A/N: TW: death/afterlife, abuse, implied bullying, self-deprecation and self-worth issues, anxiety attacks.

Ghirahim found himself standing in the center of a small but well-lit and airy room. He wasn't sure how he got here, but that didn't frighten him. In fact, he felt content. At peace. Like he was exactly where he needed to be.

It was a nice room. There were two large overstuffed armchairs facing a cheerfully roaring fireplace. It was definitely a magical fire though, as the logs didn't appear to be consumed by the flames. A giant double-edged sword was perched precariously upon the mantle. It looked almost comically out of place there, and as if the slightest breeze might knock it over at any moment.

On the opposite wall, there was a large open window with floral patterned curtains which rustled slightly in the warm breeze flowing through them. Soft, melodious birdsong drifts in along with the wind, adding onto the tranquility of the scene.

The walls were a soft cream color which transitioned nicely into the fluffy tan carpet beneath Ghirahim's feet. Overall, it was a very tastefully decorated room, in his opinion. Though he was tempted to find a better place for that big sword…

There didn't seem to be a door, but that didn't alarm the sword spirit in any way, even though a part of him knew none of this made sense. He didn't know what had happened or how he came to be in a place like this, yet it still felt that he was meant to be here. He belonged here.

A darkness seemed to permeate the room all of a sudden, settling itself into an amorphous oozing thing in the corner. Just as the demon knew he belonged here, he found himself certain that this creature, whatever it was, didn't.

It writhed and squelched, glaring hatefully at Ghirahim with beady orange eyes. He felt a visceral disgust and fear at the sight of it, yet at the same time, something compelled him to approach and ease the creature's pain.

He pads swiftly over to the corner, kneels, and extends a hand…

"You can't help him." And nearly jumps out of his skin when a voice speaks from somewhere behind him. It is deep and stoic, but also holds a bit of sadness within it. "He did this to himself. You must let him reap the consequences of his actions."

Ghirahim straightens up and turns around to face the new occupant in the room. He sits in the armchair on Ghirahim's left with his legs crossed, looking thoughtfully at the sword spirit with his ruby red eyes. He seemed quite comfortable, as though he had been seated there for a while when Ghirahim knew for a fact that he had definitely not been there before.

He was wearing a blue and silver robe that appeared to be around knee-length, a surprisingly simple garment for someone radiating as much power as he. His white hair flowed majestically down His back. Ghirahim feels a twinge of jealousy when he sees this. He wanted long hair like that! But his master would have never allowed it, and it likely would've just gotten in the way.

Despite the great power this man is giving off, something deep within Ghirahim's heart tells him that he means him no harm.

"Have a seat, child." The being says, gesturing to the empty armchair. "We have much to discuss."

Ghirahim does as he is bid. The chair is impossibly fluffy, and he finds himself sinking into it rather thoroughly. "Ah… That's the stuff."

"Tea?" He asks next.

"That sounds nice." Ghirahim had never had tea in life, so he figured it would be a good thing to try now. Not as though this being could poison him since… Oh.

With a snap of fingers, Ghirahim suddenly finds himself holding a steaming mug full of deep brown tea. It smells of many herbs and spices, and has a perfect temperature when the sword spirit takes a sip. "Mmm…"

But as soon as he swallows, his surroundings seem to swirl. And in a rush, memory returns to him. He trembles and almost spills the drink all over himself, but a sudden pulse of Devine magic keeps it steady.

Ghirahim lacks the emotional energy to apologize for his clumsiness, though. Instead he says, barely above his breath: "I died…"

"Yes," the entity replies, but not unkindly. "I brought your soul here. This is all that remains of my domain since my name was lost to Time. It's a place where I still have some power, but cannot be observed by outside parties. You are safe here, Ghirahim. No harm will come to you as long as you are within my presence. You are not one of my creations, yet you've become one of my children, so I cherish you just the same."

Ghirahim rubs along the side of the mug with his fingers. It felt real and solid in his hands, even though he had supposedly died. There was a lot to unpack here, and enough things to think about to keep a philosopher busy for the rest of their life. But what struck him most was that for the first time ever, someone told him that he was cherished and safe. His eyes stung, but he forced the tears back. He had cried enough a while before, when he was alive. He wasn't about to start blubbering now before this entity which he is growing more and more sure is a god. Still, he can't help but ask. "I'm yours?"

Hearing something like that… it felt simultaneously like a warm embrace and a punch to the gut. "If that is so than… where were you? Where were you in the beginning when I prayed for salvation? Where were you when my blade was turned upon those who did not deserve it? Why now?"

He knows that most people wouldn't dare speak this way to a god, especially one who seemed to be offering kindness. But Ghirahim was not most people. And though it felt distant and easier to manage, the anger at the unfairness of the situation was coming back. And it would not be pacified unless it was expressed in some way.

The god, however, didn't seem the least bit offended by Ghirahim's outburst. Instead, he just seemed sad. A haunted look flashed in the depths of his eyes, clearly showing all the countless eons he'd lived through. A time so long that not even someone as old as Ghirahim could grasp it.

"I wanted to be. I could hear your cries, and the cries of so many others. It pains me knowing that I was trapped here and could do nothing. Please know that if I had it my way, you would be with me. You never would have fallen into the grasp of that parasite who called himself a Demon King." The god shows emotion then, glaring downright venomously at the tormented pile of sludge still huddling in the corner. It made a wretched sound in response, akin to someone choking on their own blood, shuttering gelatinously.

Ghirahim believed him. He had many, many years of reading people beneath his sash, and he could tell both by the god's demeanor and the heavy taste of regret in the air that he was telling the truth. It still hurt that it had taken this long to meet someone both powerful and kind, but it softened his anger considerably, knowing that he hadn't been willingly abandoned by all Devine beings.

"Forgive me," the demon mumbled, trying to ignore the thing in the corner as best he can. He wanted both to destroy it utterly and soothe its every pain. "I, um, well, I do not exactly have the best track record with gods."

The god smirks, then. His lips parting just enough to reveal a single fang. "That is something I can also attest to."

"…You?"

He sighs. "I am not like the goddesses, ghirahim. I do not share the same mindset, and had different ideas when it comes to my creations. And that frightened them. It is common to fear things one doesn't understand, even among deities. So they sealed us all away, and did their utmost to ensure that I in particular was not remembered."

"Oh?" ghirahim couldn't help it. Any wariness or mistrust he had had was quickly being replaced with intrigue. Excitement to discover knowledge that had been lost to everyone else, and the potential uses it may have. "Do tell."

The god takes a long swig out of his own mug of tea. Wait, when did he get that? "I remained like that for countless eons, nameless and alone. Watching helplessly on as many of my creations spiraled into darkness out of anger and rejection. One of which, sadly, you know quite well."

One of which Ghirahim knows well…

"Wait…" A chill runs down the sword spirit's spine, and he huddles back in his chair, clutching his mug against his chest. "Are you saying that you—are you the god of demons?"

Something resembling a sad smile plays across the ancient deity's lips. "Smart boy. I always admired how you could make connections so quickly. Yes, I did create the demon race. Though most of them no longer remember me, and when they do, my name is lost to them. I am known only as the Fierce Deity now."

"But you' are so…"

"Calm? My domain may be somewhat battle focused, but I am not a violent god. … When I don't need to be."

The two of them share a smirk. It feels almost as if they had known each other for all eternity. But then the thing in the corner squelches again, and the mood sobers.

"It was never meant to be like this, Ghirahim," the Fierce Deity laments. "My children were meant to be passionate guardians and magical protectors of those who could not defend themselves. What they are known for today… I do not condone any of this, not at all. I am extremely disappointed at the path some of them chose."

Again he directs his ire onto the thing in the corner, and Ghirahim has to address the elephant in the room.

"What is that awful thing? And… why does it call to me?" It disturbs him, the mixture of longing and repulsiveness he feels towards the tormented goo. He wants answers.

The Fierce deity, for his part, looks slightly disturbed himself at that second question. "Demise—don't flinch, Ghirahim. Names only have as much power as you give them. Demise was as cowardly as he was cruel. He was so desperate to keep you within his thrall that he did something reprehensible."

Ghirahim swallows hard. "What are you saying?"

"Do you remember the day… that he marked you?"

Instantly Ghirahim's mind was assaulted by a deluge of memories that not even the calming aura of this place could keep at bay. He did remember it. He remembered it so well.

He couldn't recall what he had done to warrant it, but he could clearly remember the moment.

It started off like punishments usually did, with yelling and lashing. But then, everything went still. His master lifted him close in his magical bindings, a nasty but calculated look in his eye.

"So," he began in an icy whisper. "I heard you like diamonds. Is that right, boy?"

Oh, how naive he'd been back then, because a flicker of hope blossomed in the depths of his heart. "I do." He told his master, happy that he seemed to be taking interest in what Ghirahim liked, despite everything that had happened mere moments ago.

His master cupped his cheek. Despite how hot his hands are, it is a surprisingly gentle gesture. He leans into it.

"You should like this, then."

Master presses his finger on Ghirahim's cheek, just below his left eye.

It burns.

Ghirahim gasps as he jolts back to the present, clamping his hand across his cheek reflexively. He can't feel if anything has changed.

He had tried to like it. Cherish it for the gift that master said it was, but deep in his heart he always knew that it was wrong. Wrong for Master to defile him like that, wrong for him to try to taint the only source of comfort Ghirahim had in this world. Make it all about himself.

The Fierce Deity looks upon him with a slight, but definitely present look of almost fatherly concern, and Ghirahim wants nothing more than to curl up into a little ball and cry.

Why now? Why couldn't Master ever look at him that way? He wants, he wants, he wants.

"Forgive me, child." Oh no, he sounds gruff but so, so kind, and he wants him to stop because he doesn't deserve it, and he wants him to keep him here forever, and it's just so much! "I am not a creature of tact. I never intended to upset you so."

So there was still no escape from the feelings, even in death. Figures.

Deep breaths, deep breaths. Can he make diamonds here? Snap, snap… he can! Oh, wonderful! Lovely! His.

It takes a few minutes, but Ghirahim is able to return to himself with the help of his beloved diamonds. And the Fierce Deity waits patiently all the while. He doesn't yell at him to hurry, or tell him that he is wasting his magic. How am I this lucky?

"I remember," he says at last. "But… what does it have to do with this?"

The Fierce Deity looks grimly between Ghirahim and the thing still writhing on the floor. "He left more than just a binding of slavery upon you that day."

It takes the demon a few seconds of gazing upon the squirming blob and thinking about the circumstances. But eventually, all the hideous puzzle pieces click right into place. "You don't mean… that thing is…"

"He put a piece of his soul inside of you," the god confirms. "And there he lies before us both now, finally getting his just deserts."

Ghirahim isn't sure what to feel. On the one hand, he can't believe the appalling lengths his former master… Demise would go too just to remain alive. Yet still, even now, there is a small, slimy part of Ghirahim that wails at this fate.

The Fierce Deity seems to realize that. "I will not keep him like this forever," he explains. "I will destroy him when you leave this place, however that may be. He will completely cease to exist, no longer a threat to anyone."

"I… suppose that is the best anyone could ask for at this point," Ghirahim concedes. They both sit in silence for a moment, sipping at their teas, before he admits: "I pity him. Even after everything. I think I always knew that… he was broken on the inside. Broken in a way that cannot be fixed."

"Yes, he was cruel but… it is all he knew. His emotions were… warped. He could not conceive of pleasure that did not involve harming others. Maybe that's why I worked so hard for him. I wanted to give him as much happiness as I was able. Even at the expense of others, including myself. I know it was wrong, but…"

He shrinks down in his seat. He can't believe that he admitted that to anyone, much less a god that, admittedly, he barely knew. And he's pretty sure he can feel the judging eyes upon him now…

"You have a good heart, Ghirahim."

What?

The demon can't help it, he bursts into slightly deranged laughter at that, slapping his knee, and almost spilling his tea. "Ahahahaha! Oh, you are a riot. No. If I had a good heart, I wouldn't have even considered such notions."

But the god stands firm. "The fact that you still have the capacity to feel such great compassion, even towards the one who used and abused you for centuries… it is not something that just anyone can do. Many would have been broken and consumed by hatred in your position. I have difficulties sympathizing with those who have wronged me. Yet despite everything, you remain strong in your belief in the good of others. If only you could extend that belief to yourself."

Now that struck Ghirahim dumb for a good long while. He bit his lip, staring down into the dwindling contents of his mug. When he finally did speak, it came out rough and sad.

"It's… hard. When I have spent most of my existence immersing myself in the role I had to play. And the things that people say about me… they think I don't hear them, but I do. Every single one." He traces one of the holes in his glove with a fingertip. "Why did you bring me here? What do you possibly see in me to warrant your attention? I'm not even a true demon lord, much less a real demon!"

Ghirahim clamps his hand over his mouth. He did not mean to say that last part. This always happens when he gets emotional, and it had gotten him into trouble many, many times.

The Fierce Deity's eyes flash with anger, but thankfully Ghirahim is still lucid enough to be able to tell that it isn't directed towards him. "Let me reassure you that you are a real demon, in every way. Just because you so happen to be a sword spirit does not detract from that in the least, and you deserve as much respect as any of my creations."

Ghirahim isn't completely convinced. After so many centuries of being treated like an object, how could he be? But it did make him feel better.

It was a bit overwhelming, having so many kind things said to him all at once. If he were still alive, he probably would not be able to contain his feelings at all, and would proceed to make a massive fool of himself.

"As for why I brought you here," the Fierce Deity continued, "the passion of yourself and my dearest sister's chosen as you fought for what you believed in was just enough to awaken me from slumber. You both have such strong wills, and you both had your passion betrayed."

Ghirahim can't help but sigh at that, at first. He didn't see how LInk was betrayed in all this. He slayed the beast and saved the girl, and by extension the world.

Then again, the Sky Child had seemed more than a little out of sorts when he had found Ghirahim on his deathbed. Perhaps there was trouble in paradise?

Then another particular detail grabbed the sword spirit's attention and he gasps. "Your sister?"

The Fierce Deity groans, a rather ungodly sound. "Yes, unfortunately. She is not the «saintly figure she appears to be at first glance, far from it. But what exactly she did this time is not my story to tell."

Ghirahim was frustrated, at first. But he quickly surmised that whatever was going on had been intimately linked with Link in some way, and though he might not be opposed to telling him himself, if the roles were reversed, he did not want what went on between himself and Demise to be blabbed without his say so.

"Anyway," the god continued, "I brought you here not because I want something from you, but rather because I would like to do something foryou, if you will allow me."

Ghirahim blinked. A god, wanting to do something for someone below them with no strings attached? This seemed far too good to be true. Yet, the Fierce Deity was not wrong when he said that Ghirahim always tried to see the good in others, so he would hear him out.

"You have two options here, Ghirahim. First, I could let your soul move on. You would go to the afterlife and could be at peace. You have certainly earned your rest."

Ghirahim can't help but scoff at that. "Forgive the interruption, but I must disagree with you on that one. I have most certainly not earned any sort of rest. Almost everything I have done has caused someone pain, directly or indirectly. No one in their right mind could possibly believe I deserve peace after all that."

The Fierce Deity doesn't seem upset by the interruption, just slightly saddened. "If that's how you feel, then you will probably like the second option, as I predicted you would."

"Oh? And what is that?"

"I use the power that your battles have granted me combined with the still fresh tear between life and death that your ritual created to restore your body, and return your soul to the land of the living. As this goes against the established rules of the universe, it will likely take everything within me and I would return to sleep. But it is a sacrifice I would willingly make for one of my children."

Ghirahim could not believe what he was hearing. Was the Fierce Deity truly willing to defy the very laws of existence, for him? Even after he had already drawn the ire of the other gods?

"A-And… is there anything you would ask of me in return?" Because there has to be something. Nobody just does things like this.

"All I would ask of you is that you take your life into your own hands." And with that said, suddenly one of the featureless walls is no longer so featureless. There is a door now, and Ghirahim knows in his heart that it's for him. Downing the last of his tea in one gulp, the sword spirit stands and begins slowly walking towards it.

When he opens it, there is nothing on the other side but a deep, black void. It's more than a little foreboding, but Ghirahim has a good feeling about it all the same. He feels hopeful, for the first time in so long.

The last thing he sees before plunging into the darkness is the blade of that giant sword swinging right into the center of the remains of his former master. The last thing he hears before the void swallows him up is the deep voice of the Fierce Deity, barely above a whisper.

"Good luck, my chosen."

A/N: Does this portrayal of the Fierce Deity match the majority of the canon lore? Nope. But you know what? This is fanfiction, I use and ignore canon information as I see fit because this is a story that I write for fun. And Ghirahim needs a dad.