing off the healer. It felt like...it was hard to describe, but if he had to compare it to anything, he'd say it gave him the same feeling he'd had looking at the miserable caged animals back on one of the planets they'd visited. Now that he noticed the sensation though, he couldn't ignore it, and it was starting to make him sick.

He turned away abruptly, struggling to bring his attention back to the conversation at hand.

We're coming back in, he heard Shiro say through their connection. Even in his physical form as he was, Keith could still hear the communications from his fellow Paladins.

That's a relief. Allura said, and Keith felt her easing her protections and watched as her shoulders sagged. She wouldn't normally let her barriers down so soon, and it was a testament to just how exhausted she was that she did so. Slowly, Keith's now-distant connection to the others grew even more distant until he was barely aware of it at the borders of his consciousness.

It felt like forever before the other Paladins finally returned and made their way to Shiro's room.

"Now that you're all here," Allura said, "We can discuss our options for where to go next. I'm not sure how long it will take for Coran and me to recover enough to power our ship to get us back home, and Iverson here says he has some friends that might be able to shelter us while we do so."

"Lance, mijo, it's time to get up," his mom's voice cut through the fog of his sleep with an almost physical form. Even half asleep, she was a force of nature in his life.

Lance shifted, wriggling out from under the burrow he'd made out of his blanket. He slowly blinked open sleep blurred eyes. He felt a smile stretch his mouth open wide at the sight of his mom staring down at him fondly. "Good morning, sweetie," She said smoothing his overlong hair out of his eyes. It was like a weed, always growing faster than his mom had time to cut it. Once, he'd tried cutting it himself so she wouldn't have to. They'd both agreed he should wait till he was older to try again.

"You wanna get up and help mama wake your brothers and sisters?"

He frowned, giving the ritual proposition its due consideration. Then he glanced over at the still sleeping form of his brother, sprawled loose-limbed on the bed across from him. He wanted to make sure no one would overhear. "Yes, mama , " he gave his mom his biggest gap-toothed smile, "But can I have an extra egg for breakfast?"

The corners of his mom's eyes crinkled, and she laughed softly, "I think I can manage that for such a helpful boy."

Lance grinned, then ran over to his brother's bed to start fulfilling his end of the bargain. He was the second oldest in the family, and he liked to help is mom and dad with his younger siblings as best he could. His oldest sister was only a few years older than him, but whatever. She liked to act like she was an adult already, which was really annoying sometimes. He'd wait to wake her last. She'd started acting all weird and extra lame lately, and was always grumpy when he tried to wake her up.

By the time he and his mom had woken up and herded the rest of his siblings to get dressed and set the breakfast table, his father and sister were just stumbling out of their respective bedrooms, both of their hair askew. From his spot buttering the fresh bread beside his mom, Lance swore he could see some dried up drool on the side of his dad's mouth.

"Yuck, dad, go wash your face," he said at the sight of him.

"Stop being so rude, Lance," his older sister, Maribel, piped up as she rubbed the sleep from her own eyes, "He just woke up. Give him a break."

Lance stuck his tongue out at her, and she made a rude gesture with her hand in return. Lance's mouth dropped, scandalized, and glanced up at his mom, who was too busy to notice.

"Awe, he didn't mean anything by it, did you Lance?" his dad said, ruffling Lance's hair and mussing it all up.

"Dad," Lance complained, drawing the word out into three syllables.

"What?" his mom asked innocently, sneaking up beside him to ruffle his hair as well, and Lance giggled even as he tried to shoo away her teasing hands.

"You're messing up my hair!" he said, slipping away to take his seat between his younger brother and his eldest sister.

His parents laughed at that, but Lance knew they were only teasing, so he decided not to be too annoyed with them. Besides, his mom had made him an extra egg as promised, winking conspiratorially at him as she passed. Lance did his best not to look straight at Maribel, who was freakishly good at telling when he was hiding something. He guessed she probably got that from Mom.

"So what does my devilishly handsome husband have planned today?" Lance's mom asked.

"Well, I was thinking I'd take Maribel on her first Graya fungus hunt." He said, and Maribel's face lit up. Their dad, who knew how to do everything there was to do, had been taking Maribel on some of the jobs lately. Lance pouted. He didn't see why he still couldn't come with them.

"Darkling!" a harsh voice cut through the air like a whip crack, and everyone in the room jumped as though struck by one. They all turned toward the source of the voice. It was a tall, imposing man with an eye squinted shut and a nasty scowl on his face. Lance knew without knowing why that he had to get away from him.

The harsh-voiced man strode straight toward Lance, and Lance jumped from his chair to hide behind his mom. "What are you doing?" the man demanded, and Lance started to shake. "Get over here, now ."

Lance shook his head in mute terror. Mama, please don't make me go with him, he pleaded, unable to unstick the words from his throat.

Without warning, though, his mother disappeared entirely, leaving a deep, pitch black hole in the floor where she'd been standing just a moment before. Lance felt like his stomach had plummeted down that hole after her. His eyes darted desperately, unable to spot any sign of his mom. The man was still stepping toward him, and Lance backed away.

"You're coming with me," he said.

He looked at his dad. "Papa, please," he said, voice quivering.

His father just shook his head, brows drawn. "I'm sorry, Lance, I've done everything I could. I'm so sorry."

"No," Lance was whimpering now. Why wasn't anyone doing anything to stop this? "No, please. I don't want to go. Where's mama?"

He glanced at his siblings, who were all staring at him wide-eyed and frozen with terror. All of them except Maribel, who glared at him, her arms crossed. "You have to go."

"But, I…" Lance protested weakly, heart-stopping as his back hit the wall behind him. There was nowhere left to go.

"Come here," the harsh-voiced man growled, features stretching and melting into something nightmarish and grotesque as he grew closer. He reached toward Lance, his fingers lengthening into claws that bit into the back of Lance's hand as he yanked him toward him. "Do as I say, now."

"Go with him," his sister said, her eyes had now taken on a diabolical glow, "It's the least you can do. After you killed her."

"What?" Lance gaped, understanding but willing himself not to.

"You killed her," another voice said, this time it was his younger brother.

"Why did you kill her?" His youngest sister wailed, voice crumpling and tears streaming down her face. And Lance couldn't answer. He wanted to cry too, but nothing was working right.

He couldn't move, couldn't even breathe anymore.

He struggled to get out of the man's grasp, and by sheer luck he managed it, only to slip and fall straight into the gaping hole left by his mom's departure. And suddenly he was falling. Falling and falling forever. He knew without knowing how he knew that the pitch black hole went on forever. He wanted to scream, to thrash, and fight. Do something to save himself. But he couldn't. He wasn't in control of his own body.

Mama, please! Help me! He finally called out with his mind, desperate.

But there was no answer, only the endless gaping hole and the sickening sensation of falling, falling, and falling forever.

AN:

Hi friends! Thank you again for reading/leaving comments and kudos! I really appreciate it! Like a lot a lot. Work has been extra stressful (if exciting) lately, and it's always super nice to get some positive reinforcement here lol

Sorry this was a little late, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Thanks again, and happy reading!