Author's Notes: Another update? In less than two weeks? Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?! Don't get used to this, people. This chapter was almost entirely complete when I posted chapter 2. It's going to be a while before I get chapter 4 up, but it will be worth the wait!

Once again, you guys astound me with your kind words and encouragement. I'm fairly certain I responded to most everyone's reviews through PMs this time. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! Your support is amazing.

Warning! This is where things get brutal. This fic was almost rated M for violence because of this chapter. And the next one. You have been warned.

Without further ado, STORY TIME WITH SHNARF!

Link staggered to his feet, using the Master Sword to prop himself up. Before his vision cleared, a sharp kick to his ribs sent him sprawling backwards. He stifled a scream as he bounced to a stop on the volcanic dirt, a stone's throw away from where Pipit was battling. Gasping as the air declined to return to his lungs, he spat blood out of his mouth, trying to clear a path through the ashy film that blanketed his airways. He could not fail now. Would not fail now. Not after his brother had risked his life and plunged into the enemy stronghold on Link's behalf. His mind screamed at him not to give up, but he was the prisoner of a broken, failing body. Still, he forced himself back up onto unsteady legs with a low whine. Blinking back the blotches swimming in his vision, he gritted his teeth against the pain of simply standing.

As his eyesight cleared, it fell upon a single bokoblin archer that had stepped forward amidst the ranks of pig-men. It smirked as it raised its bow and notched a thin, pointed arrow, aiming between the hero's eyes. It slowly drew the string back and bared its teeth in a maniacal, almost giddy sneer.

This was it.

They were going to execute him.

Instead of loosing the arrow, it grinned and aimed past Link at the mustard blur behind him. Link's eyes widened in horror and realization. Of course they weren't going to kill the hero. He was too valuable. He knew the location of the reincarnated Goddess. They needed him. But the hero's friend, on the other hand, was an expendable nuisance. Killing him would set an example.

Link's mind reeled as time seemed to slow. The notched arrow was a bodkin. It would pierce right through Pipit's chainmail, and Link could not let that happen. He knew the archer was too far for him to reach in time, so there was only one thing to do. His body moved of its own accord. Legs pumped, feet slid, and arms spread as the hero threw himself into the line of fire, just as the archer let the arrow fly.

Thunk!

Pain exploded in his torso.

The Master Sword clanged as it fell to the stone.

Link sank to his knees, eyes wide in shock. Somewhere, someone was screaming his name. He couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe. The ground rushed up to greet him, but he caught himself with one hand. The other reflexively clutched his chest. A thick tendril of crimson dripped down the arrow shaft protruding from beneath his left collar bone and splattered rhythmically onto the scalding hot stone, but all Link could see were blurry splotches of red and black that danced and spun in his eyesight. The pain was all-encompassing. It smothered him, threatening to drag him down into the pits of darkness.

The stone lurched and rolled beneath his hands and the hero's body threatened to collapse entirely. A wave of nausea assaulted him. Overwhelmed in agony, Link's stomach heaved and he retched a mixture of soot, stomach fluid, and blood onto the hot, ashy rock beneath him. With each convulsive movement, the arrowhead scraped and ground against bone, shooting currents of torment down his limbs. As the vomiting subsided, all of Link's energy focused on breathing. His ragged gasps were rapid and shallow as he weakly clung onto consciousness.

He couldn't take this anymore. Inky blackness encroached around the edges of his vision and began to claim territory. It was too much. There was no end in sight to this torture.

Perhaps…perhaps it was time to give up on this hopeless, losing battle…

The darkness grew in his eyesight, opening its arms into a welcoming embrace. If he gave in, the pain would stop…and that sounded pleasant. His arms shook and buckled, and Link fell to his elbows. He rested his throbbing head on the stone as his senses started to fade. His pain began to slowly melt away. He could hear Pipit and the bokoblins, but they sounded so far off. It would be over if he surrendered to the cold blackness. No more misery, no more agony, no more longing to see his sweet Zelda…

Zelda…

Link!

His eyes snapped back open. No. If he surrendered, Zelda died. If he gave in, all of his friends would be killed. The demon king would rise again and conquer all.

He would not allow that to happen.

A warm light began to shine and pulse on his hand. Rage bubbled forth from the depths of his soul, bursting through the prison of agony. The pain, the despair, the hopelessness yielded to a tsunami of righteous fury. No one was going to keep his Zelda away from him any longer. The energy building on his hand charged through him, his veins thrumming wild with power. He reached up with his right hand and ruthlessly snapped off the protruding arrow shaft, leaving the other half still deeply embedded beneath his clavicle. The glowing, blue hilt of the Master Sword hummed and vibrated as he grabbed it in a white-knuckled grip. Nobody would hurt her. No foe would stand against him.

He would slaughter them all.

A beacon of golden light burst from his hand, and the hero let the rage consume him.

Arms ached from being pushed for so long. Legs pleaded for a respite. Heaving chest begged him to lay down and rest. But that was a luxury Pipit could not afford, so he pressed on, slashing anything that dared come close. Had his brain registered the number of lives taken by his own hands, it would have made him sick. But in the morbid dance of kill or be killed, he had no choice but to slay his foes. Onwards they came, trying to overpower the solitary knight with sheer numbers. Strike, dodge, parry, ignore the throbbing ribs, counterattack. One by one, Pipit felled each who came close. Soon, the angry determination in their eyes slowly gave way to confusion as they glanced past Pipit amidst the fighting. A chorus of screams, shrieks, and savage snarls rose up from behind him. When confusion evolved into terror, they stopped their assault altogether and slowly backed away, terrified for their miserable lives.

With the Bokoblins before him retreating in a stunned and fearful silence, Pipit braced himself for the worst. His mind raced as he imagined the horrors behind him. Link could not have survived the wave of swine chasing them, not in his condition. More likely, Link's tormenter had caught up to them and was about to exact his revenge on the hero and his pathetic little friend. Sword at the ready, he took a deep breath and whirled around, ready to face death and the agents of chaos behind him.

He was not prepared for the scene that greeted him. Eyes widened, jaw dropped, and mouth salivated in preparation for the imminent inversion of his stomach and its contents.

It was a bloodbath.

Viscera and severed limbs were strewn left and right. Decapitated pig heads bounced as they hit the scarlet-stained stone. Squeals of agony pierced the night sky, only to be cut short as the Blade of Evil's Bane purged the life from the terrified bokoblins. The pig men gurgled as they dropped to the ground. There was a furious finesse to Link's motions. It was as though raw, unbridled wrath had completely possessed the young man. Link snarled and growled like a feral beast as he ripped the Master Sword up through another foe, cleaving from groin to shoulder. He kicked the dying swine off his blade and into the glowing molten river below them. The few remaining Bokoblins turned tail and ran from the undying harbinger of death.

They didn't make it far.

Link stood tall in the center of the carnage, coated in the blood of his felled enemies. It dripped down his face, from his hands, and off the tip of his glowing sword. Upon his hand shone three golden triangles as they pulsed erratically with holy light and energy. A small, involuntary noise escaped Pipit's lips as he stifled a gag. Suddenly, a sharp metal point pricked his neck, and he froze. This wasn't a bokoblin sword. No, this blade was crafted from otherworldly materials, and it dripped with blood and bits of swine flesh.

It was the Master Sword.

Pipit's eyes widened in shock and terror at the man in front of him. Link gripped the blade tightly as he pressed it to his brother's throat. But…was this actually Link? The hero's parched lips pulled back over his bloodstained teeth, baring them in a feral snarl. His eyes were clouded with murderous fury. Where had Pipit's compassionate and timid brother gone, and just what kind of possessive power had turned him into the raging slaughterhouse before him? Not only that, but how could he have possibly had the energy to fight back like that? Only a few moments ago, he had been unsteady on his feet.

It didn't make any sense.

Link seethed through clenched teeth, breathing hard from his previous exertion. His sapphire eyes, wide with bloodlust and rage, bored into Pipit's, searching. Waiting. Daring him to so much as blink the wrong way.

Pipit swallowed hard past the pressure of the Blade of Evil's Bane against his throat. The sweat-slicked man stared fearfully into his crazed brother's furious eyes as he slowly moved his stolen sword to the side and away from Link, simultaneously raising his shield hand in surrender.

"Link…" he squeaked out as his blade clattered to the stone, "it's me, Pipit."

There was no change in Link's posture or demeanor. If anything, he looked even more angry that his perceived foe would dare speak to him in such a pathetic manner.

Pipit's mind reeled, trying to come up with something, anything that would restore Link's sanity. What do I do? What do I say? Anything? Nothing? C'mon, THINK!

The older knight slowly raised his shaking and now empty sword hand in the air to join his shield hand, hoping the gesture of surrender would help break through his brother's fury. "Link," Pipit's voice grew more steady as he continued, "We're friends, remember? We grew up together. We…we went to our fathers' funeral when we were boys. We're brothers. I promised to protect you…but I can't protect you from yourself."

Silence stretched between the two for an agonizing moment. The pulsing on Link's hand began to even out and the wrath in Link's eyes seemed to weaken. Pipit, now emboldened by his miniscule success, pleaded, "Come back, Link. I don't know where you went or…or what took over, but come back. Zelda needs you. I need you.

"Please."

At that, the possessive hold of rage finally broke, and Link's eyes went wide. He backed up and slowly lowered the Master Sword to his side in a state of shock. Dazed, his eyes wandered left and right. Confusion and horror slowly began to rise up in his belly as he took in the sight before him. The Blade of Evil's Bane slipped between his fingers. Oh, Goddesses, there was so much carnage. Bokoblins—or pieces of them, rather—were strewn haphazardly to and fro. A few moaned and gurgled as their mortal wounds dragged them down into the arms of death. Something warm and wet dripped down Link's face, and he reached up to wipe it away with his shield arm. When it came back coated in blood that wasn't his, he began to piece this situation together with increasing levels of anguish.

Distraught, he tore his gaze away from the bloody aftermath of his rage and locked eyes with his friend. They were bloodshot and wet with unshed tears as he croaked out in a weak and wavering voice, "Pipit…what happened?" His hands rose to grip the bloodied and matted hair at his scalp. "How…?" He paused in an attempt to put words to his current state of increasing horror and panic. The hero's eyes squeezed shut, trying to block out the carnage around him. His breathing quickened as his senses assaulted him. The metallic smell of the slaughter and the putrid volcanic sulfur. The sounds of dying swine choking on their own blood. The sickening feel of the slick fluid between his fingers, dripping down his bare chest, in his mouth. An involuntary shiver of disgust shot through his body. He looked over at Pipit again with a weariness in his eyes that no man his age should have to bear. His voice lowered to a shaking whisper as he begged a question he truly did not want answered.

"What did I do?"

Pipit swallowed, unsure of how to respond. Does Link remember nothing of what just happened? What am I supposed to tell him? That he went on a raging rampage? That he almost killed me? How do I possibly explain all of this when I am just as clueless as he is?

As he opened his mouth to give an unsatisfactory reply, the ground shook once more and a cloud of ash exploded into the atmosphere from the mouth of the volcano. A swell of screeches and screams grew in the distance and a swarm of fire keese spewed from the entry of the ornate temple. The eruption jolted the pair back to the reality of their situation. Pipit heard a rattling, reptilian growl behind him, and before the threat of danger had fully registered in the older knight's brain, Link sprang into action. Master Sword in hand once again, he parried the incoming strike and quickly decapitated the attacking lizalfos.

"Time to go!" Link shouted over his shoulder as the twitching body of the lizard-man fell off the precipice and into the molten lake below. Scrambling back to his senses, Pipit snatched up his inferior blade and bounded after his wounded friend.

The loftwing statue stood alone in the distance. If they could just make it there, they would be safe…or so Link had claimed. Pipit didn't understand how the stone bird would protect them against the horde of savage beasts pursuing them, but he did not have any better suggestions. He had no idea how to escape this goddess forsaken place and go home, so his only option was to follow the hero. The mark on the back of Link's hand shone steadily as the pair sprinted towards the statue.

The enemies were gaining on them. They flooded down the paths on either side of the statue. A few of the faster ones were well ahead of the rest and rounded the bend to rush towards the knights. Still running, Link dispatched one with the glowing blade of the Master Sword and trusted that Pipit could handle the other one himself. They pushed forward.

"Do you have a sailcloth?" Link shouted over the cacophony.

"Used it for bandages," Pipit yelled back, barreling through a bokoblin without breaking his stride.

Link cursed vehemently. "When we get to the statue, grab on to me and don't let-" Suddenly, Link let out a surprised cry of pain as the light emanating from the triangles flickered and went dark, causing him to stumble. It flashed back on again, and the hero quickly righted himself and resumed his sprint.

"What the hell was that!" Pipit screamed over his shoulder.

"I don't know!" Link cried in response, eyes wide with fear. A few strides later, the golden light trembled and faded out once more. The hero failed to stifle back a scream as a sudden flood of agony broke through again and he tumbled to the ashy rock. Pipit skidded to a stop and yanked Link back up onto his feet. The mark was glowing again, but it was noticeably dimmer and less steady than it had been a moment prior. The hero staggered as he regained his footing, clutching his abdomen with a pained grimace.

"Come on, buddy! We're almost there," Pipit shouted as they regained speed. They were close to the loftwing statue. Unfortunately, the mob of lizalfos and bokoblins were nearing the knights as they made a mad dash towards the only escape route. It was going to be close, and Pipit could only pray to the goddesses for their favor.

Link shoved the Master Sword into its scabbard and thrust a hand into his belt pouch, fishing around for the handmade sailcloth as he bounded forwards. Pipit took the lead, cutting down two bokoblins on his right and shield-bashing the one on his left, clearing a path for the now defenseless Link. Adrenaline coursed through their veins. Both knights panted hard from exertion and exhaustion. This was it. If they didn't make it to the statue before the opposing forces, they were going to die, and no amount of mental pep talks or fancy swordplay would change that.

Lizalfos, keese, and swine closed in around the weary and injured knights. A dirty, brown hand latched around Pipit's right forearm. Another gripped at his sleeve. Panicked, he ripped his arm away. Scaled, green arms wrapped around his shield, clinging to it as Pipit was forced to slow. He tried to wrench it loose, but the lizalfos could not be budged. They were trying to stall him. Making a split-second decision, Pipit wriggled his arm out of the shield, leaving it behind as he rushed forward.

They were in arm's length of the stone loftwing. Clutching the ends of his sailcloth in a death grip, Link lunged for the statue. Pipit wasn't sure if his brother had dove for it or if he had fallen as he approached, but it caught him off guard. Pipit hastily abandoned his sword in the chest of an incoming lizalfos and dove after Link, locking his arms around his brother's waist in midair.

As soon as Link's fingers scraped against the hot stone, a powerful gust of wind exploded upwards beneath them. His arms jerked skyward as the pair hurtled through a cloud of keese and into the dark firmament above. A scream of agony erupted from Link's mouth. Up, up, up they skyrocketed, the molten volcanic glow dimming below him. Link felt like he was being torn in half with the sailcloth threatening to rip his shoulders from their sockets and Pipit's entire weight hanging from the arms tightly clamped around his waist. The light from Link's hand flickered in and out like an oil lamp burning the last of its fuel. Link weakly clung to consciousness as ink splotches appeared in his vision.

As the burning hot air of the fire mountain yielded to the cool embrace of the misty cloud barrier, the Triforce faded out entirely, taking Link's consciousness with it.

Author's notes part 2: Now, I know what you are thinking: "But Shnarf, Link didn't have the Triforce at this point in the game. How is he using it if he hasn't found it yet?" Answer, in short, because I do what I want. But in all seriousness, I did take some artistic license when writing this. Who doesn't? I know Mr. Hero Pants hadn't found the Triforce-Win Card yet, but at the same time, he is the Triforce's chosen wielder. That whole dungeon/temple/thingy the Sacred Triangles were housed in was designed FOR HIM to get through. It deemed him worthy of its power. Therefore, it makes sense to conclude that the Triforce might just have a mind of its own. I took that theory and ran with it. The Triforce is appearing on Link's hand because it knew that he was in trouble, so it decided to help him out a wee bit.

I didn't want it to just be a plot device, though, so...well, you'll read more on that next chapter. I hope you enjoyed reading! As always, if you liked it, please review. If you didn't like it, please review. I need your criticism. Tell me what I can improve on. I'd love to hear from you. Seriously.

Love love love, friends!

Shnarf