Author's note: Hey, guess what! You just stumbled across my story! Welcome to the domain of Shadow Reaper. I hope you find my material suitable and enjoyable. Three periods, ..., mean a scene change, and three asterisks, mean a time change. So sit back, get some popcorn and enjoy.
Disclaimer: Honestly, do I have to do it? It's pretty obvious that I don't own Zelda or its characters.
The AssassinA gnarled old man sat in front of a small fire outside of his crudely built hut, and his knotted hands clenched his well-used staff. The forest and undergrowth were slowly creeping up to his hut, and the trees completely shaded everything the old man owned. It would not be long before his little hut was completely encircled by the forest. His fading gray eyes stared deeply into the depths of the fire, and, with his staff, he stirred the ashes to make the fire larger. A gentle breeze blew through the trees and cooled his balding head.
"Today," the old man smiled a sad smile, "Today."
The old man heaved himself up and, leaning heavily on his staff, hobbled over to his pile of sticks. After he reached the pile, he reached out with a feeble hand and clutched at a few of the sticks, and then he slowly turned around and hobbled back over to the fire. He dropped the sticks into the flame and sank heavily onto the stump by the fire. After catching his breath, he stared drowsily into the fire, and his eyes glazed as he watched the dancing flames. His mind slowly went over the last nine years.
Nine years ago, the Hero of Time had been found, and he had successfully defeated all evil that crossed his path. Ganon had easily fallen to the Hero of Time, and the Sages had trapped Ganon in the Evil Realm. After everything that the Hero of Time had done for Hyrule, the Princess Zelda sent him back to his home, and she waited for him to return. That was all nine years ago.
When Hero of Time's nineteenth year had come, he returned to his princess. They had a small, unofficial wedding, and they planned to have a real wedding when Link returned from some unfinished business. A week after their small wedding, Link had to leave, but he promised her that he would return when he finished and asked her to wait for him. Although they didn't know it, Zelda was pregnant with his child.
After six had months passed, Link hadn't returned, so all of Zelda's friends advised her to remarry, assuming that Link was dead. At first she refused, but after a few weeks of nagging, she finally gave in. Princess Zelda got remarried, and her friends told her to forget about Link. Besides, she and Link didn't have an official wedding, so there was no bond between them. Or so they said.
At the wedding, neither she nor any of the guests noticed the dark figure that haunted the back of the wedding. Link never returned to his princess. Was it because he heard that she got married? Was it because he was killed? Was he taken captive somewhere and was yearning to get back to his now-married princess? Only time will tell.
A sudden crack in the woods behind him caused the old man to jump. His heart raced as his wide eyes searched the woods, and he raised his staff protectively. Since he had his back to the fire, he did not notice a dark figure that emerged from behind the flame and smoke. As a bear lumbered into the small clearing, an arrow whizzed past the old man's ear. The arrow struck the bear in between the eyes, and the bear slumped over onto its side.
"I have returned," a masculine voice behind the old man said.
The man turned slowly around and faced the voice, and he saw a familiar young man standing behind the fire.
(A/n. You know the main character from DMC2? Well, this guy looks exactly like him, but obviously minus the guns and modern weaponry. And his clothes are jet black. Also, he looks younger; around seventeen years old. At each hip, he has a whip with spikes at the ends, and he has his sword strapped across his back and over his left shoulder. His bow is strapped onto his sword sheath, and his arrows are hanging in a quiver over the whip on his right hip. Oh yeah, his name is Bishop. And I guess I have to do a disclaimer. I do not own this character. I am merely borrowing what he looks like, because I think he looks awesome.)
"I have returned," he repeated.
"Bishop," the old man greeted his bodyguard.
The young man nodded to him and stepped around the smoldering fire. His brown eyes pierced the sky, and he drew a long breath. He shook his white hair from his eyes, drew his sword, and observed it with pride. The hilt had been beautifully crafted from a large onyx stone, and the hilt had been touched with magic so that no one but Bishop could summon the magic. Anyone could use the sword, but only Bishop could use the sword gracefully and use it how it was meant to be used. Small runes ran up either side of the hilt, and they joined in the center and ran down to the blade.
The blade was long and skillfully crafted, and there were small, scrawled runes running up the center of both sides of the blade. If one were to carefully observe the blade, they would see black flames dancing beneath the almost transparent surface, thus giving the blade a dark and glowing look. The black flames were an ancient type of magic, so, once Bishop summoned the flame, the sword could slash through anything. The sword was over three feet long and was very heavy, and Bishop had to grip the hilt with both hands, so he only used his sword when he absolutely had to. The sheath for the sword was jet black, and the same type of runes were running up the back of it. Since the sword was so long, the sheath had to be long too, and it would smack Bishop's legs if he was in a dead sprint. But, he refused to part with it, and he swore that he would take it to his grave. The sword didn't have a name yet, but Bishop knew that a name would come to him whenever the name was ready.
After he finished admiring his blade, Bishop carefully sheathed it again. Then he stooped down next to the fire and concentrated for a few seconds, and then the fire exploded and reached for the sky.
"You shouldn't be outside," Bishop said over his shoulder.
"I know what I should and shouldn't do," the old man sharply retorted.
"Kishek," Bishop sighed as he turned to face the old man.
"Why do you use my name?" the old man asked sharply, glancing around, "I thought I ordered you never to use it out in the open. It's dangerous."
But then Kishek broke into a violent coughing fit, and Bishop stood up and walked over to him.
"Your cough is getting worse. You should be in the hut, resting," Bishop sighed, reaching over to pick Kishek up.
"No, Bishop. My time here is done," the old man wheezed.
"Kishek, you don't know that."
"I do. That's why I'm going to tell you the location of the Lodge. Help me to the hut," the old man gasped, struggling to get up.
In resignation, Bishop reached over and lifted the old man as easily as he would a small child. Bishop gently carried him inside and gingerly laid him on his small mattress made of leaves.
Bishop glanced around the small interior of the hut and saw everything that had been his home for the last few years; a hammock had been strung up for him, Kishek's mattress on the floor, and there was a ring of stones on the floor for indoor cooking.
"Bishop," Kishek gasped.
Bishop quickly kneeled beside him and placed his cold hand on Kishek's forehead.
"Your fever is rising," he remarked.
Kishek feebly slapped his hand away. "Bishop, do you see the rotten panel behind your hammock?"
After Bishop nodded, he instructed, "Pull it out."
Bishop ducked to avoid his hammock and wrapped his fingers around the panel, and with a quick tug, he pulled the board from its place. Then, he reached inside the indention that it made and pulled out a map. The map was of Hyrule.
(A/n. I'm bringing Clocktown into this story. If you're facing the castle, it's southeast, through the Lost Woods, and then a hard days ride through the Dark Forest. The Dark Forest is where Kishek lives.)
"Bring it to me," Kishek commanded.
Bishop strode over to Kishek's bedside and slid down onto his haunches; he handed the old map to him.
"Here is the Lodge," the old man pointed to a certain area on the map.
"Bishop," Kishek whispered.
"Yes?" Bishop asked.
"Your time of protecting me is done. I release you from my command. Go and take my place at the Lodge. Impress the Leader. Only you can do this," he said in a voice of authority.
"You don't mean that, Kishek," Bishop pleaded, "I swore an oath to protect you until your passing day."
"And so you have," Kishek smiled weakly at him.
"No, I have not," Bishop insisted, and a single tear dared fill his eye.
Neither one of them noticed a dark shadow crouching by the door. It slid in and crept up behind Bishop, and Bishop felt his instincts soar. His hand rose to his sword hilt and, as he spun around, pulled it from his sheathe. And not a moment too soon. A man lunged past him, and Bishop swung his sword into the man's stomach. A cry of pain escaped the man, but he slipped a knife from his sleeve and threw it at Kishek. Bishop watched in horror as it stuck Kishek in the heart.
"No!" he shouted.
He grabbed the man by the shoulders and threw him outside with every ounce of strength in his body. Bishop ran out after him and undid the leather thongs that held his whips captive.
As the man stumbled to his feet to face Bishop, he taunted, "I have killed the mighty Kishek. The price on his head shall be rewarded to me!"
What the man was trying to accomplish was a disheartening tactic, but it had the opposite effect on Bishop. It filled him with rage. Bishop sent his whips slicing through the air, and the left whip spun itself around the man's wrists while the right whip wrapped itself around the man's neck. The spikes imbedded themselves into the man's skin.
"Which group are you from?" Bishop growled.
"The Dominion," the man hissed.
"Who sent you?" Bishop growled back.
"I will never betray the Leader," the man smirked.
"Wrong answer," Bishop growled, pulling his right whip as hard as he could.
The man made a weird choking noise as his head was ripped from his shoulders. The head soared through the air and landed in the forest behind Bishop, and he strode over and sunk his sword into the man's carcass. Through his rage, he quickly quartered the man and threw his pieces off to the right.
"Consider yourself lucky. Your death was reasonably quick. Be glad I was merciful," Bishop growled to the air.
Suddenly, a worried expression covered his face. Bishop spun quickly on his right heel and sprinted back to the small hut, and, when he reached it, he ducked inside.
"Kishek?" he whispered.
He crept to his charge's side and placed his hand over Kishek's heart. It was not beating. Bishop set his jaw firmly, and his eyes filled with rage.
"I will avenge you, Kishek," Bishop clenched his fist, "I promise."
Author's note: This chapter is a lot longer than the other ones will be, but I will do my best. Please RR. I would really appreciate the reviews.