Well, thanks to a certain person, I have been alerted to an annoying new policy on answering reviews in the author notes. Oh well, I'll just begin to use the reply review thing XD well, here's another chapter for you guys, who seem to have fallen in love with my story. Well, it's a good thing. I'm happy I've acquired some badass reviewers. Anyhoo! You all know that I don't own Zelda, so story time! Enjoy!
Celt lunged at the figure, in the bleak light of the circle of fire. Flickering in the blackness, Celt spotted the being he sensed… the being of twisted origin. It was cloaked in long white robes, tattered bandages trailing off, face wrapped as well, only a single mercury colored eye bared in the darkness, reflecting the fire, and projecting emptiness. This figure unsheathed from within it's billowing cloak two parrying knives, wide and awkward looking for attacking.
"DIE!" Celt roared, a new fury welling up inside him he had never felt before. Fury at his ancestor, fury at the spiteful dead who laughs at the Garo's misfortune. He lashed out, letting out a fierce diagonal uppercut aimed at the face, and the figure agilely hopped backwards, and Celt whipped his second blade on his left hand across the twisted being's throat, which the figure simply knocked away with it's knife, and Celt spun in the air, and landed. "Round two." He stated, dashing at the figure again, thrusting the silver blade at the being, who jumped over the blade, and in mid-air, with great agility, came down with a kick aimed directly at Celt.
He lifted his left blade up just quickly enough to slow it down, and got his other blade up under the other to stop the impact, and threw the person off his blades. Celt looked at the figure, which stared at him, with a blank intensity he had never seen before. It was… unnerving, this one silver fluid looking eye, staring at him, unblinking, unwavering… This wouldn't stop him, as he dashed in again. He dashed in, blades gleaming with the firelight, the figure's single eye drilling into his, their head tilting ever so gently to the side, appraising him. There was only one thing he did remember about his mother… it was a technique she taught him as a young child, which he had practiced every day when she disappeared, to perfect it.
Yet, he had never tried it on a living being… and he decided this twisted soul would be the first to experience its ravages. There was something about this … thing, that felt inhuman, with no remorse, something even the worst of evils had. Regrets, remorse… emptiness, anger, hatred. This being had no feelings that could be felt. No remorse, no hatred… just emptiness, and its eyes read 'kill me' but the body did otherwise. This was no ordinary evil… and felt stronger than others, and he decided it necessary to kill it quickly. As he dashed at the twisted being, he let his two blades dragged behind him along the dusty ground, and he muttered to himself. "Cataclysm… part… one."
As he said this, a rush a fire coursed through his veins, through his limbs, entering his cobalt eyes, and he jumped at it, unleashing blindingly fast sword strikes, which the figure, managed to parry and dodge most of, none landing their marks. When he hit the ground from the mid-air slashes, he landed in an odd stance, blades covering his face, except his eyes, crouched. "Cataclysm, part… two." And he unleashed more strikes, uppercuts, diagonal slashes, horizontal, and even a few spinning slashes, the blades heating up as they cut through the air, leaving trails of distorting heat. The figure didn't even bother parrying, just continued to dodge, the fringes of their clothes set ablaze, which went out. Then, they found an opening, and thrust an open palm at Celt, catching him in mid attack, and he felt intense force push down on his lungs, and breathless, he back flipped back, his hood knocked down. The figure's eye shot open, and then it clutched it's bandage wrapped head, in severe pain, and it flailed around, and then looked up, it's eye now black as the night.
"Celt… what are you doing out here? Go, before…" A familiar female voice said, and then, she fell to the ground, flailing around. Celt's eyes shot open. Why did that voice sound so familiar? The voice… He could've sworn he'd heard it… in his past. But whom did it belong too? He thought, and shook his head, as he stepped towards the woman. He raised his blade above her, blade tip pointed down at her. "Twisted being… may you find peace in rest…" He said, and his eyes flared. "CATACLYSM, PART THREE." He exclaimed, his complete right arm bursting into flames, twisting and intertwining with the blade. "Die." He said, as he brought down the blade. He had to end it now, the Cataclysm had taken its toll on him, and he was feeling consciousness slipping away. Suddenly, the woman looked up, the silver eye returned, but then it turned back to black.
"No, I will not die. Not yet, young Celt, and not by your hand." She said, and the blade was wrenched from his hand, and now she was enveloped in a dark flame, as she drove the blade into his chest cavity, and as he stumbled back, eyes wide, she roared as she drove a palm into the handle of the blade, driving it straight through, the blade tip stabbing through the outside of his back as well. She stepped back through the fire, her own fire parting it. Her black eyes unwavering bore into him, as he struggled to keep consciousness, stumbling, numbing cold spreading through him, as he felt warmth pour down the front of his chest. "Don't die just yet. You'll need to kill me one day." She said, as she stepped into the darkness. Celt panted heavily. Thousands of thoughts rushed through his head, things he had to accomplish, things he always wanted to do… that will never be fulfilled now, now that he was to die.
Then, words rang through his head. "The true way, Garo, is to never die without a cause." Celt's hand reached the hilt. "I… wont… DIE!" He roared, as he ripped the blade from his chest, causing more blood to pour from the deep stab wound in his chest. He fell to his knees. "I won't die… not just yet… I need a cause… I need to fulfill the cause. I need to… live." He said to himself, as he felt consciousness slip away, and the darkness encompassed his mind, as he felt his face hit the dirt, lying in a puddle of his own blood. "Can't… die…" He muttered just before he passed out. He hadn't even self-destructed. He refused to. He wouldn't give up. He would see the light of day once more. If only he knew how to escape the darkness…
Ta-da! Cliffy! I lurve deh cliffays XD it must drive you guys insane though. Well, leave me a review, because you guys are all wonderful people, and like to leave reviews! Right? Riiight. XD Well, tune in later for another chapter, and I hope you didn't mind the shortness. Well, peace out gangstas. XD