Greetings again, AWIRT! I decided, yet again, that I needed to take a break from Onettsons, cool off, and focus on something different. And how different this turned out to be! And how long this turned out to take! Seriously, I never expected to take this much time with this story, but it is a good deal longer than the previous chapter, so that helps explain it.

But anywho, I decided when coming up with the original concept for "Dark Perception" that if I was going to expand it from the one chapter with Ghirahim than I would do a similar thing with other dark characters of the Zelda series. And the one this chap focuses on is indeed quite dark, as well, he's Dark Link. Hard to get much darker than that. Anyways, knowing that this character was always been an unexplained phenomenon in the games, I decided I'd approach writing him the same, something I believe that has not been attempted on this site before. I wanted to write him completely different from all his other portrayals on Fanfiction, and I believe I succeeded in that regard. I ended up with something very unique, and something I'm very proud of. So, without further ado…

THIS IS CHAPTER IS SET AROUND THE FIGHT WITH DARK LINK IN OoT.

To God be the Glory

Dark Perception

That of the Shadows

Blackness. I am Blackness. Darkness. I am Darkness. I am the shadows that haunt you when you hope you are utterly alone in the Night. I am the sensation that crawls over you that makes you dare to question if everything is a lie. I am the mystery that guards the truth to the fate of what you cherish. This I have known; this I have lived. It is all that I am, and all that I have ever been.

And yet… I have felt that I was once more than this. Something beyond a primal fear, or a distortion. I have felt that once I was once tangible, visible, believable. A being like you, who refuse to know of my existence.

But that person, free to discern outside boundaries, is not what I am. I am Blackness. I am Darkness. And… am I real? Am I even a drifting notion, or am I merely some non-existence talking to the Oblivion? An imagined blip in reality couldn't possibly ask itself these questions, much less have the knowledge to even do so, could it? These wonderings do not trouble me; it is merely part of the conditions of my being to ponder these things. Those like you would be greatly disheartened by these reflections, but I do not react as you, for I am not you. I am Blackness. I am Darkness. And I am Dread.

Always I have been Dread, almost as much so as I am Blackness, Darkness. But in times of the recent past, Dread has been growing in me, building me and itself to a point where I feel something will happen. Something so different, so contrasted from my current existence, that it no longer seems to be Dread telling me these things, but an entirely new feeling altogether.

But it is only a feeling, and that is not where faith should be. Whims of chance that lead one down a twisted path and then dissipate back into Nothingness, feelings have caused many like you to go astray. Feelings beget no trust in this Void; so I have learned from the Oblivion. For the Oblivion knows many things as the Oblivion has absolute knowledge of everything in this realm. However, I suspect the Oblivion has but little knowledge of what is outside. Whenever my questions begin to inquire about what lies beyond the Shaded borders, I find the Oblivion's answers cleverly dancing back away from them. But his wiles cannot fool me, as I cannot be fooled. Of what I am able to see, I see all of it. That is because I am Blackness. I am Darkness. And I continue on, my existence an unbroken rhythm except for the feeling growing inside of me.

_()_

Nothing is the same. My reality is shifting, now resembling more than anything the strange feeling that has been creeping over me. I see flickers of vision, quick glances of something Dark. Not of Darkness, but something that is more than Dark. Something that is colored with Black, not Black itself. And I wonder what else there is to this sight; what spirit, what motive, what reason there is behind it and in it.

Why is it shown to me? This question resonates throughout my being, as it matters to me, truly matters to me. Instead of the simple acknowledgement of the question and its importance, I wholly desire to know its answer. My yearning only increases as the images become clearer and more frequent, and then the first trickles of knowledge flow into me. I know I see a place not entirely separated from this realm, but still well submerged into the reality where those like you live. And as the feeling blends almost completely with me, I realize that this image, this border between worlds, is where I am going.

The feeling seems to have a command here, its notion of existence dominant in my destination. And it is now that an observation about the feeling enters my focus. Its notion of existence is the same as mine. However, what it sees is from another angle, as if it looks down on the world and all that surrounds it. I, though, see everything from just below it, but now that this feeling is joined to me little remains of what I did not know before. No longer must I rely on the Oblivion for answers, as he is the only one of us still constrained by our realm.

Thus everything is changed, yet still the same. Everything is new and unfamiliar, yet still unsurprising and predictable. Where I go seems to be new territory to my body, but not to my mind.

My body… Indeed, as my knowledge has been freed, by body has been encased. I can feel the strength and weakness of a finite form, and the outlines of my frame slowly become clearer with every passing second. I am being built into a force that is not confined to the Shadows, but can emerge from them and enact its retribution upon those like you who have denied it. Retribution not just by fear, but by Fear Embodied. A lesson to the heart, now taught by the fist; this is the purpose of my transformation, for those who ignored the presence of Darkness to be able to ignore it no longer.

No longer am I only Darkness. No longer am I only Blackness. No longer am I only inside the Shadows. Now, I am Retaliation.

_()_

Beneath me is above me, and in front of me behind. I stare down, though really up, at the same watery room my body was formed in, but from below it. For although it may be that I am no longer in the room, I am in its reflection. I no longer exist there, in presence or image. Instead, I have been removed here to wait. By what I know not exactly, but when it was happening I believed I could feel tendrils of the Oblivion. How I do not know, for the Oblivion is still confined within the realm of the Void, of that I have no doubt. Still, I am almost just as sure that it was the Oblivion's presence that I felt. In curiosity, I wonder what the Oblivion's will would be in all this, but strangely I can see no answer within this blending of realms.

Perhaps, the feeling, the notion that speaks of climactic purpose, is from the Oblivion. Or perhaps the Oblivion will gain from the completion of my objective. But it matters not. As Retaliation, I am going to act, and nothing can deter me from my course. Even if the Oblivion's hand in all of this is my own destruction, I shall not be swayed. For I am Darkness. I am Blackness. I am Retaliation. And my time has come.

Yes, my time has come, I am certain now. Suddenly everything has come to a fixed point, the very appearance of this reality pointing to the unquestionable finale my transformation has led to. Every detail has become vivid, distinct, and sharp as the edge of a blade. And seemingly only to give merit to that observation, I notice then notice a sword, shaded just like my new body, fit firmly in my hand. I do not question it though; I know the weapon to be Downfall, which is the instrument of Retaliation. I am grateful to wield it, as anything less would be an abomination to me.

I feel vibrations run through the floor below me, which is above me. I can see the ground is a mirror, and in the reflected world within there is not a trace of me, for I exist only on one side. I wait for a counterpart in the reflection, something, I see, I am alone in. Two doors, one on either side of the room, are dually represented on both sides, as well as a miniscule island in the exact middle between the two opposing portals. The doors are set in elaborate arching stone walls, each of which being different from the other. There are other things in the room too, but they lack anything to make them noteworthy other than to be distant obstacles.

Then the slow, booming throbs of the vibrations, which have been running through my soul as well as the ground, begin to quicken. They become a pounding, intriguing, infuriating sensation, and I begin to glance around, eager to spot that which I must duel. I peer downwards, upwards, trying to discern anything through the quaking, shaking world. And I do: the pulsing gradually begins to soften, slow, and finally halt. Tense, I grip my sword tighter. I know it is far from over.

All is still; then, the vibrations return. And in the blink of an eye of those like you, they intensify far beyond what they were before. They seize and toss, push and pull, split and bind, crush and stretch, for up is down, yet down is up, and I am unaffected. How? This I do not know and this I do not care. The vibrations are shifting and centering around one point in the room, right in front of one of the doors. They circle, circle, circle, and create a beam of pure chaos that travels nowhere, and everywhere knows it. Then…

Cease. All is still. All is quiet. All is peace. I stare at the door, strangely readied by the storm. I cannot comprehend why, which displeases me. Once more I sense the Oblivion, and once more I push the thought aside; the Oblivion is unimportant now.

All of a sudden, the doorway opens its mouth and bears its fangs. Its fangs take the form of a man who steps through it, garbed in a tunic, leggings, boots, gloves, followed closely by a fairy, and carrying an abundance of gear meant for war and exploration. The most prominent of his arsenal is a sturdy, royal-looking shield, and a majestic sword, both strapped to his back. He is young, much younger in truth than in appearance, but a steady determination marks him nonetheless. Normally I would find such confidence to be brash and foolish, but I immediately see that that of the man is wise and well-founded. I admire him, but at the same time, hate him in equal measures. This hate is not the type that boils and shrieks, as those like you are so familiar with, but that which simply is, for it is a part of me. It is who I am as the agent of the man's Demise, and I must despise this one who I know defies Darkness.

Indeed, I know everything about him, as…I am him. My form is the same as his, except that it lacks color. The gold of his hair, the blue of his tunic, the silver of his sword, all this my body has pulled into and replaced with a shadowy void. Our skills, patterns, and habits with the blade are identical, and so is our aggression in battle. I know this for I am him, his Shadow, his Darkness, come to bring him to his Doom.

As the man passes the island on the other side of the mirror, I, his unseen reflection in the water, flip by a surge of will to his side to confront him. When I do, he is a fair distance away from me, studying the door opposite the one he emerged from. Both the entry and the exit have become locked since he stepped into this realm, caging him in this arena with me. His fairy spots my form almost instantaneously and just as quickly alerts him, and he turns, just as quickly drawing his sword. He is surprised to see his own shade as an enemy, but only for a second. He's had stranger foes, after all.

He charges me, shield and sword raised, and of course I do the same. As our blades clash and the sound of it rings across the waters, I can see shock in eyes as he wonders how this fight, this room, can be. It does seem rather odd that I posses the answers to his questions while he does not, but it can only serve to my advantage. As we part for a split-second, I get the strangest sensation of pure fulfillment in this battle, so much so that I feel as if I was destined to fight this fight before, and now I only carry out my deed again. The notion vanishes as our swords lock a second time, along with all other information outside of this realm. Nothing else matters, nothing else exists, for it is time for us to dance.

_()_

Attack. Draw back. Attack. Draw back. Attack. Draw back. Repetition. Over and over. Never ceasing, never changing. Always stepping, always swinging. Ever striking, ever blocking. Endless dance, endless dance, endless dance, for the Demise.

Strike. Demise comes closer; for one, unfortunately, not for all. Immobilized, then, defend. Draw back. Attack. Draw back. Attack. Again and again. Unbroken cycle, until-

Strike. Cycle pauses, then restarts. The strikes would be part of the cycle themselves if not for how sporadic and unpredictable they were. When they would come, who would receive them, what they would look like, where they would land, how severe their punishment would be; all these are unknown until one of the combatants is able to reveal them. And the reveals are never pleasing to the other. But it is all accepted, and soon the cycle washes it away.

Now the cycle and the strikes leave both of the fighters weak, equal and weak. Time to finish the dance. Clash, clang, almost strike but dodge. Clash, three clangs, forward lunge, graceful dodge, back in. Clash, clang, clanging twirl, confusion, advantage, barely block, push, pause, back in. Try to clash, dodge, block, clang, both step back, mighty clang, lock blades, test of strength, none can yield, both are equal. Push away yet down, bring back up, cannot block, slash. Injured, stumble back, cannot prepare to clash, strike.

STRIKE!

DOOOWWWNNN!

I fall, through the side, through the mirror, down, down, down, out of reflection. I scream and roar all the while, just as he would have if he had fallen, but it is me. ME! ME WHO IS RETALIATION HAS FALLEN!

Failed.

And back, back away from the mirror, the room, the blending of realms, the feeling. I fall from those like you who defy Darkness, the ones I was destined to lay low. But their defiance, His defiance, proved too strong for Darkness, too strong for Retaliation, too strong… for Me. And I am banished, with scorn now the only feeling that runs through me, back to the Void. Back to where I came, where my mind is not free to see all, where I must rely on the Oblivion, where I am bound only within the shadows, where I cannot bend and move them to my will.

I can sense the dense Nothingness of my realm envelope me again, and as it does, I feel the pain, the body, the memories, the climactic notion itself, all drift away. It all goes, and I can do naught to seize it and bring it back. All that remains that is left to me is knowledge of who I have become; that I am Retali-tali… I cannot remember being anything other than what I have always been, because I do not change. For I am Darkness. I am Blackness. And I-

And then the Oblivion speaks to me, speaks to me without being spoken to first, something the Oblivion rarely ever does. I am told something that does not make sense, something that does not seem to bear any importance for me. Yet I can tell that, eventually, when the time is right, I will understand. What the Oblivion speaks is never to be taken lightly, and even then, what I am told now I know will have bearing on what happens to me, on what my path shall be. For the Oblivion speaks the words in such a way that can only mean purpose. What the Oblivion tells me is one thing, one thing that could mean a thousand different destinies but can only be one of them. The Oblivion tells me…

I will dance Again.

Well, what'd ya think? Probably a lot of things. Given how, well, different (for lack of a better word) this chapter is, it took me a lot more time to write this than a much more well defined character like Ghirahim. Either way, I'm glad I did it. Are you, AWIRT? Well, if you are, and if you would like me to continue this fic, what character do you think I should do next? Demise? Ganondorf? Zant? Vaati? TWINROVA!? Well, whatever you think about this, I'd appreciate hearing it in a review. In the meantime, I gotta finally go back and finish that chapter of Onettsons!

This is Nacartor of Cut Productions, signing off.

*chapter replaced due to a few inconsistencies in the first draft; this has finally taught me to always proofread no matter what*