WARNING: Disturbing torture scene in this chapter. The whole chapter's rather angsty, actually, so tread carefully if you are triggered by such things.

Notes: Demon language = some sort of mix of Latin and Klingon *shrug*.

The notion of colors representing different emotions was inspired by *While the Stars Burn* by RedheadedMarina.

This chapter is separated into two parts. The second part is concurrent with Fi's trip to the sky.

Chapter 32

Send Her My Love: Part Four

A light touch was all Fi needed to know who was behind her.

She gave up on the fire, allowing all of her materials to fall from her grasp. She tilted her head over her shoulder to see a gloved hand. She shut her tired eyes, adoring its feel.

She didn't move a muscle as the figure came around and knelt in front of her.

When she opened her eyes, she was not surprised to find an intent expression. Two deep brown eyes, pale skin, and long hair as white as the snow that was falling. He had an armful of kindling.

Keeping his eyes on her, he cleared the area beside them of snow and placed the firewood into it before picking up what Fi had dropped. He rebuilt what had come apart, put the stick where it belonged and started twisting it in his hands.

Fi looked down, watching the demon stooped. She observed as he concentrated, bearing down on the wood as he repeatedly spun the stick in his hands.

After several minutes of hard work, smoke began to rise. It started as small as a wisp of warm breath and grew until it was pouring into the air.

A spark ignited in the dry leaves. The demon scooped the pile in his hands and blew carefully, cradling the tinder.

Fi suddenly felt driven to reach for him. She wanted to touch him, but she made herself wait.

With flames rising in his hands, he gingerly sat the newborn fire on top of the larger pile, blowing until the wood beneath began to catch.

Eventually, the forest around them was aglow with a soft orange. Fi sat across from the demon, watching him closely. His eyes remained on what he had built.

She leaned to the side and waited for his reaction. He didn't move. She started crawling around the fire. The demon's gaze followed her.

She stopped next to him. He gave her a dry stare.

Questions waited on the tip of her tongue—where did you come from? Why are you here? Where is Link? But somehow her desire to embrace him was stronger than her need for answers.

She came forward for a kiss, but the demon backed away. Fi questioned him with her eyes.

She didn't know why but she had to touch him. She took his hand. He seemed to petrify. She took his face and moved his mouth to hers. She hesitated as she surveyed his lips, ignoring the uncertain look in his eye. Her eyes shut as she brushed her nose against his. Pleased that he seemed to share in her yearning, she pulled him in.

"No," he said, sounding as if he hadn't spoken for days. Fi retracted. "That's not what I came here for."

"Then why did you?" Fi asked.

"You've been out here for so long," Ghirahim said, looking at the fire. "I wanted to…make sure you were all right." He removed a small bag from one of his pockets and handed it to her.

"What is it?"

"Something to eat," he said.

"Oh. How…long have I been out here?"

"Twenty days," Ghirahim said. His tone suggested he'd been keeping track.

Fi didn't know whether to believe him or not. As gaunt as her face had been the last time she checked her reflection, however, it was difficult to deny his claim.

"Twenty days? You've been following me?"

"Keeping watch over you."

"I've been calling for you, but you haven't responded," she said. The demon nodded. "Why?"

"It would just make it worse for you."

"Worse?" Fi asked. "What I wanted was your help. Why didn't you answer?"

"Because you haven't changed your mind about leaving."

"You would rather me wander uselessly in the cold?"

The demon shook his head. "The more you open yourself up to me, the more dependent you will become. And if you will not come with me…"

Fi knew what he meant. "You're concerned for me? Is that why you followed me?" The demon nodded and looked at the fire again.

Fi closed in and drew the demons eyes up with her own. She scoured every facial feature. She saw much more than concern.

"You're feeling guilty," she said distantly. The demon didn't respond. "You're not merely concerned for me, but you're guilt-ridden. It's all over your face. That is why you're here." The way the demon looked down was proof in itself. "Where is he?"

The demon briefly glanced around, avoiding her.

"Where is he?" Fi asked again, this time demanding. Her hand clawed into his.

Ghirahim sighed. "I told him that if he didn't leave you alone, I would kill him."

"You what?" she asked, her cheeks turning pink. The demon turned toward the darkness. "But… Link runs from no one." She glowered at him. "Why would he listen to you? Why would he be afraid?"

"He wasn't," Ghirahim said. "So I threatened to kill you, instead."

Fi gaped for several seconds, at a total loss. Her body started to blaze along with the fire next to her. "That doesn't matter," she muttered harshly. The demon didn't look at her. "Link has the sword of the Goddesses. The blade of evil's bane. He fears no enemy."

"Its power is gone," Ghirahim said, almost sounding regretful. Fi stopped breathing. "With my king locked away, its purpose has been fulfilled. It is no longer a threat."

"That can't be true," Fi said in a half-whisper. She thought for a moment. "Where is he? Where is this unserviceable sword?"

"The blade is in the forest. He has abandoned it."

"Why would he do that?"

"He has been ordered to leave it there," the demon said.

"By whom?"

"By your very own leader."

"Hylia?" Fi asked. Ghirahim looked away, obviously holding back a sneer. "Why would she have him leave it in the woods?"

"Perhaps it is being preserved for a future mission," the demon said with a sarcastic undertone.

Fi scowled. "Why wasn't I informed of this?"

"Maybe it is none of your business," the demon said.

Fi seethed for a moment, angry that the demon lacked the decency to look at her. "Unlike myself, you seem to be well-informed." Ghirahim's eyes shifted. "So where is he?" He didn't answer. "Even with no Master Sword, Link wouldn't fear you. There is more going on here than what you say." She paused, giving the demon a chance to talk. "Have you taken him somewhere?" Ghirahim continued to gaze into the dark. "Is he dead?" The demon looked at his hands. "You at least owe it to me to tell me if you've killed him."

Ghirahim pulled his hand away. "No. He is alive."

Fi held her chest. "Where?" Her voice cracked. The demon shook his head and stood up.

"Will you not reconsider?" He looked down on her out of the corner of his eye.

"You are arrogant," Fi said. The demon's expression didn't change. "You are supercilious. How dare you assume that I would change my mind after what you've done."

"I was simply trying to eliminate what holds you back. Not do harm to someone who will never lift a weapon against me again."

"He is the Goddess's hero," Fi said, standing. "He helped to defeat your king."

"I leave my grudges on the battlefield," the demon replied.

Fi scoffed. "Not this time, you didn't." She stepped in front of him. "And I would rather search the surface for eternity than be with…"

His cross stare stopped her short. The closeness of his body almost made her forget what she was upset about. Almost, but not quite.

A gust of wind sent snowflakes fluttering around them. Fi shuddered. She suspected that she may never get used to the cold. Maybe she wouldn't have to if she could take the truth from the demon's mind. If he was reluctant to admit it, then that's what she would have to do.

But his mind was closed, and she had no way of infiltrating it from this distance. There was only one way to break through. "Perhaps…I will go with you," she said softly.

With the wind catching his hair, the demon stared. His body was askew.

Fi knew that he was ready to leave. "I so enjoyed our night together, that I can't see myself content if…" She lifted her face. "If I can never have that again."

The demon faced her head on. Fi tried to read him. She took hold of his arms.

Knowing that too much thinking could cost her valuable information, Fi made her move, wrapping her arms around the demon's neck and kissing him, waiting until just the right moment to slip her tongue in his mouth. "I'm sorry I insulted you. I didn't mean it," she told him.

Ghirahim was not as responsive as she'd hoped. His eyes were open and untrusting. He wasn't hugging her back. Maybe he didn't believe her. All she saw in his head was a wall.

She closed most of her mind while projecting what she wanted him to see. She needed him to open up, to let down that barricade.

He tasted so good, and he was so warm. The feeling she got from pressing herself against him was incredible. It reminded her of their time together in her tent, by the fire.

She considered allowing it to happen again, right there in the snow. She had been craving this.

But she needed to concentrate. That was her top priority. She needed to know what he knew to get Link back. But what was wrong with mixing business with a little pleasure?

What was she thinking? That wasn't right. She needed to focus or her true intentions would be found out.

Staying centered was key. To be too closed-off would give her away, as would being too open. She had to strike a delicate balance.

Appealing to his sexual desires seemed the smartest option. "Lay with me again?" she asked. But he was hesitant and guarded. She needed him as relaxed and distracted as possible.

What better way to achieve that than to repay him for what he'd been so gracious to give her that night?

Boldly, she told him in detail what she wanted to do. As she described the act, she caught a fleeting visual of Link. He appeared unspoiled but she didn't know where he was. He seemed discontent, as if he was suffering from a nagging ailment.

Thirsty for more answers, Fi strengthened the kiss, giving the demon's long tongue a preview of what she planned to do elsewhere.

Soon, his thoughts would be hers for the taking.

The cold seemed to melt away as Fi made an unhurried descent from the demon's mouth, to his chest, and beyond. As she kissed his stomach, she slowed, seeing a sword in a stone pedestal and Link sitting in a dark place with his face in his hands.

No, she thought. The demon looked down at her. She quickly lowered to her knees and started unfastening whatever buckle and button she could find around his waist.

She was sad and troubled for Link, but this felt so fulfilling. It felt right, as if she belonged here, on the ground and ready to please her master.

Master? Why had master popped into her head?

Fi then felt the hair on the very top of her head gripped and pulled. She gasped and reached up as she was hauled to her feet. In pain and tearing up, she looked the demon in the face. He was somber and stern. "You're a liar, woman," he said, his voice tight. He flung her head back. She immediately rubbed her scalp, stunned.

The way that he was glaring at her made her think he was going to strike her; or, at the very least, that he really wanted to strike her. Her palms lit, forming small halos in the dark. She stepped back, prepared for anything.

But the demon's face loosened, yielding to a more apologetic look. Floored, Fi watched as he pivoted. "Wait!" she called.

Facing away, Ghirahim looked to the side. "You were right about one thing."

Fi took a step. "About what?"

"I do feel guilty," the demon said. "I would have waited for the human to live out his life before pursuing you, but my time had run out." Fi stood in awe. "It was not my intention for this to progress as far as it has." He turned away. "I am…sorry." The words seemed to stick in his mouth, not wanting to be heard. He started making his way toward the plain beyond the trees.

"Will you release him?" Fi asked as he walked further away. "Please…"

The demon's feet slowed. "Even if I did, he wouldn't return to you. Not now." He continued on.

Fi swallowed. Her throat tightened as Ghirahim receded into the night.

He stopped. "He wanted you to know…"

Fi bounced a bit. "Yes?"

The demon stood as still as stone for a moment. Fi's ears perked up. "He sends his love."

In a few seconds the demon was out of sight, and Fi was alone again. She curled up next to the fire, ignoring the snow and daydreaming.

She didn't sleep that night. The picture of Link haunted her.

If only she had just left him alone; allowed him to go to Hylia where he belonged. None of this would have happened. Who knew where he was?

And it was all her fault.

After hours of ruminating, Fi saw the sunrise. With two bags of food in tow, she started back east. She slowly nibbled, knowing how undeserving she was of a privilege such as eating.

Under a grey sky and with footprints marking how far she had come, she walked for days. Accompanied only by the rumble of a few distant herds of horses, she stopped to sleep. With a mind unwilling to settle, rest would not come.

The demon still dominated her thoughts. Her need for him developed until she felt she was at the end of her tether with desire. In spite of everything, she tried contacting him again. She heard nothing.

When he had told her that she would regret not leaving with him, it was not a threat, but a fact—she would not only be dragged down by obsession, but by the culpability for Link's capture.

He sends his love, Fi thought over and over. He sends his love…

She heard nothing, and she had nothing. Nothing with Ghirahim, nothing with Link, and nothing with herself. She couldn't return to Empyrea. She couldn't stay on the surface. Braving the demon realm would eventually be the death of her.

Tears came and went as she entered Faron Field. Coming upon the footpath leading to Hylia's realm, she hugged herself, sobbing.

One would think that such an advanced age would result in wisdom unparalleled, so much so that heartache of this caliber wouldn't occur. But Fi found the opposite to be true. All of her years of education, research and introspection only magnified her suffering. It was unquestionable how terrible of a mistake she had made. She knew it, and she knew it very well. And the loss was too much to bear.

By the time she made it to the Skyview Temple she was distraught and tripping over her own feet. She fell before Hylia, and in her arms confessed everything she had done. Moved by compassion, Hylia left the temple to transport her to Skyloft.

Fi was in such a teary haze that she didn't know how she had arrived in the sky. Worn out from weeping, she was led by the hand to a huge monument. The entrance was tucked away and hidden, out of sight and unnoticed by the few humans who lived on the main island.

Fi's sniffling echoed off the walls of the small chamber. She looked around, finding what she supposed were everlasting torches. With a placid glow, the room was comforting.

Her gaze rested on a structure in the chamber's center: a pedestal similar to the one she had had a vision of in the woods. This one, however, contained not the Master Sword, but the Goddess Sword—the weapon wielded by Hylia during the war.

"I did not believe that this subject would be addressed in my lifetime," Hylia said, looking at the blade. "I assumed that someone else holding a position in the Divine Counsel, perhaps centuries from now, would have had the honor of presenting this opportunity to you." The woman seemed pleased, yet glum.

Beginning to feel refreshed in this new place, Fi wiped her tears away. "What do you mean, Your Grace?"

"In prayer I learned that you had been selected as the guardian of this sword," Hylia said.

"Guardian, Your Grace?"

Hylia nodded. "In three millennia, this blade will serve a young man chosen by the Goddesses. A hero spoken about in what they will know as the 'sacred texts'. These texts will speak of the war, Demise, the hero that you and I have come to know…" Her blue eyes lowered. "History will be recorded for the people of this realm, yet they will doubt." She looked at Fi. "This new hero of prophecy will need you to guide him."

Still shaky and emotional, Fi looked at the sword. "But…how, Your Grace?"

"You will be given the knowledge that you need," Hylia said. "This weapon must be watched vigilantly. It is imperative that it remain untouched until the hero is summoned."

"Who will summon him, Your Grace?"

Hylia grinned. "You, of course."

"Me?" Fi looked herself over, realizing how bedraggled and filthy she was. "How will I make sure this sword stays in place for three millennia? Three thousand years is…a long time. Even for an empyrean." She gave a wary look.

"You will know what to do," Hylia assured her.

"Will I be able to leave here?"

"You must stay with the weapon at all times."

"At all times?" Fi asked.

"Yes." Hylia's face turned serious. "You will be bound to it."

"Bound…?" Fi's voice faded. She was reminded of what the demon had said about his responsibility to his king.

"Yes," Hylia said. "It is a commitment. A permanent one. One that was not necessary to initiate right away, but…" Fi waited. "It has become necessary."

Fi knew what the woman was implying. She looked at the sword, ashamed.

"You will rest inside of this blade," Hylia said. "You will alternate between wakefulness and sleep for thousands of years, just as you normally would." She nodded. "But this is too long for anyone to endure confinement, even without a burdened mind."

"Can I not just sleep the entire time?" Fi asked, finding solace in the prospect.

"You must remain sentient to protect the sword," Hylia said. "And besides that…" She held her hands behind her back. "Your…problems…" Fi had never heard such halting words from the woman. "...Will be waiting for you as soon as you wake." Fi was looked firmly in the eye. "How can you be expected to assist the hero of the future if your heart is trapped in the past? If the enemy that you will face still has your love?" Fi's stomach flipped. "If the young man in green rekindles that which has no place in the life of a sword spirit?"

Sword spirit?

Fi crossed her arms, suddenly feeling cold. "If I must spend the centuries awake, yet it is too difficult…" She pondered for a moment. "What will I do?"

"I am prepared to help you," Hylia said, moving nearer. "With your permission, I will ensure that you will have the means to complete your task."

"How, Your Grace?"

"By removing what tortures you," Hylia said. "By containing your sentiment in such a way that it no longer causes you pain."

Fi shook her head. "Your Grace?"

"You will no longer have the use of your emotions," Hylia explained. "Without them, you will be wholly objective. Your feelings and the sorrow which they cause will be unable to hinder you."

The idea was terrifying. Fi looked down despondently. "What will become of me without my emotions? I will be…lifeless." She shook her head. "How will I function?"

"Much more peacefully than you do now," Hylia said. "Your condition will be temporary. You will regain what makes you you, one day." She folded her hands in front of her. "As long as the mission is successful, and you survive."

"Whether or not I get my heart back is contingent upon my success?" Fi asked. Still raw with sadness, she rubbed her forehead, feeling another bout of tears readying itself.

Hylia placed a hand on her shoulder. "It will be fine. The Goddesses would not have chosen you unless they had complete confidence in you." Tears dripped down Fi's face as Hylia leaned in. "Perhaps this is one of the reasons why the Goddesses chose you—to help you through this."

Fi nodded, quick to accept the wise words. What else did she have?

Hylia's arm came down. "We await your consent."

"I don't have to do this?" Fi asked, sniffing.

Hylia shook her head. "The Goddesses cannot force you. If you choose not to, they will select someone else."

There was no need for that. Fi had no purpose here other than to wallow in self-pity. She looked away. "I will do it," she said flatly. Hylia nodded. "But I need to know that…Link will be all right." Her voice dropped off.

Hylia looked at her sadly. "I cannot guarantee that. But he is the bearer of courage. And what is meant to happen will." Her positive words drew Fi's gaze. "Do not forget that."

Fi sighed. "I won't forget."

"Are you ready?" Hylia asked.

The sooner the better… "Yes."

Hylia laid a hand atop Fi's head. Straightaway, the empyrean felt warm. "On behalf of Din, Nayru and Farore, thank you, Commander," Hylia said.

With a new sense of peace, Fi sighed. "I am honored."

Hylia shut her eyes and concentrated. Her lips moved in silent prayer. Hushed and awed, Fi observed. Lightheadedness overtook her. Ghirahim and Link came to mind.

"May you think no more on these matters," Hylia said. "Your memory of these past days will be removed during your rest here. You will regain them later. This will leave your mind more open to the Goddesses."

"Yes," Fi acknowledged.

Colors floated before her eyes before moving away—pitch black for anger, milky beige for guilt and shame, sunny orange for joy, rosy pink for love, pale blue for sadness, deep red for desire, chartreuse for fear, rusty green for envy, aqua for apprehension…

Aggression, contempt and optimism. Remorse, disapproval and contentment. As each feeling left one by one, Fi felt more serene and calm.

But soon even serenity and calmness left her, leaving her with a vast blankness. There was no loathing with which to direct at the Goddesses for subjecting her to this, nor was there fear to accompany her new state. Best of all, there was no regret.

There was simply nothing. All she had were her thoughts, partnered with a lack of feelings to go with them.

A divine light shined and a strong wind blew around her. A force pulled her arms up. She watched as her tattered clothing transformed into a new, flawless garment. Blue and purple, violet and amethyst. She shut her eyes as soft fabric brushed her skin. When she looked at Hylia, her eyes changed, becoming monochromatic. She peered down to see a sapphire-hued diamond on her chest, a cloak and a short dress. The diamond motif was continued on her lower half in the form of leggings. She took note of it.

"How do you feel, Captain?" Hylia asked, appearing worried.

"I am fine," Fi said, her voice sounding and feeling different. It was light and flittering; almost musical. She took note of that, as well.

"Amazing," Hylia said, looking over the rebirthed empyrean.

"By my calculations…" Fi cocked her head in thought. "Your heartbeat has reached one-hundred-and-twenty beats per minute."

Hylia touched her fingers to her chest. "Amazing," she said again.

Fi glanced around, discovering that she had the ability to analyze everything in the room, from the temperature of the fire to the age of the stone that made up the monument.

Scanning her own body, she found a beating heart, along with all of her other bodily organs, but her corporeal needs weren't there. They hadn't been taken, but put on hold; similar to her emotions.

No longer semi-immortal, she was immortal, divine in a truer sense than the Goddess Reborn. Yet she could sense that her fate was tied to the sword. She knew that she had to be near it or she would wither. She took note of that, too.

"Over time, the Goddesses will impart more and more knowledge to you," Hylia said, her eyes widening at the sight of Fi hovering a few inches from the ground. "Simple facts, verbatim verse from the future sacred texts—it will all be used to aid the hero."

Fi listened carefully, absorbing every sight and sound and adding them to her memory bank.

"You will not be entirely alone in your confinement," Hylia said. "As I have stated, the Goddesses will be in contact with you. I, myself, will visit you for as long as I am able. When I pass away and the portion of Hylia's spirit which resides in me returns to the heavenly realm, communication will carry on."

Fi studied the shorter woman for a moment. "Do not be sad for me, Your Grace." Hylia looked at her feet. "I am fine."

Reading a mixture of emotions from her, Fi listened to Hylia's soft goodbye and observed her hasty departure. The boulder that had been blocking the monument's entrance was rolled back into place, leaving Fi with only the dim firelight.

After a thorough analysis of every object in the chamber, Fi entered the sword, paying attention to the way that her vision and mobility changed as her physical form gave way to her spiritual body. No more than a ball of light, Fi nestled inside the walls of the sword. It was spacious and cushioned.

Why was the phrase, 'Give my love to her', stuck in her head? She thought about it. It must have held some sort of significance. She dissected the sentence and reworded it repeatedly—give her my love, send my love to her, send her my love, deliver to her the knowledge that I love her, relay the message, 'I love you', I love her and never had a chance to say it so please tell her for me…

But she couldn't figure it out. She supposed that someone had said it to her.

She shut her eyes and slept. Truly slept. She couldn't recall what had drained her of so much energy.

Time had no meaning in the sword. She heard the voices of the Goddesses often. Sometimes she would hear a low, smooth voice speaking of things that she knew very little about. She recognized Demise and Link, however. She didn't know if the images of the young blond human being defiled in unspeakable ways were real or not. It was unfortunate if they were.

The flow of information was continuous, and before she knew it, she was reaching out to the human spoken about in his own sacred text. To begin their communications, she chose the avenue of a dream. Soon, she was reciting, "Come. You must take up this sword. As the one chosen by my creator, it is your destiny."

….

"Chtelektush, uxor vae Fi velox charretch…"

How quiet these woods had become. Had they always been this quiet? It was maddening; so much so that he almost suspected that he had stumbled into the Wood of Suicides. Or perhaps the Forest of Nightmares. He came to a stop.

This was it.

The demon wiped his sweaty brow. "Qraktatch gretch khalarr…" Panting, he pulled his hand furiously across his forehead before walking on. He stopped, holding a hand to his face.

This feeling… "Proktch vae marr pravikchtar." There was just nothing else like it.

His heart. He clutched his chest. The pounding from within it blasted in his head. He was nearly blinded by it. It was like everything was caving in on him. He took another step.

He had never been so nervous in his life. Pushing through the brush, he covered his face. The lucent moonlight, barely enough for any surface dweller to see by with the cloud cover, abraded his eyes. It was garish.

Discovering a tree beside him, he leaned over, slamming a shoulder into it. His heartbeat was racing. He felt hot and cold at the same time. His hands were shaking—

Shameful. "Prliqtash," he spat. Burying his fingers in his hair, he wrung it until his eyes watered.

With a sigh, he took another step.

The edge of the forest was coming up fast. He hesitated. To emerge was to deliver himself into a strait—a situation with only one in and no out. A double bind if he ever saw one.

A promise of glory that he never believed he could achieve for the sacrifice of his freedom. If he could only relinquish his autonomy he would gain something inconceivable. Exactly what he would get, however, was as murky as Leviathan's Lake and as easy to make sense of as the Ruins of Beezlegrond.

He was so out of breath. He wiped his face again.

How pitiful it would be to faint at the foot of one's king.

It was because he had been traversing the surface for days without eating. That's what it was. He was a captain in the army of the demon tribe. A man accustomed to severity and warfare. The air was just…different here. Nothing at all like that of the demon realm. Here it was so humid, and—

"Lex legis, Captain Ghirahim."

The demon gasped. There was the voice again. The voice that he knew well.

He didn't dare lean against the tree any longer. He walked briskly for the clearing.

So much regret.

Ignoring the moonlight, he focused on the huge circle of torches which lay in front of him. How ironic it was…

"Iumentchum, Ghirahim."

...That their purpose was to prevent anyone from falling into the chasm…

"Iubeo, Captain."

...And now…

"Iucundus iubeo."

...They were leading him straight into it.

The path to the very bottom of the Sealed Grounds led round, coiling like a serpent. Ghirahim walked down slowly. He knew he should be moving faster but he just couldn't.

"Rochtqarr," Ghirahim mumbled. He had been so close. So close. And she had been so exorable…so pliant. Never before had a female been so influenced by him.

Not that he would have taken advantage of that. He could have given her paradise. He would have.

"Infinitus," he said with a sigh.

Was it because he couldn't give her children, and the human could? He had failed to search her thoughts for such a desire. Looking at his sluggish feet, he shook his head.

He would have satisfied her so thoroughly for all of her days that she wouldn't have worried about such frivolities.

It was so dark down here. And as a demon, he knew dark.

He looked up. The torches were burning high above him now. He looked to the center of the pit where he had been told to come.

He had walked down three levels. Just one remained.

He held his hand against the wall of soil, scraping bits of it off as he walked.

He circled once more, keeping his eyes on what lay at the bottom.

At last, he touched down onto flat ground. He held his breath.

He was being summoned to the very middle, so he complied. A light began to radiate.

The moment he set foot into the light, an enormous form materialized. Ghirahim gaped at it, dumbfounded.

"Rex rgis… My king." The demon stepped back and bent down, crossing an arm over his chest. He slowly straightened. His hands dropped to his sides.

Silent and tense, he fought to look his king in the face. Before, Demise was intimidating. Now, he was terrifying. He was glowing. His face was raging. And the fire…

Ghirahim had been in Demise's presence so many times before. But then, he had kept a low profile; laid low. He had taken orders but never spoke directly to the daunting man. He'd never had to before. His king had little need for communication.

Ghirahim's whole body was trembling and his breathing seemed so loud to him. Yet his king was so still, calm, and serene. His uncanny ability to sense fear seemed more prominent now.

"Raise your eyes," the hulking man said. Flinching, Ghirahim did as he was told.

His king looked the same, but much fiercer. His sharp eyes were even sharper. His large features seemed even more menacing. His severe, angular face stared back at the demon so sternly that he could barely follow his orders.

"Do you pledge your loyalty to me?" Demise asked, his voice bellowing in Ghirahim's ears.

The demon peered at the light beneath his feet for a moment. "I…already have, my king."

"No. Not as my soldier." Demise stood up taller. Ghirahim watched as he seemed to grow before him. "As mine."

Ghirahim's eyes jumped back and forth, studying his king's face. "Y-yours?" he stammered.

"Yes."

It wasn't a question. It was a demand. One that could not be evaded. He'd known this was coming. He breathed, torn and confused—

But with an intense need to obey. This was his king whom he had served for as long as memory had served him.

Nothing stood in his way now. Nothing lay between him and his king. The one obstacle that he had hoped would construct itself hadn't gone beyond a foundation, so he was on his own.

He dropped his head. "Yes, I pledge my loyalty." When his king's heavy hand settled on his shoulder, he gave a frightened grunt. His head snapped up to meet his king's gaze.

Demise smiled in return. Ghirahim shrank under his touch. He looked on as his king's other hand came up to hold the top of his head.

With the heft of his king's arm weighing him down, Ghirahim stared at his dark, flowing garment. He wanted to ask what he was doing, why he was touching him, what was going on—

But a feeling of being shredded suddenly blasted through him. He gasped, in such agony that he was unable to speak. The light around him brightened, adding to his pain.

Everything burned and ached at once as his surroundings faded.

The pain slowly dissolved as dizziness set in. He needed something to hold on to. He reached for Demise, but the man grabbed his wrist. Ghirahim stared as the powerful hand encased his. He felt tiny.

He was so engrossed in the feeling of his king's hands on him that it took a moment to notice that the Sealed Grounds had vanished. Stone stretched out beneath him. As soon as Demise's hands released his head and arm, the demon looked up.

His king stood stiffly, appearing pleased. Breaking his eyes away, Ghirahim glanced at the small room. Grey, dark and cold. A thick chain ran from one of the walls to where he stood. It was nearly obscured by Demise's long robe, but Ghirahim could tell that it was connected to the man's ankle.

Panic started to well up in him. He felt that same chill again as he searched the room a second time—four walls, low ceiling, no windows. The only object was the chain holding his king.

Ghirahim had no idea what realm he was in, but one thing was certain—he had been transported to a prison.

The demon's jaw tensed. This was where Hylia had sent Demise after he had lost the final battle. This was where he had been sealed; in a jail, like a common criminal.

Ghirahim took a deep breath. Even if the enormous body of his king wasn't towering over him he would still have felt claustrophobic in this box of a room.

"In the surface realm…" Demise's imposing voice roused the demon from his thoughts. "It is not a chain, but a spike." Ghirahim listened quietly. "I cannot maintain this form on the surface."

After several silent seconds of looking at him, Ghirahim looked down. He wasn't sure what to do.

"At ease," the demon heard in his head. The words were cordial but the tone was punitive. Ghirahim looked up. Perhaps he should speak.

"Is that why you…brought me here, my king?" he asked. Somehow, the nod that he received relaxed him a bit.

"I may be here for millennia," Demise said gruffly. "Therefore, I require the services of one who is free. Free to roam beyond the confines of this place. Free to carry out my will."

Ghirahim had never heard his king say so many words at once. "I understand."

"Work must be done," Demise continued. "Centuries-worth."

Ghirahim looked down at the chain, already feeling the burden. "Yes… Anything," he said, keeping his head low.

"Good."

There was something about the way his king said that which made Ghirahim want to disappear. "Why me…?" His voice was meek.

"Because you have rare talents," Demise said. "A talent for superior telepathic connections. Talent with a blade and with magic." He paused. "A talent for speaking; for influence." He seemed the most excited about the last one. Ghirahim nodded his thanks. "You will be seminal. You will be my dignitary."

Ghirahim felt a spark of pride. Maybe this wasn't such a bad thing, after all.

"Your talents will be made greater through me," Demise said. He lifted an arm, squeezing a fist with fervency and passion. "So powerful you will be in my name."

Ghirahim just stared. His king was fearsome and inspiring.

Demise's huge hands came up again. They wrapped so strongly around the sides of the demon's face and the back of his head that he had only one second to recoil.

He didn't fight for long. His king's embrace was all-encompassing, and while chilling, was comforting in a way. The demon stopped moving, and instead rested his hands on the man's forearms.

This couldn't possibly be happening. He wasn't being held by his king like this. He shut his eyes and breathed, and for a moment, he felt special.

Demise tightened his hold, staring the demon in the eyes. "With my favor you will be invincible, never having to fear death. Not until the day when the blade of prophecy is at last reforged." Ghirahim breathed in the words. Warmth filled him from his extremities to his core. "You will be a weapon. My weapon." Ghirahim's head rocked back as he opened his eyes. "With you I will win back what I have lost. I will have my vengeance against this wretched human race."

Ghirahim felt himself burn with the anger of his king. Their eyes latched together.

"As sharp and deadly as a diamond blade." Demise looked the demon over as if he was searching for something. His eyes were hungry, and Ghirahim let himself be taken in. "Are you ready for a partnership with your king?"

Partnership… The demon sighed, enchanted and grateful. "Yes." Demise turned the demon's head to the right. His mouth opened a bit as his loose hair was tucked behind his left ear. He took a nervous breath.

A metallic ring sounded. Ghirahim immediately tried to face the source of the noise but was stopped by a strong hand on his neck. His eyes burst open as he viewed Demise's satisfied face.

Ghirahim gaped silently as his head was turned further to expose his ear. As he felt a knife press below the tip of it, he gasped. "My king!" His heart pounded.

But all he heard was a small chuckle. His hands flew to Demise's arm just as he felt the bite of the blade. Ghirahim pulled down but his strength was nothing in comparison to the larger man's. His body twisted as he gave a pained cry, feeling every inch of the knife as it sliced through his skin. A shaking, shrill breath rushed into him as he stared into Demise's face. His face scrunched and he gritted his teeth as the knife was driven all the way through, forcing another shout from him.

Teetering under Demise's hand, Ghirahim clutched his ear, tears streaming from his eyes. Breathing hard and holding back his disgraceful groans, he looked up, angry and slumped over.

"Let this be a reminder of whom you belong to, always," Demise said.

Ghirahim's face softened. His hand shook uncontrollably as he examined his ear. The top of it was gone.

It was on fire. He'd never felt anything so painful. All he could do was shut his eyes and breathe.

To him, partnership meant equality. He suddenly realized that his king's definition was much different than his own.

It was awful. One moment the man's hands were kind, and the next they were branding him.

Through the hot pulsations Ghirahim noticed the absence of blood. He checked his hand to make sure.

"I told you you would be invincible," Demise said with a smile. Astonished, the demon looked him in the eye again. He saw Demise's gaze drop to his chest. "Remove it."

Ghirahim froze, his trembling hand still gripping the side of his head. He looked down. "Sir?"

"Your armor."

"My armor…" the demon mouthed. The tears began to dry, making his skin feel tight.

He had to do it. If he didn't, his king would just take it from him.

To remove one's armor during battle meant death. This was no different. The leather and iron seemed to stick stubbornly to him as he removed them, leaving nothing on the upper half of his body.

He stood before his king, unclothed and untrusting. Amazingly, the pain in his ear had already begun to dull. He rubbed it.

Leisurely, Demise drew a short rapier from the air. Not moving, the demon looked back and forth between the man's face and his hand, horrified.

He glanced to the side. There was no escape.

Demise took a step forward, so Ghirahim took a step back. His nearly pain-free ear did little to console him as he moved away.

He was watching Demise's feet so intently that his collision with the wall took him completely by surprise. His head hit the stone with a thunk. He closed his eyes and tightened up as the alarming sensation of being bound came to him for the first time.

When Demise stepped back, Ghirahim didn't bother pulling on his restraints. The taller man looked down on him with an odd, disconcerting look. Unable to take the malicious smirk any longer, the demon looked away. He saw that his outstretched arms were wrapped in the same chain which constrained his king.

"Do I have your full submission?" Demise asked, fingering the hilt of the rapier.

Ghirahim looked down. Control was leaving him; the control that a soldier was incomplete without.

"Do you understand that you are mine, and no one else's?" Demise asked, moving closer.

The demon's thoughts drifted toward Fi. "No one else's," he affirmed.

"My best fighter. The preeminent warrior." He urged the demon to look him in the face. "Together, ultimate victory will be achieved."

His king's face filled his field of vision. As if freshly sheltered from a storm, the demon loosened, returning his king's affectionate gaze in kind.

Then pain exploded in his chest. He threw his head against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut and bending over. Unable to take in a full breath, he opened his eyes, shocked to see that half of the rapier was embedded in his chest.

With thought after thought warring for supremacy in his head, he was shoved violently back. He writhed, pulling against his chains.

His throat was dry and his face was sweaty. Everything began to shake. Slowly, he surrendered to his king's strength, letting his knees give out a little. He was in too much agony to stand.

His jaw hung as he tried to speak, yet he could do nothing but watch his king with fluttering eyes.

His silence was broken by a small cry as the blade was pushed in deeper. He instinctively curled, but the searing hand of his King clung to his neck. He turned his face to the ceiling and groaned, trying to understand what was happening.

"Do I have your full submission?" Demise asked again in a raspy whisper. He slowly dragged the blade from the demon's body.

Jerking and grimacing, Ghirahim quickly nodded, hoping that his agony would come to an end.

Perhaps he would just die. It seemed a better fate than this.

"Say, 'Yes, Master," Demise instructed.

Grinding his teeth and dropping his misty eyes, the demon huffed and shivered. "Yes, Master." The blade was in his chest but he felt it in his tongue as he spoke the harrowing words. Believing that he had said such a thing was as easy to accept as being stabbed through.

How was he not bleeding? How did he still have breath? Was his king simply taking his frustrations out on him?

As the sharp tip of the blade left him, he gasped and fell forward. He looked at the bloodless wound on his bare chest.

Demise lifted him again. "Pain is pleasure," he said in the demon's distressed face.

Ghirahim shook his head weakly. "What—"

Pain entered him again as the rapier was plunged forward. He lurched down with eyes wide and mouth trying to scream protests and curses.

"Pain is pleasure," Demise said with a growl. Once more, the blade began its slow exit.

Still flinching and recoiling, Ghirahim clenched his fists. "Pl—" he started to say. "Please…"

"No," his king said. "Pain is pleasure. Say it."

Ghirahim's knees shook as the blade left him. He was on the brink of passing out. "Pain is…pleasure…"

The rapier was buried up to its hilt inside of him once more. Before he could even think, it was yanked out, pulling his body down with it. The sound that seeped from his mouth was the most pathetic he had ever uttered.

"Pain is pleasure," Demise said, gripping the demon by the neck and sinking the blade into his chest again.

As soon as Ghirahim thought that he couldn't take any more, his body felt different. He opened his eyes and looked to his king. He was grinning. The weapon was removed and their eyes joined. Ghirahim bit his lip to avoid making any noise. The blade hurt, but not nearly as bad as before. He marveled at it.

When the blade entered him again, he wasn't as afraid. It stung slightly, but something was beginning to replace the discomfort. With the rapier's withdrawal, Ghirahim finally realized what it was.

"Pain is pleasure," Demise said, smiling dryly. He held the tip of the blade against the demon's chest.

"Pain is pleasure," Ghirahim answered, eying the blade and waiting.

As it slid inside of him, he was finally able to keep his eyes focused on his king. It almost felt…

The rapier left his body along with a heavy exhale. He stared at the floor for a moment, not quite believing what he was feeling. Or not feeling.

Demise moved closer still. "Pain is pleasure," he said slowly, dipping the blade in once more.

Keeping his gaze on Demise, Ghirahim arched his body against the strange sensation. His head lolled gently along the wall as the blade was almost pulled out.

But it was thrust in again. Ghirahim bit his tongue.

"Pain is pleasure," Demise whispered as he pulled the blade back.

"Pain is…ah," the demon groaned, feeling a wave of delight as he took the blade in. He closed his eyes, self-conscious.

"Pain is pleasure…" Demise said, his eyes fiery. He pulled the weapon out a few inches. "Pain is pleasure…" He pushed it back in. "Pain is pleasure…"

Swaying with the rapier's movements, Ghirahim let his head drop against the wall, afraid to show that he was enjoying it.

But as his king thrust the blade in and out, he found himself squirming. It felt so good…

"This is what you will be rewarded with for doing my will," Demise said, looking down on the demon's eager face. "Others' suffering will be your pleasure." As if to drive his point home, the smooth motion of his hand sped up.

Soon, the demon was panting and wriggling. It felt as though every nerve that could experience pleasure was doing so in that moment. The feeling was extraordinary, a little bit off, and he didn't understand it, but it filled him with such a wonderful tingling sensation that he just couldn't get enough. Every bit of him throbbed with the feeling.

Having refused to make a sound when lying with the empyrean, the demon was shaken when he felt a moan slip out of his mouth. He dazed for a moment.

"Your desire will be for me," Demise said, still thrusting the blade.

Not knowing what he meant, Ghirahim just nodded, hoping that this wasn't going to end anytime soon.

"I hope completion isn't something that you need, my little diamond."

Ghirahim tried to calm his breathing. Did he just hear that correctly? "I'm afraid I…" He waited a few seconds. All of his words were hopelessly breathy. "…Don't…understand." Demise's intense expression told him that he'd forgotten something. "Master."

After one final thrust, Demise reclaimed the blade and tossed it to the ground with a clank. Ghirahim looked at it longingly. He thought of the empyrean, feeling nothing but disapproval for her, and mourning what could have been.

And wondering what in the world he'd gotten himself into.

"In time, you will."