A Voltron Christmas Carol

Chapter 1: 'Twas the Night Before Christmas

Christmas time had arrived on planet Doom. Festive strands of black horned skulls with twinkling red eyes adorned every available surface, from the lowly entrance to the slave quarters to the highest parapet of the castle proper. Guttering torches- perfect for the roasting of chestnuts, assuming anyone had ever heard of chestnuts or was tall enough to reach the flames- cast smoky shadows everywhere throughout the dim interior and the gnarled branches of black poplars crossed doorways for good luck. Some enterprising soul had even managed to import mistletoe at great expense. Several sprigs swung gaily over the tall archway into Hagar's laboratory.

'Overkill,' Zarcon decided, spinning sharply back around to avoid crossing the landmined threshold to his witch's domain. 'Who in their right mind would want to kiss a wrinkled old prune like her?'

The king of the Doom Empire was not in high holiday spirits. Actually, that statement may well be one of the greatest understatements ever uttered. Zarcon hated Christmas and everything it represented. After all, what good are peace, love, and goodwill to the ruler of the most oppressive empire in the Denubian Galaxy if not- dare we think it- the universe?

What reason was there for celebration? Was not his empire falling apart around his feet, all because of the utter incompetence of his underlings and the blasted goodness and light of a group of human children? Human. The scandal alone was enough to kill any forthcoming social engagements.

It was in this black mood that Zarcon finally made his way through the heavy steel doors of his throne room, his one place of solace. Here he was still the master of his domain; slaves still cowered before his mighty throne with none of their 'defender of the universe' back talk. Defender of the Universe, indeed. Those whelps could barely keep Arus intact, much less the rest of the galaxy. The whole universe? Not a chance. Regardless, here he could put the dark thoughts away from his mind and bask in the terror of his subjects. Here…

Zarcon froze two paces inside the door, his blue reptilian face going slack with shock. With a growing surge of horror he surveyed the scene spread out in front of his disbelieving eyes. Several of the slave masters were chasing giggling serving wenches around the base of the throne, playfully cracking new whips. One of them looked suspiciously like a cat o'nine tails, and the guard in question was dangling handcuffs, no less. Shaking himself, Zarcon let his gaze travel up the stairs to his throne. Cossack was resting halfway up, apparently reenacting one of his recent battle failures with a shiny new Voltron toy and what looked like a robeast carved out of a bar of soap. At the top of the stairs, Lotor, his one and only son, the heir to the throne of the Doom Empire, was curled up on the cold stone dais doing unspeakable things with his new Lotor and Allura action figures.

Zarcon began to physically shake with rage. How dare they? How dare they bring those… those… THINGS into his sanctuary? With a growl building in his throat, Zarcon began to stalk towards his throne. The cold murder in his eyes stopped even the most drunken of the slave masters in their tracks. He stopped halfway up the steps and glared at Cossack, too enraged to voice his displeasure in coherent words.

Finally noticing the shadow falling over his imaginary battlefield, Cossack snapped his head up and smiled ingratiatingly. "Oh, good afternoon, sire. I was just…" His voice cut off with a squeak of surprise as Zarcon grabbed the toy Voltron out of his hands and dashed it to bits on the rock. Cossack stared at the smashed wreckage of his favorite new toy for a moment before turning teary eyes up at his master. He was just about to protest this indignity when Zarcon grabbed the soap robeast and took a menacing step forward. Cossack took the hint and bolted.

The soap robeast exploded into tiny slippery bits from his massive fist as Zarcon turned to face his son at the foot of his throne. Lotor was regarding him with a confused expression. "Father? Is something wrong?"

Zarcon took a deep breath and contemplated exactly how long it would take to raise and nurture another heir. After a moment's contemplation, he decided he didn't have the energy or the patience to go through all that nonsense a second time. Lotor would live. For now.

"What," he growled, the low words barely managing to escape through his tightly clenched teeth, "do you think you're doing?"

"Oh!" Lotor smiled brightly and held up his new action figures. "I'm practicing for my inevitable victory over my beloved. See?" He waved the action figures around before moving to force them together again. "I got them from Amazon.com. Cool, huh?"

Zarcon grabbed his wrist in disgust. "You are an embarrassment. You will NOT play with children's toys in front of the guards, do you understand me?"

Lotor nodded, looking slightly crestfallen.

"Good." Zarcon grabbed the figures and tucked them away in a pocket. "You can have these back after we defeat Arus. Is that understood?"

Lotor started to sulk.

Zarcon threw himself down on his throne and turned towards one of the wall monitors. "Hagar? Where are you?"

The witch appeared in a puff of red and green smoke in front of him, a sprig of mistletoe clutched in one hopeful fist. "Yes, sire? Your wish is my command."

Zarcon stared. Did Hagar just bat her eyes at him? That was it. The last straw. This was ending.

"I want an empire-wide communication opened immediately. Everyone is going to hear this pronouncement."

Hagar nodded and concentrated for a moment. A black ball appeared between her outstretched hands, rapidly growing in size. "Listen, people of the Doom empire, to the commands of your king!"

Zarcon nodded in approval. "Hear me, my subjects, for failure to hearken to my words will be met with dire and swift punishment. As of this moment, there will be no Christmas celebrations this year! Everything we have is to be used in an empire-wide attack on planet Arus in the morning. Any decrease in productivity will be dealt with at the end of a lazon cannon. That is all."

The ball faded from Hagar's grasp as a shocked silence settled over the throne room.

Lotor, still sulking over the loss of his action figures, was the first to recover. "But father, it's Christmas."

"Silence!" Zarcon roared, slamming a fist down on the edge of the throne. "This is ridiculous. We're not even Christians! Why in the name of Me are we celebrating Christmas?"

"Because it's a time of love?" one of the guards answered uncertainly.

Zarcon's glare darkened and he beckoned the man forward. The guard eeped and disappeared immediately from sight. Zarcon turned the glare on everyone remaining. "Well? What are you waiting for? I want every robeast, every ship, every lazon cannon ready to attack Arus in the morning." His anger exploded at the still blankly uncomprehending faces. "MOVE!"

His underlings moved. The throne room emptied out in a nanosecond as everyone bolted for escape. Zarcon sank further down into his throne. "Christmas. Action figures and toys and love. Bah humbug! What is the universe coming to?"