A/N: Life has been busy. My scatterbrained self didn't do well in keeping up with responses. Thank you Moon ninja Luna, Mokki Takashi, Walavouchey, SarukoDark, PokemonTrainer4700, Velikaqueenofdragons, Ambiguous Cake, Bluebadger, CrashingUpward, Zorauza, and Alter Ego Bob for your understanding and encouragement.
Chapter 11
"There you are, darling! Where have you been? I turned around and you were gone; I've been looking everywhere for you!" Ghirahim stops suddenly, notices Link. "Oh, it's you."
Familiar fear tingles along my spine, spreads out like a wildfire to the rest of my overheated body. But it is a cold fire, deep in my gut, that brings about shivers I fail to suppress. Link is near, and unconsciously I shift closer to him.
Ghirahim leans forward on his hips, thoughtful expression fixated on the green-clad hero. "Let me see… No, that's not it. This is so very embarrassing, but I seem to be at a loss for your name. Not that it matters, really. To tell you the truth, I'm feeling a bit frustrated, and right now I just need someone to vent to." His cheerful, amicable tone is deceptively flawless, and if I didn't know to delve beneath it I might have been fooled. But I know, and so I hear, the ever so slight trembling of his voice, the part that shakes in anger like a beast struggling against its chains. It won't be long before he lets it loose.
My mind churns, tries to think of anything else I can do to prepare Link further. It comes up empty.
"I heard my underlings had finally captured the spirit maiden, so of course I rushed over here. Although…" His tone reveals a fraction of his anger when he says, "I was slowed by a certain girl's clumsy pace," with his eyes on me, my heart flinching, before returning amicable. "What can I say? I was excited. Flustered, even… But what did I find when I arrived? That agent of the goddess…" The demon's voice goes very quiet. "…she had once again…" His voice is so soft I can barely hear. "…you see, what I'm trying to say is…" He suddenly bursts out shouting: "That goddess-serving dog escaped with the girl! And you"—he points at me—"never said anything about that dog's presence!"
Stealing bravery from the presence beside me, trying to ignore the budding dread that's taken root in my stomach, I shout back, "I never claimed to be omniscient, 'Master,' and I told you not to celebrate before crossing the finish line!"
Link looks over at me, brow pinched in confusion. "You told him what?" he whispers, but I don't answer him.
Ghirahim's eyes glint with malevolent promise. "Now would not be a good time to argue, darling."
Oh, yeah, the emphasis he puts on the darling enlightens me to how foul his mood really is. He better not take it out on me. I did warn him.
…What am I saying? Of course he's going to take it out on me.
Well, better me than Link.
The dread grows.
His dark eyes stay on me, run swift up and down my battered frame, and for some reason his expression hardens even further. I suppose it's disgust at my current state; the black edges of my tunic, the frayed mess of my hair, the angry red splotches of healing burns, and a lot of other things that are gross about me that I don't care to know or name.
Ghirahim does not speak for a moment. His fingers fidget in and out of fists, the movement scarcely visible from the folds of his red cape. "…I'm getting carried away, aren't I? I don't deal well with complications to plans I've laid out so carefully. It's a character flaw of mine, I'll admit."
I do not scoff as I want to, do not shout, 'One of many,' as I wish to. As Ghirahim's stare bores into me, a chill creeps into my blood. Suddenly the dread wriggles into my mind and tells me something I should have known all along: I'm not gonna be able to stay with Link.
"Link," I whisper, "Listen, if…if I don't come out of this with you, I want you to promise me something." I don't wait for him to reply. "When you defeat Scaldera, when you see Zelda—and you will see her—promise me…that you'll tell the twig beside her to take her lateness lecture and shove it up her ass. Right after she pulls out the tree she's got up there first."
Link opens his mouth in surprise, but says nothing.
"You are an awesome hero," I continue in a quick murmur, "and considering that you've been torn from your home and thrust into all this mess makes—it makes the skill you have now all that more amazing. So don't let Impa get you down. You—you keep chugging forward. You be the best damn green bean you can be." I say the last part lightly, trying to smile. One: to keep myself calm, and two: to prevent another 'moment.' The situation is dire enough as is.
Ghirahim's dark eyes flicker to my mouth. Can he read lips? My mind frets, tongue clams, and then I am sucked into those black pits. He holds me with stare alone, does not release me even as he addresses Link. "On top of everything that's gone wrong today, my prophetess wanders off to heaven knows where. I'm sure you can imagine how worried I was. Sickened by it, actually," he says sweetly, crooning as if he really means it. And I'm sure he does—as worried as he would be for a lost book that contains critical knowledge. "I am so glad you found her for me."
The whisper of sword leaving sheath sounds beside me, and the next I know I'm in Link's arms again. His shield arm comes around my shoulders, his sword rises protectively to the front. His glare is resolute, unblinking, and I marvel at him. Without saying a single word, he has conveyed absolute defiance. For me. And for a moment there is hope again. Tears prick at my eyes once more, and I swallow thickly to contain them.
Ghirahim's soft laughter filters down from the dragon's head—this one of darker stone than the others, with smiling, red-rimmed teeth. "What good do you think that will do, boy?"
Link stands his ground, holds his glare.
The demon loses the buffer of pleasantness, takes on a sharper edge. "I must have the spirit maiden to resurrect my master. I need my prophetess to ensure things go smoothly." His face suddenly twists into a snarl. "I won't have you meddling with either!"
"Run!" I hiss to Link just as the snap of Ghirahim's fingers resounds through the ancient chamber. The jaws of the dark dragon drop open and Link and I sprint from the boulder it spits.
We fly through embers and ashes that flit like angry hornets in the heat wafting throughout the massive room. And it's that heat that drags me down, brings out gasps of exhaustion even though we run downhill, down the singular ramp that is supposed to represent a dragon's back with its smooth stone floor and spiked metal rails. Lava on either side of those rails prevents us from jumping to avoid the rolling rock.
But the end of the ramp comes, and the sound of stone crunching stone gets ever closer.
Suppressing the urge to split apart, I ram into Link, force him to the side so the boulder may pass unhindered by human speedbumps. Even as we peel ourselves away from the rail, I stick to his side like glue.
The blossom of dread reveals itself once more.
I'm going to be taken. The moment I step away, I'm going to be taken.
And that is what terrifies me the most. Not the screaming spider-like monster that's just cracked its way out of that boulder, not the hissing fire, or the thought of burning to death.
Ghirahim is going to take me. The knowledge of that crept up on me like a vine and sank its thorns into me, as sure and irrefutable as any knowledge I have carried from the Knowing Realm. He's going to tear me away. And there's not a thing I or anyone else can do about it.
Fear drums with my heart, labors with my burning lungs and intensifies the stabbing pain that erupts in both torso and legs. But it is also the only thing that prevents me from slowing. Like a whip to a horse, it spurns me onward, matching pace with Link, with the only person who could possibly hold the demon at bay. But if he does, if he tries…
If I hide behind him when the time comes, who is to say Ghirahim won't cut through him?
Sweat pours down my back, beads my forehead and upper lip, and clothing and hair stick to skin.
The demon is up there, watching. I can feel his eyes as sure as I can feel the searing heat of the mountain's fire.
I go as far as my battered body can go. I shout forewarning direction, dance out of the way of flames, pilfer and throw bombs at Scaldera, all the while staying near Link. Yet I stay behind him when the time for slashing swords comes, as his white blade can do so much more than my stolen cleaver. I skirt around him like a shadow, become his shadow.
Until the edging flare of a fireball grazes me, and my blood blooms from the wound.
The she-wolf bares her teeth.
The vicious glee of mania tears through me, gives me a kick of adrenaline that drowns out the pain and exhaustion. My mind whirls like a nightmare version of a carousel, psychotic lights and snarling horses abound. And it demands more than it suggests. I heed it without thinking twice—my body moves to the crack of its whip before even a shred of doubt can form.
I barrel after Scaldera as it rolls down the incline, for the first time surging ahead of Link. My legs take long, leaping strides, and I hear amid the blare of heat and heartbeats as Link's gasps increase.
"Wait! Ky—?" His loud exclamation turns into unsure question as I blast straight past the fiery abomination and leap onto the wall it just crashed into.
Fissures and chipped cracks are found by my violently seeking fingers and feet, and I scramble up the wall Link and I had jumped down from to get onto this hellish ramp in the first place. I must look like a grudge monster, or a spider woman crawling up that wall. Perhaps more so when I stand on top of said wall, pivoting on my heel to face the back of Scaldera, my wild, choppy hair fritzed and flaring.
I do not think about what I do next—it was my whirling mind's intent all along—and I simply let the energy raging inside push me off my perch and send me flying down onto the fire abomination's back. Scaldera, feeling the thump! of my landing roars its fires back to life, and the hot sparks and embers hiss and nip at my boots. The lumpy rocks I stand on quickly heat up—I feel it through my soles, but I do not jump off.
In the clamor I did not realize I dropped the cleaver, and so when the hulking bulged eye of the monster swivels to regard me I have nothing to slice it with. So I use the only thing I have. I crouch and dig into it with my fingers and nails, using them like spears and knives.
I don't know how much damage I do—in my frenzy I don't care. Fear pulses through me as sure as rapids gush out into waterfalls, and that fear gives birth to nothing but rage. Rage taking hold when fear sounds its alarm—hasn't it always done so? Rage, rage, rage. Rage at my aching wounds, rage at my heat exhausted body, rage at this thing for trying to frickin' kill us! Well I'm going to kill it first!
Scaldera shrieks and howls, its spidery body taking off into a full speed scuttle up the ramp. The fire at my feet glows and crackles. I barely notice the bottom of my soles burning on the rocks as I stagger to keep balance. I barely notice anything outside of that eye and the clawing of my fingers. But faintly, very faintly, I take notice of green in my peripheral.
"Are you fucking crazy?!" Link shouts above all the commotion. He runs alongside Scaldera, perspiration running down his brow, wide blue eyes staring up at me in an odd mixture of awe and fear.
I laugh at his slip into profanity. Laugh, because I do not have the time or patience to stop and gawk in surprise. Laughing, I continue my assault on the wriggling eye, leaning and stretching and struggling to keep upright as it moves along its molten body, trying to get away.
"For the love of the Goddess, Kya! Catch! Catch!"
The white blade slices through the air and towards me. I snap upright and jerk my hand out. With shock I register my fingers have closed around the hilt of the heavenly sword.
Well…looks like all those games of catching daggers with Ghirahim paid off.
I don't give myself time to marvel or congratulate, instead tuning back into my anger. Only this time, I have an actual weapon. I grip the sword in both hands and plunge it downward, over and over and over. Scaldera's shrieks take on a new pitch, becoming so shrill my ears hurt from the intensity. Even then I do not stop. If anything it urges my frenzy further. I scream and squawk, and scarcely do I even realize what I'm saying. English profanities meld one into the other with nary a sensible word thrown here and there.
The twiggy legs of the fire monster scrape against the stone floor as it struggles up the steepest part of the incline. When its entire body shudders, I know it's about to ball up and roll back down.
"Jump!" Link shouts.
One more, I think as I raise the sword high. The energy of rage and fear boils inside me and when I stab downward with all my might there is a flash of white. White light that seems to dart from my center, through my arms, and through the Goddess Sword. Scaldera shudders and goes deathly still. The glow of its fire seeps away, leaving only the hiss of drenched embers. My confusion sparks for only an instant—there was no water to put out the fire and what was that light again?—before it is dragged off. The ball that the monster has regressed into rolls backwards.
It threatens to take me under and crush me. I sprint, trying to stay on top, but its speed builds too quickly.
I hear Link, somewhere to my left. "To the side! Jump to the side!"
In panic and desperation, I do as told without thinking, stagger and flop off the side of the monster instead of trying to jump out to the front. The stone of the floor punches my shoulder and hip, leaving me to writhe and curl in pain.
Link's gasps sound above me as he slides to my side. His hands touch my waist and shoulder, steadying me. "You're insane," I hear him breathe roughly. "You're absolutely insane."
I say nothing, I cannot. I just struggle to get air into my screeching lungs; every breath feels like claws tearing at the fleshy tissue inside, with every expansion that oxygen forces. Distantly I hear Scaldera finish its descent and smack with a boom against the wall below. Distantly I wonder about that light, about the sword still clutched in my hand, and about…
I glance up, up to the stone dragon, despite the pain movement causes me. Or rather, I look to what sits upon its head. Ghirahim has adopted a relaxed position in complete opposition to the glare festering in his dark eyes. He sits with one leg dangling off the dragon, while the other leg is bent and propping up his arm, and his chin rests in his palm. He looks both bored and angry, like a child watching a play that wasn't going quite the way he wanted it to.
When malevolence twinkles in his eye, and a smirk tugs the corner of his lips, everything in me seems to go still. Even the rapid beating of my heart.
The demon flickers out of sight. I try to warn Link, but before I can croak out the first letter of his name, he is grabbed by the back of his tunic and torn away from me. I flinch as he smacks against the dragon rails.
"I suppose I should give you some credit, boy. You're tenacious. Not that such a trait will help you against me." Ghirahim stalks towards Link, who has yet to recover from the toss.
My body feels like lead as I scramble to my knees, but it is too little too late and I can do nothing as the demon sends Link tumbling down the ramp with a swift kick. "Gh—! M-Master…!"
But he does not regard me; his full focus is on Link. The smile twitching at his mouth is a poorly concealed lie, and it gives way to a sneer as the stern malice in his eyes reaches the rest of his expression.
Link staggers to his feet a ways down the ramp, and it is with a start I realize he is swordless. My arm and my hand feel stiff, the Goddess Sword frozen in a grip that cannot release. Though I try to pry my fingers open with will alone, my body does not obey.
And as black veins creep from under those white gloves, I understand why. My fear has taken the next step, and it freezes me in petrified disbelief.
Don't piss him off, do what you're supposed to do and don't make him madder than you have to—isn't that what you said?! my mind plays back for me. Yes, I did say that. Too bad in the heat of things I was not coherent enough to remember.
Pale skin is not supposed to turn dark.
Not yet.
Please not yet.
My body explodes with tremors, and it seems to be the only way in which I can move.
The same is not said for Link. He rises to his feet, planting his exhausted body upright. Nothing but anger and defiance simmers in his glare, and he brings up his shield and fist as if he plans to fight the demon lord with nothing but his bare hands and a defense that will not be enough.
"You are proving to be quite troublesome…" Ghirahim says in an overly thoughtful manner. He examines the fingers of one hand with a cool gaze and sudden smile, as if he has become distracted by his own loveliness. The black veins have stopped at his elbow, going no further. "Although, it would be rather harsh of me, I suppose, if I bludgeoned you here and now. After all, you did bring me my little bird, safe and sound." His expression turns dark. "Though I must wonder at her condition. She is not as I left her."
And throwing a giant fire monster at me did not help said condition. I refrain from saying it.
Link responds with no words, only action. He starts forward, glare still potent, with nothing but his fist, shield, and his fighting spirit. I stare wide-eyed, but cannot catch glimpse of the uncertain boy from Skyloft. Rage has shuttered his fear, but unlike mine, it is a calm fury. He marches with it stoically against an opponent he has no chance of beating.
Ghirahim stares with an oddly blank expression. "If you insist, sky child." And he moves towards Link in that purposeful stride I've become far too familiar with.
Link turns on his heel unexpectedly and dashes for me in an attempt to reassert himself as a barrier between the demon and me.
A chime of magic rings out, and Ghirahim is before me, knocking Link back with yet another kick.
"Stop!" I mean to cry out, but it only comes out as a wet warble, caught in my throat by anxiousness and drained mania. I attempt to form the word again at the sight of Link stumbling to his feet with a hand clutching his side and one eye squinted in pain.
Ghirahim acknowledges me, head tilted in a manner that hides a good portion of his face thanks to that curtain of hair.
My manic frenzy wants to rise up at the threat of him, and mentally it does. But physically I…
I try to run at him. But one faulty step and I'm flat on my face, the sword still in my hand clinking beside me. When I try to get up again, my entire being seems to protest. Lungs can take no more; my breath is lost. Darkness dots my vision and my legs crumble beneath me. I try to surge back up, but I fall again and again and again, stumbling like a newborn filly just free of the womb.
"Why, little bird, has all the excitement gotten to you?"
The metallic ring of his teleportation echoes and arms stronger than steel circle around me, keep me from falling another time. But those arms are cold. Cold and smooth with a tingle that pierces all the way down to my heart. His breath ghosts over the back of my head. I mumble incoherency, but he takes it as a viable phrase of his own imagining.
"Oh, yes, yes, you're right. We've wasted enough time as is. But before we go, a little present for your…friend." Ghirahim hisses the last word like an agitated cobra, sounding beyond venomous.
Ghirahim snaps his fingers and the smoldering hulk of Scaldera jolts as a hex of diamonds flitters around it. It jars back to life, fire flaring hot once more, and its shrill scream fills the chamber.
Another snap of his fingers and we teleport. The sensation of being yanked and contorted nearly brings my consciousness to an end. Darkness clears, and I see what the stone dragon sees: the ramp and fire far below.
Laughter resonates through the chamber; the hard chest I'm pressed up against rumbles with it. "I'd love to stay and watch you burn to a crisp, boy, but I have things to do, places to be. Although it's a shame, really. Your agony is such a great stress reliever." Ghirahim crushes me close, and his voice turns a dangerous growl. "Ready, darling? No more delays."
I cannot tear my eyes away from Link. He calls for me, sprints up the incline. I want to shout to him, not only in fear for myself, but because Scaldera follows him, fire crackling in its maw. But I cannot scream. I cannot even whisper.
The last thing I do, the only thing I can do, is reach out and drop the Goddess Sword. Protect your master, I want to say. I only manage to mouth it. I like to think I heard a chime from that sword, from Fi telling me not to worry.
And then I am taken away.
We reappear outside the temple. The warm breeze feels chilled compared to the blistering air in the temple, and I nearly collapse with the relief of it. I am not given time to enjoy it long, however.
"That was quite the show you put on."
Something sharp and painful connects to the back of my skull, knocking me to the ground in a graceless heap. I lay still with my face in the dirt, both the prickle of fear and the weight of exhaustion keeping me down. I hiss as I am grabbed by my hair, hoisted up. I arch my back to lessen the pull.
Ghirahim's voice is sharper than I've ever heard it. "What did you think you were doing?"
"…Surviving," I grit between clenched teeth.
He yanks me up the rest of the way, to my feet.
I am spun around to face my captor, and then shaken violently. As suddenly as it started, it stops, and Ghirahim's fingers dig into my upper arms, stilling me, holding me, adding sharp stabs of pain that run up to my whiplashed neck. "Which is something you wouldn't have had to do if you stayed where I left you! Were you trying to run away?!"
I hunch over, head down so that he will not see my pained grimace or screwed shut eyes.
My chin is snatched between forefinger and thumb, and my head is forced up, but I do not open my eyes. "Look at me," he hisses. "I said look at me, you little twit!"
My glare snaps open. "You—!" Memory shoves forth an image of dagger to lips, and I clamp down on the word 'Dick!' in the nick of time. "You left without a word! What was I supposed to do?!"
There is a moment of silence before he leans down to my face, and slowly speaks as if to a child, "Wait for me."
Words die in my throat. He looks down on me unblinkingly, elongated canines bared as he sneers, brow lowered over a blackfire glower. And suddenly I am transfixed. A predator bears down on me, a snarling beast of unfathomable rage and power and, and…
And he's beautiful, whispers an intrusive thought from the back of my mind. I slam it away the second it opens the door. That wasn't my thought. I did not think that. He's not beautiful. He's hateful, he's dangerous. Ugly and mean. Don't look away, says the she-wolf. Do not give ground, because if you do he will take it—all of it. Yet at the same time the ewe begs me to run, run and hide from those sharp teeth and blazing glare. Trapped between the two, my legs quiver with the strain to stay still, and my eyes are wide with both fear and prickling temper.
"And just what were you doing with that boy?" he seethes, pulling me closer, so close we touch, and I am forced to crane my head to look up at him. "Did you really think he could protect you? Did you think that insignificant little bug could keep me from you? Speaking of bugs, do you have any idea how tedious it is to find a bug in a temple that size? Hmm? How can your aura be as large as the goddess's one moment and then be smaller than an insect's in the next?" He mumbles the last part, genuine confusion smoothing over his anger, but only for a moment. It flashes back to life in an instant.
His palm rears up and I fear a strike.
Tired, overheated, wounded—anger does not congregate to steel my frazzled nerves, and so words tumble out unbidden.
"I panicked!" I squeak. "You left, I couldn't find you, I panicked!"
He pauses, for a mere moment becoming like a statue. The dark crackling glare gives the only testimony to life beneath that cold infallible skin.
I shy from his hand, unable to resist the ewe's call any longer, inching away bit by bit on shaking legs. "I couldn't get through by myself—I went with Link because I knew he was going where you were. Wh-what was I supposed to do? I couldn't find you. But I knew where you were going to be—I went with Link because I knew where you were going to be."
Anxiety incites repetition, spins my weak words like a fading record on a dying gramophone. I must sound so foolish.
He does not move. I do not move. Everything is still for one painful, agonizing moment. And then his hand darts out. My eyes slam shut and my teeth bare in a flinch, preparing for impact.
It never comes.
Cool, impossibly cool, fingers graze along the raw skin of my burned cheek, trailing it to my jawline, and then my neck, and then my… I peel open my eyes, risk a peek. The fire of his rage still burns in those dark eyes but there is a stiffness to his face. The clench of his jaw is barely discernable through that pale, flawless skin. He fingers the neckline of my tunic, then up to a frayed lock of hair, until finally resting again on my cheek. They are like sickles of ice on my reddened skin, numbing the sting, soothing the aching heat.
He says nothing. He does not even seem to breathe.
I swallow a cry as he leans down to me and runs a soft tongue over the burns of my throat, tracing my pulse point. A part of me, sharpened by fear, wants to run away, but I dare not move.
When he pulls away there is a dimming of his glare, and a certain heaviness takes its place.
"Don't think you've escaped punishment, Kya. I'll deal with your misfit wandering later. But for now"—he touches my burns—"we need to rectify this."
I don't know how to respond. I don't think I could if I tried. It's the strangest thing: the caress of fingertip and tongue seem to have lulled me into a sleepy stupor, for a duration so strong I cannot fully hear his subsequent grumblings about the empty Bokoblin camp. Or maybe it's the heat, my aches, exhaustion. Surely not the touch of winter, the feel of wet snow melting on my burns, making me feel like a fish swimming against a silvery current. The trance does not break until his ire ignites once more.
Dark eyes narrow to slits, focus on something in the corner. "Oh, look. A survivor."
I follow the sparks of his anger to a shivering husk that has just fallen through the sticks of a crumbling hut. The Bokoblin's red skin is pale, lightened to a faded scarlet. Highlighting it further are the pink, almost white, lines crisscrossing every which way. Scars that look like bloodied trenches in an intersection, some thick as pens, some thin as needles. How many battles must it have seen? To have survived all that… Poor thing looks as if it got into a knife fight with a complete psycho.
My brain turns over slowly. Very slowly.
Knife. Psycho. Why do I suddenly feel like I'm forgetting something?
I go pale as realization crests, just as a black blade materializes and cuts all thought short.
"What the—what are you—? Master?! Master, wait, no—! Master!"
"I told you to keep an eye on her; I told you to watch her!" Ghirahim hisses with a voice so guttural it no longer sounds human. He then descends into a dark, heavy language I cannot understand. It is clipped and sharp, and every word feels like a blow of iron.
The little Bokoblin is reduced to a curled ball of quivering flesh as the pale figure of death marches towards it. My tugging hands and dirt-indenting heels do nothing to slow him. His blade is raised high and then brought down like a streak of dark against the daylight.
Red blossoms.
It flows in rivulets down my arm, stemming from where the blade bit into me. From my hand, which rose up in a foolish attempt to abate wrath. The sharp edge of the sword rests between middle and index finger, having sunk into the slight webbing there, sending snapping waves of pain through my hand and arm. Despite this I know it could have been worse, could have split between my knuckles and rendered my entire forearm in two. But it did not—and does not. It hovers, having only nipped me, because the strength and reflex of the demon wielding it is as sharp as it is.
His widened, shocked eyes are only so for a moment—only in the moment I ran and twisted myself in front of him with hand raised. Then it is replaced by tight-lipped outrage, and his eyes convey all that he is about to seethe.
I become more rattled when he remains silent.
Silence permeates everything, so thick and overpowering I find myself choked, so much so that I cannot even manage a whimper as he retracts the blade. I clutch my wounded hand to my chest, but never take my eyes off him. The sword hangs at his side and a tremor runs through it, as if it also fears the hand that holds it. But then I realize it's not the sword. It's him.
He is so angry he shakes with it.
I stumble backwards and almost fall over the ugly creature I was trying to protect. Remembering why I just did what I did, I hold my ground, as stupid as that may be. Instinct screams for self-preservation and my mind spins quickly—quickly, I have to say something! He's going to erupt and when he does nothing this volcano can havoc will be able to compare.
"You're—you can't! I mean, it's—!"
"I will give you one chance," the demon says so quietly I must strain to hear, "to move aside, before I bodily throw you against the rocks, girl, one chance." He hisses the last two words and I find myself lowering, knees bending, leaning back like a weed cowering from poison. Still, I do not move. I couldn't even if I wanted to. Fear has locked my legs and rooted my feet.
"You're shooting yourself in the foot," I croak in English, and the words seem to give him pause, if only for a second. "You wouldn't have lost the spirit maiden if they kept ahold of her—which they would've if they weren't so stupid. Did you ever wonder why they're stupid? It's because of this. Because you never let them learn. One mistake and they're dead."
I plead my case in English, then plead again in Hylian. I see the interest spark in his eyes, see as his mind works faster than mine ever could as he matches known words to their unknown counterparts. And it is as I intended. A gift, a translation which he sought before we were interrupted in the tower, a payment in exchange for his consideration.
"Let this one learn, see if it makes a difference. You can just kill him later if not. You'll either benefit or lose nothing. Smarter soldiers mean less mistakes, less mistakes mean greater success." I repeat it in Hylian, and then hold my breath.
Mercy disguised as practicality; compassion employed like a useful tool. It is the only way he could ever accept any of it.
My heart beats faster, pounds against the unmoving walls of my lungs in a demand for more oxygen. But I cannot give, cannot move, not even to breathe or look away. Once again he sucks me into those black depths. Pray, pray, pray says a voice so soft. For the first time in a long time I obey, send a quick plea to the only God I've ever believed in.
Ghirahim strikes out like a snake. His grip on my upper arms threatens to break bone in half, and I am sure he is about to slam me against the rocks as he said he would. But then he just stands there, glaring at me.
And then he smiles.
"All right, little bird. Have it your way. We'll give your experiment a test run. But when that worthless idiot behind you fails it, rest assured that I'll tear him into bloody little pieces. And, darling, when I do…" The demon leans down, presses his mouth so close to my ear I feel lip move over fang as he whispers, "I'm going to make you watch."
A/N: I did my best. I hope you liked it.
I had originally deleted the part where Kya jumped onto Scaldera, on the grounds that it wasn't realistic. But then I reconsidered. Realism for the sake of realism can be boring.
...The camel could not keep me down.