A/N: Anyone recognize me? No? Okay. I probably stayed on my desert island for long enough, and you can't see me through this beard and gauntness. Aye, I would tell you the story of the great iron turtles that hungered for my bones, but I think this story's a bit more interesting.

Chapter 34: Siege of Children

The rain pounded down heavily against Link's cloak. Hood pulled up, he had an excellent view of the mud his feet were sinking in, and above the torrent of the rain he could hear the squelch of each step, hear his bones creak and his muscles cry…

The rains started two weeks ago. He was trapped in bed back then, but he could feel the unnatural onslaught of water fill the air, a weighted humidity that reached deep into his lungs and tried to strangle him in his sleep. From what he could gather from the lady's nervous glances at the sky she hadn't expected the rain either. The ships could not sail against the thrashings of the wind and sea, and back then there was always a burst of violence in the street as agitated soldiers balanced the cage of this town against the reports of continued assaults to their homes.

Link didn't think Shakaku had managed to get some way of controlling the weather: his style appeared to use more strength and shock, to put on a display that would strike true terror into the opponents, rather than subtly kill them with no one for them to direct their fear towards. Regardless, Shakaku was still capitalising on the opportunity: every night a man would stumble at their gates, dying from his wounds, and he would beg, and the councilmen would listen but cannot act, and the soldiers grew even more restless.

After thirteen days of burying messengers the councilmen called on Link. They ushered him to their map and pointed to a costal city. This was where they were. They drew a line across to another city. One main clasped his hands in imitation of a butterfly.

Navi. Link did not ask any questions. He took a straight knife and claymore, accepted the cloak they proffered, and walked past the gates.

Link's hand drifted past his belt. No, he also took one more thing: the Fierce Deity mask.

Another wet squelch, and Link sighed as the mud swallowed his leg up to the knee. Normally two weeks would have been enough time for his bones to knit properly, for his muscles to rebuild. Normally he had a stock of red medicine nearby, or knew someone who could brew some. Normally he had the Goddesses' protection on his side. Normally he had his own magic to help.

"You know what I do with whiners? I stick them, get the wood through the belly and up the throat, and let them bleed burning. So shut up."

Link rubbed his brow slowly. And normally he didn't have the voice of a savage god stuck in his head either. Briefly he wondered why he could hear the Fierce Deity. The thought derailed as the mud started sucking in his other leg.

Through the heavy storm it was hard to tell whether it was day; any light was blotted out by the clouds, and the moisture in the air stuck to the eyes like a layer of film, making it harder to see. Link guessed that he had already been walking for more than a day. He drank the rain to quench his thirst, but his stomach still protested his negligence on bringing food. He once foraged through the plains to find some wild onions to eat, but the Fierce Deity put him off that.

"Going to eat grass, boy, eat it like a cow? Oh, if the Goddesses could farm cattle like you, they'd have taken over the world with their army of goats. Bleat through the grass, boy, bleat."

Link wished that he could find a way to get rid of the god's voice.

Wearily he trudged on. Link contemplated how well he could infiltrate the town while leaving giant mud prints behind him.

Deal with that problem when it arises. His hand lifted to the claymore strapped to his back; his shoulder muscles screamed in protest. Hopefully it wouldn't come down to that.

Engrossed in his thoughts Link almost tripped, his quick feet preventing him from completing the fall. Wiping his wet bangs away from his eyes, he peered at the ground: cobblestones. A pavement. Looking up, he was surprised that he ignored it before, but now that his eyes focussed on it the wall, illuminated by a few hanging lanterns, was in plain sight.

The lantern lights visible through the light rain, a sickly yellow reflected off the greying wood of the palisades. Link saw no signs of guards on the facing he was approaching: no stiff swivel of spears, no glints off helmets, no trudge of boots and no swaying kerosene lamps. For a camp that was under Shakaku's control, it was surprisingly undefended.

It didn't take a large leap of imagination to picture the walls as crying: the wood was slanted backwards, supplicating itself to the skies above, letting the rain course down its face as streams of tears. Splintered sections created the hooded eyes, vine roots that had etched itself deep into the wood created the wailing mouth. And to the beat of the rain and the slow groaning of the earth you could hear the town cry.

Looking at it all at once everything screamed at him. Link lurched unsteadily as his muscles renewed its protesting vigour, every bone fracture hissing, his blood pounding at his temples, screaming its chant of get out, get out, get out…

The earth yawned, the sky shrieked, the grass rattled, the wood moaned, and in his head the sounds mixed with the pains of his body, swirling into colours red and grey, high pitched voices that wailed danger, danger, danger! Get out, get out, get-

"You, are one messed up kid."

And all at once the sound stopped and the ground stopped spinning. Link staggered forward, a hand pressed tightly against his head. His body trembled before twisting to sit in the mud. Link ignored the cold that was soaking up his cloak.

"Damn, what the hell was that?"

"Let's see, can you say crap food, crap air, crap body and crap magic? Repeat after me, you eat crap, you breathe crap, you are crap. No wonder your head's so crappy."

"Thank you," Link mumbled. Pulling himself back onto his feet he stretched out to stabilise his arm against the wall-

"Urgh, nasty! What the hell is this?"

Link snatched his hand back and grimaced at the dark green paste covering it. The entire wall seemed to be patched with this substance, whatever that was emanating the earthy smell.

Link shook his head and wiped it on his cloak.

Mould. The wood was decaying. The entire wall was rotten.

"These people wouldn't have lasted a minute against me. There's no fun in conquest when your opponents are filthy lambs."

Why was it so poorly maintained? Withdrawing the straight knife, he hacked a hole through the wall – not only was it badly rotting, but it was dangerously thin – big enough for him to peep through.

A street, unpaved. Left and right held small houses and shops, front porches all with lit kerosene lamps. A fork in the road to the left. A ploughed plot of land to the right.

But no guards.

"But you know, I get a sick pleasure from the phrase 'lambs to the slaughter'."

Tucking away his knife, Link took a few steps back. Tightening the cloak around him he charged straight at the wall. Or tried to, but with his poor health and the deep mud he stumbled at it instead, but the result was the same. The wood did not shatter like planks do, or glass, but rather with a wet squelch ripped like damp paper, flaking and dripping apart after the first shock.

There was no motion to the sound of the tearing wood, no whispers of attention to the clatter as the chips met the earth, no stirring of the houses to Link's heavy landing. The entire street stayed silent. The entire place stayed devoid of people.

"What the hell is wrong with this town?"

"Have you considered that maybe it is Hell itself? A demon runs the show, didn't you say?"

Link didn't quite like how his feet sank in the road, the packed dirt turned into mud from the rain. He didn't like how when he approached one house, it was also made of rotten wood with no one inside. He didn't like how new the kerosene lamps were even though everything else was so old.

No, not everything else. The plot of land looked recently altered. He especially didn't like it when that plot of land wasn't made as a vegetable patch as he first expected, but as an abrupt burial ground. Stopping next to it he shifted some of the upturned dirt with his foot to cover an exposed leg – pale with no signs of decay; definitely recent.

"Why would they think that Navi's here? There's no one here," Link whispered to himself. He returned back to the road, eyes darting from structure to structure. "But no, that wouldn't explain why the lamps are all lit. Someone's still here."

"Talking to yourself, boy? Scared of being alone in such a dead town?"

Link ignored the Fierce Deity. "Why wouldn't they fix everything else, though? Wood's not in short supply outside, it shouldn't have been that hard to fix the walls and houses before they reached such disrepair."

"Quiet, boy."

"Where would they live, if not in these houses?"

"I said quiet, boy."

"Who was left to dig those-"

"Shut up! Hear it?"

Link paused. There was the creak of swaying lamps, the hushed groans of wind among the wood, the scattered sieve of displaced dirt, and yes: the military clink of steel armour. Link gritted his teeth in frustration, and looked around for a place to hide.

-S-

Chendry hated patrol duty. She hated walking among the husks of the houses, the loneliness of the job exacerbated by the emptiness of the town. She remembered a time when mothers scolded their children about jumping around in those flower gardens, and when fathers sat in those verandas after a day of labour.

Now the gardens buried bones and the houses sunk deeper into the moss and decay, and the mothers and fathers were gone. It all went wrong when the demon came, and the demon promised of righting everything if they listened to him.

So there she was, wearing armour never fitted for her and carrying a sword she could not wield, walking through the dead neighbourhood of town. She kept her gaze close to the ground and rushed through the job, hoping to finish the route quickly and return to the centre where the remaining people lived. And so it was that she didn't notice the gaping hole in the wall until she was right in front of it.

The first thing she noticed was the wooden flakes covering the ground. Maybe a house had finally collapsed, she had thought, the decay finally chewing through the supports to let the upper stories groan and sink. If that was the case then she didn't want to look and see another reminder of how far the town had fallen.

But she had once lived in this area. If it wasn't her house, then it was a house of one of her friends. They would want to know that, whether the crumb of hope in returning to their homes had dissolved to rest with the bones.

The second thing Chendry noticed was a track of boot prints. Mud lathered mud, which was unsurprising – with the heavy rain everyone's footsteps left a trail of mud. But no one should have been here, no one would have wanted to return unless Averiz told them to, and he only told her.

And finally she saw the gaping rip in the wall, a gory eye to the fields beyond and the fear of freedom and capture.

Twisting on the spot she fumbled the sword free of its sheath. She almost laughed at how the tip pointed at the ground despite her attempts to hold the sword correctly. Glancing at the decayed houses, she shifted around for the intruder, hoping that she wouldn't find him.

"Hello?" she called nervously once in the native dialect and again in the common language, "is anybody there?"

Wood and mortar creaked, and almost dropping the sword she spun to see the chimney stack of a house – Janson's, she noted – lurch and tilt as the bricks broke free and ripped through the thatched roof to smack and slowly sink with the foundation.

There was a shadow of a flicker as the house broke apart, but no one replied. Hesitatingly she shuffled closer to the wreckage, but the patter of feet forced her to turn around and hunt for the source of the sound.

The streets were still empty. The wind moaned through the tear in the wall, and a loose lock of hair fell free of the helmet and blocked her eyes. Yelping she dropped the sword to wipe the hair aside and so was rotting wall that was collapsing towards her.

Chendry yelped as the wall splintered against her cheeks, her arms brought protectively to her eyes. The rotten wood was soft, but still heavy; she screamed as she tripped over the collapsed chimney, falling along with the wall. Pain snaked up her back and ankle. The decayed wood split to give her full view of the person behind.

Whoever that person was, he was bigger than her and carried a sword the same size as him. Scrambling back to her feet she ran back to the centre, frantically searching for her whistle. There was groan of another house collapsing, but she didn't dare look back.

-S-

Link pulled up his hood to shield himself from the dust and mossy wood that was kicked free from the collapsing house, but his attention was spent watching the retreat of the soldier. He frowned at the frantic shrieks of the whistle.

"You should have killed her, boy. Your secret infiltration's not all that secret with her racket."

Link's frowned deepened when she tumbled from the ungainly armour, the whistle falling free from her lips. She pulled herself up and kept running. She left the whistle behind.

"She's a girl."

"Glad you noticed it was no eunuch, boy. What, growing a stupid chivalric sense of battle? A soldier's a soldier, and deserves to be gutted like a pig. Cut the kid, not the wood, you pathetic idiot."

"No," Link gritted his teeth, "a girl, not a woman. She's a kid, younger than me."

"Another brat; so? All it means is she bleeds less when you finally gut her."

"Why is this town manned by kids?" It was frighteningly easy how he pulled the claymore free from the wood, and he started walking along her mud prints. Wherever she was going had to have other people, and probably where Navi was being held.

"Isn't it obvious, boy? Brats fight because there's no one else. Momma's dead, boy, she's keeping papa company."

Link remembered the buried leg, and he walked a little faster.

-S-

No one was too surprised when Chendry returned a good hour earlier than expected – if it was them, they would have found a corner to hide in until their duty was over. They weren't expecting her to actually run back out of breath and missing her sword.

"Intruder," she gasped, dropping to her knees from exhaustion and the weight of her armour, "someone got in."

"Where's he now?" Janson asked. He was the biggest of the group, and when Averiz wasn't around acted as the leader.

"I don't know." Looking warily behind her, she continued, "I never saw his face, but he can use a sword."

Janson frowned. "Averiz won't like this. We have to find your intruder. The town's not too big, so it shouldn't take too long." Seeing Chendry's frightened face, he added, "We'll go in threes. No one attacks people in groups."

"His sword is bigger than me," she mumbled, but Janson ignored her. The children fumbled into groups, clutching their oversized weapons protectively.

"Remember," Janson added, "we got to find him before Averiz wakes up. I don't want to be eaten." His voice maintained its steady edge, but they could all see the panic building in his eyes. No one wanted to be disciplined by Averiz.

Before they all filed out of the centre a low keen filled the air, the snapping of aged wood filling their ears before the tallest building in the distance – a disused clock tower – tilted and collapsed.

"And he can cut through buildings," Chendry whispered. Janson couldn't ignore her this time.

-S-

"Destroying buildings isn't going to help you, boy. You've got to grab a person and make him scream."

Link sat on the porch of a church – the windows were cracked and faded, the monuments broken – and tried to stabilise his vision. The world was lurching again, the anguish of the rain and wood screaming in his mind in a cacophony. His arms were shaking from the exertions with the sword.

The ground twisted. Bile caught in his mouth. Link turned aside and heaved; he had no food to throw out, only water. He raised a hand to wipe the sticky film away from his mouth.

"You're in bad shape, boy. Someone's coming."

Link held his breath painfully, halting his panting as his ears strained for what the Fierce Deity noticed. At first he could only concentrate on the fire rolling in his chest, but above the rain he could hear the clink of armour.

"I'm taking control."

Link shook his head, wobbled to his feet before collapsing back down again. He touched his wrist to his forehead; a fever. "It's just kids," he ground out, standing back up again, "I can handle it."

"Ah, you have mistaken me. I am not asking. I am taking."

And suddenly Link could feel the mask heat up on his waist, a surge of darkness racing up his veins to his brain. He staggered once, pulled up his will and magic in defence, but the poison flowing through struck him once more. By the time he disengaged it, the darkness swept his will aside, and Link's mind dropped, falling, falling…

And crashed.

-S-

Chendry knew immediately that this was not the same attacker as last time. No; the cloak was the same, the body was the same, but she could feel that the mind was not the same. He sat cross-legged at the church's entrance, back facing them, and for all appearances looked like he was appreciating the architecture.

The wood was already old, but from her perspective it looked like the building was buckling to get away from his presence. The rain that hissed on the ground snaked away in streams, bending away from his form. The groan of the wind and the stone screamed with the repulsion to his being, slowly twisting to get away.

Chendry did not know how long they stood there watching. At some point one of her companions drew his sword. The intruder could not have heard the blade's whisper above the rain, but immediately he stood up and shrugged off his claymore.

There was an entire street's length between them, but they could feel the mental pressure urging them to flee before it was too late, that it is already too late. Even at the distance their forms were reflected off the giant sword, skinny bodies in oversized armour, scrawny knees wobbling to hold up all the weight.

The other companion drew his sword, Chendry fumbled for hers. The intruder turned around.

He was sick, he was still sick: his skin was unhealthily pale, his body shook with minute shivers, a thin trail of vomit remained on his chin. But his bloodshot eyes were wild and hard, callous and calculating, desiring destruction and desiring death.

Chendry screamed for them to run. One of them charged instead; the intruder laughed and wiped off the vomit line. Before her friend took three steps a straight knife cut the distance and sawed through his armour to sink deep into the thigh.

They dropped their swords and pulled the knife free from the blossoming wound. They held their friend and ran.

The intruder was still laughing.

-S-

Link knew darkness. His meetings with Farore were in areas of darkness with the illusion of light. The Shadow Temple existed in darkness that bites the mind, gnawing it raw with fear.

Link could not see his body. He was not sure he had a body: clapping his limbs released no sounds, resulted in no sensations. He was just sentience floating in an abyss, surrounded with the furthest depths of black.

"I normally decorate for guests, but I think you're used to it." Link did not know whether he turned, or whether his vision shifted, or whether the darkness shifted, but suddenly a man stood in front of him. The man was as dark as the black that surrounded him, only tattoos of silver that etched his entire body gave his form away.

Link tried to speak, but realised he had no voice. Where am I? Who are you? He reached to touch his throat。 He forgot he didn't have a hand. He forgot he didn't have a throat.

"Where are you?" The form barked a laugh. "I think you'll be able to figure that out by now. Who am I?" The silver tattoos glowed, and colour formed between them. "You should know that as well."

A face. A mask. A god.

The Fierce Deity. Coal black eyes greeted him, narrowed from a smirk of contempt.

Link had a good guess what the Fierce Deity looked like on him, and he saw how the god's possession appeared on Reza. Both forms paled to the true form, unspoiled and pure, defined and ephemeral, and radiating power from every step, every glance.

"Now, if you remember what I told you the last time we had an actual discussion," the world fluttered, and Link's mind screamed a vision of white as the god carved a body for him. Bones that previously weren't there snapped into place. Muscles twisted and contorted as organs enlarged. "There is one way of cleansing your magic." He paused when Link's form was completed, the skin stretching to cover the muscles. As an afterthought he shaped Link's normal green clothes as well.

"What?" Link's voice didn't sound right. His muscles didn't feel right, his bones didn't move right.

The Fierce Deity smirked. A longsword materialised in Link's hand at the same time the shadows were given colour, given form.

"Dying."

The world lurched as the shadows howled.

-S-

They lost the eastern residential area first. The clock tower collapsed soon after. The church fell, followed by the manor, the weather tower, the southern residential area.

Somewhere along the way the game changed. They weren't trying to flush the intruder out.

The stones groaned around Janson, and he turned to see the watchtower lean over. Wood splintered free from the leaning construct before the entire thing fell. Four of his friends scrambled around the corner, panicking to escape the cloaked man lazily following them. Janson ran as well.

The intruder was trying to flush them out.

There was no other choice: Janson had to get Averiz's help. The intruder hadn't killed anyone yet – he was taking a sick pleasure in seeing them scream to get away – but it was only a matter of time. Before then, a demon should be pitted against a demon.

He ran for the centre, where Averiz was resting. The others saw where he was going and scattered. The demon was leisurely following him.

He turned the corner. Averiz was awake.

Janson whimpered.

"I don't want to die…"

-S-

The Fierce Deity watched as everyone a sudden force swept over everyone else. They watched the boy run, and immediately they all changed direction to run away.

When one ran right past him, his interest was secured.

They were afraid of him. But they feared something else even more.

He let the one that glanced off his elbow to pass. He followed the boy everyone was running away from.

When he turned the corner, he tilted his head to avoid the gauntlet flying his direction. A Gigas – skin blackened with age but hardened from battle experience – hacked before spitting out an arm of bone.

The Fierce Deity noted the little boy shivering and whimpering to the side, clutching the bloody stump of his shoulder.

When the Gigas turned its milky silver eyes to him, the Fierce Deity laughed and unsheathed the claymore.

"Now, this is entertainment."

-S-

It is but a game of the god, Link reminded himself, gripping the blade's edge to shove aside the enemy's sword, a sick game of his.

It is not real.

While the opponent stumbled Link leaped forward, grabbing the enemy's neck as he thrust the sword deep into the abdomen.

The enemy was silent, blue eyes watching the gutted abdomen impassively as Link drew it up to cleave right past his shoulder.

Link saw his own face grey, released the body and tumbled back. Clutching his own abdomen and chest, he crumpled and released a hoarse scream.

It is not real.

This body is not mine, Link reminded himself, this pain is not mine. He rolled around and raised his sword just in time to block an overhead swing. Blue eyes locked with blue eyes. Dirty blonde hair trailed over dirty blonde hair. One face matched against the exact same face.

Link shifted to let the sword sail past before aiming a messy arc at the enemy's throat.

Again, the copy did not cry out. Link howled enough for both of them, staggering under the pain as he held his own throat.

A part of his mind was disconnected from the pain. A part of his mind noticed discrepancies between this artificial body and his real one – the poor nervous connection, the numbed strength – and so stated that the two were not the same, that this is not real.

That death is not real.

Link shot a wild glance around. Every time he slew a copy of himself the shadows will roil, and another copy will emerge. It happened over twelve times already, and so Link was expecting the thirteenth.

Half a minute had passed; the shadows boiled with fury, but no new opponent came free.

Gulping in air – part of his mind noted from its slimy feel that it could not be air – he slowly turned around, blade at the ready. The seconds passed and Link watched the darkness stretch and twist.

"Din's…"

A voice. His voice. But not from his throat.

"…Fire!"

Link turned around in time to see the world engulfed in flames.

A part of his mind stated that death was not real. The fires reached Link, smothered him, strangled him, and that part of his mind died.

-S-

"It's not everyday you get to fight something the gods found too hideous to look at," the Fierce Deity laughed as he danced out of the Gigas' reach, avoiding the crushing grip.

The Gigas growled and renewed its effort.

"I mean, usually anything unsightly just gets wiped away, extinguished," hopping alongside he scored a bleeding gash along the Gigas' arm, "but you? They must have tried, but each time they tried to look at you they missed."

The Gigas howled. The Fierce Deity managed to dodge its second arm, but the remaining pair clamped around Link's body tightly. His sword was pinned.

Still he smiled. "Yes, you're that ugly."

Now that the Fierce Deity was trapped the Gigas regarded him more calmly.

"Shakaku mentioned there was a boy with a skilled sword," it growled out slowly, unused to speech, "he never mentioned the boy had a flying mouth."

"He never mentioned his lackeys are idiots," the Fierce Deity grinned, "but I don't fault him for that."

The Gigas surveyed him impassively. "I could crush you like a bug. I have crushed many armies, killed many generals. You are nothing against me."

He nodded condescendingly. "Then tell me, oh great cow of war, what are you doing in this wasted land? There is nothing here. I get the feeling you're here because you're unwanted everywhere else." His grin faltered for a moment as the grip around him tightened. "Is the great cow feeling neglected? No one wants an aging, half-blind weakling like you."

The Fierce Deity flew from the hands of the Gigas into the embrace of the surrounding structures when the Gigas hurled him across. He had little time to appreciate the feel of snapping wood when a gigantic fist tore threw the rest to strike him fully across the chest. Flying free of the structure a palm swatted him into the ground, pinning him there.

The Fierce Deity laughed as the pressure increased. "Something broke," he chuckled, "something broke in this already broken body. Link is really going to feel it."

The Gigas loomed overhead, snarling. The Fierce Deity frowned as its saliva dripped free in large globs around him. "Why do you laugh? I have won."

He smirked. "Had you been fighting the true host of this body perhaps you would have won. Any other day maybe, and you would have won." His eyes glowed in a darker hunger; the world tilted, screamed silently, returned to the greying sky. "Today you lose."

The Gigas howled as black flames roared free of the pinned body, severing his hand. Stepping back he watched the flames climb higher on his severed wrist before looking at the person push his smoking palm aside and calmly stand up.

"Today you fight a god."

-S-

He cut me. Help.

Link staggered around the foggy abyss. The first new copy used Din's Fire in greater flexibility than Link himself: streams, domes, fireballs, the magic was manipulated to a greater dexterity thank Link himself had.

Link won. Fire is not a physical force; Link withstood the flames to throw his sword through the dome and into the copy's heart.

The second copy used Farore's Wind, using it to teleport, increase its movement speed, even create an illusionary copy of itself. Link didn't know how to do that.

Link won. The moment he realised his opponent was the illusion he flipped his sword to extend behind him. The copy often teleported close for decapitating strikes. It impaled itself on his sword.

The third copy used Nayru's Love, creating an invincible layer around itself, hardening its blade beyond diamond, creating for itself the perfect sword and the perfect shield.

Link won. It was invincible, but it was not stronger. He managed to get close and grapple with it, stealing its sword. The perfect sword against the perfect shield. Both broke. Link plunged his sword deep past its face.

And with each strike Link felt himself dying over and over again.

The last copy used all three as well as magic arrows. An indestructible defence and a rapid sword if he chose to fight close; a spray of fire and ice arrows if he chose to escape far. And an arena of holy fire all around.

Link wasn't sure if he won. He felt himself dying, felt the arrows plunge deep and the magic bite, felt the heat of the fires, felt the unflinching thrust of swords. He felt his limbs hacked, felt his guts ripped, felt his bones sawed, felt fear, felt panic, felt the screaming desire to live and called…

… called what?

Pain and death coalesced at the centre of his chest before exploding out. When his eyes opened the copy was gone.

Did he kill it? Or did he die and this was the after world of this nightmare?

He cut me. Help.

But a voice called. And so Link staggered onwards, towards it.

Link should have been suspicious of any voice in his mind. But he was weary and running on instincts, and the voice was familiar.

"Who, Malik, who?" he croaked free. "Where are you?"

He cut me. Help.

The fog was thick, and the voice echoed from all directions. But he could see a glimmer of light and shadow in one direction, a vague shape within the darkness all around.

He waded through the mist. Link found Malik.

Every joint had been sawed through, leaving him a being composed of many little bits – finger tip, finger, palm, wrist, elbow shoulder, collar bone – disconnected joints that were held distant from one another.

Not disconnected, no: the arteries still ran throughout the entire length, veins pumping as they acted as cords between the severed parts, twisted ligaments stretched in air as they linked bone to bone, body part to body part…

The flesh had fallen off Malik's neck and spine; they were individual bone disks stretched and wrapped with beating arteries, still in the misty air except for the occasional creak and quiver of collapsing bone…

Malik smiled widely. His teeth hung free of his gums, dangling from purple blood vessels.

"He said if I cut you, he would fix me."

He cut me. Help.

Link stared as the abomination pulled itself to its total height, ligaments shivering as it walked towards him. His sword arm trembled.

This was sacrilege. This was an offence to his friend, an insult to Link. This disfigurement of his memories did not deserve existence.

Link howled and charged.

He cut m-

-S-

"My, my," the Fierce Deity held the claymore higher up into the light, "the brat made this? Not bad, not bad at all."

Of the Gigas' four arms two were lost: one from the black fires that coalesced around the Fierce Deity, the other from the steel bite of the sword. The Fierce Deity had moved too quickly; the blade glimmered in a blinding arc that flashed the eyes and then-

Averiz howled in pain as it clutched its bleeding stump. The blade had sawed through the tough skin to strike hard against the bone. The Fierce Deity clucked in irritation, adjusted his grip, and hacked all the way through.

"Not even blunt yet," he admired, "and they say Gigas bones are harder than stone. Then again, this Gigas is a blind sheep left out to rot." He took his time to look around: the brats were failing at trying to be discreet, hiding around the corners. Dying kerosene lamps illuminated the square, but it didn't matter; from the colour of the sky the sun was going to rise in less than an hour. "I won't need magic against rotting filth like you. Besides, there's never enough blood involved." He chuckled darkly. "Let's see how much you bleed."

"Swords," the Gigas hissed, "SWORDS!" His roar echoed through the plaza. The Fierce Deity stood back amused as the children carried a crate closer before scuttling away. The Gigas smashed it open; one blade he held between his teeth, two more he held in each hand. The remaining two he kicked aside; one child did not run far enough. The Fierce Deity grinned deeper at the screams.

The swords were crudely made – basic broadswords that did not even have a proper handle yet – but what they lacked in finesse they made up in side. The two swords were twice as tall as Link, with the blade at the teeth capable of gutting into Link with more than two feet extending. Cruel weapons.

The Fierce Deity laughed. "Now, this is entertainment."

-S-

"Stop it… stop it…"

Give it back.

Left foot. Right foot. A step forward. Stop, Goddesses, stop… A step forward.

He couldn't let go of the sword. He couldn't stop looking forward. He couldn't stop moving forward.

Malik's blood smeared his arms. Wispy remains of tendons wrapped around the coated blade, tiny channels for the aging blood to trickle down by. Purple nerves wrapped his boots like baby roots, crunching with each step.

He couldn't get the sounds out of his head. The dripping blood, the snapping bone, the sickening squelch as steel tore flesh, the gurgling throat…

He couldn't get the voices out of his head.

It's mine. Give it back.

"Stop it. Please, Goddesses, stop it…"

A crypt. The hazes had formed into the dank mists that settled in the bottoms of crypts. A sickly green light from the phosphorous.

He knew this place. The marble sarcophaguses, the pallid dirt, the aging air…

The Royal Cemetery. He was walking deeper into the heart of the graveyard.

"Hello, Link."

She sat on top of the last sarcophagus. The green lights gave a deathly glow against her pale white dress, swirling to the rhythm of phantom calls. Swaying her legs to her gentle humming, she looked into the darkness beyond, revealing her left profile. His heart yearned at her beauty.

Her name escaped his lips.

"Princess Zelda."

This was the Royal Cemetery. ReDeads were meant to walk in eternal guardianship. Link's eyes darted but his neck would not turn. The air was thick; a foul mist invaded his lungs.

The dead walked. But he could not see where.

"Do you still have it? The Triforce?"

He raised his arm. The blade hovered close to her throat. The Triforce of Courage glowed brightly.

It burned with anger.

Zelda flicked a glance at the glowing emblem. "That's nice. They took mine." She turned to look directly at him.

Her right side was dead. A perfect division in the middle between life and decay, beauty and horror, perfection and corruption. The right nose cavity had caved in from the decayed cartilage, her eye a black hole into the moulding chamber of her skull.

The left side grinned cheerfully. String-like muscles stretched, withered lips reared back, yellowed teeth bared in an unholy sneer.

She raised her right hand. Right where the Triforce of Courage should have been, a giant hole had been gored through. Broken veins slipped with each motion, a rotting curtain covering up the sin of loss, the sin of death.

It's mine. Give it back.

The cage that controlled his motions broke. Down the partition of his sword lay her reflection, perfectly divided. Beauty and death.

His heart yearned for beauty.

His sword yearned for death.

His heart died.

"I want it back. I-"

The tip hovering close to the throat. Phantom calls broken by screams. Screams and blood.

-S-

"While I'm still here, I might as well do the brat a favour," the Fierce Deity mused. He smashed aside one swing and back flipped over the second. He skipped back as a blade crashed into his guard. "Ah, forgot about that one."

The Gigas snarled over the sword held by his teeth.

"So, seen any fairies?" The Fierce Deity dodged a slash, letting it sink deep into the moist earth. Running on top of the blade he plunged his sword deep into the wrist, pinning the arm to the ground.

Averiz howled and caught Link's body with the pommel of his second sword. The Fierce Deity laughed as he twisted in the air to dodge the follow up slash.

"Strength but no style," he tsked, "but I never expected a cow to think. Nonetheless, seen any fairies?"

Slash to legs, hop; thrust to chest, parry; decapitation, duck; bash to head, roll and counter. With black enjoyment the Fierce Deity scored a long slash along one of the stubbed arms, letting the sword sink in before twisting it out.

The Gigas bit down harder on the sword and lunged forward. The Fierce Deity suddenly realised that from the front and from the sides he was surrounded by thirsting steel. "My, my…"

The ground buckled under the force of the first swing. Dashing to the side he dodged the blade as it dropped like a guillotine. With a curse the second sword plunged for his heart; glowing splinters burnt his face as the tip drilled into his claymore, thin lines cracking along the point of impact. With a thrust he deflected the sword aside.

For a brief moment his view was blocked by the Gigas' face, the wild madness in the eyes, the sneer among the fangs, the saliva dripping off the blade…

The vision blotted out as the sword thrust past his ribcage beneath the lungs.

"That," the Fierce Deity snarled through gritted teeth, "was a stupid move. You know what I said about magic before?" He dropped the sword and thrust both hands to clutch the Gigas' temples. "I'm fed up. Now die."

It had no chance to scream: the fires reached through the eyeballs to flood the insides of the skull. With a dull roar it condensed, the black light leaking through the eyes and the mouth.

The Fierce Deity staggered back and smirked. "Out with a bang, you ugly goat."

The ball of fire condensed… and then exploded.

Biting back a howl he pulled the sword free of his chest. Spitefully he drove it through the headless corpse. He looked up to admire the rising sun.

"I wonder how the brat is doing." He scratched his chin in thought. He glanced at the buildings. "Five seconds or I burn this entire town down!"

A pause, and then hesitantly a boy shuffled out of the shadows he was hiding in. He clutched the stump of his missing arm. The Fierce Deity snorted in humour; the kid's legs were shaking from pain and fear.

"Smart choice," he grunted, "now, seen any fairies?" I sound like an idiot, the Fierce Deity thought. He threw a ball of fire to burn away the Gigas' limbs. There. Better.

The boy's eyes widened with fear. Trembling he looked around; the others had fled. "Y-yes."

"Ah good, progress." He wished the kid would stop hiccupping in fear. "Where?"

"The dark factory," a trembling finger pointed north, "they brought a sprite there."

A raised eyebrow. "Factory?"

"T-they recreate people there." He shivered. "The dead don't stay dead. The red demon said if we do what Averiz says, mama and papa will come back."

The Fierce Deity grinned. "Always wanted to see a necromancer's facility." He grabbed the cracked claymore and slung it over his shoulder. He turned around to head in the given direction before pausing.

The boy screamed as the Fierce Deity gripped his bleeding shoulder tightly.

"Here," he chuckled as black fire poured between his fingers, "a gift."

Through the tight grip the boy couldn't wriggle free. He cried in horror as the flames coalesced like they did inside Averiz's skull.

The Fierce Deity snorted. Such distrust.

Instead of exploding the fire reformed, becoming a shaft. It twisted and distorted, breaking into parts and reforming.

The boy's throat dried when he realised the shape.

A skeleton replica of an arm.

More fire twisted to create muscles before a final layer sheeted over as skin.

The Fierce Deity finally let go, wiping a layer of sweat away from his brow. "This land's so dry," he grunted. He glanced at the boy who was flexing the fingers. "You'll get used to the colour scheme. Enjoy."

-S-

First Malik. Then Zelda.

He saw a pallid Malon, fingernails bloody from scratching her way free from her coffin. Blood smeared her teeth and throat. He killed her.

He saw a bloated Reza. Grey from a lack of oxygen, seawater bled forth from her punctured lungs. He killed her.

He saw the guard Tylos, swaying in the breeze. His neck snapped from the pressure on the noose holding him up. Hands and feet had been staked together, giant needles puncturing the wrists and ankles. He killed him.

He saw Saria carrying a baby Link in a basket on her back to the river. He saw the baby scream and cry as she held him to wash in the river. She did not let him breathe. He killed her.

He saw Mido. He saw Impa. He saw Talon. He saw Darunia. He saw Anju. He saw Ruto. He saw Rauru. He saw the carpenters. He saw Nabooru. He saw himself.

He killed them all.

The world had returned to black. He walked through the continuous abyss, sword limply held in hand. There was no one left. He killed them all. There was no one left.

He raised his head.

Dark Link raised its bow and fired an ice arrow.

"Die," Link snarled. He rolled aside to dodge the arrow and twisted to avoid the glacial stalagmites that erupted from the ground. "Die. Die. Die."

A fire arrow was blocked by his sword. The flames reached over, engulfing his hand and creeping upwards to his body. He ignored it. "Die, die, die, die, die."

The light arrow shattered his sword. Flying true it lanced through his abdomen. Link howled as the magic exploded from within, tearing his entrails free. He ignored it and kept on running. "Die! Die! Die!"

Dark Link unsheathed his sword. Its swing was caught with one hand, the blade biting deep into the flesh and bone. Link's punch met the barrier of Nayru's Love. He punched again; knuckles twisted and cracked from the force. With a compressed bang the shield broke, tearing all the skin free from Link's hand.

Dark Link returned the fist with his sword, slicing through the hand to dig the blade into Link's chest. The black blade burned crimson with Din's Fire. Link screamed as his lungs caught fire, his ribs melted, his heart burned with savage fury. Lungs and throat scarred by fire he still screamed. "Die! Die! Die! Die!"

One hand bloody one hand broken he reached for Dark Link's neck. With a violent thrust he clamped tightly, shoving it down as his palm's edges met in the crushing grip. The blade slid deeper into his chest. He screamed as the fires ate into his abdomen, burning away, outwards. "DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE!"

Dark Link struggled as its throat buckled under the force. One hand now held down its throat as the other repeatedly punched its face, exposed bones acting as claws that raked across.

It was a test of who will die first.

The fires burnt upwards to his shoulders. His punches weakened as his muscles were torn away. Weakly he clawed at Dark Link's eyes, finger bones sinking into the black skull. "Die… die… die…"

His body was dying. Fatigue had overtaken the wild madness that had consumed him. His torso was a wreck; Din's Fire had shrunk into sputtering embers, but the damage reached far, reached deep. "…"

Dark Link struggled one last time before stilling. Its form bled back to the darkness as it died.

"… die…"

-S-

"Congratulations, brat. Welcome back to the real world."

Link felt like hell. He collapsed to the side and vomited. Blood splotched free of his lips; his chest screamed in pain. "What…?"

"You came back a bit earlier than I expected. Pity."

Weakly he raised his head. They were no longer in the town, he noticed; black fumes filled the sky, grey fires flaring to reach the sky. A cacophony of chants and screams filled the air. "What…?"

"Good news or bad news?"

He tried to get back to his feet. Pain wrenched him and he collapsed.

"Ah, bad news it is. Due to me your sword's broken. Your body's broken." A pause. "Your mind's broken."

He gulped in the acrid air, trying to summon the strength to pull himself up.

"Good news though, due to me we found Navi." A pause. "And your magic, now that isn't broken." A dark laugh. "I want a bang, boy, the biggest you can give."

-S-

A/N: Well, a bit shorter than usual, but I don't think it's that noticeable. A lot gorier than usual; you can't have missed that. Funnily enough I wrote the latter half (the guts-and-blood half) while at the same time reading a comedy manga. Go figure.

Sorry if this is a break from my usual style, but I figure might as well experiment with the shadier side of writing. I'm not sure if you would like it, since the emphasis is on the pain rather than the fight.

I just wanted to make the point that the Fierce Deity is cruel. Worth your attention, no doubt, but not worth your admiration.

Don't worry, it shouldn't get any more… violent than this. It sounded pretty good in my head, but I'm kind of having second thoughts about it now. As always, comments and criticism is appreciated. And don't mind any typos you see – it's nearly 2 in the morning right now.

Faithfully yours,

Silence-Darkness.