2019 Voltron Whumptober Collection

9 Shackled

Word Count: 1,555

The metal wouldn't budge.

It- it wouldn't budge.

No matter how hard Keith attempted to pull at the restraints biting into his wrists and ankles, the heavy weight bobbing up and down beside him, chains clinking as it was carried with him, he couldn't break free.

They were almost to the cliff now, just over the heads of the aliens moving him, he could see the empty, starry night air starting to swallow the horizon the closer and closer they neared to the rocky outcropping.

He- he was scared.

He was honestly, truthfully scared.

But he should probably back up and try to explain his situation first.

Although he doubted anyone would listen anyway.

But he'd try.

Because he cared that at least someone knew before he died.

The smallest sound of a whimper escaped him, and he clamped his jaw shut as his right foot jerked in the aliens' hold.

It- it hurt.

But, he was getting off-topic again.

He'd- he'd try to explain now.

It started like any other attempt to gain allies in their fight against the Galra. The castle was currently resting within a nearby system, Keith was sent to the neighboring planet below to try and convince them to join the rallying forces of the Voltron Coalition under Coran's repeated insistence that he'd be more than welcome to land in his street clothes since the local population were supposed to be tame and gentle beings.

Yeah right.

Gentle his ass.

The town had been highly fortified when Keith arrived, and he realized too late they had actually embedded spikes into the ground around the village to prevent the entrance of newcomers, hidden to the naked eye, under the mounds of dirt and rocks that already dotted the planet's terrain.

Of course, the keyword in this is too late.

He'd stepped on a three-inch high protruding barb with all of his weight, the thing sharp enough to tear through his foot to the other side. He'd cried in surprise then, immediately tripping as the rest of his body hit the ground, jostling his already bloodied foot even more and Keith screamed, the sound tearing at his throat as his shout echoed into the village in front of him, the thick soles of his boots doing little to nothing to stop it.

The cat-like beings came out shortly after with spears and knives and a murderous gleam in their identical green eyes, cat tails twitching, ears doing much of the same, circling around his prone body and harshly chirping at him in a language he couldn't understand while pointing the deadly weapons in his direction.

What- what was going on?

His foot hurt.

He'd tried, dammit, he tried to explain why he was there, that he was trying to form an alliance, but they either couldn't understand or refused to, and after a few minutes of useless chirping because he couldn't understand, they'd bound his ankles and wrists. One of the beings scurried off and came back with what appeared to be a weight of some kind a moment later, securing the length of chain attached to it, to the shackles around Keith's ankles before they collectively gathered him up and began marching him to... somewhere.

He'd realized after several minutes of walking just where that somewhere was.

Off a cliff.

Off a damn cliff.