Chapter Text
Everything hurts. Everything is blurry. There are feelings and sensations all around me that I can't quite place. What happened? Last I knew, we were fighting. We thought we had won. Then I could remember yelling, a dull thud to the back of my head and everything then turned black.
I woke to find myself strapped to a table.
Purple.
Purple was everywhere.
The colour of the Galra.
Why can't I escape the Galra? I've accepted my heritage, made peace with my mum about the bumps in our relationships. Yet the purple still makes me nervous.
I won't ever get used to it.
I turn my attention back to what was happening. Everything was blurry. It was strange. I didn't know what was happening. Then I hear the voice. It had a specific rasp to it, hard to describe, but I felt like I knew the owner well. With the clues of the purple and with what Allura used to mention, it had to be Zarkon's witch.
I couldn't hear what she was saying. Everything felt like muddled water. Yet, I knew it was her an whatever others she held under her command.
The pain was horrible.
I remember the screams.
All of them were mine, my throat was burning.
I remember the pain.
Pain.
Just pain.
Pure pain.
Indescribable pain.
What this what had happened to Shiro?
Did he also feel the terror, the dread of what was to come next?
Did he also lose track of time, stare up into the ceiling blankly as he waited for something to happen?
Did he desperately wish everything to be over? For the sweet release of death?
Bad. Horrible, horrible, horrible.
I can't remember what exactly happened, how long it was. Sometimes, I would forget my name and mumble unintelligible statements as I desperately grasped onto what I knew.
It was probably all futile.
I don't know what the witch did.
But whatever she did do was something I didn't want to happen. I didn't want to be experimented on, to be the guinea pig for her.
What was special about me?
My Galra lineage?
That I'm a hybrid?
What use do I serve?
They're all gone. I'm probably gone myself. My mind wanders landscapes I couldn't even dream of. My body sits there, shaking as the occasional draft wafts through. It's small and lonely. Thye seem to have left me, my use all depleted. I won't blame them. I would have done the same. I sit and curl myself up in a ball in the broken cell. It's horrible.
I don't know myself anymore.
Whatever the druids did, they messed me up badly.
Sometimes, I forget memories. Sometimes, I lift my hands and see that they've gone purple. Sometimes, I nearly cut myself by snagging myself on claws I didn't know I had. Sometimes, I run my tongue over my teeth and find fangs.
It's bizzare, feeling like you don't belong in your own body.
I should really just disappear off. How am I not dead yet?
Sometimes I really wonder that.
But I fear sometimes.
Sometimes I sleep and then wake up to find long scratches running down the length of my arm. Sometimes the wounds are shallow, but sometimes I can see that blood has been drawn.
There's no prizes for guessing who did those.
Sometimes I wake and I find the urge to punch something, to tear something, or someone, right apart, and to kill. The strangest urge to use my claws and teeth to tear someone apart, to somehow right a wrong that had been done to me.
It's scary.
I don't want anything to happen.
I͍͖̻̤̳ͥ̓̊͊ͨ͗́ ͔̲̳̤̣͈̽̓͒̓w̹̯̳a͈̳̩͇̠͙̐ͧͥ̂̏n͕̳͚̖̳ͧ̈̃t̬͇͚͚̟ͮ̄͋͑̍͑ ̺̳͇̲͊̑ẗ́̅o͎̺̮̲̝̪͇̔ͣ̿͊ ̜͈͎͓̩̗̽̑̔ͣ́ͦ͆h̙̗͕̝̘͎̅a̼̥̅͂͂̎v͍̯͛̃͒̉̚e͑ ̻͉̼͕̦̩͊̄͑ͪͮt͉̒͂́ͤ͋h̋̃ͦe̲̗̭͇̓̐ͪͯ̈́͗̍ ̜̻̬̳̮͙ͦ͗ͬ̀̇̋̀f̫̗͓̜̹͚͚͊̍̉eͥ̔ͯe̟͖̥̬͇̥ͯl̇̉ͩi̓n͙̫̻̋͑͌͒ͅg̠̫͈ ̯̣̭̱̗̓̒ͫ͑̐̿̂ọ͛̉̎f̩̰̮̪̈́̆ͭ͐̉̽ ̫̖ͦͭͧs͎̤̮̭ͣ͐̄͑͑̆͑o̱ṃ͇͔͈̘ͧ͗ͅeͭͮ̎ͦ͊̎̐t̰͖̼̰̟̫̩͛̃͑͛̓̓̒h̹̳̲̯͆̋̓ͧ̇̈i̮̣̬͚̠̭͇ͥ̏ͩ͐ͨ̄n̗̟̺͌͗͛ͨ̆ġ̪ͥ̾́ ͛̈́ͧ̾͑͒ͬb̟͖̒͒̾̉̌ͯȇ̥̩̳͙t̟̘̬̖̰̟̭ẅ̻̬͈̫ͧ͛͐e̼̼̹̜̾̒͛ͪ̏̑r͇n̰̬̅̏ͧͮ ͍̠͖͈̝̱̎ͮ͋̐͒m͈̬̹̣̭̅ͤy̦͓̪̼̮̏̄͋̈̎ͅ ̻̦̹̫͇̩̋̍͂̂͛t̘̓ͭë̘̪́̒̾͋̓̋ͫeͭ̃t̬̝͍ͦ̃̌͋̎ͥ̚h̦̳̥͓̮̥̅̌̐̐̉ͦ,͖̰̤̙̆̑̓ͯ̚ ͚̙̮͖̯͎͇ͬ̎̓s͚̱̳̭̼̭͉̅̑̿ͨö̰̱͎́͐̏͐̾̉m̘ͯ̉ͮ͒̆̓ͅe̫̬̺̙̠̤̦ͧt͉̖̤͈̣͈̥h̩̙͚̘̼ͩi̤̠̫̣̲̙̘ͪͤ̌̉̏̏̑n̪͙̘̔g͈̬̐ͦ̎̇̾̃ ̘t̲̤͉̯̖̣͍͐̄̋ͧ͊h̥͔͈͆̊ã̄͋̄t̺̝̣̦ ̞̱̳̝̠͔ͭm̭͓͈̗̬ͬͭy̫̯̰̥͖͌̌ͨͯ̆ ͕̻̣̮̫̱ͩ́͌ͫͭc̗͕̝̋͛̚l̪͙̯̱̫̥̆̓̊ͭͪ̚ạ̙̰̲͙͌̋̿̾̒̔ẁ̥͚̖͋̄͊s̟̪͍͓̉͑ͧͩͯͮ̚ ̻̳̟͈ͧͫ̉ͣc̪̫͈̟̰̳̞͒a̗̻̖͈̣ͦ̌͑̔͐ñ̮͚̼͔̄̚ ̗͕̯̟̲̻̈́ͫͥͅd̤̼̘̱̯ͦi͇͉͌ͣ̏͗̐ͯg̭͇̫͕̲͋̾̓ ͤ̌̉ĭ͖̝̅ͩ͗n͓͕͕̟͆̾̀̔̈́̄ͭͅtͫo͙͙͈̬͙.
I̠̟͓̞͞ͅ ̟͔w͖ͥ̔̏͌ͥ̅͞a̺n̬̗̗̟̬͗̀̆͛̒̆̾͝ť͖̮̭͚̭̘̻͗̇͟ ̜͈͔̄̂̆ẗ͉̙͔̩̥́͌ͅö̀ͣ͗̎̐ ̫̮̪̝̬̯̘ͮ̆̓̇̈̂͗͠k̪̠̜͉̮̒̀į͖̩̫͙̞̞͇l̡͚͓̽̂l̻̘̒ͬͣ̿ͧ ͎͎̪̮ͯ̀ͣ͢s̲ǒ̠͕̞̭̌̋ͩ̑͒ͅ ͩ̉ͮ͒ͤb̷̲͚̜͗ͥͤͪa͕̟̼͙̪ͬ̌̃͆̾ͦ̅d̝̗͙l̰͕̭̲͈ͭ̅ͦ̄̈́͐͌ͅy̱̏͋ͥͬͩ͟.̟̩̤̙̲͟
I̶̼͙͉̥͆͒̆͋̏͗̏͗̕ ̷̡̪̫͈̭̪̦̰̞̞̥̺͚̟̅͐͂́̂ͅh̴͎̓̇̓͋͝a̷̬̩͓̤̜̙̘̦̭̦͊͂̈̄̐̌͝͠͝v̶̡̨̨̧͕̖͇̺͕̳̥̉͗̈́̒̒̂ȅ̷̼͈͈͎̦̜͔̀̏͂͆̈́̀̔̾̔̚͝͝ ̶̡̖͍̠̬̫͍̣̄̌͐̂̅̾̽̀̕͘ţ̵̢̡̛̦͇͈̘͔̩̺̗̉͋̽̀̔̚̕͘̚h̷̬̝̫́͌̏̑̀̓̂̓̿̒͛͒̿̈́̚e̷͕̺̩̣͉̠̫̘̫̤͇̥̮̋̚͠ ̴̛̠̺͚͋̈́̎̔͆͊̂̈́͑̎̀͜u̶̪̹̻͚̮̘͒̂̽̔̂̓̇̕r̵̲͔͚̱̱̰͔̙͙̘̜̱̊͑̊͑̋̔̏́̈́̽͘̕͜͝g̶̨̢̮͍̻̣̤̜͈̤̯͓͋ĕ̶̡̬̝̟̠̘̺̯̫̟̇͋̏̃͊̏͆̈͐́͠ ̴̻͔̱̝͇͇̞̝̟͖̰̓͑̿͗͐͜ţ̴̣̫̥̗͈̦̱͚̗̜̫͖̈͒̈́̉̌̈͘ͅȍ̴̡͚̳̦͖̔͒̀͆͠ͅ ̸̡̲̬̼̱͕̯̖̺͙͒̂̈́́̽̇̀̔̋̉͆̚̕͠͝a̷̛̙̙̭̗̣͎͙͖̗̺͊̓͛̀͂̐̓̊̆͗̌ͅt̴̢̻͙̜̳̪̒̋̉̃̋́ṯ̶̡̙̺͍̍̌̓̇̈̉͐͌̀̀͂́̄̕͝a̴̭̟̤͓̲̱͙̱̠͉͌́c̶̢̡̞̱͎̫̼͈̼̬̺͕̅͂̒̃k̷̨̛̯̼̣̩̈́̈̒̑͐̿̌̇̕.̵͕̗̩͐̊̾̇
Ĭ̸͔̝͇̖̓͂̈́͊͊̄̀̒̐̆̉̇̕s̸̘̮̺̟̱̦͚͙͖̓͜ͅ ̴͍̳̈́̓̒̍͝t̶̯̦̙̜̐͗̀͌̌͑̍̆̇̆̿́͜͝ḧ̵̨͍̟̻̰̮͚͔͇̹́͒i̶͙͐̀̐͗͂̀͑̈́͐͘̕͠s̸̯̠̤̑͝ ̶̛̛̰̭̬̥͛͌͋g̴͔̙̞͓̘͋̈́̓̍̾̆ͅo̵̡̢̟͓̮͚̺̳͖̲̳͈͇͓̊̇͋̽́̓̽̅̃̊͝͝ǫ̵̡̗̭̻̗̖̞̤̮̪̈d̸̢̡̞̫̝̱̳̞̝͉̜̻̭͒̄͊͆̀͆̀́̓̽̈́͐͘͠?̸̨͇̫́̆̀̋̈̍̆͆̚͝͝͠͠͝͝
Ą̴̧̮̩͚̲̇̐̆m̵̢̰̮͈̦͔͍͚̮̻̱̱̲̳͛̅̑̌͒ ̴̛̜̩͇̥̘̠͈̣̜̀̚I̸̙͖͔͓̦̤͓̥̮̯̗̜̖̔̌̏̇͐̈́.̷̧̛͔͉̯̻̥̩͑͆̆̔̐̇̈̊̔̒̿̈́̿͘ͅ.̸̧̢̞̬̻̼̜̙̝̲̦͓̊̈́.̸̨̢̛͉̝̝̲̦̻̖̼͈̥̭͕̈́ ̴̨̯̬̭̱̗̟̼̝̝̬̟̤̦̿̍̀͜o̴͓̩̣̭͎̺̪̩̤̿̌͜͜k̶̢͔̳̭͙̀̄͛͐͊́͑a̷̧͍̥̝͙̣̭̪̚ͅy̵̜̓̚?̴̙̏̇͛͗͑͑̿͋̀͊͐̐͝
N̷̨̡̛̘̰̬̫̗̱̪̓̈̍̀͒̍̋̚͠͝o̵̗͖̝̳͍̦̹̹̞͙̻͈̖̓̓͗̈́̎̍̌̓̚͝.̷̨̧̨̗͓̮͚̼̩͖̳̯̦͓̃̎̓͐̚̕͜
I̵̢̼̰͚̼̠͙͖͔̖̾̓͊́̈́̀̌̓̅̄̆̑͗͛̇͜'̸̢̨̮͉̬̠̭͓̜̟͌̉̓͂͐͌̅̓͝͠m̷̨̢͔̙̠̗̤̩͓̣͇̦̦͇͋̔̄̍̅̒̈̿͛̕̚ ̴̥̺̦̟͓͎̹̟̯̤̓̊o̷̹͉̘͔̺̣͓̤̹̳̩̟̭̿̿̕ͅk̶͓̱͔̠̩̞̑͐ą̶̯̘͉̥̌̍̑̍y̷̨̺̼̬̠͇͓̥̬͔͔̪̖͔͒̅.̵̨̡̛̩̪͙͓̝̠͔͇͉̖̥̼̍͒͗̒̽̾̓͜
Į̴̧̰̠͉̳̙͈̝̝̯̭͎̾̄͆ ̷͕̻̋̓̆͗͛́̎͂̏͒̊̄w̷̨̠̣͓̪̱̙̤̲̻̯͓͎͕̓ͅả̴̢̛͖͙͓̺͔̥̫̦͇̻͕̅̈́̓̐̾͒͌̐̅̔̕͝n̵̪̫͔͊̈͝t̵͈̳̭̗͉̼̥́̌̈̅̈́̍̈́ ̸͈͎̅̐͒͐̐̓͊̀͆̒̍̋̚͜͝͠ṭ̵̖̝͕̰̜̟͔̘̳͉̩͎͙̱̽̌̈̔͑͑̎͒̀ǫ̵͎̦̥̼̜̩͚̹̣͉̗͂͗̃͑̾̃̏̓̒́̄̕͘ ̴̟̫͉͍͒͊͆ͅŝ̵͇̥́̿̓́̈́͗͑́̓͜͝͝͝t̸̨͆̃͛́͛̌͂̈́̕̚͘͠-̸̛̝̱̍͐̽̆̇͂͋̆̅̿̚͠
a̵̺̬̬͂̑͠t̶̤̤͈̖͙͕̰̙͑͒̽̔́̂ͅt̶̨̡̯̠̩̙̼̞̩̩̣̗͛̇̀̋̍͒͒͌͠a̷̛̹̣̳̹̟̼͎̲̗̩̽͋͆̋̽̑̊̾̽͘̚ͅç̶̛̯̺̰̳͔̱̣̄͗͐̏͑̉͜ķ̴̣̉̌̿͑͛͗̕
k̴̛̛̼̲͓̪͑̈́́͑̕̕ͅḯ̶̛̳͔̲͛̍̓l̸̨̢̺̠̝̦̉̾̆͒ḻ̸̤̞̻͚͚̭̫̔͒͑̋̾̂̀͠ͅ
k̸͕̖̞̞͚̠̙̙̉̈́̿̆̑̀̐̿̈́̑̈́i̶͉̱͂͌̌̀̚l̴̢̬͓̲̝̭͇͇͎͉̫̭̠͌͂̏́͠ͅl̶̬̳̯̓̂̄ͅ
k̶̺̞̱͍̤͕̘̦̄̌̀̆̎̃̉̈͊͛͌̏͠͝͝į̶̧͈̤̞͍̙͈̼̲̝̯̩͗͑̓͂͂̅̏̌l̷̛̳̬̱̹̑̐͆͒͐͐́̋͆̈͠l̴̹͙̪͍͙̥̗͎̒̂͐̚͝
k̶̙̣͎̤͔̤̠̗̟̱͚̭̫̯͎̇͆̍͌̈́̊̃͘į̶͚̘̪̲̻͉̘̄̌̓͆̃̓̆̈͒̽͝͝l̵̞͎̲͚̩̜̯͔͇̦̯̿̂̏͒̇͑̑͗̉͛͜͝͠͝l̷͕͚̆̾̓͑͗́̈́͜͠
k̶͔̜͇̣̣̼̰͖̝͍̰̭̦̳͔͈̬̙̦̣̤̥̪̱̖̱̰͇͓͇̲̝͐̀̇̆́̀̑́̔̾̽̆͑͊͆̎̿́̈́̉̆̂̆́͗̾́̍̋͊̈̃̿͗́̌͒́̌̋̇͗͜͜͝ͅi̸̡̧̢̛̛͓̘̯̣̻̪̦̱͈̭͙͈͇͙̼̯̖̬͎͙̥̭̱͍͚̙̺̖̙̮̝̳͕̘̳̫̗̙̹͎̯̙̲͔̦̜̯̫͍̟̤̤̍́͂̌̿̊̋͊͑̋̐̑̊̀͌̈́̆̀̐̽́́͆̑͂̌͐̆̉̋̆̅̈̄͂̇̂͘̚̕͜͜͜͜ḻ̵̡̛̙͙̜͕̰̳̯͕̬͖͓̳͎̇̋̿̍̐̂̽͑̌͒̃͋̃͛̂̃͗͌̑̿̾̓̈́̋͊̚̚͜l̷̢̢̧̡̡̢̧̛̛̝̙̻͓͇̩̺̣̞͚̻̼͚̻̳͈͕̞̫̥̤͕͉͍̻͕̭͎̪̫̺̥͔̲̭̭̘̦͔̎́̇́̀̔̀̄͋̑̆̃̀̿̉̈͒̀͗̊̑̎͆̂́̎́̈́̆͊̉́̎̇́̈͒͑̀̆̀͋̋̓̕̚͜͜͜͜͠͠͠ͅ
No.
Stop it.
I don't want to.
I don't want to hurt anyone.
I don't want to be a monster.
I don't want to be such an annoying burden to everyone anymore.
I scratch myself to calm the urges, to stop myself. It works, but barely.
It would be safer for me to stay here.
I hear a voice.
It's faint.
And probably just made up inside my head.
"Keith!"
But it's my name.
And it sounds familiar.
I look up to see Lance.
It couldn't be. After all this time, they had wanted to find me? They had wanted to find the broken and useless me? The one who could possibly be willing to tear out theit throats in a split second?
Oh right.
I can't control myself.
Lance has to stay away.
Lance has to keep his distance.
I can't hurt Lance.
He won't listen.
I keep on telling him.
He won't listen.
He won't listen.
He won't listen.
He won't listen.
wh̞y̶̻̙̠̯̤͎ ͟ẉ̦̰͖͍̰ͅọ͖̹͈̫ͅn͖̕'͙͖t̵̝̗͓͉̱̥͈ h̗̦̳͚̙͈̖e͍ ͙͖͘l̨͓ís͚̪̤̱͓ten̴̳͈?̥́
D̯̤ͧ̍͒͋ͪ̕o̵̱̜̯̱̺ͅe̘̜̙̳̝̦͆̉͐s̒̿̚͝n̜̘̿ͣ'҉͍͉͔t̨̎ ̰̠̠̀̏̇̒̕h̶̰̰͚̳͇̝͐̽ė̡̫̬̗͇̹͚ͣ ̧͉̋͑̃̌k͖̺͒̔ͯn͎̟͇̅̅̌͢ͅoͧ̇ͤ́w̗̦͂ͅ?̠͇̖̟̀̀͗̋̚
D̩̜͔̱̳̩̠̫͓ͪ̍̏̆ͦͫͣ͟͞o̡̗̪͔͊͐̒́̋ͦ͡ͅe̴̡̹̮̳̞̗ͧ͌͊̈́̿̍ͫ͋s̲͊̓̋n̨͎̠̤͗̇͗͊'̦̞̝̟̟̗̤͗̏ͦ̓̈́͌̄͑ẗ̴͔̲̝͈́ͯ̒̈ ̟͎̺̱̩̗̋̑ͩͤ̚͜ͅḩ̛̝ͥ̂̎̍͒͡ͅê͔͖̩̩̒̀͟ͅ ͖̗̞̽̐͌ͤͤk͙̹̪͔̟̑̉̇͋̽͟͝ͅn̥̟͎̫͋̆̎̂̆ͧ̉̑͆o̢̝̙̟ͮ͗ͧẃ̨̭͉̼̗̲̥̟̞͆ͬ̋̍ͦ͛͜ ̭̙̣̣͚̜̘̄̂̽ͪt̸̢̲͚͂̃̈́̓ͭ̎̋ḣ̶͖̱̲̲̠̙ͫͥ̑́̚̚a̻̬̪͚͓͗̈́̔̕͡ẗ̛͉̘̱̎͊͆̕͠ ̳̗̮̳̝̱̩̹ͫ͐̇͊͡I͎͈̱͈̯̝̓͑ͤ̄ͫͦ̉̽͡͞ͅ ̛̮̬ͮ͌̈͒̄̇̆ͅw̴̭̙̩̫̜̳ͤ̒ả̸̛͚̮͇̥̀͗͜ņ̷̵͎̟̖ͥ̓t͇͓̠̙̟͖͔̪̅͌̋͐̽͛̈́̑̈ ̖̋̀̉ͭ̒͒̃t̡͔̭͔͎͕̬̘͂̌̽͋o̱͚̖̍ͦ̎̀̿͑ ̷̘̪̮̹̙̮̙͚͂h̦̹̞̮̫͕͈̉͐͒ͫ̊ͬͭ͋ü̵̡̮̬͊ͪͥͧͣ͌̏r͊ͬ͂͑̀͏͕̲̟̮̗̯̤t͓̙̻͚̲̤̥̽̌̅̾̇͊̆͂͝ ̴̷͎̟̣͉̻̱̽̀h͙̞͖͕ͥ͌̒ͯi̭̼̻̣̳̗̙͙̇̃ͥͩ͐ͨ̑͟m̵̧̲̦̗̝͗̂ͦ̌̍̉̍?̷͓̝̫̭̮͕͇͉̈̅͌͋̐̚
Lance, please just listen, I can't control myself.
It's...
I̾̽̇̓ͫͯ͏҉̴̱̼͕̘͚͎̲̳͈͔̟͎́͢ͅͅt̗̯̲͓͔͇̤ͦ̇ͮ̽̈́̊̉̆ͫ̆ͤ͡ͅ'̵̡̨̭̻͎̜̬̖̠̫̦͚̳̣̹͇̞̫ͯ͐̋̋̓́͋̋́s̰̘̯͔̠̾͗͗̅͒ͮ͋͌̅̋͗ͣ̓͘͡ ̶̷̛̊ͬ̔ͥͤ̾̎̎̓ͪ̋̓͂͋̃̋҉̱̻̜̩̙̥̻̘͍͕͞t̨͕̫̣̪ͥͬ̊̎̌͐ͪͮͮͧ̽̂ͧ̿̈̔ͨ̏̑͘o̢̲̯͓̫͇̺̭̹̘̼̪̭ͬ́̈́̏ͬ͛́ͬ̄͆̀͜͢ͅͅo̵̟̩͓̩̣̰͙͚̖͚͔̪ͬͧͤͪͩ̌ͮ̑͘͢͢͡ͅ ̸̛̛̟͈͍̩̦̦̩̹͔̺̻͖̙̭̭̜ͫ͛̉͑̓̒ͨͭͣͯ͛ͫ̑̽͠l̵̴͕̦͍͎̍̓̒̆̎̃ͧ̓̓͋̽̔̑ͤ͋ͥ̚ą̋ͩ̆̃͒̄̓̿͏̷̱͓͉̪͢͝ț̵̵̩̯̤̱̼̼̥̫̭̫͎̗͖̖͔͓̀͒̓͊ͦͪͧ̌ͧ̔̌̌̉͊̋̈ͫͩ̚͢e̵̝̩͖̬̣̤̲̙͖͕̜͋͗̒̉̌̍̀̕͞.͗̓ͨ̾͏͏̩̭̙͞
It's all just a game.
It's all just a fun game with Lance, right?
Except he's running.
That's not right.
Why is he running?
No.
He doesn't like me.
He didn't accept me.
He pushed me away, didn't he?
Well, we'll see about that,
Lance better watch out.
It's fun. It's fun. It's fun. It's fun. It's fun. It's fun.
I found my blade.
He has his bayard.
When since did he have a sword as his bayard form?
It doesn't matter.
We know who the victor will be.
I've tired him out, pushed all his weak buttons.
We know what the ending will be.
It's fun. It's such fun. I haven't had this much fun in a long time.
When he's hiding, I can think clearly. My pants in the air, the blood rushing in my head.
He hides well, I'll give him that.
It took me a while to find him.
But it was inevitable.
I jumped at him, but he blocked my blade.
Then it was a test of strength.
Lance would be stronger in that.
With a quick sweep, he was down on his back, all vulnerable.
I didn't get him then.
Why was he so quick?
"Keith... Please..."
Why didn't he understand that it was futile?
"Keith, I know you're still in there."
That the old me was gone?
"Keith, I know you don't want to do this, and that it's probably something Haggar did to you, but please, fight back!"
No Lance, I've accepted that this is the real me.
"Keith! Remember everything? You can't give up now. Remember how much of a good team we are? Our bonding moment? Our talks? Everything?"
They clearly didn't mean anything to you judging from the first 'bonding moment.'
"Keith, listen to me! You're our leader, my leader. Hell, our future, my future! Our Keith, paladin of the Black Lion, the half-galra paladin who doesn't give up!"
Lance-
"Keith!"
What are you-?!
"I love you!"
What?!
What?
My mind flickered to Shiro. Why did this seem so familiar? What had happened to me?
After that, I remember nothing.