Broken
Twin Kats

He came to slowly, which should have been odd. He felt sore, exhausted, run through. His limbs ached and trembled and his head pounded. His chest burned and it took more strength than he could gather to push himself up even the littlest bit to see where he was. The word was bleary and fuzzy and he couldn't make out the form but someone was there. There was green and a hand and pale and blue and a touch on his shoulder.

"Hey, you ok?"

His limbs gave out, his vision blackened. He had a thought of—Sky Child?—before it all went back.

When Ghirahim came to again the sky was dark. He pushed himself up, still feeling weak and dizzy, and dragged himself over to the trunk of a tree. His eyes sought out the sky, looking for the familiar haze of clouds or the shimmering stars of the lands in the sky. He saw neither, and it chilled him.

"Where is Skyloft…?" Ghirahim wheezed. He raised a hand up towards the sky, a frown crossing his lips, and traced the constellations. They didn't look right. "How…how long have…." Ghirahim descended into coughing, jerking back against the trunk of the tree. His sides ached, perhaps nearly as bad as the sharp throb to his chest where the gem sat.

He looked down, and then grimaced. Where once the item was a thing of beauty, now it lay cracked and shattered. He could see the wound and gash surrounding the gem from when the Sky Child had first, finally, defeated him. He could see other, glaring cracks in his arms and his legs from where Demise had practically abused him with how vicious he'd been in battle.

Ghirahim breathed out slowly. "Not…fully reformed, then," he murmured and grasped at the tree. It hurt to stand, to put actual pressure on his legs. It hurt to drag himself over to the tree too but Ghirahim could. He didn't have enough of his magic, his power, to shift himself out of this semi-state and into the more familiar, less beautiful demonic form he'd taken to parading around in while waiting for the seal to weaken enough.

He was lost to the passage of time, Ghirahim realized this easily what with Skyloft missing from the sky. Obviously he'd been out for far longer than he could've anticipated, which begged the question of how much? The magic Hylia had expended in protecting her precious people, forced Link to expend in protecting her precious people, had lasted a thousand years and could easily last several thousand more. How long had he been stuck pulling piece by piece back together?

Ghirahim turned his head and stumbled. He could hear the grinding sound of metal on metal and could feel bits and pieces, rusted from the damage even as his body slowly knit itself back together, crumble onto the earth. They would probably appear as cracks and missing chunks if he were to shift into being the blade that he was underneath the so human shape encased in metal and jewels.

From what he could see, he was by a beach. Ghirahim grimaced. "I don't remember there being…except Floria." The thought of Floria made him want to burn in anger, but it left him bereft instead. Ghirahim breathed out heavily.

The sand of the beach gave way to grass, which was under his feet, which gave way to rock and stone, spiraling up like a mountain except much smaller and less intimidating. Ghirahim blinked. The water at the beaches edge curled around the sides, almost as if it surrounded the land he was on entirely. It took him a moment, as his legs streaked pain and his chest throbbed with something unholy, to realize that he was on an island and the beach was truly just a step into the sea.

Ghirahim couldn't remember the sea. It'd been too long since he'd seen any shores but that which made up the lakes in Hyrule and, perhaps once so very long ago after he'd first been forged in the fires of Demise's hatred, that one Great Sea that shriveled and died under heat and war.

"What has happened to the world…?" Ghirahim murmured, then gasped with a sudden jerk as his chest throbbed twice has hard as before. His limbs trembled and he fell to his knees which made him just wince and stifle a cry. He could feel chunks break off at the sudden drop of his weight and it burned, it burned and it hurt. Ghirahim barely caught himself with his hands as he tipped sideways, his vision swimming from the sudden burst of pain.

It felt like…Ghirahim wheezed, his eyes as white as his hair and the markings upon his black body widened in shock and a little terror. It felt like when Demise forced him into the shape of a sword by pulling out his insides and swallowing him whole. It was a burning, screaming pain in his chest drawn on and called by Demise's seething rage and power. It throbbed around him, in tune with his heartbeat if he were anything but a blade.

It couldn't be possible. Demise was dead. Ghirahim winced. His being tugged forward, almost by a chain. Demise was dead. He had failed in his mission and was cast aside because Demise was dead. His vision began to go black at the edges, his breathing sharpened.

"He's not here…" he reminded himself faintly. "He can't be…."

He winced, he tried to force himself to stand, but the swimming and the pain only made him finally collapse completely into the ground like a ragdoll. He could see fire and red and a cruel smile upon dark skin.

"You failed me whelp."

It made him sick. Ghirahim blacked out for the second time.

The third time Ghirahim came to his body hurt less and he revived much quicker. A quick glance to his extremities showed that the gaping glowing wounds from his battle were smaller, less glowing and less heated. His chest still hurt like a bitch and he could still feel the calling that wanted to drag him into the sea but it was lesser of a thing, as if Demise—not Demise, Ghirahim grit his teeth and grunted at the thought, Demise is dead—desired his weapon once more.

Ghirahim got to his feet, a little unsteady but more stable than before, and choose to explore this little island around himself. He could feel his magic beneath the casing of his skin, stronger but still weak enough not to allow him to shift into the human shape. His legs clunked loudly against the earth, although it was more like a thump than a clunk—it felt like a clunk.

There was enough ground around the side of the cliff face that the grass gave into that Ghirahim could walk the full outer ring of the island. The earth stood tall in the middle, apparently surrounded by grass and then beach on either side. On the opposite end where Ghirahim had awoken the rock had an opening to a cave. Ghirahim stumbled into the dirt wall next to the caves entrance and peered inside. It sloped downwards, beneath the level of the water outside, potentially into a deep cavern below. He wanted to laugh, it seemed like a place where the Sky Child would find some hereto unknown weapon or tool or maybe just rupees.

Ghirahim could never understand how the boy could find rupees in something as simple as the grass. It was like a form of magic no other human, demon, or sword could replicate. The memory brought a smile to his lips in thought, and then a frown. Ghirahim sighed. He set himself down into the dirt, aware that if he strained himself again he'd black out once more, and glanced up into the night sky.

"The passage of time…" he said. He couldn't tell how long he remained unconscious each time he blacked out, but twice now he'd awoken to a dark sky. Ghirahim sighed. "I wonder…."

He could remember, faintly, hearing Demise's words, a curse, just as easily as he could remember hearing Hylia's. Ghirahim closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. Perhaps he was the only one to see it. Perhaps he was the only one to notice. Ghirahim blinked once, lips curled down. It didn't matter in the end, really. Not when he was here now and, essentially, free from his chains. Now…now he could find out where the Sky Child had gone, where the soul now resided.

Maybe he could make things right and free the boy from his chains as well, like he couldn't do before.

It took a snap of his fingers and the shifting visage of diamonds to appear where he wanted, the image so clear in his mind. The room, a cell really, was damp and dark. The walls were stone, bits crumbling away, but still sturdy enough for their intended purpose. Ghirahim glanced towards the faint light, the spiraling exit that led to a doorway into the surface, just to ensure that he had timed this perfectly. He had, but unlike normal when faced with his own brilliance Ghirahim didn't smile.

Cautiously he stepped in the dark over towards a wall, raising one hand now wreath in conjured light. He could hear the sound of rattling chains and a hiss of pain as he moved closer. Ghirahim could see the faint, dirtied color of green and pale, bruised and abused flesh. He immediately dimmed the light a little, which earned him the sound of rattling chains again with an accompanied a sigh of relief.

"You…came," the figure said. Ghirahim kept the light low, so as not to aggravate the boy's—man's, really, Ghirahim should get used to that—apparent sensitivity to the substance.

"I promised, didn't I?" Ghirahim replied, stepping lightly over chains that covered the ground. He examined what he could see, wrists that were caked in dried blood and ringed in purple, covered by stark metal that dug into the wall. Arms, strained from holding the full weight of a grown man, trembling and almost emaciated.

"You took…long," he rasped. His voice sounded ill-used and, in a random bout of sympathy Ghirahim summoned a glass of water.

Ghirahim shifted. "Close your eyes," he said, and then stepped close and pressed the cup against his lips. "Drink." Given the position and the fact that Ghirahim had to hold the cup for him, water dribbled down his chin and, it most likely burned on its way down a parched throat. "Do they not even give you basic care?"

He swallowed. "Not really…a traitor's right…is it?" he questioned.

Ghirahim snorted. "Which means they haven't figured it out yet," he said harshly.

He laughed. "Given my…company? Why would…they try."

"Humans," Ghirahim spat. "Never looking beyond the surface of things." He shifted back to examining the chains tossing the cup away where it disappeared into flecks of diamonds. He drew the light with him, offhandedly saying, "You can open your eyes now."

The chain in his view shifted as the prisoner moved, and then appeared to slacken just the slightest as he placed more of his weight back onto his legs. There was a tired, rasping sigh as Ghirahim studied the markings carved into the metal with a frown.

"You won't…you can't…" he said. "They won't break. They…."

"I can see their warded, I'm not blind," Ghirahim snorted. "Clever beasts, aren't they, though?"

The laugh from the figure quickly turned into a cough. Ghirahim moved to view the other cuff, just to be certain that the wards were the same and without mistakes, and then huffed.

"I could cut off your hands, that would solve the problem," the Demon Lord mused.

"I'd rather you not," he muttered back. "What use is a handless swordsman?"

Ghirahim rolled his eyes and then moved to inspect the rest of him, tsking at the state of his clothes, and his skin, and how thin he'd become.

"You would think they'd have more care," Ghirahim muttered. "At least we just kill our prisoners instead of brutalizing them."

"Like that's much better."

"Sounds like you're feeling stronger?" Ghirahim questioned, moving the light to get a good look at the boy's—man's, he's a man now—face. "Oh, they've marred your good looks. I'll have to make them pay for that."

Blue eyes rolled up and around, wincing slightly from one rather harsh looking bruise that had almost swollen one eye shut.

"Don't even bother," he said. "They'll just take it as confirmation."

"Fine, fine," Ghirahim grumbled. "You and your precious humans, I swear."

He huffed softly and Ghirahim could see the amused smile curling at his lips. "Yes, my precious humans," he said, almost a little sharply. Ghirahim could recognize the possessiveness in his words and understood what the boy—man—was saying without saying. His gaze slid towards the chains. "Could you…?"

Ghirahim snorted. "Give me a few centuries, possibly. Not that you have that much time."

He sighed, and slumped. Ghirahim frowned. It had to hurt to pull on his arms like that. "Of course," he said tiredly.

Ghirahim stood there, dangerously close to the limp and tired form of a hero, and the word sounded derisive even in his own head. The boy—the man—was no hero even if once lauded by the population as such. Still, seeing him like this, defeated, and knowing how long it took him—him, the Demon Lord!—to come and see if there was any way, any way at all, to get him out of these chains….Ghirahim swallowed back a small bit of bile that threatened to come up from his throat.

"I'm…sorry," Ghirahim said haltingly. "For not…."

"I know," the prisoner uttered. "I understand."

They stood in silence, gazing at each other for a moment. Then the figure sighed and closed his eyes, slumping even more in his bonds.

"You should go," he said. "They'll return soon."

Ghirahim frowned. "You shouldn't let them do this to you," he said. "You're better than this."

"Not…anymore," he said back.

Ghirahim's frown turned into a scowl and with a snap of his figures he disappeared.

Ghirahim recovered, but is was slower than he'd like. He could remember that there was once a time where it'd take hours to be whole again, hours to minutes after a grueling battle, after being swung and bandied about, tasting the blood of thousands against his flesh. The nicks and chips that he'd gained, being Demise's weapon, would disappear seemingly overnight.

Since that battle, since Demise's death, he'd healed so slowly. It took him centuries to even reform himself together again, and it took him weeks to get to the point that he can move about without tiring or feeling pain again. As the days passed, the calling in his chest cooled into a dull and distant throb, and soon enough he could take upon the more human shape.

Hunger followed, as he became stronger and healthier. It burned and gnawed at his gut, and the only thing Ghirahim could gather to satisfy it was fruit from the trees that dotted the island. He eventually ventured into the cave, and like he expected he discovered a chest full of rupees. These, ultimately, were useless to him. Still Ghirahim huffed and sent them away, then gathered up the dead beasts and set them about to be cooked.

Now, now he felt ready to try and get off this island. It'd been weeks, almost months, and he was tired and aching still but he was well enough to venture off. He figured they couldn't be too far apart, the water and whatever was around. He'd find a place with inhabitants—humans, which only raised a sneer to his face—and then, well…then maybe he could discover where the Sky Child had gotten off too in this lifetime.

It took him a few days of tearing the trees apart and fashioning them into logs, ripping and tearing apart clothing that he'd stuffed away with his magic so long ago until he could fashion a raft and a sail with which to venture into the water. A healthy dose of magic ensured the thing would stay afloat. Ghirahim pushed it into the water waded until he was up to his waist, and then with a snap of his fingers, settled on top of the wood. He glanced to the skies, frowned at the lack of wind, and another snap had his sails full and off in a random direction.

He didn't care how long it took, he'd find his Sky Child.

Summary: It took thousands of years to piece himself back together, but when he finally did Ghirahim left in search of the Sky Child who shattered him so thoroughly. Instead he finds the world has changed, and the boy he once knew dead for good.