::
:: ::
The wind seemed much more volatile than usual; it whipped and whistled violently around the young girl, reminding her of the storm that day, the day she was torn from her home above the clouds and sucked down into the Hell that waited below.
She could recall, with ease, the desperate but somehow courageous look of her dear friend, resolute through his panic, as he dove after her, reaching for her as she fell. But he was helpless to break her fall that day and he'd been just as helpless to break his own.
Worst of all, she had been too blind to see his fall coming. She was as blind now as she had been then. Perhaps, despite everything, neither of them had learned a thing. Instead, they had merely both been broken somewhere along the way.
Zelda inched herself ever nearer to the edge of the dock, the dock her fallen Hero had been pushed over when he was cast out for his crime. The toes of her boots were over the edge, her weight rested on her heels, and her eyes stared out, as though to absorb their color from the sky that stretched out endlessly before her.
"I'm sorry," she spoke, her voice a secretive and somber whisper, "but you broke your promise to me."
A sigh of regret was exhaled from her, her eyes shifting to look downward, toward the blanket of clouds that protected Skyloft from the world below, the world she would be facing now, without her knight, her hero.. her friend.
"Goodbye, Link," she breathed aloud, though she remained poised at the edge of the dock, not truly ready to turn her back forever.
"Zelda?" came a gentle, questioning voice. Her frame unmoving, she slowly turned her head and looked over her shoulder to see Groose a few paces away. He warily approached, cautious, as though Zelda were some wounded creature, bound to flee at any moment.
A silence hung between the two, one that was both careful and uncertain, the red-haired young man not wanting to cause his friend distress, yet he was unsure he had such a capability. It was a long while before he decided to speak up, and when he did, his words were delicate ones. "Do you regret letting it happen? Letting him be banished?"
"..no," Zelda stated, her voice plain and distant, her tattered emotions buried somewhere beyond her reach.
Groose had only returned from the surface the day before, having not been present when horror struck the floating isle that was his home. To him this news was.. like some horrible lie, refusing to properly sink in. His friends, and fellow people of Skyloft- many of them had died. And Link, their Hero, his friend, had been cast beneath the clouds, never to return. Perhaps Groose was lucky to have been absent; certainly, he could have been among the fallen, were he present.
Worse yet, he could be among the survivors who actually witnessed the brutal slaughter of their friends, family, and neighbors. If Groose had an opinion, the dead were better off; the rest had to live with that horrid sight, the deep, vast emptiness of so many lost, and the fear, always haunting their mind- what if that thing ever came back, what if it ever found them again?
Most residents seemed to be teetering between various states of distress, each trying to cope and failing to cope in their own respect. Some residents were filled with rage that nothing could quell, and maybe Gaepora had made the quick decision to banish Link for his own protection. Others seemed unable to stop weeping and nothing could drag them from their homes; it was as though their own lives were the ones that had come to a halt. Some were sickeningly chipper- the ones who could do nothing but simply pretend nothing had happened at all, if only because reality had become too difficult to handle.
Then there were those who had lost all ability to allow themselves to feel, the pain so immense, it was better to be numb to everything- Zelda was one of those. The only thing that Groose had seen break through her wall was fear and it was not fear that was normal or rational. It was fear that sprung up for no reason at all. It was fear that had her looking over her shoulder randomly, or staring into people's faces, as though she had mistaken them for somebody else, or else had forgotten them altogether. It was fear that stole the young woman's rest; Groose had witnessed the first night after what happened to her- she did not sleep. She had sat upright atop her bed, her doors locked, and a weapon just within her reach. The darkness suffocated her and violated her attempts to stay strong, not allowing her a moment of rest, though Groose had been right there the entire time.
Lastly, there was Groose, who'd likely been swinging his hammer by the lantern light as the hands of others were thrown up in attempts at defense that was hopeless. To him, people had simply disappeared, and those who were left.. They weren't the same.
"It doesn't..," he began, unsure if he should finish his words, shaking his head, "..well, what happened is sickening, I understand... but we both know he didn't mean for it to happen." And Groose had felt the effects of that wicked blade as it invaded his mind and soul. It wasn't something somebody could will themselves to resist. This was too complicated a matter for placement of blame on anybody.. Save for the sword, itself.
"That doesn't matter," Zelda replied, her voice quiet but even, "he allowed it to happen. He, alone, was responsible... I just can't grasp why he would allow it. How could he be so foolish?"
Groose quietly debated the words of his reply, not because he did not know what he was bound to say in response, but because he did not know if he wished to say it aloud. He couldn't even look in his friend's direction, when at last he did speak up. "We allowed him, alone, to take responsibility for that sword, knowing what it was capable of. Perhaps.. We placed too heavy a burden on him? Perhaps we, also, are to blame, and deserve the same fate?"
Zelda was silent- Groose had expected that much, but was uncertain whether she was contemplating this suggestion, or simply ignoring it. The latter seemed more likely when at last she spoke again.
"The triforce has broken. One piece remains with him, but another piece fell to the surface..somewhere."
Groose could sense the worry growing inside his friend, though at last he closed the gap between them, reaching out to grasp Zelda's hand, despite how she stiffened at the sudden contact. "I'm sure it means that the Goddess has plans even you don't know about yet. For now, try not to worry."
"The service will be starting soon..," he quietly reminded, "we should head over to the cemetery.. Unless you had rather not go."
Zelda silently turned away from the dock, nodding her head softly to Groose, and she began in the direction of the cemetery, holding tightly to Groose's hand for strength.
:: ::
This feeling of falling had become so familiar, yet today it was ever more so; it was the very feeling Link had experienced upon awakening this fateful morning, it was the truth of his very being, fallen from grace. It defined him, he did not fight that.
His eyes were shut tightly, unable to keep his tears from being set free against the wind ripping at him as he toppled from above. He did not wish to see the ground approaching, hoping it was to be his death, no matter where he landed. He just didn't care. It surely could not hurt the same as his battered heart and soul, it could not hurt like all the pain and loss back home. It would be quick and it would free him, not that he deserved such a thing.
But the thought of death only served to remind Link of the servitude that would follow him into his next life, and it was at the last moment that he opened his eyes to see the surface just one final heartbeat away and he tore out the sailcloth as rapidly as his fighter's instincts could manage.
The sailcloth captured the air, yanking Link's arms violently upward, though it did not slow his pace near quickly enough, and the boy still struck the ground with force, the earth colliding with him as sharply as stone, though it had been grass.
Coughing, Link's body fought to regain his breath, and he lay aching all over, wondering if he was even in one piece, not that it even mattered. There was the bitter tang of blood on his lip, at the tip of his tongue, but he didn't even bother to wipe it away, his eyes focused instead on the sailcloth as it rested innocently in his palms.
The boy lay, staring at the precious cloth, at the mark that was emblazoned upon it in blue. His mind ventured back to the day he'd received it, to Zelda's carefree smile, to everything that was long gone and lost to him now and he grasped the object and clung to it as his sorrow overtook him. His gasping for breath subsided as his chest tightly clutched in a sob, and while his fingers bundled the sailcloth in one hand, they viciously tore at the grass with the other.
There was nothing left for him to lose now, but his life. And should he lose that, he would be bound to the same torment in his next, bound to fight and suffer, bound to fail everyone he'd ever loved, and cause them unrivaled sorrow, eternally. He could not escape it. His punishment now was to be his last reprieve, and even that had come at a cost, a cost he was not willing to pay, yet it had been torn from him, nonetheless.
The fallen Hero could not see it, but a soft light slowly awakened from within the blade at his back, and from inside the obsidian steel, its malevolent spirit materialized. His feet delicately tapped the ground as he appeared, but he paid no immediate heed to the broken bundle that was Link. Instead, his dark eyes flickered over his surroundings in observation.
It was obviously some clearing beyond Faron woods, though there was still forest in the distance that did not feel the same as the forest protected by Faron. It was something a little wilder, that much was certain. There was a silence that hung in the air so heavily, it was suffocating, haunting. As he peered this way and that, the sword spirit muttered something about being lost in the middle of nowhere in a tone most grave.
Raising his head, his burning eyes setting upon Ghirahim in bitter hatred, Link managed to quietly utter words in confusion, in question. "...why?," he whispered, almost as though he expected a logical, realistic answer, as though he did not know the damnable spirit acted for the sheer purpose of evil. "..why would you do this?" Perhaps the boy meant to pose these questions more so to himself, than the spirit.
Softly, Ghirahim chuckled as he turned on heel to eye the broken child, giving the boy a look of equal disdain. "I was far too tickled by the idea to resist, when it came to me," he confessed, "mostly because you simply didn't seem to expect it, even from me." Here, he outright laughed, though his laughter belied the annoyance growing inside, the insult that Link couldn't grasp or understand the utter perfection of this moment.
"I spared your life," Link hissed, still on his belly like some venomous serpent, "how did Zelda and all those people you butchered deserve what you've done?" His voice had dropped to a level of anger and hatred he had never known before, and all his previous pity melted away, lining the bottom of his mind like some kind of toxic sludge he couldn't clear away.
The spirit's silence, the way any form of expression vanished from his features, foretold the rage burning, burning, coming to a boil inside, building, building, with pressure ready to explode- Link welcomed it, challenged it with the blue fire burning in his own eyes.
Little did Link know, the sword spirit was putting quite an immense effort into restraining himself. He wanted to revel in this, his greatest victory, no, this was artistry on his part, and he'd melded this world with his hands so perfectly, he might as well have been a God in his own right. What right did this foolish Sky brat have to steal this?
But honestly, this boy was Hylia's chosen one, the Hero, THE Hero- yet here he laid on the ground like a sniveling baby! Ghirahim's fingers slowly curled against his palms, tightly bundling until his fists shook, and he tried to restrict the rage as it threatened to spill over, but he just couldn't let those sorts of feelings fester inside him. No, this would not be the day he restrained himself. It was not to be.
He marched over to the fallen hero, his speed and stride foretelling his violent intent, and he yanked the rope that had bound his heavy sword to the boy's back. Ghirahim heedlessly knocked over his own blade to get at the boy, then sharply kicked Link in the side so the boy sputtered and rolled onto his back. The spirit's foot next came down upon Link's chest and he looked down at the broken Hero with a hardened glare.
"Somebody is a bit forgetful, I see- If you'll think back properly, you'll recall that you did not actually spare my life. You merely promised me enough time to regain my strength, after which you mentioned that we would fight again. And we both know, in control as you were, you would never allow me any fair chance to best you, because if I lived and you died, I could have done so much worse to your pretty little island in the sky. Nevermind that I wasn't even able to properly regain strength in that stifling little thing you reduced me to! No, you intended to win, as you always do, and kill me anyway. That is -not- sparing my life, you misguided human, -that- is simply placing me as your prisoner on death row, and promising me perhaps a few more miserable days before my end. Surely you understand where I'm coming from, yes? I was threatened. My own life was at stake. It was me or whoever could spare enough blood to restore my strength, and if I wanted to promise my own escape, I had to beat you down in a way I knew would succeed."
Here, Ghirahim broke out into maniacal laughter, his emotions snapping to and fro uncontrollably, his head falling back in amusement. "I'm fairly certain, at this point," he muttered between his giggles, "..that you're pretty well beaten!"
Cold, dark eyes like the void of space came to peer down at the fallen Hero as the spirit stilled his own laughter; the light of Ghirahim's twisted delight still twinkled like distant stars. "You look utterly defeated laying there, beneath my foot," he purred. "To think...for all those times you bested me in battle, I finally found a strategy to completely destroy you! Ah, what sweet, sweet vengeance!"
The young Hero squirmed in the hopes that some minor resistance could shove the spirit away, or at least dissuade him from staring as he was. Those black eyes infected the boy, invaded him, absorbed him, erupting inside him like a tear in the fabric of his universe, like all of his nightmares, but worse, because instead of waking up, Link only slipped deeper and deeper into the abyss.
This was some sort of lethal sickness that Link was sure couldn't be cured- he felt too many things, too few things. The rage within him was more than he felt his sanity could contain, yet his sorrows were so equally vast, he couldn't will himself to fight back yet, and so the anger turned inward. He force-fed himself the poison and felt it slowly move through him, liquefying his insides as he waited in agony to drown in his own putrid filth.
"Get away from me..," the boy growled through his teeth like a rabid animal. He wished he were, at least then he could lose his mind and suddenly.. Nothing would matter anymore. It could take the weight of the world off of his shoulders, the weight of his failure off his chest.
"No," Ghirahim hissed with insistence, "You asked the question, and you'll hear the real answer!" The spirit stooped down, hovering near the boy and Link fell deathly still at the hardened seriousness in Ghirahim's face.
"Vengence against you wasn't my intention," he breathed, his pale lips faintly curled, his smoldering eyes still boring into the fallen Hero with such fondness, it mocked him, "..but now you understand how it really feels to be thrown away. What a beautiful depiction you are, as you are right now, of myself, when I was created. Now you know, truly, how it feels to be cast from above, to be fallen, to lay there with the realization that you're worthless, unneeded, unwanted, unnecessary."
A gloved hand moved from its resting position on the spirit's knee, to the Skyloftian boy's chest, where the fabric of his shirt was tightly bundled between the spirit's fingers. In a fluid, graceful movement, Ghirahim came back to a stand, dragging the fallen Hero's boneless frame with him, and he held Link above the ground so the two were face to face. The spirit continued to smile almost warmly despite his viciousness, his voice a dangerous purr as he spoke, though he moved his other hand to caress Link's face with false tenderness.
"At last, my artful sculpting of your pitiful fate reaches meaningful completion. You, like myself, can feel what it is like to be discarded from the place of your birth, like trash. Now, I can ask of you what you've so ignorantly been asking of me. Though your present situation is a result of my actions, no fault of your own, they placed the blame on you anyway, and they threw you out. The Goddess created me and wove this cruelly into your fate, and her incarnation certainly spared no sympathy for you. But, despite all that, dearest Link, forgive them for placing the blame on you, forgive them for turning their backs on you, and forgive me for causing all of this, why don't you? Can -you- do that? Is there room in -your- broken heart for forgiveness?"
Ghirahim's tirade seemed to come to a close as he fell silent, awaiting any response that may come from his adored enemy, his broken toy, and he tried to be patient with the boy, knowing this moment of significance would be one that both shattered the child and defined him henceforth. He wanted to watch the Goddess's little Hero as he tried and failed to piece himself back together mentally- all the beautiful futility of it all. He wanted to be the first to run his fingers along the cracks and furrows of the mortal boy's psyche as it set into something disfigured, but so much better than the righteous, naive nonsense it once was.
Then, without any further warning, Ghirahim's hold on the boy's shirt was released and Link toppled to the ground, barely even making any attempt to stop his descent and he let out a grunt as he was plopped down, landing on his knees. This time, though Ghirahim began to speak again, the boy did not raise his eyes to meet the spirit's, instead staring down at his own fingers as they splayed in the grass before him.
The malevolent being spun on heel, pacing a few steps away from the little Hero, then back, as though he were impatiently trying to gather himself, and likely not succeeding. "I hope this simulates even a fraction of my own pain for you," he hissed as he paced about and flicked his white hair away from his face in frustration, his fingers holding it back so he could stare upon Link with both of his cold, dark eyes, as though this heightened his intensity somehow, "..I hope you can understand, now, how I've felt for such a very, very, intolerably long amount of time."
A soft hiss of noise slowly came from the young Hero, the sound of him taking a deep breath into himself and letting it go, before he finally raised his eyes to glare at Ghirahim, the life drained fully from the cold, blue depths, the fire of hatred consuming the boy and feeding on whatever was left of his will as it slipped through the cracks of his mind, and spirit.
"I..," the Hero began, pausing as though the sound of rage in his voice had momentarily shaken him, "I hate you," he growled in such a way, it was the absolute, unquestionable truth.
A smile that was warm with pride spread across the spirit's pale lips, and his beckoning gaze twinkled as he watched the Hero slowly drag himself from his knees, up to his feet. He knew now, he had done it- he had unlocked the secret of destroying the Goddess's Hero...and dragging him into the darkness.
"That's too bad," he cooed sweetly to the fallen Hero, confidently stalking toward the boy and reaching a cautious hand out to stroke Link's dirty-blonde bangs, savoring that look of venom in his icy gaze, "..because now I'm all you have left.. Master."
With a giggle of giddy delight, Ghirahim placed delicate fingertips over his own grinning lips, his frame fragmenting into diamond-shaped flickers of light that burned out in seconds before he reappeared a few paces away, still cooly watching the enraged Hero. Now, however, a familiar, obsidian sabre had appeared in his hand, his fingers loose as he casually flicked the weapon before himself then twirled it at his side.
"Shall we, then?," he beckoned the boy, his feet sliding apart and easily into a comfortable fighting stance; it really had been much too long since he and his favorite enemy had engaged, and he was hungry for it. After so much provocation, surely the Sky Child could benefit from a little combat, as well.
Link didn't even think; the only sword available to him was a practice blade but he drew it forth and charged the sword spirit with all of his fury, all of his woe, all of his hatred.
And perhaps the two weren't as intimately connected as they could be with Link's hand on Ghirahim's blade, but the spirit could still vaguely feel the surge of emotion in his new master, the lovely, chaotic arrangement of it, like stained glass vibrantly illuminated, the color of light ever-changing. So much darkness bubbled up from the depths of the boy, and yet the dull pulse of the holy Triforce of Courage remained, golden and glorious, but thrumming even more violently, even more aggressively through Link in the absence of the other pieces, unstable, unflinching.. It was a truly rich concoction, and Ghirahim was awash with tremors of pleasure at such a torturous overstimulation.
The banished Hero's blade flashed in the light with the rapid pace of his strikes, as though the light was the only thing there was and the steel itself had never been. His movements were so quick and aggressive, so passionate yet so concentrated, and Ghirahim glided smoothly back with cat-like steps, matching Link's blows with fluid ease, as if the speed had soothed him, relaxed him.
For such a small boy, Link had so much power behind him, but the sword spirit melded to it as Link came in close to fight, unhinged and yet so capable, as though he were grateful for his pathetic practice blade's short reach, because he wanted to be close enough to see even the slightest details of Ghirahim's face, when he finally plunged the sword into his chest and gave it a sharp twist.
That moment came so close, again and again, as though Ghirahim were allowing himself to be enticed and excited by the danger of it, but every time he narrowly avoided Link's strikes, moving with such grace, it truly was like they were bound as one, mentally, physically, spiritually, and he simply knew, felt, what the boy was about to do, choosing but to move in rhythm with Link.
However, though steel clanked and tinged together in a rapid, musical heartbeat that sang off the trees that surrounded the combative partners, the rage burning inside the Skyloftian boy hastily burned away his energy and left him in fighting desperation, in doubt.
Why couldn't he hit the vile spirit? Hadn't he bested him time and time again? Had his strength come solely from the Master Sword? Had it guided him with the Goddess's light, but now he was but a tarnished, hollow tool whose usefulness had expired?
Or was it because he wasn't fighting to save the ones he loved anymore... but rather for a justice he knew still wouldn't bring them back and wouldn't change anything?
Link's attention was caught when Ghirahim parried, giving the smaller male a hard backward shove, before sidestepping and teleporting out of his reach. Link's eyes no longer searched for the spirit as they once did, his gaze instead pointing right to where he felt Ghirahim would solidify. The spirit's face was snide and he gave a quick gesture to indicate something behind the boy. Link could hear it- the sharp whistle of a sharpened blade as it sliced the empty air. Ghirahim's own blade had sprung to life from where it lay seemingly forgotten, and now it drew back to strike the fallen Hero, swinging toward the banished boy.
Link didn't even have time to catch a glance at the monstrous demon blade as it flew toward him with a sharp hiss, but.. he thought momentarily, he could feel it? He could see it coming, as though the blade itself had eyes and they processed sights into Link's own mind, and he caught a minute flash of it. He bent his knees to jump and avoid the strike, his back arching in the air, his feet flying over his head as he flipped backward and landed to perch atop the demon blade itself where it hovered.
"Oh..," Ghirahim made a sound of surprise and amusement, the ridge of his brow raising in intrigue, his dark eyes flashing with stoked interest. "So you feel it, too? It didn't take you long to adjust to our partnership at all.."
The spirit's voice was likened to that of a teacher, guiding a gifted pupil. Link narrowed his own eyes, catching his breath as he crouched upon the floating sword, his fingers finding a hold upon the handle and the blade held still beneath him. "What are you talking about?"
"We're connected," the spirit spoke simply, giving a shrug, "we have been since you drew my sword in the volcanic region- you know that. As such, I've been intimately aware of your thoughts and feelings since then, as it is my duty as a servant to understand the desires of my Master. That's also why I can feel and predict your movements in battle, why I can move with you perfectly- because I am yours, a part of you. But, it takes a rather talented and deeply perceptive person to feel me in the same way, to use my own senses, thoughts and feelings to their own advantage."
"That isn't what I've done. I know what you're trying to do and I'm nothing like you!" Link leapt from the demonic blade, lunging toward the sword spirit where he stood, though the demon used his magic to teleport away before Link could strike him. There was not even a spare moment after Link struck, before the hovering blade continued to attack him, swinging toward his back again, which Link jumped to avoid again.
But wait, no.. something was going to happen.. Ghirahim was going to...
The foul spirit reappeared as Link spun in the air; the young Hero's blue eyes caught sight of the arrogant creature as he appeared directly in his path, his sabre raised to deliver a blow that would finish the boy while he was defenseless in the air.
Link moved his sword to block the strike, pushing back against Ghirahim as their swords met, and though Link remained unharmed, his trajectory was skewed and he rolled to the ground, only to clamber hurriedly to his feet. He had no other option, because Ghirahim had shifted to the offensive, teleporting to stand before the boy and he thrust his obsidian weapon toward Link where he had landed, so the young Skyloftian could only dodge back to avoid the strike.
Again, the Demonic Blade continued to attack of its own accord, flying down suddenly from above, and burying partially into the ground when Link jumped back again. Once more Ghirahim solidified near the fallen Hero, but he..
He felt Ghirahim's presence before the malevolent entity even appeared there, and so he drew back to strike, his small practice blade slicing through the air a minor fraction of a second prior to Ghirahim's appearance, so when the dark being did materialize, Link landed a clear slash across his chest, though it was not enough to damage the spirit's vital area.
Nevertheless, Ghirahim teleported himself away by a few paces, his eyes seeming to flash with indignance for a few fleeting seconds before the tip of his tongue slithered over his pale lips in hunger, enticed by the skill and raw talent of his new master.
The sword spirit felt he finally understood, fully, why Hylia chose this delightful boy. Ghirahim had assumed, upon his first meeting with the Sky brat, that Link was much too soft to pose a real threat. And even though the boy developed and hardened over time, never letting his determination slip away, he was still so naive, so innocent, so willing to blindly serve, blindly chase.
The Skyloftian was a weapon in his own right, too ignorant to question the meaning behind his own situation. The spirit assumed..that's what made the boy so perfect for the Goddess's ends, at first.
But no... Hylia, you wonderfully brilliant devil... This boy's flexibility was what really made him such a lush little vessel. He couldn't break, could he? No, he merely bent and adapted to everything presented to him. He absorbed everything around him, and was he ever perceptive..
Ghirahim didn't know if he dared admit it.. The boy was a much better match for him than Demise could have ever hoped to be. The boy had the ability to make use of Ghirahim's individual talents, as a sword, as a partner.. All Demise ever did was harden himself to opposition more and more, until he shattered like glass. He never melded himself with the sword, too proud to let himself feel or even acknowledge that he needed Ghirahim to be anything but a sharp edge.
He understood now... why he'd wanted this boy so badly.. Why he'd always been so apprehensive when the reality that he'd have to dispose of the Hero eventually came to mind..
He had to have this, he had to. There was no other way. In that boy's hands is where he belonged, it was where he had to be.
"You can't hope to deny it, Sky child," Ghirahim chuckled, a little flustered at his own thought process, "it doesn't matter whether or not you're 'like me', don't you see? I was meant for you. Perhaps.. Even Hylia herself intended for it to be so. My counterpart became her enemy's prison, and now you lack a sword to match your skill, while I am without hands to wield my blade. You need me, too."
Link watched the spirit as he spoke, his calm, somber expression a subtle indication of realization and he lowered his practice blade, then finally moved to sheath it. "No," he said plainly, no hesitation within him, and he shook his head. He did not dare look away from Ghirahim, observing the slightest wrinkle of confused annoyance furrowing the spirit's silvery complexion as he tried to bridle his insult at that one simple, heedless denial.
Perhaps the fallen Hero could not deny what Ghirahim had explained about their connection, even less as he thought...he could feel the frustration suddenly bubbling up inside the spirit. Link almost hoped it was Ghirahim's emotions he was sensing, because.. Even if he had to suffer the spirit's hurt and anger and frustration.. It was fine, and he was content to know how deeply the sword suffered, too. He was content to watch the spirit unravel.
"You shouldn't sheath your blade Sky Brat," the spirit hissed, his black eyes narrow slits as he watched the Skyloftian boy's will to fight vanish, and he felt it dull into nothing, as though everything were meaningless.
"I have no further need for a sword," Link spoke, his tone as apathetic as it was full of challenge, and he stood there unarmed, reveling in Ghirahim's displeasure. "This one, or you. I have no more reason to fight.. You can thank yourself for that."
"You're forgetting one thing, however," the sword spirit emitted a dangerous kind of laugh as he raised his black sabre to his line of sight, and stroked his fingertips carefully along the blade. As it fell back to his side, his smoldering, black eyes refocused on the fallen Hero that stood defenseless before him, and he glared with deadly intensity, "I can still kill you, myself, if you don't fight back."
The spirit rushed at the younger male, his blade held at the ready to strike; Link could see the intent plain on the spirit's face, he could feel the insult burning deep inside the heart of the deranged weapon, and yet.. There was something hidden, something unseen and difficult to tap into, but it was there..
Link refused to move. He refused to defend himself, and as Ghirahim's blade moved to slash, to cut the boy down, he found instead it was Ghirahim's hand that struck him instead, the spirit's knuckles glancing against Link's cheek, and the Hero toppled back, down to the ground.
Unrelenting, the spirit was upon him, standing over him with the tip of his sword pressed into the tender skin of the Skyloftian boy's neck. But the fire inside the Hero had burned out, though his rosy cheeks stung with the blow and with the tears that escaped as he fought. Now, he was as still as lifeless waters, and just as empty.
He didn't care. He had nothing left to give.
"Kill me then," he beckoned, no fear apparent in him. His starless eyes gazed up into the spirit's own, daring him yet managing to find the endless hesitation beneath his rage. He knew Ghirahim wouldn't do it. He prayed that he did.
"If we have anything in common now," Link began, his voice dull and distant, "it's that neither of us has a purpose anymore, neither of us has a reason to exist any longer.."
"You took away the world I fought for," Ghirahim spoke, his anger fading away, leaving only the sound of regret, and the fondness that had kindled for the boy who had become his consort in conflict, in servitude to their respective covenant, "..and I took away the world you fought for. That makes us even.. Link."
"I won't wield your blade," the boy stubbornly denied, "..so either kill me now.. or don't... either way, you've no Master and no purpose... I may be the one who was banished, but.. You will serve the punishment for your actions. I will see to that much."
Ghirahim, unable to quell his own emotional instability, his behavior ever irrational and unbridled, flung himself from standing to straddling the resistant boy, his lip curling in the rage that erupted within him so the sharp edges of his canines were visible, and his voice darkened to a threatening growl. His hand grappled the Skyloftian by the front of his shirt, and he pulled him up so they were face to face, hardly any space between them, yet Link didn't even flinch.
"Don't think you can do anything to punish me any further!" the sword spirit hissed, "You're nothing but Hylia's mortal filth! I am ageless, and I swear to you, if I have to find you in your next life, that's what I'll do! Do not doubt that, you obstinate brat!"
There was not even a flicker of fear to be found in the broken Hero's countenance and though his tattered emotions refused him any immediate proper response to the spirit's threats, a trickle of something beyond his control slowly took hold, and a quiet titter was emitted from him, which grew into an outright laugh.
At last, it was Ghirahim that found himself confused at the other's shift in emotional state, but he gave the breaking Hero a violent shake as though that would bring him back to his right mind. Or perhaps it was merely an expression of the spirit's frustration; after everything, how could this troublesome brat dare laugh at his threats?
When he was allowed to lay still once more, Link's laughter had vanished and all that remained was the sharp, stubborn stare of his cold, dismal eyes and the faintest upturn at the corner of the boy's cracked, blood-stained lips. "..we both know how you loath to wait, for anything," he growled, in vehement doubt at the solidity of Ghirahim's ridiculous threats, not that it even made any difference any longer.
Another quiet laugh of spite and ridicule softly came from the fallen Hero before he struck like a venomous snake, his arms harshly shoving the sword spirit away from him, his legs kicking violently until the spirit hastily backed away, then both of them climbed hurriedly back to their feet, as though to square off once more, however neither made the move to attack.
"Go ahead and wait for my next life, and come find me then," Link hissed, his eyes narrowed as they flashed with hatred that was razor sharp, "I'm already bound to this fate, to servitude as Hylia's weapon again and again. How could you make that any worse? Go ahead! Find me again and ruin my life again! It's already written, so who am I to try to avoid it? At least by then, you'll be just another terrible thing, but a familiar one, won't you?"
"You've nothing left to threaten me with!" The boy's voice came to a volume it never had before with spoken word. He could never recall, in his life, ever being angry enough to outright yell at any one person, but Ghirahim... he had nothing but anger for him. "There's nothing left that you can take from me! There's nothing more you can do or say to manipulate me! This is where it ends, do you understand that? And any pity I had for you is gone! I thought.. I thought I had begun to understand how you felt, I thought.. Perhaps.. We weren't unlike each other, in some ways. But obviously I was wrong, so completely wrong.. You're nothing but a wretched, self-loathing mistake, and try as you may to disguise how truly pathetic you are with your outward egotism, and your need to make the whole world suffer, I understand now what you really are, and I'm done caring or thinking you can be redeemed!"
As Link finished, he stood panting for breath, his glare still set upon the wretched spirit, who for once, seemed utterly still and silent, the harsh truth of the broken Hero's berating words draining him of his dramatic bravado, and any ability he had to fill the void with decorated verbiage.
"You're right, Sky Child...," he breathed, his voice a suddenly dull, broken sound, "You're right... but you fail to give the proper credit to Her Grace, Hylia," he uttered the name of the Goddess with the kind of cynicism that could only come with complete and total abhorrence, "..for her wonderful work, in intentionally making me like this, and unleashing me upon this world. She did this to you, me, and to all the people I've killed, over a long, long period of time. Her hands are covered in the blood of a people she supposedly loves. If you could only accept that, then perhaps.. In hatred, we could join hands."
"No," came the boy's immediate, vehement refusal. He was bitterly tired of Ghirahim's bullshit. Cutting the spirit off from any further ramblings or redirections of blame, Link spoke up, his voice cold, his words absolute, "Hylia isn't here and she hasn't forced your hand. Your excuses are weak and empty."
Boldly, the shorter male began forward, striding directly toward the sword spirit, unafraid or else simply not caring what became of him. It didn't matter. Ghirahim had no more power. Link had no more fear. He stood as tall as he could, directly in front of the horrid entity, chin raised so he looked the other male in the face, wanting to let Ghirahim see the depth of his seriousness.
"..if you so hate how she made you, you would defy her by changing yourself," the young male spoke, bitterly shaking his head, "..Instead, you turned your hatred on everything else around you."
For a moment, Link peered into the spirit's bleak, fathomless gaze, wondering if there was anything in that unfeeling abyss to see, any reaction at all. He hoped he would see pain. He knew better than to think he would feel any difference; assuming the sword had a heart that could feel or break, Link didn't have the capacity to be hurt any more deeply than he had already.
"But here it is, Ghirahim," Link spoke, placing all the bitterness he could spit up into the sound of the horrid demon's damnable name, "regardless of whether Hylia intended this, I made the choice to save you, and I am responsible for what happened. For that, I will hate myself, not her. It's time for you to start taking responsibility for yourself as well, instead of blaming somebody else, instead of making others suffer for it. It's time for you to hate yourself, for everything you are. Let yourself feel that.."
One bold hand reached up, fingers harsh and without care as Link touched the spirit's cheek, pushing back the hair that fell into his face; the boy wanted to see both of Ghirahim's eyes as he spoke. He didn't care to miss anything, if there was anything there that could be missed. Ghirahim did nothing to move away, or resist.. He didn't even utter a word of complaint.
"That's all you have now," Link bleakly uttered, "That's all you'll ever have."
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TBC
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