A/N: Here's chapter two! Or really chapter one, but whatever. Random question. Right now, I'm using chapters to cut up ideas, rather than stick to predetermined lengths, but due to the nature of it at the moment, these are all very short. Would you guys prefer if I kept making short, frequently-updated ones that involve a lot of clicking, or would you rather I put these out like chapters in a book, more size than ideas? But I won't be able to update as much with those. Well, drop that in a review or message to me. Also, don't forget to ask if you have questions or comments, I'd love to hear!

Warnings: Violence and some blood

His heart was pounding, his lips parted as he rasped in a gasp of air. The room shook slightly, dust falling from the ceiling as the traps in the room above ground apart, forced into motion after so many years of cold, frozen apathy. The place was coming alive in a horrible way, a sluggish beast roused from its sleep, and the one who woke it was coming closer by the second. No trap could stop him, all great beasts fell before his blade.

And he was the next trap. The next beast. The next one to -

He cringed at the dying shriek of a creature far too close for his liking, shattering the silence for a moment before the mist swallowed even that sound. His fingers gripped the bark of the tree husk, his back pressed against it.

The door clicked, raised.

He couldn't move. A shiver ran through him, boiling adrenaline into his veins, sweat beading over his body, his newly-Hylian ears catching and thowing back every clatter of the awakened temple back to him in terrible caphony. His mind screamed at him to run, to bolt, escape and survive as this hero, this golden executioner, examined the other door, his heart pounding out of his chest.

His grip crumbled the bark under his fingers, and a chunk fell to the still pool.

The hero turned as the ripple lapped at his boots.

"There."

Blue eyes locked on his own, and there was a metallic rasp as the blade slithered from its sheath, the Hero's hand locked firmly around the handle.

I can't die yet.

A ragged warcry tore from his lips, and the clash of blades jarred his arms as his deathblow was blocked, a feral grin on his lips as they faced each other. The glow of a fairy bathed him in light, his body becoming sharper, more defined, giving him the strength he had so desperately needed. Desperate, that was exactly the word, the hopeless ferocity that made every man into a monster.

He was no exception, and neither was the Hero.

His blade made contact, the dark sword's twin clattering to the ground as his own sank into yielding flesh, the sharp tang of blood filling the air.

"First blood is mine," he hissed, feeling his own pounding through his veins, taking pleasure in the shock that ran across the Hero's face at his voice, raspy from disuse, stolen and warped. The shock didn't last long, and the Hero was up again, a hand clasping at the wound, a snarl on his lips as his lifeblood spilled into the water below. He was at the shadow's level now, a beast fighting for his survival, no longer the untouchable saint.

Now it was a battle of wolves, and that was just how he liked it.

Unfamiliar words filled the room, and an unholy fire billowed from the Hero, knocking the shadow back against the wall with a thud. He was only down a moment before their swords clashed again, over and over again in an endless beat until his arms began to tremble with fatigue.

They broke apart for a moment, and the shadow pressed himself against the dead tree again, both panting, sweat dripping in rivers from their brows, obsidian and ruby stains tainting the water and sand. The tip of the Hero's sword dragged the ground, but his eyes were still bright, unwavering will enduring even as his body threatened to fail

The shadow was fading as well, and both knew it. He raised his sword again, but had barely gotten it up before a heavy blow knocked the wind from him, throwing his body like a doll.

This time, he didn't get up

He knew nothing but the throbbing agony of his body, the burn of every deep cut the other's blade had carved into him. Footsteps approached, and he cringed, the sword somewhere too far away for him to defend himself.

I can't die I can't die I can't-

It suddenly occured to him that he had no choice.

A boot prodded his side, and he made a quiet sound of pain, a twinge of adrenaline as he felt cold meal press into his back. But it didn't push past the false tunic, or into his skin. Rather, it lifted away, and he heard a thump as a pack was dropped, the sharp scent of medicines burning his nose as the Hero began tending to his wounds.

"I've never met a monster that talks."

It took him a moment to realize that the Hero had spoken to him, and he laughed, a weak, breathy sound.

"...Of course you have."

"Fine, then I've never met a monster that looks like a man."

"...I think you'll find..." He coughed, wheezing for a moment. "..that there is no greater monster than a man..." He smiled at the irony of it, but jerked as the coughing grew worse, black blood spilling from his lips. Beasts hadn't put him up to this, the so-called King had. Beasts were not the reason that so many tribes of creatures had been slain.

"Alright. I've never met a monster like you."

Dark smiled. Now we see the root of the problem. He didn't answer. He didn't need to. And more than anything, he simply didn't have the strength.