Author's note: This is a quick story I wrote based on my Shadow Battle AU. Essentially, Shadow Green is a shadowy version of Green, similar to how Shadow Link is a shadowy version of Link. Green has to incapacitate him so that he and the other Links, who also have shadow selves, can kill him. (They need to kill him because he physically and emotionally abuses the other Shadow Links, and he refuses to change.) This was written in one night with no revision, so it's not my best work. Hopefully you can find some enjoyment in it, anyway.
All things considered, it's a simple task: stab Shadow Green in the eyes. If you need him to be defenseless, just block his vision. There's no way to stop an attack if he can't see it coming - and that's about the only way you're ever going to have a chance of hitting him first. He won't go down without a fight. He's stubborn like that. Like you.
It's a simple task. And yet, as you slowly open the door to enter his room, you feel your hand shaking on the door handle. How can he be asleep at a time like this? Your breaths are so loud, you fear you'll even wake the dead. Doesn't he know he'll join them soon?
He doesn't. He lies in bed, his blanket covering his mouth. He can't sleep without that blanket on his face. Neither can you.
It makes him feel safe. It makes you feel safe, too.
Quit that, you think. You should be used to seeing someone with your own face by now. You've even threatened to kill someone like that before - someone you loved dearly. You were so confident then. There was no hesitation. What's different this time?
Is it because it's you lying there, so quiet and peaceful? Would it have been easier if he were crying already, letting the tears roll off his face onto the pillow as he tries not to let anyone hear him sob, lest he bother anyone?
Of course not. Then, you might have even tried to hold him.
That's not what you're here to do. Stay focused. Either you take care of this now, or you let everyone else continue to suffer because of your cowardice.
It's not like you haven't thought about this before. The desire to harm yourself in some way, hoping it's just enough to kill you so that when they find your body in your bed days later, they'll be sorry they ever ignored you. There will be a grand funeral just for you. You'll look so pretty sleeping in your coffin.
Stop. This isn't the time for that. Get a move on!
That's when you realize you've been sitting at his bedside for a few minutes now. His breaths are slow and deep. You almost want to ruffle his hair. You almost want to kiss his forehead, just like you do for the others. Is it weird that you feel that way? You shake your head. The others are you, just as he is. Maybe that's why you're still hesitating.
You look down at the blade in your hands. It's soothing, having something to hold onto at a time like this, even as it threatens to tear your own skin. You see your eyes reflected in the metal.
"I'm cold," it whines. "Feed me. I need to stay warm."
Poor thing, you want to say aloud. There is no blood in his body. You're not getting any of mine, either. Not tonight.
You let yourself have a few more moments just to breathe. You're already planning ahead. When he wakes up, you're going to have to try to get the other eye before he can force you away. If that doesn't work, be prepared for a fight. And if he kills you?
He won't. He can't. He would die right there too. But he'll definitely make sure you feel his pain. Maybe he'll even take your eye out.
Greedy bastard. You wanted first dibs.
Enough stalling. You rise from your seat carefully, checking his face all the while. You're ready to retreat at the smallest change. Your heart is pounding in your chest.
You lean over him without any issue, though you swear the movement of every muscle fiber in your body makes a noise at this point. You realize just how heavy of a sleeper you are.
Your brain is already feeding you images of what is to come. There's a knot in your stomach. You feel his breath hit your arm, even through your sleeve. It's cold. Your skin crawls. You have to hold your left hand with your right to get it to stop shaking. Accuracy is too important here; you only get one shot.
You inhale one more time, holding the air in as you bring the blade down with all your might.
A blood-curdling scream. A deluge of black ink coats your hands. The knife stays in his eye socket as you back away, your body reacting in lieu of your brain, which has now turned to static.
Nobody will come to his aid. Those who may have helped in the past now only wish to see him gone. It will be just the two of you in the room tonight. You made a promise to be the one who leaves the room when it's all over. They're all counting on you.
He sits up, his hands quaking as he feels for the blade. His breaths are rushed now. Ink stains the blanket on his lap. You want to keep your gaze there, fearing the alternative might make you vomit - but he's one step ahead of you. There is no choice but to look at his face as he now turns to you, his right hand supporting the blade in place. His left eye glows as he speaks.
"You tried. You really tried. I'll give you that," he starts, his voice low. His stare is steady, as is his frown. "But you forget something important."
There is no response. Your mouth simply cannot move. You can barely process what he says, anyway.
Somehow, through the shock of it all, you still feel a sense of dread as he pulls the knife from his eye socket, his facial expression not changing in the slightest even as he meets some resistance. Flesh, nerves, and blood vessels - or ink vessels, you wonder - converge on the eye, weaving themselves together as if performing some sort of monstrous surgery. That finally makes you gag. But you can't do it here. Not until he's out of the picture.
"That kind of thing doesn't work on me. I can just regenerate," he continues. He keeps the knife in his right hand, his gaze still on you. You want so badly to run, but you can't make your feet move anyway. All of your strength is focused right now on keeping your food down.
He takes a moment to observe the knife in his hand, turning it over and stroking the metal. The resemblance between you two is uncanny. Perhaps it is begging him for a meal as well. He may well listen to it. You pray he does not.
He looks to you again. Then, as if on cue, he gives you the same sweet smile he always does. A shiver runs down your spine.
"Aw, I'm sorry. That was taking it too far. You really did try! I didn't know you had it in you," he taunts. His smile is as cold as his gaze.
He starts to get out of bed. Your stance is firm, though it feels like every nerve in your body is about to fire all at once. Run!, they scream. Run!
You flinch when he touches your arm. You hear yourself give a small yelp, but right now you're too anxious to try to save face.
"You look a little sick! What's wrong?" He lets his claws sink into your sleeve just a bit. You wonder if he can feel your goosebumps through the fabric.
"Oh, are you upset because I fixed up my eye? Sorry, let me just undo it for you!"
He waves his hand, and the wound reopens in just the opposite order of how it was repaired. You gag again. He's still smiling sweetly at you.
"I bet you wanted to get both of them, didn't you? Here, take this back!" He offers, grabbing your left hand. The feeling of his touch lets you move again, and you pull your hand away. He tilts his head, still smiling.
"Don't you want to finish the job? I'll let you do it. Promise!" He tries to grab your hand again. You swat his hand away.
"You don't want it? Alright. Then let's try this," he says as he leans in closer. His eye continues to glow. "Why don't you just leave? Think about what you've done. Let the moment replay in your mind a few times, okay? Can you do that for me?"
All your mind says is Leave! Leave! Leave! So you do. You push him away and make a beeline for the door, not bothering to close it as you sprint down the hall.
Back in the room, he studies the knife a bit more. He chuckles when he sees his eyes reflected in the blade.