AN: Hello, everybody! I'm back to dabble in the world of Zelda! Boy, it feels good to write. I haven't written in ages! Hope you enjoy, I have no idea where it's going. Ummmm disclaimers, I own nothing, though like every fan before me, if I had the chance, I would completely own it. Reviews would be wonderful, and if not then at least a favorite would be nice. Those always help. Thanks!!
SHOULD I CONTINUE THIS?? It was a bit of a side-project for me, but I'm not writing anything currently, so if anyone wants I could finish this.
This would be the mirror is broken part. I guess after that I would give a chapter to each specific thing and then go with the story, if anyone is interested.
Full summary: The events that throw the world into chaos are as follows: a mirror is broken, a throne is stolen, a princess is imprisoned, a letter is delivered, and a hero awakens. And this hero shall take up a journey. A long and dangerous journey to collect mirror shards, and save his kingdom along with all the rest of the world from darkness. Bit Zelink-ish, set in TP.
The edges of his black cloak swirled about his body, curling and flapping as he walked like the wings of a ragged raven. His face obscured, his movements subtle, he pressed himself against the icy stone wall and shut his eyes. Even now, alone in a cold executioner's ground, Zant could hear the voice whispering in his ear. It was a voice like acid, burning a hole into his brain. It voiced his very thoughts and emotions: revenge, desire, power, anger, hate. It knew what he was going to say before he could say it. But it wasn't his voice.
"It is almost time, my friend. Soon you shall have power of your own. You shall have immortality, and a throne to rule. Though before that, there is one thing I require."
It was speaking to him now, acrid and harsh. Zant's teeth clenched, his eyebrows furrowed, and his fists tightened until his knuckles lightened several shades. The frozen metal that hid his true face dug into his cheekbones. What he was doing was wrong. Even as an angry exile, he had morals. Standards. That voice of the dark and evil overlord told him otherwise. He said it was perfectly fine to commit such an act. He told him that nothing too detrimental would happen to his health. He told him that he would gain power.
Even if it was wrong, Zant wanted to have unlimited power more than he cared about the face of the earth.
He was going to do it anyway.
He ran down the corridor, metal boots clanking loudly. He wove in the directions the voice was leading him, left then right then straight. He ran for what felt like miles in nothing but murky gloom and dying candles. He was practically blind. All to reach his goal.
A sliver of light in the distance! His speed increased He hit the edge of the corridor, stopped mid-stride, and swore.
The hallway stopped abruptly in a sharp, sloping cliff. And beyond that cliff...
Sand.
The once-prosperous foyer was bubbling to the brim with sand. It swirled in odd florescent curves and trailed up the cracks in the walls. It was a bright tan ocean that Zant was sure would swallow him whole. He didn't want to stick around to find out. He had to cross, to get to the door, though. It bugged him, this task of his.
What to use, he thought to himself. How do I even begin?
The voice answered for him with a subtle, You float across, of course. You have the ability, so why don't you try it? I thought you were smarter than that.
Zant sighed. He moved until he stood at the very edge, staring down at the sandy abyss that would be his grave, along with so many others already, if he did not cross. He swallowed, and then lifted his hand out in front of him.
"Powers of Darkness, I summon thee. Fill me with thy essence and give me strength."
Shadows swerved in the light, peeled themselves from the stones and the sands and the flames. They gathered like wisps of smoke about his body, curling and writhing over him, and melded with his armor. He laughed as power filled him. He had never felt so alive, so very very happy. He was freer than a bird. His mind drifted a thousand leagues to a land where he was a king, where no one would have the ability to defy him ever again.
It was so easy for him to lift from the ground. He hovered a foot higher than where he had one rested. It was even easier to move forward. He was as light as a cloud, drifting through the air faster then he could have walked.
He loved the sensation that filled him. He reveled in it. If this was what power felt like, he definitely wanted more. No matter the cost.
The voice within his head was silent now. He, too, knew that this man would do anything for power. His plan was so simple, really. And the man was so easily manipulated...
Zant hit the ground on the other side with a soft thud.
That was when the moldorms attacked. Or at least, they tried.
They sensed his landing on the other side, and laughed (it was their form of laughter- a menacing snarl resembling an angry cat) as they dove from the waves of sand. They flipped themselves onto the tile, gagging like a fish out of water. Then, when they ran out of time, they hissed and flung themselves erratically back into the sand.
Zant didn't even flinch. In fact, he enjoyed seeing them in helpless pain. He would have kept them on shore longer if he knew that they would keep writhing like that.
He should have noticed that what he was thinking was particularly cruel, but he had lost all sense of morals. The Darkness had clouded him.
He placed his hand upon the doorknob and felt the metal under his hand. It was colder than the air around it, tarnished from hundreds of years of abandonment.
Not anymore, he thought while he pulled the door open.
The room that he entered next wasn't really a room at all. An open dome revealed the pinprick of stars that shattered the night sky.
The desert of Gerudo was frigid that night. More frigid than it should have been. Had it rained for once during the land's one thousand drought-filled years, icicles would have hung from the tips of fading cactus and snow would have withered the radiant crimson flowers that bloomed only under the resounding crush of darkness.
In the very center of the colosseum, a dais rested defiantly. It was the only source of strength within the crumbling walls and dusty seats and rotting mold. Perched precariously, the only only object untouched by the press of life reflected the solemn moon. Smooth raven glass was spider-webbed with cracks of magic that glowed purple. A thin, shiny bronze frame was the only thing about it that looked normal because the rest overflowed with magic. Zant sensed the magic that the room held. It sank into his soul and filled his bone marrow with teasings of the power it radiated.
In the middle of the colosseum, standing on the dais, a mirror sat.
Elegantly, Zant raised his sword as he ran up the dais. He paused in front of the mirror for a spilt second, and then drove his sword into the mirror's glass.