Lance stared at his blood-covered hands. What had he just done? He looked around at the carnage he caused, not remembering doing any of it. His throat closed up, and sobs tore from his body. He stumbled and fell, wrapping his arms around himself.
Bits and pieces of what happened revealed itself to him. The screams. The begging for mercy. His killing. He heaved, and barely lifted himself to his hands and knees in time for the bile to fall onto the floor and not himself.
The stench of burning flesh still filled the air around the Blue Paladin, causing more waves of nausea to pass over him. Lance couldn’t hold back the screams or the bile that fell from his lips. The scent of vomit clashed violently with the scent of death, filling Lance’s entire being.
Lance staggered back onto his feet, which carried him towards one of the corpses. He cried out, collapsing next to the armored body. He gripped the chest plate, letting out screams of anguish, of sorrow. How could he do this? He had to leave before someone found him.
Lance stood slowly, willing himself to stop crying. It didn’t seem to work, but he stopped making noises. Tears fell silently now, and as he walked away from the mess of blood, vomit, ashes, and fire he felt numbness take over his body.
No longer did he feel anguish. No longer did he suffer from sorrow. No longer did he feel anything. Numb. He was numb.
Lance stumbled out of the room he was in, and was met with a pair of violet and yellow eyes. “Oh, Lance,” the exiled prince cooed, “you did such a good job, little soldier.”
Lance looked up at Lotor, blinking slowly. Then, he nodded, his mind going blank once more. Together, they left the Castle of Lions, leaving behind the mangled bodies of the other Paladins.
