Necessary Masque

Part One

By Cheezey

Thick clouds in the sky above Doom's city of divinity, Darhin-Kal, obscured any natural nighttime light of celestial bodies in the heavens, leaving it lit for travelers only by the nine forbidding temples that comprised the world's center of worship. It was within a spire-shaped temple at the city's southernmost point that Commander Cossack the Terrible descended a dark stone staircase leading to the sacrificial altar of Nys'athar, Doom's goddess of intrigue, subterfuge, and deception. He carried items of ritual importance in each hand. In the right was a cluster of dried herbs, still-green stalks with tiny leaves and once-purple flowers whose petals had become powdery and were now more the color of ink than their natural vibrant violet. In the left, he clutched a medal.

The medal was not one of his, nor had it been awarded to any Doom soldier. Instead it had once belonged to an enemy that Cossack had conquered, the deposed General Kruger of planet Oron. Although officially the conquest of Oron was categorized as a failure due to Voltron, Cossack himself considered the early part of that mission among his victories. Despite how it had turned out, he was still proud of the way he had duped the fool general into severing political ties with the Voltron Force, which had enabled Doom to take over the weapon-rich world for a short time. Cossack had enjoyed a brief reign as the self-proclaimed emperor of Oron, and when he enslaved Kruger, he had taken the general's medal as a token of his victory. Unfortunately when Voltron came back even though Kruger had terminated their alliance—probably against Galaxy Alliance protocol, though Cossack was no expert on that—his victory had proven short-lived. Still, up until that point the mission was a fond memory of Cossack's, and it was his firm belief that the sacrifice he had made to Nys'athar before embarking on that mission was the key to why that aspect had gone so smoothly.

I definitely should've stopped by to kiss up to Athgar that day too; maybe then Voltron wouldn't have kicked my robeast's ass when he broke his own rules and came back, Cossack mused as he descended the final step, and strode into the heart of Nys'athar's sacrificial chamber.

"Fleet Commander Cossack the Terrible," a sly voice that was not distinctly male or female, belonging to the cleric tending the chamber, greeted him. "To what does the goddess owe the pleasure of your visit this evening?"

Cossack approached the altar, a diamond-shaped onyx slab inlaid with a lapis lazuli tracing of the goddess' skull crest set upon a three-tiered dais. Two ever-lit fires burned inside the carving's eyes, emitting a subtle fragrance from the oil used to keep them going. The carving's mouth was open, its inside concave and shaped like a bowl. The mouth was where one placed sacrifices during a prayer. The dark mouth was empty, indicating that Nys'athar was open to accept and hungry for whatever offerings mortals wished to present to her.

"I need the goddess' help, big-time, with something I've been asked to pull off," Cossack candidly told the cleric, whose appearance was just as androgynous as the voice. The altar-keeper wore a loose floor-length robe of midnight blue that showed only that he or she was leanly built, without a hint of telltale curves or musculature that might have given away his or her gender. The robe covered the entire body save the face, neck, and hands, the last of which were covered with satin black gloves. The cleric wore several rings forged from various metals and stones bearing religious symbols specific to Nys'athar and Darhin-Kal atop gloved fingers, as well as a silver diamond-shaped medallion around the neck that reflected the light of the altar's fires. The hair and facial features of Nys'athar's prayer receiver, named Penthen, were equally ambiguous and one could make an equally strong argument that they belonged to a stern woman as they could that they belonged to a mildly effeminate Doomite man.

"Indeed?" Penthen's golden eyes, heavily lined with black metallic ritualistic paint, fixed first upon the commander and then upon the objects in his hands. "It's a matter of great secrecy and urgency, then?"

Cossack nodded and offered a hopeful smile. "Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies."

Used to such ambiguous responses in that line of work, Penthen smiled back in tandem and gestured to the altar. "Then pray with all your spirit and leave an appropriate prize, child of Elichi."

Nodding back to the cleric, Cossack dropped half of the dried herb in one eye fire and the remainder in the other, and then closed his eyes and lowered his head in silent prayer. As the herb burned, a sweet smoke filtered into the air that in a stronger concentration would be intoxicating. Penthen recited a soft chant to Nys'athar, and once the invocation was finished, Cossack placed Kruger's medal into the altar's open mouth in a gesture of reverence, with a bowed head and closed eyes, as was the custom. As he let go, Cossack felt a twinge of sadness at having to part with that favored souvenir, but he supposed that was why the rite was called "sacrifice" after all. Giving something that the goddess would not only appreciate but that was also important to him showed devoutness and devotion to his goal, far more than presenting something just swiped from his little brother when he was not looking in a last-ditch effort. Cossack was not taking chances with this prayer. He needed all the help he could get, and he figured that something the goddess had once previously helped him acquire would go far in earning her favor and hopefully ensure his success.

Penthen stood with outstretched arms at the opposite end of the diamond from Cossack and inhaled the smoke of the burning sacrificial herb deeply. The cleric's eyes closed for a moment, and then reopened as the energies of the astral and worldly realms synchronized. "The medal of the high general of Oron?" the impressed Penthen said, first looking at the sacrifice in the mouth and then back at Cossack. "The goddess is most pleased. She greatly enjoyed watching you convince a self-important human that the cherished Alliance hero Voltron was the 'bad guy' and we 'wicked' ones had their best interests at heart."

Cossack looked up and beamed with pride. "Thanks! It was a fun day. At least until you-know-who showed up anyway."

"Mmmm," Penthen murmured in agreement before reciting another chant. The sacrificial smoke continued to waft as silence fell over the chamber, and Cossack waited with increasing anticipation for the result of the cleric's communion with the divine. After what felt like quite a while but was in reality less than a minute, a sly smile spread across Penthen's features.

"Good news I hope?" Cossack asked.

Penthen nodded. "Nys'athar gives you her fullest blessing. Leave with confidence, Commander. The veil of secrecy will not fall from your charge."

Feeling as though a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders, a broad grin spread across Cossack's face upon receiving the divine thumbs-up, and he gave the cleric a heartfelt bow of gratitude. "Thanks!" He had already come up with what he thought would be a decent plan for the task posed to him—hiding the identity of the supposedly-executed-but-had-to-be-kept-alive-and-safe-for-Lotor's-wife Voltron force prisoner Hunk—but now that he knew that the goddess of deception also knew and approved of his scheme, he felt far more confident about putting it into action.

"You're most welcome," Penthen told Cossack, and just as the commander turned to leave, added with a raised brow, "You know, it has been some time since we—that is, the loyal acolytes of Nys'athar—have had some of that fine special vintage of Aldar'ach peach wine. Perhaps a meager donation to the temple would encourage others in the order to… shall we say, put in an extra good word for you and your family with the goddess as well, Commander?"

The wine the cleric referred to was a home-brew that his father had the recipe for but did not make to sell. Although a cask of it would fetch an amazing price on the open market given that it had the unique property of being a powerful aphrodisiac as well as a potent intoxicant and fine complement to a tasty dessert, Cossack's father Lord Tadack wisely realized that some things had the most inherent value as a personal currency with which to call in favors, and as a result kept the formula closely guarded. The few on Doom that knew the peach wine's sordid secret paid handsomely for it and the many that did not—for Cossack's parents also sold a similarly-flavored peach wine without that property—were easily manipulated, blackmailed, or both after having it slipped to them on the sly.

Knowing full well what Penthen was angling at, Cossack flashed a knowing smile in response. "You got it!" He then gave a jovial wave in parting and ascended the stairs to see to his task.

The hour was very late when Sven, Romelle, and the rest of the refugees from the ruined Castle Pollux reached the town nearest their escape route. Earlier that evening Sven and one of the youths among their group had ventured there alone on foot, and they had been relieved to find the town devoid of any Doom soldier presence. They had also received the mixed news regarding the fate of the fallen castle and those that had remained behind. Sven's heart sank to hear of the destruction, lost lives, and those presumed missing or dead—especially Hunk—and while he was glad that Bandor had survived, the news that he was in critical condition in a Galaxy Alliance hospital facility was still ominous. He was relieved that Lance managed to hold on to the red lion and that it, with help from Keith and friends from the Galaxy Alliance, had successfully defeated the robeast and driven off Lotor's invasion. Still, Sven knew it was only a matter of time before another attack came and even with Alliance protection, they were not in any position to deal with it. He tried not to dwell on the fate that awaited Hunk, although the memories of what he had endured as a prisoner on Doom haunted him. Sven knew all too well what horrors his friend might endure before, the heavens forbid, Lotor made good on his threat to kill him if the red lion was not surrendered.

Sven and his companion borrowed simple transportation consisting of some horses and a small hover vehicle from one of the local farmers, and took them along with some food and drink to where the rest of the party still hid in the trees. From there they rounded everyone up and took them into the town, where several of the locals offered them food, shelter, support, and heartfelt condolences for what they had lost. During the ride Sven updated Romelle with all of the news he had been given, and the two of them stayed together alone the remainder of the night in a loft above the town's tavern, courtesy of the barkeep who had heartily refused Romelle's insistent promise to pay him once she was in a position to do so.

They slept well considering all that they had been through, mostly because they were exhausted and drained and their bodies demanded it. Sven's slumber was deeper and lasted longer than Romelle's however, and when he woke up he found himself alone. When he went downstairs, the barkeep offered him something to eat and let him know that Romelle had left over an hour prior and had not returned. Knowing the princess as well as he did, Sven figured that she would not be able to lay low or stay idle long with all the responsibility that rested on her, no matter how much her psyche might have needed the rest. Sure enough, he discovered when he met up with some others from the castle that Romelle had been with them earlier, but had since left to "do some thinking" on her own.

After some asking around, he eventually found her sitting alone on a stone bench in the town's cemetery, a peaceful little cove bordered by flowering willow-like trees. She looked up when he approached, her eyes reddened and the circles beneath them pronounced from stress and grief. "It's not like the cemetery for the royal family. That was open, on the hills," she said softly, her eyes falling upon a nearby white marker in the shape of a cross. "But it was peaceful too, and at least they, like these souls, can rest." Romelle closed her eyes, nodding her head downward. "Avok, lost at sea, wasn't so lucky. My father…"

"Romelle—" Sven put a hand on her shoulder as her words died, but she resumed speaking before he could say any more.

"And now Bandor too." Her hands crumpled into fists. "I've had my whole family taken from me, all by the same man, and none of them even get the dignity of peace."

"Bandor isn't gone yet," Sven reassured her, and sat down beside her on the bench. "From what I heard, there's a good chance he could recover. Doctors can do amazing things, and he's in good hands. When we get back and get a chance to talk to the Alliance—"

"Which we have to do soon," Romelle interjected firmly. "The people need to know that their leaders haven't abandoned them or all been lost." Her eyes narrowed. "Lotor needs to know that too. I won't let that bastard have the satisfaction of thinking he's won and broken Pollux. Not after all he's done. I won't let him win. I'll sooner die."

He knew from the fire in her tone that she was not being melodramatic; her hatred for Lotor did burn that deeply. He did not blame her in the least for the sentiment, although inwardly he cringed at her choice of words given recent events. He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "You shouldn't talk like that. Pollux needs you more than ever."

Romelle let out a heavy sigh. "I know. I barely know where to start, except that we have to get back to the castle—or what's left of it—and let the Galaxy Alliance know that we survived, and see what help they can give us."

Sven nodded in agreement. "The others are still tired and need their rest, but I'll go with you."

"I know you will," Romelle said with a wan smile. "I already asked some of the others to gather some more emergency supplies and equipment and meet in the town square in a few hours. That'll give everyone time to regroup and rest a little and maybe get some volunteers from town. I asked the ones who escaped with us to stay here—like you said, they need the rest."

"And you don't?" Sven queried somewhat playfully, but also with genuine concern.

"I don't have the luxury of that right now." She took his hand and met his gaze with a fond look. "Besides, I have what gives me strength right here."

Looking back into her troubled blue eyes, Sven found his heart warmed and aching at the same time. It made him happy beyond words to know Romelle felt so strongly for him, but it hurt so badly to know that there was so little he could do to ease her troubles aside from simply being there for her as best he could. "Romelle…"

"I mean it, Sven." She gave his hand an affectionate squeeze. "That's why… that's why, before we go back to the castle, I want you to come inside with me." She stood up, still holding his hand, and he joined her side with a puzzled look on his face.

"Into the chapel? You want me to pray with you, for your brother and Hunk and the others?"

A determined smile crossed her lips. "Yes, that would be nice, but actually," she paused for a moment, considering her words, and then simply came out and said it. "I want to marry you, Sven. Right here, right now."

Sven's eyes grew wide as saucers, and he looked back at her in complete shock. "Marry you? I… I mean, you know that I love you, Romelle, and that you'd want to means more than I could say…" His voice trailed off as he looked away for a moment, sorting through the whirlpool of emotion that her impromptu proposal had stirred. "But marry you now? You're the princess. You'd marry a common man like me? I'm not royalty or nobility, just a Galaxy Alliance space explorer…"

"You're just as noble as any prince, and have more nobility in your little toe than some princes I could mention!" Romelle asserted, almost shaking his hand with her impassioned words. "And if anyone on Pollux doesn't like it, they can stuff it! I love you, Sven. I love you and if I learned anything from this whole mess it's to not take what you love for granted." Her eyes welled up with fresh tears. "Not when you could lose them in an instant, just like that. I won't lose you, Sven, not without making what time I've got with you count for all it's worth."

His lip trembling with the rush of feeling her outpouring of emotion stirred, Sven pulled his beloved princess into a tight embrace. "I love you too, Romelle. You mean the universe to me."

She looked intently into his eyes. "Then let's make it official. Now."

A smile that came from the very depths of his soul lit up his face as he realized that the very thing he only dared imagine in his most private, cherished moments was coming true. "Let's go," he said, and met her lips in an ardent kiss.

The Castle of Lions' scanner alert buzzed, indicating the presence of a ship in the fortress' vicinity. Coran frowned with concern when he saw that the craft was a ship from planet Doom, heading straight for the castle. He had a guard summon Princess Allura immediately, and within moments of her arrival, Pidge and their less-than-thrilled Doom houseguest, the witch Haggar, joined them as well.

"Princess," Coran asked Allura, "did Lotor say anything to you about returning this soon?" He gestured to the monitor. "It seems that we have an unexpected visitor from planet Doom."

Allura eyed the screen curiously. "No, he didn't say anything to me about it. When I talked to him, I had the impression that he had to stay on Doom until things were straightened out with," a fleeting frown crossed her features as she finished her sentence, "with the lion situation."

"Me neither," Haggar volunteered, "but then Lotor often does whatever he pleases and tells everyone else later."

Coran's frown deepened; the witch's remark only added to his unease with the situation, but Allura remained calm. "I'm sure it's not an attack. If it's not Lotor himself, maybe it's someone here to talk to us about rebuilding plans, or a diplomat."

"Now that would make me happy," Haggar said, and picked up Coba, who had been rubbing against her robe at her feet. "A diplomat here would mean I could go home to my lab and be somewhere that Kitty can actually eat the mice without causing a political incident."

"And you going home would make lots of people happy," Pidge quipped.

The witch's eyes narrowed and she sneered at the former green lion pilot. "Don't like having me around, do you?"

Pidge flashed her a false, cheesy smile. "Not so much me as Nanny and others I could mention," he thumbed in Coran's direction, "but now that you bring it up…"

"Hah," Haggar cackled. "I assure you, the feeling is mutual."

Allura ended the squabble by walking over to the console herself and entering a hailing frequency. "We aren't going to find out who it is by just standing around talking about it," she said before addressing the ship. "Castle of Lions to ship from planet Doom. Please come in."

The visage of a light blue-skinned Doom soldier in an admiral's armor with a large nose and wide jaw appeared on the screen. "Admiral Yaklitz of battleship Zithkar-Ven of Doom responding, Castle of Lions. Nice to see you on friendly terms." His tone was pleasant and nonchalant.

The moment she heard the name, Haggar recognized the face of their visitor. Although Cossack's fleet friends were hardly her social cup of witch's brew, it was impossible to work with the commander for any length of time and not be subjected to his rambling anecdotes of his off-duty escapades with his friends, including the admiral on the screen. "Did Cossack send you?"

"Yep, at the request of Prince Lotor," Yaklitz confirmed. "I'm supposed to pick up Princess Allura and take her to Doom for a necessary political appearance with her husband."

Frowning, Allura asked, "A political appearance?"

"I suspect you're expected to present some sort of solidified front with Prince Lotor, most likely in regard to the issue of the red lion, now that the deadline has passed," Coran said.

Yaklitz confirmed Coran's statement with a nod. "It's important that the Drule Council gets the right impression with this whole brouhaha. Commander Cossack was told to see to it that you get to Doom pronto, your highness, and he put me on the job." He gave a cocky smile that was intended to be reassuring, although the uneasy expression on Allura's face made it clear that it missed the mark as he pressed on. "Cossack and I go way back. You can trust me."

"I see." Allura looked away thoughtfully, not so much put off at the until-recently strange notion of trusting anyone from Doom, but rather at the idea of being asked to participate in the upcoming spectacle involving her friends. Though she believed Lotor when he had said that Hunk would not be harmed, it did not sit well with her at all to actively take part in a charade that would lead others, including people she cared very much about, to believe that he was being executed. "I suppose Lotor didn't come himself because he couldn't leave?"

Admiral Yaklitz nodded again. "Yup. That's the deal, your highness. We should head back as soon as possible, but if you really need it, I can give you a little while to get ready and get your things."

Allura sighed. "I guess I don't have a choice, do I? I'll be ready in a few minutes." She turned to Coran. "Let Nanny know, please. I don't want her to worry… at least not any more than I know she will just with me going to Doom in the first place."

Coran gave a slow nod of assent. "I'll tell her."

Pidge shifted his gaze from the view screen to Allura. "Don't keep us waiting on what happens. I want to know how Hunk is and that he really is safe."

"I know, and I'll tell you as soon as I can when I find out. I promise," Allura said sincerely.

Straightening where she stood, Haggar took firm hold of her staff. "Well I don't need any extra time to get ready. I'm more than ready to leave this place. I'll be right aboard."

Yaklitz gave Haggar a sheepish look and cut her off as she shifted Coba in her arms to a more optimal position for travel. "Uh, sorry Witch Haggar," he said hesitantly, "but my orders don't include bringing you along. I'm only supposed to take Princess Allura back, not you."

"What?" Her warty face contorted into a particularly ugly expression of irritation.

The witch's dangerous look, coupled with her reputation, was enough to make Yaklitz shift in his seat even from the relative safety of being on the opposite end of a view screen. "Cossack said you stay. Both Prince Lotor and King Zarkon's orders. Protecting their interests and all that."

"Protecting their interests," Haggar repeated, her glower deepening. Although she did not doubt that was the truth, she could not help but suspect that the decision of her peers on Doom for her to stay was quite deliberate, and that they found some sort of snide humor in it knowing how she detested social missions when there were any number of high ranking military officers that could patrol Arus in her stead. She blamed Merla, although unbeknownst to her it was not the pink-haired queen but Zarkon himself who had insisted, finding the idea both beneficial—as he could trust Haggar—and humorous in a twisted way. "Fine," she said sourly after a moment. "Whatever."

"Great," the equally enthused Pidge echoed.

"As you say." Coran's tone remained politically correct and concise, but there was no hiding the displeased edge to it.

Allura offered a conciliatory look to her friends, and then started for the door. "Hopefully it won't take long." She turned toward Yaklitz on the screen. "I won't hold you up. I'll be right there." With a nod of goodbye to the others, the princess then left the control room leaving the disgruntled Haggar, disconcerted Pidge, and dismayed Coran behind.

Back on Doom, King Zarkon was in high spirits. The moment of truth had finally arrived, and he sat proudly upon his throne while a crowd of everyone who was anyone on Doom gathered in the royal chamber to the point that there was standing room only to bear personal witness to the execution of one of the Voltron Force. Only the red carpet remained open, to allow the execution procession to enter, and the massive view screen on the far side of the room was set up to transmit the bloody spectacle on every open frequency when it happened.

Zarkon regretted that Merla was not there at his side, but she was away on the far side of the Drule Empire politicking for their interests. He had gotten word to her to be sure that Viceroy Throk and Hazar were tuned in at the opportune moment, and he had left instructions to make sure the broadcast got to the Castle of Lions and of course, Galaxy Garrison, as soon as possible. A part of him missed having Haggar standing by the throne as she often was at moments such as these, but she would no doubt get special enjoyment watching the reaction unfold in the Castle of Lions, and he intended to pick her warty old brain for all the details of their reaction when she came back.

What surprised Zarkon, however, was the lack of some half-baked heroic rescue attempt at the last minute from the red lion. Although the Galaxy Alliance had chosen to call his bluff and he was not shocked that they refused to negotiate with an "evil tyrant" like him, he had expected those foolishly sentimental space explorers to pull off something to rescue their friend out of loyalty. He supposed that they were too busy picking up the pieces of the wreckage that was Castle Pollux and helping those easier to save than their yellow lion pilot friend, or that they clung to some misguided faith that Allura would be able to save him by having Lotor intervene out of love for her. Either way, they were fools, because Pollux was surviving on borrowed time. There was no way Lotor could convince him to allow the Voltron pilot to live no matter how much he might plead for him to do so—which Lotor did him proud, at least, by not doing—and Zarkon of Doom would be damned if he would kowtow to the likes of his son's crybaby wife.

Zarkon's pleasant reverie ended at the sound of the horns being blown by the robotic sentries lined up by the throne room door, signaling that the big moment had arrived. A bloodthirsty cheer went through the crowd as the doors swung open and the execution procession strode in. Prince Lotor was in the lead, the perfect image of the conquering hero, parading in his prize prisoner behind him in heavy chains. Commander Cossack had the honor of carrying the chain that served as a leash connected to an iron collar on the doomed man's neck—a further means to degrade their hated enemy in his final moments—a step behind the prince. The two were flanked by a number of decorated royal guardsmen and fleet soldiers, and the cheers and hollers grew louder as they reached the foot of the throne and a grinning Zarkon arose to greet them.

"Father," Lotor called out as he bowed at the foot of the throne staircase, "I present Hunk, formerly of the Voltron Force, pawn of the Galaxy Alliance, and traitor to the new order of planet Arus by his association with Pollux and the stolen red lion."

The prisoner, whose resemblance to Hunk was close enough that no one bearing witness in person or on screen would have questioned it, growled in his chains. "I'm not—"

"A traitor to Allura?" Lotor whirled around with deadly grace and cut him off while Cossack hit the human hard from behind, forcing him to his knees.

"Too late to save your skin now, Hunk," the commander said coldly. "Now shut up."

"I beg to differ," Lotor went on, speaking loudly enough so that the entire assemblage as well as those watching a broadcast could hear him clearly. "You betrayed Allura and Arus when you sided with Pollux over her, when you conspired and aided your friend Lance in stealing her property in the name of your flawed Galaxy Alliance morality." He ended his sentence on a sibilant note, glowering at him in a show of unbridled contempt. "And how sad for you that your loyal friendship was not returned, that the oh-so-upstanding Galaxy Alliance won't dirty their hands to save one of their own… because we're too evil to negotiate with."

Zarkon descended the staircase of his throne halfway, letting out a hearty chortle as he did so. "Galaxy Alliance hypocrisy has never known any bounds, unlike their weakness." He faced the crowd and the screen after looking down at his son and their prisoner for a long moment. "Planet Doom and the Drule Empire, however, have no use for weakness and will not tolerate insolence and interference from lesser worlds like those of the Galaxy Alliance. Let this be a message to any and all who presume to balk or stand in the way of King Zarkon and planet Doom."

Doom's king then charged down the stairs in a sudden show of strength and agility, and backhanded the chained Voltron Force prisoner with the sharp end of his scepter, creating an ugly gash on his large jaw and knocking him backward. Cossack quickly hauled the condemned man back upright with a rough tug on the chain, causing him to choke as blood ran down his face and neck. Zarkon then drew himself to his full height and turned to Lotor. "Kill him."

A cruel smile crossed Lotor's lips as a subsequent cheer went through the crowd. "Yes, Father."

Panicking, the bound man presumed to be Hunk struggled fruitlessly in his chains, while a decorated guardsman on the left holding two polished golden pikes handed one to the prince. Lotor held the gleaming weapon up to the vocal approval of the crowd and then, before "Hunk" could voice any last protests, he thrust it with savage force into the center of his chest.

The soon-to-be-dead man gasped out a raspy scream that died seconds after his lungs were pierced, and he twitched and clutched in vain while the crowd erupted in howls of delight all around, watching the spectacle in bloodthirsty excitement. Cossack pulled on the dying man's leash chain to prolong the pain in his death throes while Lotor leaned back and pressed with all his might on the pike so that it pierced his body fully. When it broke through, it elicited another thunderous roar of applause, and pinned the now dead man to the red throne room carpet, which grew darker with the pool of spilt blood beneath him.

"One Voltron lion destroyed, one pilot taken for our own, and one now dead," Zarkon's booming voice cut through the din of the crowd from the top of the stairs in front of his throne once more. "Voltron's legacy is an ugly chapter in our history that's now come to an end. Let it die and rot where it belongs." He gestured to the executed man on the pike. "Sever his head and toss his carcass in the Pit of Skulls, and parade the head through the streets of the capitol. I want it on display in the square until the vultures pick it clean!"

As Zarkon sat back down, the crowd's malevolent glee magnified tenfold. Basking in the favor of his people, Lotor accepted a shiny double-bladed axe topped with the royal skull crest from a guardsman on his right and swung it, removing the impaled body's head in one swoop. He then passed the bloodied axe to Cossack, who in turn handed it back to the guardsman, while Lotor took the second golden spear from the sentry on his right and wedged it squarely into the severed head's neck. The prince then held his trophy high, triumphant amongst a fresh wave of cheers and howls, and led an entourage of soldiers out of the hall to carry out his father's decree.

The crowd began to disburse as Lotor made his fanfare-filled exit. Some followed the prince, while others followed Cossack and the guards that accompanied him to dispose of the other remains in the Pit of Skulls. The smug and satisfied King Zarkon, however, stayed put in his throne, indulging in a wickedly delightful smile of victory and revenge.

In the newly repaired red lion, Lance and a hastily assembled rescue party consisting of Stride in his tiger fighter and a few other rebellious Galaxy Alliance-friendly types not bound by military regulation had just reached the system that was home to Doom when Zarkon's triumphant broadcast aired.

"Some transmission from Doom is coming across most of the channels on the ultrawave," one of Lance's allies radioed to the rest of the party.

Lance felt a knot in his stomach. Oh no, don't tell me we're too late! His mind raced as he cast an anxious glance at the time display on the lion's console. Although he knew that Lotor's deadline had passed, it was still not by that much, and going from his past experience with Lotor, it was not his style to not give them a "one last ultimatum" chance to play on their sympathies and gloat when he had the advantage, especially with Allura involved. Lance had, in fact, pinned his hopes on the fact that Allura's influence would buy him time to get to Hunk. He held no delusions that Lotor would actually respect any wish she expressed to spare Hunk, but angry as Lance was with Allura, he knew without a doubt that she would never condone Hunk being hurt and that she would do everything in her power to stop it. That alone would have to account for some delay, he had figured, even if it was just for Lotor to come up with a way to keep her quiet or out of the way.

"Better see what they have to say so we don't fly in unprepared," Stride's gruff voice sounded next.

"Yeah," Lance agreed, as his stomach tightened into an anxious knot. I was already too late to help Hunk and the others back on Pollux, please don't let it happen this time too, he prayed as he switched on the channel.

Unfortunately his worst fears were confirmed when he tuned in and saw the bloody execution spectacle already in progress. The image of Zarkon finishing his last words before giving the ominous order to "kill him" appeared on his screen.

"No!" the horrified Lance screamed.

He wanted to close his eyes, but he could not, and his blood ran cold as he witnessed his longtime friend, the strong and proud Hunk, then savagely run through with a golden spike.

Words failed the normally glib red lion pilot, and his breath caught in his throat. Lance heard similar exclamations from others in his party as they watched the gruesome spectacle, but it faded into the background compared to the whirling surge of emotion he felt in that moment.

They killed him. The fucking bastards killed him!

Lance could hardly believe it was real, wanted desperately to believe it was somehow staged, and that it was not his friend gasping his last in a pool of blood at Zarkon and Lotor's feet. He could not see Hunk's face up close over the monitor—perhaps the only small mercy shown him in that moment—but it was plain to see that he had the same build, same hair, and the same clothes his friend had been wearing when they had last parted ways on Pollux, so the notion that what he saw was somehow not real was quickly dispelled by the cruel reality of what stared him in the face.

Angry and sorrowful tears sprang to Lance's eyes and clouded his vision, sparing him the grisly sight of Lotor beheading his friend, spearing the severed head like a hors d'œuvre on a toothpick, and then parading it around like a bloody prize.

Several long seconds of somber silence passed before the voice of one of his compatriots came across the communicator. "Lance? You there man?"

He still could barely find the words to talk, but somehow Lance managed to answer. "Yeah."

"We're too late," another of his companions said from a neighboring ship. "Damn them."

"May his brave soul travel to the astral with honor and free of pain," Stride's solemn voice chimed in. "He will be mourned and avenged."

Lance's jaw tightened in a newfound resolve of grief and hatred. "You bet he will."

"Say the word and we strike with everything we've got," Stride offered. The others added in their agreement and support as well.

Blinking the tears from his eyes, Lance stared down hard at the screen. "Let's get 'em."

Nothing else was said as the rogue assemblage of ships, led by the red lion, blazed toward Doom with weapons at the ready and a searing desire to mete out hot, burning revenge.

The ship that carried Princess Allura back to Doom was also en route when the execution aired. Admiral Yaklitz received the transmission and called for Allura's attention.

"What is it?" she asked as she looked over.

"News broadcast," he answered succinctly, and sat back in his seat as it came on screen.

Allura's heart skipped a beat when she saw the crowd in the throne room and a smug—an entirely too smug—Zarkon atop his throne. It looked as though he was anticipating some spectacle that could only mean something horrible. She knew that a smile the likes of which were on the king of Doom's face could mean nothing good. Her fears were confirmed when the festivities started and she saw, to her horror, Lotor stride in with Cossack and the bound Hunk in tow.

She whirled to face Yaklitz. "You said that I was going back for a political appearance, to give the Drule Empire the right impression for all of this!" she said with rising alarm. "Why is it happening if we aren't there?"

Yaklitz regarded her impassively. "With all due respect, your highness, that was your advisor who said that was the appearance you were coming back for. Not me."

The princess made an agitated lurch toward the console. "But you said—"

"I said that I was here to take you back so you could make a political appearance with Prince Lotor. That's it."

Allura drew breath to argue further, but the spectacle playing out on the screen captured and held her attention to the point that she and the admiral both fell silent as it went on. Her blood ran cold as she watched it, as she saw Zarkon backhand Hunk with his scepter, and then give the bone-chilling order to kill him.

Lotor promised. He promised. He wouldn't do it…

Her mind raced to reconcile what was before her eyes with Lotor's promise to her that he would not allow Hunk to be killed. She felt the painful sting of betrayal and heartache for Hunk as she saw Lotor ram the spike through his body with her own eyes, to the delight of the king and the crowd… and the admiral beside her.

"All right! Check out that blood spray!" Yaklitz cheered at the gory sight.

"You sick monster!" Allura exclaimed in both horror and contempt. It has to be fake, she thought desperately. Lotor wouldn't just turn around and kill him after he promised… would he?

"I got an easy way to tell if Lotor's lying: his lips are moving." Pidge's recent remark echoed in her mind, a dubious voice of reason that she wanted more than anything to silence with proof to the contrary.

Yaklitz meanwhile frowned. "Apologies, Princess," he said in a carefully controlled tone that indicated he was just speaking in obligatory formality. "I didn't mean to offend, and I don't mean any disrespect to you as Prince Lotor's wife. It's just that Voltron's been a real pain in the ass for us for a while, and it's hard not to cheer when you see the enemy get theirs."

"He wasn't supposed to 'get it'!" Allura cried, and collapsed into one of the seats, fighting back tears. "How could he do this to me after he promised?" The more she reviewed the terrible images in her head, the harder it was for her to believe it really could have all been faked, especially knowing for certain that Haggar was not there to use magic to make it more convincing.

"What else was he supposed to do? The Drule Empire's gotta see that we don't let the Galaxy Alliance jerk us around."

"But Hunk…" Unable to fight them back any longer, Allura finally lost the battle to her tears and they spilled freely down her cheeks. She had wanted so badly to believe Lotor, but what if she had been wrong, and Hunk paid the ultimate price? She could never forgive herself… and certainly never Lotor. Never. If she was certain of one thing, that was it.

Continued