Luminous

Five fandoms, Five stories, Five days.

Happy Hallowe'en

Impa skidded back, the sheer heat of the desert causing her hair to stick in little wisps around her face and neck. She didn't have time, as the Bokoblins and Stalkids were surrounding the keep far too tightly. The sand caused for tricky footing, and the monsters were far too eager to use that to her disadvantage. She was dancing about, not even able to properly drive her sword into the ground to execute a spinning kick. She managed to plant her feet long enough to send a tidal wave of flames, but the sand slid under her. While she was stumbling about, she failed to see the Moblin advancing behind her until its javelin caught her under the ribs, sending her soaring a good ten feet away. She hit the ground hard, bouncing once but being anchored in by a stand of yellowing stalks. As soon as they snapped, a miasma spewed forth that had her coughing frantically. She managed to stagger up, a vile taste filling her mouth, and continued to fight.

Behind her, the disturbed stalks quivered lightly before collapsing into a fine-ground powder, seeping into the eye sockets of the skull they had concealed.

The fight, and the many skirmishes to follow, led with Hyrule being victorious. With Link leading their armies, there had been a beacon of hope the whole time. But to actually taste that victory had the men in very high spirits, both by emotion and bottle.

There were more sobering things to deal with, however, as not all enemies had truly fallen. The weaker creatures had fled at the fall of their great leader, but a clean-up crew was still dispatched to finish off the Lizalfos and other suck ilk.

It was a small copse of soldiers that had found the Dragon Knight.

He was severely injured, but very much alive. He fought when they attempted to restrain them, until Zelda stepped forward and enchanted manacles around his wrists. They forced him to remain in his current form, an unfortunate mix between beast and man. His hands were still lengthened into claws, and his great wings draped to the ground behind them. These too were shackled, forcing them close to his body. If the grimace he gave was any indication, it was a painful ordeal.

Ghirahim, ever flamboyant, made himself known with a launch and snarl. He managed to slaughter his way through a chunk of knights, but ended up with the same fate as Volga. Zelda, astride Epona, watched over the two prisoners of war. She and Link, both exhausted but knowing how very important the matter was, had been up all hours with not a drop of celebration between them. In truth, Link's eyes drooped more often than he would care to admit.

After the second day of marching, Impa approached. She had been put with the reserve knights, Zelda worrying for a cough she had developed at some point during the long war. Impa insisted she was in good health, and once again reminded the Princess of this as she asked to relieve her of her post.

"They are bound and harmless, My Princess. You have made sure of that yourself with your enchantments. You need to sleep, and I am more than capable of watching over these creatures."

Zelda glanced at Link, noting that he was nearly unconscious against Epona's neck. She turned to face her right-hand Sheikah, smiling faintly. "I have no doubt you are well enough, Impa. I apologize for your temporary reassignment. I grant you permission to guard these warriors, both their well-being and the means of their enchantments." She carefully drew a small key from her dress, holding it with an air of grace. Impa's fingers closed around it and, with a final bow, she wished the Princess a comforting sleep.

She turned, staring at the two figures before her. They were chained together, a lead from one manacle to the next. The arrangement had, thus far, allowed the bitter and outraged Ghirahim to lead. Merely seeing Link in front of him had caused him to stomp on, which was a necessary action to move the quiet Volga.

Perhaps it was his realization that he had been used, but the man had been silent most the walk. He spoke if spoken to, but always in dignified and clipped words. It was he that Impa focused on.

She gave a jerk to the chain connecting the two, resulting in a spew of curses and threats from the sword spirit. Volga remained impassive, only lifting his head to stare her down.

She had seen better days.

Her chest caught with every third or so breath, causing a strange hitch. Her eyes were yellowing, but her skin remains healthy and flushed red. The cough she had gained as a spoil of war had increasingly become stronger, but she hid it well. Evidence still showed by yellow flecking cornering her lips.

As Volga stared at her, she returned it tenfold. Finally, she moved forward, hand still clutching the chain. The other factions of the army were starting to move ahead, singing jaunty tunes of valour as bottles were passed back and forth. At their standstill, it didn't take long for them to be left behind. Ghirahim alternated between watching the retreating army and glaring at the woman holding him back. She paid him little mind though.

"How far can those wings carry you, Villain?"

Volga remained silent, lips pressing together to show that he had most assuredly heard her query.

She moved quickly, much faster on solid ground, and wove her hand into the fire-red tail hanging from his helm. Yanking sharply, she drew his head back with a snarl. Traces of yellow spewed from her mouth, coating her lower lip.

He grunted at the force, but opened his mouth to respond. His voice was almost sullen at the admitted, "I once flew as far as my lady wished me."

She grinned in response, head cocking in a dangerous way. Again, faster than a snake strike, her hand whipped out. It was the opposite, one remaining firmly in his hair. The other she wrapped around his jaw, fingers digging into the weak hinge of his jaw before he could even fully close his mouth.

"Perhaps you shall fly for a new Lady now, Knight. I have need to reach a more civilized area at a much quicker pace than we are traversing. What say you, hmm? Shall I force you, or shall you concede willingly?"

Volga, an honourable man finding himself disgusted by her underhanded attack, spat directly in her face.

"A mistake, I promise."

Her nails turned inward, digging into the soft skin of his jaw. Blood welled underneath them as she forced his mouth wide and swept in, holding her mouth firmly over his. Her chest convulsed, as did he in turn, as yellow spores seeped from where their mouths were joined. His claws clenched and unclenched in panic as he attempted to struggle, but her grip in his hair held fast. Even Ghirahim, a stalwart creature, had attempted to break away.

She shoved him back suddenly, his body hitting the ground solidly, before delicately swiping a thumb over her lower lip. She glanced at Ghirahim coolly, but he was in no mindset to attack her.

Moving forward, she stood over Volga and waited, only sidestepping to avoid his body when it contracted in a way that might hit her. Finally, he lay still, ragged breathes occasionally puffing out a fine yellow powder. Seeping from the wounds on his cheeks was yellow froth, sealing and then healing the gouges.

Impa held her hand down, reaching for the conjoined claws. As he stood, she deftly unlocked the manacles.

"My Lady, where is it we wished to go?" His voice, like hers, retained a mellow note. She smiled at him, a hand tapping his cheek condescendingly.

"I was thinking, Knight, that such a gift as the one I have given you must be shared. I'm thinking perhaps somewhere more... populated. Ours is a dying breed. We cannot let it vanish completely."

Ghirahim made a small noise, as her back facing him brought note to tapering yellow spines trailing down her back. They were small yet, moving like tendrils on a fast-growing vine, slowly weaving in and out of her body. It drew her attention to him, and she lightly tapped Volga's chest.

"We have unwanted baggage. Do away with it."

Volga's hand snapped out, wrapping firmly around the powerless spirit's throat. A crushing grip would not have killed him, his body such a resilient metal that superficial damage would be laughable. But as the grip around him tightened, heat started to build until the flesh beneath Volga's grip melted away, fire eating through that and through the black tempered body below.

Dropping the twisted, melted husk at his feet, Volga turned and offered his arm to Impa. She casually stepped over the body, taking it jovially. "Come, let us go and create our new family."

Not my best, I apologize. And I'm sorry it's, like, 5 minutes late!

Either or, read, review, rant! Have a good one!