Hey fellow FanFictioners! Time for yet another one-shot... However, this one is a little different than the rest.

Sometimes, good guys truly do finish last...
You'll see what I mean as you read along in this story...

This one-shot has been rated M for the following things:
Blood, Gore, Violence, and anything else that is considered disgustingly grotesque.

You have been warned. Don't like, don't read...

Ignorance makes you blind.

Hatred makes you bleed.

Fear makes you weak.

Death makes all of it worthwhile.

I breathed in the scent of freshly spilled blood, spattered across the cold, hard ground like a blanket of crimson. The metallic scent clung to my nostrils like moths to a lamp in the dead of the night. I basked in the glow of what I had finally accomplished, and I lapped at the blood that stuck to my fingers. It continued down my arm, dribbling into every crevice it could find until it finally dripped into a pool beneath me. The initial red haze that had clouded my vision blurred away into a sense of bliss as I feasted on the sweet sticky liquid that would make anybody else but me cringe in disgust. This was what I was bred to do, what I had been created to do. My Creator had no intentions of ever creating me in any other way.

And I suppose that's exactly how I wanted to be.

I gave one final lick to my hand and eyed it in disappointment. I had licked away all traces of any blood that hadn't already begun to dry on my hands, and it made my skin crawl to know that I would have to slay yet another being to continue with my feast. However, my Creator had only given me one creature today to feast upon. I growled and spun around on my heels, kicking up blood as I walked. I had discarded my clothes and tunic earlier before the Hunt began, as I wasn't too fond of being covered in my food. Too messy. They always put up a fight, even though it was useless. I could easily overpower anything that my Creator threw at me. He had designed me in such a way that I was almost invincible. However, when I had questioned about his reasons for making me imperfect, he had simply replied with a grunt and told me that if I was too powerful, I would become reckless and destroy everything and everyone.

Even though that sounded like fun, I knew that I didn't wish to destroy the very man that had born life into me from the ashes of society. He had told me I was fortunate; my life had been saved from a damned woman's body and transformed into something that every man and being coveted. I smirked. My body, my very life essence and soul, was worthy of so much praise and appreciation. Instead of sulking away, I straightened myself and took upon an elegant flair. It felt good to know that I was such a coveted and wanted being; that in and of itself made my life hold so much more worth.

I continued to strut across the great expanse of the room when I seemed to almost forget about my tunic. I turned my eyes to the side and smiled down at my clothing. Black, it was. Pure black, ebony black. The kind of black that engulfs you when there is no light, when there is no life. That was what I loved the most about that color. Black represented everything dark; death, night, emptiness, nothingness. Black was pure in the same way white was, only in the opposing sense. It was pure in death. It was pure in hatred. It was pure in fear. I feasted off of these emotions. They were the bane of normal beings' lives; for me, they were my very life essence. I loved it when I could hear the shrieks and cries of the Hunt as I chased down my victims and tortured them…

I picked up my tunic and brushed off the dust and dirt, slipping it over my head and basking in the feeling. It was incredibly sturdy and could withstand anything you could possibly think of doing to it. The only thing it wasn't resistant to was blood, and that was the one thing that irked me the most about it. Otherwise, it suited me quite well. The fabric was incredibly lightweight despite its appearance, and was stronger that it seemed. It had been crafted that way by one of Ganondorf's slaves, and it was of the best quality that the crafter could ever create. He had even personally delivered it to me, stating that it was made from only the finest threads available. I patted myself down and ran my fingers along the stitching, feeling how seamless the stitches were. It was almost impossible to tell where the sewing had even taken place. It was perfection.

Since the Hunt was over, the room had slowly clouded and gone back to its foggy state. Whenever the Hunt was about to start, I would hear a scrambling and shouts from the southern door. Then I would hear splashes and a slamming of a door, and then silence. I would hear the patter of feet as they trudged through the room, hitting the random dry spots in the floor where they would stumble from walking in the water. I would strip my tunic and hide behind the tree, waiting for the right moment to strike. Sometimes I decided to go from an ambush attack; I didn't feel like running around after my meal, and I'd drop down on top of them like a leopard does to its prey. Sometimes it was more fun to allow paranoia get the best of my prey. I could always hear their heartbeats slowly begin to become quick and irregular, a sure sign that they were fearful. I could smell fear from a mile away. I was trained to do so from all of my hunts, and I had come accustomed to the scent. It was impossible to describe; you just had to know what it was like when you felt the presence of fear in your midst.

As I allowed my latest meal to become frantic and scared, I knew I had to slink around the room slowly and silently in order to confuse them. My prey was smarter than it seemed. They had the same mental capabilities as me, as my Creator had told me. I had to be careful. They could lash out violently and randomly, especially without reasonable timing. Some of my prey had gotten the better of me, breaking bones at times and being able to overtake me. Of course, if I struggled, my Creator would intervene and give me a slight advantage so I could lash back at them and devour them to my liking. I would get punished, of course, for not being properly prepared. Despite the punishments being cruel and severe, I took them like a disobedient slave would. I took pride from the blood that was shed from my body from my beatings. It was just all a part of life.

The fog that surrounded and engulfed me during the normal day would dissipate once I got close to my prey. If I was close enough, the fog would lift, and whatever I was hunting would spin around in circles and usually spotted me. It was a tactic that my Creator put in place for me. He had told me I had to be quick on my feet and know exactly how to respond if ever I was put into a situation where I had to make split second decisions. The lifting of the fog and the confusion of my prey was precisely the right target to practice this on. Once they would spot me, I stood there motionless for a moment, gazing into their terrified eyes as they registered what they saw before them. Then, before they could make any movement or sound, I sprung to life and attacked them. I would grab their shoulders with my hands and dig my fingernails into their flesh, drawing blood almost immediately. They would scream in sheer panic and terror, and as they did so, I would sink my fangs into the flesh on their neck, quickly silencing them as their screams became gargled cries and quickly silence. As soon I had them on the ground, I would bite out their throat, and that would be the end of it. Their blood would pool out from around their head, usually decapitated by this point. I usually kicked the head aside. As appealing as they were, they tasted disgusting, and there was hardly any meat, just the squishy bit of pink goop that was trapped within. I distasted eating this, and instead cleaned out the heads and kept them as decorations. It was fun sometimes to dangle them from ropes hanging from the ceiling in the preys' faces, and I would cackle and laugh at their horrified screaming. This room was my playground; but for the victims, it was Hell.

I had already taken care of the head from my previous victim, and began looking at it intently. It was always fun to shape the expression on the faces before they began to rot and lose their shape and definition. I would play with the lips, poke out the eyeballs and break the nose and spin it sideways. The ears were always the most annoying to try and do anything with. They were flimsy and even though they were fun to flick at times, they were very little amusement for me. Sometimes I would just simply rip them off and toss them into the water, not caring where they landed or whether they rotted in my water or not. The water was always stagnant and so it didn't really matter whether or not there were bacteria growing. My body had an immune system that was as tough as steel. There were plenty of rotting ears in the room, and I didn't even mind if I stepped on a few. These ears on my latest victim were no different. Not knowing what to do with them, I ripped them off the head and flung them far behind me. The familiar plunk of the ears hitting the shallow water and landing on the floor beneath echoed all around, and I smiled at my newly formed face. I had ripped out bits of hair from the head and made facial hair for it, creating a mustache and a funny shaped beard. I snickered at the expression on its face; it was quite comical.

The mist trickled around my feet, billowing lazily around the heads as I began to walk away. There wasn't much else I could think of doing now. I wanted another Hunt. What more could I possibly do in this dreary and seemingly gloomy room? But I loved it here, despite the many hours that I spent bored and irate at my Creator for not curing my boredom. I continued walking, sloshing the dirtied water about as I paced through it, my mind drawing a blank, my gaze never shifting from the mist ahead of me. All I ever saw walking around in here was the fog. Nothing more, and nothing less. It hardly shifted, save for the Hunt. I could barely see my own hand in front of my face, the fog was so thick. Despite that fact, I knew every single inch of this room by heart. I knew where to place my feet without even looking down. I knew where rocks were located so I wouldn't trip; I knew where the water shifted to dry land and where the ground was a bit more elevated in one spot than the lost. This memorization came with time. No one else, save possibly my Creator, knew where everything was located in this room. Which made it all that more fun when the idiotic prey stumbled their way in here.

It made for quite the time.

I was anxious as I paced this damp and dreary place. When would my next meal be? When would I be too tired to go on anymore? When would the insanity that cloaked and engulfed my mind become too much for me to handle? I didn't know. I had no clue when my life would end, and I had no idea if I would live to see the next day, whatever day truly was. I have never seen light in my life; this room was hardly lit. It was almost too dim to see anything at all, especially with the mist for added effectiveness in concealing the light. I had grown accustomed to this darkness and my eyes naturally had adapted overtime. Though it was difficult at some times to see, I was like a cat; darkness was a piece of cake. It was easy to maneuver in, and it was quite tasty. I laughed at this thought. Comparing my eternal darkness to food was almost hysterical. Who would ever think of comparing something so dreadful to something so good? I knew I could. I was probably the one creature ever created in this world who could ever think something like that. But hey, I fed off of darkness. It was cool and crisp and fed into the blood that pumped through my veins. It kept me alive and well. Granted, my sanity wasn't the best, but who was to judge whether I was insane or not? For all I knew, I could be completely sane and everybody else who was thrown into this place was crazy.

Time continued to flow. I could feel it, but I knew not of its presence in my life. Something as significant as time was not kept by me. I had no way of monitoring it, so it seemed of little importance. I went off of my internal clock. When my stomach hungered for the Hunt, I would pace angrily around the room until I got so starved I would start screaming bloody murder to my Creator. Of course, it wouldn't be long after that he would suffice to my needs by throwing in a bit of prey. When my body felt weak, I would clamber to the center of my chamber and slouch against the dead tree that perched itself in the center and sleep fitfully, my energy keeping me from sleeping peacefully. It felt rather unsettling to be awoken so often while I tried to regain some of my body's energy; my hyperactive mind was in need of more stimulation than my body itself. My body ached for sleep and rest while my mind would yearn for activity and running, jumping, stretching, hunting… I couldn't keep both parts of my body happy and balanced. So, one would always suffer, and generally that would be the physical state of my body. I knew I was fit, but my body also felt like it creaked and groaned a bit while I walked. I could feel my joints and my bones grind together at times while I ran; however, my endurance would prevail, and the pain would numb away, bothering me like a pesky fly.

I knew my body was unstable. My Master knew my body was unstable. But keeping me from being able to stay at my physical peak was key, I knew. If I was at my most physically fit, I would easily be able to overcome my Master and rebel against him, for whatever reason. My mind wouldn't be right, is what my Master had said; I would think twice about accepting things from him, and I would revolt against him and attempt to harm him. I thought that was crazy, due to the fact that my Master was the sole being who cared for me. He was the most caring out of all of the beings I had come across. Most of my Master's minions would look upon me with much disdain and scorn, scrutinizing me and hissing at me behind my back. I knew not why. Perhaps they were jealous that I was Master's pet. I knew my status was highly regarded, but I knew not why so many of his slaves cared to make it so plainly obvious. It was as if they wanted to burn it into my mind that I was hated by the majority of the world. I was okay with that. If nobody liked who I was, that was perfectly fine. I was who I was, and nobody was going to get in my way and stop me from succeeding in what I wanted to be.

Suddenly, my mind drew a complete blank. I heard scuffling. I heard a shriek. I knew it was time.

But didn't my Master tell me I was only being fed once today?

I turned my head towards the door I knew the noise was coming from, and directed my feet to follow. I silently crept through the room, not knowing what was going to happen and what I would find. This didn't seem like a normal Hunt; the mist wasn't shifting, I couldn't sense the true fear of my prey like I could any other time. It was like my senses were completely tuned out to everything around me. As I continued forward, I knew the reason why.

The prey I had been presented with was the Princess of Hyrule.

I came closer to seeing her features. The fog was still thick around me, something I was curious about. Usually it would move, but this time it was completely stationary. The young Princess lay on the soiled ground, sobbing, bruised and bloodied arms covering her face. Her long blonde hair lay in tangles about her shoulders, and there were severe tangles that were in serious need of attention. Her legs were just as badly bruised as her arms were, and her dress was absolutely destroyed. I could clearly see the length of her body under her dress. Her hips protruded almost all the way through the skin, bone clearly visible beneath the thin membrane. I could see a few ribs protruding as well. Her dress was more like rags now since she had been in captivity for so long, probably as long as I could think of her being. Her "savior" hadn't done a very good job at taking care of her these past seven years, had he?

I stood beside her, unmoving. I continued to gaze down at her, waiting for some sort of response in her acknowledgement of me being there. Instead, the response I got was completely different from what I thought was going to be muttered from her lips.

"Just kill me. Kill me like I know you were born to do. But, remember this…"

I clenched my hands tight, my fingers curling and digging into my palms.

"Remember that it is not me who you are after, but-"

Her words were cut short as some sort of invisible force choked her. She screeched out in pain, and it was almost unbearable to hear it. For some reason the shrieks of pain coming from the Princess were hurtful rather than joyous. I pondered why this was so while she continued to be tortured from the own corruption of her mind. I knew who was doing this to her. The same being whom I called Father, Master, and Creator. The King of Shadows was controlling her mind, manipulating it and destroying every bit of resistance she had. She slumped to the floor in defeat, the water engulfing her and drenching her dirtied hair with the grim and muck that I had tainted it with. Seeing her sprawled out on the floor like that, practically dead, starving, and far from being considered alive, made me almost feel a pang of pity. I had never felt such a feeling before, and it was foreign and strange to me. I kept it masked, however; I had no reason to believe such a feeling was reasonable in a situation like this. My Master was testing me to see whether I had enough guts and wit to finish a job that was long past overdue. However, something stopped me.

I tried to move towards her more, but an invisible force was telling me to stop. Some strange force was keeping me from doing the deed that I was born and bound to do for the entirety of my life. I looked around to see if there was anybody else in that room but me and the Princess, and there wasn't. It was strange; why wasn't I able to harm the Princess? She was the protagonist of my whole life; she needed to die. Her, and the Hero would be next. But that invisible force urged me to stop, and think. What was I really doing? I didn't know her story; I didn't know why she was being thrown in here. I didn't know if she had done anything wrong. She certainly didn't do anything wrong against me, so why should I care to kill her? I suddenly didn't feel the need to eat, either. Seeing her dirtied and mangled body lying on the floor, sobbing, was almost repulsive compared to the lively, screeching victims I was so accustomed to feasting upon. She wasn't like the rest. She had more wit and vivacity, more rebelliousness and more heart than them.

She had more soul.

But as I turned away from her body, I knew what I was doing was completely wrong. As I took a few steps forward, shadows seeped from the ground. They cast their blind eyes right upon me, looking into my soul. These were the Undead. The remnants of those I had feasted upon and killed all these long years. They lived in content with their fate in this room; however, my change of heart for one poor maiden made them enraged. They could share no words, yet I knew all of them were screaming at me why I was leaving her to live while I had so shamelessly killed the rest. Despite her being their Princess, they no longer shared any mercy; they were just like the rest of the Undead who lived in eternal unrest throughout Hyrule. They held extreme grudges against the living, even me. But my Master kept them shut up and locked away from me. Now that they were out and about, I knew my Master was also upset with me. Threatening my life with his shadowy Undead was the final say. Either I would die by the very beings I had killed so long before, or I would live to see yet another day.

I chose the latter.

I spun around on my heels and gritted my teeth, showing my fangs with a slight smirk. The Princess turned her head up towards mine, her eyes pleading for mercy. However, the invisible force that had turned me away was no longer an option to follow. I ignored it. Instead, I reached down and grabbed some of her hair first. I yanked on it. Hard. She screamed, and the hair easily pulled away from her scalp. Blood welled up from the injury I left, and I tossed the hair aside with pleasure. This time, I wasn't afraid of getting my tunic a little stained. It would just show me being more of a coward by taking the time to toss it aside. Besides, the Undead were watching; they wouldn't allow such a minor detail get in the way of my next meal. The next to go was her clothes. What little clothes she had left kept the majority of her dignity, and so, I quickly grabbed them and ripped them from her body. This wasn't a physical pain for her, but it was a major blow to whatever resistance she had left. I could tell the fight had left from her eyes. My Master must have done something inside of her head in those few moments before to really make her change her mind about fighting back. Of course, what fighting could she do against me with the pitiful state that she was in?

With her lying there, beaten and bloodied, humiliated and torn, I was able to do whatever I wanted. I grabbed her right arm and lifted her up into the air. She let out pitiful cries and I dropped her back down into the water. I heard a few bones crack. Was she so fragile now that even her own body was able to be easily broken by a simple drop? Any normal being would be able to handle such a fall. However, her body was so badly in need of repair and was so far into neglect that it wasn't even able to handle a tiny fall. And so, I picked her up again. And dropped her a few more times. Each time her cries getting quieter and faster to pass. This became to get boring. And so I finally decided to quit playing with my food and allow her to do what she wanted.

I sat down on the ground a few feet away, legs crossed, nonchalantly swirling my finger through the water. She attempted to roll around and drag herself away, near silent save for a few escaped whimperings of pain. I laughed a bit. What use was there for her to attempt and crawl away when she knew it would be useless? My Master didn't even attempt to stop her; he knew that I had already won. Still, I allowed her to crawl away a few feet, and reach up for the door. There was no handle. She frantically reached around all over the door, searching desperately for a way out. But there was none. This was the wrong door. The door she wanted was on the other end of the room, far, far away from where she was now. There would be no escaping through here. This was only an entrance. The exit was nowhere to be seen.

I lifted myself up off of the floor and, with a satisfied cry of joy, I leapt upon the Princess, digging my nails into her flesh and attacking her with all my might.

Far off into the distance, a King sat upon his throne, watching with eagerness. He knew that no matter what now, Hyrule no longer had a ruler. It was left crownless. And why not he, the King of Shadows, take upon the thrown as his own? Slowly, and carefully, he lifted a dirty crown from the rubble of a long forgotten castle and placed it upon his head, cherishing the feeling of the weight of this precious metal. She screeching only added to his happiness.

As the screams of a beaten and broken Princess reverberated throughout all of Hyrule, one thing was for certain. Hyrule was no more.

It would forever be known as the Shadow Realm.

So, how was that for a little "different"?

Also, if you haven't already, check out my story Redemption! It's a *potential yaoi featuring yours truly, Dark Link and Link as they fight Ganondorf's minions and face Ganondorf in his lair. No Navi, for all of you Navi haters! I decided to leave her out since she seemed so obnoxious to most...

Also, check out linklover88's story, Without You! It's an amazingly written story about Dark Link and Link... of course, if you really aren't into yaoi, you shouldn't dare tread into these waters.

Hope you all enjoyed, and don't forget to review! They are greatly appreciated.