I AM SOOOOOO SORRY ABOUT THE FREAKING LONG ASS WAIT! I've been more interested in art than writing, I went through several rewrites of this chapter, I wasn't very inspired for this chapter either. If you ever get tired of these long waits and you're worried I'm dead, just check DeviantART. I post something there on average of every other day give or take. I can't believe I took this long...

Devil's Laughter

"McKenna…you've gotta stay strong…" Jack whispered, holding the young woman's head on his lap and occasionally running a finger across her heated cheek. "Please…"

He leaned forward, and pressed a tender, butterfly kiss to her forehead, ignoring the grunt that the teenage boy gave. He glanced up just in time to see the boy roll his eyes dramatically, slouching over to rest his chin on a clenched fist. He sighed through his teeth at the boy, and returned his attention to McKenna, tucking a few stray locks of her brown hair behind one of her pointed ears. Although he knew deep inside what it was, there was a new, fierce emotion bubbling up inside him, coming from deep inside his gut and making his blood feel like it was boiling in his veins. He felt like his veins were going to pop.

Why had he let her go to the river on her own? She had obviously been in a strange state of mind, she probably didn't notice the strange water until it was too late. He could have stopped her. He could have stopped this. He had failed at his duty as her husband. Their wedding had not been a grand affair, a few of their closest (and only) friends gathered at the summit of Death Mountain, but he had vowed to protect her from anything that could possibly hurt her.

Now she was fighting a battle within herself, a battle he couldn't fight for her, and it was all his fault.

But somehow, what he wanted to do most at that moment, with her fragile, suffering body laying beside him, was fight. Something had snapped in his mind. He wanted to attack something, unsheathe one of his knives and draw blood. Feel pain as whatever he had attacked him retaliated. Feel the surge of sick, primal pleasure as he made the mortal blow, taking the life of what he had attacked, the warmth of foreign blood on his skin.

Perhaps physical pain would lessen the psychological anguish he was in.

The teenage boy made another grunting sound, and like a wolf prowling for food, his green eyes snapped toward him, watching his body intensely for the slightest movement, muscles as tense as a bowstring pulled tight. His gaze obviously unsettled the boy, as he straightened himself a bit, meeting his eyes with his own, amber, animal-like orbs.

Control yourself. You're not an animal. He told himself, clenching his fists. He could feel the rough, poorly trimmed edges of his fingernails digging into his palms. Much tighter and it would've drawn blood. But he didn't care. He was more concerned with controlling himself. He didn't understand what was going on inside his own head. It was like a wire had been crossed in the wrong direction, and now he was struggling to think properly.

It was like he had become an animal.

"What's wrong with you?" The boy asked, not unclamping his jaw, instead speaking through his teeth, lips only moving ever so slightly as he formed the words.

Control yourself. Breathe! You're Jack! You're McKenna's husband! You have a responsibility to protect her. She needs you. You can't protect her if you're too busy ripping that boy's throat out. But he couldn't push the last thought out of his head. Drawing one of his knives and lunging at the cocky youth, ending his life with a single thrust of the steel blade and feeling the blood on his fingers.

Stop that! You're not a killer. Killing is a last resort. He's only a teenager. Remember what you were like as a teenager. You weren't much different.

He had to get his mind onto a different subject. If he kept thinking those vicious thoughts, he might act upon them, and not even realize it.

"There's nothing wrong with me," he answered finally, after quieting his mind. He was lying, and he knew it. There was something wrong. "I'm just curious. How'd you get those scars?"

Maybe if he could get the boy to talk, he could push the violent thoughts from his head. The boy, on the other hand, did not seem like the type to openly share much of anything.

"Its none of your business, old man." He responded sharply, grinning as Jack tensed. He took a deep breath to calm himself. He's just goading you. Don't feed into him.

"I was just wondering, is all."

The boy looked at him again, his brown-ticked silver hair falling in front of his eyes. His thin lips were pressed tightly together, as if he was fighting back his own violent thoughts.

"They burned me. They framed me. They said that I was the one responsible for bringing the demon here. They tried to burn me at the stake. They were going to roast me like a damn pig. Maybe even eat me, I don't know. But they got what they deserved. That demon wiped them all out, killed them in the flames meant for me," he took a breath, sighing through his last few words. "In essence, I killed them, and these are reminders. I'm responsible for killing all but one of the Deku Tribe. Whether it was really my fault, I don't know. Some could say that it was, and maybe they're right. Maybe I did kill them, at least one of them on purpose. Maybe I did enjoy the Deku King's pain," his voice was getting louder, which set Jack on edge. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had just opened a floodgate. "And now I'm cursed! Cursed to live with these disgusting scars all over my body! Cursed to live the rest of my life knowing that I killed the people my only friend loved! Live with the fact that I know she'll never truly forgive me!"

He stood abruptly, slamming a fist against the nearest wall in his frustration. Pulling his hand back, Jack saw traces of red liquid on the boy's knuckles. But the boy did it again, and again, until his knuckles were bloody and raw.

"I'm a fool! I should've just let them kill me! Death is better than this damned purgatory I'm living!"

He couldn't help but feel a bit guilty for bringing up the scars. Perhaps that hadn't been the wisest option. But regardless, the boy wasn't faring well, mentally. Worse even than himself. The boy pounded his fist a few more times, before finally turning, and sliding down the hardened dirt wall to sit in a crouching position, scarred arms wrapping around his knees and forehead bent forward, concealing his face from view.

"I killed her friends. I killed her family, and now only she and I remain. She'll never trust me again. I betrayed her."

Jack could hear tears in his voice, the way his words quivered and his throat seemed to be too thick to fully form words, as if he was drowning in his own anguish.

"Boy," he started, speaking but refusing to look the boy in the eyes. Something told him not to, although he didn't know what. "What's done is done. You can't change the past. You can only learn from your mistakes and move on. Life is like gambling, sometimes you bet on the wrong horse, and you have to face the music. But life is also quick to throw you another chance at winning. You can choose to quit," he lifted his gaze from McKenna, and used up the last bit of restraint and courage to meet the boy's eyes. "Or you can choose to bet again. The choice is yours."

A perplexed expression appeared in the boy's eyes, a tear dripping from the bass of his cheek.

"What does that even mean? And why should I listen to you, old man? Maybe its not your place to talk."

A small bubble of anger resurfaced in the pit of Jack's stomach, but he quickly dowsed the ember, urging himself to stay calm. He carefully lifted McKenna's head from his lap and stood, looking toward the staircase, as if hoping that Malon would return. He didn't want her to get hurt either.

Still nervous for McKenna, his body stiffened again when a sound came from above ground. The boy's shoulders rose up, a growl escaping from his throat as he stood, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"You'd better pick her up, if you want to save her." He said simply, striding toward the base of the stairs and peering up toward the sliver of black velvet sky that could be seen. Not questioning him, he proceeded to gather the young woman's thin body into his arms, her head resting limply against his shoulder. Even in her fitful sleep, her hands both found their way to the fabric of his shirt, gripping him as if for dear life.

Another sound, this time a full-on roar, came from above, followed by pounding footsteps.

"Get ready."

Now knowing that they had been found out, the two males stood perfectly still, fighting to keep as quiet as was humanly possible, banking on the useless thought that maybe if it couldn't hear them, it was loose interest and leave. Both of them knew that it was pointless, but it was instinct, and instincts that they couldn't ignore.

The footsteps had died down, and now the only thing that met his straining ears was a deafening silence. A silence that made him feel sick. Silence was worse than the beast's bravado, if the beast was howling, he could tell where it was, and anticipate its next move.

He held McKenna closer, using his body to form something of a shield to protect her from the inevitable, initial attack.

They were going to die. At this point he couldn't deny it. The anger and instinct to fight had died out, and had quickly been smothered entirely by a new feeling of hopelessness. He felt useless, weak and sickeningly stupid. Deep in the pit of his stomach, he blamed himself.

What had possessed him to come on this trip? Most standing on the sidelines would have said it was out of good nature, that he wanted to help Malon as she traveled to Termina. To make sure she got there safely, and perhaps help her find Link. But he knew the real reason, and he felt ridiculously stupid and immature for it. After so many years of his youth spent abroad, traveling on, never tethered down. It had gotten to him, it had become engrained into his DNA, a need for freedom and open spaces.

Never once had he ever thought about it that way. But now he realized that he had gotten them into this mess. His foolish need for "one more adventure" was going to get him, an innocent boy and his beloved killed. And all for the reckless thrill of the open road. What an ass he'd made of himself!

He leapt aside when five razor-sharp claws suddenly burst through the dirt ceiling above, mere inches from his face. He gave a muffled grunt of effort and reaction as he did, and after shifting his grip on McKenna so that she was nestled against his chest in a tighter position that allowed him to hold her with one arm, he grabbed the boy by the shoulder, hauling his dumbstruck figuring toward the staircase. Thundering up the dirt stairs, his feet occasionally breaking through the tightly packed earth, he looked down at McKenna's sleeping face. He couldn't give up that easily. It wasn't fair to her.

He raced against the beast's raging claws, up the narrowly tunneled staircase, receiving several painful cuts when the demon's claws came too close, only hoping that he could reach the top in time. The feeling of hopelessness was drowning in a pit of defiance. He wasn't going down that easy! Maybe he could outrun the demon, just long enough to find the horses again. He could send Cerus off with McKenna, and hold the beast off long enough for her to escape.

Jack practically leapt the last few steps, racing into the marshy ruins of what must have been the Deku Palace. He could hear the demon give a triumphant roar as his figure became plainly visible, illuminated by the light of the moon.

Within five steps the demon overtook him, sweeping around him with a previously unseen amount of grace, looming over him, back to the moon, the soft white light failing to reach his face, leaving his face and mask blackened, making him even more of a ghostly entity. From beyond the slender holes in the mask, two glowing red eyes could be seen, like tiny flames burning in a pitch-black landscape.

Feet sliding in the muddy, water-choked ground, he could barely stop himself in time, digging his heels into the ground in a frantic attempt to bring himself away from the demon's arm-length. In a last ditch effort, he turned, facing the boy, whose face was plastered in a perpetual look of fear and confusion.

"Take her!" He demanded, practically flinging McKenna into the younger male's arms. He had no time to be prideful. The boy staggered slightly beneath the new, unfamiliar weight, scrambling to get his arms underneath the unconscious woman that has just been thrust into his care.

"But I-"

"Go!" he commanded at the top of his lungs, whipping back around when he felt a claw cut clean through the fabric of his vest and shirt and dig deep into the small of his back, aimed directly for his spinal cord. "Just go! Get out of here and keep her safe!"

He flicked his wrist, drawing the knife that was concealed within his gauntlet and with a precise swing, brought the steel blade burying deep into the beast's exposed collarbone. He pressed harder as he felt the blade cut mercilessly through skin, muscle and tendon alike, stopping only when the tip hit the thick bone.

The beast staggered back as he pressed even more of his weight onto the knife, smiling to himself as a faint crackling met his ears. Finally the beast pulled away entirely, throwing his head back and screeching his pain to the uncaring moon as the blade spilt through the bone, sending splinters shattering through his muscles. The knife still buried hilt-deep into the beast, Jack released, backing away when the beast dropped to one knee, head tipped forward, panting.

His stomach dropped out from beneath him as the demon suddenly made a strange sound, a low, rumbling from his throat. It gradually rose in pitch, until he broke into full-born laughter, screeching into the night, insanity and wrath dripping from the beast's voice. It was a laugh like the devil's, fresh from hell.

In one fluid motion, the demon brought one massive hand to where the hilt still protruded from his chest and ripped the steel blade from his flesh like one would pluck a splinter from their finger, crushing it between his fingers and tossing the mangled result aside like a broken toy, still laughing as he did so.

The demon rose to his full height once more, blocking out the moon as Jack watched, mentally counting how many knives he had left. Three. Just three. He glanced over his shoulder, and gave an unintelligible, disgruntled shout. The boy had barely moved a foot, still standing there, with McKenna awkwardly slumped in his arms.

"Get out off here!" He screamed, his throat becoming hoarse from yelling and from lack of water. In his moment of inattention, the demon took his chance, and it was Jack's turn to cry out in pain as the demon brought a hand crashing into the side of his neck. He gasped from the blunt force, claws scraping at his skin, ripping through the collar of his shirt as he was sent rolling aside, landing chest first into the marsh.

As he grabbed at the ground, fingers grasping at anything they could find to help him stand again, the boy watched on the sidelines, the loosing man's "mate" as he preferred to call it in his grasp. The demon seemed to have lost interest in the man, and now his lifeless stare was focused directly on the two of them.

He, as discretely as possible, started taking small steps backward, the demon still chortling to himself, thick, inhuman blood the color of tar draining from deep inside the cavity of his chest, hindering not even in the slightest. The demon's strides were still smooth and powerful, muscles tensing and stretching like a well-oiled machine.

As he backed away slowly, the girl shifted in her slumber, suddenly, and with a great deal of strength considering her weakened state, pushing away from his chest with a violent shout. Her eyes snapped open, vibrant and quite alive, as she leapt from his arms, landing steadily despite the sodden ground beneath her.

Hearing a feminine voice, Jack's mind steeled, finding something to focus on, and he snapped to attention, shoving his hands against the ground and whipping into an upright position, holding himself as steady as he could

McKenna was standing before the demon, shoulders set brazenly, weight borne on one hip, the other tilted in a way that could have been perceived as seductive, chin dipped down toward her chest. Ignoring the strange stance she had taken, assuming it was merely her getting her feet back on the ground, raced toward the demon again, his feet sliding in the mucky ground in his frantic pace, the boiling anger from previously returning with a vengeance.

In a single swift motion, he drew another knife from the opposite gauntlet, and covering the last ground between him and the beast, drove the knife deep into the back of the demon's neck, shoving it straight for the spine and spinal cord.

The demon howled even louder than the first time he had drawn blood, a screech that made his ears feel like they were about to bleed. Scrambling, the demon threw Jack from his back seconds before the knife could do permanent damage, thick, tarry blood quickly pooling in the cavity that the knife had made, pouring down the demon's back and mixing with the marshy groundwater below.

He landed beside McKenna's feet, shoulder impacting against the ground with a sickening crack despite the softer, wetter ground. Searing pain washed through his shoulder, arm and chest in waves as he dragged himself upright, cringing both from the pain in his shoulder and the earsplitting screeches the demon was letting loose, head thrown all the way back, huge hands grabbing in vain for the knife that was still lodged firmly in the middle of his back.

Looking once toward McKenna, her face almost looked crestfallen as the demon gave one final screech before turning racing off into the dark, forest that bordered them.

"Yeah that's right you big lily-livered bastard! Run like the bloody chicken you are! Two knives and you're out?! Ha! What a dope!" The boy shouted, running a few feet in the same direction, as if chasing the demon off, reminding Jack of a young cockerel, feinting bravado as an older bird would retreat and recover.

However, he was too fatigued, in too much pain to notice as a small, feminine hand gingerly pulled the third and final knife he owned from the calve of his worn leather boot. Only when the knife came slicing at him from his chest, missing by inches and digging into his right cheek, did he notice. He gasped as the knife cut all the way from jaw to eyebrow, almost clean through his eyelid in the swift, expert thrust of the blade.

Caught off-guard, he fell back, hitting the ground just as the boy turned, curious as to why he had yelped, only to watch as his wife leaned down to his level, one knee pressed painfully into the tender hollow of his ribcage.

He gasped as she pressed harder, the knife's point pressed against his injured shoulder, poised to be driven into his flesh with a single thrust.

She smiled down at him, her eyes glimmering a cruel crimson, the crimson of a shadow's eyes…

She wasn't stupid. She knew when someone was trying to dupe her. And that was the stupidest decision anyone could make. She swung her slender, but well-muscled legs over the side of the bed, striding confidently despite the cold wood floors. The cold hadn't bothered her in years.

Stepping with a loud thud through the door, she smirked condescendingly when her soulless silver eyes caught sight of his shape. He was standing beside the door that led to the street, his pants put on loosely, his belt not completely fastened around his waist. She stopped ten feet from him, her gentle steps not alerting him to her presence. She watched as he grabbed his shirt, his trench coat, his satchel. She had been right.

He was bailing out.

"Where the hell is my money you bloody bastard?" She asked in a sharp, jeering tone. He jumped, startled. He took a moment before turning, a suave grin plastered on his face.

"I'm sorry? I don't know what you're talking about love."

She allowed her lips to curl back in a sinister grin, stepping toward him.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about you cheating bastard. We made a deal."

He smirked at her, pulling his trench coat, slinging his satchel over his shoulder.

"I never signed a contract."

Her eyes narrowed as he turned, heading for the door with a soft chuckle. Wrong move.

His face ripped in pain, then stilled, dead standing as the point of a dagger burst through the center of his chest, stilling the vital beating of his heart. She pressed the knife as far as it would go, insuring his death, his blood on her hands, hilt pressing against the skin of his back.

As soon as she withdrew the dagger from his dead flesh, his body fell to the floor, from which she promptly snatched his satchel, taking a quick look inside and smirking at the amount of money found inside, along with gate passes, maps and food. A thief's dream.

She was about to step out the door, ready to leave, when she made a final glance at his lifeless body. His trench coat intrigued her. Not for the warmth it would provide, something she wouldn't need, but merely for the style. She drug the fabric from his limp, unmoving body, and slipped it onto her own, smaller shoulders, nodding at how it felt. She could feel warm blood against her back, but paid no mind as she stepped into the cold world beyond.

It would dry…

Ok. There's that chapter. As you can probably see I'm trying to innuendo at the next arc, which is either my favorite, or my second favorite. I hate this one. I'm hoping to end this arch next chapter.