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Swish! Swish! Clang! Clang! That was the sound of two swords clashing on each other. The two men who were fighting were princes from two different kingdoms. Lucario was from the land of ice, which covered the human heart and made them cold, bitter people. Voltron was a place where civil war never sleeted. The precious blood was lost and drawn into the fatal soil on which they larked. Frost, from the land of Lucario, and Warkon, from the land of Voltron, fought, violently, on the fearless battlefield.

After every 100 years, two princes were born for the sake of a one-on-one battle. It’s was a forsaken tradition known since the beginning of time. Although history writes itself, this battle would be the last one to ever take place. It was written in the old templates of both Voltron and Lucario that the last battle would be in 2010. From there it was all a mystery on when this fearful tradition would emerge once again. This was the story that was told to the two young boys as they were growing up. Ever since the day they both could walk and hold a sword, they were trained in a valiant way to get ahead of one another for that battle they had dreamt of, often.

Once they grew from boys to men, they were ready to go out onto the
battlefield and find their prey. A dry, unnamed, deadly battlefield was waiting for the final battle to come forth. Frost followed the path his father had taken when he had his own battle to conquer. (Frost’s father won that battle against the warrior from Voltron.) While Warkon had a sharp and tedious instinct, he went his own way to find the warrior he must defeat. Strolling along the dreaded land, they had yet to come across each other. Days grew long and hard, each of them searching for a battle for which there was no purpose, except annihilation.

Five days have passed and the two men have finally met each other.
“So, I finally found my prey,” Frost said smartly.

Warkon just nodded. He grasped the handle of the sword and thrust it out of its sheath, holding it in front him, waiting for this battle to begin. The sword was four feet and weighed 100 pounds. The blade was sharp enough to cut through a piece of steel in the blink of an eye.

Frost smirked a smile and said, “Well, aren’t we a little hesitant to start? Come, now, might as well get this done and over with.”

Warkon had only one sword, while Frost on the other hand had two swords, a custom of those inhabiting the land of Lucario. These two were the finest ever seen, they could cut through absolutely anything in their path. On the sides of the two blades were carvings of the ancient writings of Lucario. Holding on the handle of the two swords, Frost enthusiastically pulled the two swords out of their sheaths, placing them on his sides. But, the two swords could only be used in the land of Lucario.

“Who will be the first one to start this pointless battle?” Warkon asked

Answering in a smart manner, “I don’t know. Maybe you should start, after all the losing kingdom should go first.”

“Fine, then, but you will regret ever being born for this last battle. I will blow you away with my Homaru!” Warkon said to his opponent.

“Who is this Homaru you’re talking about?” Frost asked laughing, carelessly.

“It’s the name of my sword,” he responded.

“You named your sword? For what possible reason would you name a sword?”

“God, do you ever shut up? You ask too many questions! This will be the last question I’ll answer for you. Homaru means power and death in Voltron. It’s specifically made for me and me alone. The materials made for my sword are fairly simple: blood and stainless steal. With one possible strike of Homaru, it can damage half of my kingdom. Somehow it only works when I am in Voltron, so I am just stuck with a normal sword, just as the ones your puny soldiers have in Lucario. Now can we start?” Warkon explained.
“Yes, we can,”, answered Frost.

Warkon picked up his sword and ran toward Frost. Taking his Homaru to the back of his head, he jumped in the air, “AHHHHH!” he struck down at Frost. But Frost dodged the strike from Warkon, moving to the right. Landing on his feet, he looked back over his shoulder, Warkon saw Frost coming straight for him. Turning around, quickly, Warkon blocked the two Lucario swords rushing to attack him. Warkon pushed the two swords aside, and headed for Frost. Striking again, fearfully, Frost once again dodged to the left.

“This is so annoying. I can’t seem to get him on target.” Warkon thought to himself as he watched Frost heading for him, again.

The swash buckling fight between the two princes did not seem to be getting anywhere. The never ending battle, went back and forth; the three swords met and were being pushed back from each other. Completely out of breath, the two men were now covered in wounds and bruises. No one was even close to death. Warkon, breathed heavily, took his sword and horrifically ran towards him one last time. Frost was not aware of him coming until Warkon yelled out, “YOU’RE MINE!” Frost took his swords and blocked Warkon’s Homaru. Neither of them pushed away to attack, they just let their swords stay attached to one other.

“Grrrrrr……why don’t you just give up already? One of us has to die here.” Frost told Warkon.

“Oh, no way, I am not giving up. You think I am going to give up here and now? You’re wrong, I came here to win this last battle, and you’re not going to stop me!” Warkon replied

Warkon used his ability to teleport behind Frost, he took Homaru and struck it right into Frost’s heart. Blood, that’s what everything was covered with, especially the blade of Warkon’s sword, Frost’s clothes and the dry, unnamed battle field, covered in blood. Frost fell to the ground; eyes completely rolled black, red from his own blood on his mouth and clothes. Warkon had won this last battle that Lucario and Voltron would ever see again. As a way to honor Frost and his in famous battle, Warkon took the body and took him back to Lucario. Once the king and queen of Lucario saw their son dead, they wept tears of sadness, but it was foretold that this battle had to take place.

Warkon went back to Voltron to celebrate his ultimate victory over the prince of Lucario. For the last and final time in Voltron and Lucario history, the old scribers came together and recorded in the ancient ways of the last battle between these two foes for no purpose. Let this tale be told for generations, and never forget who won that battle: Warkon once prince and now king of Voltron. This was the battle for of all battles!