velkynkarma:

(Totally still doing the microfic! Although this one is less ‘micro’ herp derp. I got a little into it, but I really like fight scenes, sooo…)

The Galra officer is massive—nearly as large as the prison warden back on Beta Traz. Even worse, he’s juiced on whatever that warden had used to make himself larger, faster and stronger, and he’s using the drug to its fullest to lay waste to the paladins.

If they survive this, Shiro’s going to make it a priority to research whatever that stuff is, and find some way to counter it. It’s rapidly becoming dangerous, and makes already skilled opponents impossible to defeat. They’d never even actually defeated the last warden, just escaped from him.

Shiro’s hoping on escape now. It’s only him and Keith against this monster of a Galra, hemmed into the Galra ship they’d boarded. But if even one of the others can show up in their Lion, they might still get out of this in one piece. Shiro’s already sent the distress call; it’s just a matter of if anyone gets there in time.

Because he and Keith are probably the most experienced in combat, but they are really, really not doing well. Shiro’s sure he landed on something wrong in his side, and breathing hurts; he might have cracked his ribs from the force of the last throw the Galra used on him when he smashed into the nearest stack of metal boxes. His head throbs where it cracked against a wall earlier, and he’s sure if he hadn’t been wearing his helmet his skull would have split open at the force of the blow. Keith is no better as far as Shiro can tell—he’s limping, favoring his right leg, and he’s long since switched to wielding his bayard in his left hand after his right wrist and fingers were crushed in the Galra’s grip.

Shiro tries for another strike with his glowing Galra prosthetic, but the officer roars and almost casually slaps him aside with an effortless backhand. Shiro manages to cross both of his arms in front of him to take some of the blow, but it’s still like getting hit with a train. He crashes into the ground and bounces twice painfully before he can convert his momentum into a safety roll. He staggers when he gets to his feet, dazed, and his vision swims when he tries to focus.

The Galra’s massive hand is less than a foot from his face.

Then there’s a snarl as Keith hits it from the side, knocking the hand off course. He twists his bayard and slams it savagely into the meaty part of the Galra’s arm, and for the first time team Voltron manages to draw blood. The officer’s attention is drawn away from Shiro to Keith—and he looks livid.

“Little shit,” he snarls angrily, and makes a grab for Keith. Keith tries to dodge, and might have if he’d had free reign, but he can’t get his bayard free from the Galra’s thick arm. He goes for his Marmoran sword instead, but in the split-second delay the Galra snatches him up first and squeezes. Keith’s eyes fly open wide, and he screams, until the noise chokes off into a frightening silence when the crushing force steals his breath.

Apparently not finished, the officer turns and throws him at the nearest wall. Keith smashes bonelessly against the wall, and collapses to the metal floors. He looks awful, mangled and broken. But even now he struggles to reach for the Marmoran blade at the small of his back, broken fingers shaky and weak.

“Still moving?” the officer says incredulously, as he rips the red bayard out of his arm and tosses it aside. It dematerializes as it clatters to the floor, and the officer ignores it as he charges for Keith.

Shiro’s vision is still blurry and swirling, but suddenly he sees red, and that doesn’t bother him anymore.

He charges forward, activating his jetpack for as much speed as he can. Ricochets off the wall and uses the momentum to help him twist past the Galra. Slams to his feet over the prone Keith,  legs braced, and reaches up to catch the officer’s fist as it comes slamming down to crush Keith into paste.

Catches it, and stops it.

It shouldn’t be possible, but he’s far past caring if something is possible or not. It doesn’t matter how much of a beating he’s already taken from this bastard, none of his team are dying on his watch. Keith is not dying on his watch. Not when he can do anything to stop it. If he has to bend possibility to make it happen he damn well will.

So he strains against the Galra’s fist, and his own prosthetic whines to life at the challenge. He needs to be the strongest, the fastest, the best fighter in this equation, and the prosthetic is almost eager to assist, whirring and clicking loudly as it absorbs the force of the enemy’s blow and pushes back with literally inhuman strength. He can feel the strain of it in his left arm, his torso, his legs, feel every other piece of him trembling and straining with the effort of holding off that force, feel his cracked ribs all but screaming in protest at the pressure, but he does it.

He will not lose anyone again.

The Galra officer is shocked, and pushes against his arm even harder. Shiro snarls and shoves back with everything he has, and he can smell sizzling fur and flesh as the prosthetic activates and his white-hot fingers dig into his enemy’s wrist. “You do not. Ever. Hurt them. While I’m. Still. Breathing.”

The officer sneers. “Then I’ll stop you breathing first,” he snaps, as he raises his other hand.

Shiro vaguely thinks he hears Keith choking a soft, weak “No” down by his feet, but Keith is down for the count, and there’s no way he’s getting out of this. He stares the officer in the eye, refusing to go down without fighting, and—

The wall smashes open behind the officer, and there’s a sudden rush of air as the atmosphere is dragged into the void of space. Shiro braces his feet more firmly to keep himself steady and prevent Keith from sliding away, and the officer snarls in surprise, weakening his downward force on Shiro’s arms. “What—“

The blast from the Yellow Lion takes the Galra full in the back, and he screams in surprise as he lurches forward. Shiro finally drops his grip on the officer’s arm and barely manages to drag Keith out of the way before the officer collapses forward towards them, shrieking in surprise.

“Need a lift?” Hunk calls, voice resonating from the Lion’s speakers.

Shiro’s never been happier to hear any of the paladins. “Good timing,” he says, as he crouches to scoop Keith up into his arms; there’s no way Keith is walking under his own power after a devastating attack like that. Keith gasps in pain, but doesn’t protest. Shiro’s ribs do protest, but he ignores them. He bolts for the Yellow Lion’s open jaws, side-tracking just long enough to kick the red bayard into the Lion’s mouth. “We’re in!”

The last image he has is of the officer struggling to his feet and turning to snarl and reach for them. But then the Yellow Lion’s jaws snap shut and Shiro feels it withdraw from the hull of the ship, and they’re out of there.

“Shiro?” Keith gasps weakly.

“We’re okay. You’re okay,” Shiro promises him.

Keith groans in what Shiro is sure isn’t really agreement, but does settle a little, all energy spent and too exhausted and in pain to argue. Shiro keeps Keith supported against him as comfortably as he can to steady them in the Yellow Lion’s jaws; he doesn’t want to risk moving Keith any further up to the cockpit. He needs a cryo-pod, now.

But at least he’s alive, and already they’re heading for safety. They’d made it through the fight, and he’d managed to save Keith another day. And for now, that’s all that matters to Shiro.

Got a microprompt for me? Share it and I’ll see what I can do!