They had never wanted this to happen, they hadn't intended for him to become his weapon. Everything was wrong, their plans squandered yet again, something that had never was even an option. The only thing that had gone wrong was allowing that horrific creature to continue living after the demise of the Demon King, which is what they were...

Link shot up, screaming. All he could feel was cold air and see nothing but pitch black darkness, and it seemed to press down on his very existence. His breath slowly settled from the rapid pace it had taken since he bolted awake. The dream was fresh and heavy in his mind.

This was not the first time he had seen it, but it was the first time he had gotten so far to actually get some more of what they had wanted to do with whatever they were doing. Didn't help him very much with the dream, as each time he woke up in a heavy sweat.

His shoulders and chest heaved, blue eyes searching around and he fumbled for the matchbox, striking a match after his fingers closed around the small sleeve, and lit the candle by his bed, throwing the room into a sudden light, eerie shadows cast over the walls from the sparse but functional furniture he possessed in the small home on the surface.

The hero was in the same state of undress that he had gone to bed in, and he touched his forehead before glancing out the window. The sky was as pitch black as the small home had been only moments ago.

The hero sighed, running his fingers through his hair, tears streaming down his face in desperation. What the hell had that all been, something that had driven his mind to produce such a violence-suggesting fantasy, created by his subconscious in his sleep.

What the hell had made his mind do such a thing to him? Oh wait, it was the whole surviving such a dangerous journey that had been given to him by the goddess Hylia. It was a war he had waged, a one man army against an army of demons and both their lord and their king.

Seems his dream was a little unforgiving of that fact, and he shuddered in his place on the bed, glancing around the dimly lit room, unable to shake a sinking feeling in his gut that something was off, clenching in his stomach and needing release. It wasn't something he was unused to, as the hero had experianced such a crushing guilt before in his journey, usually from being unable to protect Zelda well enough, that he had failed to end Ghirahim before he could bring greater harm to the world.

Now, he wasn't sure what was causing the guilt, and all he knew was that it was quite painful to bear and it brought tears to his face, crumpling over his stomach as it cramped up, wanting him to be in even more pain. Hot pain shook his frame and Link willed it away, wanting to die, just wanting the guilt and pain that clenched in his body gone. He wanted to die, to let his mind rot, forget everything and just leave the world for good.

He wasn't suicidal, he swore it. He just wanted to be gone from the world. He had finished what Hylia had set out for him to do, and now that he had finished that task, he might as well let himself rest. It was for the best anyways. What could he do anymore? Nothing anymore. His use was done.

Curling in on himself further, he contemplated what life would be like for everyone else once thier precious hero was out of the picture.

Okay, maybe a touch suicidal.

Link. A voice whispered in his mind and he looked up. The way was very much alike to the way that Fi had caught his attention enough to get him to chase her and start the whole ordeal that had brought him here in the first place.

Before everything like this had started, he had thought that he'd fall in love with a pretty girl and settle down with her to live out the remainder of his life after he had retired from being a patrolling knight, but that was before he discovered that he had an eye on the men more than the women.

This hadn't been evident until much later, thanks to the walking, talking eye candy Ghirahim had been. He fought to remain angry in battle with him, and he touched one of the scars left by one of his daggers in the Fire Sanctuary. It wasn't that deep, and Ghirahim hadn't been fighting with the intent to kill as much as some would expect.

He hadn't fallen for the demon, he merely found him attractive, but only that. He wouldn't allow himself to get close to the person that had taken his best friend and used her as a tool to revive his master. After all, Ghirahim's personality was shit. He was way too arrogant, full of himself and had the potential to be quite narcissistic.

Ick. Why would he even fall for something like that.

Link. The voice came again, and he shook his head to shake it off. Even if it was Fi calling him to take up the Master Sword and seek out some greater threat yet again, he was not in the state for that. After all, he was pretty much nude, and he had no desire to go wandering out in nothing but his boots.

Link. The voice hissed at him yet again, and he could tell that the word, his name, was insistent, wanting him to go seek whatever it was out.

So, with a grunt, Link rolled out of bed, pulling on clean underwear and finding his uniform. After dressing, securing the belts in place, including the one for the Master Sword, the sheath empty, and Link couldn't quite bear to get a new sword, as nothing made by Gondo would seem right for him anymore.

He used knives and arrows to protect himself in battle, even though what was left was just the remnants of the forces once led by Ghirahim in service of the Demon King. He patrolled the dungeons, making sure the dangerous areas of them that others may enter into were not overrun by too many monsters as they had once been.

But no, he made sure that he had all five bottles, his Hylian Shield (which had been its own hell getting on its own) and he made sure that his weapons were in order. He made sure he had his slingshot, the bomb bag, his bow and a full quiver of arrows. Once he was sure, and he was sure that the pouch was secure, Link opened the door to face the world and whatever was going to be against him, that had the potential to be incredibly deadly.

Hence five fairies. Just in case.

Link looked around, and his eyes widened when he saw who had been calling him.

"Link." The figure's lips moved, beckoning him with a crooked finger. They were female, soft hair drifting around their face, just a touch more tan than the whitest ice. A dress fluttered around her legs, stopping at her knees and she was wearing heels. "Link, you are needed."

Link stared at her, as if he was unsure what to think, and the hero stepped towards her and the girl, woman… female, floated away and Link chased after her, watching her drift away like she was on some sort of mystical current.

It was slow, but he eventually caught up to the figure, and she drifted in front of Hylia's sacred temple, where Zelda had dwelt for a thousand or more years, the amount was a figure he couldn't remember at the given moment, the air tense with some emotion he couldn't pick up, one he couldn't recognise in fact.

"Wake, hero. Your duty calls you again, even though you may think yourself useless from what has happened before. Enter here, Link." The figure drifted through the door and Link chased her again, and what he found was a little surprising.

A little, more like, a lot.

Dark figures swarmed the master sword, the figure appearing distressed and Link ran forward, swinging the shield out to attempt to smack them away, until he heard the distinct sound of the weapon being drawn and a cloth covered his mouth and nose.

On instinct, he wanted to breathe, but common sense told him to keep his mouth clamped shut and to not breathe in from his nose. He struggled, trying to get free, but hands pinned him down, and he swung his arms wildly, attempting to hit his attackers, but something made him gasp, inhaling something, something like spores, and his vision wavered before he blacked out, falling slack into the arms of the demons.

Link awoke slowly, his nose becoming aware of his situation first. He could smell incense and oil, and when he tried to move his limbs, they were pinned to the ground. The next thing he felt was that his body had been stripped of the clothing.

Voices reached his ears, frantic but soothing all at the same time, and he felt hands trace over his body.

"A fine thing. Fine to change."

"But how?"

"Taint the blade."

The voices spoke, and Link was unsure of what they meant, and as he tried to open his eyes, the hero discovered that he had been blindfolded to keep him from seeing what the hell he had been thrown into.

"What blade?" Another voice asked, closer to Link, and the stroking on his skin ceased.

"The one the scouting party took when they brought the boy, and the one that had burned the palms of a few of the men." A voice answered, the speaker sounding aged. "A weapon for the king."

"Oh, yes. Go taint the sword, I'll prepare the boy." The speaker that had inquired about the blade laughed before the hands left his body and returned, spreading some oil or something on his skin, rubbing it along his body.

"I'm sure you're awake now, boy. Relax, enjoy the last few hours of your time as a mortal."

Link's breath hitched in his throat in surprise, and the demon laughed, the hands drifting lower, touching parts that Link only touched to clean and to pleasure himself once or twice before.

To have someone else touch him there, even though it was unwanted, the touch felt amazing and he bit his lip.

No, don't touch me there, I beg you… leave me alone. He thought, whimpering before sighing in relief as the hands left that area and rubbed elsewhere.

Time passed, and Link had been abandoned. He never became cold, even though he was bare and visible to anyone. The air was warm and he became woozy, his eyes drifting closed and the last thing he heard was his name whispered to him, the tone as soft as a lover's.

"Link… I'll help you." And after that, his eyes drifting shut under the blindfold.

Feet raced through the area, and he entered a chamber, the ceiling high and arched.

Candles burned in the room, and an inky circle was the only thing that was spread across the floor, runes dictating spells that were old and ancient. In the middle, spread eagled and naked was a young man.

A pulse thudded hard in the runner's neck, and the intruder approached the circle, stepping through the circle as to not disturb it. One single step could set everything off and drop it off to shit. They didn't want that.

So, the figure crouched, gently moving hair from the face of the young man. Four words whispered before they could no longer sense a conscious waking from the man.

Time was running out for them all.