Thirty-Six: Demon Blooded

In Which Ganondorf Struggles

They didn't linger at the lake. They restocked the wagon and left without looking back.

Since he was the only one with any experience Link – his right arm strapped to his chest in a rudimentary sling they deemed loose enough to not provoke the demon's ire – drove the wagon. As they trundled up the steep, winding path out of the valley, Ganondorf settled at his side, attention divided between watching his movements as he drove and enjoying the weather. Bright sun, a sweet breeze that smelled of flowers and hay, and the knowledge that soon their quest would reach its end. A near perfect afternoon.

With the map spread across his lap, Ganondorf studied the path they would be taking. A week's travel at most. Just seven days, less if they pushed the ponies. Seven days, and they would be free.

It was hard to believe. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, breathing deeply and swaying with the wagon's movements. The rattle of its wheels over stony earth and the rhythmic clatter of hooves had a surprisingly soporific effect, and it took an effort of will to refocus on the map. His eyes kept slipping closed as he peered at the smudged lines once more.

They trundled along in companionable silence, passing out of the valley's shadows into the vast, sunny fields that spread outwards from its walls in every direction. An hour or five passed smoothly enough, until Link's grip tightened convulsively on the reins and he curled in on himself with a soft noise of pain, the wagon lurching off course. The rattle of stone turned to the muted rumble of earth beneath wheels, and reaching out Ganondorf grabbed the reins and pulled them to a stop before peeling Link's fingers from the leather.

'What's wrong?' he asked, placing one hand lightly on his back.

Link let out a shaky breath. 'I don't know, it's just…' He trailed off with a wince, his voice taut and thin. 'It's my shoulder – something's wrong.'

Eyeing the limb in question, Ganondorf reached out before hesitating. 'May I?' he asked, and when Link nodded mutely, grasped the neck of his tunic and tugged lightly, peeling it back until the demon's rough stitches came into view.

Perhaps it was the light, but the grisly sight seemed somehow worse that day, the edges of the wound raw and ragged, the markings a bloodier red. They twitched and writhed with a fervour he hadn't seen before in the few glances he'd caught of them up close. As he watched it became clear the ones nearest the wound were moving the most, as if trying to burrow through Link's flesh to join the others beyond the stitches. He imagined that if they were to slice the arm away again, it would trail red tendrils like worms that squirmed and withered in the light.

Grimacing, he dropped the tunic and smoothed it down gently. There was no delicate way to put it. 'The marks…it's almost as if they are trying to…more securely anchor your arm in place.'

'Great,' Link muttered, squeezing his eyes shut and hunching further. 'I can't…I'm no good like this.' He was quiet for a moment before his voice rose fervently. 'I know you said you didn't want to but one of you's gotta cut it off, okay?'

Movement behind them caught Ganondorf's attention a moment before Zelda poked her head through the canvas. 'I really don't think that's—'

'Please!' The word burst from Link, a desperate sound that left a brief lull of silence in its wake.

Zelda chewed on her lower lip, and Ganondorf glanced between them as neither spoke. He considered his sword, sheathed and laid on the bench at his side, but a wild swing seemed unwise. The cut had already been made; it was the stitches that were the problem.

That said, cutting the arm off at all seemed unwise, given the demon's threats and the very real danger its anger posed to Link, more than anyone.

But what could it do without the one arm it had full control over?

With a soft gasp, Link hunched even further, nearly toppling from the wagon as he grabbed his shoulder, knuckles white as he squeezed. For a moment it seemed like he might simply try to pull his arm clean off, but as it was, he failed to swallow a sob and went still, a rigid statue of agony.

'Zelda,' Ganondorf said, and held out a hand, 'Link's dagger.'

'Are you sure?' she asked, but her taut expression said she had a much clearer understanding of Link's pain that he would ever wish for.

When he didn't reply, she nodded and ducked back into the wagon, re-emerging a moment later with the dagger in hand. The blade caught the late afternoon sun, and for a moment Ganondorf could still see Link's blood coating it, hear him weeping beneath the desert arch.

A week. Just one more week and they could free him of the foul being causing him so much strife.

'Can you sit up?' he asked, and in reply Link took a few slow, steadying breaths and did so.

Grimacing, he loosened his grip on his shoulder and hefted his tunic up past his shoulder, pinning it beneath his chin. They shared a glance and he nodded resolutely, so Ganondorf shifted closer and raised the dagger, touching his fingers to the stitches as lightly as he could. He tried to tell himself he was just imagining the way they made his skin prickle, though the shudder of disgust that ran through him was quite real.

Twisting the dagger back and forth, he tried to decide on the best way to approach the situation, how best to angle the blade so it wouldn't touch the still-healing flesh. Movement in the corner of his eye drew his gaze onto Link's right hand; the fingers twitched ever so slightly and he paused.

'Zelda, perhaps you should move out of reach,' he said, and once she had he glanced at Link. 'Should we continue?'

'Yeah.' His jaw was set, his gaze resolute. 'It's exhausted, it can't do shit. But…maybe be quick about it, anyway.'

Trying to find his own resolve, Ganondorf adjusted his grip on the dagger and placed a steadying hand on Link's shoulder. Slowly, despite the warning, he manoeuvred the blade under one of the stitches and in one quick, sharp motion, sliced up through the shadowy thread.

A moment's resistance, a flicker of cold through his fingertips, and the thread didn't shift. It didn't snap or tear, remaining whole and stark against Link's skin. He tried again, then tried a different thread, feeling Link wind tighter under his hand with each unsuccessful attempt.

As the third thread held firm, he sat back and set the dagger down. 'This isn't working. Perhaps this blade is too simple.'

'What do you mean?' Link all but growled as he glared at the stitches, clenching and unclenching his jaw.

'We may need magic, or…'

'How about a Triforce piece?' Zelda suggested as she emerged from the wagon once more. 'A goddess's power should rival a shitty demon's, right?'

They both turned to Ganondorf, despite each wielding a piece of their own now, but there was something heartening in the expectancy in their expressions. Trust, hope, the belief he alone could rectify this situation.

He hesitated for a heartbeat, then said, 'I'll try. Delicacy doesn't suit this power but…I will try.'

But when he reached for the dagger another got there first, as Link – but of course it wasn't Link – grabbed it. Before anyone could react the demon flipped it over and with one sharp strike slammed it down into the back of Ganondorf's hand, pinning it to the wood of the seat below.

The burst of pain was instantaneous, his body flashing hot then cold. He had no time to think as the demon drew it back – another flash of pain, the sickening scratch of steel against his flesh – and struck at his throat. As he just barely caught Link's wrist mid-strike, forcing it up and away, something cracked inside him and fury spilled out. It seared the pain from his mind, filling his veins with a fire that burned all rational thoughts from his head until all he could think was the desire to repay the pain, to maim and kill and wreak vengeance upon the pathetic creature before him.

Surging forward, he wrapped the fingers of his undamaged hand around Link's throat and slammed him back against the frame of the wagon. The thud of his skull against wood was grotesque and satisfying for but a heartbeat. The pitiful, wheezing gasps that escaped him as he tried to breathe were better, and Ganondorf watched his face redden, felt the flimsy line of his windpipe against his palm.

Crushing his throat would be easy. Bashing his head in would be easier. So simple, so boring.

'Stop it!' someone cried, and hands found his arm, pulling him back.

A snarl jumped to his lips and he whirled, and at the sight of a grey-faced Zelda, the horror in her expression, the world rushed back in. A tide to snuff the building hate, dismay following quickly behind, and with a gasp he pulled both hands to his chest.

Dropping the dagger, Link slumped and began to cough, and the pounding in his ears steadied, grew quiet.

'I…I am sorry,' Ganondorf managed, fingers trembling and slick with blood. He could smell the iron of it and it made him sick, made him angry.

He swallowed both, gripping his wrist tightly and watching blood spill over his fingers and down his arm. With each heartbeat, the wound gave an insistent throb, the pain so bright and hot and sharp it took his breath away. Trying very hard not to move his hand, he watched Link catch his breath and sit up, shaking his head slowly.

'No, I'm sorry.' His voice came out hoarse and strained; when he cleared his throat, he winced. 'I didn't think, I…I knew trying would piss it off and I underestimated it. I just…'

Inhaling deeply and slowly, Ganondorf raised his hands over his head, trails of warmth slipping beneath his sleeve all the way to his elbow. 'You were in pain. Our trying wasn't wrong. I'll heal.'

'Too bad we left our healer at the lake, huh?' Zelda said, then reared back her arm and flung the dagger from the wagon. It travelled a smooth, swift arc and landed with a thump among the long grass lining the road. 'Good riddance. Are you both okay?'

Risking a glance at his hand, Ganondorf fought the whisper of rage that rose at the sight of his blood, spilling freely, and the dark wound that pierced through to his palm. 'It could be worse.'

'I'm okay,' Link said after a moment, clearing his throat delicately as he rubbed the back of his head. 'Still alive for now.'

'Then let's see that hand,' Zelda said, extending one of her own.

It took the better part of twenty minutes, since Link and Ganondorf had two hands between them and Zelda had to feel her way through each step of the process, but eventually the wound was clean and bandaged and splinted. Their investigations revealed he couldn't quite straighten his third or fourth fingers – a revelation that had Link looking as if he would very much like to run into the fields and never return – and Ganondorf promised them both multiple times that he wouldn't use his hand unless absolutely necessary for the foreseeable future. As it was, tightly bound to a makeshift splint they'd pulled together from materials on the wagon, he could barely move it anyway.

'I think I'm done for the day,' Zelda said as she rinsed her bloodied fingers and wiped them on her tunic. 'Let's just stay here tonight.'

'Sounds good to me,' Link replied from where he lay on one of the wagon benches, a hand to his shoulder and his expression sullen.

A tangible tension lingered in the air within the wagon, and Ganondorf found it hard to breathe around as his hand throbbed sharply, each stab a reminder of the potentially permanent damage that had been done. He pulled it to his chest and took a deep breath, forcing back the anger that rose at the thought.

Perhaps it would have been better for them to leave that place and keep going for an hour or so more, but they were all worn down and worn out. The afternoon's hopeful start seemed like a dream now; they had a whole seven more days to survive until they got their wishes.

Frustration spiking, Ganondorf clambered out of the wagon and stepped into the soft light of sunset. He turned his gaze to the sky – awash with shades of peach and gold and magenta – and picked out patterns in the cloud until he no longer felt it quite so necessary to grind his teeth and the urge to yell profanities had all but faded. He let the tension drop from his shoulders and sat down with an ungraceful thump, listening to the cricketsong that permeated the fields.

The evening was an unremarkable one. As the sky grew dark they bundled into the wagon, speaking little and no doubt each hoping for a quiet night. Staring up into the comfortable shroud of darkness that surrounded him, Ganondorf ran through a number of exercises in an effort to get to sleep, but it seemed that every time he began to doze off, a fresh stab of pain in his hand would wake him.

When he finally did sleep, he woke with a start from a dream in which a grinning Link plunged the dagger into his throat. Heart pounding and gasping for breath, he sat up and touched his neck, sure he would find the tell-tale warmth of blood beneath his fingers. All he found was dry, unbroken skin, and he exhaled shakily. Lying back as quietly as he could, he swallowed with a grimace, half-expecting it to hurt or to feel steel dig deeper into his flesh.

A dream, nothing more. He shut his eyes and waited for his racing heart to calm, rubbing his fingers against the rough bandages on his hand.

He wasn't sure how much time passed, but finally his fruitless attempts to get back to sleep were interrupted by an awful screech that had him bolting upright all over again. At first, he thought perhaps he might have been dreaming after all, until a distinctly human squawk sounded from right outside the wagon, causing Zelda to stir as well.

'Shit!' Link yelped, voice muffled as it worked its way in from outside, a moment before something impacted the canvas roof with a dull thud.

There came the sound of tearing fabric, and suddenly Ganondorf could see the starry sky above as something tore a hole in the roof. He caught a glimpse of a large, winged shape before it flitted out of sight and Link swore again.

Another screech, and then the low, shuddering blare of a horn. The coarse, instantly recognisable rallying cry of a bokoblin horde.

Scrambling to his feet and knocking his shins against something solid and wooden, Ganondorf leapt for the wagon entrance. He grabbed his sword as he went by, calling light to his hand as he half tumbled into the night outside. For a moment the world fractured into a jumbled mess of light and dark and the swooping shadow of a kargaroc, until his vision steadied and he saw Link, sword in hand.

And behind him, some six or seven torches, each held aloft in the hand of a bokoblin. Each rapidly approaching. The thunder of hooves filled the air.

'Where have they come from?' Ganondorf demanded – of the universe, more than anything, but Link still gave a helpless shrug.

'I don't know! They came out of nowhere. Must be a raiding party or something. Fuck!'

There was no time to hitch the ponies. No time to get the wagon moving and far away. As Zelda stepped groggily from the wagon, Ganondorf drew his sword and prepared to fight.

And then he threw himself to the side to avoid being trampled by a charging boar. The bokoblin on its back gave a wild, whooping call, swinging its torch and nearly setting the wagon ablaze.

Using his momentum to propel himself to his feet, Ganondorf urged his Triforce brighter. 'Draw them from the wagon!' he called. 'We can't let it be destroyed.'

They scattered. Link dashed to Zelda's side and led her away from the wagon; adjusting his grip on his sword, Ganondorf went in the opposite direction. Planting himself firmly at the centre of the road, he waited.

Two on boars, five on the ground. A pair of kargaroc circling overhead.

And himself, a beacon drawing them all in. Away from the wagon, away from his friends.

With a shriek, one of the kargaroc dived, and Ganondorf watched it come. He shifted his stance, held himself steady, and sidestepped. Bringing his sword up in an arc, he slashed the creature's wing, the leathery flesh giving way with the barest resistance.

Still shrieking, the kargaroc tumbled into the grass beside the road, but Ganondorf got no time to see it if still breathed as a boar charged him. Again, he threw himself out of its path, hearing the whistle of a blade pass over his head as he went. He stumbled to his feet and turned, just barely in time to block a heavy blow from one of the foot soldier's crude clubs.

The impact juddered through his arm. Without his left hand he hadn't the strength to catch it, only deflect the weapon. It slammed into the ground too close to his feet. As the bokoblin reeled he pressed his boot to the club, pinning it in place, then brought his blade round and thrust it forward. Flesh caved beneath his strike, so very easily.

The bokoblin gurgled, staring at him in what might have been shock, and then collapsed backwards off of the sword.

Dark, brackish blood glittered in the Triforce's light. His skin jolted with the force of each beat of his heart; there was a pounding in his head, an insistent drumming that called for more death, more bloodshed. He breathed slowly, deeply, flicking the blood from his blade. A calmness fell about him, a shroud of certainty that these monsters were no threat – they were barely worth his time.

But they would pay for their transgressions.

The thunder of hooves. A boar charged past. He parried a haphazard swing from a torch and, as it went, dragged his blade along the beast's side. It squealed and ran a few more metres before its legs gave out and it toppled to the ground. When he approached, Ganondorf found the rider pinned beneath, squirming desperately. It squawked at him as he stood over it, clawing at the earth.

Such an irksome noise.

One quick strike to the throat and the thing was quiet – mostly. A slow and messy death that he turned away from disinterestedly; there were still monsters left to hunt.

Two kargaroc, one incapacitated. One boar and rider, four foot soldiers. So easily dealt with – too easily.

Calling upon the Triforce, he set his sword ablaze with light and sparks, seeking his next target. The boar was nowhere to be seen as the foot soldiers encircled him, though they hung back uneasily. With a smile, he extended his bound hand in welcome, sword dangling at his side. The sparks set blades of grass ablaze where they fell; short bursts of fire that came and went in a heartbeat.

One bokoblin charged, then another. Their strikes were slow, messy, easily avoided. He struck one on the back as it barrelled past and it screamed but didn't fall, only rounded on him with murder in its eyes. Distantly, Ganondorf wondered what they saw in his.

The dance was swift and brutal. One fell from a slash to the stomach, unspooled across the dirt road, another to a blast of brilliant golden light that left his fingers tingling as he watched the ashes drift to the floor like snow. A spear caught him across the shoulder, a club found his ribs with a dull, wet crunch. But the pain was like a fleeting dream. Quickly forgotten in the thrill of the fight.

The third bokoblin fell and lay screaming as he sliced its ankles. From a mighty swing, the fourth's head toppled from its shoulders with a spray of blood, and Ganondorf found himself stood in a circle of bodies, blood dripping from his blade, his face and hands flecked with it. At some point he'd taken up his sword in both hands; the splint had cracked and the bandages were slowly reddening.

'Ganondorf!' Zelda called, though he barely heard her over the ring of the Triforce in his head. Turning, he saw her standing on the wagon steps, beckoning furiously. 'Get in, come on!'

While he had served as a distraction, she and Link had hitched the ponies. They could go. There was still one boar rider, gone somewhere unknown, one more kargaroc wheeling in the dark sky above. They could still run.

'What're you waiting for?' Link yelled; he too was on the wagon, sat waiting with reins in hand. 'They'll be back with more any minute!'

Ganondorf didn't move. There were still monsters to slay, more death and destruction to be had. His gaze not leaving Link's, he drove his sword through the hobbled bokoblin's back; its screams petered out and it was still. He took a deep breath of the night air – now heavy with the smell of blood – and smiled. Shook his head. No, he wouldn't go.

He was turning away when someone yelled his name, a moment before a heavy weight fell across his back and something screamed in his ear. Sharp pinpricks on pain bloomed across his shoulders as the kargaroc dug its claws in, buffeting his face with its wings as it flapped wildly, sending him stumbling. It snapped at his head and he ducked away, its sharp beak grazing his scalp. Slashing upwards, he fought to dislodge it and failed.

But then the weight fell free and the thing's shrieking turned to rasping, and there was Link, sword in hand and face pinched tight. Ganondorf staggered then righted himself. He thought of his injured hand, of the dream.

Sheathing his sword, Link grabbed his arm and pulled. 'Come on, you idiot! Can't you hear that?'

Over the thunder of his blood in his ears, he hadn't, but now it came sharply into focus. The resonating boom of a giant's footsteps; the deep, slow roar of a moblin. Somewhere out in the fields, a moblin was striding their way.

Shaking himself free of Link's grip, Ganondorf hesitated for a moment then brushed past him, heading for the wagon. Zelda poked her head out as he climbed onto the driver's seat. 'Drive.'

'Okay, your highness,' Link replied as he followed, settling beside him with a bump, and the sharp sarcasm that dripped from his tone had Ganondorf's insides winding just a little tighter.

If he kept talking, he was going to—

He curled his hands into fists and winced as pain speared through his hand; he looked down with dismay at the broken splint, at the bloody bandages and the crooked angle of his fingers. When had that happened? How hadn't he noticed?

Link cracked the reins and the wagon lurched into motion, and Ganondorf tried to sit very still as the pain finally came flooding in. It hurt to breathe, his shoulder hot and swollen, and the kargaroc's claws had left his skin prickling. And of course, there was his hand. His body was a patchwork of pain, and there was an anger coiling in his chest he hadn't noticed building. It was cold and hard, but laced with an exhaustion he was all too happy to embrace.

The moblin roared again. Locking his knees and elbows, he fought the urge to jump from the wagon and pursue it. Perhaps it would pose a challenge, finally sate the restless bloodlust.

'Are you alright?' Link asked as the wagon picked up speed, and just his voice had Ganondorf's anger spiking as he cradled his hand to his chest.

'Ganondorf?' Zelda's voice was softly wary, concerned as she touched his back lightly.

He twitched away from her touch and hunched forward, trying to steady his breathing. It had never bothered him before, and yet the thought of her peering into his mind right then made him want to scream. Made him want to take his sword and—

Squashing the thought, he flexed the fingers of his good hand and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt like he was about to explode. Each bump in the road wound him tighter, until it was all he could do not to scream. The Triforce was near-deafening, near-blinding as he lit the road ahead of them. Sparks flickered across the backs of his eyelids. They were flitting across his skin too; he could feel them. Crawling over him like insects.

Hunching further, he tangled his fingers in his hair and held tight, digging the heels of his palms into his temples. All he could smell was blood. In the air, on his skin. He needed to breathe, needed to calm down.

'Link, stop,' Zelda said, her voice only trembling slightly.

'Are you serious? I can't—'

'Stop! For the love of Nayru, are you blind? Are you deaf?!'

He said something else, but Ganondorf didn't hear it. He was lost to the chiming in his head, the laughter echoing from somewhere nearby. Out of control – he was out of control. Pressure built in his skull, in his chest.

When he felt the wagon slow, he let himself topple sideways and hit the ground hard. He had to get away. Scrambling to his feet, he staggered forward a few steps, squinting through the blinding glare of the Triforce's mark, until he couldn't see anything at all.

The world turned to white light, glorious and awful, and a nightmare played out in his mind. Lands, burning. Bodies littering the earth. Some familiar, most not. He sank to his knees beside a familiar auburn head and reached for it with trembling fingers. Grey scales, claws soaked in crimson. Not his, not his, not his.

His.

And he laughed, at how simple it all was, how easy. So much power at his command, and what was he doing with it? Nothing. Hiding it away within himself as if he was ashamed, as if he was afraid.

But he was afraid. The power of a demon and the power of a goddess. Both his to wield – both ready to destroy and destroy and destroy. Until there was nothing left. Until the world was burnt and withered and his friends, his family, lay dead at his feet.

Ganondorf lifted his hands to his head and screamed.