This fanfiction will contain gore, violence, and moderate use of language.
This is a re-uploaded story of a concept I had years ago (Dark Realm). After much consideration and slight progression in writing, I decided to re-write the story.
Disclaimers... you get it.
Edited as of 5/10/16 thanks to the help of Beta Readers LittlePorcelainDoll and Nothin'Fancy.
Obscurum
Chapter 01 – Traveler
"You will always be a monster - there is no turning back from it. But what kind of monster you become is entirely up to you."
― Julie Kagawa, The Eternity Cure
He didn't like those looks… the looks that told him everything. They were curious, judgmental, and somewhat confused. He saw them everywhere he went. Everywhere. They were curious and confused because he resembled the land's favored hero, the Hero of Time; they were judgmental because he looked like the hero overturned. It made him sick, to be placed next to the rotten pet of the Goddesses. No, he was not their beloved Link. He'd had to reiterate that time and time again and had even gone as far as to drive his begrimed blade through their hearts to get them to understand that one, simple fact.
Yes, he appeared as the Hero, came with every Hero to act as their eternal 'shadow.' One could not live without the other. Of course, he wasn't feeling true distaste to that fact. After his first taste of temporary freedom and having waited for what felt like an eternity for the Hero to stumble into his domain, life could not have felt so… delightful. For after that fateful day, the Hero had felt ashamed. That Hero, that man was so frail and merciful that the very thought of being created in his appearance made the inverted man shudder.
Walking further down the path, he cared little of the blood that dripped from the very folds of his blackened tunic. On the contrary, he embraced the soaked clothes with a smile and open arms. The scent of death that reeked of raw, burnt flesh… that coppery scent… he loved it all. To speak the truth, the sight and smell of blood - even the presence of it - made him feel giddy. It was the medicine to his insanity. An especially delightful medicine when he himself had killed off a single village.
At the mere thought of such a wonderful deed, he glanced over his shoulder at the horizon. Crimson irises - deepest of reds - eyed the quaint village that he had visited just moments before, and a dark twist of his lips formed at the sight of the moonlit mountains. The village denizens, like many before them, had shown him such peace and hospitality to the point where it made him ill.
It made it all the more fun to kill them. Each and every one fell from his blade. Blood spilled across the ground, the floors, painted the village walls. The corpses fell with a sick thud, roses blossoming, their voices dying with the most musical of screams.
The very memory made his heart flutter.
The best part? None of them saw it coming.
Made it all the more fun.
He stumbled toward the spring on shaking legs, fingerless gloved hands digging into the fresh water as if his very life depended on it. The magnificent glow of the water clouded at his presence, the surface trembling where his fingers did not touch. He disregarded the sting that bit at his flesh as he gulped handfuls of the rough yet honeyed liquid.
Yet he pulled back, aware that the girl was staring at him. The girl -he couldn't really tell with her baggy attire - whom he had first thought to be a boy, had aided him down the dusty path of Kakariko Village to the spring of Eldin. It was utterly painful for him; to not turn on her and slit her delicate throat. Helping him? Dear Goddesses, he felt so pathetic. Then again, he should have rationed his water better. Nevertheless, he kept up the act that he had shown her when she stumbled upon him like he had stumbled toward the water: an innocent and overwhelmed traveler who was far from home and in dire need of nourishment.
The girl looked on, black hair covered in the dust the wind kicked up with a fiery passion. "Are you okay now, mister?" Her speech was deep and slow, irritating him, but he withheld the annoyance with a second's breath of a smile.
Trick them with innocence, his thoughts encouraged, making his smile more evident as he leaned back on his heels. Yes, trick them.
"I'm fine th-thank you," he nodded tiredly, his voice still ragged with dryness and exhaustion. To add to the matter he allowed his smile to falter some, even brushed a hand across his forehead.
She seemed pleased yet worried at the reply. "That's good," she gave a soft nod, black hair bouncing. "Wait here and I'll go fetch father. He's the medium here. He might be able to heal your wounds - if any- and find you a momentary place to stay." The girl smiled hopefully before darting off to the nearest hut, leaving the man with the crimson eyes and dusky hair to wait next to the bubbling spring.
Yet as she disappeared within the hut, he stood and walked toward that very shelter. The thought of eavesdropping gave him an odd thrill, but nothing like the thrill of spilling blood.
"Father! Father!" The blessing of sensitive hearing made him wince as he took a few steps away from the hut's door.
A sharp rustling resounded in response, a groggy voice sounding far from irritated at possibly be awoken. "What is it dear child?" A masculine voice reverberated, a thumping of feet sounding at the last word.
"We've a visitor, father."
"A visitor? Why are you so frantic over a visitor?"
"He-He's different. He looks really scary, but… but he-he needs a place to stay. You said yourself that hospitality is what we're known for, right?"
"Yes, no matter how scary they may seem. You didn't fall to rudeness and question him of his origin, did you?"
"No, of course not!" The voice was growing nearer to the door. At this fact, the red-eyed man retreated back to his seat near the spring just in time.
The hut's door opened and a man sluggishly stumbled out like a sleep deprived fellow as he ran a hand as dusty and dark as the sand beneath their feet through a long braid of tangled hair. Right upon seeing the man, the traveller grew tense. A shaman. This could be tricky. Of course knowing that the tired father was a shaman did not make him tense up, no, it was the way that he was eyed. The shaman gave him a look of momentary horror.
Perhaps it was the appearance to begin with since it seemed that red eyes always did scare those about him. Then again, it could be his stunning resemblance to a certain, pathetic Hero. Either way, he found himself smiling sweetly in return and stood up once again.
"Welcome to Kakariko Village," the shaman bowed as his daughter darted up to do the same. "I am Renado, the shaman here," he rose and waved an absent hand behind him to the rest of the village. "May I offer you our hospitality? You look weary from your travels."
The red-eyed man allowed his smile to gain a syrupy length and nodded. "Yes, I am rather fatigued and quite famished. Not only that, but the heat is getting to me. Odd, the fields are not as hot as it is here," he sighed, running a hand across his forehead once more.
"That is because Death Mountain, home of the Gorons, neighbors us," Renado explained, and the man nodded once more, internally rolling his eyes. Yes, of course he knew that. Any imbecile would know that.
Play dumb. Trick them with innocence. "Yes, well… about the hospitality you mentioned?" he asked.
Renado shifted uneasily. Though his unsteady gaze from earlier had gone, the man could tell that the shaman was still entirely unsure of him. As he should be. "How long do you intend to stay?"
"A day or two, enough to where I am fully rested and able to continue travelling without any exertion."
"All right then," Renado finally displayed a smile as he turned to his daughter, his long tunic brushing the sand. "Luda, preparations." The little girl at his side nodded darted off into the village without another word. "My daughter will find you a room within the Elde Inn. You may stay as long as you like. Oh, but…" the shaman paused, bowing his head slightly again, "I do not believe I got your name, traveler?"
The man's smile faltered slightly as the voices that resounded in his head giggled manically. It was clear that the shaman did not trust him. It didn't take a blind man to take note to that. Perfect. Oh, but he had been questioned. Name. Names. Titles. A word. "Link."
It took all he had not to giggle, especially when the shaman's eyes narrowed. "L-Link?"
"Yes, is my name a problem?"
"No, of course not mister…"
"Link."
Renado eyed him further, but after a silent moment he turned his gaze up and away. "Yes, quite right… Link," he seemed to detest speaking the name as if it bit at his insides. "My daughter is preparing a room as we speak. Tonight it shall be ready for you, so for now please become acquainted with our village."
Again the shaman bowed, turning once more in his long tunic, and returning to the safe confines of his hut. Of course, if he had stayed a moment longer and glanced at the traveler who deemed himself as 'Link,' then he would have caught sight of that ominous grin that took over his honest smile. If only Renado had listened to his wariness of the man's very name, presence, and appearance. If only he had listened to the whispers that assaulted his conscience right at the traveler's voice. If only…
Far too easy. These fools trust in people too much for peace. Let's destroy it. Help them bathe in their blood. That wicked leer grew, gaining a dark gravity. Ah, he loved the voices that ran amok within his head. Delightful.
The air tasted foul. Perhaps it was the dust that had taken refuge within his throat or the fact that there was not a drop of blood to be seen. Of course, the thought occurred to him to spill his own, but it would not be the same. No, he needed to find wonderment in spilling another's lifeblood. To see their expression, their crumbling future flash before their eyes, and to watch as they squirmed, screamed, and cried out with their dying breath.
His very addiction was entirely unhealthy. At the very acceptance of that fact, his fingers curled tighter against the hilt of his sword. Yes, he knew… he knew it all too well. The thirst for something so red and so precious was not natural, even for a shadow, but something drew him to it. Perhaps it was the fact that he himself could not bleed, not naturally. No, he would only bleed if the Hero bled. He would only feel pain if the Hero felt pain.
A reflection, nothing but a reflection.
He withdrew from the thoughts, determined to trap them in the back of his mind. Now was not a time to feel pity or a sense of pathetic longing. Shadows could not feel after all, or so the damned Goddesses insisted.
"Enough indulging yourself, Link," the dark haired man giggled at his own name, finding it foreign when placed against him. As he spoke to himself, he stroked the double-edged blade in such a manner that one would question if the inanimate object was indeed a living, breathing thing in need of affection.
Within the confines of Elde Inn, Renado and a bulky mass of a creature - Cor Goron of the Gorons - leaned over the bar counter. The Goron's muscles bulged over the flimsy stand, the weight making the very wood creak beneath. Unlike the pasty flesh of man, his skin had the appearance of dirt but looked just as strong and sturdy as any rock. He was quite intimidating, to say the least. Even the smell of burnt wood and sulfur from his body was just as intimidating to the point of making one nauseous.
"Link?" he spoke in a rough, grinding accent to the point where the slur of the vowel made the spoken word sound like 'Lounk.' "Well, the strange brother does look like the Hero, indeed, but he varies in color. Especially in the eyes."
Renado nodded and took a seat on a barstool across from the creature that towered over him to the point where the shaman had to crane his neck to meet the gentle eyes of his Goron friend.
"Yes, I agree with you there, my friend. The presence he holds is somewhat…" he trailed, a hand running under his chin. What was the word to best describe the newcomer's aura? Sinister, dark, foreboding… "Either way, I didn't question him about the reasoning behind his name. I'm sure many children have been named after Hyrule's Hero, but the resemblance is almost frightening."
"But you do not wish to judge the weary man?"
"No, it would be wrong of me to judge him when I know nothing about him."
As the Goron shifted in his seat the counter groaned in protest. "What of Eldin, have you heard from him when the traveler came about?"
Eldin was the guardian of the spring within Kakariko Village. It was the light of the province that both Kakariko Village and Death Mountain inhabited. It wasn't common, but on occasion Renado would hear whispers from the light spirit. It was his task as the village's shaman to hear and reiterate the words of Eldin and his siblings, the other three light spirits that guarded the other regions of Hyrule. At the mention of the light spirit, Renado shook his head reluctantly. "No, I've just felt premonitions ever since I said 'good day' to him."
"What if he's not from Hyrule?"
"That's possible, but the mountains that surround Hyrule are far too tall and far too steep for such a journey."
"But if this traveler is like the Hero then it would be a simple task."
"It's possible, but I doubt it."
"Maybe it's just a coincidence then. Stop worrying if Eldin spoke nothing of it. Now come, let us return to our previous talk about the matters of a feast between our people," Cor Goron grinned.
Link found comfort wallowing in the worn sheets that reeked of dust and earth. His eyes resembled hollow pits in the candlelight as he peered into the shadows of the room. Elde Inn's rooms were quite small and his was no exception. It held enough room for a bed, but the lack of space did not unsettle him. Small, dark places were something he found comfort in, as was his blade that rested at his side.
It was rather difficult to hide his sinister thoughts and revealing his hand for all to see. No, he had to wait for the perfect time. Spilling blood haphazardly wasn't nearly as thrilling. It didn't bring that dark glow to his eyes, the glint in his blade, or the smile on his lips.
Link idly glanced down at the bright mirror edge of his blade, pleased in his reflection. There was something about the gleam of his wicked blade that seemed to bring out the most beautiful angles of his face. In fact, no other reflective surface did his features justice and he often spent hours looking into his sword for that sickening satisfaction. His enjoyment was interrupted prematurely when a hesitant knock on the door tore his eyes away.
The inverted man rose into a sitting position, his shirt sliding down his thin shoulders. He stared at the door and hoped ignoring the nuisance would encourage it to go away, but against his wishes, the visitor opened the door and stepped in. The girl from before hesitantly made her way into the room, her face sporting a boyish grin. She nervous as she played with her hands before stating her business.
"You've been cooped up in here all day. Is there anything else I can do for you?" Luda questioned as she brushed a wary hand through her hair. Link mentally groaned, but instead of voicing his thoughts - a couple of which included slitting her throat and gouging out her eyes - he smiled.
He watched as the girl cringed at the smile he used when parting flesh from skin. He could practically see her comparing him to his other half, as most did when he expressed his emotions. None of them ever wanting to acknowledge the similarities in the two men.
Luda cringed; the candlelight was not doing the traveler's smile any favors. Then again… perhaps she'd simply misjudged his sharp smile in the candlelight. She had to admit it was hard to reconcile the smile of the man before her with the Legend who shared the same name in the twisting shadows. "Sir is there - "
"I heard you the first time, child," Link smiled, his tone teetering away bit by bit. "And no, I'm afraid not, but thank you. I think I'll just rest." He had meant to wave her off then like one would a servant, but instead he drew himself away from the comfort of the bed. "What time is it, dear child?" It was difficult keeping the mirth away from his voice, his senses yearning for blood for Goddess knows how long.
The girl was perplexed. Of all the things for the blood-eyed man to inquire, he wondered over time itself? Luda shrugged off the confusion, glancing slightly over her shoulder to peer out a window from across the inn's hall . The hour was indeed late. Returning her reluctant gaze to the man, "Why, sir, it's past sunset."
Clearly. Link had gathered that much already having absentmindedly counted the seconds, the minutes, and each seemingly endless hour since he had settled into his temporary room. "Is it midnight?"
Again, she glanced over her shoulder. "It appears so but I cannot tell… " Luda said, raising a curious brow.
He could tell she wanted to question him, that much was clear, but thankfully she kept her questions to herself. WIth a brisk bow of her head, she murmured a parting "good night," and left just as abruptly as she appeared.
At her absence, yet another smile split Link's face, growing tenfold to that of a madman's sneer. He'd almost lost it at the very idea of it being midnight. It would be the perfect time to wreak havoc, and this time he would gain attention from the Goddesses.
The sick pleasure of listening to another's screams motivated him out of the bed as if the very sheets burned him. As soon as his bare feet brushed the dusty floor, he dove for his obsidian blade. His movements were slow and measured as he picked up the sword delicately, cradling it within his arms as he all but beamed back at his reflection.
"It's almost time," his breath fogged against the cool steel, "to see the flesh part under your lovely edge..."
Simply wonderful. Deli-
His eyes snapped to the door as a sudden sound disturbed his thoughts. Shattering glass… no, not entirely, but something just as fragile. The very sound of it made him cringe. Whoever that made such a dreadful sound would surely be the first to bleed.
Link stalked out the door, annoyance coating his stride. The hall's dim light did little to hide the wicked curl of his smile. He turned the corner, following the low mutter of someone's voice as another shatter of something and - Goddess be damned - it unnerved him. With silent haste - as much as one could on the old, squeaking wood - he descended the stairs, turning just in time to watch a plate fall from a cabinet behind inn's bar.
The one to create such a disgusting noise, an Elde Inn maid, moved in such a way that it brought out her fragile age. She groaned as her back stiffened at the slightest gesture of bending down to pick up the shattered pieces of plates that had fallen from the cupboard overhead.
"Watch y'self, ole girl," she tsked, coming back up with a series of pops resounding from her spine. "Don't want' go at breaking the last good lookin' plate."
Her drawl reminded Link of a cat rubbed against a cactus; elongating the vowels and cutting the words short in such a manner that it irritated him to no end, making his fingers curl even tighter about the blade at his hip. He waited until she picked up every last plate with the speed of a snail; her old bones creaking with each bend.
Link rested against the banister, eying the elderly maid across the bar counter with a look that spoke of pure malice. Consideration was something foreign to him; his conscience having died a long time ago with his innocence. Already he scanned the room, his mind flicking through a series of thoughts illustrating the woman's demise. There were so many ways to kill a soul, so many ways... yet he could only end them once. It was sad, really.
Enough, it should be simple. Just slaughter her, paint the floors in her blood and be done with it. Even if she wakes the whole village, it will do them no good.
He'd been so enraptured in the very idea, he hadn't realized that the old woman had stopped cleaning up. Without his notice, she had somehow crossed the expanse of the room.
"Sorry, Sir," she drawled wearily with a bow. The very gesture made the wooden headpiece that held her hair in an unceremonious bun wobble precariously."Did I wake y'eh?"
The man eyed her for a moment, knowing that his twisted smile was still visible. Was she too blind to see it or perhaps too stupid? Then again, perhaps she saw his twisted smile as something kind? He glanced about them, the only source of light being the candle at the bar. Ah, perhaps she couldn't see his features entirely.
Wonderful.
He forced a kindhearted laugh and winced, its effect somewhat diminished. "Oh, not at all. In all honesty, I couldn't really sleep and… well…"
The maid nodded, laughing in return. "I'm sorry t' hear tha'. I wish I could help y'eh." She turned her back to him, inviting him to introduce her to his blade. As the thought tickled his fancy, she moved behind bar.
"Do you need any help?" Link questioned. He walked across the room to the maid's vicinity, fingers curling even tighter about the hilt.
She didn't look at him, didn't catch the lilt in his voice. "I've been doin' the dishes since noon. Puttin' them up is a hassle." She said. She got on her tiptoes to place a trembling stack of plates back into a dusty cabinet.
He went around the counters and helped her. In truth, he didn't want to hear the shattering again. "Are you the only servant here?" He inquired, giving the maid room right as she turned to shake his hand out of thanks.
Her hand hovered, but when he showed no notion to take her palm, she let up and straightened her posture. At his closeness, she could see the unhealthiness lingering on his skin, and the red in his eyes was almost horrific. Was he sick? Most likely, but she wouldn't dare embarrass the him by asking. "No, the other maids are young and always whine tha' the night duties are far t' difficult. I usually end up doin' all the nightly chores m'self." She answered.
"You're alone then?" Link raised his head slightly, fingers once again curled on the hilt.
"Yes, why? Do y' need somethin', Sir?"
An innocent step forward, "No, not really," another step, "Well, there is something."
With each progressive step, the maid backed up until her back pressed against the counters. "W-What may that be?" She's caught onto something, something entirely off, unnatural. She hadn't noticed it before, the way the candle light made him look like death itself or the way his insistent smile curled maliciously.
He brought the blade to her throat, eyes narrowed, "I want to know what kind of screams you'll make when I slit your throat." His voice filled with such innocence, such curiosity that the woman shuddered.
The sword came down and she screamed. Hands clawed at Link's arms as the blade sliced through flesh. It dug past the collarbone and found a spot to claim as home. The point drove through the ribcage. Cold steel froze everything it touched as it plowed through, and the edge gouged the heart. Her screams, sharp and grave, died with a gurgle and a squelch of her skewered organ. The blood ran, hot and fresh, and stained everything: the floor, the maid's uniform, his clothes, and the blade itself.
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