Ghirahim
It had all started with the goddess, as many of life's problems often did. She had wanted a sword, the best sword ever made. A sword that could walk and talk and think for itself. So she twisted hot iron into shape, pouring life force into the blade like molten gold. She named him Ghirahim and as much as it pained him to admit it, he had once pledged to serve her. The result should of been what she wanted. But maybe she didn't truly want a sword who thought for himself too much. A sword she couldn't fully control.
Ghirahim did everything he could to please her. He fought by her side, he contributed to battle plans, he protected the goddess's people. People who shied away from his strange metal body, and spoke about him in loud whispers behind his back. He secretly craved a mortal body, one like theirs. Although his sword spirit form was beautiful and powerful, there were certain things it couldn't do. It couldn't taste, or wear fine clothes, or move with as much grace as he had wanted. He explained these desires to the goddess once but she refused to grant him what he wanted. Maybe when you're ready, she'd always say, and Ghirahim would argue that he was ready now. He should've know she had no intention of giving him what he wanted.
Then she abandoned him. Something deep inside his chest dug into him like a shard of glass when he realised she had made another sword spirit. His replacement. This new sword spirit felt cold and almost mechanical. But what she lacked in personality, she made up for in knowledge. A million facts and statistics about the enemy's tactics, about the battlefield's terrain. Ghirahim's hands curled into fists as he watched her graceful movements, the way she could analyse a situation in seconds, the way she floated along in the goddess's wake like some carefree butterfly. It was enough to make him sick. This new sword spirit, this Fi, she never felt discontent. She never wanted more, never lost control in battle, never went too far. The goddess didn't make her promises that she had no intention of keeping.
What did that make him? The rough draft? A set of blueprints to be tossed away? So he was too "impure" for the future hero, so what? He'd show her. He was through with being the goddess's lap dog.
Seeking Demise out felt natural, almost like returning home. He had to prove his loyalty first, Demise wasn't stupid. And so Ghirahim gave him everything he knew, about the goddess and her plans and her allies. He killed people he had once fought alongside, and for a moment that almost hurt, but then he remembered how they had mistrusted him, and it felt much better. Demise was pleased and agreed to accept Ghirahim as his blade. In exchange for his service Demise gave him what he wanted. A demon body of his own. It was fabulous and elegant and so very beautiful. Most importantly of all, it was his. He was free to do with it what he pleased. And he did, satisfying his many urges and desires, to eat, to drink, to dance, to entertain lovers.
A magical bond was placed between Ghirahim and his master, but that suited Ghirahim just fine. It meant Demise had no intentions to leave him. Their bond would outlast time itself.
Fighting by his master's side was where Ghirahim was meant to be. The rush of adrenaline, the feeling of his blade piercing through an enemy's skull. Those were the days when the blood flowed like wine. It felt good, just how things should be. Ghirahim couldn't help feeling a swell of pride at the fear his master commanded with ease. Men cowered at the sight of him, tripping over themselves to retreat like the cowards they were. Ghirahim was made a lord and put in charge of an army of demons. His new demon brethren were vaguely mistrusting of their new lord's past alliance with the goddess, at least until they saw him in battle. He held back nothing, and cut down Hylia's army with the force of a true demon. His men felt more confident in his after that, and gladly followed him into battle. Together they conquered the mortal's lands and slaughtered their people, swarming over the surface world and leaving blood and bodies in their wake.
Like all good things it wasn't to last. In the last great battle with Hylia, the armies of demons were defeated, and Demise himself had fallen. The goddess was too weak to deal the final blow, so instead he was sealed away, but there was hope. An old story of a child from the sky and a spirit maiden. And so Ghirahim waited. A thousand years of waiting. All for nothing. He had failed his master. He had lost. Worst of all he had lost to the goddess's pitiful hero. His master was gone and no amount of magic or loyalty was going to bring him back. The goddess had taken everything away from him all over again.
