A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews! I've never done fight scenes before, and I appreciated the comments on that. I'm also glad the shadow beast seemed to go over well. I did intend it to be a shadow version of Link's animal incarnations, e.g. Link's Loftwing, future Links' Epona. As Trolly's Bara-chan so aptly put it, someone needs to make sure the idiot doesn't die....

Chapter Six

The rest of my journey through Shadow was composed of long, unmarked hours, a period of overlapping, incalculable days following a repetitive pattern. I would press forward, riding on the dutiful beast who had, for its own reasons, decided to accompany me on my quest through the Realm. When exhaustion rendered my muscles useless with tremors, I would take shelter in small outcroppings of rock. I would place my holy blade as a protective cross in front of me, my shield in the ground next to it. The strange beast never left my side.

The eerie animal never slept, either. It kept sentry over me as I rested, occasionally drifting off into slumber, and on two occasions, it roused me from my sleep when an enemy approached.

The Demon Lord visited me in these snatches of rest, though my dreams of him were no longer tortured. It was as if Ghirahim was aware I was steadily approaching, hunting for any traces of him as I suffered through Shadow in search of his blade.

Sky child... his voice reached me in dreams from the depths of his imprisonment. I would feel a firm touch on my hip, a pale hand cupping the back of my neck possessively. His lips against my ear whispered to me, sweet, captivating words I never could quite discern.

I couldn't see him anymore. But each time I woke from these dreams, I would feel suddenly, unpleasantly alone.

Another touch of cold steel against my mouth. Another shallow slash.

I turned to face the direction I needed to go. As I pulled down my sleeve, I happened to glance at my arm – I paused, startled, when I noticed the design.

There, carved in the flesh of my forearm, were the red, scarred lines of two diamonds, born in the blood I had sacrificed to secure the sword spirit's direction.

As I stared at the patterns, the idea occurred to me for the first time that I might be possessed by the demon. I knew nothing, really, of such supernatural activities, but it had to be possible; surely, that was the most reasonable explanation for my obsession, for the madness that was my current pursuit.

I shook myself from these hideous thoughts. It was a little late to dwell on the awful theory now, and in any case, as much as this troubled me to admit, I could not imagine any scenario where I learned of Ghirahim's predicament and not have been overcome with the desire to act as I had.

So I continued, riding through the Realm on the shadow beast, who appeared inexhaustible in the strange duty it had decided to undertake.

A few hours' ride went by on that last day. Then my steed stopped. I dismounted, seeing a long stone tunnel, an unnatural construction that seemed intentionally designed. I looked up at the beast, meeting its milky eyes.

It cocked its head toward me, and I reached out, patting it gently on (what I presumed to be) his nose. It retreated backwards a few steps, and gave me what seemed to be a look of significance. Somehow, I understood the Shadow animal was leaving me. While I felt strangely sad at this unexpected parting, my pulse quickened, latching onto this omen that perhaps my grueling journey was near it end.

I met the benign animal's eerie pale eyes, silently thanking the creature for all its assistance. It turned to trot away, and I turned to descend, alone, toward the tunnel.

I moved vigilantly, my faintly glowing blade drawn, fully expecting to be assaulted by some creature, but the tunnel seemed strangely devoid of any kind of activity. An unsettling feeling came over my stomach at the realization, and I could practically Fi's voice warning me to approach with caution; for what reason had even the pests of shadow for their absence?

I finally saw an opening ahead, and upon approaching, my hand immediately shot up to shield my eyes, now strained against the first actual light I'd seen since my descent into the cursed darkness.

I found myself in a round, circular chamber, reminiscent of those in my journey that would typically feature some divine monument, a sacred flame, perhaps, or a statue of Hylia; but I knew there would be no markers in this cursed place to glorify the greatness of the Goddess.

But there, a single ray of her light shone down from the ceiling-less heights, piercing my eyes with its brightness after being so long in this realm, stirring faintly glowing embers of hope in my chest.

When my eyes had adjusted, a wave of triumph energized me. The beam of light illuminated a sight so welcome, I nearly teared up in joy; there, embedded in the soft sediment of the wall, was Ghirahim's dark sword. It was about twenty-five feet from the ground, protruding at an angle rising towards the ceiling, as though the sword was yet held upright by the thin ray of light, yet to complete its fall into the center of Shadow.

My heart began pounding; it looked different, from what I could see of the blade. No longer curved, but straight, elegantly sleek, though still bearing a dark metallic color. Even the wings were different, a shining onyx-like metal, from what I could see, curved gracefully to point proudly at the blade. I remembered what Fi had said about the Demon King: "It is said in texts that he appears differently to each who gazes on him..."

I wondered now if my ghost's sword had some similarity. It was beautiful, certaintly more characteristic of the flamboyant demon lord than its previous aesthetic.

The wave of triumph settled as I approached the wall, and the fatigue returned as I studied its surface. The very thought of scaling the formation drained me.

I drew the last bottle of stamina potion I carried with me. The carbonated green liquid burned my parched throat, but sent volts of energy through my muscles. Reinvigorated, I ran toward the wall, kicking myself up its fragile surfaces and latching myself onto rock, onto bone, crawling up toward my demon, slipping only once in my ascent toward the protruding weapon.

I stretched my arm toward the blade... He's so close, I thought, my heart pounding. My hand grasped the sword's hilt, and it glowed a very faint purple, and it was surely only hallucinations of silver diamonds that sliced through the my vision of the darkness in the chamber.

I pulled, and the sword began sliding out of the sediment. With a strange wave of fatigue, I thought I felt the hilt warm slightly under my hand... Just a little further, I thought.

And then a mighty trembling filled the chamber.

I grasped desperately with my free hand onto any possible holds I could find, but each failed, the wall itself crumbling with the intensity of the tremor.

I fell from my hold, taking the sword down with me, gritting my teeth as my flesh grazed against sharp stone and bone jutting out from the wall.

I hit the revolting, accursed sediment, feeling the wind knocked out of me with a debilitating rush of pain. My lungs strained for air; somehow, my grip never loosened on Ghirahim's dark sword.

I heard it, then, while I was on the ground struggling to recapture my breath, a sound that filled me with a horror that had no explanation:

The sound of drums. The drumming of the damned, I thought wildly, immediately chastising myself for allowing myself to think such a panicked thought. But the noise came ever closer.

The hilt of the sword glowed a fiercer purple; all at once, I gasped, feeling energy being drained from my body, being pulled toward and heating the metal I held in my hand.

I knew I was not hallucinating, this time:

He appeared from the dark blade, not flipping like Fi, but materializing, slightly translucent, standing quite poised in front and over my fallen form.

Still without his crimson cloak, his laughing eyes peered down at me from behind his silver bangs. He tilted his head at me, placing elegant fingers under his chin while he examined my increasingly fatigued form; his smile and raised eyebrows were somewhere between incredulity and amusement, as though still not quite believing such a figure would come to his aid.

I struggled to steady my breathing from the rotting dirt, watching as his form seemed to strengthen, becoming more lucid, corporeal.

For the first time in my half-interactions with the spirit since that last battle with the Demon King, I felt his energy in full, experiencing again the complete force of the conceited confidence he projected.

He looked so...alive. Incidentally, Ghirahim appeared unconcerned over the drumming, which was steadily increasing in volume and now raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

Another wave of fatigue hit me, eliciting a shudder. How long had I been in Shadow...? I suddenly wondered. I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten, the limited water I had found having drained before the strangely dutiful four-legged beast had brought me here.

The drumming grew ever louder, quaking the very ground we stood on, the sound gripping my chest with a destiny that was not mine to recognize.

The pale sword spirit knelt down by my side, luminous skin somehow untouched by the dirt and darkness. I felt self-conscious, suddenly, now fully cognizant of how filthy my skin and tunic were from the long trek through grime, darkness and evil.

I stared at him, his teasing, smirking features, the thread of fate between us never more apparent than now, in the chamber that surely held our mutual destruction.

I shuddered in my exhaustion, drawing on pure courage to reach feebly toward my sheathed sword. The Knight in me would at least attempt a last stand against this evil, this ever-approaching entity that beat on the drums of hell itself...

I was interrupted. He clasped a firm, but gentle grip around my wrist, and I froze as his other hand cupped my chin. When his face bent down to mine, his fingers seemed the only stable objects in the room, anchoring me to him in the quaking environment otherwise pummeled by the evil drum. His smooth lips drew close, grazing my temple, my ear, the area just beneath my jawline.

"Didn't I tell you, sky child?" His voice was silky, energized and clear, and I realized I was still being slowly depleted of my energy, his form seeming to get increasingly more animated as I grew weaker. He gently pulled my body toward him, so that I felt almost curled around his kneeling form.

"You and I..." his right hand traced low on my chest, drifting down toward my thigh.

"Bound by a thread of fate." He turned his pale face slightly, and shaking from the ground, I could feel his cheek against my own.

The drumming sounded so near, booming like it would take down the very walls of the stone room which were already crumbling around us.

His voice was soft, like satin as he spoke to me, a stark contrast to his harrowing words. "There is a very angry, very dark phantom beast waiting just outside, and I'm afraid the brute is threatening to bring down the walls of this chamber," he murmured, hand now tracing down my thigh.

He pulled away from me a few inches, examining the walls of the circular chamber now tearing apart in large cracks, the rumbling reverberating in my chest. An edge of musing gravity crept into his voice. "But I'm afraid you're not his to fight...not this incarnation of you, anyway."

His gaze turned down to mine again, ignoring the stones falling down into the chamber. His left hand lifted my chin, and the pale spirit bent his face down to mine once more.

My breath caught in my throat, feeling his breath wash over my mouth as our doom beat steadily nearer...

Then contact, the flirting touch of his tongue against my lower lip. He drew me closer, and I felt him smile against my mouth, grazing his lips gently across mine. My eyes fluttered closed, and I scarcely dared to breathe, drowning in the feeling of his lips against mine, thinking about how everything I had endured, every creature I had fought in the Shadow Realm, was worth it just to die with him in this moment.

"I'm very sorry about this, Link," he whispered.

His hand continued grazing down my leg. My eyes shot open, hearing him unsheathe the knife from my boot.

He finally got what he wanted.

I screamed when he thrust the cursed blade into my chest. I screamed, though his lips soon descended onto mine, capturing me, muffling my cries of agony with his sadistic kiss of death.

My blood surrounded the blade's dark edges, bathing it in my life force, and I sensed the Demon Lord fully replenished, returned to his former glory at the sacrifice of the Chosen Hero.

My vision fogged darkly, though courage grasped tightly onto consciousness. I felt a pressure underneath my body. I heard the snap of his fingers, and the evil noise of the drums faded away, leaving only his words, whispered not in my mind, but aloud as a cool rush of air swept over me...

"Sky child... Your screams were just as beautiful as I imagined."

A/N: …

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Thank you so much for your reviews! I wanted to hurry and post this up, so I won't respond to them right now, but I promise I will respond to everyone in the next chapter.

My finals period is rapidly approaching, so I finished writing the first draft of the rest of this story (rather frantically) this weekend. Again, just a matter of editing/revision, blah blah. Please read and review!