@kuroweek
The window was smudged with faint, frosty fingerprints. They smeared themselves delicately across the crystal clear surface. The only surface now separating him from the crushing, suffocating death of space. The black darkness that stared gaping back into his golden orbs. He could feel how freezing the air was just by pressing the exposed skin of his shoulder against the glass. His breath branched along the expanse to greet each intricate line of the handprints that lay there.
His breath was shuddering now. It was a harsh grating against his throat. This had to be the end, right? He had seen the enormous beams of light criss cross over the gleaming stars in the distance. He had felt the heat waves of explosions that managed, with difficulty, to slide under the door to welcome him to the wonder of battle. The battle, he had seen it. He had seen it raging in the expanse. He had seen every individual color. Every individual beast of metal. He had seen every little jet that was ripped apart. He had seen every melted scratch that raked across the belly of the lions. And now here he was. Complete silence. The ship was no longer shuddering. Only he was shuddering.
He concluded with himself that it was too quiet, and started to scrape his silver nails across the ground, making a sound that itched at his ears and shivered down his spine. It made his molars cold and his tongue numb.
He paused and reached up to the glass, raking there. The itch in his ears evolved into a searing pain and he immediatly stopped.
The air left his lungs in a short heave as he turned his sore neck, straining against the chain to look towards the door. It had been busted open hours before. Busted open roughly by a man in black and white armor. This man, identical to him, had just stared. He could almost see everything within the other because it’d be almost the exact same process he would think in.
White bangs. Dirty white bangs. They were almost similar except his own hair was matted from mistreatment. The man had grunted and moved on. Shaking his head. Going away. Leaving him.
When he saw this happen and heard the footsteps slapping off, he had the sharp urge in his chest that pressed out against his ribs, exposing him to emotion. He wanted to cry out and scream. He wanted to shout with a wet, cracked voice. He’d beg. Anything.
One would think he didn’t know just exactly what he was. One would think he didn’t know what he was made to do. One would think he didn’t know who he was based off of.
But now no one would think anything anymore. Because anyone who knew about him…was dead.
Isn’t that what the silence meant? Everyone was dead? The battle was done? The epic, finale. The final bounty of death. The downfall of…the king. Zarkon.
He felt the bones that made up the column of his spine stretch apart as he curled forward, chains running along the ground and clinking together as he encircled himself for the first time since he had been created. He needed this. If no one was there to do it for him, he’d do it himself. He pressed his forearms against his ribcage and squeezed, his breath catching and his yellow eyes clutching shut. He hugged…and he hugged harder. And harder. His teeth grinded together as he felt the prickling burn behind his eyes. He’d never done this before. It was too powerful. He felt his cheekbones catch droplets of hot water that dripped over his lashes. He felt them splash against the only arm he could feel with.
And finally, he slumped. He slumped, and started to breath again. Ragged breaths, mixed with wet, strangled gasps and finally he was banging his fists against the only thing separating him from space. Banging. Over and over. And over. Until blood smeared across fingerprints, destroying his identity with DNA that wasn’t even unique. Or was it?
He sat back, his left hand shaking violently, coated in bloody cuts and forming bruises that dotted the tops of his fingers.
Was he unique now? Was he finally unique now? Now that the copy was gone…forever?
His lips pressed tight and he grabbed each chain, his metal fist glowing a bright hue of dark fuschia , burning metal against metal and melting the links. He stood, shaky like a newborn colt. His knees popped and the soles of his feet ached. He leaned against the bloodied window, rubbing his shoulder soothingly.
And then….he left. He left through the dark doorway of his cell. He stepped over countless bodies. Over countless souls lost to either the light or the dark. If there even was that sort of finish line. He’d like to believe that. Because one would also think he’d never think of such things. He rounded each corner like he knew where he was going. He didn’t.
And finally…he heard voices. Faint voices that sounded…cheerful?
His heart stuttered as he splayed a hand against a wall and peered around the corner.
The hangar.
And there. The metallic beasts he had saw through the glass. The battle-worn lions. The battle-worn…Voltron.
And he saw each one. Each color. And for once upon seeing those colors he felt…hopeless. He felt given up, he felt useless, he felt done. He felt defeated and at the same time he wanted this. He wanted those cheerful voices that collided against each other in a way that seemed right. It fitted…harmoniously. Like it was how it was supposed to be.
Was it supposed to be like this?
Before he could process his thoughts, he was stumbling out into the open, moving towards them in a desperation he’d never felt before.
He heard the cheerfulness stop. He heard the clacks of armor and guns and the soft shings of blades and cockings of guns.
And the familiar whish of an arm lighting up.
He fell to his knees, put his hands to the tops of his thighs, and sat back. He hung his head, his chin against his chest.
He didn’t even care anymore. He didn’t feel any pride, or shame. He’d never said this word but he’d say it now, with no remorse.
His voice scratched out the word, “please.” He didn’t need to say anymore. That word held so much.
There was silence that answered him. A confused silence. And maybe even a shocked silence. Then footsteps.
There were mumbles that argued and mumbles that agreed and some mumbles that never made themselves audible. He could sense the tension and future regret. And maybe even future…peace. He wanted that.
One might think he was destined to be horrible.
But one might also think he could be given a chance to be great…
He only knew this, because that one person shared his DNA.
vaporwave
romaincrisis
2087
titsay
yousharknotpass
