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“Keith...Keith come in,” there’s a moment that the static breaks, a dull hum that catches Shiro’s attention as he stares at the helmet scattered on the floor. He would have thought the thing to disappear and be crushed among the rubble.
“Shit, I’m still not getting through even after boosting our range. Lotor did more damage onto the ship then we thought.” The voice is familiar, but distance an eerie reminder of disconnected thoughts. The Green Paladin. They’re looking for him. The static returns and Shiro finds himself kicking the helmet away and off the ledge, watching it fall into the bright light of the planet below him. The faint sound of the voice returns only to fade away as it falls.
There’s a copper taste in his mouth from his own doings, biting his inner cheek at his own failures of not ending the rest of the paladins lives. No matter, he did what he could. If the paladins were killed that easily then they’re a failure to what they’re expected to be.
His right arm burns, the feeling crawling along circuit boards and wires touching his skin and spreading the pain further. He doesn’t react, it’s a pain he has come accustomed to. The weight of his arm bears and strains his shoulder making the muscles along his back twitch. A quick roll of the shoulder eases some of the tension.
His attention is drawn back to the unconscious figure to his left. The body is sprayed on his side, the armor is chipped and broken along where most of his hits made it through. Some pieces missing, completely gone leaving the material underneath exposed. It’s ripped and torn by the blade he produced with his arm.
He’s alive. Shiro let him live, the better part of his mind fighting against the orders the Witch gave him. To persuade him. But for what? The previous Black Paladin hums in thought, eyes shifting to stare at his surroundings. All in ruins. Shattered buildings and fixtures, broken metal twisted and melted by the surge of power from his arm. All of it his doings. All to kill Keith for his own amusement which got the better of him at the time, too caught up in the feeling of power. Of strength.
The Witch will be upset at his failure to end all the paladins, but at least he has this one at his mercy. His gaze draws from the figure’s body to his face. There’s a darkening spot along his chin, a reminder of Shiro’s strength during battle. The black hair in tangles matted against his forehead with sweat, a faint trail of blood comes along his cheek. The scar burning red, his doing as well. It satisfies him, marking his enemy, it’s his doings and no one else's.
Without realizing he’s looming over Keith. His shadow moves in waves over the body. There’s no response. No reaction. No movement, Shiro made sure if it.
The Witch hasn’t told him what to do, what his next orders are to complete. He feels empty, there is nothing to do.
Watching the teen below him is mesmerizing, an odd beauty within the mess that Shiro has made. A painting of pain and hardship, of longing that the other so desperately wanted him to return, to belong to the paladins once more. His strokes are harsh and bold, the evidence in the markings he left and the little damage he’s taken in comparison to the new Black Paladin.
An odd part of him urges him to take Keith and disappear. Take him. H e belongs to you.
No, he doesn’t. He now belongs to the Empire another part reminds him.
His normal hand twitches at the thought and not long after he's carding through the unconscious male's hair.
Is it done? The Witch.
“Yes, the Red Paladin has been taken care of.” His eyes still on the other.
Good. Return him to us. He will be useful.
Us. Shiro bites his tongue. He doesn’t like the sound of that, but no matter. The hand in the other’s hair stops, gripping and tugging the Paladin’s head up.
A soft groan escapes Keith’s lips, eyes flutter before closing once again. Shiro lets go, the head thumps against the floor. Hard and cold, more pain onto the ongoing list of injuries. Another moan and Keith unknowingly curls up on himself in a sore attempt to protect himself.
One hand slides underneath the Paladin’s legs another sprawled against his back. With little to no resistant he pulls the body up. Keith’s head reels against chest, right under his chin, the other’s hair tickling him.
Suddenly a hand is gripping his arm, the hold is weak and Shiro barely feels the fingers tighten around him.
“Shiro, please,” the voice is at a whisper, a quiet sound that wouldn’t be heard if Shiro wasn’t so close.
He peers down at the other curiously. The gaze in the teens eyes in empty, a small sliver of white among the dazed purple. The previously so expressive jewels that Shiro felt are gone. Dull and empty. The paladin’s eyes spoke his fury and frustrations. It was so raw . Exposed and unhinged, so purely Galra. Emotions painted with his study, his growls and low snarls: music.
There’s no need for Shiro to respond, the words are empty if they fall from his lips. They’ll offer no comfort, no support. Keith knows he’s being taken. He wouldn’t leave Shiro alone to the Empire.
“Please, let’s just go back.” With the last of his strength he attempts to urge Shiro to agree, but it’s useless. A shudder in the other’s breathing and the grip he has on Shiro’s arm fails, falling back into his lap.
There is no place to return, but the Empire. Shiro knows that’s the truth, yet Keith mutters of another place. Someplace very far and gone from his mind, a hollow hole that was never filled. He’s not the Shiro they knew.
A piece of him feels that he should abandon this identity, he is not Shiro and Shiro is not him. His own grip on the smaller male tightness causing him to flinch at the harsh touch. He is no one.
Ascending through the elevator shaft that Keith came from he arrives back to where the lion sits. Head down and yellow eyes boring into Shiro’s, something rumbles in the back of his head.
Anger. Betrayal.
Meaningless, he’s not the previous Black Paladin and the lion knows well enough. He knew the second he returned before anyone else realized. There is nothing between them besides the last five months of flight.
Reluctantly the lion’s head bows down, jaw opening and allowing entrance. Keith in his arms a free pass onto this ride. As much as Black wanted to tear him to shreds, she cannot risk losing another Paladin. Too much lost in such little time. The universe needs him. Taken by Shiro there is at least a chance that Keith will be fine.
Arriving to the cockpit there is no real place to put Keith down besides the floor, Shiro decides against it, any further injuries might begin to cause an issue for the Witch. He settles into the seat with Keith, who’s once again now passed out. Breathing labored as he curls further and into Shiro’s touch. Unreserved and seeking his comfort, Keith frantically wants to believe that he is still the same person he once knew.
Shiro ignores it in favor of gripping the controls. For a moment nothing happens, the screens don’t flicker to life, and the seat doesn’t pull forward into place. Another growl in Shiro’s head, much more aggressive than the last. She pushes images into his mind, explaining, begging to take care of Keith.
There aren’t any promises and Shiro won’t make them. He doesn’t know Keith’s place in Haggar’s plan. Black recognizes that and with bitter resentment, she lets him fly.
Returning with the Black lion as well?
“The lion is only allowing it since it’s paladin is injured.” The lion turns with Shiro’s instructions, taking off with little resistance. An additional monitor pops up, a damage report blinking to the left wing of the lion.
Good enough. She will do little to escape with the Red Paladin in our grasp.You have done wonderfully, Kuron.
Kuron? That must be his real name. He likes how it rolls off of his tongue once he mutters it himself.
He is not Shiro. He is Kuron. The Red Paladin now belongs to the Empire. A sickly wormhole opens, swirling with purple and corrupted quintessence.
Kuron flies through it.