Sword-wielder's Dance
His boots crunch on the long dead leaves and the sound is much too loud in his ears; experience tells him that his lurking enemy hears it too… and it is a dead giveaway. Still, he continues forward knowing it can't be helped. Let them come, he thinks, the all too familiar adrenalin beginning to pump through his veins; it heightens his senses even more. Everything is silent and the soft sigh of the wind over the crumbled stone wall seems deafening. His eyebrows drop slightly, the only clue of his displeasure. Let the monsters come.
He sees what he is looking for out of the corner of his eye, a slight movement, nothing more than a shadow. He uses his carefully honed skills to keep his face emotionless as a smirk struggles to surface. Gotcha.
His eyes remain expertly nonchalant, focused on the stone archway before him. Inside he is poised for battle. Every muscle tenses in anticipation and his fingers twitch, itching for the sword slung across his back. Patients.
He stops just before the great stone structure and he hears Their approach. There are five, one coming out from behind the tree to the right, one directly behind him, two flanking his left and one in the tree branches directly over his head. The smirk does appear now at Their attempts to be stealthy. Five would be no challenge at all. Five was a manageable number.
In one fluid, quicksilver movement he is turned to face his stalkers, bow in hand and arrow cocked. Less than a second later monster number one lay unmoving on the bed of leaves, an arrow protruding crudely from its forehead. Its dumb brethren don't pause; they seem unaware of Their fallen and they continue to move forward, releasing an unearthly shriek. Their prey has spotted them.
A whistle of wind just above tells the archer it's time for a weapon change; the monster in the treetops is descending in attack. His bow returns to his back and his sword is drawn with ease and fluency. It changes from right hand to left in a blur, ready for use. Stepping slightly to the right he thrusts his blade above his head. His arm bends as it takes on the sudden weight of the monster. It has impaled itself on his sword.
The creature is heavy and its body sinks nearly to the hilt before he can pivot, spinning himself along with his sword to remove the dead body. It slides off easily, sailing through the air and smacking the stone wall.
The sword wielder hardly has time to wipe the dark blood from his eyes before rolling to the left, nearly avoiding the swipe of claws. He cuts upward from his crouching stance on the grass, cutting off his attackers arm. He extends his leg and swipes along the ground, knocking the monster from his feet entirely. Before it even has time to realize that it has fallen, hardly having had time to notice its arm has been severed, its heart has been driven through. Three monsters lay dead within the space of fifteen seconds.
One jerk of his arm and his sword is free. His last two assailants are coming up fast. He jumps over the motionless body and starts at a run at his last two attackers. The stupid monsters don't realize what all has happened or what is in store for them. An almost comical look of surprise crosses the grotesque face of one of the monsters as the man with the sword stops mere inches from its face. The swordsman lets a smile cross his face openly now, standing nose to nose with the now frozen, unsure beast. Prey normally didn't rush headlong into danger. He thrusts his sword quickly into the creatures gut, ducking before even bothering to remove his blade in order to avoid the swipe of the monsters buddy. Too quick for ya.
The monster with the sword still in its gut howls in pain and confusion from the wound inflicted by its own. The man at the end of the sword pulls his blade free of the monster as it staggers back from the wounds. A dark gash disfigures its features even more than is natural for the ugly things and it is temporarily blinded by its own blood. It hunches over from the abdominal wound, losing its balance and toppling into the last monster.
Slightly perturbed by the pitiful display the man stands above the two struggling monsters. He barely registers the fact that he can hear his own breathing, steady but slightly heavy. Suddenly the unwounded monster glares up at him, its red eyes full of anger. It hisses, furious to be denied a meal. The man with the sword just shrugs apologetically before cutting an arc downward, beheading both monsters at once and ending their confused struggle.
Link stands and surveys the battlefield, just for a moment, before returning his sword to its sheath. It was a deadly, dangerous dance, the dance of a sword-wielding hero, but it was a dance he was called to perform again and again and again until the land was purged of evil and its people saved. His soul may lie dying and his body may ache, his mind riddled and plagued with worry and the fatigue of a soldier that must remain constantly alert but it was his fate. And it is his duty. And it is his calling.