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skyloftian-nutcase · 3 months

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Febuwhump Day 10 - Killing in Self Defense

Well... I did warn y'all that I wouldn't be able to shut up about the Hyrule Warriors Imprisoning War blorbos... and uh, I liked this prompt so much that I wrote it four times >.<

(Head's up, this one gets dark. Lots of blood and some body horror kind of dark. Surprise, surprise given the prompt lol)

There was a difference between sparring and true war. There was a difference between the honor of defending one's own and the horror of meeting someone equally determined.

Hemisi... didn't like war.

She supposed it was a stupid sentiment to have. Given all the bloodshed she'd seen so far, it seemed reasonable to assume no one would like war.

But she couldn't tell if her father held the same idea.

She didn't know how he did it, how either of her parents did it. The original plan had been a quick snatch and run, to steal the Trio Force or whatever it was called and run back to the desert. She figured it was naïve to assume Hyrule wouldn't go after them, but if it had gone correctly no one would've been the wiser, right? Once the dust had settled, she might have even been able to reach out to Link again.

Instead, the Sheikah warriors had noticed the bodies. Instead, the sacred relic had shattered as soon as her father had touched it. Instead, their mother had screamed that they should retreat when things fell apart. Instead, she'd had to run around her boyfriend's unconscious body and was unable to help him. Instead, Hyrule had a face and a name to call culpable and brought its full wrath down on the Gerudo.

Instead, they were fighting a war.

Hemisi had fought before, but never to such an extreme, and never to the death. Yet here she was, covered in the blood of her enemies, staring at the bodies she'd just cut down.

She felt sick. She was sick. This was sick.

Is it really worth all this?

Did it even matter anymore? What was done was done. If she didn't fight, her people would suffer the consequences.

The scimitars fell out of her trembling hands as she stared at blood dripping off her fingers, down her torso, as she felt it on her face.

Hemisi started to hyperventilate, backing away from the carnage, her world spinning.

She wanted nothing more than to turn back time, to go to the days where she and Link were stargazing on the castle walls, where she was training with her father, laughing with her mother, annoying her brother.

But there was no going back. The empty, accusing Hylian eyes that watched her screamed it, cemented in her mind by the life-giving fluid that slid off her skin.

XXX

There was a difference between monsters and people. There was a difference between fighting mindless creatures of darkness and living, breathing women with loved ones and histories and feelings.

Link hated the difference, hated that he wasn't just dealing with Ganondorf's hordes of bokoblins and moblins anymore, hated that the Gerudo stood before him ready to die for a monster.

He parried another blow with his shield just at the right moment, leaving the Gerudo warrior open to a counterattack, but he couldn't bear to take it. So far in the war all he'd ever fought were beasts - there was no way he was going to take away a life like this. He couldn't.

The Gerudo roared, pushing forward with more intensity. Although Link was trying to just disarm her, it was very clear she was going for the kill. He knew he should be too.

But all he could see was the Gerudo settlement. All he could hear was the laughter, the music. All he could smell was the food and incense.

All he could see was her.

He knew. He knew as soon as this happened, he'd be forever changed. He'd been dreading it, selfishly enjoying the time the king had spent--wasted--leaving him in the castle to defend the princess. Because he knew that he could fight monsters a hundred times over, but the instant he had to face a Gerudo herself...

The warrior's blade slid just by his abdomen, cutting at his side, and he hissed.

You're going to die if you don't end this.

Link froze. I can't!

He shouldn't have frozen like that. He shouldn't have.

The Gerudo's sword swiped through the air at the level of his neck. His world slowed. She was wide open, the move a sweeping, large, long, slow one, and she was wide open.

Link dropped to his knees, his blade rushing forward. It hit true, requiring more force than before to cut through what was no longer air, to sink into what wasn't just monster flesh. He pushed harder, the blade jaggedly making its way through as he heard the sickening sound fill his ears.

The scimitar clattered to the ground. The weight on his sword grew heavier as the body sagged, lifeless.

Link twisted so the Gerudo fell to the side, his blade coming out of her quickly.

All around him, chaos erupted. The monsters no longer had a commander to guide them, and the remaining Hyrulian forces cut through their numbers quickly.

Link hardly noticed.

The Gerudo stayed motionless on the earth. He watched blood leak out of her abdomen where he'd stabbed her.

He'd killed her. He'd killed her.

And he... felt... nothing.

XXX

There was a difference between enemies and loved ones. It was strange to note it as, well, he'd never really had loved ones he cared about before.

"This war is getting out of control. There has to be some kind of terms we can come to."

Ganondorf turned sharply to look at his wife. "Surrender? You're suggesting we surrender?!"

"We've lost nearly half our warriors!" Nabooru argued. "If we continue this, there won't be Gerudo left to prosper from the Triforce. Not to mention we don't even have the entire relic, and our spies have discovered nothing about the whereabouts of the other two pieces!"

"The Triforce of Power is more than enough to win this war," Ganondorf snapped. "My power is unmatched. And then we will get the Triforce, and--"

"And what?" Nabooru interrupted sharply. "What will we do when we win, Gan? A war was never the plan, your obsession over that relic has nearly destroyed our people!"

"Our people?!" Ganondorf repeated, glaring at her. "Our people, who live out in the desert like rats? Our people, who suffer in the elements while Hyrule prospers?"

"Our people, who have adapted and survived, who persevere despite the odds, who value life and love and integrity and honor!" Nabooru fired back. "Our people, who are losing their way to this bloodshed! You said the Triforce would help us grow, but all I've seen is our people fall one by one!"

"You want the Gerudo to stay as they were." Ganondorf accused. "To forever nip at the heels of greatness--"

"Greatness," Nabooru scoffed. "As if you even know that word. You don't aspire for greatness, you aspire for control. This has never been about the Gerudo, has it? This has always been about you!"

Though he could feel rage steadily boiling his blood, Ganondorf remained silent for a moment. Of course this was about him - he coveted the prosperity of Hyrule, but that didn't mean that--he could share it with his family! What sort of accusations was Nabooru levying against him?

"When I first met you, you tried to steal my birthright, my leadership of my people," Nabooru continued, slowly walking towards him. "I showed you why I had earned that seat as chief. And as time passed, I thought you had learned, that you had realized that your selfishness and lust for power were not strengths but weaknesses."

"Watch your words, Nabooru," Ganondorf growled dangerously.

"Do not speak to me as if I am child!" Nabooru balked, rage pulling at her face. "You are the one being childish, the one who will never learn, who thinks the world should revolve around you and you alone. Don't you understand what you're doing?!"

"I am doing what I was born to do!" Ganondorf roared. "I was born to lead the Gerudo, born to rule the desert, and born for greatness! Hyrule's power will be mine! Have you not looked upon their land and seen more than the harshness of the desert? Have you never once coveted the winds that bless their lands?"

"Not at the price you're willing to pay," Nabooru answered, her voice suddenly growing quiet. "Never at the price you're willing to pay."

"I will sacrifice everything to achieve that goal," Ganondorf hissed. "Your weakness is your unwillingness to do the same."

"You're wrong," Nabooru said even more quietly, though there was no tremble to her tone. It was stone cold, and had more strength to it than Ganondorf had ever heard, like the low rumble of a dragon just before it attacked. "I am willing to sacrifice everything to do what is right."

Electricity shot through Ganondorf's veins as his wife drew her sword on him. The shock that cascaded through him quickly broiled into rage and overwhelming hatred, and he let it consume him. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm ending your war," Nabooru snarled, immediately striking.

Ganondorf drew his claymore and swatted her sword easily, his strength surpassing her own. However, Nabooru was nimble, and though her strikes couldn't hold the same force as his own, she was still more than capable of cutting him to pieces. Ganondorf took several steps back as he was hit with her fast assault, multiple blows in succession, some landing a hit on his legs, one on his side. Roaring, he swung harder, watching her duck under his blade and angle her sword upward to carve into his stomach. He kicked her directly in the face, and she went flying into a nearby table, dazed momentarily.

"You think you can defeat me?" he hissed. "You think you even stand a chance?"

Nabooru groaned, slowly trying to sit up.

"You dare defy me?!" he continued, his hatred ever growing. "Me, the rightful ruler of all things!"

His wife let out a mirthless laugh. "You are a ruler of nothing Ganondorf. You're letting that demon control you. I didn't marry a demon king, I married a man who sought to better himself, who wished to see prosperity spread across the land! You, demon, will die!"

With that his wife rose against him once more, attacking even faster despite how she shook her head and blinked blood out of her eyes, despite how her nose was misshapen and blood was pouring freely out of it. Ganondorf deflected, parried, counterattacked at every measure, but the Gerudo chief was too fast. He grew angrier by the second, outraged that she would actually attempt this, after everything--had their love meant nothing?! How could she betray him like this?!

Nabooru leapt off a table to come down on him overhead, blade ahead of her, aimed at his head. Ganondorf fel this heart stop a moment, fear gripping him, and he dodged just in time, bringing his blade up to carve through her back from her hips to her skull.

Nabooru fell to the ground, and the room grew still.

Ganondorf stood there, motionless, until he became dizzy because he'd forgotten to breathe.

I... I just... what did I just...

Nabooru was dead. Nabooru was dead.

My wife... my wife...

She betrayed you, the voice in his head purred, and Din's fire if he couldn't find an argument against it. She'd been trying to kill him!

This was her fault! He should've known she wouldn't listen! A fool would get a fool's reward!

My children will listen to me. They will undertand. They will obey me.

Ganondorf wiped the blood from his blade, ignoring how his hands shook, and stormed out of the tent.

XXX

There was a difference between fairytales and the terrifying reality of facing evil.

Zelda took a trembling breath as she watched what was once a man morph into a horrific monster. Darkness choked the air, swirling around like the winds of a hurricane. Link's blade glowed blue against it as he stood guard over the fallen Gerudo warrior, Hemisi. The air was sucked out of her lungs, and Zelda trembled at the overwhelming malice that dripped off the beast's tusks, at the heart stopping terror such evil magic brought, at how her entire body was paralyzed in the moment.

The stories told of a demon king who sought to destroy Hyrule again and again. Her father had never believed such stories, had grossly underestimated the man who brought such destruction back to their land. Zelda had known Ganondorf housed this evil, and yet...

Witnessing it was more overwhelming than she could have ever imagined.

The dark beast roared, stomping its feet, ready to devour its prey.

"Link!" Zelda called, feeling utterly helpless.

But she couldn't be helpless! She refused to be! She'd been helpless her entire life, and only recently had she started taking charge of her own destiny. But she knew this destiny was written in the stars, woven with a golden thread of the goddesses themselves. They wouldn't fail - they couldn't. And she had a part to play in it.

Inexperienced of the world as she was, Zelda was not a fool. And she refused to be a coward.

Hemisi slowly rose to her feet behind Link, looking at what her father had turned into, face pale with horror.

Link roared back at the beast, ready to fight.

Zelda channeled her Light within her, pushing the darkness at bay, sending diamond-like shards of magic towards her Hero. "Link, use these!"

Link leapt into the air to catch the shards, which turned into Light-infused kunai. After a moment to register what had just happened, a feral grin pulled at his face, and he bared his teeth against the enemy.

As Link charged ahead to face down the enormous beast, Hemisi looked back at the princess. "Hey! Lend me some of that magic, will you?"

Zelda watched her hesitantly, but she grimaced when Link narrows missed getting impaled by the dark beast's enormous tusks. Swallowing, she nodded, channeling her power and sending Light to the Gerudo, who caught it and watched it materialize into a glowing bow and arrows.

Nodding in thanks, Hemisi turned and stared down the beast, slowly taking aim.

Zelda brought her hands to her chest in prayer, begging the goddeses to aid them, allowing her power to create a barrier between them and the rest of the world, and the true battle for Hyrule began.

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legendofzoodles · 2 years

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LU thought for the day:

Wild, Sky, Legend and Wolfie are the chain’s parkour team

Wild is the only one of the chain who has a designated jump button in his game, he can sprint, he has spiderman tier climbing skills and can use Sheikah Slate runes to manipulate his surroundings to make travelling easier. On top of having an adventurous spirit I believe he’d have a fun time trying to get from point A to B in the most creative if reckless way possible:

Four: [staring down the ravine] It’s too deep. Any ideas on how we can get across?

Wild: [smiles and walks off to cut down a tree]

Four: We can’t use that trunk as a bridge, it’s not long enough.

Four: How did you turn it yellow? What rune are you using?

Four: Hey! Stop hitting it with your sword; you’ll dull the blade!

Four: Wait...what’s that ticking noise?

Wild: [grabs Four and chaos ensues]

Sky can sprint, flip and lightly parkour in his own game- sure he gets winded pretty easily but that doesn’t negate his stellar technique. He probably doesn’t take risks, but is confident enough in his skills to pull of some impressive moves If any of the members like Wild and Hyrule saw him pull off a sweet walk kick then they’d for sure pester him to teach them that move:

Sky: Why can’t we just go in through the entrance? If we ask nicely and explain that we’re with Wild they’ll have to let us in.

Wars: This is the only way. Our statuses don’t make us an exception to their rules and neither of us can convincingly pretend to be a ‘vai’. Now, can you catapult me to the wall?

Sky: What if I throw you at a bad angle or what if you don’t stick the landing? Lemme just...

Wars: I know it’s a risk but-

Sky: [casually sprints up wall, grabs the edge and pulls himself up in one fluid motion]

Wars: Woah.

Wars: You’ve got to teach me that! Though for now can you help me up?

Sky: [collapses on top of the wall] Hang on I need to catch my breath- er, check that the coast is clear.

Wars:

Legend has the pegasus boots. He may not bother too much about being creative like Wild or technical like Sky, but he has the second highest jump after wolfie thanks to that item, so being able to keep up with those two he’d join in with whatever stunts they try.

Twilight’s got some impressive agility in human form, just look at some of the hidden skills if you want proof. But wolfie’s on another level. Twilight wouldn’t join their shenanigans in human form anyway, only doing so as wolfie to keep an eye on them. Plus wolfie’s crazy good jumping ability would come in handy:

[chain are trying to sneak into a large monster camp fortified by a tall but fragile wooden wall defence, at night]

Time: Alright wonder trio, any ideas?

Sky: Nope, too high.

Wild: [kicking the rotting wood as the base] It’s still wet from last night’s storm, I can’t climb this.

Legend: Couldn’t we just use our hook shots?

Wars: It doesn’t look structurally sound enough to deal with that kind of force. If we all fire the whole wall could come crashing down and alert the camp to our presence.

Wind: [getting out his anchor rope] I could use this?

Legend: Can you throw that far?

Wind: [pulling a face] Yes!

Wars: But you’d need to pull us up to take the pressure off the walls' edge. Could you do that?

Wind: ...no, you do it then.

[suddenly two steel chains belonging to dual clawshots descend from above]

Hyrule: Have we been spotted?!

Four: [looking up] No, isn’t that...

Wars: [whisper-shouting] Rancher?! How’d you get up there?

Twilight: Leap of faith.

Wars: ...What?

Time: [notices Twi’s shadow crystal around his neck and smirks] Alright captain, we’re going first.

Hyrule: [glancing at his power bracelet] He’s gonna pull them both up at once...?

Legend: Show off.

~~~

Thanks for reading and have a nice day!

Masterlist

9th place in the LU character design ranking

Character analysis posts:

Hero of the Sky, Hero of Time, Hero of Twilight, Hero of the Wild, Hero of Warriors

#linked universe #lu #linkeduniverse #lu sky #lu twilight #lu time #lu wolfie #lu warriors #lu legend #lu four #lu hyrule #lu wild #lu wind #linked universe fanfiction #Lu fanfiction #linked universe fanfic #parkour bros

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cheshire-writer · 4 months

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Did anyone ever think about this: botw/totk x Legend of Arceus? It goes maybe like this:

Arceus: Oh no, I've got this slightly disillusionised, scheming, angsty drama queen teaming up with this slightly more minor diety than me and they may or may not end up tearing holes into my creation.

Arceus: Hylia, my bestie, whatever shall I do?

Arceus: I'm thinking of borrowing a protagonist somewhere and giving them amnesia so that they'll do my bidding...

Hylia: ...

Hylia:... you know what, I've got just the guy for you.

Hylia, mind vibing with Zelda: Descendant, my mortal self, Zelda, my dear, there's this friend of mine who's somewhat in a pinch -

Zelda: You're not borrowing Link.

Hylia: He can keep a version of the purah pad/sheikah slate and the data he records goes to one of your labs.

Zelda: You're still not getting him.

Hylia: That friend of mine lives in an entire different time-space.

Zelda: ...

Hylia: Different plants and creatures and people and magic/technology -

Zelda: Deal!

Zelda, slightly embarrassed: But I've got conditions.

...

Hylia, to Arceus, offering Link: Here, take this, it's dangerous to go alone deal with time-space issue on your own.

Link, in Hisui: ...I'm supposed to let these fluff / cute / weak thingies fight for me?

Link, stick in hand, bunch of wild pokemon defeated at his feet: Why in the name of Hylia would I do that?

(Later, when the pokemon get bigger and stronger and his weapons stay sticks and maybe the occasional Traveler's Sword Weapon/hunting knife/what have you, warms up to using pokemon the way he fights with the Champions)

Link, seeing a Ponyta for the first time, five minutes before burning himself trying to ride it: I'm naming her Spicy.

Meanwhile, back in Hyrule, the science trio having access to Link's inventory: What is this and this AND THIS???

The science trio, serving as the farm area: WHAT ARE THESE THINGS???*delighted* (No, Link is never getting a single pokemon back from them)

Meanwhile, back in Hisui.

Link, seeing flaming horses and sea dragons and walking plants: If Zelda wants some of these for herself/science/to rebuild Hyrule, they better be trained well. *proceeds to teach them come, stay, and let-me-deal-with-this, and, showing them a picture of Zelda, be-good-for-this-person*

Link, watching an Alpha terrorize its surroundings, thinking of the Yiga: These are going to be her new royal bodyguards until I get back.

Hisui gets a culture shock. In the future, it shall be known as the only region where trainers literally fight side by side with their pokemon.

Link gets new recipes, new ingredients, a new region to explore, gets to get Zelda like 100/10-30k+ years worth of birthday presents, gets to help rebuild Hyrule (indirectly), gets to play with new toys, NEW CLOTHES, and doesn't even have a murder cult after his blood. Almost a vacation if the apocalypse wasn't looming, but hey, can't have everything.

(Henceforth, Pokemon inhabit Hyrule, making life significantly easier for the next Hero.)

#legend of zelda #the legend of zelda #loz #legend of arceus #legend of zelda x legend of arceus #Link in Hisui #loz x loa #link #loz totk #loz link #loz botw #Link as a Pokemon trainer #Well. 'Trainer'#Zelda as his professor #sorta #crossover #fanfic idea

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karakulialiny · 1 year

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After drawing enough next gen OCs by @red-gekkouga, I thought, "Yeah, Red has some great headcanons about next gen, but mine is just as good and worthy of being illustrated and published as well." So let's get started.

Link and Zelda's family. 16 years after TotK events

Link and Zelda decided to have a child almost immediately after they got married. Gabriel turned out to be an almost identical copy of his father, except for the eyecolor. His upbringing was extremely difficult for the newlyweds because the baby turned out to be terribly restless and naughty. It all started with simple whims, like not wanting to sleep, bathe, and change a diaper. When the boy grew up, he started to make fun of his parents by throwing food in their faces, splashing in the bathroom, and jumping on their bed. But despite all this, Link did not dare to punish Gabriel in any way, as he was afraid of traumatize him. But over time, he and Zelda learned to explain to their son how to behave and how not.

Mark was born as a result of the naive hope that the second child would be a girl. Fortunately for Link and Zelda, the youngest son turned out to be the exact opposite of the older one: more calm and obedient. The spouses had already begun to think that parenthood would no longer cause them serious trouble, but that was not the case: Gabriel began to mock Mark, taking advantage of his weakness and modest nature, taking away his toys and making faces at the table. When the brothers grew up, the older one began to scare the younger one with all sorts of stories, like "Children are the result of a terrible disease that you can catch somewhere on the beach" (this is how Gabriel answered Mark's question "Where do children come from?"). Over the years, it became clear that it was Mark who was suitable for the role of heir to the throne (because out of all Zelda's children he was the most responsible), so after the restoration of the castle, the boy was taught the basics of government.

Aryll became the most successful attempt to have a child, as Link and Zelda wanted a girl from the very beginning. Link decided to name his daughter after his sister since he missed her very much. Zelda did not mind, as she had already dreamed of breaking the cycle of naming girls in royal family "Zelda" (just like many fans, as I noticed). By nature, the girl turned out to be more like Gabriel: restless, but not naughty. Link showed a special love for his daughter, which at first made Gabriel and Mark jealous. Fortunately, over time, the brothers and sister found a common language with each other: Mark became Aryll's "guardian angel", and Gabriel spent time with his sister, arranging crazy entertainment, like rolling down a hill in a barrel or pranks on Mark. Aryll's favorite animals are pigs and frogs.

Sheikah trio next gen. 16 years after AoC events

Rei and Tenn are Robbie and Purah's twins. They should not have been born at all, as Purah believed that the children would distract her important scientific work. However, anything can be planned, but a woman in love with a good-natured nerd, despite everything that happens around, remains a woman in love. Fortunately, Impa agreed to babysit her niblings from time to time, and Purah was ready for the fact that, at least in the future, she could raise a faithful assistant from her child. But she never expected that there would be two of these children at once. Well, at least Robbie and Impa were very good as father and aunt, and Purah didn't lose her mind at this stage of her life. Rei at first did not want to devote herself to science at all and wanted to study martial arts more. But having learned the terrible backstory of her aunt, the girl nevertheless changed her mind and decided to study botany. Tenn, on the other hand, always admired the work of his father and even helped him in assembling mechanisms.

Haya is a little daughter of Impa and my OC, who already has ToyHouse profile. As mentioned on the picture, the girl was named after a dragon fruit. Alas, I have not yet come up with some interesting backstory for her, but you can already see her in one of the Hyrule Park specials.

I'm not yet giving any guarantee that Gabriel, Mark and Aryll will become canon in my AU lore, since I can do something extremely unpredictable with Link and Zelda (I write this so as not to ruin the intrigue of potential readers from reading the comic). But Rei, Tenn and Haya are 100% canon characters in Hyrule Park. They will appear in a fanfiction related to its lore called Afterlife. So, stay tuned😉

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fioreofthemarch · 7 months

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Vicious Sickles

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom Relationship: Link & Original Yiga Clan characters Words: 2596 | AO3 link [cw blood and combat violence]

Chest heaving, hands shaking, vision fading. This was meant to be practice.

Link steadies himself on the marshy sand beneath his feet, and winces from the pain. Every muscle cries out, every breath is ragged. A solitary thought keeps him standing: this would be a lousy place to die.

He blinks slowly as he focuses on the problem ahead; a trio of screeching lizalfos, hip-hopping from foot to foot, lizal-blades in hand, their beady eyes rolling. One of the rascals wields a Royal Broadsword that Link went to great lengths to salvage from Hyrule Castle, having used its disgusting tongue to snatch it from his hand.

His only weapon left is the Sheikah Slate. He holds it weakly in his left hand while his right hand is clasped tightly around his shoulder, covering a smiling red gash. It drips blood down to the shallow waters that lap his feet. Some green-eared traveller in Hateno told him that the lizalfos in Faron are sluggish in comparison to their river land brethren and would make for good fighting practice. He’ll kill whoever that was, if he survives.

He’s almost out of grit, so his next action is swift: he thrusts the Sheikah Slate forward and the Royal Broadsword freezes, held in place by a rune of bright yellow radiance. The lizalfos that stole it whips about in confusion, talon clasping the air where the weapon once was. It’s cheating, Link knows, but honest fighters never did live long.

Stumbling forward, Link grabs hold of the Royal Broadsword and wrenches it free. In a single movement he skewers one of the lizalfos through the chest and withdraws his blade to decapitate a second. The third, seeing this sudden flash of violence, turns to flee.

Spent, but alive, Link falls to his knees on the sand. He’ll take a cheap victory over a gruesome death any day. But he can’t stay here. His consciousness is going out from him like the tide. He selects Kakariko Village on the Sheikah Slate map and lets the tendrils of blue and silver energy carry him to safety.

—

Hyah, hyuck, phwor! Dorian of Kakariko Village steps through a well-practised routine of shadow swings, wielding a slender, bone-straight blade.

In a light rain that falls as little more than a mist, Link watches Dorian dance, as he sits on the steps of Impa’s house. Cado has joined him, and they pass a bowl of pickled swift carrots back and forth. Cado occasionally pipes up with criticism of Dorian’s form or posture, but Link says that he admires his discipline.

“I was Yiga!” cries Dorian mid-swing, “Hyurk! Discipline was survival!”

Link wants to apologise, feeling bad for bringing up Dorian’s past, even unintentionally. But when he casts a sideways glance to Cado, he sees the other Sheikah rolling his eyes. Here we go again, Cado mouths, and Link can’t help chuckle.

“Laugh all you want!” Dorian says, never pausing his routine. “There is no humour when you are fighting to the death.”

“Is that what we’re watching now?” Cado teases, and gets no answer.

Link hugs his knees to his chest, embarrassed at what he is about to admit. “I… I was nearly killed by some lizalfos, the other day.”

“Cheeky bastards,” Cado says, clicking his tongue. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

“Yes, Link, any fight you walk away from is a good one,” Dorian adds.

“I teleported away, actually.”

Cado laughs, carrot nearly spilling from his mouth. “You fled? Is this really our Princess’ own appointed Knight speaking?”

“What happened to not beating himself up?” Dorian cuts in. Offended, Cado takes the bowl of carrots and marches up the stairs to Impa’s house, giving Link a short, parting nod.

“I need to be quicker,” Link continues. “I need better weapons.”

With a sigh, Dorian brings his blade in front of his face, pausing there for a moment, and ends his routine. He sheathes the sword, and then sits down beside Link on the stairs. The rain falls heavier now, so they shift higher up to be sheltered by the pagoda roof. Dorian’s hair and beard are wet from the rain, which to Link makes him seem older, his dark eyes dropping and weary.

“A blade cannot change its wielder,” Dorian says. “You fought bravely, do not doubt that.”

Link feels little comfort in the words, not when his body still aches. He changes the subject, nodding to the blade on Dorian’s back: “Where did you get that one?”

Dorian draws the blade again, laying it across his lap. “Our eightfold blades were originally created by the Sheikah and Yiga’s shared ancestors and were passed down by both tribes. Few remain.”

“Did this one… belong to the Yiga?”

“No. Impa gave it to me as her way of welcoming me to this tribe.”

For a moment Link thinks of asking if he can borrow it - a blade like that would solve a lot of his problems. But he senses Dorian’s connection to it - he could no more ask to borrow the man’s arm, and he knows he has a sword of his own waiting for him in the Korok Forest. If only I was stronger…

Then the Sheikah guard is sheathing the sword again and standing to leave. Before he departs however, he turns back to Link a final time: “You will find the blade of your soul Link, I am sure of it.”

Suddenly anxious, to get moving or to prove some unspoken promise to himself, Link resolves to leave Kakariko as soon as the weather clears. Then, as if the Goddess herself is listening to his thoughts, the rain begins to ease.

—

Link is barely out of Necluda when the first opportunity to test his strength arises. On the riverine path between the Duelling Peaks, a cowering Hylian seems to materialise out of thin air, their hunched stature in stark contrast to the bold and brash travellers he has met on the road.

“I’ll never make it home now!” the traveller whimpers as he approaches.

“Are you alright?” Link asks. “D’you need any help?”

The traveller whips their head around, their whole body shaking. “Help me!?” they shriek, and then suddenly – they arc upwards, standing to attention. “You can help me by dying!”

There is a puff of red smoke, and the traveller is gone. In their place is nothing but the sound of laughter and–

Hyuk! A Yiga bursts into being above Link, a shining blade in hand. Link jerks away just in time and sees that the Yiga wields a strange, curved weapon that Link has never seen before — it’s like a scythe, but smaller and angrier – and quick! The Yiga dashes forward in a slipstream; steel rings as Link barely draws his own blade in time, a run-of-the-mill soldier's broadsword. But the scythe-weapon seems to hook around the hilt of his sword, tearing it from his grip. Link roars as his broadsword is flung across the river and out of sight.

The Yiga flips and spins to face him. They bring their scythe to bear — a deadly challenge. Link has nothing to counter with; no weapons in storage and barely more than a dagger on his belt. He raises his fists.

Across the shore they trade swipes and blows, shuffling one step, two, pebbles crunching underfoot. They are two vipers: red and blue, striking with deadly precision. Although only one of them actually has a weapon.

The Yiga’s curved blade has barely any reach and looks too unbalanced to provide good defence. As the dance continues, Link wonders if he can use this to his advantage. He begins to withdraw, one inch at a time, stepping away from the Yiga with each dodge until they are thrusting wildly forward to keep their blade in range.

This is the moment that he strikes. The Yiga lurches too far forward and skids uncomfortably across the stones. Thwack! Link brings a balled fist across the Yiga’s side, and feels the crack of a rib, and then he strikes their wrist, catching the blade that they drop before it hits the ground. Plan complete, Link juts away, out of the Yiga’s reach, the scythe held close and ready. But the Yiga does not advance; they spring backwards, flipping and hopping as though they don’t have two, maybe three broken bones, and then in a final puff of smoke they are gone.

So ends the dance, and Link revels in the rush it has brought him. He survived. No, he triumphed! Blade or no blade, he can still fight.

Later, he photographs the curved blade with the Sheikah Slate to find out what it truly is: a Yiga Vicious Sickle. The half-moon shape of the blade allows for the rapid delivery of fatal wounds and serves as a symbol of their terror.

In the sickle, Link catches his reflection – an open eye and a determined brow. He takes it in hand, testing it. It’s light, lighter than any blade he’s held. And it feels… powerful. Like an extension of his arm; a single, grasping claw. His soul feels stronger just holding it. Yes – this is a good blade, a true blade, just the one he had sought. He straps the Vicious Sickle to his back and continues on the road.

—

To the monsters of Hyrule, a reign of terror is unfolding.

There is a Hylian, a smaller one of their kind, draped in blue and white cloth, and wielding a weapon that none can defeat. Most of the humans wield simple, blunt blades. Most are weak, whimpering things. This Hylian wields a blade that slices even the toughest of scales and thickest of skin, and he fights with an endless rage and vigour. Once he closes in, there is no chance of survival.

The rampage begins in Necluda, where the waters flow to the Lake Hylia. Chu-chus, bokoblins, even moblins and a handful of Guardians fall to this terrible, curved blade. Eventually, it makes its way down to Faron, a trail of blood and guts in its wake, until it arrives on Aris Beach, on a marshy shore, where the sea dwelling lizalfos make their hovels and nests.

—

Link is sitting on the sand, feasting on whatever fish the lizalfos that lived here had been roasting, when the girl with the Windcleaver arrives. He does not hear her, and so does not turn, but she recognises him regardless.

“Are you Link?” She asks. Link drops his fish, and leaps to his feet with the Vicious Sickle already drawn. He has, by now, a keen ear for the untrustworthy.

The girl has black hair, worn loose, and wears red and black travelling clothes. On her back is a long, thin blade in a burlap sheath.

“I know what you are,” Link says.

“I do not deny it. I am Yiga. But that is not why I am here.”

The girl reaches over her shoulder for the hilt of her blade. Link could strike at her now, end this before it begins, but a curiosity holds him in place. The girl smiles at him, and the expression puts Link strangely off-balance – there is no fear in her eyes, only hunger.

“I know what you want to ask,” she says. “You hurt my friend. You took his blade, which you now clumsily wave in my direction.”

“Your friend attacked me.”

“That makes no difference where I am from. Anyway, outsiders cannot be permitted to wield our sickles.”

The girl draws her blade - a longsword that Link recognises as a bigger sibling to the eightfold blade Dorian wields, and he can’t help but shiver. It has thrice the reach of his sickle and looks just as deadly.

“But I’m not here on official business,” the Yiga girl says as they begin to circle on the sand, weighing each other up. “Our Master would not permit me to kill you just for stealing a sickle. But then my Johta decided to exile himself, for the humiliation of returning to us unarmed. So, I am bound to no one but my own vengeance, Hero. And I will die if it means killing you.”

With that she strikes, heaving the longsword forward, but Link dodges left. He spins, blade raised, leaving a cut on her shoulder. The girl smiles. First blood.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Link says.

The girl is unphased. “Yes, you do.”

Then she raises her fist and plants it firmly on the sand. A stream of air and dirt erupts in front of her, one that homes in on Link and chases him backwards along the shore, until it explodes in a huge pillar of rock. Link cries out as he is thrown to the ground, a blinding pain tearing through his shin. Second blood.

“C’mon then, Hero. You can do better than that!” the Yiga girl laughs.

She is on the offence now; she swings at Link’s head, his ankles, his side, each one barely dodged. One swing catches the curve of his sickle, and the superior weight of the longsword wrenches it from his grip. No time — Link has only one advantage; he grabs the Sheikah Slate and spins around, thrusting his hand forward. A purple beam of light arcs upwards and catches the wayward sickle mid-air. Link pulls the Slate to his chest, and the sickle shoots backwards towards him. He catches it cleanly with his free, left hand, and brings it to bear, ready to continue.

“That’s cheating,” the girl says.

“I know.”

The next time he swipes with the sickle, he catches the longsword across the hilt and with his free hand punches the girl across the face. She reels, dazed, and tries to strike again but Link is quicker; the sickle is quicker. Her blow never lands. All that there is between them is a soft squelch, and a gasp. The Yiga girl drops her longsword. Her hands go to her stomach. They turn red, just like the sand at her feet.

She staggers backwards and, in that moment, Link finally looks down at his sickle. It is slicked with shining red liquid from hilt to tip.

“Well fought, Hero of Hyrule,” the girl murmurs. With muted shock Link realises she is smiling. Then her face drops, pale and bloodless, and she collapses onto the sand.

Link is frozen in place for what feels like hours, faintly aware of a dripping sound until he notices with an anguished cry that it is the blood dripping from his sickle onto his boot. He drops the blade like its hilt is made from hot coals.

Then he finds himself shaking the Yiga girl, whose lips are now white. Get up! You’re bleeding, idiot, get up! But she never stirs. It isn’t until the tide starts coming in and the carrion birds arrive that Link understands fully what he has done. The girl is dead. He all but cut her in two.

And then, his attention turns to the Vicious Sickle, which is still skewered in the sand.

In that moment, he remembers Dorian’s advice, and knows it is wrong. A blade can change its wielder. For the better, or for much, much worse.

Link takes the sickle by its red, wrapped hilt, disgusted by how light it feels. It’s nothing more than a vessel, and held within it is his recklessness and the mark this will forever make on his soul. In the blade’s reflection he catches his eye, round and dark.

Link raises the sickle over his shoulder, and throws it into the sea.

#botw #breath of the wild #tloz #tloz fanfiction #breath of the wild fanfiction #link #yiga #my writing #cw: blood #monkeys paw curls #is this whump? I dont know. whump but the MC is the one doing the whumping. lol

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rawliverandgoronspice · 3 days

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Could I ask you to gush about Impa? I really appreciate how she gets to be imagined in the series with all sorts of ages, skin tones, body types despite playing generally the same role in the story each time.

I'd even say because she's not one of the main trio, she has a lot more freedom in how they get to interpret her, so much so that it's a bit tragic. It shows what they could really do if they weren't held to the Nintendo standard.™

Thank you so much for asking!!! love opportunities to do that

I completely agree with you, I think she may give the strongest flair to the whole "reincarnation" spiel compared to the other... let's say mostly two, as Ganondorf is weird reincarnation-wise. Link and Zelda tend to mostly look the part of Link and Zelda (though Tetra is really cool for how different she is). Impa's role is much more subtle, but she does have this sort of design pillar where she is a guardian of knowledge, caring for Zelda --and there's often an ambiguity in her affection, as in: does she care in a genuine way, and/or in a more pragmatic "I guide you because I know what you represent and I understand the gods' plans for Hyrule and your importance in them" (which, in an extremely interesting way I somehow *never* put together until now, does kind of mirror the role of Twinrova in Ganondorf's life)-- but also, she has this role of "silent watcheress" over Hyrule past, knowing things the younger characters do not and giving them a rendition of the way the world works that will motivate their actions in the future.

I *love* this feature of her soft power over fate, where she does hold immense responsibility in how it ends up being shaped while also only ever being a cog in the machine (a fact that is even abused once by the bad guys in the Oracle Series if I recall correctly) --which is increased tenfold in her more overt sheikah appearances. Skyward Sword particularly comes to mind, as her entire existence ends up being tied to a specific rendering of events and making sure they go according to Hylia's design. What a strange existence. What a tragic one, living and dying --not even for somebody else, but for their specific divine purpose in a war that will far outlive everybody involved.

Deeply interested in that place she occupies, demanding her to be passive while also giving her immense weight over Light and its victory. Meanwhile, in OoT at least, she is Shadow, yet maintaining the influence of Light at any cost, including her own --but still, pushing it forward through Sheik, imparting (lolol) some of her own dying heritage onto the metaphorical cause of that heritage's sacrifice. I'd argue it's the most selfish Impa ever gets as a character (beyond TotK where she just... gives up and retires and goes on a fun lil vacation, and slacks and procrastinates like crazy instead of helping Zelda, and honestly?? good on you Impa!!! good on you, you go queen!!! take those days off!! go on a fun lil balloon adventures!!)

#asks #impa #tloz #skyward sword #oot #ooa/oos #totk #thank you so much for the ask!!#I haven't played the first zeldas when she appears #the tp version is very sad to me as well #in a way she does mirror ganondorf here as well #alone in a sea of forgotten ruins lost to time #:((#they DO mirror each other in SO many ways they were *meant* to be explored side by side!!!!! (they weren't but it's still very interesting)#anyway thank you so much for giving me an excuse to talk about impaaa #a very bad day made brighter <3

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totkdaily · 1 month

Text

Day 83: Gerudo Desert, and Riju

From here, the desert looks foggy. Perhaps a sand storm? I hope it clears before I need to head to Gerudo Town. I spot two other things of note: the tower in the Highlands, and a geoglyph. It looks like a figure of some kind. Could I glide all the way there? It looks far…

No. But I at least get on the right level of the Highlands. It's even colder up here. I find the geoglyph.

A vision. I see...

Ganondorf swears loyalty to the King of Hyrule. The conversation is tense.

This vision is different - as they talk, I feel I'm following Ganondorf's eyes specifically. Examining each secret stone on display, ignoring their bearers. Resting again on Sonia's. I have already seen the Queen's fate.

Zelda is concerned. Even his name… I understand her hesitancy, and I share it. Rauru is foolish to reassure her. Everything could have been prevented if Ganondorf had been stopped here. Rauru was right. He was an arrogant king. So sure none could unseat him.

It's so cold. I have to keep moving. I consider leaving the tower for another day, but I'm halfway there now.

I glide over what must be the old Yiga Clan hideout - I wonder if they still use it? That map in Robbie's lab suggested yes.

I reach the tower. There's a little tent - the journal belongs to Billson. The tower is snowed in… fortunately, it sounds like there's a cave somewhere below.

Meadella's Mantle Cave. I wonder if this is it? Billson's records suggest the cave does go under the tower - but also that it's massive. There's a river flowing through it - I chuck a wooden board into it and climb on.

Bubbulfrog! By complete chance, I manage to land its gem on my rudimentary raft as it lands at the bottom of the waterfall.

The raft takes me perfectly under the tower. And launch!

I try to glide to a southerly sky island to hop over to Gerudo Town - but it turns out to be inhabited by a three-headed dragon, so we won't go there. I redirect to the plateaus around the old Sheikah Tower site, which is now a chasm to the Depths. The desert is engulfed by a sand storm. Can I make it to Gerudo Town from here? I feel like I should try.

I barely get as far as the ruins before I completely lose visibility. I can hear these huge impacts, like explosions. There's a trio of… guards? No, training dummies. And the impacts flash like lightning. I know who's here - I rush to find her.

Riju.

She recognises me still - it's good to find a friend. She says this sand shroud appeared when Hyrule Castle rose - that tracks. And there are new monsters - gibdos. We work out a technique which might be useful against them - I aim, and Riju shoots lightning.

And then golden light fills the air… the Gerudo sage is watching us.

Another Gerudo, Faundi, arrives. She says gibdos are attacking Kara Kara Bazaar. We have to go there. But… how can I find my way in this??

I climb a piece of ruin, intending to guess and glide - but it's high enough that I can see across the sand shroud, thank goodness. Aiming for the bazaar is still a guess, but it's slightly more informed.

I almost lose my way once I glide back below the horizon, but I make it to Kara Kara Bazaar and help Riju fight off the gibdos. Awful creatures, long-limbed and half-rotten, with insectoid faces and gill-like necks.

I think I saw some through the sand storm on my way here. I'm glad I didn't have to fight them without Riju. There's some kind of weird mushroom that glows, seemingly the source of the gibdos or their power.

Suddenly, through the sand - Zelda!

No, it can't be. It must be the imposter. Coincidentally, right at that moment, tornadoes head for Gerudo Town.

Riju heads back that way. I want to see if anyone I know is in the Bazaar before I join her.

Also, I need to stop at the shrine here.

#totkdaily #day 83 #totk #loz #zelda #legend of zelda

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transskywardsword · 3 months

Text

Pertaining to Demon Kings

eeeeyyyyy after ages, it's finally here, the second official chapter of Heroes Gate, which is a Ghirahim's pov chapter. Ghirahim has been an absolute JOY to write, he is so mean. so mean. If you haven't read the first chapter of Heroes Gate, Dawning, I'd HIGHLY recommend you do so. You can read it and the other drabbles for heroes gate here on ao3. if you are interested in the AU as a whole, more info on it can be found here!

*note: ghirahim, yuga, and zant are not present in this au's version of hyrule warriors, as even in an au abt time line shenanigans that's just too much for my brain

also, shout out to the zelda name drop, we'll be crossing over with zelda's universe soon! @thebleedingeffect asked to be tagged when this came out, if anyone one else would like to be added to a tag list just lmk!

---

The spirit floated in the sheer gossamer of nonexistence, an oil spill across black waters, a splatter of emotion and vague consciousness, not enough to think but enough to rage. It had been thrown there when the filthy flesh creature attempted to butcher its Master, sealing away his divine being at the last moment, some sick mockery of mercy. In the crack between the Sacred Realm and the Realm of Reality, its anger raged on, vicious and violent. It consumed its very being, till all that was left of a once proud vessel was a puddle of fury. There was no time in the void, no thoughts, nothing but an all-consuming need to scratch and bite and maul, to rip the flesh creature limb from limb and baptize its Master in the damn thing’s blood. The thing’s screams would serve as a blessed hymn as its Master rose, and when they were finally silenced, it would revel in the decay and rot. That image was the closest it came to concrete thought, and it thought of it often.

It was dimly surprised when a noise broke through the black absence of creation. There was no sound in nonexistence, no sound or taste or touch, just rage.

There came the sound again. Its eyes moved behind its eyelids—since when did it have eyelids? Since when had it been aware enough to question if it had anything?

It focused on the eyelids, twitched them, and marveled at how they responded to its commands. It moved its closed eyes, flickering them back and forth, and felt the muscle move. They weren’t supposed to—nothing moved in the void. So how could—

There came the sound again. A command? A name?

Did it have a name? Its Master had called it something once, blessed it with a title, but it couldn’t seem to remember. Remember—was it capable of remembering? It remembered the touch of its Master’s firm, fiery scales, remembered the hotness of the flesh creature’s blood, remembered the pulse of the Spirit Maiden under his fingers—

Fingers. Fingers? He had fingers?

There came that noise again. It was, frankly, quite annoying. He wanted it to shut up, and twitched his lips, ready to tell it to. Lips, lips, lips…

He had been proud of his lips, his face, the body his Master gave him the honor of sculpting. The Goddess Sword never changed her form, but his Master had gifted him with a freedom the Goddess, that holy bitch, never did.

Ghirahim opened his eyes.

A trio of white, smooth faces leaned over him in his frame of vision. They each had only one eye, red and piercing—a mask? A mask. The masked trio whispered to each other in a rough language Ghirahim knew well. The eye upon their faces mocked him, its bloody teardrop so bitterly familiar.

Sheikah. The Goddess’s loyal dogs come to finish him off. A black, metallic hand shot out and wrapped around the first Sheikah’s neck—a hand, his hand, black and smooth, his final form, his most natural state— and squeezed.

Grind-crunch-snap

The Sheikah went still as its neck buckled and crumbled under Ghirahim’s steel grip. Ghirahim threw the body to the side, and it rolled, skidding across the floor and coming to a stop on its stomach, legs splayed around it like a forgotten toy. Ghirahim rose to his feet, towering over the other Sheikah, who scuttled back. One raised a sickle, the other a demon carver, barking orders in their language. Ghirahim followed orders from one person and one person only, and the Sky Child had locked him away where he thought no one would ever find him. Foolish. Ghirahim would always find his Master, would raise him from the ashes of the Surface and the Sky, would make him a feast from the Sky Child’s blood and bone.

“Halt!” one Sheikah called, voice muffled by her mask, and Ghirahim quickly silenced her with a flick of his wrist and a shower of daggers, each ripping through her uniform like a burning knife through butter. Ghirahim grinned. It felt good to grin. It felt good to see the blood pooling, darkening her red uniform from crimson to rust, and it felt good to hear the gurgle of someone drowning in their own blood after who knew how long in that pit of nonexistence. He breathed in deeply. The smell of fear and blood and the Sheikah’s guts meeting air as they spilled across her feet was familiar and invigorating.

He was alive, and once he disposed of these protectors of Hylia he was going to track down Link and make him wish he’d left the Goddess’ Vessel to rot on the Surface and never came face to face with Ghirahim. Deafening him on his own screams, strangling him with his own small intestine—that was child’s play compared to what Ghirahim would do to him. They would invent new words just to describe the agony Ghirahim was going to carve into the man, would run out of ways to label the sounds Ghirahim would force from him.

The third Sheikah dropped their demon carver and scrambled back, shaking like an autumn leaf as they begged for—for something. Ghirahim couldn’t be bothered to care. They switched between language after language: Sheikah, some strange dialect of Hylian, then even older, darker languages that no pet of the Goddess would ever be permitted to learn.

Interesting. But not interesting enough.

“Please—” The Sheikah said, their tongue stumbling as they tried to speak, “We mean you no—”

Ghirahim moved forward, lightning fast, and the Sheikah shrieked. They were surprisingly light as Ghirahim wrapped a metal hand around their throat and lifted, the pathetic creature kicking and wheezing as Ghirahim drew them to his face. They clawed at their neck, trying to pray Ghirahim’s fingers apart, and Ghirahim laughed, his voice shrill and loud.

“Where are they?” He hissed, face inches from the Sheikah’s mask.

“Wh—wh—”

“The Spirit Maiden, her dog, and the Hero. Where is Link?”

“It worked,” a voice behind them breathed. It was nasally, with a heavy Sheikah accent. “It worked!”

The second time they spoke, their voice shook with excitement, and Ghirahim bit back an annoyed snarl. He spun on his heels, and threw the sniveling creature in his hand at the speaker, who lunged out of the way. It was dressed differently than the three Sheikah who now lay bleeding and broken across the floor, its clothing more ornate and detailed, mask painted with greater care, with a wide stomach and short legs. The Sheikah bowed at the waist, his mask nearly brushing his knees, arms swept wide.

“Lord Ghirahim. A pleasure.”

Ghirahim fluttered his fingers, and the obsidian sword he was so fond of blinked into existence. A sword’s favorite sword.

“Wait!” The Sheikah hurried back to an upright position. “It would be a shame to die after going through all the effort to summon you,” he said, with surprisingly little fear in his voice. Hm.

Ghirahim raised his sword, pointing the blade down his arm towards the man’s girthy middle.

“Where is your Hero.” Despite the words, it was clear that this was a demand, not a question.

“That is a tricky question at the moment.” The Sheikah said. “Which one? I think we’re up to twelve now.”

“… What?”

“Please, Lord Ghirahim, sit. I’ll bring you a chair, and we can discuss this like civilized people over some banana chips. Footsoldier Ere—”

“On it, Master!”

Ghirahim lowered his blade. The Sheikah (master?) wasn’t a threat (couldn’t be a threat, not against the likes of him) and had proven to be interesting enough to earn himself a few extra seconds before Ghirahim sliced open his rather girthy middle. Ghirahim finally took the time to take in the room around him. Likely underground, given the rough-hewn stone walls, rocky ground, and wetness in the air. Slips of spell paper and magic charms littered hastily painted red walls. What appeared to be cheap, chalky paint made a ridiculously childish, yet detailed outline of the Gate of Time on the ground beneath where Ghirahim stood. The Sheikah Master stood at the head of the summoning gate, and at his feet was a tome, unlike anything Ghirahim had seen in a long, long time.

The Goddess of Time had stayed neutral in Demise’s war of glorious destruction, which, to the Demon God, might as well of been the same as pledging her undying support to the Goddess Hylia. The pathetic creature had been nothing compared to his Master, her insistence on never raising a finger in support of either side making it all too easy to grind her into the blood and gore of the very battle fields she ignored. After Demise had left her bruised and broken and bleeding, she had turned her back on the realm of the living entirely, retreating to the Sacred Realm to her older sisters, begging the Golden Three to hide her from the big, mean demons, as if her sniveling insistence of neutrality hadn’t brought it upon herself.

Ghirahim had found the idea of the Guardian of Time quaint. A full-grown goddess couldn’t handle the heat, so she, what, brought out a subordinate to watch the world for her? Go and lick her wounds in the Sacred Realm while some other, lesser lifeform did her job for her?

It was so pathetic that it was almost adorable.

Ghirahim never met the Time Guardian, not face to face, but he had seen her across the battlefield from her place of neutral observation, had felt the sheer magic that dripped from her pink and white robes, the divine power that soaked into the ground around her, the time magic so thick that it was palpable. She had carried such a tome in her hands, but that one had been shiny and new, the gold leaf glowing and ink still wet—this one was tarnished, powerful but pox-marked by time.

Hm.

“Where am I?” Ghirahim asked, narrowing his white eyes at the Sheikah man. He had taken a seat on a massive cushion with truly hideous yellow tassels provided by the other Sheikah— foot soldier, he had called her? The foot soldier placed an equally large eyesore in front of Ghirahim, who tilted his head and raised a brow. She flitted back in an awkward almost bow, coming to a stop behind the Sheikah man. Ghirahim pointedly did not sit, and the foot soldier fingered the demon carver on her hip, discomfort leaking off of her.

“Under the abandoned Yiga Clan Hideout.” The Sheikah man said around a mouthful of ‘banana’ chips, and Ghirahim couldn’t help his ears from perking.

Yiga. He knew that word. He might not rattle off stats and translations like his other half, but Ghirahim had been forged with the same wealth of knowledge as she had been—he had to be if he was going to be of any use to his Master. What use would Demise have for an imbecile as a first lieutenant? What kind of right hand would he be if he could not keep up with the enemy, could not prove himself to be leagues above the rest? So, when the Sheikah man used the word, Ghirahim knew its translation easily.

Yiga. Could be used as a noun, verb, or adjective, first used to describe the actions of the Sheikah who turned their back on Hylia in hopes of winning Demise’s favor. Instead, Demise had gifted Ghirahim the opportunity to dispose of them as he saw fit—after all, who wanted turncoats fighting on their side?

Yiga. Noun: An act of absolute betrayal. Verb: a treasonous action. Adjective: A traitor of the worst kind. Yiga Clan—

Quite literally, a clan of betrayal.

Interesting.

“The Hero thinks he’s finally disposed of us,” The foot soldier hissed, finally finding her voice, “Soft little moron.”

“It is unwise to underestimate your opponent,” Ghirahim said. “The Sky Child is many things, but soft is not one of them.” Soft. The word felt foul on Ghirahim’s tongue. He had thought Link soft once, stupid once, and look where it got him. Once beautiful form destroyed, left to rot in the nothing with only rage and hatred to keep him company. Was that how his Master felt, sealed away in the bastard’s sword? Angry, hating? Alone?

The foot soldier scoffed, and her master lazily swatted her; she mumbled an apology and sat, kneeling beside him with a silhouette that spoke more to adoration than obedience. The question was, was this man a teacher, a leader, or a slaver?

“I had quite the welcome party planned until you went any killed my subordinates. Oh well. One must crack a few eggs to make a fried banana.”

The footsoldier nodded sagely at her master’s words, tilting her mask up barely to expose a painted mouth and dark skin, and taking a bite of the dried banana slices she’d placed before the three of them. Ghirahim glanced at the three bodies around him. Blood still oozed from one, and its guts were beginning to stink. Oops.

“This isn’t the Sealed Grounds.” He said, and the Master nodded.

“No-pe, the Sealed Grounds have long since disappeared. Unfortunately, quite some, uh, time has passed since the Hero of the Skies sealed the Great Dark One away, but with that nifty little book we’ve managed to—”

“Make time our bitch!”

“Ere!” the man hissed, and the foot soldier—Ere—folded her arms.

“We’ve got the Eyes of Ganon, and Yuga, and all sorts of monsters,” She continued, leaning forward, “and now that we’ve got you, we’re unstoppable!”

Ghirahim bristled. “You don’t ‘got’ anything.”

“I just mean--!”

“What footsoldier Ere means,” her master interrupted, “is that I have a proposition that I feel you will be very interested in.”

Ghirahim flexed his fingers and in an instant his sword was back, eye level—mask level?—with the man, who, for his credit, didn’t even flinch.

“You bore me.”

“I know where Link is.” He said, sounding far too cocky for Ghirahim’s liking, and Ghirahim narrowed his eyes. He shifted his grip on the sword. The man could be lying, stalling for what—time? He had brought Ghirahim out of the nothing, that much was clear, but Ghirahim would rather cut out his own tongue than say thank you; those words were reserved for one being and it sure as hell wasn’t the pudgy man chowing down on banana chips in front of him. Frustration welled up and Ghirahim stamped it down. It would be so easy to send the point of his blade through that perfectly painted mask, to be done with this man and his pathetic subordinate, to end this conversation that sounded far too close to someone demanding his subjugation, but…

But if the man really knew where the Sky Child was, if Ghirahim didn’t have to go through all the pesky trouble of tracking down another one of Hylia’s pawns, if he could jump straight to utterly annihilating the boy instead of a wasteful chase… well, that would be ideal.

He didn’t lower his sword, and the man leaned forward till the tip poked the red eye of his pearly white mask.

“I can take you to him. All of them.”

“All of them?”

“A lot has changed since you were sealed away. Sit. Let’s talk like civilized creatures.”

Ghirahim glanced at himself in the reflection of the blade. Black, metallic skin, streaked with white veins of crystallized mineral. Beautiful, breathtaking—but not him. This body was the Goddess’ making, back when Hylia thought him a blade she could use for herself, nothing like the skin and hair he had created with Demise’s far more tempting gift: the freedom of choice. He grinned as the feeling of illusionary magic fluttered over him, skin growing over metal, white and creamy, delicate clothing melting into place, hair curling perfectly around his face. A picture of elegance. Perfection.

The foot soldier clapped excitedly, the Master whistling in appreciation. Ghirahim flipped his hair over his ear.

“I know. Not many get to see the creation of such flawlessness,” he said, twirling the sword over the back of a gloved hand. “Such elegance, fresh and free of cost. Many have killed for such a front-row seat.”

“I’m honored.”

“I could still kill you.”

“And have no one left to speak of the beauty I just witnessed? What a shame!”

“Surely you don’t think I’m that vain, do you?”

The man cocked his head and Ghirahim was sure he was grinning under the mask. “Of course not. Eat, eat, before my subordinate eats all the banana chips.”

Finally, Ghirahim sat. Ere took another handful of chips and her master swatted her hand away.

“Excuse me, I haven't introduced myself yet. I am the Big Banana of the Yiga Clan, the head honcho, the strong, brave, burly, ( and, frankly, extremely attractive) Master Kohga. But Master Big Banana Kohga will do.”

Ghirahim snorted. “I’m not calling you that.”

“Fine. Master—”

“I have only one Master, and you are not him,” Ghirahim spat, surprisingly himself with the intensity of the words. He’d meant to sound aloof, but it was hard to be put together when Demise was the topic of discussion. Demise—the need to be beside him burned inside Ghirahim, pulling at him. If he had organs, Ghirahim was sure they would ache, but instead the metal inside him boiled with need. His creator, his Master; Demise was everything, and Link would suffer like no Hylian, no, no living creature, had ever suffered before for taking him away from Ghirahim.

“Very well. Kohga then.”

Beside him, the Sheikah—Yiga—foot soldier stiffened in horror at the thought of addressing Kohga as anything but his full title. “But Master!”

Kohga gave her what must have been a stern look behind his mask. Amazing how a masked man could be so expressive. “Not now, Ere.”

“Back to the business at hand,” Ghirahim said, “Link.”

“Link.” Kohga grit out, lifting his mask to spit on the ground, as if even saying the Sky Child’s name had been an ordeal. Disgusting. Ghirahim knew demons with better manners.

“You know where he is.”

“Where they all are.”

“The Spirit Maiden?”

“What? No, all the Links.”

Ghirahim steeled his face. He’d always been emotive, even back during the Sealing Wars, and millennium upon millennium alone on the Surface had given him the freedom to express himself as he so saw fit—but he was not about to give Kohga that power over him. Kohga laughed.

“You’ve been sealed away a long, long time, Lord Ghirahim. Can I call you Ghirahim? Ghira? I’ll call you Ghira.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Anyways, Ghira, I’d tell you the year, but I doubt that would mean much to you—it’s been hundreds of decum-millennia. Thousands of hundreds maybe—the exact time of the Era of Myth has been long lost, given it is, you know, considered myth.”

He paused and stuffed a mouthful of banana chips in his mouth. Ere mirrored him, and it would have been almost… quaint if it hadn’t been a couple of filthy Sheikah, even if they were supposedly traitors. The question, of course, was traitors to whom. Hylia? The Spirit Maiden? The girl’s disgustingly devoted dog of a protector?

Link?

Ghirahim held no love for turncoats. Honorless grifters, all of them.

(As if you weren't once one, a voice that sounded far too much like Fi whispered in his ear)

“Of course, given the vast knowledge of the Yiga, the years don’t really matter all that much. The Sheikah may be a lot of useless goody-two-shoes, but they certainly are great at bookkeeping!”

Ere nodded enthusiastically.

“When the Demon Demise was sealed away, the Hero—”

“—Did a shit job!”

“Yes, thank you, Ere, did a shit job. So, along comes Ganon, Ganondorf, whatever you want to call him, Demise's successor—"

Ghirahim felt something flutter inside him that, if he had one, he would call his heart skipping a beat. His Master, free? Sure, as some ridiculously named nobody, but still his Master, brought back some way or another.

“Take me to your ‘Ganon’,” Ghirahim hissed, leaning forward deep into Kohga’s personal space. The Sheikah didn’t even flinch—obnoxious little man.

“That’s the problem, eh? We can’t.”

Ghirahim grabbed a fistful of Kohga’s red uniform and jerked him forward, a dagger melting into existence in his hand and finding its home against Kogha’s neck. Ere yelped, rushing to her master’s side, but Kogha clicked his tongue at her and she froze.

“Unacceptable. Take. Me. To. Him.”

“Can’t. Link killed him.”

“You said millennia has passed. Link would be lucky to live past 90.”

“Each time Ganon returns, so does Hyrule’s precious Hero. Link. Over and over and over—”

Ghirahim jerked him back with a snarl. Link, brought back, after all these years? Constantly revived to what, rub Demise’s defeat in his face? Disgusting, revolting, utterly barbaric—didn’t he know how to leave well enough alone?

“But we’ve got the upper hand this time!” Kohga said with triumphant fervor, patting the tome he’d kept firmly at his side so far. “This bad boy! Time travel, summoning gates, necromancy, the whole shebang! With it, we can bring back every Ganon, every Demon King, heck, maybe even Demise itself, and the Hero—”

“Can’t do jack-shit!” Ere said, leaning forward for the book, which Kohga snatched away.

“Yeah, ‘can’t ’t do jackshit’.” He said. “We’ve connected with Ganon’s followers from across the timelines—”

Timelines? Plural?

“But, you know how the Gods are, all buddy-buddy with Their precious golden Hero, so They’ve gone and tried to beat us to the punch. Lined up a whole basket full of them.”

Ghirahim held up a hand. “Link—you’re telling me there’s more than one Hero?”

“Duh,” Kohga said. Ghirahim’s jaw twitched. “I think we’re up to twelve?”

Ere nodded. “Twelve.”

Twelve… Link had been a thorn in his side, and that had just been one of him. Twelve? Never let it be said that Hylia did things in halves, he supposed. But Ghirahim had managed to resurrect Demise all by himself. He could handle more than more brat, surely.

Resurrect him for approximately 9 minutes and 47 seconds, a voice that sounded far too much like his second half whispered in his mind, which is a true and complete failure. The likelihood of bringing your Master back for even a minute longer is minuscule with a second Hero by Link’s side, and the chance of besting twelve alone is too low to compute.

Ghirahim grit his teeth. Was the little blue bitch still up and kicking with the other Links? Twelve… The Yiga leader was stupid, that much was clear. But they had mentioned allies, and Ghirahim, as much as he loathed to admit it, needed that.

“So. You summoned me to lead your armies?”

Ghirahim could feel Kohga’s eyeroll behind his mask and bristled at the man’s snort.

“No-pe, the Big Banana answers to nobody but Great Mr. Darkness Himself. Vaati, Yuga, the Eyes of Ganon, we’ve been divvying up forces, attacking from multiple timelines, keeping the group too splintered to move forward. You’ll join, of course, and be at my right hand and we’ll rip those little brats limb from limb. Ere has done a fantastic job outlining the timelines—thank you dear—”

The Yiga footsoldier preened under her master’s acknowledgment. “I’m good with numbers!”

“She’s good with numbers.” Kohga echoed with a nod. “Anyways, what I’m saying is you have the honor of being the number one lackey to the Big Banana himself while we rip apart the Heroes and bring the Big Boss—es— back from the dead! And of course, once we do and I’m rewarded for my bravery, I’ll see that you’re congratulated as well. I’m sure we can get you a prize. Maybe a town to play with—do you enjoy politics, Ghira? You seem the type. Maybe a—”

Kohga cut off with a gulp as Ghirahim’s hand wrapped around his thick neck. He dragged the Yiga closer till his beautifully curved nose was pressing against the smooth wood of the man’s mask. His hands may be softer in this form, cushioned with flesh, but the steel was still there under the false skin and stale blood, and Kohga’s neck creaked in his grasp. Kohga wheezed, one hand coming up to paw at Ghirahim’s iron grip.

“I am no one’s ‘second hand’, no one’s subservient, and sure as hell no one’s lackey,” He spat, “except to my Master and you, 'Mister Banana' are far from the terror and brilliance of Demise. You are a pot-bellied, self-absorbed idiot messing which magic he does not understand in the slightest—”

Kohga let out a full bodied wheeze, and Ghirahim realized with no short of furious confusion that the man was trying to laugh. The spirit’s mouth twisted into a snarl, and he grabbed hold of the strap holding Kohga’s mask—he wanted to see the man’s bulging eyes lose their light personally.

Kohga raised his hand, fingers splayed—was the man going to, what, slap him? One last stand that was just as laughable as he was?

Kohga made a fist, and Ghirahim realized it was a signal. Suddenly, the air grew thick, thick with magic, electric and bitter, like biting into the ozone. Ere yelled a word of Power and a wall of blue light formed in the sliver of space between Ghirahim and her master, and in a split second, it expanded, throwing Ghirahim back with a BANG and shaking the room, spell paper raining down like snowflakes. The light wall pressed down on him, pinning him flat against the wall, reeking of time magic, and Ere stood beside her master, arm outstretched and tome in hand. Her hand shook with the effort of the spell, but she radiated determination, and the spell book in her hand glowed with the signature blue light of divine magic.

“Now then,” Kohga said, rolling his neck, “I was really hoping we wouldn’t have to do it this way.”

The Yiga stood, and despite his short stature he suddenly seemed nine feet tall. He put his fists on his hips and cocked his head.

“I need a right hand. You are far more qualified than the painter or the tiny rat magician will ever be, and the Eyes of Ganon are practically all brainless monsters. I need someone intelligent. Dangerous. Capable. And you are going to be that. I didn’t go through all that effort of a resurrection spell to let you slip through my fingers, got that, Ghira?”

Ghirahim bared his fangs at him, and the man had the audacity to laugh.

“Very scary,” he said, nasally voice suddenly low and dark, and in that moment Ghirahim finally saw the master of a clan of traitors. “I’ve got it from here, sweet cheeks.” He said over his shoulder to Ere. “Go ready our guest’s room.”

“Upstairs or downstairs?”

“Depends on how he behaves. He can have the upstairs bed, or we’ll find him a nice, wet, dark spot in the mines. I’m sure for a demon, the Depths will feel just like home.”

“You’ve got some nerve—” Ghirahim hissed, and Kohga cocked his head, clearly rolling his eyes.

“Oh, shut up won’t you?” He took the tome from Ere and lazily flipped through the pages. He’d doggy ears the pages without a care and one he had turned with so little care that the page ripped. Ghirahim might hold no love for the Goddess of Time, but the tome was still a part of her divinity and should be treated as such.

The wall of light dispersed reforming into ribbons of glowing cyan as heavy as an ocean that clung tightly to Ghirahim. The pressure of light off of his nonexistent lungs was a blessing, replaced by bonds of a new kind. Ghirahim refused to struggle with the shackles in front of Kohga; he wasn’t going to look any weaker than he already did.

He could feel Kohga grin under his mask, and Ere offered an eager hand for a high five, which Kohga provided.

“So, tell me, Ghira, what’s it going to be? A nice bed upstairs and some fried bananas or shall I drop you down the Yiga Hideout Chasm to think some more?”

Ghirahim gave himself a moment to feel his anger, a moment for fury. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, taking in every shaking, raging emotion pounding in his metal chest before opening them and smiling. It was bright, dripping with cocky bravado, and he flicked his hair out of his eyes.

“So, you aren’t as useless as you seem,” He said pleasantly and Kohga puffed out his chest.

“Of course not. I’m not called the Big Banana for nothing!”

“Of course. I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner. The years have left me jaded, I’m afraid.”

Kohga grabbed hold of Ghirahim’s bicep and pulled him to his feet.

“Shall we discuss the details of our arrangement over dinner?” Ghirahim said, all teeth and sweetness, “It has been a while since I’ve eaten, after all, and I’ve never had a—what did you call it? A banana? Before.”

Kohga slapped his back. “I knew you would see reason.”

Ghirahim grinned. In his mind’s eye, he was smashing Kohga’s head into the wall, slamming it over and over till the skull caved and Ghirahim’s elegant hands were red and pink and grey with brain matter. Instead, he shook out his hair and held himself tall, spine and shoulders loose and free of rage.

“Now, please, let us talk as friends.”

“I’d like that.”

By the door, Ere watched the two of them. Ghirahim’s eye settled on the girl’s mask, and she straightened. She flinched when his tongue snaked its way across his top lip.

“Master—”

“Not now, footsoldier, the adults are talking.”

Ere huffed and stomped out of the door, fists curled. Kohga clipped the tome to his belt.

Ghirahim liked lists, like ticking things off them. It made him feel productive, successful. In his brain he began his new list: get the tome. Kill Kohga. Then mutilate Link, his Link, and feed him to his own precious Zelda.

Then, bring his Master home.

Easy peasy.

---

A banana, it seemed, wasn’t actually a crunchy chip, but instead, a fruit that hadn’t existed back when Hylia first walked the earth, likely evolved from, if Ghirahim was to guess, something like a musa acuminata. Long and yellow, it resembled the musa’s short, stubby green curve and while it was softer and sweeter, with little to no seeds, Ghirahim could see the appeal. He’d never enjoyed eating—his Master hadn’t needed to, so Ghirahim didn’t, even if he technically could. The act made him feel too human, too mundane, nothing like the immortal opulence that came with being a sword spirit, regretfully forged by Hylia’s hand but recreated with grander splendor by Demise’s, so he made a point to never depend on food. After all, a sword was cared for best by the hands of its wilder, polished and prized best by the hands that reforged it and held it in battle—that was what Ghirahim needed, not some mushy fruit. But Ghirahim cut small bites of a battered, deep-fried, painfully mushy banana, face open and pleasant, and pretended to be engrossed in the story Kohga was telling.

Ghirahim was unsure if carving the man up with his sword would be more satisfying, or if he should beat the life out of him. Either way, it would be with the mask off. He wanted to see the fear in Kohga’s eyes, the blood bubble past his lips, the skin lose its warmth and pallor as his heart stopped. He wanted to feel Kohga’s pulse go still.

Ghirahim smiled and took another bite, fighting back a shudder at the revolting texture. The table was very low and filled with Yiga in red and white sitting on mats and cushions on the floor, as well as strange bat like creates in black hoods—the Eyes of Ganon—and two men, one tall, one short.

The tall one was covered in makeup, chalky pale face cream with bright red lip stain and dramatic eye powder, and his thick red ringlets were pulled back so tightly that his hairline had started to fade. His robes were elegant and brilliantly colored, and he looked at Ghirahim with suspicious disdain. Across from him, the smaller one was barely taller than a child, with chubby cheeks and long lilac hair. A scar cut across his face, and his robes were dark violet and purple, pulled tightly around him.

Both men reeked of magic, though distinctly different types—the tall one’s was old, otherworldly, bizarrely out of place, while the small’s magic smelled fresh and forest-like, a sweetness that didn’t match his scowl.

Yuga and Vaati, two sorcerers from two times, each with no love for their respective heroes and a determination to resurrect Ganon, though be it for power or revenge, Ghirahim didn’t know. Zant, Ghirahim had been informed, whoever the fuck that was, would be joining them soon, once he finished letting loose his stupid ‘shadow beasts’ to catch the scent of the hero—hero-es—Kohga was going to have them all track down.

Ghirahim’s new allies. Ghirahim would have scoffed if he could. He detested the idea of buddying up to anyone, but 12 heroes were too much even for the Demon Lord. At least the Eyes of Ganon looked like simpletons—monsters were never intelligent enough to hold their own opinions, making them easy to manipulate.

Vaati took a long sip from the cup in front of him. He hadn’t touched the meat that had been put on his plate, looking at it with near revulsion and dumping it to the side, instead digging into the fruits provided. A vegetarian. Ghirahim slotted the information away as something that might be useful in the future. The man clearly wasn’t human, but what he was Ghirahim wasn’t sure. He smelled of nature, of a clean, pure magic tainted by something distinctly powerful but not necessarily evil. Yuga felt human enough, though not Hylian, or Sheikah, so instead somehow something different. His magic felt almost Hylian, but twisted, shifted too far to the left to be quite right. He raised a hideous red eyebrow at Ghirahim’s lingering gaze, and Ghirahim smiled, all bright teeth and false enthusiasm.

Disgusting.

“So, Lord Ghirahim,” Yuga said “I’m sure you’ve been delighted to be returned to mortal form. The Big Banana has told us much about a sentient sword spirit. It seems the world grows stranger and stranger these days.”

Ghirahim bit back a scoff. ‘Mortal form’—there was nothing mortal about the beautiful glamour that made his body, nor the deadly metal underneath it. He would always be worlds about the bloody and beating hearts of the mortal men around him.

“Strange indeed, Yuga. I’m told you come from a world with your own Link?”

Yuga’s face darkened. “Yes. A filthy, hideous worm of a thing. Though, if Master Kohga is to be believed, you know more of Links than the rest of us.”

“The enemy of the first ever Link,” Vaati said. “Truly a feat there.”

“Don’t downplay yourself,” Ghirahim said amicably, and Kohga nodded.

“Ghira’s right—we all bare the scars of Hylia’s chosen brats, and we’ll all return them tenfold!”

“Here here!” Kohga’s little brat of a footsoldier called, raising her cup in a toast before lifting the corner of her mask and downing the ale.

Then the lights went out. Only for a moment, the oil lamps losing their flame before flickering back in full force, but in that time the air was dark, the air pressure became oppressive, heavy, like someone was baring down on Ghirahim’s shoulders. A whine broke through the air, then a strange cracking sound, like broken glass or a ruptured heart valve, and the light was back. Standing behind Yuga was a towering creature, eyes wide and fish-like, teeth needle-sharp, pallor unlike anything Ghirahim had seen. His clothes were ornate, ill fitting, though that might have been purposeful, and the darkness that radiated off the man smelled heavenly.

True darkness, not like the petty magic of Yuga or the nature-esc power of Vaati. Nighttime in a cup, doused over the man, creature, whatever’s head.

“Ah, Zant,” Kohga yawned, stretching. “I take it your trip went well.”

Was he shackled too? This man, this monster, dripping in power—did Kohga have him on a chain as well? Or had he allowed himself to be subjugated like those two idiots?

“They were out of sight,” It, he? Zant? Rasped. “The Time Guardian took them from this plane. But they have returned.”

“Good, good.” Kohga said, running his fingers down the tome at his side. “Though, if they are moving so far from even your shadow beasts’ reach—well, then we must move faster.”

Yuga scoffed. “Let them get complacent. Let them get comfortable, lazy.”

Kohga’s eyes narrowed behind the mask; Ghirahim wasn’t sure how he could tell, but he did. “Did I ask for your opinion, Yuga? No, I don’t believe I did.”

“Good help,” Vaati said with a snort, “so hard to find these days.”

Crack

Kohga watched, almost bored, and the blade master smacked the side of Vaati’s small head hard with the hilt of his wind-cleaver. Ghirahim, were he another, weaker person, would have been concerned to see someone so tiny hit with such force. Ghirahim was not another, weaker person. He watched with lazy eyes, bringing his cup to his mouth to hide a smirk. ‘Good help’ indeed.

“You.” Zant hissed, thought Ghirahim thought that might just be his voice, “You’re new.”

“Our resident Demon Lord.” Kohga said, “his skills are impressive, his repertoire and reputation exquisite. He shall be a fine addition to the party.”

Zant was silent. He was massive, though Ghirahim wasn’t sure if it was his actual size or just his presence. Taller than the Sky Child, that was for sure. Did he have a Link of his own?

Ghirahim had always scoffed at the thought of allies, but-- but Ghirahim needed help, and this shadow creature looked far more useful than a bat monster or little flower child or haughty magician. This, this creature spoke of power, real power. Useful power. Power that Ghirahim could control, just given the time. And it seemed, with the rest of these idiots beside him, that he had plenty of time.

---

The desert of the Gerudo was different than the deserts of Lanayru. It stretched for miles, as far as the eye could see, with mighty cliffs decorated with Sheikah—no, Yiga—emblems. Ghirahim breathed in the night air. It was dusty and dry, and carried a chill, the heat of the day long gone. Kohga had said his own Hero had decimated the Yiga Hideout not too long ago, leaving them hiding underneath, in a cave system that led to the ‘Depths’ that Kohga enjoyed using as a threat so much. The little one, Vaati, seemed truly terrified of them, though he tried to hide his flinches at every mention of it. It was unsurprising. The man radiated earth and forest magics, bright and unwavering under the dark cap he bore. Regardless of what magics he claimed to fight with, what dark creatures he claimed to serve, under it all he was truly just some kind of frolicking forest creature. Though which kind, Ghirahim was unsure. The world had changed so much since he had been defeated—he wasn’t sure he even knew the name of the creature that Vaati was, deep under all that dark magic.

There was a looming presence behind him, silent but oppressive, and Ghirahim smirked. “Has anyone ever told you that you would make a fantastic primadona? Quite the stage presence.”

Behind him, Zant was silent. Ghirahim looked over his shoulder, his smile sharp and full of teeth.

“Come to join me?”

“You’re not like the others,” Zant said in that horridly raspy voice of his, and Ghirahim cocked his head.

“Oh?”

“They are weak. Mortal. Breakable.”

“And you are not?”

“I am the chosen of my God. They are beneath me.”

“God, ey? Then I suppose we are on more even footing that those… creatures.”

Zant said nothing, and Ghirahim didn’t bother to hide it when he rolled his eyes. He leaned backwards, resting his weight on his palms.

“The Yiga man says you are the first of us.” Zant said finally. His voice was like broken fingernails across sandpaper. “The one who raised a sword to the first Link. The first failure.”

“Need I remind you that had you not also failed, you would not be where you stand?” Ghirahim said, forcing the grit from his teeth and aggression from his voice. The creature could be of use, an ally made of stronger stuff than the weird woodland creature or the magician, one who he could model and shape into what Ghirahim needed to succeed, then dispose of at will. An ally, however brief and easily manipulated.

“My God will forgive my failures when I resurrect him and bring him the Hylian’s head.”

“And you plan to wait beside the Yiga for their permission to do so?”

Zant cocked his head. “And you do not?”

“No. No, I do not. I don’t need them to bring my Master back.”

“You think you can fight twelve heroes?” Zant said with a gravely strange noise that might have been a laugh. It was the closest to emotion Ghirahim had heard from him. “You could not even fight one.”

“Neither could you.”

Zant made a face that Ghirahim thought was supposed to be a frown.

“Then what is it you suppose?”

“We play along, for now, let Kohga have his fun. Then, when his guard is down, we take the tome for ourselves. Forget this ‘clan’ and their plans, simply rip the throats out of the heroes ourselves.”

“…We?”

Ghirahim patted the spot beside him. Zant lumbered over, needle like teeth over his bottom lip. The creature was ungainly, ungraceful, more a bolder than a man—creature, whatever-- but there was a secret flexibility to his step. Ghirahim suddenly wanted to see the thing fight, to observe and annotate how someone so large could hide such… contortion.

“So, this god of yours,” He said, and Zant’s face, to the best of Ghirahim‘s ability to read it, shuttered shut. “Is he the same Ganon as the rest?”

“He is above any pig beast or ‘demon’,” Zant said. His face had opened with surprising speed, his slitted, reptilian eyes bright—or as bright as a shadow could be. “His power is like no other. He brings with him the promise of a world righted in balance, with the small taking the power of the many. He gives and takes away. He is all-powerful, all-consuming, and he carried with him the promise of greatness.”

All powerful. All consuming. Carries with him the promise of greatness. Hm. Ghirahim could feel the start of a smile pulling on his lips. The awe, the devotion that clung to Zant’s words were familiar in their dedication. Did Ghirahim not know such a feeling, the complete devotion to another? The beauty to be found in ultimate power, the pleasure in all consuming majesty. The promise of a place at the feet of the greatest ruler the Surface had ever seen, the near ecstasy in seeing the planet’s ravishment at your own hand, a sword guided by the mightiest creature to have ever walked the earth… Demise was intoxicating, and his power was mesmerizing, and his might made him all too worthy to be worshiped like the Demon God he was.

If Zant’s half baked Ganon-whatever was even a thimbleful of the god Demise was then, well, maybe resurrection wasn’t such a bad idea. Maybe, the Yiga idiot’s plan had some merit. Regardless, Ghirahim knew what he planned to do, once he beheaded Kohga and took the tome. Eradicate his Link, and every one since, raise his Master and then, together, the two of them would obliterate this flawed timeline and remake it in their own image. Gone with Hylia’s lingering influence, with Links and heroes and spirit maidens. He was sure that Zant’s Ganon could be useful in achieving that, at least temporarily.

Zant and Kohga both spoke of the man (men? Creatures? Pigs?) in very different ways, the first with filthy reverence and the second with something almost unreadable, the meaning behind the flattering, adoring words hidden behind his white wooden mask.

Kohga, Ghirahim knew, must be a very good liar. A nasally, rude, self centered, and pathetically vain ass of a man, but a good liar. Who knew what hid behind that mask, what simmered in the man’s eyes as he spoke and planned and plotted.

Ghirahim was going to be sure the Yiga’s mask was off when Ghirahim ran him through. He wanted to see the man’s face, wanted to know if it was the same warm brown as Impa, his eyes the same piercing blood red.

Impa. The rage that built in his throat at the thought of Hylia's and the Spirit Maiden’s pitbull was a tightly tangled knot that he struggled to swallow. The Sheikah woman would be long dead by now. Probably lived a long life getting happy and fat while reveling in Demise’s defeat.

Bitch.

“Kohga spoke of ‘shadow beasts.’” Ghirahim said instead of dwelling further on the attack dog. “Explain.”

Zant snorted. “Watch yourself, spirit.”

“Explain. Please.” Ghirahim corrected, sarcasm thick in his drawl.

“When I was slaughtered without care by the Hero’s… companion, most of my minions fled or returned to their lesser, weaker forms. With my revival, I have begun…. Recollecting. Shadow beasts are the remnants of traitorous Twili, transformed into far more obedient beings. They are strong, cunning, and ideal trackers.”

“Twili?”

Zant cocked his head. “You really are the first of us, aren’t you?” He said, the softness of the words coming out as a hiss. “The kingdom of Hyrule, the Light Realm, Ganondorf—you know none of my own history. When Yuga speaks of Lorule, your eyes are dark, blank with understanding. You don’t smell the minish cap amongst us.”

“And you know so much of me?”

“No.” Zant said, cocking his head as if he hadn’t considered the reverse. “I know none.”

Ghirahim twisted to face him more, plastering on a grin. Ugh.

“Then, let’s learn,” Ghirahim said. Zant’s nonexistent nostrils flared. “After all, if we’re going to be friends shouldn’t we know more about each other?”

“Friends?”

Ghirahim’s jaw twinged from the size of the smile he forced, curling his lips over his sharp teeth to seem less threatening. “Why not? You, me, your God—we’ll see to it than no Link crosses this world alive ever again. As friends.”

---

Kogha’s fingers drummed on the table, a staccato beat that spoke of a remembered tune and not just anxious fidgeting. Zant had just finished his brooding explanation of what his shadow beasts—hulking, tentacle-esc monsters with inky skin and strange masks that filled the war room with a shuddering chill and occasional shrieks, leaving everyone but Zant, Ghirahim, and the Big Banana himself shivering—has tracked, not unlike some kind of Twili hunting hound. Because that’s what they were, what they had been: Twili. It felt good to put a name to whatever race of shadow that Zant was, and Ghirahim had mourned just how bland and empty the new, underground Yiga Hideout was, without a single book or scroll he could pour over to get some idea of what Twili even exactly meant. It was becoming increasingly clear that Ghirahim knew so much less of the world than those around him, especially the Yiga, who seemed to be the furthest in the timeline, whatever the ‘timeline’ even looked like. Those answers, the ones surrounding the movement of time and history could be found best in the Guardian of Time—Celia? Seriara? Cia? Whatever her name was?—‘s tome.

The massive book taunted Ghirahim with its magic. Demise, when he resurrected him, would be ecstatic to have such a piece of magic gifted to him. Ghirahim just needed to actually get his hands on it first.

“They’re moving between time faster than we thought.” One of the hooded creatures, the leader of the Eyes of Ganon, rasped, and Kohga hmmed in acknowledgment.

“And you’re positive they are in this Hyrule, as we speak?” He said to Zant.

“My beasts are never wrong.”

“So you say,” Yuga said, dapping his rouged cheeks with a handkerchief with painstaking care. Zant narrowed his strange, otherworldly eyes. One of the shadow beasts that had taken to stalking around the room slunk behind Yuga, silent but impossibly fast, sticking its head over Yuga’s shoulder and growling. Yuga yelped, smearing rouge against the Twili beast’s mask, and Vaati snickered.

“Then we send out a hunting party,” Ghirahim said. He leaned back in his chair. This was pointless, all of it. They could easily teleport to where the heroes were and gut them; this whole ‘planning sesh’ was stupid. Demise never needed war councils like Kohga did. He simply swung Ghirahim and split as much blood as they could before dominating everything. Still, Kohga seemed to hold his spot at the head of the table like a leash on the people around him, the tome in his hand serving as the collar’s key. It made Ghirahim’s blood boil.

If Ghirahim let himself be honest, Kohga’s cockiness did more than incense him. It made him almost lonely.

He missed his Master. He missed his Master, his sharp tongue and hot touch and the vile, violent love that he reserved for Ghirahim and Ghirahim alone. Demise had liberated him from Hylia’s touch, shown him the light, so to speak, and still, Ghirahim had failed him at every turn. It was unacceptable. The knowledge of his ineptness stung, but not as much as Demise’s absence. Ghirahim wanted him by his side, needed to stand at his right hand. And if that tome was the way to get it, well, then Kohga would regret ever holding it above Ghirahim.

One thing at a time. First, the Sky Child and the Spirit Maiden. Then, the rest of the Links. Then, Kohga.

Then… then, returning his Master to his rightful place of power and control.

“A hunting party—fantastic! Ere will lead an exploratory assault--“

“Exploratory?” Ghirahim said, narrowing his eyes. “We know where they are. We get to gutting and decapitating now, and then we’re done with the lot by lunchtime tomorrow!”

The leader of the ugly Ganon Eye things shook its head rapidly, its cloak hood flopping around its glowing eyes. “Alive. We need ours alive. His blood must be fresh.”

Ghirahim rolled his eyes. “Alright. We kill the rest and let yours alive to wallow in misery.”

Kohga straightened as Vaati leaned forward. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the bloodthirsty stuff, but the Eyes gotta point. There are more than just the Links at play. The Guardian of Time is meddling, meaning the Goddess of Time is on their side. If she is leaving behind her neutrality—”

“The Goddess of Time is a coward and a bitch,” Ghirahim drawled, and Vaati frowned.

“The Old Gods—”

“Are useless. My Master can, and will gladly, annihilate them once I—we—resurrect him.”

“When. As in later. He isn’t here, Ghirahim,meaning we cannot be dependent on him. Some dead, failure of a god—"

Ghirahim was up in an instant, grabbing Vaati by the clasp of his purple cloak.

“Watch your words, rat—”

“Make me,” Vaati hissed, “Your disrespect for the Divine will do nothing but hurt you. Do you think Link is our only enemy? If one Goddess is willing to intervene, why not all? Hylia? The Golden Three? And need I remind you that Link is merely one half of a pair? His princess is out there, one for each Link, and they are more powerful than you can imagine. The Light Force, the Life Force, the Triforce, whatever you want to call it, it is power in its most complete, inherent form. If you go against a Zelda, you will not survive!”

Ghirahim pulled his closer, nose to nose.

“I killed one, once. Fed her soul to my Master. I can do it again with my eyes closed.”

“Again, with Demise! For fuck’s sake, Ghirahim—”

“Boys, boys,” Kohga drawled. He waved a hand and a blade master untangled Vaati from Ghirahim’s hand, dumping the little man onto the ground with and ‘oof!’ and a puff of dust. “Ghirahim, if you need bloodshed so badly, you and Yuga can take to the ground with some Yiga—Ere?”

“At your service, Master Kohga!”

“Ensure that they play nice. We need information, to see what we’re up against, not to go all massacre-y.”

“Yup!”

Kohga patted his underling on the head, and she preened brightly under the attention. Ugh. Disgusting.

Kohga suddenly turned his attention to Ghirahim.

“This is not a massacre. Blood may be spilled—encouraged! —but I am not sending you out with the intent of you coming home with a dead body. Are we understanding one another?”

Ghirahim grit his teeth and allowed himself two seconds to fume. He was not a child. He was the right hand to the Demon God, the Great Demise himself. He would not be patronized by some idiot in a mask that had fruit for hanging off his ears! Then he smiled, all soft edges and sweetness, and nodded.

“Of course, Kohga. I cross my heart, I will not decapitate anyone.”

Kohga seemed to study him behind his mask, but finally leaned back in his chair, dumping his feet on the table.

“Then we’re understood?”

Ghirahim nodded, his smile widening. “Perfectly.”

---

Ghirahim watched the group from the pocked dimension that Yuga was so fond of. A hideous, pale likeness of his beauty sat painted across the wall of the outside of Slate—Ghirahim thought it was Slate, the whole name thing was proving to be far too confusing—‘s strange boxy town. Tarice Town? Terry Town? Something with a T. Ghirahim knew he likely should be paying more attention, but the bubbling excitement in his chest made it hard to concentrate. Because there, there Link was, surrounded by friends with Fi on his back, Ghirahim’s false partner well cared for under Link’s callused hands.

There were indeed twelve of them. Kohga’s Link, Slate or whatever, was short, his long hair messy and his sword arm a strange, glowing prosthetic that reminded Ghirahim of both the elegancy of the Sheikah’s time stones and the regal power of the Zonai’s creations. Walking beside him with a skip in their step was a colorfully dressed youngster, brown face dappled with vitiligo, and on the other side, a sunburned thing with a prosthetic leg and bleached hair long since damaged beyond repair by sun and sea. Wrapped tight in a cape was a girl with pink hair and a button nose, holding hands with a wallflower of a thing, the both of them watching an elegantly dressed young man speak with animated movements. Yuga growled at the sight of him. Ah, Yuga’s Link.

There was a child in some kind of uniform, goggles on her head and a bandana at her throat, and lagging behind, a tiny twig of a thing missing an eye. And finally, three men in front led the group, talking with a quiet seriousness: a soldier with a scarf as blue as his eyes, a man who smelled as strongly of dog as he did dark magic, and a man with a child in a blacksmith’s leathers on his shoulders.

Link.

Ghirahim’s heart lept at the sight of him. The Sky Child looked different. He’d aged elegantly, his lanky frame filling out into something soft and fat but still strong, his dumb, dopey eyes bright as he spoke to the two men around him. He didn’t wear his green tunic, instead dressed in silly combinations of layers and colors. Lichtenberg scars ran up his sword arm, across under his tunic, and up onto his neck and jaw, and the sight of them made Ghirahim smile. That must be his Master’s handiwork.

He hoped it still hurt, even all these years later. He hoped it was excruciating, and that every moment left awake, Link was miserable. He hoped the man lost sleep over it, scar burning even worse when thunderstorms lit up the Surface.

Yuga slunked out of the painting on the wall without a sound, just a flicker of rainbow color, and took a moment to dab at his face makeup with the pads of his fingertips—his vanity was obnoxious. Ghirahim would be the first to admit that he took a vocal pride in his own self-made skin but he didn’t cover his beauty in smelly, greasy paints and powders while too nervous that his complexion wasn’t grand enough to stand on its own. Ghirahim knew he was beautiful, knew he was stunning, and knew he didn’t need powder to secure that rightful pride. Besides, Ghirahim’s body was a work of art, self-formed and self-designed, a glamour created by his own hand, birthed from his own imagination and depth of creativity, instead of an obsessive attempt to perfect the flaws that Yuga undoubtfully carried, even with all that shit on his face.

“Lana wouldn’t send us in circles for no reason,” Blue scarf signed, and the other two older Link’s frowned. The child, clearly the youngest of the Link’s, pulled at Link’s hair, braiding the curly strands. “I promise, as flaky as she may seem, she is the Guardian of Time, and damn good at her job.”

“Mask doesn’t seem to have the same faith.” The dark one said with a raised brow, and Scarfy frowned.

“Mask is a deeply petty person.”

Dark one snorted. “I can see that.”

“Have you talked to him since…” Link glanced over his shoulder to the second smallest of the group, the one skulking in the back with the missing eye and colorful scars. “Since the last, uh, ‘time trip?”

Scarfy furrowed his perfect brows, signing something, but Ghirahim didn’t catch it.

Link had spoken.

Ghirahim had heard the man—a boy, then, really, just a boy, while this person in front of him was truly a man—make sounds of pain, of desperation, of rage, but never words, never syllables and phonemes, not like this Link. His voice was soft, light, gentle, and surprisingly deep, carrying a near-melodic lit to it.

Ghirahim wanted to know what it sounded like when the man was pleading for his life, begging for the pain to stop. He smiled as Yuga pulled him out of the graffiti on the wall, followed by five Yiga—three foot soldiers and two blade masters, with Ere taking the lead of the group. She was technically in charge of the six of them—seven, including her—but Ghirahim had no interest in some kid telling him what to do. Ere stretched, shaking out her hands, before rolling her neck and—melting?

Glamor flickered around her, red and spicy, with a crackle of magic and spell powder, and then in her spot was someone Ghirahim had never seen before. It wasn’t the Ere under the mask—that Ere had dark skin and thin, childlike lips while this woman before him had a full bottom lip, light brown skin flickered with freckles, and wide grey eyes. Her red-brown hair was braided on top of her head, and she wore the clothes of a traveler. Had Ghirahim not seen the transformation himself, he would never had connected the two.

Ere spun, dipping into a bow, and the Yiga clapped, only to be quickly shushed by Yuga. Ere rolled her eyes.

“Watch the master in action.”

She shrunk into something pathetic and sniveling in an instant. Soon, she was ducking around the wall that had hid them, stumbling into the group of Link’s, tears running down her cheeks.

“Sir!” She squeaked, rushing to Scarfy’s side and grabbing his arm. “Please, I need help—my friend, we, we were racing just over the land bridge and her horse stumbled and fell on top of her and I’m not strong enough to move it and please, please your friends look strong, please—”

Scarfy nodded, giving Ere a soft, reassuring smile. “Of course we’ll help,” He signed, before turning to Dark. “Let the others know that—”

Behind them, Slate turned from where he was laughing with the teen missing a leg, curious as to why they had stopped moving. His eyes went wide as he saw Ere and Scarfy talking, the color draining from his scarred face. He shoved Peg Leg to the side, bolting towards Scarfy and Ere, but it was too little too late. One moment Ere was wiping grateful crocodile tears, and the next a demon carver was in his gut.

The chainmail under the man’s tunic kept him from being completely kabobbed, but only just, with the barbs in the massive blade crushing bone and mail alike, five spots of blood growing under each spike. The child on Link’s shoulders squealed, tumbling off Link’s back, and to his credit, Scarfy only stumbled back. Soldier indeed. He drew his sword, each movement darkening his tunic more, but his face was grave and determined. Dark and Link stepped in front of him, Dark’s back country sword as simple as the Master Sword was elegant.

It took no time for the other Links to slide down into varying stances, each armed—not a surprise, those Ghirahim hadn’t expected such variety in terms of blades. One, the cloaked girl with her bubblegum hair, didn’t wield a blade at all, relying instead on a Cane of Byrna. Huh. Ghirahim had thought that artifacts had been lost to time.

The remaining five Yiga took no time slipping into their own formation, which Ghirahim supposed made sense. They had dealt with Slate for years and knew the terrain the best. The instruction that Kohga had given was for Ghirahim and Yuga to follow the Yiga’s lead, especially Ere’s, but Ghirahim had no plan to. He took orders from one person, and one person only, and that person certainly wasn’t some Yiga girl.

Yuga vanished into the ground, slipping unnoticed through the grass and rock before popping up in the middle of the Link’s, spinning with his scepter and catching Slate in the gut. The teen went flying, straight into Rainbow, who let out a desperate cry as his sword—a distinctly magical thing—went skittering, right up to Ghirahim.

“Hm.” Ghirahim said, stepping on the blade. A shiver of magic ran up his leg. “This is quite the bit of illusion magic you’ve got there. Fun.”

Link spun. His eyes were wide, bulging in his skull, and his jaw was lax, terror written clear and clean across the flesh of his face. Ghriahim grinned.

“You’ve made friends, Sky Child. How quaint.”

Around Ghirahim and Link, metal clanged. A blade master had Peg Leg occupied, too busy protecting the disarmed Rainbow to keep an eye on his own six. Ere weaved with Slate, who had finally made his way to the front, cackling as her demon carver swung. There was a shout of glee as a foot solider’s arrow hit true into someone's side, and a grunt from Bubblegum and the mousy one as they were circled, surrounded. Yuga ripped into his own Link with as much as magic as his newly resurrected body could manage, sending anyone trying to help the man scrambling out of the way of the transformation magic. Dark had vanished, One Eye at Scarfy’s side, pressing down on his quickeningly darkening gut.

The chaos was a thing of beauty. Ghirahim had missed battlefields he realized as he breathed it all in. Blood, sweat, terror. It was intoxicating.

Link stood before him, thoughts clearly running wild behind his bright, terrified eyes.

“You’re dead,” He breathed. “I killed the both of you.”

Ghriahim grinned. “You did shit job, fortunately.”

Link charged with a sharp, furious sound, swinging Fi wide and hard, and Ghirahim dashed out of the way of the cut in a rain of diamonds, appearing behind Link, who spun, swiping down.

“You’re slow. Out of practice. When’s the last time you’ve wielded her weight?”

“Shut up.”

“Did you really think you could go again, after all these years, old man?”

“Shut up!”

If there was one thing Link was, it was tenacious. He chased each blow, each slice, with another, refusing to pause even for a moment. But Link was Hylian, with mortal lungs and muscles and heart, unlike Ghirahim’s metal chest. While Ghirahim could technically tire, could bleed, could be hurt, his body was made of far greater stuff than Link’s. Link was flagging, slowing, and Ghirahim, of course, was not.

There was a flicker of diamond in the air, as Ghirahim and the obsidian blade in his hand wove in and out of Link’s own swings with ease. Fi sang with hate and desperation when her blade met his own, and her distress each time Ghirahim landed a blow was intoxicating.

Link stumbled back, chest heaving, sword arm red and flowing, and Ghirahim couldn’t hold back a giggle.

“Retreat,” A heavy Sheikah—Yiga—accent breathed in his ear. Ere’s breath tickled as she flipped her demon carver around the back of her hand.

Someone across the battlefield, Slate, lay face down, still. Ere seemed to vibrate with glee at the sight of the red leaking from him.

“We have more than enough info to go off of. Let’s go, while we still have the upper hand.”

Ghirahim glanced around the battlefield, at the gore painting the grass. Upper hand indeed. But Ghirahim didn’t care about that. He wasn’t here to cut up the Links a bit. He was here to exterminate them, annihilate them, starting with his own.

“No,” he grit out, and Ere spluttered.

“No?”

“Take the painter and your lackeys. I know what I’m doing.”

“Ghira!”

Link righted himself, spurred on by their conversation, mouth twisted into a snarl. He charged, and Ghirahim ducked under his exposed right arm—sloppy, sloppy, so sloppy—and his blade sank in between Link’s ribs like a hot knife through warm butter.

Link’s eyes bulged.

“Sky!”

Someone was yelling-- Rainbow, who charged forward regardless of his missing sword, slamming into Ghirahim’s side. The kid was surprisingly strong, but Ghirahim was made of metal. He didn’t sway to children. Ghirahim batted Rainbow aside, turning back to Link. Slowly, he drew his blade free from Link’s ribcage, marveling at the wet squelch. Still, Link, swaying but determined, attempted to hold up Fi. His hand shook, red and slick, and Ghirahim laughed.

“Fall back, Ghira—” Ere shouted, rounding up her men, but Ghirahim waved her off.

“I had expected better,” He nearly sang as Link wheezed, lips bloody. “I’m disappointed.”

Somehow, somehow, Link managed to swing the Master Sword; the movement was weak, pathetically so, and it was easy to bat the sword to the side, sending it clattering to the stone below. Link was close enough to touch—Ghirahim grabbed hold of his wrist and pulled him close against his chest. The touch, the heat, the smell of his blood was intoxicating.

“Let him go.” Rainbow wheezed, pulling himself to his feet, and Ghirahim’s blade found Link’s throat.

“Ghira, that is enough!” Ere was talking, her blade masters beginning to circle him, but Ghirahim couldn’t care less. “We had our orders!”

Link’s breath hitched as pin pricks of blood dripped down his neck.

“Tell me, boy,” Ghriahim purred as Rainbow looked up at him with panic in his eyes. “Have you ever seen a decapitation? Heard someone drowning in their own blood? The trick is to cut through slowly, avoiding the brain stem as you do so. You want them aware enough to feel it, after all.”

Rainbow swallowed, eyes wide as saucers.

“You don’t have to do this—” He started, taking a slow step forward.

Ghirahim made his first cut.

Ghirahim would give Link this, he was managing to stay surprisingly quiet, breath coming out of the slash in his throat in bloody bubbles. Oh well. That wouldn’t last long.

Suddenly, something grey and massive slammed into them—a dog? No, a wolf, massive and furious, its teeth gnashing for Ghirahim’s throat, ripping through glamor flesh and exposing the metal below. Ghirahim gasped, the weight of the animal near impossible, and it took surprising strength to anchor himself as the beast took his throat in its mouth. Ere's blade masters slid an arm under each of Ghirahim's arms and pulled him out from under it. The wolf lunged to them instead, teeth black and oily. Ere yelled something as a blade master went down, but Ghirahim couldn’t hear it over the surprised ringing in his ears. There was a flash of blue—a time gate.

Link’s collapsed body was the last thing Ghirahim saw before the time and space magic wrapped him up in its cocoon, yanking him from this plane and back, back, back, back underground to the Yiga’s pathetic little hideout. Ghirahim coughed, feeling his neck and the shredded flesh there, as Ere loomed above him.

“What,” she spat, “Is it about following orders do you not understand?”

Ghirahim wasn’t listening. No, he was too busy feeling Link’s hot blood on his hands, smearing it into the holes on his own throat, and knowing at that moment that he would do more than kill the Sky Child and his friends: Ghirahim was going to destroy them, completely and utterly, their stupid fucking dog included.

#heroes gate #zelda au #links meet au #links meet #legend of zelda au #loz au #hg ghirahim

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