Prompt No. 13
Word count: ~930
Universe: Breath of the Wild
Pairings: Zelink
Rating: T
Themes: Character death, blood loss, fatal injuries
Breathe In Breathe Out
Blatchery Plains is a sea of fire and lights, crippled guardians spewing sparks and smoke foundering in the chaos like so many shipwrecks run aground. The sky pulses red and murky and thick in time with his heartbeat. Red, like the beam of a guardian's laser about to shred through his body again. Like the blood spilling out of him that he has long since given up trying to stem.
Breathe in.
His lungs fill with embers and smoke as her fingers alight on his shoulders. He's on one knee, brought low by enemies that just won't stop coming, by the holes in his body where he ripped shrapnel from himself or where a guardian's beam ran him through, and he leans on his sword sunk into the ground so he won't fall farther. Her touch is too soft, too insubstantial, like she's fading away, or he is.
Breathe out.
She begs him to save himself, tells him to run. He doesn't have the energy to laugh at her. He could more easily rip his own heart out of his chest, leave it sputtering on the battlefield, and walk away than he could bring himself leave her. Running would be pointless, anyway.
He knows he's already dead. He can feel it.
He can feel it in the way his vision crowds darker the longer he tries to stand, in the way his heart pounds so hard he thinks it might burst and leaves him feeling weak and wasted when he bleeds out. He doesn't fixate on it. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters, except for her.
He can feel the tremors in the earth, vibrating up his sword and through his arm, and he knows they're about to be discovered. He knows more of them are coming.
Breathe in.
He heaves himself to his feet, swallowing a cry as every charred nerve and fractured bone screams in protest, and stumbles back. He almost has to plunge the sword down again to keep from falling over. But he finds his footing somehow, manages to square his good shoulder forward and keep the tip of his blade airborne in spite of the way lifting it sends pain shooting up behind his eyes. His other arm is crushed beyond use. He thinks his spine might be, too.
It's a little difficult not to dwell on the absurdity of his being able to stand at all.
A guardian crests the boulder that had shielded them from the other sentries and fixes them in its sights, advancing with heavy, frantic, skittering steps. It's tainted a lambent, cloying pink, so bright and so close he can smell the malice. His vision constricts and dances in triplicate, so he's not sure if he's facing one guardian or three. It tramples the smoking hulls of the machines that had come before it, planting its massive claws like anchors as it rears up and charges the firing mechanism. The beam is red and narrow, whirring and climbing in cadence as it sears into his head.
Breathe out.
He's too broken to mount an offense. So he holds his ground. He puts himself between the Calamity and the princess, making his body her shield. The light is blinding, but he stares it down. That's right. Keep your sights on me. He can't see her at his back, but he can feel her, giving him the strength to will himself alive when his body should've given out long ago. But she isn't running, and that alone makes him want to double over and empty his stomach in the grass, because in a matter of seconds she's going to be alone with that thing, and there will be nothing he can do to protect her then.
And then she's in front of him, screaming, pushing him away, facing the guardian in his stead, and she's glowing.
Breathe in.
Divine power is ebbing off her in waves. She's radiant. She's breathtaking. For a single, suspended moment, the light swells brighter, and then it's bursting out of her and engulfing the field. It's warm and soft as it floods over him, purging the malice from everything it touches. It must be what being touched by a goddess feels like.
He can't take his eyes off her, hypnotized as the light casts her in full silhouette. She's fearless, and powerful, and untouchable. She's every bit the goddess she was always meant to be. And he can't help but think she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
When the light fades the guardian trembles, and then the corruption is leaving it with a ghostly scream. Malice is lifting in plumes of smoke all across Blatchery Plain like so many spirits ascending. The machines deactivate and collapse. And he feels a bizarre mingling of peace and horror—as the world flickers out, as he feels himself falling—as he realizes she doesn't need him anymore.
Then she's holding him, and her voice is sweet, and perfect, and sounding much too far away. He finds her eyes as he labors through the last of it, trying to take in as much of her as he can as the dark crowds around her. Using the last ounces of strength he has left to keep his eyes open, to keep them focused. Because he wants her to be the last thing he sees.
He takes solace in the fact that she's safe. In the fact that he fought long enough to see her come into her power.
In the fact that he protected her right down to his dying breath.
Breathe out.