WASSUP YALL IM HERE. LATE. . . . AGAIN. . . . . .
Sorry.
But today is a double chapter so yayyyy! The second one will be later tonight tho. I hope you guys enjoy it, and again my bad I'm late /
OH BEFORE I FORGET
If you don't follow me on insta then you missed the post where I found out that Empire has over 16,000 views!!!!! I was s c r ea m in g in my room guys. That's so amazing!! Ugh 3 you guys are so awesome. I feel like I don't tell you all how much I appreciate the chance you took on Empire but know that I do, and I'm so grateful for you. Y'all are supreme. So enjoy this chap and I'll see you in a bit!
The road was indeed long, giving both Zelda and Howler time to think.
Zelda about, for once, something other than Howler. She'd completely forgotten about the Outliers--Sharpclaw and the Seven Sins--and with the mention of the Lightpaws' disappearance, dread had settled in like a stone. She couldn't explain it, but she'd pressed close to Howler, trying to work it out. That was three tribes now, that had disappeared. That they knew of, anyway. There could have been more. So where were they? Why did they vanish without a trace? No scents, from what Impa had said, and Mania's report of the Outliers had been much the same. It drove her mad, trying to puzzle it out.
Now, Zelda walked alongside Howler, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Now that she knew the truth of her feelings, it seemed she'd caught his need for contact. A few weeks earlier, she might have been annoyed at him, slapping his hands away, shoving him a step from her, hissing that he leave her alone.
It was almost weird how much she needed him close. Weird how fast it had happened, and how much not being with him made her dizzy.
Zelda sighed to herself, knowing that with these thoughts, she was dooming herself to a life of disappointment. Howler glanced at her without her notice, and sighed to himself as well. His hand brushed hers once before his fingers threaded through hers.
Unbeknownst to them both, Sunset and Mania glanced back at them, then at each other, and faced forward. The fox shook her head, while the lion's shoulders hunched. Sunset glanced at him surreptitiously; for all that he was an annoying, oversized cat with an obnoxious personality and even worse obsession with Spitfire, he looked right now like a puppy that had been kicked too many times. The sight made Sunset want to slap him back to his usual self.
And so, the fox heaved a sigh of her own.
"Since when have we stopped tying you up, anyway?" she muttered, prompting Mania to glance at her.
He seemed confused by the question, for all that it had been rhetorical. "Am I supposed to assume this means you trust me?"
Sunset sniffed. "Don't flatter yourself."
But Mania had heard the note of doubt in her voice, and he grinned. "It's a flattering notion. I feel honored that the great forest tribes have deigned to trust a lowly lion from the barren plains--"
"For the love of the Three, spare me," Midna growled, snapping her fingers. A gag appeared in Mania's mouth, and he ripped it out with a scowl.
"That was unnecessary."
"Was it?" Midna said, dry as a desert.
"Yes, but, I think we should--"
Midna sighed dramatically. "Please, cat, I really don't--"
"Shut up!" Mania hissed. Midna stared at him. "Shut--"
"Be quiet and act normal," Mania muttered, and this time Midna listened. She knew that tone, and anyway, now she could smell what Mania had clearly scented first.
It seemed their visitor in Black Sage's tent had found them.
He was little more than a shadow, impossible to see, but then, Midna didn't necessarily need to see him. She listened for a moment, deciphering the telltale sounds of pursuit, but it was hard. The damn anima was quiet as could be, and only if Midna truly strained could she catch something that might have been him.
She struggled to keep a scowl from forming. After a moment, she snapped her fingers, and even as quiet as the stranger was, he couldn't stop the surprised grunt as he tripped over a root that hadn't been there a step earlier.
Midna kept walking, as she knew the stranger was as well. At least now she knew where he was.
She said to Mania, who had watched with curiosity, "Should we tell them?"
Mania glanced back, where Howler and Spitfire were happily oblivious. They had gone from walking close to holding hands, and Mania had to put down a flare of pain as he looked at Spitfire's face. She was in love. It was obvious, because he had seen the same face every time he looked in a mirror.
He swallowed. "No. As long as we keep that anima in check, then we can make it to the gala without incident."
"What if he doesn't cooperate?" Midna asked quietly.
"Then we make him."
Midna sighed through her nose. Honestly, did no one use their heads anymore? Did everything have to be solved through force?
She supposed so, but the soft laugh that echoed through the trees on their left, a laugh that seemed to be for her ears alone, made her wish it wasn't.
They crossed through a patch of woods, through a canyon, and ended up facing a land bridge. Around them was the Necluda Sea, and ahead, across the land bridge, was a single island.
It was massive, and on it stood an elegant mansion. Golden spotlights illuminated the mansion, and even at their distance, Zelda could see that, despite its apparent abandonment, it looked brand new.
And the closer they got, the harder it was to believe that it had ever been left to disrepair. The stone was perfectly unblemished, the windows shining and clear, not a pane missing, and as they neared the end of the land bridge, which Zelda now realized was made of marble and supported by steel beams below the water's surface, she could even hear music from within. She could almost believe she was headed to an elegant party, the likes of which she'd only heard about in stories from before the bombs. But there was one thing that ruined the illusion.
In the wide space that surrounded the entrance to the mansion, not a single soul was present.
Zelda's nerves immediately spiked. Her hand tightened around Howler's.
He was uncomfortable, too. The lack of guests made the music from inside more eerie than anything. "Honored guests, my ass," he muttered.
They crept up to the front doors, highly aware of the rustling of cloth from above, the whispers that floated down. The Thieves, or the monkeys? Is there a difference? Zelda wondered. Sweat slid down her spine in a slow, torturous trail, making her even more uneasy.
The doors loomed. Ahead, Sunset and Mania crept inside, shoulders raised to their necks, hands held up as if to ward off attacks. For a long moment they stood there, in darkness, and then--
Lights flicked on from nowhere, blinding the four anima. Zelda shielded her eyes, gritting her teeth, and she felt Howler growl more than she heard it. Once she could see, she glanced around, ready to shift, but then there were hands on her ripping her away from Howler, and she couldn't stop a shocked cry.
"Spitfire!"
Sounds of snarling and ripping cloth sounded as Zelda writhed like a caged animal against her captor, and it was only through brief flashes of light and shocks of color that she was able to see anything.
A burst of golden light there, streaking green there, shouts and snarls everywhere, and then splattering red.
A howl rent the air as Zelda gasped, but--but there was no pain, and she broke away from her captor in time to see Howler, hoodie ripped to shreds in the front, push away a figure in black.
Zelda stumbled away as Sunset's fingers snapped and vines poofed into being. Darting away, she reached into her pocket and withdrew a few more leaves, which then, in a burst of smoke, became mimicries of the four of them.
The fakes darted around the room, confusing their attackers, whoever they were, and Zelda took the opportunity to duck under a reaching arm and fall against Mania, who then dragged her over to Howler. Sunset joined them a moment later, and they raced for the doors--
--which slammed down, a gray metal gate sliding over the golden doors, and they skidded to a halt. Zelda whipped around and made to shift, but a figure appeared at the top of the balcony ahead of them, and a booming voice echoed.
It laughed, deeply and loudly, and with it two anima, in the form of crows, flew down to land on its shoulders. As they did so, the figure, sheathed in darkness, spoke.
"My honored guests," it said, and Zelda pushed back a shiver, a flare of instinctual fear chilling her down to her bones. Howler pressed close to her, tangling his fingers with hers, and she knew he felt it too. She stared, wide-eyed, as the figure spoke again.
"Lovely of you all to arrive. Howler of the Black Moon wolves. Spitfire of the Running Wind cheetahs. Mania of the Gold Leaf lions. Sunset of the Haze of Shadows foxes. I welcome you to my gala."
"What do you want?" Sunset called, half behind Mania, but her voice sounded weak.
The figure didn't move, but Zelda got the impression it was smiling. She pressed closer to Howler. "Nothing, dear Sunset," it said, and Sunset hissed. "All I want is for you four to enjoy yourselves. The gala is honoring the induction of a new tribe, the strongest in all of Hyrule, the Thieves. And it is only sensible for the heirs to the four previously strongest tribes to be here as witness."
Zelda's mind spun. Strongest tribe? And the four of them as the previously strongest? What was this anima talking about?
She glanced agt Howler, but he was glaring at the figure, his shoulders raising, lips twisted in a snarl. Swallowing, she turned back to the figure, who had backed away from the railing.
"Now, my faithful servants will show you to your rooms. The gala will begin shortly."
It backed away into shadow, and the two crows lifted off its shoulders and flew down to shift in flashes of light in front of the group. Zelda shielded her eyes; when she lowered her arm, she found two wrinkled, weathered old hags standing where the crows had been.
One of them had a red cloak, and the other bore a blue one. "Come with us," the red one screeched, grabbing Zelda by the arm. She hissed and sliced the hag's cheek, and the other lunged--only to be faced with a roaring Mania and snarling Howler. They dragged Zelda back, away from the women, but then a deep roar, one that chilled Zelda down to her bones and froze Howler and Mania, echoed from the bowels of the manor.
It reverberated in their bodies, freezing them in place, until it suddenly cut off. Then a voice, seeming as if it came from everywhere.
"Do not disrespect me in my own home, anima. Either go with my servants, or I shall have to take other measures. Do not make me force you."
The echo of the threat lingered in the air, ringing in Zelda's ears as she and Sunset stared at one another. Shaking, with the intrinsic fear of that shadow figure and what they might be heading into, Zelda disengaged from Howler, knowing that however scared she was of whatever the gala held in store for her, she was infinitely more afraid of whatever their host would inflict on them if they didn't obey.
So she swallowed hard and looked at Howler, willing him to see it, and he nodded, his jaw locking. Then she looked at Sunset and Mania, saw the same conclusions, the same fear in their eyes, and took a step toward the women. She and Sunset allowed them to take their arms and lead them up one of the staircases along the wall.
Down a dark hall and into a room, suddenly bathed in light, Sunset and Zelda found themselves shoved into the center, blinking away the spots. Dressers and mirrors lined the walls, and then the women unceremoniously started yanking on Zelda's clothes.
She hissed and jerked away. "Hey! Wh--"
"Your clothes are dirty!" the red one snapped, clawed fingers reaching for Zelda's skirt. "You must change for the master!"
"I can change myself, thank you," Zelda snapped back, trying to hide her shaking hands in her skirt. Taking a deep breath, she clutched it and said, "What are we supposed to wear if not our clothes?"
"The master has selected outfits for you," the blue woman said, voice scratchy with age. "Come come, get undressed!"
"This is the most uncomfortable thing ever," Sunset muttered, stripping her gown off. Following her lead, Zelda grimaced. The servants were right, however crass they were about it. Zelda's once-white clothes were almost brown with dirt and blood, and the hems of her skirt were shredded. But she didn't want to part with them, especially not in exchange for what the "master" had wicked for them.
She glanced at Sunset, and the fox nodded once. This had been planned long in advance. But what was their goal? To wipe out the tribes with the virus? Was that it? Why invite them to a party? And what he'd said in his speech, earlier--
"Here!" the red woman shoved a bundle of cloth into Zelda's arms. "Put this on, quickly!"
The woman ignored Zelda's glare and shuffled off to wait in the corner, staring at her with beady black eyes. Zelda groaned in disgust and pulled the dress on, struggling to fit into it. How skinny do these freaks think I am? She thought, pulling at the ties.
Finally she got it on, after Sunset had pulled the last bit up over her chest. It fit like a glove and was almost uncomfortably tight, and she couldn't take a deep breath.
"This sucks," she muttered. Sunset snorted.
Turning, the ties finally done, Zelda was shoved in front of a mirror and had her hair yanked back. A brush was run through it, and glancing to her left she found unset going through the same torture. She was gripping the table edge tightly, gritting her teeth.
Zelda closed her eyes and tried to imagine it was Howler's fingers sliding through instead of the servant's claws. She imagined they were in a field, with him sitting up, running his hands through her hair, his callouses brushing her neck.
That helped a little, even if it made her chest feel even tighter, but then the illusion was shattered as her hair was pulled into a knot at the back of her head, and something that felt like string was woven through it. Then the servant shoved something in her earlobes, and yanked her up.
"There," she grumbled. "Now you at least look presentable."
"Presentable for who?" Zelda couldn't help but ask.
The servant scoffed. "The master, obviously."
She turned, revealing Sunset in a sparkling black gown, who rolled her eyes. Obviously, she mouthed. Zelda stifled a laugh.
Zelda turned, curious, and found someone totally different looking back at her. She was wearing a floor-length, form-fitting white ball gown, and the only reason she knew it was called that was because she'd seen it in a few books her mother had brought back from her home. Beads and crystals were sewn into the length of it, creating some design she couldn't make sense of--it looked like three triangles, stacked atop one another, with some sort of wing design flaring out to either side of it. It dipped low in the front and the back, and though her old outfit had exposed a lot of skin, this felt . . . different. She felt her neck heat up.
Zelda cocked her head, trying to shake it off, and the clink of jewelry brought her gaze upward. Her hair was pulled into a low knot, with strands of pearls woven into it, and diamonds hung from her neck. She took a breath, trying to figure out how the hell she could fight in this thing--she could hardly move!--when Sunset came up behind her. And with one look in her dark golden eyes, Zelda knew she was thinking the same.
What had they gotten into?
The servants appeared and latched onto their arms. "Now come! The gala is beginning."
They were dragged back down the hall and the stairs, but where before the open room had been empty, now it was filled to the brim with people. Zelda and Sunset stared at one another, bewildered, when a flash of gold caught her eyes.
Howler and Mania stood at the other staircase, but they weren't alone. There was another anima with them, and as Sunset let out a soft curse, Zelda had a feeling she knew who it was, even without their red eyes and white hair.
Their stalker.
And, judging by his scent, the one who'd tried to shoot Blazing Sun. zelda was willing to bet money that he'd shot Howler and Night Vision, too. She'd had a lot of time to think about that on the road, and she knew she'd smelled something funny at Running Wind, as distracted as she'd been. Now she knew why.
Zelda narrowed her eyes at them, but the stalker just pushed Howler and Mania forward, down the stairs. Zelda and Sunset matched them step for step, the servants mysteriously gone, and before long they were absorbed into the crowd.
Immediately Zelda noticed something different. Glancing around, she saw every one of the guests had masks. But not her and Sunset. They kept close, tangling their hands together, and waded through the crush of people staring at them. Some of the masks were ornate and beautiful, while others bordered grotesque. One woman wore a simple white mask, with a sort of moon shape carved into it. She cocked her head at Zelda and Sunset, and without a word Sunset pulled them along.
The fear was back, Zelda noticed. It shortened her breaths, made the air push down on her, crushing her. She tried to even out her breathing, but people were everywhere--
A hand clasped her free one, and she found herself suddenly looking into Howler's eyes. Zelda let the breath she'd been holding out, letting him pull her to his chest. Then he was speaking, asking her--
"Are you okay? Did they do anything to you?"
"No, we're fine," Sunset answered, somewhat dully, to Zelda's ears. "Though I think she may need some air--"
"No, I'm okay," Zeld forced herself to say, pulling away. She didn't go far, though, holding onto Howler tightly. "We need to stick together and figure out what this 'master' wants from us."
Howler nodded. "I think we may have someone to help us. If he would just behave," he added in a growl, and suddenly there was a cool hand on Zelda's back.
"Now now, pup, let's not be hasty," an unfamiliar voice said, and Howler growled. "We wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."
"I'd rather not stay to see it at all," Howler responded.
The voice tsked, and from behind Zelda came the man from before, the stalker. He was wearing a suit, with almost charcoal black skin. His red eyes blazed, and his hair was slicked back. Red hoops hung in his ears as he smiled at Howler. "That's not very festive."
Mania just snarled at him, and the stalker rolled his eyes. "If I'm going to help you, I won't be speaking to you two heathens. I'd prefer more . . . sophisticated company."
And he smiled at Sunset, who, to Zelda's surprise, didn't look surprised at all. She merely sniffed. "I shall have to contain my excitement."
The stalker smiled wider and bowed at the waist. "Lead stalker of the Nightwalkers," he said, voice low and sensual. He raised his face, and smirked. "But you can call me Trouble."
"I don't like him," Link growled.
Spitfire glanced at him. She pursed her lips, watching Sunset and Trouble dance. "He seems . . ."
Link watched her, a brow raised, and she rolled her eyes. "He hasn't done any harm yet, but we'll keep an eye on him," she relented. "Look, Mania's already on it."
She jerked her chin to where Mania was circling them, not quite out of sight, which Link knew was just the way to piss off Trouble--and it was working. Mania bobbed in and out of Trouble's vision, much to the anima's annoyance.
Link snorted. "At least he's good for something."
Spitfire rolled her eyes. "Right. At least there's that."
Link grinned. She knew he wasn't being serious, knew he considered Mania as much of his pack as he did Impa, or Ilia, or his cousins. And though the lion still did everything in his power to annoy the hell out of Link, it was more a game now than an actual war.
As for the rest of them . . . he knew, now, that he'd die for any one of them, not just Spitfire. To hell with tribe boundaries and differences--they were his pack now. They were his, and if anything tried to attack them--
"Howler?"
Link blinked, glanced at Spitfire. He swallowed.
She was closer now, only inches away. She seemed to notice it, but didn't move, even as a flush creeped up her neck. "You seemed tense," she said, but now her voice was a breath, and it fanned over Link's jaw. He fought back a shiver.
He grabbed her hand, desperate to release some of the tension in him. "Let's dance," he said, gruffly.
Spitfire followed along, bemused.
Link stopped them in the middle of the dance floor, where other partygoers spun and twisted around one another, without a care for the two unmasked guests in their midst. Link counted that as a blessing.
But now, with Spitfire staring up at him, he suddenly froze, unsure of what to do. He silently cursed himself. He'd never been dancing before--what was he doing!
He was so busy cursing himself that he didn't notice Spitfire's hand sliding into his, or her other hand brushing his shoulder. He blinked at her, jerked out of his embarrassed inner rambling, and felt his neck heat up at her proximity. A flare of heat stroked his soul, and he shivered. "S-Spitfire?"
She was blushing. Was that a blush? Link unwanted to squint, but she said, without meeting his eyes, "my mother taught me some dances . . . from her home. I don't know if they're the same, but . . ."
But she wanted to dance with him. He'd dragged her out here, but--
Link bit his lip to stop the grin, then gave up. He let it curl his lip up, and his body relaxed, and the shift made her look up. Their noses brushed.
Suddenly quiet, Link stepped forward. Spitfire stepped back. He led her around the floor in a small circle, his gaze searing into hers, his soul shivering in the incredible heat she invoked in him, his hand warm around hers. He swept her around, his hand low on her waist, and as he pulled her closer to avoid a swapping couple, she let out a breathless laugh.
Link found himself returning it as they turned, the music both loud and quiet in their ears, nearly drowned out by the roaring of his blood, by the pounding of his heart in his chest, of the voice of the wolf in him, demanding that he take her.
No, he thought, but with her looking at him the way she was, with her golden eyes searing into his, her lips parted, her nose brushing his, her breath fanning over his jaw, he felt viscerally that he was fighting a losing battle.
He swallowed, clasping her hand tighter. His arm swept her out to the side and she twirled out of his grasp, along with the crowd, but he kept his gaze on hers, tracking her even as an unfamiliar masked woman entered his arms. Spitfire spun in another man's dance, and yet her eyes never strayed from his, and as the crowd spun again and she returned to the circle of his arms, he dipped her, keeping her firm as her arm bent over her head to touch the tiled floor. And as he looked at her, in that moment, everything--the fear, the virus, the war, the shadow figure--it all flew from his head, leaving nothing but that delicious heat and her--glowing, shining in his grip, smiling with breathless abandon.
He lifted her, finding that smile reflected on his face, and she lifted a hand to his face. Link leaned into her grip, holding her like a dying man held his last hope. Somehow they'd come even closer, but neither said anything, not as Spitfire licked her lips and met his gaze.
"Howler . . ."
Howler. He didn't want her to call him that. He wanted her to know him, to call him by his name, to have him in all the ways that mattered. He wanted her to look at him the way she did now forever. And it hurt that he'd never have it.
But he could . . . if just for a little while.
Link's eyes opened, meeting hers, and he felt a pulse of madness take over, and he let it flood his body. Spitfire seemed to see it in him, because she took in a shuddering breath, and lifted her face closer. "Howler--"
"Link," he breathed, relishing the way the wolf inside howled with joy, with ecstasy as her body shifted against his. He rested his forehead against hers, feeling the bond within settle comfortably between them.
Her eyes were wide, filled with a dozen emotions. She blinked, her fingers twitching on his cheek, and then they slid to his neck, and she let out a breath that shook only a little. Her eyelids fluttered just so, and she whispered his name in a way that unmade him completely.
"Link."
Something in him snapped, releasing the wild animal inside, and with a trembling sigh he captured her mouth, earning a muffled sound from her.
By the Holy Three, she was perfect. Her lips moved against his with a soft insistence that had him trembling, and the bond in him was vibrating, shivering in pleasure, and he could hardly think straight as her body pressed against his. A soft sound slipped from her lips, and she turned her head for a better angle.
A noise that sounded embarrassingly like a moan escaped Link, but in the next moment he decided he didn't care, not as he tipped her head back to deepen the kiss. His hand slipped lower on her waist, lowering to her waist, and he felt her begin to smile against his lips, and he returned it--
"My honored guests!"
The heat dissipated like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on them, and Link and Spitfire sprang apart with a shock. They whirled to face the balcony, where the other partygoers were now cheering at, the dancing forgotten. The shadow figure stood with his arms spread wide, and over the sound of cheering, chains rattling could be heard.
It was lost on Link and Spitfire as Mania, Sunset, and Trouble appeared at their side, glaring up ahead. The figure spoke again, his deep voice reverberating on the glass chandeliers above, on the enameled walls. The room quieted, as if in anticipation of his words.
"I was once like you all . . . lost, wandering, confused. Confused about my place in the world. I traveled this land of Hyrule, from the Zora River to the Heights, from the wolf packs of Deku Forest, to the undulating grasses of Great Hyrule Plains. I saw so much, and yet, hardly anything new."
"Everywhere I went, I found rejection." The figure came forward until he stood at the railing, and yet his face remained in shadow. Link ground his teeth. He wanted an enemy he could see damnit, and he knew where this story was going.
"I was not one of the cheetahs, or the wolves, or the hawks or sharks or foxes. I was turned away with violence and hatred. It made me wonder, and it became what started me on my long journey."
"Eventually, in my travels, I came to an old place. A piece of Hyrule's history, an ancient relic of the past. Deep in the north, at the base of the Dragon Tooth Mountains, I found a temple."
"It was a dark place," the figure said, and it seemed with his words the shadows of the room deepened, seeping into the wood, making it creak, cracking the stone. "A vile place. Full of death and violence. And I found in its dungeons . . . my answers."
"Meditation and contemplation had served me well in the past, and so I wandered the temple, studying its layered past, its bloody history. And as it whispered to me the lessons its darkened rooms held within, I knew what it was I had to do."
The shadows lightened barely, just enough for the face of their enemy to be revealed--for that was who he was, Link knew, viscerally. It was what his instincts screamed at him, what the wolf howled within, what his mind battered him about. He gripped Spitfire tighter, feeling Mania come up to guard their backs, feeling Sunset and Trouble shift closer to his right. His pack pressed as close as they could, the better to weather their enemy's words.
He was unlike anything Link had seen before. Flaming red hair, tied back from his face in a long mane and glittering with golden hair rings and ornaments. His skin was dark, a deep brown, and peppered with scars. He was massive, too--easily twice Link's size. He beat back a flare of fear savagely.
The man smiled. "I did as the voices said. I dug in the front of the temple, in full knowledge of this land's history, and found it. The virus."
Link felt more than heard Spitfire's gasp. He met her gaze, saw the shock in it, and fought to push down a flare of rage. So this was the man responsible for Tatl's death.
He was still speaking. "It was weak. You see, that temple was more than a relic--it was a burial ground. The first generation of anima had buried their dead there. As the bodies decomposed, the virus had seeped out of their bodies--for it no longer had a host--and spread. It could not kill stone, however, and so there it stayed, leeching the life out of all that found it, slowly dying out itself. Until me."
"I saved it," the man said, and now there was a hint of madness in him, in the glint of his eyes. Link clutched his pack tighter, unable to fight the feeling that something was coming. "I saved the virus from destruction and cultivated it to what you see today. However, I could not enact my revenge with a weak virus. So I had to resort to more . . . traditional methods."
Night Vision's body flashed through Link's mind, with the arrow that had killed him. "I learned quickly that death made the virus stronger," the man said. "Eventually, as more death was dealt, it became strong enough to be administered to the blood. So I began my revenge."
"Now you see the fruits of my effort!" he suddenly roared, and the room cheered. Spitfire flinched into Link's side. "And now, I will introduce your new tribe--those who will rule over the ashes of old Hyrule! The Thieves!"
Clapping arose with the cheers, and figures in flowing purple robes exited through doors set behind the crazed anima. Link gripped his knife tightly, watching them sharply. Would they attack? Would they just stand there . . . and do nothing?
He shared a glance with his pack, and found the same confusions mirrored there.
"The Thieves shall rule at my side once Hyrule's sins have been cleansed! But the only way to accomplish that . . . is through a purge."
He threw his arms up, and now Link heard clearly the sound of chains rattling, and an all too familiar scent wafted down from the ceiling. "I, Ganondorf, shall lead us! We shall purge Hyrule of her abusive tribes and start anew! We shall eradicate the racisms we faced in our lifetimes, and make this a place of shared territory, shared prey! We shall be the rulers of a new age--an age of equality!"
The chains drowned out whatever Ganondorf was still saying, and with a whoosh bodies fell from the chains, dangling like ragdolls. One landed inches from Spitfire, and she screamed.
Ganondorf was laughing. Link covered his mouth with his hand, staring at the blackened face in front of him. The body was shriveled, and the scene from a week previous flashed in his mind, in the grove of trees by the river. The skull shone through flaking skin, its mouth opened in a soundless scream of agony. A leopard pelt was slung across what had been its hips, and even that seemed to have lost its softness. Necklaces of bones were collapsed around its neck.
Spitfire was staring at it with wide eyes, eyes that she turned to Mania, as if in confirmation. The lion nodded, his golden tone paled to milk white. But Link wasn't looking at them.
He stared at the body dangling a few feet from him, at the white wolf's pelt around its shriveled shoulders, at the broken loop of woven cloth around its neck, interwoven with a single piece of white silk. He stared at the other bodies around him, all wearing that same cloth necklace, all bearing the same motif, tattooed into their brows, brows that were now black with death. But even that could not hide the truth.
He staggered a step back, feeling Sunset's hand on his shoulder, nails digging in through his suit jacket. He met her gaze, finding the same horror in her golden eyes.
The Lightpaws.
He backed away again, this time followed by his pack, and as he met Spitfire's eyes, she mouthed one word, one word that confirmed his worst fears.
Sharpclaw.
Link felt sick. The--the Lightpaws and Sharpclaw--they'd been taken, abducted, and now they were--
"Oh, I do hope you're not leaving," Ganondorf crooned, and as if on command, the crowd pressed behind them, pushing Link's pack and Trouble back to the balcony, to within inches of the bodies. The stench of the virus and death shoved itself up their noses. Sunset sneezed.
"You see, you've not seen the real party yet," Ganondorf called, and it sounded like a hiss. His voice carried a note of madness, of insanity, and it showed when he shrieked--
"My virus is not yet complete, guests! It is not strong enough to wipe out the four strongest tribes--your tribes," he snarled, spittle flying. His hands gripped the railing, even as the doors behind him opened, and the sounds of struggle came out. "I need better blood--stronger blood. And the only way to get that is to kill stronger anima. And I will start with these two!"
Gods.
Two figures were shoved forward, and Link heard Mania curse, heard Spitfire go through every curse she knew before settling on, "Gods fucking damn it."
Sunset had stiffened at his side. Link swallowed against a dry throat, staring up at the red scales, dried with lack of water, at the dark blue hair tied with feathers. He watched the gag slip off the mouth he knew could spit some hefty curses, cut the bonds away from the anima he hadn't seen in forever but whom he'd known just as long, who stared at him now with such sadness, it stole his breath--
Knives were held to their throats by the Thieves, and Ganondorf laughed evilly. "So here you stand, anima! You shall bear witness to the beginning--the beginning of your end!"
And Link could do nothing, not a gods damned thing, as those knives, coated in a slick purple-red slime, sliced right through Mipha and Hawkeye's throats.
He felt it as if it had been his own throat, and he fell to his knees, hardly noticing the shoulder propping him up, nor the voice that snapped in his ear, "Get a grip, will you? It's not over yet."
It was. It was over, at least for his friends, and if they were dead, what was the point--?
A hand gripped his chin with stunning tightness, and his head jerked up to see Spitfire glaring at him. "If I have to kick you in the nuts again, I will," she warned.
Link laughed a little, shocked into honesty. "I don't think that's necessary," he mumbled, and then the bodies of his friends tipped over the edge, now black and drained, and the moment of humor was utterly gone. He swallowed, trying not to stare at them, trying not to envision how they'd used to be. Spitfire's hand slipped from his chin to his hand and clenched it tightly.
Ganondorf above wasn't done. Unfortunately, Link thought venomously. The rage was back, flooding his every cell, turning his vision red as he stared up at the monster.
"Now," Ganondorf breathed. "Now, it is ready."
He motioned behind him, and ne of the Thieves came forward with a pillow. On it sat a jar, and in the jar--
Ganondorf held it aloft with the reverence one held a figurine of a deity with. The tiny branch was blooming with sick-looking black flowers, and on the bottom of the jar, black seeds were scattered. "Here we are," he said, grinning maniacally. "Thieves! Go with my tribe, the Yiga, and spread ny will! Plant these seeds in Hyrule's soil, in her fertilized lands, and spread my virus! End this poisonous land of the tribes, and let my reign begin!"
The Thieves all came forward then, each equipped with a jar full of seeds, and before Link or Spitfire or anyone could question it, the doors burst open and the monkeys from the jungle burst through, sweeping the Thieves with them, and flung themselves long the banisters, the mezzanine, escaping through the windows. Link turned, snarling already, to follow them, but Trouble seized his arm.
Link glared at him. "What the fuck are you doing--!" he hissed, but Trouble's glare brought him to a halt. "Just wait, gods damn it. Does it look like he's just going to let us go?"
Link snarled viciously, but turned back to Ganondorf.
The madman was grinning. "Now," he breathed. "One more, and it shall be ready. Bring him in!"
Link tensed, bracing himself, hating that he was helpless. Who would it be? One of his cousins? Or perhaps it was Shadow Sight? He glanced at Sunset, but she gave no sight she recognized her leader's scent. Though, in this room, with the virus all over the place, it was almost impossible--
The sounds of a mad struggle came through the door, and over Ganondorf's manic laugh, Link strained to hear something familiar. Was it Spots? Talo? Or--could it be Last King? Blazing Sun?
The prisoner was shoved forward, and Link blinked, feeling something in his chest cave. He stopped forward, just one step.
"Dampe?"
The wolf didn't hear him. He struggled like a wild thing in the Thieves' grip, his hair matted with blood and sweat. His face was more red than flesh toned, and as much as Link had hated him, he could admit when one was a ferocious fighter. Dampe was giving it his everything, and it was clear he'd put up one hell of a fight before now.
Link actually began to think he'd escape when Ganondorf strode forward and sliced Dampe's cheek, deep. Dampe froze, his eyes flicking up to Ganondorf, furious and feral.
"Who the fuck do you think you are, pig?" Dampe snarled, and Link again had to hand it to him. The balls it took to say something like that to an anima who'd done this . . . Link surveyed the room and its carnage with disgust before watching the scene on the balcony.
Dampe was talking shit. "You're just a jumped up fucking pig," he spat, and actually spit in Ganondorf's face. "You aren't shit, man. You can take your fucking party and your fucking anima and go fuck yourself with them! You'll never belong here, you prick!"
Ganondorf ignored it all, just motioned for the wildly struggling Dampe to be brought forward. He screeched and shouted profanity the whole way, while Link's pack watched with bated breath.
Ganondorf spoke, eerily calm now. "You have a choice, anima. You can help this fool or you can stay and watch him die, the better to know your demise. I'll even let you go, to warn your precious tribes. What little good it will do you all does not matter--at least you will have the honor of knowing how you die."
That shut Dampe up, at least enough for him to glare at Link. "What the fuck are you waiting for, idiots?! Get out of here!"
Link balked, taking a step back despite himself. Dampe glared at him, even as Mania began snarling at the other guests, who'd crowded forward, even as Spitfire took his hand tightly, even as Spitfire tore sequins from her dress and smoke began wafting from her palm.
Link was torn. They couldn't, but the seeds--
Dampe glared, as Ganondorf smiled widely and dragged him forward. "Go on, pup! Get--"
The crack of bone punctuated the kick to the gut that ended his statement, but he kept his eyes on Link. "Get out," he wheezed, his arms restrained. "Fucking . . . go!"
A fist to the face had him spitting blood. Spitfire yanked on Link's arm, but he found he couldn't tear his gaze from Dampe's, even as Ganondorf produced a syringe, filled with that same red-purple liquid, grinning a madman's grin.
They were almost at the door. Link was going willingly now, but he still refused to look away, determined to watch until he couldn't anymore. He would see this through, gods damn it all. Dampe held his gaze, staring as Ganondorf tore his sleeve, pressing the syringe to his bare skin. He took a deep breath, and though he whispered, Link could hear him crystal clear.
"Save them."
Well this took forever. Work sucks. 'Specially when neither of my managers are here to do any managing /
Anyway, please enjoy. Next chap will be up in a few hours, as long as I don't get distracted again. Hah.
Review replies.
To StJames1: ohh, that was some heavy sarcasm. *nods* You're improving.
Of course the bananas. I wanted it to be obvious but not too obvious haha.
Okay I'll see y'all in a few hours. Pray for me.