Chapter 1 - Prologue
"Do you think you can win, Hylia?!" the Demon King roared, brandishing his gargantuan sword as his mocking words rang out across the ravaged battlefield. The king appeared before his enemy as a dark-skinned behemoth of a warrior in ancient armour, flaming hair cascading down his broad black shoulders and casting an orange light to his ghastly white eyes. His armies surged forth from behind the tyrant, demons of every variety to be found racing forward to attack.
The demon king watched the goddess Hylia, palely beautiful and otherworldly, facing him determinedly with the magnificent power she commanded. He saw her tower over the legions of soldiers, long, platinum hair blowing in the fierce winds that whipped her white garb about her. She stood, radiant, ready with her forces gathered about her. Her hands glowed brightly, magic flowing freely through her body and lighting the golden symbols that seemed almost carved into her otherwise smooth skin.
"You will never touch the Triforce, Demise," she affirmed, her voice controlled as it had always been. "I will readily give my life to protect its sacred power."
"Your life, or the lives of your people?" the king fired back with conviction.
"Forward!" Hylia ordered, blue eyes ablaze. "I want them dead!"
Hylia's five tribes of the surfaces fought valiantly: the gentle Kikwi stayed further back trying to heal the wounds of injured comrades; the notoriously shifty Mogma attacked demons from from underground, sometimes pulling them down where they had the demons at a disadvantage; Parella, advancing from Lake Floria and bringing an onslaught of torrential downpour and massive waves with them; Gorons fought with enormous strength and powerful muscles, twisting arms and breaking legs.
Last were the people of Hylia, chiefly her warriors, battling fiercely with finely-crafted swords and years of rigorous training. In the forefront was Link, the most courageous of all Hylia's knights and the finest swordsman without doubt. Clad in traditional green, he wielded the Master Sword, the blade of evil's bane. Forged with the goddess' own power, it gave her hero the strength required to beat back the onslaught of demons, aided by his loyal companions.
He was battling, and had been for quite some time, the cunning sword-master and right hand of Demise, Ghirahim. Both were adorned with lacerations and other such wounds now, blood draining from them as their slashes grew more haphazard and uncoordinated, locked in their lethal dance. Quite literally, in Link's case; he found himself unable to tear his eyes away from Ghirahim's, something that had cost him a few nasty slashes. The taller male was pale, dressed all in white and gold and red. He himself seemed almost regal in the way he carried himself, the tails of his crimson cape fluttering as he moved swiftly and skillfully. He was so nimble, so lithe as he circled the hero with bloodlust in his eyes that really, it was a wonder Link kept up at all. Such was the result of strenuous training and years of battles. None so great as this one, however.
Sheikah, the protectors of the goddess, were present and yet not there at all, attacking stealthily from the shadows. Clad in black, red and gold, they went unnoticed by even the sharpest eye until the very last moment, identified by the quick flash of their blades or their fierce battle cries. Impa lead them, with the stoicity she was famed for. Lean and acrobatic, she attacked from great heights, equipped with throwing knives and daggers hidden all over her body.
As well as the two armies, there were spectators; mothers fleeing with their children couldn't help stealing a last glimpse of their husband or eldest son. When they saw that they had fallen, they were swift to turn away once more. Their grief-stricken cries joined the remaining soldiers, already straining for their life.
Two demons also watched the spectacles, though they seemed only to be one rather odd-lookong demon, sharing a pair of blue and grey eyes to watch with. Ardaia and Rynae had watched the whole of this brutal war from their perch high aboveground, never choosing a side to support but merely wondering which would be victorious. Half a head of long red hair drifted idly about as the pair tried to absorb everything happening. At the moment, they were watching Link's battle intently.
"Are you quite done with the heroics, little pawn?" Ghirahim goaded the hero, as he'd done throughout most of their heated battle. He had been cooing at the hero constantly, trying to sway him, to hit a sensitive point. His head twitched occasionally, a grimace flashing across his face; at one point in their battle, Link had sliced an ear clean off of the demon, the wound thick with hardened black blood. "You appear to be growing tired. And who can blame you? I think what you need is to rest."
The demon jabbed with his sword, aiming for the heart. The hero dodged left just in time, countering with an expert strike to the demon's shoulder, cutting harshly downward into muscle. With a sharp hiss, the black, curved sword Ghirahim wielded was dropped as the demon foolishly moved to heal himself.
Link kicked out hard, sending the demon sprawling to the ground with the force. With a fierce cry, Link leaped into the air, sword at the ready, and plunged it into the demon's chest.
Ghirahim transformed instantly into pure black shining metal laced with odd white marks all along his limbs and torso. His core was a luminescent orange-gold in the centre of his chest. As the blade sunk into the demon's core, cracking the surface, something just as sharp and just as painful was pushed deep into the hero's gut. As he'd fallen, Ghirahim had taken the sword of a fallen demon in hand and, with all the energy he had, stabbed the hero viciously.
Link choked on a gasp, and Ghirahim watched realisation dawn in the hero's eyes with a sick satisfaction. His dark eyes gleamed maliciously, staring with sadistic intent at Link's steely blues. He lifted a hand, and gently traced one gloved finger along the side of Link's pallid face, a horrible smile forming on the demon's angular visage.
Then, snarling and roaring in pain, both demon and man rose as one and fought for control of the situation and of the other. They struggled in the one blood-soaked spot, two swords trapped between them, cutting deep. They gasped in pain, uncaring, fighting with all their might to gain the upper hand.
Ghirahim, with Link's blade still stabbing into him at a jagged angle, breathed hard as he bore his gaze into the hero's wild eyes; Hylia's unknowing pawn, just like him and yet so vastly different. He pushed his blade forward, deeper, earning a sharp yelp from Link. The demon kept his grip tight on the borrowed sword as he savoured his victory.
"You… cannot win… against the likes… of me!" Ghirahim declared through shallow breaths. "And, now… you're going to… die… hero!"
Twisting the blade mercilessly, Ghirahim pulled himself quickly away from the hero, yanking the Master Sword unflinchingly from his core. He staggered to his feet, blood oozing from him, just in time to watch his adversary in his last, delicate moments.
The blond swayed where he stood, his scarlet scarf billowing about as he barely kept himself up. He pulled the blade from his body with an awful cry of pain, and blood began to pour freely from him, as he stared on and on. He seemed baffled, a little stunned as his eyes blinked slowly, slowly…
"This… is how it was… always going… to be, o brave hero!" Ghirahim wheezed, managing a high, breathy laugh as he reverted back to his slender, pale form. "In the end… I was always… going to be… the one to… eliminate you…"
Link's knees hit the ground, his eyes glazed over, and he was most definitely fading fast.
"No…!" he breathed. "I… I won't… You… Ghira…him…"
And then, he was gone from the world, his last words dying with him. His enemy cackled feebly, pausing at one point to cough and retch before letting his triumphant laughter fill the battlefield.
Ghirahim's laughter was a laugh that was not to be shared by anyone else; always his own, for some dark purpose, some dastardly deed he was proud of. The soldiers seemed to be almost repelled by the harsh sound, moving their battle elsewhere and leaving him to gloat.
Above, Rynae and Ardaia watched with crossed arms as the demon kicked Link's blade aside and began healing himself with dark magic, the gash across his chest gradually closing up. The right hand of Demise vanished, reappearing behind his master with a wide, satisfied smile.
"And Link falls, as we predicted," Ardaia said with a sigh.
"I knew it all along," Rynae replied almost instantly. "Just like I told you. 'Ghirahim will barely survive, and Link will die with grace and-'"
"I wonder if we will be lucky enough to see a fight like that again," Ardaia interrupted, their shared tongue getting tangled as he spoke. "Though that will be quite a long time away, I suppose."
"Another thousand years, at least, to find someone as brave as poor Link," Rynae affirmed, disheartened. "Oh, look down again, Ardaia. Ghirahim's left the hero and Hylia's taken his place."
It was true; Ghirahim was healed, now - aside from the gash where his ear had been, interestingly - and was already weaving gracefully in and out of Hylia's forces, killing them near-effortlessly, leisurely. At the same time, the soldiers watched as their fair goddess rushed to her fallen hero, picking him up as she would an infant.
"Oh, Link," she breathed, her voice seeming to resonate over the entire battlefield despite the softness of her voice. As if out of respect, the world itself seemed to come to a gradual halt, soldiers and demons alike pausing in their fighting to observe the goddess' mourning.
The hero was, of course, lifeless in her arms, and even Hylia was powerless to change the grim situation. She knew her limits, and death was beyond them; there was nothing that she could do. Now her best soldier had fallen, and without him, she was going to lose.
Laying his head down, Hylia took a deep breath. She knew that without some sacrifice, her cause would be for naught, and Demise would soon lay his hands on the Triforce and bring ruin to the land.
She made her decision with distinct hesitation. Was this really how it was all to end?
Ordering the Hylian soldiers to gather about her, armed to the teeth, she readied herself as they defended her from attack.
Summoning forth all of the heavenly power she'd been granted by the three golden goddesses before her, Hylia began to chant an ancient sealing spell known only to her. The land under her lit up, not quite blinding but distracting enough that the soldiers' fighting grew more inaccurate and, by extension, more bloody.
The demons forced her armies reluctantly back, some falling sooner than others and crying out the names of loved ones as they went. Hylia did not need to open her eyes to know that there were dead sons and husbands lying at her feet.
"Hylia is in a spot of trouble," Rynae remarked from up above.
"Too bad she cannot throw some jewels up here to us," Ardaia said with a grin. "We will just have to see how she pulls herself out of this."
Rynae had been about to make a snide comment when their attention was drawn to the deafening roars of three giant figures flying overhead. Powerful, huge, scaled creatures - dragons.
Ghirahim was staring wide-eyed at the three dragons from where he stood next to his master, who was fixated on the goddess despite everything. Ghirahim himself had to take a moment to simply appreciate the power that rolled off of the dragons in waves.
"Master-"
"Ghirahim," Demise cut him off quickly. "Look to me."
Ghirahim obeyed; he turned to his master and saw a broad-shouldered, stone-faced demon, with hands that could both shape mountains and calm shaking bodies. His master, the one Ghirahim had always seen as the one he belonged to, the one he could be strong next to. And now the demon king's hand shook as he gripped his jagged broadsword tight enough to leave a mark in the hilt.
"Yes, Master?" Ghirahim asked uncertainly. He could not stop his eyes wandering to the dragons, staring on at the demons being washed away by massive tidal waves no Parella could hope to match.
"Look at me!" Demise practically roared . Ghirahim ripped his gaze away and met Demise's white-hot grimace. His face was taken between two of Demise's strong fingers, and Ghirahim knew from his master's furrowed brow that this would be bad news.
"We are going to lose this battle," Demise proclaimed grimly. Ghirahim's lips parted, disbelieving.
"No," he started, "no-"
"Would you defy me now, in our last hour?" Demise asked, dangerously soft.
"N-never, Master," Ghirahim replied quickly, the words coming out all in a rush. "But there must be some way, something I can do for you."
Demise considered, his eyes inching to the dragons, and Ghirahim followed his gaze.
"Alright," Demise conceded after watching a legion of his forces scorched almost to the bones. "Are you ready, my weapon? This will hurt.
Ghirahim nodded eagerly; he knew already what was coming for him. He transformed himself into his sword form, standing firm.
"Loyalty, Ghirahim," Demise spoke solemnly. "Do not forget that you are eternally loyal to me."
Ghirahim nodded acknowledgement, a hand over the gem that served as his core. Demise looked reluctantly at the ground alight beneath him, once more at Hylia. Finally, he lifted his sword, and stabbed.
Ghirahim screamed, unashamed, as his own blade was returned to him, rooting its way deep inside of him with searing pain that shot along his arms and legs. It was imbued with Demise's dark magic, his touch remained with it and filled Ghirahim completely.
He regained awareness of the situation by way of Demise shaking his shoulder roughly, and he took his last, long look at the demon king before the warrior rushed forward into the fray, powering through humans and demons alike to reach Hylia in the centre of the bloodied battlefield now covered in symbols of all kinds.
And then Ghirahim readied himself for the worst of pains. He abandoned himself entirely, simply becoming the blade that he had been tied to for so long. And he lay there, feeling beyond useless, as his master charged toward not death, but an infinite imprisonment. At the hands of the goddess he had negotiated with at times, courted at others.
How had it come to this?
The sole thought that circled Ghirahim's mind was what kept him in his place as hordes of demons were ripped of their physical selves, Demise at their head. Hylia, that loathsome goddess watched on with fire in her blue eyes as Demise roared in anguish, in raw anger. One of his strong hands reached out to her, faltering. His was a cry of grieving and of fury all at once, and it pained Ghirahim to hear it.
He felt Demise leave this world, as he was forced into a new world entirely. Ghirahim almost transformed in the hopes of being dragged along with him. Only pure loyalty, and a new mantra kept him where he was.
You will be avenged, Demise. Even if I have to give my life for you.