“Hark!” Wodec pointed his staff up at the heavens. Amazingly enough, monsters and barbarians stopped fighting with each other so they could gawk at the sky. “Hope lives on!”
Kora pulled back on the reigns of her war-trained raptor. She reared up with it, sword out and to the side, staring at the rippling waves of fairy-light aurora, the firecracker sparkles igniting and popping.
Peter. Her smile matched her friend’s as he cut into Dee with vicious aplomb.
You magnificent motherfucker.
Eun wore a determined grimace as she worked her thrusters with frantic urgency, interspersing evasive maneuvers with bursts from her concept-cannons or monistic torpedos. Her hull was dented and burned; it wouldn’t be long before one of these entities destroyed an engine…
And then she saw it: exploding twists of searing color, cutting through the nasty-ass fog that had infested the aetheroscape. The demonic entities stopped attacking; they turned their attention onto the blooming rays of imaginal brilliance. Eun stopped as well, her eyes widening and her mouth parting. Her face lit with unnamed hues, and her ears filled with an indescribable melody.
Despite being dazed and confused by interdimensional craziness, she managed to wish her friend the best.
Give her hell, Peter.
Peter’s belief had taken form as Voltron’s blade. As he lifted the Blazing Sword up and back, light purled and flashed off its length, culminating in a heart-lifting gleam that sparkled off its tip. Here, in the deepest heart of existence, his gestures were symbolic. He wasn’t wielding a real sword, he didn’t have a body, but the meaning behind his actions shone clearly through.
Dissona experienced a horrific epiphany; throughout the eons, throughout eternity, that one word—no—had been the rallying cry around which she’d formed her entire being. But it was really just a temporary blip, a pause between beats, a bump in the road.
Its only purpose was to make the journey more exciting.
She knew all of this, inside and out. She’d just forced herself to forget, time and again.
Peter felt it through their psycho-empathic link. He knew he was part of the play—one of countless pieces in a benevolent construct. At the same time, he was fully in charge, at the leading edge of self-expression.
Atriya had told him the plain, unvarnished truth: Your belief is a weapon.
He flexed his will. OG Voltron music boomed through the expanse.
And he thought: You’re damn straight it is.