Vivid scarlet-a color he was intimately familiar with-speckling dark emerald leaves left a clear trail for the hounds to follow. Every instinct within him screamed to bind his wounds, to stop the bleeding, but the noise of crashing undergrowth and the barking of wolfos kept his legs pumping desperately. Blood ran down the side of his jaw, covering the tattoo he had been so proud of only minutes before and soaking the thick cloth of his cowl.
Malladus had nicked his cheek in training just before the first hound attacked, but it was the cut on his upper arm that was giving him away. The best he had been able to do was keep his arm clenched tightly to his side, turning it awkwardly so that as little of his blood poured out onto passing branches as possible. It was far from effective, but he would take even the smallest bit of help.
Sheik wove through the trees, his familiarity with the land the only thing keeping him ahead of his pursuers. He could see flashes of Malladus ahead of him, casting spells to hide the Seventh and to slow or kill their pursuers. Automatically Sheik began running towards the older Sheikah, knowing he would be safest with Malladus. A flurry of shouts rang out behind him, much closer than he had anticipated.
He risked a glance over his shoulder-to see a Hylian wearing silver armor lift a bow, an arrow strung. Sheik's eyes widened and he jerked his head around, swerving as the arrow flew. It missed him, but only barely. He pumped his legs faster-but the second took him in the shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground. The arrow caught on something and wrenched around in the wound, eventually bending so far it snapped into two pieces as he tumbled through the woods. Lightning shot through his body, excruciating in its intensity.
He had withstood pain before and knew better than to show any sort of weakness in front of his enemies, but as he crumpled to the loamy earth, a soft cry slipped past him. Sheikah weren't supposed to show pain, no matter the circumstances. Shame, hot and miserable, flooded him as he struggled to his feet. He had failed, both Malladus and his people, something he had promised Veran he would never do.
Power surged from beneath him, Poes bursting at their bonds so far beneath the earth that even the Fracturing had not disturbed their graves. The Ninth had not been managed by a live Sheikah in countless moons, and the magic that kept the dead from the surface had weakened severely. Sensing his terror, they sought to protect him, and were further weakening the damaged network of magic.
Instinctively, Sheik thrust all of his magic down into the Ninth's web, briefly loosing focus on what was going on around him.
Something heavy and powerful slammed into him and he reflexively jerked his arms up as his vision cleared. It was a wolfos, half-starved and sickly, eyes wild with rage and a desperate sort of hunger. It snarled at him, its hot, rank breath pouring over his face as globs of white drool splattered his cowl. He struggled to breathe properly-nearly dead or not, its weight was double, if not triple, what he weighed and his chest screamed with pain as air came less freely to his lungs. Its jaws lunged for his throat-
-and his arm was crushed beneath its maw, blood, bone, and shredded cloth splattering both of their faces.
By some miracle, he managed not to scream, but his horror knew no bounds.
Sheikah bones were lighter, more fragile than Hylian's. A break such as this, without the aid of a powerful dead soul, could incapacitate him for the rest of his life.
There was a blur of motion above him, and for one terrible moment, Sheik saw directly into the wolfos' mouth, parts of himself caught in its jagged teeth and everything so very red. Then Malladus was kneeling before him, hooking an arm around his waist and drawing him up even as the older Sheikah began moving.
"Don't give them the satisfaction of crying, Sheik." Malladus breathed, ducking and weaving a blinding pattern throughout tree trunks. Squeezing his eyes shut, Sheik nodded against Malladus' shoulder.
Malladus suddenly cursed and Sheik lifted his head in time to see something falling over them from above. Yellow-red magic flared around them, but the net cut through it like a razor.
The net crashed over Malladus, sending both of them tumbling to the ground.
He caught sight of an ugly wound stretching almost all the way down Malladus' side as the older Sheikah began to curse, thrashing against the net's hold. Sheik himself remained absolutely still, remembering Veran's lessons as silver-clad Hylians approached.
Never show pain. Never cry. Never let them know when you are at your breaking point.
The camaraderie he saw above him only intensified his fears. A year he had spent in the Seventh and he knew that at triple that time had passed in the outside world, but they had emerged far too soon. They had not yet faded into nightmares, into stories told to children. These Hylians were fully comfortable with hunting them down-and, most terrifying of all, they were experienced with it.
Sheik recognized the Hylian who had shot him, as they ringed the net. Malladus, lying only a few feet away from him, twisted around so that their eyes met and called for him in the tongue of their people.
"If you see a chance, take it. Don't worry about me." Malladus' voice rasped, trying to maneuver his tangled body to see all of the Hylians and Sheik at the same time.
"But-"
"Don't question me!" Malladus snarled, ruby eyes flashing yellow for an instant. Sheik held his gaze, realizing that Malladus, for all the power he held, was terrified.
His nod still felt like a betrayal.
A rush of Hylian above him startled Sheik, and he looked up at the soldiers-because that was what they were, soldiers hired to slay the innocent and the helpless. He barely understood Hylian at the best of times, when Veran was speaking softly and slowly to him, enunciating each word carefully. The language grated on his ears, choppier and erratic compared to the Sheikah tongue. Most of the words spoken he couldn't make out, but he was aware most of them were slurs, threats of violence and death.
One Hylian dressed in less practical armor than the rest sauntered forward and stood over him, leering as he barked something out. Malladus snarled back, straining against his bonds.
Malladus had always been massive, especially for a Sheikah. Broad-shouldered and heavily muscled, he had always looked more like Gerudo, save the coloring of his skin, hair, and eyes. Sheik had always imagined putting him side-to-side with Ganondorf. He had no doubt their meeting would be something to behold, the Bearer of Power and a demon so old he had witnessed the creation of the Triforce.
The decorated Hylian laughed, lifted a spear, and smashed it against Malladus' stomach. He said something else, looking smug, and pivoted on his foot as he walked off.
Then the hounds lunged.
As the wolfos snarled, striving for their throats, the Hylians jerked the net around, attaching it to a pair of horses. Sheik marveled at how well they'd been herded-right to the edge of one of Faron's paths. This had obviously been planned out.
But, how? That had been the very first time they had left the Seventh since they had arrived.
A wolfos bleeding profusely from a wound on its head jumped atop him, snarling furiously as it tried to get at his throat. With only one good arm, Sheik frantically shifted about, wriggling out from one particular tangle in the net, and succeeded in twisting the wolfos' paws too severely for it to escape. The maneuver cost him, a number of thin claw marks ran across his cheek, chest, and good arm, but there was nothing too serious.
The dragging became rough after that, though, and Sheik was struck a number of times in his still-bleeding arm and shoulder. He already knew the blood loss was affecting him, lightening his head and making him far more tired than he should have been, but he couldn't cope with repeated blows.
He sank into darkness.
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
Splintered memories flickered to life, until he couldn't separate past from present.
Time had always been something malleable to him-that very quality of it was why he was alive then, after all-but never like this. Almost entirely forgotten people appeared, strangers without a name, places he could barely remember being. Scattered throughout his recollections were images of the present, the tiny animal stall he was tossed into, the wolfos reaching at him, trying to snag his flesh. He was lucky they had been so domesticated-wolfos in the wild usually went bipedal, like most sentient creatures, and possessed incredible dexterity in their limbs.
He wasn't feverish for long, maybe a day or so, but he woke with the image of his uncle clearly burned into his retinas.
Ganondorf's picture was disjointed, a collection of faded reminiscences stitched together by Veran's legends. He remembered riding on the Gerudo King's shoulders, half-asleep and hugging the crown of his head tightly to keep from falling. Broad and built like a predatory cat, Ganondorf had been nothing but muscle. He'd had a daughter Sheik's age, and she'd shown off how strong she was by punching her father in the stomach. Sheik remembered laughing with her as Ganondorf had played the part of a wounded enemy, doubling over dramatically and crying out that he was defeated, asking the great Gerudo warrior for mercy.
Sheik remembered the fear that had lurked behind his eyes, haunted his smile and echoed in his laughter as he had promised his people that they would be safe. It was the same fear that had burned in Malladus' eyes.
His stomach was tight, throat dry as the desert sands. Hunger was nothing new to him, and he ignored it as he sat up. A chorus of low growls echoed from the darkness around him, and Sheik recalled that he was not safe.
"Malladus?" He breathed softly, voice echoing throughout the room he was in. There was stone beneath him, cold and damp. The smell of decay was everywhere, rotting wood and rotting flesh combined. There was very little light, and if he were Hylian or Gerudo he would have been blind-but he was a Sheikah and he could see perfectly fine.
He was in what appeared to be a dungeon, a large circular room filled with wolfos, empty cages, the remnants of the hounds' meals, and waste. He was alone.
There were cracks in the stonework, roots spilling in from outside. Most emerged from underground, revealing only dark earth, but near the top there were some that were clusters of leaves, letting green light dribble down. The ragged remains of finery hung in the room, which puzzled Sheik. Hylians were never ones to waste anything expensive-why fill a room such as this with their animals? Portraits still hung on the wall, framed with gold and depicting a desolate road leading to a black keep, skeletal trees clutching at the edges while a pregnant sky let loose its lightning.
Tentatively, he reached out with his magic.
Furious, raw, explosive rage. Holy magic, imbuing every pebble, every grain of dust with sentience, aching with the violations it had suffered. The sheer power would have consumed him, had he not been nearly expecting it to happen.
The wolfos pack woke as one, keening and struggling to get as far away from Sheik as they could as he gasped for breath, reeling from the force of the spirit haunting this desecrated temple.
The shadows in the room lengthened, darkened, and began to form a physical shape. It was a strange sight to see, like watching someone pour water into a glass without the glass. There was nothing to contain the shadows, yet as they splashed against one another they hit an invisible wall, a definitive barrier in the shape of a man.
He collapsed to the ground outside of Sheik's cage, bloody eyes meeting bloody eyes.
Sheik didn't recognize what form the shadows had taken, save that it was Hylian, and thereby it had been a Hylian that had mastered it last.
The spirit moved faster than even Veran could move when she was furious with Malladus, a black-hilted blade appearing in his grip and striking the cage's rusted door. It crumpled soundlessly, dissolving into pools of rust that clung to Sheik's blood-soaked clothes. It tilted its head and beckoned for him to emerge, and he slowly obeyed.
The shadow's form splintered suddenly, and Sheik could acutely feel the spirit's hatred, boiling hotter than Death Mountain. He cautiously reached out and pressed his good hand against the shadow, wincing at the chill of it as he realized that the bandages wound around his arm were little more than tatters at this point. He poured his magic into it, gently circling it until a framework was formed, keeping the form even if the spirit's magic collapsed.
"Who do you serve?" Sheik asked in Sheikah, dropping his hand and taking a small step back. He knew he was being extremely informal to the ancient thing he had just aided, but Veran had never covered etiquette in her lessons. He gave a short bow, as best he could without agitating his injuries too much.
"Lanayru." The shadow's voice was little more than a hiss, a rush of escaped air. Ruby eyes studied him intently, the sort of gaze Malladus had first given Skull Kid when Sheik had first brought it to the Seventh to play with. The shadow was assessing whether or not he'd be a threat.
Sheik let a weary smile touch his lips.
"What Temple?"
"Faron's Keep, little one." Sheik's eyes widened.
"Faron's mutt weakened me, bound me to this until Lanayru's blood found me."
"Did Malladus-?"
Voices, unfamiliar and speaking Hylian. The shadow moved immediately, flowing to a wall and lifting his sword.
"Lanayru gets her revenge now, little one." It was crooned like a lullaby, the reverence it was spoken with resounding like a prayer.
The wall parted, revealing a staircase leading up. Unlike the rest of the room, it carried an air of not belonging, being itself rougher and less fluent than the rest of the room. Even the wilting paintings carried with them a sense of right. The Hylians must have built it, Sheik realized-just as two of them, laughing and chattering to one another, died beneath a stroke of the shadow's blade.
"Malladus…Do you know if he's alright?" Sheik asked quickly, before the shadow vanished up the staircase. It paused and turned to face him, ruby eyes narrowed.
"What is the demon to you, blood?" The shadow's tone startled him, filled with warning.
"Father." Sheik replied simply, tilting his head up to make himself seem somewhat larger. Blood did not bind him to Malladus, or Veran for that matter. What tied them together was something more important, something deeper.
He knew Malladus' history, just as he knew Veran's. He knew Malladus was an ancient evil, bound formless unless he stole the body of a Royal Sheikah. He knew what crimes Veran had committed. He knew both had been imprisoned, a fate worse than death to the Sheikah, spirits ripped from their breathing bodies and mummified alive.
He knew the Fracturing had set them free.
But what was more important than the choices they had made previously was that they had been there for him. They had raised him, trusted him, trained him. He was the son of the leader of the Sheikah, if his blood father was still alive. They had known that. They could have gone to the Traitor's side, abandoned their people to Hylian blades and slain him when the chance first presented itself.
A small smile tugged, unseen, on the shadow's lips. Sheik walked towards the stairwell as quickly as he could, wounds still burning with pain, as the spirit vanished. The wolfos wouldn't stir immediately, but he knew they would eventually and he had to find Malladus.
He didn't have to look long.
The stairs emerged into a large central chamber with a multitude of halls branching off of it, lit by daylight pouring in from a variety of stained-glass windows and torches bracketed to the walls. In the center of the chamber sat a pair of thrones. Sitting in them were two Hylians, one the same that had argued with Malladus when they had first been caught, the other a woman dressed in a pale blue dress. Ten soldiers stood in front of them, four on either side of the thrones and two holding a man down between them.
Malladus.
He was bloodied, almost beyond recognition. His clothes had been shredded by weapons, and Sheik could clearly see brand marks scattered across his back.
"Malladus…" His voice was barely above a whisper, but everyone in the room heard it. The soldiers spun around to face him, cries of alarm flickering to life as they drew their weapons. The woman in blue cried out in horror. Malladus' head snapped around, yellow eyes burning as they met Sheik's.
In that instant, Sheik knew what he was going to do.
"Run." Malladus' voice was hoarse, little more than a growl.
And Sheik watched his father release control of his form, the demonic aura he had always meticulously contained exploding outwards, freezing all of the Hylians in place for one long, eternal instant.
His mass ballooned, swelled, tossing the Hylians holding him down like ragdolls. Sheik took a half-step back, glancing over his shoulder to see if there were any Hylians there. The way out was clear. His gaze swung forward to look at Malladus-
-A flicker of movement caught Sheik's attention and he lifted his gaze to a balcony set above them. A Hylian was drawing a massive broadsword, shouting something inaudible over the sound of Malladus' roars.
Sheik screamed out a warning-
-the Hylian jumped-
-Malladus' magic rose like a tidal wave-
-and with an unearthly scream, the Hylian's blade lodged itself hilt-deep in the back of Malladus' neck.
Time seemed to freeze at that moment, Malladus slowly collapsing, Hylians screaming as his weakening claws tore through their stomachs, his own voice rising far above all of it.
Yellow eyes met red for the last time.
"Run."
And then Malladus' form broke, the last droplets of Royal Sheikah blood falling to the ground as a tsunami of magic slammed into Sheik, sweeping him elsewhere before he could so much as think of replying.
The interior of the Seventh appeared around him, cloaking spells masking the location from potential followers. The last wisps of Malladus' immense power settled over him like a cloak, a goodbye that had never been spoken.
And Veran's anguished cry wailed into the night, an echo of the loss pounding in his own heart.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
A/N! This has been rewritten. Yay. Also, will be updated. Soon.
Do I own LoZ or Poe's poem? Not on your life.
This fic be the fic for Camp Nano. Finally came up with a name by googling random words and reading the quotes I got. Hence the Poe thing.
So, I suppose I should put a warning thingy here? This fic will contain a lot of racism (If you couldn't already tell...) and violence. I'd elaborate but that would ruin the plot. Blame it on history-learning about WWII and wondering about how the Sheikah fit into Hylian society.
So, anyway, this fic takes place during the time of Twilight Princess, after Ocarina of Time. Hope you enjoyed it, I'm in love with this idea~