#decoy helmet

[arthistoryanimalia]

Happy #InternationalDayOfTheSeal ! 🦭

Seal Decoy Helmet

Alutiiq (Pacific Eskimo), Kodiak Island, Alaska, before 1869

Carved & painted spruce wood, inlay whiskers, 17.5 x 25.5 x 19 cm (6 7/8 x 10 1/16 x 7 1/2 in.)

Harvard Peabody Museum 69-30-10/64700

“Carved from wood, hunters would have worn this hat to approach and trap seals.”

[city-of-ladies]

Edith Garrud - The suffragette that knew martial arts

The first British female teacher of jujutsu, Edith Garrud (1872-1971) taught the suffragettes to protect themselves.

A passion for martial arts 

Edith Margaret Williams was born in Bath in 1872 and started her career as a physical instructor for girls. She shared this passion for physical culture with her husband, William Garrud, a wrestling and boxing instructor.

They came in contact with Edward Barton-Wright who had spent three years in Japan, and studied judo and jujutsu. He elaborated his self-defense techniques known as “bartitsu” and opened his club in London in 1899.

The Bartitsu Club was notably opened to women. Edith was thus able to train alongside her husband. By 1908, Edith and William became jujutsu instructors themselves with William in charge of the men’s class and Edith teaching the women and children. 

Jujutsu specializes in speed, precision and the use of soft, flowing movements to deal with aggression rather than using just brute strength. The couple showcased their skills through demonstrations. In one of them, Edith defeated a male aggressor played by her husband. The sight of this 4ft-11inch (150cm) woman effortlessly throwing a much taller man greatly impressed the audience. 

In 1907, Edith starred in a short film Jujutsu down the footpads in which an innocent lady overpowers two ruffians. 

Vote for women

Edith took an interest in the cause of women’s suffrage. In 1909, she was invited by the Women's Social and Political Union (WSPU) to give a demonstration in the presence of Emeline Pankhurst and other leading figures of the movement. As William was ill, Edith demonstrated alone and invited members of the audience to test her skills. This included subjecting a skeptical police officer to a powerful shoulder throw. 

In 1910, Edith also wrote a series of essays, advocating for the growing community of female martial artists and how self-defense could free women by giving them the means to protect themselves:

“You constantly read in the papers reports of dastardly attacks on helpless women by thieves and ruffians. A woman who knows jujutsu, even though she may not be physically strong, even though she may not have even an umbrella or parasol, is not helpless. I know many women personally who have tried the tricks I shall explain to you and come out on top. They have brought great burly cowards nearly twice their size to their feet and made them howl for mercy.”

The bodyguards

The suffragettes faced dangerous and violent situations. This was especially the case on Friday 18th November 1910. 300 WSPU members marched on the House of Parliament and faced police officers armed with batons. Women were subjected to six hours of beatings and arrests and there were widespread reports of sexual abuses.

Emeline Pankhurst thus asked Edith to train a group of women that would be known within the WSPU as the Bodyguard. Led by Gertrude Harding, they acted as agitators, disruptors and decoys. 

Edith trained them in hand-to-hand combat and the use of homemade concealed weapons such as wooden India clubs and the fashioning of cardboard body armor. The suffragettes took advantage of their opponent's surprise and exploited their weaknesses.

They for instance struck directly at a police officer’s helmet to knock it from his head. Policemen were held accountable for the loss of uniform items and had to pay for their replacement. They cut the suspenders so that the policeman had to hold back his pants, blinded the police with a charge of umbrellas etc.

When told by a policeman that she was making an “obstruction” during a demonstration near the House of Commons, Edith pretended to drop her handkerchief, threw the policeman over her shoulder and disappeared into the crowd. 

In prison, suffragettes went on hunger strikes and were subjected to force-feeding. The “Cat and Mouse Act” of 1913 allowed hunger-striking prisoners to be released and then re-incarcerated as soon as they had recovered their health. The Bodyguard thus protected and hid those women.

Edith for instance hid militant suffragettes in her dojo, telling the police not to disturb her lessons and leave her property. 

A quiet retirement

Edith’s contributions to the suffragist movement ended with the beginning of the First World War. Little is known of her life afterward. 

She and her husband would run the Golden Square dojo until their retirement in 1925 and retired to a quieter life. William passed away in 1960. In an interview in 1965, Edith said that her recipe for a long, happy and healthy life was: 

“Self-discipline. Of course, I had to be extremely disciplined to succeed at jujutsu and hold my own with men […] but it is the mind which really has control, not only of your muscles and your limbs and how you use them, but also your thoughts, your whole attitude to life and other people.”

She died in 1971. A plaque on the building that had been her home can be seen today: “Edith Garrud 1872–1971. The suffragette who knew jiu-jitsu lived here”.

Further reading

Dorlin Elsa, Se défendre : une philosophie de la violence  

Godfrey Emelyne, Femininity, Crime and Self-Defence in Victorian Literature and Society: From Dagger-Fans to Suffragettes

Kelly Simon, "Edith Garrud: The jujutsuffragette". In McMurray, Robert; Pullen, Allison (eds.), Power, Politics and Exclusion in Organization and Management

Ruz Camila, Parkinson Justin, ““'Suffrajitsu': How the suffragettes fought back using martial arts”

[captain-price-unofficially]

A Ukrainian sniper using his helmet as a decoy.

[travelingthief]

Lady Athena Devotional Post

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[helloalycia]

the king’s ward [one] // morgana pendragon

summary: when you and your brother travel to Camelot to compete in a fighting competition, there's one problem: women can't fight. So, naturally, you convince him to switch places with you whilst you have your chance to fight. And impressing the King's Ward is merely a bonus.

warning/s: mentions of fighting and violence.

author's note: hello! so this was impulse written not long ago when i rewatched merlin bc who doesn't love katie mcgrath? it's inspired by that merlin ep where arthur uses a decoy in his jousting (?) match! and it's kind of like she's the man if you think about it haha, so do enjoy! it's a multi-part imagine :)

two / three / four / masterlist / wattpad

"This is gonna be amazing, Y/B/N," I said with a grin, trying to contain my excitement as we approached the tournament grounds.

"Reign it in," he said lightheartedly, though I knew he was right. I wasn't supposed to be competing, he was, so I had to play the part.

Every year, Camelot held a fighting tournament that anybody could compete in, even those who weren't knights. There were no rules and it was an open competition, however despite nothing explicitly saying women couldn't compete, it was a given. And so every year, I only dreamt of competing so that I could see if I was as good as I hoped. Finally, I came up with the genius idea for my brother, Y/B/N, to pretend to compete whilst I actually did the fighting. It wasn't foolproof, but I was desperate, and he agreed after much convincing.

We'd arrived in Camelot last night, our first ever visit to the kingdom, and were staying in the full to-the-brim tavern in a room above the pub. It wasn't ideal, but it would do the job. The real reason I was here was right before me and I couldn't be more excited.

"Y/B/N Y/L/N?" a voice called, and my brother and I both spun around to see a servant boy approaching. "You're up first. You can use the tent over there to get into your armour, if you have any."

"Thank you," Y/B/N said with a nod before we both headed over to his – AKA mine – tent.

"This is perfect for making the switch," I said with a contained grin, looking around the enclosed space.

"You heard the boy, you're up first," Y/B/N said with a smile, before dropping our bag on the bench. "Let's get you suited up."

He helped me pull my armour over the top of my clothes, a bulky-looking but lightweight set that fit us both and was easy enough for me to manoeuvre in whilst also hiding any distinguishable feminine body parts that could give me away. After that, he handed me my sword and gave me a supportive nod.

"Good luck out there," he said, my helmet in his hand. "You're gonna smash it, sis."

I grinned. "I will indeed. They aren't going to know what's hit them."

He laughed and helped me put on my helmet, the metal covering my whole head except for some slits in the eyes to let me see.

"You ready?" he asked once more, and I gave him a thumbs up, already committing to staying quiet. He patted my back. "Go and win!"

Taking a deep breath, I left the tent and headed to the grounds, the sight of all those people watching only exciting me more. All I'd ever dreamt of was showing people my skills, for them to take me seriously. Not as a woman or a man, but a fighter. And this was my chance, finally. I wasn't going to let it slip by.

"I'm sure you're all excited about the tournament, as am I," the King began to speak, silencing everyone in seconds. "It's going to be a magnificent week of fighting, skill and talent. We shall see who the best fighters of Albion truly are. Starting with our first match of the tournament – Y/B/N Y/L/N versus Henry Wright!"

The crowd erupted into cheers as my opponent and I walked in the centre, our chosen weapons at our side. The King looked down at us both with anticipation, waiting for quiet. And then when he was ready, he raised his hand.

"You may begin," was all he said, and I barely had chance to take a breath before my opponent, Henry, swung first.

His mace, spiked and heavy, almost took my head off if I didn't move in time. The crowd 'ooh'd' as it did and I tried to tune them out, focusing on the fight. I couldn't afford distractions.

As Henry kept moving forward, slashing his mace at me and trying to touch my armour, I dodged effortlessly. Henry may have been strong, but he was slow, and his weapon of choice was particularly terrible. Once he'd worn himself out, it was my turn to take a swing at him, my sword coming down on his gauntlets in a wide arc. Contact was made and he grunted loudly, grossly, and stepped back. I slashed a few more times, to which he was now on the defensive, using his clunky weapon as a barrier. But it didn't faze me as I kept on slashing, trying to back him into the side.

Once he was trapped, I let him take a shot at me, only to roll to the side at the last second and swipe his legs out from beneath him. He hit the ground as quickly as I directed my sword at his neck. Lifting his hands in defeat, I couldn't fight the grin from my lips.

The crowd erupted into cheers, yelling my brother's name, and I lowered my sword before offering out my hand. Henry let me pull him up before letting go bitterly, walking off the grounds. I laughed to myself before looking around me at the crowd, waving a little too cockily. I couldn't help it – I'd won! My first match!

When I turned to face the King, I saw he was clapping in his chair, impressed at my handiwork. Seated beside him was his ward, Morgana, and I'd heard so much of her but never seen her before. I wasn't prepared for her beauty, nor the vibrancy of her green eyes in the sun, even from a distance. And once again, I couldn't help but let my cockiness get the better of me. Between waving, I blew her a kiss, facing her directly in a way that I hoped she knew it was for her. Judging from the way she immediately turned pink in the face, I knew I'd succeeded.

After soaking in the glory a moment longer, I left to return to Y/B/N who was waiting for me in the tent. As soon as he saw me, a grin was on his face.

"Sounds like you gave them a good show," he commented as I rushed to remove my helmet and armour.

"Y/B/N, it was like nothing I've ever experienced," I admitted, still buzzing with adrenaline and excitement. "It was perfect. And you should've seen the way I got the other guy on his butt!"

He chuckled as I helped pull the armour onto him. "I'm sure it was something special. It's a shame I can't watch."

"We can't risk you being caught," I reminded him, before handing my sword and helmet. "Go on. Do your final waves. Don't forget to rub it in their face that I won, yeah?"

He rolled his eyes playfully. "I'm not doing that."

I laughed as he left the tent. My smile was permanent as I stood alone. One round down, several more to go.

"The other guys are pretty rough," Y/B/N said as we hung back to watch the other matches and get a better feel for the competition. "You sure you're up for it?"

"Don't even joke," I said to him with a knowing look. "You know it's all I want. They don't scare me."

He raised his eyebrows. "Hey, I was thinking more about them. They're gonna get smothered and not even know it. You don't wanna give them a chance?"

A smile grew on my lips as I shoved him in the side. "You're so stupid."

He mirrored my smile before paying attention to the fights. We stayed there until the last fight before chatting about what we'd seen by the tents. The crowd was dispersing and the other fighters were talking about getting a drink at the tavern, even inviting my brother to join them. He found it strange, the attention, especially since he knew it wasn't for him. I assured him he had to be a team player and not raise suspicion, but he wasn't impressed.

As we were chatting, I couldn't help but notice a blur of black hair in my peripheral vision, and when I looked, I saw the Lady Morgana walking by with her handmaiden. She spotted my brother and I and, naturally, her attention was on my brother. She flashed him a smile, to which he awkwardly returned, and then began to approach us.

"Er, why is the Lady Morgana coming to talk to us?" Y/B/N asked nervously.

"No idea," I said, though my own smile was tempting to break out as my eyes wandered over her figure. She was seriously stunning.

"Hello there," Morgana spoke when she stopped before us. "It's Y/B/N, right?"

He nodded slowly, before clearing his throat and bowing. "A pleasure to meet you, my lady."

"Please, no need for the formalities," she said with a slight laugh, one that I knew I'd be dreaming of for days. "I just came to say that you put up a good fight this morning. I look forward to seeing your performance throughout the week."

"Thank you, my lady," was all he said, and I almost rolled my eyes at his dense self. Couldn't he see she was interested him?

"And who is this pretty lady?" she continued, and I realised she was speaking to me.

"I'm Y/N, my lady," I introduced myself with a smile. "Y/B/N's twin sister. Not identical, thankfully."

Y/B/N rolled his eyes as Morgana laughed at my joke.

"Well, it's lovely to meet you, Y/N," she said, eyes lingering on mine. "Might I say, you have a very talented brother."

I hummed in agreement, biting my tongue and trying not to laugh. Talented... I'd take it.

"I should be going, but have a good evening, both of you," Morgana finished, glancing between us before leaving.

"Y/N, what did you do? Why is she suddenly interested?" Y/B/N asked as I watched her walk away, entranced.

"Nothing," I reassured him, before tearing my gaze from Morgana and looking to Y/B/N. "What? I didn't do anything!"

He rolled his eyes and shoved me before walking away. I bit my lip to contain a grin and skipped after him. I was beginning to like it here.

The next fight was soon upon me and it was safe to say that I was nailing it. My opponent was supposed to be a challenge, but I could swear it was only getting easier. He was over six feet tall and towering over me. Compared to me AKA Y/B/N, he was huge. Luckily for me, height wasn't an issue as my brother and I were close enough in height, a solid five foot eight and nine respectively, so it wouldn't give us away.

The fight was over in minutes, with me landing a winning blow to my clown of an opponent, right in the gut. As soon as he was down, the crowd were up and out of their seats, cheering me on. The intensity of their cheering surprised me at first, as I didn't realise they loved me so much. It took them longer to calm down, and a few flowers were thrown from the stands, making me grin as I waved at them. When I looked to the King, he was surprisingly smiling as he clapped his leather-gloved hands heavily. Morgana was stood up beside him, clapping with the crowd, and I couldn't stop myself.

Without thinking, I picked up a flower from the ground, dusted it off on my armour and threw it up to her. I was relieved when it landed at her feet, worried I'd missed, and she seemed surprised as she picked it up. When she looked at me, I bowed respectfully, making the crowd cheer even louder, and I tried to pretend I couldn't see King Uther losing his smile as he looked at me with suspicion. Oops?

I jogged back to the tent, feeling lightweight and overwhelmingly happy. Y/B/N clapped me on the back in congratulations before we exchanged gear and he headed back out to reveal his face, waving once more.

After he soaked in the glory for a little longer, I packed up our things and we left the tent to get some water. A few knights, to our surprise, approached us and began chatting to Y/B/N about his technique. He played along perfectly, since he was a decent fighter himself, and I merely watched as they spoke of my moves and skill, grinning to myself. Clearly I was doing better than I thought if the knights of Camelot were complimenting me.

"Hey, Y/B/N," a voice called from behind, and we both turned to see a flirtatiously-smiling Morgana walking past. She nodded at my brother, saying, "The flower was cute."

Poor Y/B/N was clueless. "The flower?"

Morgana laughed, thinking he was joking, and left. I suppressed a smile as we both turned to the knights. One of them gave Y/B/N a knowing look.

"Bold move giving the King's ward a flower right in front of the King himself," they said with a snicker, before leaving.

Y/B/N blinked and began to turn to me. "I did what?"

I smiled sheepishly. "What? She was impressed by my skill! How could I resist?"

"Y/N!"

"Look, she's pretty and she deserved it, okay?" I said nonchalantly. "It's no biggie."

He facepalmed and I could tell he was already regretting changing places with me.

Later that same evening, Y/B/N and I were making the most of the training grounds that Prince Arthur was letting the contestants use for the week. To everyone else, I was merely practicing with him, but to us, he was actually helping me practice. 

For the third time in five minutes, I knocked Y/B/N on his butt and laughed at the expression on his face.

"C'mon, at least give me some sort of challenge," I teased, holding out my hand for him.

He let me help him up as he gave me a knowing look. "Don't be too good or people will suspect."

I scoffed. "Nobody will think twice about me."

"Oh yeah, because you're so inconspicuous dressed like that," he said sarcastically.

I ignored him, though I knew he was only looking out for me. Ladies wore frocks and dresses, not pants and shirts. But I didn't like to be restricted – why was that such a bad thing? I hated that I had to put myself in a box just to make others feel comfortable. It wasn't fair.

"Are you ready?" I asked, readying my sword.

He nodded and did the same before coming at me without warning. I held my own well enough, even with him giving his all, and with the utmost satisfaction, I managed to land him on his butt yet again. He narrowed his eyes at me and I began to laugh before pissing him off that little bit more by twiddling the hilt of my sword on my forefinger in the air, watching it spin before catching it. It was a silly little celebratory move I liked to do, one that Y/B/N hated because it usually meant I had beaten him.

Grumbling to himself, Y/B/N helped himself stand up as I watched on with amusement.

"Impressive."

Surprised, I turned around and definitely didn't expect to see the Lady Morgana approaching us.

"You're almost as good as your brother," she commented, looking at me.

Smile fading slightly, I tried not to draw anymore attention to myself. "Something like that."

She lifted a brow curiously. "It's a shame you couldn't compete. You're better than half the men in this competition."

"It's just how it is, my lady. The King's rules," I said, though I was secretly smiling because she thought I was good. As me, the real me, not my brother.

"If it were up to me, I'd have loved to watch you fight," she said, making me smile to myself. I risked glancing at her and saw she was watching me with her own smile, before looking to my brother.

"Good luck tomorrow," she said to him considerately.

"Thank you, my lady," Y/B/N said, bowing.

She nodded her head at him before catching my staring, offering a smile, then leaving.

"Gosh, she's so pretty," I said, unable to look away from her.

"Not here, not now," Y/B/N said in a warning tone before slapping me on the back.

"I'm gonna win just to see her smile," I decided, finally looking away from her retreating figure.

Y/B/N rolled his eyes, shaking his head with disbelief. I raised an eyebrow challengingly.

"Another round?"

"No way," he said immediately, making me laugh as I watched him walk away.

"Like you always do," I whispered to myself as I stood face to face with my next opponent. "Come on."

My opponent carried a sword and shield and was very good with both, as I'd seen him using it these past few days. Probably the first real challenge I had, I was a little nervous, but one look at my sword reminded me why I was here and what I was capable of. I wasn't going to let this man throw me off.

As we fought, I quickly realised he wasn't going to tire out easily. As quick as he was skilful, he dodged all of my slashes, blocked all of my stabs and avoided all of my feigned shots. He was too good, keeping me on my toes. I was growing tired as the minutes dragged on and he knew this, using it as his opportunity to slam his shield against me, knocking me back. I tuned out the audience's reactions, shaking my head to get back into it.

I let him believe he was going in for a strike before rolling out the way and slashing the back of his legs. He groaned as he spun around, blocking my next hit. This seemed to piss him off as he came at me quick and hard, striking every second and driving me further and further backwards. One sturdy hit with his shield and I was on my back. Just as he tried to strike me, I rolled out the way and stood up, putting some distance between us.

Collecting myself, I saw that he pulled his shield over him once more and knew I needed to use that to my advantage. He wasn't going to let it go, no matter how hard I hit it. And I was already growing tired, my body battered and bruised, my energy depleting. If he kept going like this, he'd surely win. And I couldn't let him.

A stupid idea came to my head and I figured it was worth a shot if I was already losing. Why not?

Running directly at my opponent, I watched as he tucked in, shield up and ready to block my hit. Just when he was about to shove it towards me, I used the momentum to jump on it, over his head and hitting the ground, just about. I was so shocked it worked that I almost forgot to use his own surprise to my advantage. Without wasting a second, I spun around and smacked the hilt of my sword at the back of his head, knocking him to the ground. Worried I'd hit him too hard, I kneeled down to listen in.

When he let out a breath, I sighed with relief and stood up, eyes closing for a moment. Then the stands shook as everyone stood up, cheering and yelling and clapping, and I opened my eyes with a smile. As I waved my sword hand in the air, bowing, the cheering only intensified and I couldn't stop grinning. Admittedly, the thrill of it all got to my head and I began to show off, waving to the crowd on all sides. Just because I could, I twiddled my sword on the tip of my gloved forefinger in the air and threw it up before catching it by the hilt. The crowd seemed to love it and a grin was permanently fixed on my face as I left the grounds to return to my tent.

"That's the loudest I've ever heard them," Y/B/N said as soon as he saw me. "What did you do?"

"Whatever I could," I said between a laugh, before pulling off my helmet. "Get me out of this, I'm so hot."

He chuckled and helped me out of it, and I helped him into it as usual. Giving him his sword and helmet, I sent him off before taking a deep breath and drinking lots of water. My body was aching and there were definitely bruises all along my legs and chest, but I didn't care because that was insane. How the hell did I manage that?! Whatever it was, it was incredible and I couldn't wait to do it again in my next fight.

Y/B/N returned after soaking in the glory, pulling off the armour and ready to help me pack it all away, but to both of our surprises, Prince Arthur walked in the tent.

"Hello," he greeted awkwardly, before looking to Y/B/N. "You fought excellently today. I wanted to ask if you'd have a word with me outside."

I hid my smile as my brother nodded, exchanging glances with me before following after the prince. Prince Arthur was impressed by me? No way. There was no way! I'd have to fight him soon enough, since he was also competing, but who cared? He was impressed!

I tried to contain my excitement as I went about packing away my armour, stuck in my own daydream land. So much, in fact, that I didn't hear anybody enter the tent behind me.

"It's you!"

I nearly jumped out of my skin when a familiar voice came out of nowhere. Spinning around, I was surprised to see the Lady Morgana standing there with a shocked smile on her face.

"Huh?"

She licked her lips, stepping fully inside the tent and glancing behind her, before looking to me. Lowering her voice, she said, "It's you. The fighting out there. It's not your brother, it's you."

When I finally managed to stop getting distracted by her pretty smile and listened to what she was saying, my own smile faded.

Swallowing hard, I played dumb. "What? That's crazy."

I tried to busy myself with packing my bag whilst also panicking inside, but she kept going with it.

"The sword trick at the end," she stated with confidence. "Where you twirl it on your finger. You did the same thing when you beat your brother yesterday. It's you, isn't?"

I closed my eyes, cursing myself at my stupidity. The damned sword trick. Why did I have to let my cockiness get the better of me?

"Maybe," I admitted, turning to face her, and she smiled to herself.

"I bloody knew it! Well– okay, maybe I didn't, but it makes sense," she said. "Your brother acts like a completely different person out on the grounds compared to when he's literally anywhere else. Because it's not him."

I stayed quiet, both embarrassed that I'd been caught out and nervous to what it meant for me.

"Wait," she realised, pausing, and I could practically see her brain working everything out. Green eyes met mine as she asked, "The flower. Blowing me the kiss. That was... that was you?"

If only the earth could swallow me up there and then.

"I was committing to the role...?" I said dumbly, making me her chuckle. Beginning to panic even more now, I said, "Look, if I'm in trouble, please don't punish Y/B/N. He didn't even want to do this, but I made him. It was the only way I could compete. I just wanted to see how far I could get."

She furrowed her brows, a confused smile on her face. "Y/N, you're not in trouble."

I blinked, taken aback. "I'm not in... huh?"

"I won't tell a soul," she promised, expression softening. "Keep doing what you're doing. You've single-handedly impressed every member of the court, all the knights, the prince and the King himself. You're amazing, Y/N."

At her words, I began to smile, feeling a sense of pride take over. "Why are you doing this?"

She shrugged, playing coy. "Maybe it's women sticking together. Maybe it's because I enjoy watching you fight. Or maybe I don't want to see you getting punished for being such a good fighter."

I sighed quietly, a sense of relief spreading through me. "Whatever it is, thank you, my lady. Truly."

"It's Morgana," she corrected, eyes flickering between mine.

I pursed my lips to stop my smile from widening, and then she stepped forward and kissed my cheek, making me freeze at the contact.

"And thank you for the flower," she whispered in my ear, before stepping back.

My mouth went dry as I watched her red lips curled into a smile before she left the tent. I was certain I was as red as her lipstick, my heart racing in my chest. A grin soon formed on my lips and I couldn't stop.

Moments later, Y/B/N returned and seemed surprised with his chat with Prince Arthur, but I was too distracted thinking about Morgana, my cheek still tingling from her touch.

"The prince wanted to personally congratulate me on my progress thus far," Y/B/N shared. "He hopes to see me make it to the finals so he can see what I'm all about up close."

His words went in one ear and out the other. Did Morgana always smell of jasmine, I wondered?

"Seriously? I thought you'd be dying to know more," Y/B/N said with suspicion.

"What?" I finally tuned back in, kind of. "Yeah, that's great, Y/B/N."

He studied me curiously. "I just saw the Lady Morgana leave here. What did she want?"

"Huh?" I asked, half listening.

"Y/N!" he said, startling me.

Finally, his words settled and I answered, "She just wanted to compliment how great you did today."

"How kind," he said, not believing me.

I couldn't tell him that she actually knew the truth – he'd get cold feet and back out of the competition, and then I'd never get to prove myself. Besides, Morgana said she wouldn't tell anyone, so we were still good to go. What Y/B/N didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"Wait," I said, finally acknowledging what he said earlier. "What did Prince Arthur say about me?"

Y/B/N groaned dramatically and grabbed the bag of armour, ignoring me. I was forced to chase after him, doing his head in about everything the prince said.

[yiga-hellhole]

TWILIGHT FOREST, TWILIGHT KING, CHAPTER 17

hello everyone i'm back!! sorry for the wait. i'm happy to bring you the next installment, slipping back into the Hyrule Warriors main plot: THE BATTLE OF THE TRIFORCE. Arms in hand, the Demon King's troops join to settle a conflict as old as time. Hyrule will not go down without a fight, but a fight is precisely what they've hungered for. This day, the Triforce will be bound to but one Chosen's palm - but whose?

this one is um... beefy... hope you enjoy!

CONTENT WARNINGS THIS CHAPTER: graphic depictions of violence, brainwashing/fatal possession, animal harm/death

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

ao3 mirror

It was a monster of such volume that the air whistled and soared as it moved. Trapped in the dungeons of Gerudo Palace, the newest asset to their already venerable menagerie of monsters was adjusting to its new home. Poorly, that is. The Molgera whined, contorted, and pressed its massive, fleshy face to each corner, as if enough rooting around would magically create an opening in solid stone. Spikes rattled against the metal cage as the heaving beast slithered in its confinement. Cacophonous, like a hundred prisoners banging their cups against the bars in begging. Ghirahim stood hands at his sides before the bars of this colossal cage, fighting back the urge to poke at the beast and agitate it some more. From the tension building behind him, though, it’d seem the most amusement was to be found on this side of the prison.

“Cooked up something nasty again, didn’t you, Zant?” Wizzro wheezed. His laughter was like that of a pneumonic man on his deathbed. 

The necessary arrangements now logged into the massive volume hovering before him, the living heap of cloth and malice patted a decrepit, clawed hand far too affectionately on the end of one of the creature’s spikes. It recoiled nearly instantly. “I want partial credit for this one, you hear?” Wizzro sneered. The glowing eye at the center of his face squinted shut to morph into a grinning mouth. “If it weren't for me showing you through the Lady’s volumes, you’d still be nose-deep in the books by now!”

Zant stood aside, watching the wicked sorcerer’s machinations with his usual cold patience. “You will be duly acknowledged for your secretary duties, Wizzro, but the arcane achievements were my own.”

Wizzro clicked his tongue, shooting a nasty glare at his casual defiance. He seemed only mildly distracted by the gaping mouth now hovering wide open at the other end of the cage. A tendrilous tongue, one long bulb at its end, stuck out towards him. “Pah. Whatever. I’ll make sure this thing is appointed to the right trainer,” Wizzro dismissed with a wave of his hand, turning instead to the strange shape poking and prodding at him.

As if all sense abandoned him at once, the ring spirit seized the decoy organ with both his clawed hands with great interest. The Molgera let out another wicked screech, sending spittle to drizzle (almost) all three men from its maw, as it lunged forward. Its gummy jaws slammed against the bars, prompting nothing but a cackle from Wizzro. “It’s an interesting one, to say the least!”

Ghirahim opted to watch these events from a healthy twenty feet away, while Zant simply grumbled, wiping his helmet clean. “That it is. I’d advise you to keep it intact before we strike Hyrule Castle.”

The dejected Molgera, curling up listlessly in its cage, seemingly accepted its fate as its arrangements were scribbled down in their finality. Each temper fickle in their own way, the pair of dark wizards settled the last logistics of their monstrous stocks before their patience mutually wore thin. 

It was Zant who attempted to draw their conversation to a close, but not without drawing a last bit of ire. “We will meet again at the siege, then. Our forces arrive from the north, and you-”

Wizzro snapped at him instantly, cutting past him with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Yeah, yeah, we’re coming from the South, anticipating their backup, and whatnot. You needn’t drill me on this, Warlock,” he gestured wildly as he spoke, slapping the massive logbook shut and dismissing it in a puff of smoke. “We got the correspondence! We had the briefing! It’s all in order. Other than delivering this beast to us, you have no business sticking your nose in our plans!”

Ghirahim felt a sudden boring of a bright red eye in his back. He’d been perfectly content before to linger at the sidelines, amusing himself with the bickering of the other men, but could not help a coy flourish when a jagged nail was pointed at him. Wizzro gestured at him with a mild frown. “Also. Why is he here?”

Zant’s helmet covered his face, but his smile carried in his voice. His helmet creaked a little as he turned to face his compatriot. “Any good King needs a chaperone, wouldn't you say?”

“Hiya-hah-hah!” Wizzro shrieked in laughter. “Again with the shticks! What I’d say is that the ‘King’ part is already doubtful, but ‘good’ is entirely off the table, you maniac!”

Clearly, this amusement was not mutual. The Twili had tolerated Wizzro’s ceaseless nonsense up until that point, but no longer. As if a candle had been snuffed, his temper snapped, and an enraged squeak echoed past his visor. He whipped back towards Wizzro, looming over him and balling his fists in his sleeves. “You wouldn't know a King if one’s fingers were shoved knuckle deep into your-”

“Gentlemen! I feel like we all have business to attend to,” Ghirahim interjected, blinking himself between the two men with a hand each, grazing their faces. “As much as you ripping each other to tatters would amuse me, Master Ganondorf would put me back in my box and throw me to the dragonets for letting any such shenanigans happen.”

Both of the robe-clad adversaries growled at the interruption as much as they did at each other, and so childishly exchanged a scowl in the line of sight that passed over Ghirahim’s head. 

Zant dusted off the apron at his chest in an uncharacteristically pompous gesture. “Business we have, indeed. Let us depart at once, Ghirahim. Our time is better spent that way.”

Just as Ghirahim was about to turn and glare at him for yet another inciting remark, Wizzro made his immediate disinterest quite clear with a loud, hacking, drawn-out clear of the throat, and the turning of his back on his fellow commanders.

The pair of them chuffed out a simultaneous laugh at the display, before in equal coincidence reaching out for the other’s hand. Fingers bumped, ears tinged the slightest red, and their hands clasped. With a chime and rustling echo, Ghirahim and Zant disappeared together, leaving behind Wizzro to dark devices they’d prefer not to witness.

A nearly-collapsed outpost was to be their haven. Mere days before, this very fort had been raided by their forces. Their efforts tore down two of its three watchtowers and fashioned its gray brick walls with gaping holes. It would shelter their supplies and some of their men, but by far not all of them. Such a shoddy hideout was a statement; they had not a single intention of pulling back. Hyrule would fall at their feet today, and the Triforce was theirs for the taking.

Their formation gathered at the base of a nearby cliff, the platform itself elevated above Hylia River to the east. For the time being, they were sheltered from sight, but their advance had surely been sighted. Ghirahim could smell the pungent fear that lingered in the air. This quiet would not last long.

Ghirahim stood at the center of the formation, with Zant at the west-most end, and Yuga and his Master at his flanks. Though focused on the path ahead, he could not help an occasional glance to his left. He hadn’t yet seen Yuga on the battlefield proper and certainly wasn’t used to the sight of her in armor. Her curls spilled out from underneath a horned, brass helmet. Her armor was, in general, rather minimal, covering not more than her shoulders, her head, and her torso in a golden luster. Such was the outfitting of a spellcaster, he supposed. 

His eyes then strayed to the right, lingering in momentary awe on the mighty form of his Master, before an unexpectedly bared face stared at him from further away. Zant had lifted the front of his helmet and waited for him to meet his gaze.

He looked at him with the same eyes he cast at him that morning. Small, squinted, and affectionate, peeking at him just past the thick fluff of his comforter. 

“You stayed.”

Ghirahim, equally buried under the heap of blankets, blearily turned to him. Some distance had been put between them in all their tossing and turning, and he found something shifting under the covers. Zant’s hand was seeking to grasp onto him. He laid his hand in his trajectory, and thought his smile contagious when the Twili indeed found him, squeezing firmly.

Yet, Ghirahim teased him with a frown. “Of course I did. I’ve been staying over, watching you sleep those wasteful hours away, much before.”

Zant blinked. “Yes, but you were distant until recently,” he reasoned with a bit of a fluster, before burying his face further into the comforter and mumbling his next words. “I don't know. Perhaps it's silly.”

“It is,” Ghirahim replied, meeting his hesitant, embarrassed face with a fond smile.

And how infectious that fondness was! Zant giggled softly, scooting just a bit forward to have him within arm’s reach. Those ghostly fingers glided over his arms, to his face, and caressed him there. Zant touched him carefully, yet purposely, as if his very hands would gild him. Peering at him with such infatuation, something sadistically giddy lit up behind those amber eyes. Zant laced their fingers as he spoke, his smile cracking open the slits at the corners of his mouth. “... Watch me today, Ghirahim-ili.”

The warmth of their bed that morning may have been taken from them in the wind’s chill, but their connection did not falter for even a second. Zant turned away, folding his helmet back in place, but demanding he looked at him, either way. He’d entered the field empty-handed and announced that unarmed state’s end with the flexing of his fingers. When he brandished his weapon, he did not carelessly whip the two scimitars from his sleeves as he usually did. This time, he balled his fists before his chest, a crackling, fizzling orb of magenta light pouring from between his fingers. Its grip clutched in his hands, the Scimitar of Twilight appeared, glowing fiercely in red. Zant at once swung it over his shoulder, metal clanking heavily on metal. 

Before the sight of him could make Ghirahim swell with pride all too much, the raising of King Ganondorf’s hand snapped him back to focus. A shudder down his back straightened his spine, squared his shoulders, and guided his hand to his hip, where his sword sat sheathed. 

Ganondorf marched to the front of his formation, bronze boots pounding on stone. He turned, his vibrant red hair whipping in the wind. A stern glare graced his features as he looked out over the troops, but standing so close to him, Ghirahim saw the corners of his lips tugging into a smirk behind his tusks. Master was confident – so he would be, too.

“Gerudo, Demons, Monstrous Tribes, and those that joined us from beyond the Veil of Death, hear me,” he shouted, his booming voice rattling through their skulls. “Across the Ages, my past lives have waged war against Hyrule, and all but once, we failed. We have been humiliated, banished, and eradicated from history, but no longer. Time is on our side now, my brethren. With the Triforce within our grasp, the Age of Demons is upon us.”

Ganondorf grinned, baring his tusks and wrinkling his fiery eyes. Sword raised to the sky, he thundered forth his promise. “Hyrule will fall!”

With this final rallying call, their forces pulled out. Cavalry scouts burst past their frontlines, hooting and hollering atop hogs and horses. Oh, how Ghirahim yearned to set out in the same way! Still, no longer could he chase simple carnage. Not only had he a reputation to uphold, but their formation had to be perfectly tight for this initial stretch. His battalion trailed tightly behind him, each unit led by demons and living armor – ever his favorite. Those that didn’t simply win his favor in skill just reminded him of home.

Zant, too, led his troops with remarkable poise. His soldiers rushed past him, but his towering height and flashy garbs continued to catch the eye. The soldiers rushing past him may as well have been see-through, for Ghirahim saw him clear as day, framed in zoetropic image. 

He could see it all. His hands were firm on the hilt, his swings were smooth. He slid across the floor like that massive blade weighed nothing, with a stance no mere Hylian could topple. Each move was more calculated than the next, gliding from pose to pose almost mechanically. Zant was… Perfect, almost, theoretically. Such swordsmanship was a cold one, devoid of character beyond what could be conveyed in a manual. Zant was a puppet to his own knowledge, stern in what he’d learned. He showed nothing at all of the fierce, impassioned recklessness he unleashed when it was just the two of them.

This, too, was a message. Ghirahim hardly had time to think of its meaning when he himself was engaged in combat and drowned his fluster in bloodlust.

Bloodlust was not kept to him alone. As more and more Hyruleans forced past their frontlines, Zant grew overwhelmed. Bit by bit, that discipline chipped away. 

The poor sods. They had no idea the Twilight King fought his best when unshackled.

Now content with his display, Zant ramped up his ferocity. With a single stomp, a deep black shock wave sent the four soldiers around him staggering, allowing him to pierce through the first of them unimpeded. His shoe planted on the standing corpse’s chest, he ripped the blade free and used its blood-streaked momentum to dismember the next in line. Projectiles from his sleeves, pulses from his feet, and the shadowy rays from his sword pieced together in a complex web of arcane and martial arts – not so different from how he’d fought before, but adding an elegance that was so sorely missed.

His lover wasn’t half bad, he grinned to himself, watching the man’s battalion split off and head up into the Rockface Hills to claim whatever awaited them there. 

Three battalions remained in their cluster. Soon it would be two. 

A whistling in his ear and an uncanny instinct of foreboding dread alerted him to something awry in the east. Before the first moblin behind him could cry out in alarm, Ghirahim had already identified the source of his concern, his core chiming and blinking on pure instinct. 

For the first split second, it could have been mistaken as a flaming cloud, tearing through the air with the glare of the sun obscuring its flight. A volley of burning arrows nearly went unnoticed, had he not shouted for shields, and raised a barrier around himself and the captains at either of his sides.

The only commander he could see, and he hoped he’d heard his warning, was Yuga. A panicked wave of his scepter betrayed that he’d turned to the source of the noise just a touch too late. With a yelp, Yuga raised one of his portraits to shield himself, but his startle made him careless. The bolts thwacked into the ground at his feet, each missing its mark until a single one didn’t, and buried itself into his lower leg. 

The earlier gasp of panic forced itself out of him with a horrid shriek, and a wobble of his stance. Kept upright only by the desperate support of his staff, he composed himself, but in body only. In an instant, Lorule’s finest sorcerer turned rotten in temper and was eager to let the world know.

“I would say you’d rue the day you crossed me, but when I’ve finished, you will be naught but ashes in the wind!” Yuga hissed. Yuga spat. His normally so dainty hands grasped the arrow in his leg firmly, before snapping off its length, leaving only a splintered stump lodged by his ankle. 

It took one stumble for him to realize he could not walk with such an injury, but he refused to back down. Purple swirls of malice radiated off of him as Yuga began to hover above the floor, bracing his staff in a knuckle-whitening grip. Gnashing his teeth, he glared down the troops beyond the cliff and screeched his curses in all their brutality. “Foul wretches! Maggots beneath my boot! Return to the rotten flesh you crawled from, hideous things!” 

His feet now off the ground, Yuga launched himself forward at breakneck speeds, his curls nearly uncoiling themselves in his haste. One swing of his staff and the portraits that circled him spun around him like a whirlwind, each spewing a hellfire of lightning into the swarm of men he forced himself through. That draconic trail scorched itself into the grass as he soared by, cleaving through whatever once stood in his way. The sorcerer disappeared into the crowd, the sounds of carnage overpowered only by the throat-rending cackle that roared free from the banshee of this battlefield. 

Not a moment was wasted. Soon, red and scaled hides filled in the cracks weaving through the Hyrulean frontlines, as bokoblin and lizalfos alike rushed to seize this vital opening. 

Distractions now out of the way, Ghirahim felt oddly relieved. Being the sole commander now at Ganondorf’s side caused the thrum of his pulse to soar. The Eastern Keep was drawing nearer, and conquering it would break them all into the wider Hyrule Field. 

A blue-clad soldier closed in on him but was swiftly kicked out of the way for the crime of disrupting his thought process. With the onset of enemy soldiers pouring in through the gates, his once so-perfect formation was refusing its emulsion. Frontmen skewered each other on their pikes at both sides, a battle of endurance to see who could wrestle the clutches of death the longest. Their collapse meant the line of soldiers behind them breaking through, blending gold and silver in their raging strife. A wicked force tore through the minds and bodies of the warriors, and her name was Furore; a mass, blinding anger, of knowing that if either force failed, they would fail for good. Yet in her mantle she carried glee, the joy of battle, to motivate them with more than fear. For it was this fear that, were it to overpower their minds, would make them not more than beasts! 

Ghirahim was no mere recipient of this force. He seized it, made it his own, and knowing that mayhem would soon reign, lit the embers within. His eyes flit to the side, burning pupils catching on a beloved target. Ganondorf, too, was entangled in battle, cutting down the few soldiers that dared to approach him. Such foolishness made for a fine warm-up, perhaps, but the smallfry was by far not worth the Gerudo King’s effort. They ought to breach into more challenging grounds!

Launching himself forward, Ghirahim bounded for the keep. A devastatingly easy prospect: break in; clear it out; take out their commander. It was an easier task than usual. Being the only entryway to the northern Hyrule Field, the Keep’s gates were swung wide open, spewing out platoon after platoon. He just had to worm his way through.

In such an enclosed space, controlling the crowd was child's play. Frankly, most thinking went into just what was the most amusing way to take care of this little problem. He stood perched atop the drawbridge, pondering his approach as the soldiers surged below him like a tidal wave. Stuffing a cork in that seemed like a prime first choice. 

With a snap of his fingers, a barrier burst into view, putting an immediate stop to the Hyruleans’ advance. He hardly had to do a thing after, Ghirahim noted with amusement. Not expecting a sudden wall, the frontmost soldiers slammed face-first into the diamond-spangled forcefield. With some luck, some would have been stabbed or crushed purely on accident in the jostle… But he’d see that when he got there. Padding leisurely across the upper footbridge, he made his way to the keep’s balusters, where about a dozen archers waited for him.

Bolts plinked uselessly off his skin. With a leap, he bridged the distance between them, and let them taste the bloody merits of a melee fighter firsthand.

He’d hardly finished with the lot of them before the first of the soldiers he’d trapped down there came running up the stairs. Ghirahim grinned, relinquishing his grip on the larynx he’d just crushed and dropping the poor wretch to the ground. The Hyruleans funneled straight for him, barreling in a line as neat as angry men could manage. Ghirahim could taste their blood already.

Soon, he did. He drove his blade down the collar of the frontmost soldier, piercing the gap in her gorget, and kicked her down the stairs before she’d even finished dying. For a moment, the crowd stumbled, balance lost under the deadweight piled on top of them, but their haste won over their supposed respect for their deceased. The corpse was callously tossed to the side, plummeting into the crates and barrels below. 

Such was how Ghirahim held the stream of warriors at bay. Even though the piles of bodies and half-alive things grew ever greater, every new batch of soldiers seemed to reach higher and higher steps near him. It wasn’t until one of them bore down on him, pushing to force him back, that he noticed just how many of them were teeming in the lower levels. Peeking past the railing, the keep seemed to be more crowded than it was when he’d started. Ghirahim shook himself free with a shout, stabbing through the offending soldier’s gut to throw him off the stairs, but found three more of them surrounding him. 

He’d bitten off a little more than he could chew. Reinforcements were in order. Hand raised, he braced ready to snap his fingers and rid the entrance of its barrier…

… Until a sudden presence materialized in the center of the fort. A massive shockwave followed, deep dark and full of hatred, sending every single soldier that set foot in the Keep either out the gates or into the wall. 

Zant, scimitar on his shoulder, stuck out his arm, pointing a pallid finger at a flashy-looking soldier that lay hunched over and dazed in the far corner.

“Found you.”

Suddenly forgetting all about the soldiers surrounding him, Ghirahim vaulted off his high ground and joined the Twili’s side.

“You don’t intend to steal my thunder, do you?” Ghirahim prodded, nudging his co-lieutenant on his bloodied sleeve.

Zant chuckled in response. “You looked like you could use some assistance. I’ll leave the final strike to you, but do not dawdle. More of them are coming.”

How dishonorable, to have to deliver the mercy strike on a dying man! He approached the opulent knight – a Caster himself, whose aura tied to the southern gates. The man panted, twilit runes festering on the bare skin of his palms as he reached for the Demon before him. Whether he pleaded for mercy or sought to ready some sort of spell, Ghirahim couldn’t quite tell. Nor did he really care.

Blood trickled down pearlescent armor as Ghirahim’s sword skewered through his throat. A last gasp sucked through the gaps around the blade, bubbling the blood that spurted free in an obscene rattle. The tip of his blade scraped past bone, picked at the cartilage. Such sounds alone, that carried from his sword into his core and truly made his body and weapon one, were almost enough to make him forget the outside world.

But it didn’t, for with the life of the Keep Captain, so too was the golden barrier extinguished. Finally, they could move for greener pastures, and he would see his Master truly in action.

Flanked by his two remaining commanders, the Demon King strode on, mocking the shining ostentation of the distant Hyrule Castle with his glory. Where any other royal would shelter behind the might of his army, Ganondorf broke past it, crowning his frontlines with his presence. Even with the oceanic vastness of the troops behind him, all eyes, all dread, were focused on the sight of him alone. 

Truly, what a sight he was! The very air itself howled in pain as he swung those massive blades. Just one strike of darksteel sliced common armor to ribbons, its sheer size taking out a dozen men in the blink of an eye. Where Zant prevailed in wild strength, and Ghirahim mastered bloody precision, their King encapsulated these martial styles into one deadly whole.

The trampled grass of Central Hyrule Field now under their feet, the three men looked onward, their eyes on the nearest gate to Hyrule Castle grounds. With its gates firmly locked, spiked barricades littering the paths, and wooden shelterings strewn to hide soldiers unknown, this Keep would prove to be a tough nut to crack. Neither of his companions commented on it, but the occasional sheen of metal between the battlements clued Ghirahim in on archers at the ready, too.

“It seems their efforts are focused on guarding this keep, Master,” Zant proclaimed, bounding his way next to the Gerudo King’s side with a slither in his gait. “They can only guard the palace from so many angles. Surely, their Northern bridges are less fortified… It may cost us some time to travel ‘round, but it would give us better chances at overwhelming their defenses.”

Ganondorf grunted and furrowed his brow. “And do you volunteer to such a plan?”

Eagerly clutching the grip of his scimitar with both hands, Zant giggled, nodding strongly enough to bob his helmet. “Yes, Sire. My squadron and I can force such a measly gate in no time flat.”

With that answer, Ganondorf turned from him again, eyeing his surroundings carefully. Ever defiantly, his gaze fixed upon the fortified keep before them again. He never did take well to being told what to do, and that obstacle beckoned him with a challenge. “Then go. We will stay and secure more territory.”

The East Field Keep proved to be a challenge, indeed. There was no forcing those doors, they would have had to go around. 

Nigh yanking a field scout off his horse, he hissed an order into the creature’s droopy ears to summon their raid captains there at once. Going up and around was going to require ladders, but with all that rubbish in the way, they’d never even reach the base of the wall. Whatever was hiding behind the barricades would have to be done away with. 

Lizalfos attempting to clamber over the wooden barricades were run through by the soldiers hiding behind them, while those trying to skirt around them met the same fate. It was going to take a lot more heavy-handed work to clear the way, and Ghirahim delightfully volunteered. To serve as a meat-shield was far below him, but little pinpricks bothered him none. So long as he could sprint past just one gap and shake those fools up, their forces would soon follow. 

A rain of splinters left in his wake. He made quick work of the barriers, bursting through them with his fists alone, and ripped whatever unfortunate soul he could get a grip on back through the opening with him. Soldiers bearing their own massive shields followed suit, with his very own Darknuts taking inspiration from his infernal technique. Bounding in rapidly from the North, the first of the raid captains arrived. Oil-drenched torches sailed through the air, setting the barricades aflame, and soon, the field was riddled with charcoal and ash. Their siege towers soon followed, tall, wooden things, sawed like the necks of dragons, and slammed nearly uncontested against the Keep walls. Shrieking and screeching bokoblins clambered their way up, and sowed chaos on their stronghold from above.

Ganondorf did not wait for the path to be fully cleared, and joined in on the carnage with great amusement. Taking advantage of the archers’ panic, he hacked and slashed his way through the remaining eyesores to run right for the looming gate. One sword sheathed at his hip, he balled his fist, his eyes clouding over with something truly malicious. Just a spark of that ancient terror was summoned, then, and for a moment, the tether that bound Ghirahim to his Master tightened, digging into him as if wreathed in thorns. 

With a roar of a battle-cry, he reared back his fist, before his form disappeared behind a swirling black mist. The gargantuan shape of something terrible, an earth-shaking manifestation of Vengeance itself, shrouded the Demon King and braced to attack in the very same way. 

Giant knuckles pounded into the gate like a battering ram. The impact was thunderous, clattering teeth and eardrums for miles to come. Wood charred and smoldered where Ganon’s fist struck it, and though the gate had, by some miracle, not flown open, it’d been knocked nigh entirely off its hinges. Screws and chains kept it standing in a flimsy wobble, like stringy tendons refusing to relinquish a limb. There wasn’t a point in it any longer – the first demonic forces were pouring into the Keep from above, and the gap their King had forced in the doors would fit their footsoldiers just fine.

Just as Ganondorf unleashed his victorious laugh, a series of explosions caught their attention. 

Ghirahim turned to the source of the noise, only to find tall plumes of smoke rising from the Northwest Checkpoint. Pulling his sword from a fallen soldier’s chest, he gestured to the distance. “Master! To the North, Zant has broken through!”

Unsheathing his second sword again, Ganondorf growled. The bulking shadow that loomed over him slowly fizzled away and shrunk down to a mere wisp that slithered down into the folds of his cape. “Then I shall join him. You stay here and retain our frontline.”

Ghirahim nodded and turned. Just as he was searching for an allied banner to join forces with, his attention turned again to his Master who, a few paces further, had turned back around, his gaze fixed on the field across him. 

Courage had been sorely missed on the battlefield up until that point. Now, a shining example of it, with sword drawn and eyes fierce, tore his way through Hyrule Field. Ghirahim scowled at the approaching Reincarnated Hero, but his attention soon split to his Master instead, who stood grinning. He decided to keep any mocking comments about their little foe to himself, for now.

Stepping up to stand beside him, he called to Ganondorf’s attention. “A simple distraction to keep us from moving north, without a doubt.”

“That matters not. I have a score to settle with the boy,” the Gerudo King replied, tusks still bared with his cruel smile. “It seems the Hyruleans seek to entertain me… If they wish to lose their greatest asset so early in the battle, then I will gladly oblige.”

Ghirahim knew better than to disturb an ancient rivalry, for he was there when it first came into being. Still, he gave one uneasy look back at the pillars of smoke. “What of Zant, Master? Shall I join him? Having him lead such a siege on his own would be a death sentence.”

Ganondorf scoffed, giving his concern not a moment’s notice. His sights were set on the Hero, and nothing else. “Is Wizzro not approaching from the south, still? The creature has always been drawn to his dark proclivities. If Zant wishes to be a King in his own right, that much assistance must suffice.”

The King’s dismissal pooled with strange dread in his gut, but Ghirahim banished anything that stood in the way of his loyalty. Sword over his chest, he bowed, baptizing himself again in the cold clarity of servitude. “As you wish, Master. Not a soul will intrude upon your duel, that I promise!”

Fending off anyone that went near, Ghirahim circled the duel in his lethal dance. He was quick, he was efficient – he drowned every instinct to flourish and impress, for if he were to distract his Master from this crucial battle, he’d sooner shatter than forgive himself. With the Keep nearby in shambles, he was almost fighting too leisurely. The battle was under control.

At least, until reinforcements came from the East. Marching through the Keep at the other end of the field, another wave of Hyruleans came their way. Ghirahim hissed, surveyed his surroundings, and came to a painful conclusion. There were by far not enough of their forces here to hold back the oncoming onslaught.

Driving his blade into an approaching knight’s shoulder, a sudden burst of inspiration struck him. He retracted his sword, indulgently lapping off its trail of blood, and shot a playful look at his defeated opponent. Sated by the piercing scowl of fear, Ghirahim pushed him over, leaving the man to bleed out on the floor. He knew just how to handle this.

Picking out a target was almost too easy. The Commander at the front of the crowd stuck out like a sore thumb, bearing a gilded shield nearly as tall as himself and a bright plume on his helmet. Kicking up sods of grass, he broke into a sprint to head straight for this flashy figure. With pleasantly surprising dauntlessness, the commander did not flinch. Faced with an ancient demon barreling towards him, all he did was brace his shield and brandish his longsword, ready to strike.

The fool could raise his shield all he liked! All he had to do was make contact! 

Ghirahim raced across the ground with the speed of Zephyr, his every step taunting the man to show him just a shred of fear, but to his maddening delight, he continued to find none. Such men were always his favorite. They could still break.

Mere seconds away from the oncoming battalion now, he used his momentum for three long, bounding steps, before bracing his knees and launching himself forward, arms outstretched. Alarmed cries rang out, but he heard them not much longer. The second his palm laid flat on that opulent shield, diamonds surrounded the pair of battlers, and in that shroud of diamonds, they left the scene. 

With most forces sent out elsewhere on the battlefield, the bridge to the North-East felt like a quiet enough spot to conduct his schemes. Using the commander’s disoriented dazzle to his advantage, Ghirahim swiftly kicked his shield out of his hands, sending it clattering across the stone floor. 

The racket seemed to shock the man back into focus, but before he could ready his stance, the demon was upon him, clutching him by the banner on his chest to yank him at eye level.

“Do you think your Princess cares, Captain?” Ghirahim hissed, pushing the man closer to the rockface wall. “A monarch that wants her people to thrive does not send them to battle unprepared. Here you are, facing against the Demon Lord, wielding an ordinary blade. You think you can hurt me with this?” 

Once again swept away, drunk on his own power, Ghirahim pushed himself away from the man, leaving him dazed. The smell of fear was pungent, ambrosiac in the air, and yet, the soldier gripped his sword tighter. Ghirahim met those burning red eyes with a grin, his arms spread in a mocking invitation. When the man charged for him, he didn’t move a muscle – he did not even flinch, merely stood, daring him to strike. 

And strike he did. A wicked slash of his greatsword, aimed at his chest, poised to kill. In the hands of such a towering man, bearing a sword of this caliber, such a blow would rend flesh down to the bone, hack through, and rend the lungs to shreds. Yet, when the edge of the blade reached Ghirahim, it tore nothing but the fabric of his cloak.

In an instant, Ghirahim was back on him, hands clutching the banner at his chest and driving him against the wall, his knee jammed between his armored legs.

“You see?” he whispered, leaning close to press his forehead against the wretch’s helmet, and peer into the whelk that hid inside. “You are powerless against me. Your precious Zelda has forsaken you.”

His victim shook his shoulders in an attempt to wrestle him off, but all it got him was punishment. Ghirahim slammed him back against the wall, helmet hitting stone with a resounding clunk. Leaning down into the dizzied man’s eye contact, the demon tilted his head. “Does it not anger you? All your years of training. They reflect in your strikes, boy. You are not mere cannon fodder. Thou art a warrior. You have your pride, and here you are, reduced to a meat shield for the inflated ego of a rotting royal family.”

Painted lips curled into a smile, Ghirahim crooned his temptation into the ears of a lost man. “History would find you blameless, were you to channel your rage now…”

His words were a poison, seeping from his flicking tongue to probe at the edges of the defenseless man’s psyche. Mortal minds were simply so fragile, so permeable, needing only the stroke of a pointed nail to tear a hole in its tender fabric. And how easily it tore, how quickly the man once struggling turned to putty in his hands. 

“Your will may have been signed the moment you stepped into this battlefield, but destiny still has its branches for you, Captain. You will not find your greatness with Hyrule, but perhaps, were you to join us against it…”

The hands grasping his cloak weakened, a sword clattered to the ground. Ghirahim chuckled. It wouldn’t be long, now. The veil was torn, the soft gray meat of this flesh-born’s brain practically between his fingertips, its every shock and pulse struggling to get past his dark enchantment. And when the man began to gurgle, that tell-tale death rattle of the mind, Ghirahim keened with glee. Ichor poured from the soldier’s tear ducts, his nostrils, and, were they in view, he’d see it dribbling from his ears, too. 

Ghirahim, too, had a little puppet now. Soon, he’d have many more.

“Pick up your blade and run along, human. We have work to do.”

The man stumbled off, his shambling gait slowly righting itself. It was a dirty little trick, for certain, but one he thought would please his Master dearly. The ichor that dripped from the man was a sign of contagion. The second he was to mingle with his fellow men again, his curse would spread, and tempt every man that joined him in this same betrayal. A vice to most, but to a demon, such pride was a delicacy.

Moments later, Ghirahim perched atop the rock outcropping, overseeing his handiwork. To his glee, it appeared that not only had his little trick indeed turned the reinforcements back where they came from, his Master had enjoyed similar success! His blue scarf tainted red, Hyrule’s Hero turned tail and headed back for the castle, leaving King Dragmire to tear down the crowd in pursuit. 

Such a well-oiled plan almost left him a little bored. Still, such a large group managing to somehow sneak past where Yuga was supposedly stationed, worried him. Leaping down from his vantage point, he flagged down whichever raid captains he could find on the way, and headed for the Keep that bridged Hylia River.

Such a small, thoroughfare keep was apparently a low priority in the Hyrulean defenses. Very few soldiers were stationed here, which took mere minutes to be cleared out, whether fled or felled. Dirty little chores like these were unbecoming of a demon lord, Ghirahim bemoaned to himself, perching himself on of the battlements of newly conquered territory. 

He hardly had time to assess the view beyond the Keep before a shrill voice interrupted him from below.

“Lord Ghirahim,” exclaimed Yuga, hovering down by the bridge. He floated up to him soundlessly and sat on the balustrade beside him. Turning to look up at him, he addressed him pleasantly. “A sight for sore eyes. And how sore they are, indeed! Chaos reigns in the East. They’re killing each other out there!”

Ghirahim looked down at the Sorcerer and found him worse for wear. His banners were rendered to tatters, his armor dented and smudged, not to speak of the sweat and grime that tainted his skin. His mortality reared its ugly head, certainly, in the way he sat there hunched and panting. Nevertheless, it felt like a bad idea to tell him of all people that his appearance was anything less than perfect. A bit of small talk seemed like a much better option. “Oh, so you’ve noticed. Some of my finer work, wouldn’t you say?”

“Such mass hysteria was your doing? Why, I’m impressed,” Yuga chimed, looking at the distant crowd with newfound interest. Perhaps his little trick had worked a little too well – it looked like those flies were dropping faster than the contagion could properly spread. Before he could lament this setback any further, Yuga kept him engaged. “I suppose all is well on the central front? Otherwise, I haven’t the faintest idea as to why you’d be busying yourself with my turf.”

Ghirahim laughed, preening his hair. “All is well, indeed. Just before I arrived, I witnessed Master forcing that eyesore of a Hero to go running on back to his little home.”

“Oh, splendid. How I wish I could have seen it,” Yuga languished, resting his chin on his palm with a sigh. “I suppose I should be glad enough for this sorry affair to be over soon. With that worm out of the way, the tides are surely turning in our favor.”

Something about those words jabbed their way into his ire. For a battle that he had yearned for from the moment he’s been summoned, to be dubbed a ‘sorry affair’, picked at the stitches of an old wound the sorcerer inflicted on him. Was this the man his Master favored over him? Perhaps his injuries made Yuga’s whiny side surface, but he hadn’t reconciled with him quite enough yet to give him the benefit of the doubt. Deigning to respond, Ghirahim stood atop the fort looking for a fight to join, but he ended up finding something else.

Hiding in the sun’s glare, a shadow approached and spread its wings. An exasperatingly familiar dragon came into view, the beat of his wings whipping the two men’s luxurious hair in the wind. The membranes of his clawed wings billowed like sails in the catching air, the thin cracks in those black expanses spilling the sun’s radiance between. Volga landed on the bridge with heavy thumps that caused the bridge to whine under his weight. He looked a little more dull than usual – his fiery mane was reduced to a flicker, and his scales lacked their red sheen. 

Volga craned his face up to look at the pair, baring his fangs as he spoke. “The Zora Princess has arrived, riding tides summoned by a noble I do not recognize. They douse my flames too quickly. I alone am no match for them.”

The earlier drab from before faded in an instant, a sparkle igniting in the sorcerer’s eyes where a foggy haze had just been. “Oh, how I’ve longed to meet with that adorable siren princess once more,” Yuga proclaimed, pushing himself off his seat to float gently to the ground. “I shall join you. Gladly!”

Ghirahim raised a brow, his eyes flitting between the two men below. How quickly that prissy figure managed to turn his mood around, all with the promise of a pretty girl! Still, he feared his recklessness, for if there was anything Yuga would risk his hide for, it was the promise of beauty. His eye on the hastily-treated arrow wound on his lower leg, Ghirahim sighed. He could only hope his concern wasn’t taken as an effort of friendly reconciliation.

Quickly masking his uncouth state, Ghirahim hopped from the battlements to stand beside his co-lieutenant and address him with a light scold. “Yuga, you’re injured. I’ll not encourage cowardice in the slightest, but Master will not forgive you if you act rashly.”

“Some nerve you have! You needn’t worry about me, Blade. I’ll see to the eradication of these fools… With the utmost elegance,” he waxed with a voice like a dream, his arms raised in a flourish.

Yet, when Yuga shot forward to head to this promised reunion, his supposed companion did not follow. The sorcerer turned to find Volga hesitating, his head lowered and his scaled back raised. Draconic Warrior Volga was cowering. 

“What ails you, beast?” Yuga questioned, his scowl wrinkling his bloodied brow bone. “One little setback and your claws lose their edge? Join me!”

A growl resonant enough to shake the drawbridge chains vibrated the wood beneath their feet. Volga slinked away, spines bristling and mane sputtering with flame, and hissed as he spoke. “The Demon King cares not! He sends us to our deaths,” he spat. “I will no longer fight as a pawn in his name.”

Ghirahim’s fangs bared involuntarily. Such insolence was unacceptable. Maddening! His fingers curled fiercely around the grip of his sword, and his gaze zoned in on a vague, pink mark behind the dragon’s shoulder, left there once by his Master’s trident. But before he could drive himself into the tender flesh of Volga’s weak spot, Yuga gripped him by the horns and shook him, forcing their eyes to lock.

“Know your place, cave-dwelling reptile!” Shouted Yuga, face contorted into a snarl. “You dare let your loyalty stray now? You turn against our Master, in his greatest hour?”

Volga struggled against him, bearing a strong endeavor to win, but the handle those twiggy arms had on him was unfathomably relentless. Any attempt to shake him off seemed futile – Volga’s muscular neck writhed, its tension tightening his body enough to flare out his plating. Veins bulged on the Lorian’s temples as his rage built. It was fire against fire, bull against fighter. Their scuffle lit a new spark in Volga’s sputtering flames, but before he could use it against his captor, the back of Yuga’s boot slammed his glowing maw back shut. 

That treacherous attack only served to make Yuga angrier. He now fully yanked at his horns, dragging him with him to solid ground. Even after all this berating, Volga still refused, digging his claws into the soil. Yuga looked down at the grooves in the ground and cried out in disgust. “Sickening! Pathetic! Shame upon you, for daring to call yourself a dragon! Have some sense! It seems I must knock it into you.”

Steeling his grip, Yuga lifted himself higher in the air, dragging the dragon’s head with him. His arms raised, his eyes spat fire, hovering fearlessly before the snarling maw mere inches from his feet. With one shrill cry of exertion, he swung his arms downward and threw the Dragon to the ground. 

Volga hit the ground chin-first, hissing in pain and rage as the ground cracked beneath his plating. Before he could gather his bearings, Yuga bore on him again, his uninjured foot stomping down on his snout. “You wish to be respected? You want to be treated as more than a pawn, as you say? Then show us! Show yourself as more worthy than the beating I will unleash upon you, should you refuse!”

For his last sneer, Yuga leaned in close, hissing his venom through clenched teeth. “Now you cough up whatever sickly bile allows you to spray your flame, Lieutenant, and you better do it soon, before I reduce that bulky form of yours to oil pastels!”

At the threat of his staff, Volga bounded away, his tail lashing with a vicious temper. He gave the pair one more skeptical look, before chuffing out an agonized, wretched burst of flame, and turning back to the distant battle. Taking off into a gallop, he climbed the air with beating wings, and announced his return to the masses below with a guttural roar.

Left behind, the Sword Spirit looked up at the wild beast’s ascent with an air of calm, while Yuga stood panting next to him, his flushed face slowly returning to its usual corpsely gray. Such a performance deserved a bit of accolade. 

“My. I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Ghirahim said, bringing a hand to his face in idle amusement.

Yuga paused, swallowing to gather his breath, before chuckling in response. “Spare me the cajolery, Ghirahim. I have a royal visitation to attend.”

Just like that, the Sorcerer lifted himself off the floor once more with a wave of his staff, and along with the breeze, he was off.

This side of the battlefield now thoroughly occupied, Ghirahim skirted along its edges, the rush of the river below carrying him on its roaring winds. As Volga relayed to them, the Zora were advancing rapidly from here, but on his own, he wasn’t keen on drawing their attention. As tempting as the thought of sticking it to the Lorian was by stealing his kills, the Zora often bore enchanted weapons. The Demon Lord wouldn’t risk his pristine state for mere petty gestures!

Racing down the path to the south, Ghirahim had the quiet hope of running into his Master. Something akin to worry tugged at his strings when he saw the gates to Hyrule Castle nearly untouched. A mass of soldiers kept any invading forces at bay – which meant that Ganondorf was being held up by the bridge, for whatever reason. He had to cut through the crowd somehow. 

A remedy (or, a minor poultice at most), to his predicament, appeared in the shape of raid squads by the crags, who stood gathered around a cavalier scout relaying her rapport. 

Desperate for any news at all about the sudden delay of the advance, Ghirahim hurried on over, urging the scout to tell her tale.

The Gerudo woman tightened the reins on her antsy steed and addressed him with a bow of her head. “There was an ambush from the Eastern Central Keep, My Lord. King Dragmire was impeded, and now, Commander Link has fled to the Castle. We are sending reserve troops to clear the path.”

Ghirahim’s eyes narrowed. The disgust in the air around him was palpable, enough to further panic the scout’s horse. “Then I shall go with you.”

The cavalry was fast but not much faster than he. The gaps in the crowd the scout cleared for herself closed up quickly before him, and with every soldier he cut down, his disdain grew. So soft. So weak. What tricks could these ants possibly have gotten up their sleeves to give his Master this much trouble?

With every pace, the mass of soldiers grew ever-denser. The red plume of hair that was once his guide was soon no longer dependable. Overwhelmed by their adversaries, the Gerudo’s horse let out a hellish shriek when run through by steel, and soon, slumped to the ground, its rider perishing with it. 

Yet, he no longer needed her. The bridge was in view, and soon he would reunite to assist his Ruler, his Master, his –

Cyan, bluer than blue, sped back down the bridge like an arrow. Towering stature, white hair, and red eyes that left glowing streaks as she moved. Ghirahim knew now what had delayed them so. To think a General as renowned as her would retreat so soon, hardly even injured! 

Just as he intended to ignore this display of cowardice and let her run her merry way, a sudden force yanked his head to keep his eyes on her.

“She aims for the Temple,” hissed a sudden voice in his mind. “Should the Hyruleans get the Great Fairy’s assistance, we will surely regret it!”

“Zant!” Ghirahim whispered in retort, “you have the nerve to get into my head?”

“Do not distract yourself with technicalities,” Zant growled. “Go!” 

Biting back his ire, Ghirahim hissed through his teeth. How could he allow for such a vulnerability in his own mind? Had a tether been planted there, without him noticing? If so, then when?

All such questions had to wait for later. A blade like him would only take commands from his master, but he took the liberty of taking Zant’s words as a friendly suggestion. He had been waiting for a proper face-off with the Sheikah general, to test if this one was a more exciting opponent than the previous. His feet took off below him without a second thought.

The thrill of slaughtering hundreds was fair enough a way to sate him, indeed. But nothing fulfilled him, nothing made him feel like he was truly fighting, like an impassioned one-on-one with a worthy warrior who wanted him dead for more reasons than simple victory.

Tracking the scent of her blood alone, Ghirahim burst after her with speed that would strike envy in a lightning bolt. Though the prospect of giving chase for the sport of it was plenty attractive, he knew better than to let his amusement get ahead of him. No, for now, he merely wanted to get a better look at the Temple and see where he could best ambush her. He could afford no distractions, so his path had to be clear. Yanking the raid captains he’d run into earlier with him, he set forth to the temple stairs, and waited for the right moment to rear its head.

Ever-so-politely, the Commander did not keep him waiting long. Ghirahim lavishly draped himself atop one of the few pillars still standing above the Temple’s crumbling staircase, strewn as it was with holes from beast claws and long-gone explosives. Somehow, this barren place still held onto its sanctity. He wondered how much further they would have to ruin it for that persistent, divine itch to stop. 

That idle thought could only ever be that, though. His target burst from the crowd, and in her near-blinded fury, almost completely overlooked his presence. Carelessness was one thing, but plain rude was another! With a scoff, Ghirahim jumped down from his perch and landed himself square in her path. In an instant, she staggered back and drew her blade.

“Again you cross my path, Impa, and how your numbers have dwindled. You were a mighty people once, a veritable threat,” Ghirahim purred, circling the commander. This alone stopped her advance and drew her weapon, for she was healthily wary of turning her back to him. “And now, you can hardly even be called a tribe. Once you served the Goddess, now merely Her diluted blood, who with each thinning drop tore down your numbers, your dignity… Are you truly content with this?”

If she was ever at the edge of being compelled, Ghirahim certainly didn’t notice it. Impa thrust her greatsword toward him just as he took a step closer. “When the lands we stand on were still called the Surface, there was your kin, mercilessly slaughtering mine. You dare speak of our tribe in solidarity now? Spare me your poisoned words, Demon. I will not be manipulated by the likes of you!”

“Oh, well,” Ghirahim cackled, ducking from the second strike from her blade with his hands childishly clasped behind his back. “It was worth a try, I suppose.”

The giant slab of steel came for him again, slamming into the ground where he once stood with her full weight behind it. Yet the Sheikah was nimble, and thus, frightfully strong, in how she twirled and slid around him and dragged the heaving weapon along with her. He had to take his every step with extreme care.

Her attacks did not go uncontested. Ghirahim drew his sword in retaliation and threw himself upon her in a flurry of blows. There was something familiar about the way she fought – reminiscent of the so-called Hero, perhaps. But in those brazen arms hid decades of discipline and ferocity. What she lacked in holy power, Impa made up for with expert technique. 

In other words, he was in for an incredibly enjoyable battle. 

Though his sword was smaller, more nimble than hers, she managed to deflect nigh every strike and dodge away from others. He was certain he at least nicked her fingers once or twice, but either she simply didn’t care, or some form of enchantment had been cast on her.

This suspicion was confirmed when, with a sudden wince in her expression, she left herself wide open for just a split second, and he thrust for her chest. Though her armor here was bare, the tip of his sword still bounced clean off, a golden flicker rippling where he’d struck. Had Hyrule’s Princess so graciously cast the same protection over a mere servant, that she’d bestowed upon her divine Hero? How delightfully sentimental.

It did not matter. A barrier simply meant he had to hit harder, as he did last time. Lacking the privileges of Zant’s magic from his previous attempt, he just had to make do with his own. With her next strike, he jumped back far further than he needed to and deftly escaped her range. He had to be quick, but the slight limp in the Sheikah’s step assured him he’d have just enough time for his little party trick, if not with ten milliseconds to spare. With no further hesitation, he held his rapier out before him, and with a flick of his wrist, twisted it in his grip, and buried it into his own chest with a decisive thrust.

Shock. He just won another second!

His core ran hot. Burning, searing metal to its melting point, enough to pulse an aura of sickly purple from his chest to his entire body. Grass was charred beneath his feet as the heat coursed through his every inch, but by far stronger was the sheer darkness. Whatever life once carried in the ashes below was promptly snuffed, its soil scorched and poisoned. He gritted his teeth, not in pain but in exertion, as the searing flame in his chest grew ever brighter. His magic was doing its work; his will was next. For every blade forged needed a purpose, a name. And what was this one? Once, it was to be his simple favorite, light and easy to wield. But over the years he had accumulated many more just like it, and its value had diminished to that of mere nostalgia. Such a loyal friend needed something more potent.

What did he want for it? It needed to strike true, to be wicked in every edge yet sharp enough to cut through mountains unharmed. It had not to be graceful, but to simply bring death. 

And when he pulled it from him, glowing bright red from the hellfire he’d retrieved it from, it became a jagged thing. The picture of a grimace, of metal that in itself bore rage and scowled at its foe.

Yes. I shall call you Annihilation.

Impa closed in on him bearing her scabbard as a shield. Her feet ground tracks into the soil as she slid at him with enough speed to knock him off his feet. And it would have, had he not braced himself the last second, meeting the firm wood of the scabbard with a ram of his elbow, cracking its polished blue surface. The impact loosened the greatsword in its hold and she took full advantage of this. Impa kicked the scabbard fiercely, sending it swiveling around to sit at her back, and unsheathed her blade in its momentum, seeking to cut him down in one broad sweep. 

This was his new pet’s time to shine. Instead of the traditional parry, he swung the cursing black blade downward. Sharp edges stuck together until the sharpness of his own prevailed and slid down, dragging an ear-grating screech out of the Sheikah greatsword. A strike so wretched it taught steel to feel pain! Ghirahim chuckled as the two swords buried their tips in the dirt between them, but was smart enough not to linger long. 

Before her heart could finish another beat, Impa swung her blade back up, sharp edge upturned. Glittering specks of hair scattered in the wind as Impa cleaved through the tips of his bangs. In an instant, his vision went red, a crimson hue that pooled from the General’s eyes and washed over all of his vision. Such rage emboldened him as much as it weakened him, for the second he spent gritting his teeth and indulgently spying for a weak spot to torture, Impa punished him. 

Blade outstretched, she dove beneath his arms and swung. A deep line carved into his gut, carving through his false skin and splintering a groove in his surface. 

They were petty injuries to his body and standing, but enough to send him into rage. One hand fiercely gripping her shoulder, he pushed himself forward, driving his knee into her gut. Impa staggered back with a groan, shaken but unharmed, and kept herself standing with her sword as a crutch. With this new distance wedged between them, he once more pulled his cleaver and lunged for her.

She parried him once, twice, that massive eyesore of a blade serving far too well as a shield until it didn’t, and he struck the gap between her arms and armor. 

Annihilation slipped through, obsidian steel hungering for bloodshed, and tore a gaping hole into the magic that protected her. A fountain of golden sparks followed her in an arc as Impa fell to the ground. She hit the floor with a heavy thud, her scabbard cracking further beneath her bulk. 

Ghirahim hopped back with whimsy, tongue darting between his lips and sword at the ready, as she jumped back upright with a swing of her legs. Even without her divine protection, she seemed just as hellbent on striking him down. But no matter. His next strike would not miss.

For just a second, her scarlet eyes parted from their contesting gazes and flitted to the Temple behind her. Impa’s feet braced in the soil, her knees bent, and she shot for her goal. 

Ghirahim didn’t let her set more than even a step. Those signs of her escape were subtle, and anyone even a smidge less analytical than he would have missed them. But Ghirahim drove a dagger into her hip before she could even think of which foot to put where, and nearly sent her tumbling.

Yet Impa kept going, shielding herself with her scabbard as she advanced further up the temple stairs walking backward. If she thought getting the high ground would put her at an advantage, she was dead wrong! Ghirahim hurried after her in pursuit, lunging for her legs as swift and deadly as a viper. Her balance was wobblier now that she’d been injured, but her fury had not depleted even in the slightest bit. He saw it clear as day in her eyes – either she would get to that Temple, or she would die trying. If only all Hyruleans saw the beauty of such dedication. Perhaps, then, some of these battles wouldn’t have been so dull!

To Ghirahim, it was a test of mettle, or rather, the indulgent act of poking a sleeping bear with a stick, while Impa treated his ceaseless meddling as the annoyance that it was. Hoping to finally throw him off her trail, she swung down, the embers in her eyes bursting into wildfires.

Ghirahim raised his blade in defense, edge catching on edge once more.

With a single flick of his wrist, the greatsword slotted into the jagged shapes of his masterpiece and became trapped there. This blade was not a mere extension of his body – it was him, a piece of his very soul, granted physical form. It held onto Impa’s weapon without as much as a shiver, clasped with the same deft ease as he would have pinched it between his fingers. Their eyes locked, dog meeting wolf dangerously outmatched, and Ghirahim flashed a smile.

The muscles of his arms tensed. Impa couldn’t escape, so instead she attempted to push through. Out of pure curiosity, he let her try. He gazed up into the blade, and oh, how beautifully polished, clean of any grime or corruption. Their eyes stayed locked until he met his own in the sword’s reflection, and his lips curled into a grin. He was immaculate still, the assault on his haircut aside, while she stood panting, scowling, and shaking above him, her teeth grinding audibly with every bit of force she pushed into the blade. Falling apart like this was a shame of such a good swordswoman. He wouldn’t bear to look at it, if he didn’t delight so much in being the cause.

So, he put an end to it. With his only warning being a yell of exertion, he used her strength against her, and with a swing ripped the blade clean out of her hands. The greatsword careened down the stairs, cracking the stone bricks beneath it in its rancorous descent. Before she could think to dive after it, Ghirahim reared back again, and hacked her clean in the shoulder.

Impa fell to her knees with a guttural cry, for a moment, finally looking defeated. She glared daggers at him when his heel planted in her chest. With the cadence of a butcher missing the right tendon, he ripped his sword back out, beholding the blood seeping down its sawtooth edge. What a beautiful, loyal thing, yet one even he hesitated to lap clean after witnessing the damage it did. 

In his distraction, the General made her escape, staggering further up the stairs. They were both thinking the same thing: could she make it to the temple, before the gnarly wound on her shoulder sapped her off her strength, and sent her to Death’s door? Her arm dangling uselessly at her side, and her blade buried far beyond where she could escape from him to retrieve it, Impa shot him a foul look. 

His confidence was getting ahead of him! From her upturned palm, a bright blue light surged, its specks of luster dazzling him before they struck him like a thousand darts. Yet this magic did not pierce, it did not scratch. Rather, it stuck to him in droplets, merging in ever greater globs in less than a second. His vision blurred, his hearing grew distorted and whined, and before he knew it, his head was encased in a churning sphere of water. 

The thought that she attempted to drown him amused him. An airless laugh bubbled forth from his lips and echoed through his abyssal scold’s bridle in crystalline chimes. But this amusement did not last long. A kick to his chest sent him tumbling to the ground, and icy daggers pinned his cloak to the ground in an attempt to keep him down. Distraction, after distraction, after distraction, all in the feeble hope to cross that field and plead the Fairy Queen for her aid. 

The poor thing hadn’t the slightest clue he didn’t need to see her to strike her. The dagger in her hip betraying her location, he raised his hand, fingers tense, like drawing taut the string of a bow. A snap. Cold steel flew, whistling through the air as it followed the trail to its brethren, and struck flesh. 

Impa cried out, stumbled, and at last, fell forward onto the steps. 

Ghirahim strutted on over, sword at rest but not yet sheathed, to stand over his once-opponent. A little river of crimson poured free from her, dripping down the stairs and staining its pure white marble in the stench of near death. Yet, listening carefully, it appeared she still breathed. 

He nudged her carelessly with his foot. “Lady Impa, I must say, I’m impressed. You and I make for such an excellent pair of duelists when you don’t insist on making every turn of my life into complete misery.”

With her last shreds of wakefulness, Impa turned to gaze at him. Her complexion withered, but her eyes had not yet glazed over. She was angrier than he’d ever seen her. “You… Vile…” She hissed through blood-stained teeth. “Wretched thing, a traitor, a dishonor to the world, for your own selfish needs, you…” 

The corner of his lip twitched in annoyance at this name-calling. Ever the high-and-mighty, righteous woman, perhaps even more of a bore than her predecessor. He was almost glad that the blood loss seemed to be taking her ability to speak from her, but then a sudden pulse of energy alerted him that some other force was at play. 

Golden specks of light rose from the General. She, too, took notice of them, a sparkle of bitter hope lit in her expression. A weak laugh was all he heard from her, until the light flooded her body, and she was gone.

With the Sheikah Chief defeated, Hyrule’s army devolved into further chaos. If they had been betting on reaching that Fairy to ensure their victory, then the sudden outpour of soldiers could only have been their last-ditch effort. Ghirahim rose, his cape tearing to tatters under the daggers as he shed it. Standing atop the temple stairs, he ran a hand through his hair, shedding the water from his vision to survey the battlefield.

It was a deluge of blue and silver. Were they winning before, then the Hyrulean swarm that broke out from the now-opened gate to Castle intended to change that. All matters of banners, people from every corner of the country, dashed forth from the palace and the foothills. 

The princess was nowhere to be seen. Unmistakable to his analytical eye, however, a corridor, narrow as it was, cleaved through the masses. A certain someone else was making his way through the field again. Mounted on horseback, Link, his palm ablaze with golden light, shot through the field like an arrow.

Zant, Yuga, Wizzro, Volga, his Master, anyone, they were nowhere to be seen. As far as Ghirahim was aware, there was nobody else to stop the Knight that galloped straight for their base. Somewhere, a hunger for that old dynamic between hero and thrall awakened in him again, turning from an urge to a fiery prey drive within a split second. He was no stranger to chasing around little blond holy men. By all means, this was his calling. 

And so, shattering the stone steps beneath his heels, Ghirahim bounded down the Temple stairs and threw himself into the mass of soldiers at the foot of the hill. 

Yet, he could find no opening. The crowd was forcing him back out every step of the way, as if they could sense the string that tied him to the boy, and feared what would come of it, were the two ends of it to meet. 

It was thoroughly amusing. No matter how sheer the numbers, these forces could only ever slow him, not stop him. Though even distraction would prove to be dire, the further those hoofbeats strayed from him. He had to be in pursuit and had to do it fast, but the dense formation barring his way left not a single opening. Such an advantage would have to be gained the old-fashioned way.

Shields raised before him as soldiers pointed their spears at him, rancorously barking commands for him to keep his distance, or to surrender, or to keel over and die already, and other such nonsense. It was starting to get annoying, really. Again, the gleaming metal pointed at him was of a mundane sort. He peered down at the spearheads in disdain. The jumble of sticks and steel wobbled, pointed insistently at him, and swayed all too tantalizingly.

Before the oafs had a sliver of an idea, he swiped a handful of them into his hand, crushing the bouquet to splinters in an instant. Taking advantage of the knuckle guard on his rapier, he twirled the blade around his hand and changed his grip to that of a cutthroat. He was upon them in a flash, breaking through the first line of shields with a single kick, and carved through armor and flesh alike with the full weight of his momentum behind him. 

But the cavity he’d cut into the formation would only hold so long. Hundreds of the shouting sacks of skin seemed hellbent on stopping him all at once, hounding him with everything they had. Shields bashed into him, swords and spears clattered and bounced off his skin but tore his clothing to tatters. It wasn’t long before their desperation made them forfeit their weaponry altogether, settling for trying to kick him over, or yanking at his arms, if only to stall his advance for another second. Eyes darting dangerously, he cut down whoever he could focus on long enough to kill. 

Ghirahim trudged on, heaving, stained in blood, mud, and whatever else. It was slow, it was humiliating, but it was progress, and he could bear this nigh endless assault, if only for the carnal, berserker’s satisfaction the blood on his blades brought him. 

At least, until he heard something unmistakable. One of these dogs had the gall to laugh. 

There stood Ghirahim, his beloved cloak tattered, trampled and abandoned, his clothing hanging from him in ribbons, his skin cracked with glittering black and his hair tousled from far too many gloves yanking at it. They didn’t simply want to impede him, they fully intended to humiliate him.

Enough!

He wasn’t sure if he simply thought it, or shouted it to the heavens, but within an instant, his brute endurance changed to a rush of bloodlust. With a cry, he raised his arms and summoned a glittering red, impenetrable barrier.

The small crowd bunched in there with him seemed to realize that it was merely their own numbers they could trust awfully quick. 

Ghirahim greeted the dawning fear that would soon suffocate his playpen with a cheek-splitting grin, baring every pearly white tooth he had.

Where the density of the crowd was once their greatest strength, it was now the soldiers’ downfall. There simply wasn’t enough space for any of them to join in proper formation, much less extend their sword. It was by design, of course. Ghirahim burst out in laughter, as gleeful as he was sadistic, as he began to tear away at the soldiers around him. Oh, how quickly they donned that veil of valiance again, so desperate to fall in honor after throwing themselves at him like animals! They certainly weren’t holding their fairest warriors as reserves. Even the blood tasted vile on these ones. The crowd thinned rapidly with the fury of his blade, which, to his amusement, made enough space for some of these fools to try and fight him again. It turned to a delightful routine – parry, perhaps a second clash of swords, then a jab at the shoulder, and a stab to the gut. Around them, the barrier had turned from red and gold to a flat crimson, obscuring his private arena from the outside world in a curtain of blood. And what a carnage it had been! Only five of them were left – ah, forgive his enthusiasm. Four, now – Three, tearing limbs out their sockets, crunching their jaws under his fists – two –

And then there were none. 

Ghirahim stood upright, surveying his handiwork with renewed clarity. Cloth, skin, chainmail, plating, and shields alike accumulated on the floor in a scrapyard amalgam, groaning wetly under the force of his footsteps. A rhythmic pounding of pommels against his barrier thrilled like a landslide in the air, but he was confident the masses would not break through. He stroked a hand through his hair, only to notice black talons peeking through his gloves, and begrudgingly smiled. 

His power was getting away from him again. Looking around the death gathered at his feet, he knew just the way to righten this new burst of energy. Unencumbered by his now-deceased assailants, he stretched himself with a laugh, cracking his shoulders to spread his hands to either side. Dancing forward across the heap of bodies he’s left, he swayed his arms in fluid motions, like plucking the strings to a harp. With each twitch of his fingers, he felt the power surge from the fading life beneath his feet, up his legs, and to his core – an eerie feeling, yet unrivaled in its profoundness, that chilled as much as it burned. 

With two snaps of his fingers, spectral servants surrounded him. He’d wasted enough time; he had to catch up with that boy, and fast. Of all the strings that tugged on him, the one tied to the Hero’s Incarnation pulled the hardest. His barrier now dismissed, he sent the specters forward to clear his path, only to find the battlefield had changed in his absence. Drawn to the scent of blood, he’d imagine, Bokoblins had poured into the cracks of the Hyruleans’ defenses to draw ever nearer to the palace. Finally, some more backup than the measly groups he’d summoned! 

He ran, he cut down anyone in his way, and he swerved through any opening he could. His feet pounded across the bridge, wind soaring in his ears. Moreso with kicks and elbows than with his swords, he broke past groups of soldiers, only to find an iconic presence tower above it all, glaring at the setting sun.

“Master,” Ghirahim cried out, and launched himself to his side to run beside him.

Ganondorf looked down at him over his shoulder. Past the blood and grime that others had splattered on him, he was as immaculate as he’d been when he first arrived. “The boy fled before I could engage. The Hyruleans are planning something, and I have no intention to-”

Golden beams of light had the audacity to interrupt his magnificent words and rip their attention to the north. 

“The bridge keep… They have it out for our bases,” Ganondorf growled, stroking a hand across his black steel blade to charge it with wicked thunder. “Keep me no longer, Sword. I must be swift.”

Were it any other time, burdened as he was with the despair of judgment and abandonment of his Master, Ghirahim would have hung his head and accepted his departure. But this grave turn in destiny, where finally, the Demon King would get his hands on the Triforce, invigorated him to boldness never seen before. He lunged for the departing Gerudo and clutched his arm. 

“If he’s going for our bases, Master, there is but one place he can go. I’ll take us there,” he shouted over the noise of battle, never shying from his gaze, even as he scowled at his sudden forwardness.

Yet Ganondorf’s expression softened, if one could ever call such a vicious grin ‘soft’. To Ghirahim, it was the most reassuring sight he could see.

Ganondorf turned to face the golden light once more, and spoke with narrowly restrained eagerness. “Then get on with it.”

Ghirahim gripped his arm with more vigor than he’d ever held anything. Diamond magic gathered at their feet, enveloping the both of them in a maelstrom that rippled the grass and billowed fabric in its intensity. Enveloping the Demon King in his own power sent his core into overdrive. Steam burst from his gritted teeth with a single pant, the sheer exertion threatening to melt him down. The golden light inside that man was simply so grand, so all-encompassing, that to wrap around it with the fickle fibers of his own seemed insurmountable. Yet he, the Demon King’s blade, his servant not only by design but by fierce desire, would not falter. 

When they tore through the fabric of reality and landed at the foot of their base, the sheer vertigo of the transportation was enough to bring Ghirahim to his knees. He clutched the pommel of his Master’s sword, panting, and craned his head to look up at him. Ganondorf looked down at him past his pauldron and nodded at him, a smirk pulling at his features. He’d intrigued him – perhaps even impressed him! 

Invigorated by the urge to have those eyes on him again, he wobbled back on his feet, as if born again, to trail after the Demon King as he marched onward.

Ganondorf turned his attention to a second rain of light pelting from the sky, steeling his grip on his crackling blades. “Hyrule’s Hero intends to drive us out of their turf. How fortunate that we can meet him halfway.”

This corner of the battlefield was still under their command, but their influence was slipping. Anything past Hylia River seemed to have been reclaimed by blue and silver, and their sickening radiance grew ever closer. It was a battle of endurance now, where the Demon forces had to resist being driven back, lest their goal slip through their fingers. 

It was dire, yet it was not. Were he among Volga and Yuga, whose fire and thunder lit up the skies behind him, he might have despaired. Were he still trapped in that humiliating clash he’d ripped free from, he might have faltered. But sheltering the mighty back of his Master, whose shoulders squared exuding nothing but power and confidence, he knew victory was mere inches away. 

That inch was announced with the skidding of hooves and the blowing and snorting of a startled equine. Link forced his horse to a halt, blue eyes shooting a piercing gaze at the two of them as they caught him off guard. 

“Oh, come now,” Ghirahim chimed, collecting himself with a whip of his hair. “Don’t be shy! You’ve come this far, surely you didn’t think we’d let you claim our territory unchallenged?”

Ghirahim laughed, his arms outstretched in invitation as he waltzed his way over to the knight. The young man was worse for wear – his green garb was dirtied from his earlier battle, and though he’d been run through the infirmary, his heaving stance betrayed painful injuries. Yet, that furious, noble glare was unmistakable. He’d dragged himself here with willpower alone, and that very force would carry him ‘till his heart gave out.

Which, frankly, sounded like a fun little exercise.

Another smoky laugh escaped him when Link spurred his horse again, setting out for him with full intent to smack his head clean off his shoulders. Ghirahim looked back, inviting his Master to mock their adversary, and found him permitting his whims with a squint of his eyes. 

Just before the advancing horseman could strike him, he disappeared with a flash and zipped back into view a ways behind. The horse bucked and staggered, aggravated not only by startle but the instinctual ferocity of demonic presence. 

Ghirahim watched on in amusement as Link struggled to pacify his mount, finding it the perfect moment to prod at him some more. “Quit bullying that poor animal and face us properly, boy! You’re not slipping past us again!”

Eyes flitting between his two foes, Link grew antsy atop his panicked steed. He dismounted her with a sweep of his leg, setting her to run free, and once again brandished his sword. Both feet now firmly on the ground, his earlier discombobulation was nowhere to be seen. When Ghirahim prowled toward him, tongue darting between his lips, Link scowled at him with nothing but a righteous sense of duty.

How annoying!

“Ghirahim,” Ganondorf warned him. “Step aside.”

Snapped out of his bloodlust, the sword spirit straightened himself, his free hand before his chest. “As you wish, Master,” he stated, retreating with a bow to let Ganondorf take his place. “Same arrangement as before?”

The Demon King shook the sparks on his swords awake. “Let not a soul through.”

“As you wish.”

And so, Ghirahim braced himself again, darting forth to clear the King a proper arena. Those with seconds to spare would soon be dragged on the periphery with him, riddling the edges with hulking monsters. Two separate worlds were unfolding on this battlefield, that of the raging war of the masses, and the private duel guarded so tightly at its borders. In the natural order of things, those spheres would never have met, not until one of them ended, but a twist of fate broke their edge.

Just behind him, Ghirahim noticed a Dinolfos seize one of the Hyrulean captains in its gauntlet and lift them off the ground, inspecting them with nostrils twitching and teeth bared. With a furious hiss, it tossed the soldier to the ground, sending them skidding into private grounds.

Ghirahim would have torn the wretch apart for disturbing their King’s space, did he not notice just who was thrown to his Master’s attention. With scarlet hair, golden armor, and richly patterned clothing, the identity of this soldier was clear. Even more damning was the blue-and-silver banner hung from her waist.

The distraction allowed Link an opening. Ganondorf grunted as a gash was hacked into his thigh, but his first wound only served to invigorate him. “What is the meaning of this?” He snarled, tusks bared. The strikes he delivered upon Link’s shield caused the boy to buckle through his knees, and be thrown to the ground with the next. “You dare poison my own people against me? To think Hyrule calls me wicked. You would have Sisters slay each other.”

Link and his fairy stayed silent. He threw himself back on his feet and lunged for the Demon King once more.

If the battlefield was in dissonance, then the fatal clash behind him was a symphony. There was no desperation in it – the drive to see each other dead was pure and true, and Ghirahim would give his life to protect it. The bodies he left in his wake were his offerings, gifts for his Master, to keep that music safe and undisturbed. 

Yet, even with this passion, in his strife to keep the raid squads at bay, an ominous glow in the skies distracted him. At once, the familiar comfort of servitude was shattered. Ghirahim kicked the burly Hylian before him to the ground and skewered him in place, if only to allow himself a few seconds unimpeded to keep an eye on that strange sight. The glow was met by a smoldering darkness from below, that formed a murky yellow globe just beyond the fortifications in the East. From that same faux-sunspot, light rained down from the sky, pelting down on the barrier in ground-shaking ferocity. But this attack was different; rather than the golden rays invoked by the descendant Hero, this one was a pure, blinding white, taking the shape of thousands of arrows. Zant had anticipated it! How nostalgic it must have been, for light and darkness to clash once more! 

Then, the unthinkable happened. Not in that it was impossible – really, it was the only logical outcome – but in that he’d never want to imagine it. The Twilit barrier shattered to bits.

Ghirahim froze in place, eyes glued to the shining barrage from the heavens.

Even through the ringing in his ears, Ganondorf’s voice rang through clear as glass. “Princess Zelda is growing desperate. If she’s felled Zant, she will make her way here shortly.” 

Felled?

“Do not let her reunite with her Knight, Blade!”

His feet moved on their own. Were there any soldiers impeding his way, he must have taken them out in sheer automation, for he didn’t notice them. All he had eyes for was the deluge of radiant arrows that turned the condense in the dark clouds above into a glittering expanse of stars. The heavens rejoiced and cheered for their princess as she took away what mattered to him so.

Ghirahim ran, too numbed by shock and steered by command only. What would he do, were he to round that corner and find her there? If he found something else he wouldn’t want to see? Would he be able to look away long enough to take her down? 

The swarm of Hyruleans thickened around him as their demonic forces dwindled. Their keeps were being cleared out and invaded swiftly, leaving their most competent generals struggling to retain their ground. Yet, every one of them that saw his advance, rallied to clear his path. They could not win this war with numbers alone – everything rested on defeating the bearers of the Triforce.

The northern gates were in sight now, their doors blown to scrap and splinters, and the surrounding ground scarred with blight. He sprinted through them, rattling the bridge’s chains with his pounding footfall as he rushed to get to this final stand, only to skid to a halt.

In the distance, he saw a clash between beast and man still unfolding, as if the world had not ended here moments before. Approaching in eerie silence was an armored Bullbo, growling in strain against the many arrows that pierced its hide, but more notably, carrying an unbelievable shape on its back.

Zant slowed his steed with a pull on its reins and sidled up next to Ghirahim. Now witnessing him from the side, a second passenger came into view. A bloodied bronze gauntlet on thin, serene arms, and a curtain of vibrant, straw-blonde hair, draped past The Twilight King’s lap. 

Retracting the visor of his helmet, Zant bared his smile. “Hail, Ghirahim-ili. I see you have stopped General Impa, as I advised. Well done,” he said, looking to the skies to find golden light still raining there. “What of the boy, Link?”

“... I… He’s… Master is, ah…” Ghirahim stammered, his throat suddenly feeling too tight to speak. “Link is weakened, and we stopped his advance. Master… Will prevail. Zant, how-”

“Excellent,” Zant interjected sharply. “Our victory is at hand, Ghirahim, but I am too weakened to escort the Princess on my own. Wizzro can only keep the forces behind me at bay for so long, thus, I must make haste,” Zant seemed to soliloquy for a moment, before looking down upon him from his mount again, grinning his teeth bare. “Will you join me for this grand finale?”

Ghirahim was too paralyzed to refuse or accept. Zant took his silence as confirmation anyway. He took off in a gallop. Feeling the strain at his collar, Ghirahim followed.

Hyrule field was in a greater state of chaos than Ghirahim had left it mere moments before. Enervated by the battle, the remaining demonic forces grew ever fiercer. Were it not for the bounty they carried with them, the sides would have seemed equally matched. Ghirahim wordlessly fluttered around Zant like a moth contemplating the light of a lantern, striking down anyone that came close. And those numbers gained, indeed, as they drew ever deeper into the conflict. Zant had drawn his blade, but from atop his porcine steed could only do so much. 

The sight of the Princess splaying across the saddle eased their burden as much as it increased it. Hyrulean soldiers grew panicked and enraged, bearing down on them in droves, while their monstrous captains saw it as their cue to join their entourage. 

As the eye of the storm formed around them, Zant addressed him. “You saw it. That golden light, decimating all in its wake. A magnificent power, isn’t it, Ghirahim?”

“It is,” Ghirahim replied. And you defeated her, he thought to himself. Against all logic, Zant came out victorious. At this point, asking him ‘how’ would only have resulted in a lackluster answer. Nor would knowing just ‘who’ this figure was sate him. The desire for questions was beginning to wane. 

Ghirahim knew power when he saw it.

Zant chuckled behind his helmet. Tiring of this pace, he sent his mount into a gallop, and forced his way into the crowd. The Bullbo shrieked, tossed its head, and sent men tumbling, and grew ever-fiercer as more and more blades drove into it. With a sweep of his adamantine sword, Zant poked holes into the line of Hyruleans for their own troops to flood into. 

He shrieked with laughter, yet held the princess fast to his saddle with care, as he turned his steed to face his co-lieutenant with masked glee. “All of it will be ours, very soon. Hold fast, Yima gradiegra. Master awaits.”

His Dagger. 

Yes, he could do that.

With the sounds of combat mingling with the thunderous laugh and shouts of the Demon King, Zant deemed them close enough to dismount his beast. Sword sheathed at his back, he hopped down almost leisurely, as if the fate of the world wasn’t perched upon that very saddle. He turned, reached up for her, and let the limp frame of the defeated Princess Zelda collapse into his arms. 

He lifted her carefully. Her head drooped against his shoulder guard and her arms laid over her stomach, as if she were naught but asleep. With her face now visible, Ghirahim could hazard a guess as to how she’d been defeated. The same pale gray of the hands that cradled her spread to her own skin, besmirching her features with runic pestilence. She breathed still, but there was no telling for how long.

As they drew closer to the fated strife that awaited them, Ghirahim felt like every step hollowed him out deeper. It was an odd feeling, acute in its onset, that gnawed at him without apparent cause. The leash that bound him to his duty tugged on him ever stronger, but as he drew to its source, he felt the urge to dig in his heels and resist. 

Something wasn’t right. Wasn’t there more he had to do? More he had wanted? Thousands of years he had dedicated to this goal: deliver the Triforce unto his Master’s hands, so He may claim the Surface as His. It was right before him now, on the cusp of being completed, but it felt wrong. Unfulfilling.

It was just as he’d felt before, but now, he realized just how time had gotten away from him. Never did he expect his wish to dodge out of reach so quickly. With each pace of feet that shouldn’t be, his melancholy grew. His purpose was about to conclude, without him where he belonged. The Demon Blade was firmly in his scabbard and refused by his Master’s hand. In such a crucial moment, he never got to be his sword.

With that pit in his core, he watched on as the masses split by his blade and the duel carried on. Even as war raged on for hours, Ganondorf retained his poise. His stance was like that of a mountain, never to crumble, only to erupt. The flats of his enormous swords acted as shields against the fury of Link’s attacks, while their edges bore down on the boy like a butcher’s knife. His Master wielded those blades forged in the sword spirit’s shape, but empty of him, to strike down the reincarnation of his foil, almost in mockery. Ganondorf realized the picture he was meant to fulfill, certainly. He was the image of Demise, but as proven time and time again, he was his own man. With such pride came its own tools, resigning Ghirahim to symbolics only, to be by his side as an object of veneration.

But looking upon Zant, carrying the Hylian Princess in his bloodied hands, his world went still. Even he had fulfilled that part of their mission, the Twilight Scimitar as his implement. If Ghirahim didn’t know that sword to be empty, he would have taken its twilit glow to be an insult, a triumphant laugh to have stolen the King of Shadows from him. Ghirahim taught those very hands to grace that hilt, and now that they were wrapped around foreign steel, an entirely new feeling chilled him; sharpened his gaze. It was an emerald, serpentine envy. 

All that time he spent training him to wield this very blade, and now, the fruits of his labor went to that wretched thing. As he had once intended, indeed, but now that his goal was attained, he felt not a shred of satisfaction. He felt robbed, instead. The one to feel the maiden’s blood coursing down his blade should have been him. It was only logical - it was just! 

The surrounding armed forces were split into a perfect crowd. Some were frozen in place, looking on in horror as the bloodied dove that was their Princess hung cradled there in her defeat. Others threw themselves at the Twilight King in almost bestial rage, swords outstretched, had they remembered to wield them in their fury, to strike down the wicked foe that carried her. Yet, none could manage to reach him, being bounced off by a shadowed shield, or ran through by the Demon Lord’s blade, who stood to defend him without even thinking to do so. 

In an odd tranquility, Zant padded over to Ganondorf, the bottom half of his face bared and his lips a mirthless smile. 

But even with the approach of his defeated compatriot, Link did not relent. He took one look at Zelda and his face tightened into a wide-eyed snarl, before throwing himself back at Ganondorf with furious abandon. His adversary merely laughed. Whatever respect he had for his foe was no longer visible on his face. Ganondorf braced his swords, turning them in his hands with flowing sweeps like they weighed no more than paper, to deflect the Master Sword’s glowing strikes. Steel sang and thrummed under the relentless flurry of blows, but all was drowned out by the thunderous laughter from beyond the wall of metal.

Link was fierce, unrelenting. Red stains spread under his tunic where the King did not strike, but where old wounds tore open under sheer strain. Sweat coursed down his face, mingling with the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. His stumble betrayed a pain untold. Yet, none of it stopped him, even as Zant drew closer, the Princess in his arms.

Tiring of the boy’s meddling, Ganondorf glared at him past his massive blade, before whacking the holy sword right out from his hand with one mighty strike. 

Ghirahim knew that alarmed chime better than anyone. He taunted her with a cheerful tone of his own.

Now disarmed, Link seemed undeterred. He wasted not a second before diving back for his blade. He could not get far before Ganondorf’s golden gauntlet clasped around his left wrist. Hyrule’s beloved Hero was lifted into the air kicking and screaming, at the horror of every bystander – all but two. The Gerudo King’s metal-clad fist drove into his ribs, shattering through a glimmering golden barrier and striking chainmail with a sickening crunch. Just like that, Link was silenced, gasping for air that would not enter him, and eyes bulging in their sockets.

And so, with his two servants standing before him in adoration, Ganondorf held his foil in his hand like a hunting trophy, and extended his other, palm turned up, to receive his next piece of destiny.

Zant stepped forward once more. He craned his head to the side, looking at Princess Zelda almost wistfully. All was silent, save nothing but the shifting of fabric, the clanking and jingling of bangles and armor, and the Princess’ strained breathing, as Zant held her out to his King in shaking arms.

Ganondorf snatched her from him without a second thought. Hoisted in the air by her wrist, Zelda still did not stir, dangling limply before her fated companion. That green-clad companion now only had eyes for her. Link stared at her pleading as though worrying enough for her might wake her. 

Whatever sentimentality was about to unfold, The Demon King put a swift stop to it. A pulse of energy burst from him with the clench of his fists around their arms. All troops were forced into silence, with two lieutenants brought to a kneel. Something thrummed in the air, like the warning signs of a thunderstorm, carrying a heavy pressure that stoked the breath. Where the sun had once cast the battlefield in a pale gold, darkness now crept in past the hills, summoned from far and wide to swirl at Ganondorf’s feet.

The bearers of Courage and Wisdom recoiled, writhing and contorting in agony as a golden glow was forced from them. Their captor paid their anguished cries no mind. The light poured from them ever stronger, almost blindingly so. Their magic had a mind of its own, knowing that to be parted from their vessels would be an unprecedented act of wrongness, and kept itself lodged firmly where it sat. It shrieked, struggling to keep itself contained, until at last, it could fight against pure power no longer. 

That same golden glow ripped from them in an instant, and Ganondorf seized up, his head craned to the skies. Wide-set eyes pierced the heavens, their gaze alone boring a hole in the dark clouds that gathered there. A resonant thrum caused the debris on the ground to skip about like grasshoppers, an image so playful yet foreboding. 

That humming grew louder, deeper, until it shook the crowd so deeply all were deafened by the shaking of their own bones, and it burst into a climax. More radiant than ever before, a bright red light flared from the Demon King as if the sun itself stood in their midst. Fierce energy whipped around him like a maelstrom before it shot into the sky, lighting the beacon to signal the beginning of the end. Above it all, Ganondorf laughed.

Drained of their worth, two Hylians were relinquished, and dropped to the ground.

[helix-enterprises117]

John Halo character bio

Name: John Downes

Aliases: "Master Chief" (callsign), "Ranger" and "Jean/Jaune" (out-of-universe nicknames), "The Operative" (by ONI), John-117 and Sierra-117 (serial-designation), "The Demon" (by the Covenant).

Rank: Major

Age and DOB: 22, March 7th 25,530

Abilities:

Enhanced speed, agility, reflexes, reaction-time, endurance and stamina.

145 IQ and skilled in technology and gadgetry.

Multilingual, including alien languages.

(A recent/upcoming upgrade) MIRAGE-IIC suit allows for temporary holo-decoy creation. Also uses Forerunner energy-cells to power it's overshield.

Night-Vision.

Speicalizes in espionage and scouting.

Personality: Don't let his permanent-resting scowl fool you, John is a kind (if a bit gruff) man whose chip-on-his-shoulder is balanced out by his empathy. He's good with kids and offers a lot of advice despite his young age. He was once an over-achieving control-freak in his child and teen years, but he's long since mellowed out.

Backstory: Born and raised in Fort Elysium on the planet Eridanus-II, where Doctor Halsey took him into Spartan Academy, a military-school designed to train gifted children into noble supersoldiers to combat against the Covenant menace, a threat humanity had been battling since 22,222. John lost Eridanus-II weeks after being sworn in, giving him an unquenchable thirst for vengeance. He was the underdog, and while he's the respected Master Chief (his callsign, not his rank) now, his reputation, accolades and position within the United Nations Star Council DID NOT come easy or naturally, as he had to fight and claw his way to the top.

Relationships: Linda-058 (wife, default AU-canon), Raya Muse (alternate wife, OC AU-canon), Cortana (friend and work-partner).

Facts: He's missing his right eye after getting shot with a plasma pistol by a lucky Jackal who saw him with his helmet off.

Official Character Theme:

[stalkerofthegods]

Athena Pallas/Minerva Deep dive

To the wisest of the wise, to the goddess that tells us the wisdom, may we all cheer for her, like how men and women and all equal in war would cheer after victory.

Herbs • Olive tree, Tiger lilies, geranium, oak, cypress, Hellebore (Christmas and Lenten rose), and citrus tree, walnuts, pears

Animals• owl, snake, rooster, griffins, horses (she taught men how to tame horses), female lambs, doves (as a symbol of victory), rams, eagles, tigers, leopards, and other cats (could not find why but many were in agreement.)

Zodiac • She was mostly celebrated in June/July so I would say, Gemini, Cancer, and Leo.

Colors • gold, orange, yellow, emerald green, and royal blue

Crystal• bronze, metal, gold, silver, Azurite, Iolite, ruby, star sapphire, turquoise, lapis lazuli, ivory, Amazonite, Iolite, Bloodstone, Clear Quarterrtz, onyx.

Symbols• owls, olive trees, snakes, the Gorgoneion, golden shield, and helmet, serpents 

Jewelry you can wear in their honor• you can veil in their honor

Diety of • knowledge, knowledge in war, crafting, inspiration, strategy 

Patron of• Military, justice, skills, close combat, good counsel, prudent restrain and practical insight, weaving, and spinning, crocheting, the defense of towns, heroic endeavor, and protection agriculture, she is known in the arts as well with Hephaestus, protectress of the phratries and houses, authority of the law, the order in the courts and the assembly of the people, mathematics, strength, asexuality, librarians, peace, judges, protests, metalwork, birds (called the goddess of the birds), teachers

Offerings• She was sacrificed bulls, rams cows, all female except a lamb, it must be a male lamb, Locrian maidens or children are said to have been sacrificed to her every year as an atonement for the crime committed by the Locrian Ajax upon Cassandra (do not do, just here for historic offerings.), Olives, Bread, Grains, Olive oil, Cakes, Olive tree branches, Owl figurines or imagery, Silver jewelry, Honey, Milk, Books, Strategy games, Quality chess boards, Snake figurines or imagery, Fountain pens, Handmade objects, Clay items ( ex- plates, bowls, vases), Yellow and/or white candles, Yoghurt, Daggers, Swords (including small decorative versions), Devotional poems, Studying, Learning something new, Using what you learn as a way of growing and developing as a person, Standing up for yourself, Improving yourself, Owl pellets, Owl decoys for gardens,Work out clothes/gear, Fidget toys for when you’re working, Brain imagery, Spider imagery, Crafts you have made, Certificates/degrees/awards for achievements, Favorite books/books on mythos or Greece, Knitting/crocheting/crafting materials, Needles, Your glasses, Coffee/tea, Nice pens/pencils, Journals/notebooks, Voting stickers/cards, Spears/swords/daggers/helmets, Protest signs, pears, walnuts, Garlic bread, Start a small side business.

Devotional• Read a book, become a librarian as a summer job, or simply check out or return a book, join a book club, host a book club, learn Battle strategies, learn Wars and how they were won, learn What led to wars being lost, read The Art of War by Sun Tzu, learn about Politics,  Democracy in Ancient Greece, learn about Armor and weapons, Catch and release spiders in your home, do Pottery, learn about Cross stitching and knitting, Tutor someone/get tutoring for areas you need help in, Watch TED talks/listen to educational podcasts, Plan out your day/keep a planner, Thinking before taking action, controlling our anger,  Learn new vocab words, Make your notes pretty, Learn study techniques, Take appropriate study breaks, Do projects for Her, Challenge yourself, Learn grounding techniques, Do your homework, Give up things that are unhealthy for your brain (ex-  smoking cannabis, drinking.), work out, Learn basic first aid, take CPR classes, Take care of your body, Go to protests/advocate

Ephithets• will post later, postponed due to motivational issues, will come soon. 

Equivalents (alike but not the same)• neith (Egyptian), thrud (Norse), Minerva (roman), Athena (Greek) 

Alter• I would not put her alter near Heaphestus, be tried to violate her in a myth, I would not put her alter near Aphrodite because they are known to not get along in myths, but things could have changed. She does work well with heroes, so if you worship Hercules or Perseus I would put her alter near them, I would not put her near Arachne and keep her alter away from spider areas, etc. Keep her altar clean and orderly. She does not like the giant Pallas, he tried to ruin her chastity.

Signs they are reaching out• Encounters with owls, olive trees, or feelings of wisdom and inspiration, seeing owls in the day, going to the library more often, staying after school. 

Vows/omans• to stay a virgin forever, and to change her name 

Number• 6 or 7 and 5 (I couldn't find a website that could agree.)

Morals• Morally lawful

Personality• Strong, endearing, respected, smart, confident, practical, clever, a master of disguises, and a great warrior. Brings Harvard teachers to shame. 

Home• Mount Olympus 

Mortal or immortal • Immortal 

Fact• Some say she invented the flute, she invented the plow, and the rake, borrows tools from Zeus to do war saves people when fate counts on it, she repels Ares, some say Athena’s full name is Pallas Athena, but they say she added the name Pallas to hers after she accidentally mortally injured her friend Pallas during a practice session in her youth.  Athena was seen naked bathing, she felt bad for the man, she covered his eyes and made him blind, making him an oracle.

Curses• blindness, more spiders, spilling tea, dyslexia getting harder, losing ur glasses, no one knowing who you're dressed as during Halloween, getting into fights, unjust detentions, no one showing up to class, getting fired as a teacher or librarian (unjustly), dropping books and learning stuff all of the sudden, forgetting materials that you learned on your test, your quizzes and tests get lost.

Blessings• remembering test materials, witty replies in arguments, detentions all of the sudden going away, getting into your dream college, getting into a book club, finding ur books, getting a librarian or teacher or tutor job.

Roots• Greek, near the river Triton born after or in the Titanomachy era.

Friends• Pallas (her friend growing up)

Parentage• Some say Poseidon then she went to Zeus after a dispute and became his daughter, and some say metis and Zeus, some say Hepeastus.

Siblings• Artemis, Aphrodite, the Muses, the Graces, Ares, Apollo, Dionysus, Hebe, Hermes, Heracles, Helen of Troy, Hephaestus, Minos, Perseus, and Porus.

Children• She does not have any romantic lovers, but she has adopted children, who are, Erikhthonios/Erichthonius.

Pet• one white and three dark horse and an owl, (she shares a chariot with Artemis) 

Appearance in astral or gen•  a stately woman armed with a shield and spear, and wearing a long robe, crested helm, and the famed aigis with the the Gorgon Medusa on a shield

Festivals • The cleansing Festival/Plynteria and Kallynteria Festival, the threshing festival/Skira Festival, the festival of Minerva/Minor Quinquatrus, The panatheanaea/Athena Festival, The Vintage festivalOschophoria Festival, the artisans Festival/Chalkeia Festival.

Day • she does not have any day of the week, the 23 of each month, and the first day. 

Sacred places• The Parthenon on the Acropolis of Athens is dedicated to her, and Athens.

Status• Wisdom goddess, One of the major theoi and goddesses in Greek mythology 

What angers her • If you stop worshiping her, I would clean up and part respectfully and know she understands, she does not like the sudden removal of an alter and the trashing of one.

The music she likes• classical and lo-fi study music.

Planet• Pallas Athene (minor planet) and the Asteroids 93 Minerva and 2 Pallas

Her Tarot cards• queen of swords, queen of wands, justice card, balance card

Remind me of• the saying “hitting the books” and someone actually throwing books, twilight from My Little Pony, Dead Trees (books)

Scents/Inscene • Patchouli, dragon’s blood, musk, indigo, orange blossom, cinnamon, and cedarwood

My opinion • She's cool.

Prayers• 

Prayer To Athena by Liz “Morning Dove” La Posta

Oh, wise Athena with your spear and shield, protect me and my family from injustice and harm. Council me with your wisdom so that I may make the best decisions. Grant me success in my endeavors, but keep me humble so that I might not become condescending to others. I thank you for the many times you have guided me on my Path. Share with me your mysteries and I will do my best to follow. Athena my Goddess, I pray this in your sacred name, and I vow to always be your faithful dedicant.

Prayer to Athena for Wisdom

Clear-eyed Athena, unrivaled in wisdom, daughter of Zeus and Metis whose craft and wit excelled among the mighty Titans: Athena, I pray to you. Wise in all things you are, goddess; your cunning and guile are well known. In time of war you have no equal in tactics or in strategy; many armies have you guided to victory. In time of peace your blessings fall on those whose work is of the mind–friend of the philosopher, the scientist, the student. Advisor of kings, patron of clever heroes and bold-hearted adventurers, defender of the thinker, mistress of reason and understanding, goddess to whom a strong arm and a sharp sword are nothing without the sense to wield them well and the insight to know when words are worth more than weapons. Athena, grant me a sound mind and steady temper, bless me with good judgment, show me the long view.

Links/websites/sources •seleniangnosis https://www.theoi.com/Cult/AthenaTitles.htmlhttps://www.britannica.com/topic/Athena-Greek-mythology https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Athenahttps://www.perseus.tufts.edu/Herakles/athena.html https://www.theoi.com/Olympios/Athena.html

https://www.worldhistory.org/athena/#google_vignettehttps://greekgodsandgoddesses.net/goddesses/athena/https://olympioi.com/greek-gods/athenahttps://ilfiorello.com/athena-the-importance-of-the-name/https://www.theoi.com/Cult/AthenaTitles.htmlhttp://www.goddess-athena.org/Encyclopedia/Rituals/Festivals/index.htm ATHENA'S BIRTH ON THE NIGHT OF THE DARK MOON - JSTOR 881 Athene - Wikipedia Athena | Olympian Goddess of Wisdom | Born from Zeus SkullGoddess Gift https://www.crystalvaults.com/goddess-athena/#:~:text=Crystals%20such%20as%20Azurite%2C%20Iolite,Athena%20can%20bring%20to%20you.Athena: Greek Goddess Of Wisdom And Craftsmanshiphttps://www.museandmoonstone.com/blogs/blog/crystals-goddess-athenaThoughtCohttps://www.thoughtco.com › what...What Are the Symbols of the Greek Goddess Athena?numeralgame.64g.ruhttp://www.numeralgame.64g.ru › ...Numerology and ancient Greek myths. Pythagorean numerological number 5. Goddess Gifthttps://goddessgift.com › goddessesAthena: Greek Goddess Of Wisdom And Craftsmanship Number Seven Facts, Symbolism & Meaning - Study.com Holy And Unholy Numbers - Street Directory Athena: Greek Goddess Of Wisdom And Craftsmanshipseleniangnosis travelingthief Titanomachy Definition, Myth & Impact - Study.com Athena Siblings - 1379 Words | Internet Public Library - IPL.org Athena Justice, Mythology Tarot Enamel Pin - LitJoy Crate Inner Goddess Tarothttps://innergoddesstarot.com › go...Goddesses in Tarot: Athenahttps://www.hellenion.org/athena/prayer-to-athena/https://www.tumblr.com/tarotbee

I use resources, I do not own the info, and most deep dives have UPG (that I use in my work.) And I only take some information from sources. I am 14, this is my hobby, I am learning but I spent many hours and days on this, and I am always open to criticism. I have been doing worship for 5 years. Please know you can use the info, I do not sue, but I will take action if this work is used without permission and not put as a resource if used in any work. without permisson and not put as a resource if used in any work, for the public.

[pessimisticshapewithablog]

Lamb OC: 'Woolhelmina' masterpost

Wilhelmina (english Guillaumine (lol))

"will helmet" or "willing to protect"

Woolhelmina's cult is one of safety and protection, the protection that her people never received.

Current design, it's changed a lot but I've slowed down iterating it. Her character is pretty cemented at this point.

Learn more about her below!

Backstory

 Woollamina is the twin sister of the canon lamb, Lambert. She was taken as a baby and raised Ratau on TOWWs command. Because she was a twin, is wasn't certain which of them was the prophesied Lamb, so TOWW ordered her to be taken and kept hidden. 'If she was not then at least she would be able to bear more lambs' was his reasoning. 

Lambert was left to their fate as decoy for the bishops to believe they'd killed the last lamb and prevented the prophecy from happening. Thus giving Woollamine time to grow and develop as TOWW's chosen vessel.

Mina's story revolves around her keeping her status as the God of Death hidden. She spent entire life serving TOWW but she never got to be a regular person. When he's "gone" she can actually start living her life. But then another thing stopped her. She's a god now, with new responsibilities and obligations.

Some magic stave designs

Vessel of Red Crown

 Mina saw TOWW as a secondary father figure rather than a god and sought his approval constantly. The reason she wears her wool in ringlets is because it's what she thought he would like. Having that much wool is actually dangerous for irl sheep and is a fire and drowning hazard. She's risking her safety and wellbeing for a crumb of his approval.

TOWW and the dynamic with his followers is one big unhealthy family lol. Ratau is the useful disappointment

Aym and Baal are the golden children who are sorta useless but TOWW favors them because they look the most like him.

Mina is the scapegoat only daughter who bears the brunt of the responsibility for freeing TOWW but gets none of the accolades. 

TOWW is the overbearing patriarch that everyone tries to please but he's too far up his own ass to see that they actually do care about him. He has a new 'family' of sorts that actually loves him to some degree but is too emotionally unavailable to acknowledge that. His failed sibling relationship caused him to keep his new 'found family' at an emotional distance.

Woolhelmina's Wool

The reason Woollamina grows her 'hair' and 'skirt' long is because she believed TOWW liked the way it looked on her. Specifically because he commented on it once when visiting him. It was during a particularly bad winter and Mina decided it was best to keep her wool long for extra insulation. Mina is a wensleydale sheep so her wool grew long already but she never kept it because wool is hot and heavy. TOWW rarely if ever made comments about anything not related to his goals of attaining freedom so his little remark meant alot to Mina.

 The thing is, having such long wool all the time is very dangerous for a sheep because it makes it hard for them to cool down and is a drowning hazard. Even though she can swim, her wool will weigh her down. I like to think of this as a reflection of her devotion to TOWW.

Wool Care

Because Woollamina's is a longwool breed, her wool requires special care to maintain its crimp and luster. She can't use soaps or shampoo on her wool as they would strip her skin and wool of its natural lanolin. She does use it sparingly to maintain proper hygiene, though.

Because of the extensive care that goes into her long, white wool and hairstyle, Mina is *very* hesitant to get dirty. Bathing excessively runs the risk of ruining her wool and drying completely, with all her wool takes days with magical assistance.

It's cold and damp, she has to dry it asap or risk fungas and unwanted plant growth. ( Seeds will readily sprouts on sufficiently moist wool, whether it's attached to a sheep or not lol.)

Most of, if not all, of Mina's clothes and bedsheets are made with silk to protect her wool from friction damage. (I'm thinking about adding silk bloomers to her wardrobe and fit. They are awesome for chub rub lol)

[ggomos-maribat]

Soul-Stitching: The Heir and the Guardian

Masterlist

Chapter 5: death and revival | AO3

CW: Human experimentation, mentions of religion, cult-like behavior, child abuse, childhood trauma, mentions of death, grief, killing, blood, violence, injury

“Adrien, why are you screaming—oh.” A girl steps up to the top floor, and her face instantly morphs into disgust when she sees him. Her hand reaches up to her choker necklace. “It’s him.” 

“Who?” The boy, Adrien, turns to her wide-eyed after stepping over the spilled milk and cereal.

“Damian al Ghul. Or should we address you as Wayne?” 

Damian takes a tentative step back, looking down on himself to realize that he rushed out of Gotham without a mask on. But his head snaps up when it dawns on him that the girl called him ‘al Ghul’, which means they must have heard it from Marie. 

Which means she hasn't forgotten. 

“ That Damian?” Adrien puts a hand over his mouth. “Wait what's he doing here anyway?” 

“I don't know, but it might have something to do with that thing she's telling us.” 

Before Damian can try to comprehend what that meant, another figure emerges from the shadows. 

Marie. Marinette. 

What is she doing here? Damian is frozen with shock. 

Marie seems surprised by his presence as well, but she quickly schools her expression and stands behind her two friends.

“Should we kick him out, M'lady?” Adrien frowns. 

She sighs. “No. I'll talk to him. Kagami, please help Adri clean up the spill. I'll pass a message to Fei that we have a guest.” 

---

Damian follows her quietly down a winding flight of stairs, with only a bit of the moonlight guiding them. His eyes end up on her hand, which braces against the wall—there are crimson marks around her wrist.  When she doesn't utter another word, he breaks the silence himself instead, “What are you doing here?” 

She halts and turns back to him, making him stumble back. Her eyes shimmer more luminously in the dark. “I escaped for a while. There's a decoy up in the Watchtower.” 

That explains one of the questions he had. She can escape on her own after all. Of course, he's not telling the others this. She must have been shaken up after the memory projection. 

They reach a landing that extends into a carpeted hallway. If the place isn't so dark or badly damaged, the temple's design can rival that of the League. She leads him to a set of double doors and into her bedroom. 

“What are you doing here?” asks Marinette. 

“I—I saw what they did . . . and um, the Order . . .” He trails off, hoping that she can fill in the blanks. 

She sits down and beckons him over. Normally, he wouldn't blindly follow anyone, even if he has known her in his childhood. But something about the temple makes him feel safe. It's not enticing , but rather comforting. It's like his entire being knows there's no danger around him. 

“If you're looking for the Order of the Guardians, I killed them,” she says plainly. 

“What?” 

“I guess I should start from the beginning huh?” 

---

The Waynes decide to give Damian his space and instead focus on investigating the case. Mainly, it's Barbara immersing herself into research, with Tim helping in the sidelines. Five hours later, she calls everyone to the cave. 

“Where's the old man?” Jason strolls in, tugging off his helmet. 

Dick pulls his lips into a thin line. “Watchtower still. I think the JL is investigating on their own too.” 

“Well, he has to be here, ‘cause this is all fucked up.” Jason leans against the railing as the rest of the family gathers around Barbara. 

“What do you mean? You're caught up in this case too?” Tim is about to lift his cup to his lips but Cass is quick to snatch it away from him. 

“I asked Jay to look into it too,” Barbara explains calmly. Her tiredness is evident in her eyes, but it's coupled with an air of rage. “Marinette's past is more complicated than we think.” 

“There is a small village in Tibet inherently blessed by the gods. The records date to several hundred years ago,” she begins. “Every two decades or so, a child called the ‘Guardian’ is born in that village. They possess every power we know that is manifested through the miraculi.” 

She pulls up several pictures: a few photos of children, but most are paintings. A striking feature appears as a pattern. “The Guardian always has these blue eyes. They're not from any specific family; the children appear randomly from different lineages. And there can only be one of them at a time. If the previous Guardian dies, a new one is reborn.” 

---

“My eyes . . .” 

“They weren't as blue,” Damian breathes out. 

Marinette touches the corner of her eyes, chuckling humorlessly. “Yeah, they weren't. This is where the Order of the Guardians come in. They operate under the guise of a religious group who worship the Guardian and the gods so that tragedy doesn't befall the village. Every time a new Guardian turns four, they fetch the child from the village.” 

---

“In reality, they're just a sick disgusting cult of old men,” Jason spits out. “People who know about the miraculi believe that they came from a mage that put the power of the kwamis into the magic jewel. That's bull. The Guardian is the source of that power.” 

Stephanie draws in a shaky breath. “So . . . so when they were drawing blood . . .” 

“It's some kind of ritual,” Barbara continues. The tension in the air multiplies. “With magic, the blood mixed with an accessory creates a miraculous.” 

“But each miraculous is only one of its kind,” Dick points out. “Unless there are duplicates?” 

“The ritual doesn't work all the time, that's why they have to—to experiment which methods will work to combine the jewel with the power.” 

---

Damian swallows a lump in his throat as Marinette speaks monotonously about the Order. “The monks weren't strategizers so they usually tried every variation of the ritual they could think of. For instance, to extract the power of Emotion—the Peacock—should they make the Guardian cry? Should they anger the child or subject them into an assortment of emotions? What about the power of Destruction? Will breaking every bone in their body work?” 

He hasn't noticed how hard he's clutching the sheets. 

“Multiply that with the variations in the jewels. Which power will work with earrings? A necklace? That's one vial of blood for each variation.” Marinette rubs her arm. “Over the course of seventy years, they ran their experiments and created all the miraculi you know that showed up in Paris.”

“That's why they're unique,” Damian mumbles. 

“Not entirely. Some of the ‘failed’ jewels worked, only they don't possess even half of the Guardian's power. They are like . . . disposable miraculi. Their power can only be used once and it doesn't even transform the user. The Order produced hundreds of these—they call them miraculous-adjacents.” 

How many children did they sacrifice? He wishes he can revive the Order just to subject them to torture himself. 

“How did you end up in . . .?”

---

“How does Marinette fit into all of this?” Dick asks. 

“She's a Guardian, isn't she?” Tim guesses. 

“It's not as straightforward as that.” Barbara adjusts her glasses, opening another file: a picture of a dark-haired girl with bright blue eyes. 

Yet it's not Marinette. 

“Like you saw in the memory projection, Marinette came from the League of Assassins. There's a League base not too far from the temple; it's where she and Damian escaped from. When she died, I'm guessing they found her body. This girl was the Guardian at that time.” 

---

“She didn't have a name. Guardians usually weren't given one. She fell into a coma because of their experiments,” Marinette leans back. 

“Did they not kill her?” 

“They can't draw any more blood or directly kill her, because they risk waiting for years until a new Guardian is born. I don't know the exact rebirth cycle—the life expectancies of Guardians are already low but that girl was too young to die. Bottomline is, they refused to kill her but they couldn't wake her up either.” Marinette waves her hands around. “Lucky for them I guess, they found me.” 

Dread settles on Damian's chest. “But you . . .” 

“Were dead? Yes, but I had the body strong enough to withstand the Guardian's power. They performed one important ritual. I'm not sure exactly how they did it, because I was—obviously–busy being dead, but they joined the two of us somehow. Her soul, my body. When I woke up, everything was healed–my leg, the wound from the knife, my scars. I had memories that weren't my own but at the same time, I knew I lived through them. They called me a vessel.” 

He can only imagine the confusion, the stress taking a toll on her that time. 

“You—you don't have to tell me if it's too much,” Damian stammers. 

“What? No, it's okay. I owe you this much.” She seems surprised at his interjection. “I've told this story a few times already.” 

He gives a nod and she continues, “Even if I was healed, I was still weak from the cold and hunger. I stayed quiet the whole time, gathered as much information as I could, and let them get blood from me. One day, I saw an opening.” 

She pauses. 

“I killed them.”

She waits. Perhaps for judgment from him? 

“I killed them all, Master. I had all the powers at my disposal anyway. I knew I was an assassin first before a Guardian, so I made sure I got rid of all of them. I made this temple into what it is today.” 

Damian remembers seeing the powers of Destruction manifested through the ring in the videos of the akuma attacks. She must wield a greater degree of power than that. He moves closer to her and takes her hands into his, telling her slowly, “I would've done the same.” 

“Master–” 

“Do not call me that,” he cuts in. “You cannot call me that after what I've done to you.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“It's my fault you died.” Damian starts to shake. “I treated you terribly even when you protected me. I was too arrogant to see that you were in pain—” 

“What are you talking about?” Marinette frowns, this time covering his hands with hers. “You never treated me badly. You were the reason I remained in the League.” 

“I . . .” 

She runs her fingers over his knuckles. “You protected me even if I was weak. You made sure I ate and slept. You would protect me in fights just as I tried to protect you.” 

---

“Climb on my back.” Damian crouches in front of the girl. He has noticed her labored breaths since they started walking through the snow. 

“Master, I can't possibly—” 

“It's faster this way. They made you work too hard, didn't they?” he hisses. “I will tell Mother this time. You have no other business in the bases except to serve me.” 

Marie reluctantly goes on his back, locking her arms around his neck and burying his face on his shoulder. His breath hitches when he realizes how light she has become. 

---

“Why are you sitting over there?” 

She blinks at him. “To guard the entrance, Master. You can go ahead and sleep.” 

“No. Stay here by the fire.” 

“But what if the enemies—” 

Damian sighs and digs into the backpack to retrieve the heat packs. He tosses two to her and tells her to wake him up at midnight so they can switch. But when he wakes up, he finds that it is dawn and Marie has dozed off by the cave opening, shivering. 

“Tt. Foolish girl.” He rushes to wrap her up in a blanket before carrying her into the sleeping bag and taking her place. 

---

“Marie!” Overcome with panic, he kills the assassin quickly and tosses him over the edge of the cliff. He tries to look for the backpack but then she grabs him by the sleeve. 

“I'm sorry, Master . . . it fell when I was . . .” she sniffs. 

“Ssh, none of that.” His heart is racing as he tries to look for a makeshift bandage and splint. 

“Please don't worry about me. We have to go—” 

“I will worry. What were you thinking? Why didn't you wake me?” He hoists her up again, taking care not to move her injured foot. 

---

“Master—I mean Damian. ” Marinette reaches up to cup his cheek. “Have you forgotten?” 

A sob comes out of him. It all starts coming back—his dreams have overshadowed his memories, painting him as the ruthless child who was indifferent to Marie. He was too overridden by guilt to remember correctly. He starts to cry while inwardly scolding himself for forgetting everything. 

She doesn't say a word but lends her shoulder, holding him close. Damian realizes it has never felt this liberating to cry. 

“I never blamed you for anything,” she whispers. “I did it to myself.” 

“I’m sorry—” 

“It's not your fault.” Her voice is close to his ear. “It's okay. I'm okay now.” 

---

“There's no record of what happened to Marinette after she was taken by the Order,” says Jason, “But after a year or so, she was found walking into the village alone. There was no blood on her or anything but she didn't speak at all. The monks weren't seen again after that and the temple was abandoned. Protective services picked her up months later.” 

“This is all just a theory, but she could have gained the powers of the Guardian.” Barbara rubs her head. “Must be why Constantine was so alarmed.” 

“So the Hawkmoth thing . . . actually checks out?” Stephanie says. 

Jason scoffs in reply. “No, it's the opposite of that. If she had the powers of the miraculi at her disposal, why the hell would she terrorize a city?” 

“Jason and I found another reason for the evidence against her,” Barbara explains. “Marinette is the Guardian in the sense of her powers, but also in the sense of being the keeper of the magical jewels.” 

“Marinette is—” 

---

“I'm Ladybug, by the way.” 

Damian's eyes widen while he tries to wipe the last of his tears. “Why didn't you say that in court?” 

“We had a plan, don't worry.” She smiles a little. “It's also dangerous to reveal my identity that easily. I have more duties to fulfill as Guardian.” 

“Duties?” 

←Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Did I just make Marinette Gojo Satoru? Yes. Yes I did. Taglist: @noisydreamlandkoala

[lambsouvlaki]

For the Hell of it - Yearning

Character: Jason Todd x civilian! Fem!oc

Rating and Warnings: G, no warnings

Word Count: 1,752

Summary: Jason brings her to his home for the first time when her water goes out. He realises how much he likes having her here.

Masterlist

--------

Jason rode through slick wet streets, dodging potholes and squinting through the heavy rain streaking across a black motorbike helmet. The downpour made the afternoon look darker than it was, night had fallen over Gotham prematurely. The yellow gleam of sodium lights caught on the falling rain drops and made everything shiny. 

He turned into the college campus and pulled up at the bus stop. It was empty of all but one person. 

Andy stood under a black umbrella, the strong current of rainwater on the sidewalk making little eddies around her kneehigh boots. Her eyes widened at him for a moment. There was no point trying to say anything in the downpour, but neither did they need to. She reached into her backpack for her own helmet and pulled it on. She dumped the umbrella in a nearby bin and darted back to him through the rain.

He felt the bike’s suspension bounce with the added weight as she swung up behind him. Her legs bracketed his, then his back was sheltered from the freezing rain. 

He tilted his head in an unspoken question. She squeezed his waist in answer. 

He took off into the gloom. 

The roads were emptier than they would have been at this hour on any other day. That was why he was here, picking her up. 

Killer Croc broke out of Arkham three weeks ago. The hunt through the sewers had been long and frustrating, and only this morning did it finally come to a head. They got him, in the end, but the fight put both Bruce and Dick out of commission as well as a significant portion of the east’s plumbing. Literal explosions of wastewater had been flowing back out of pipes all day. All things considered, the heavy rain was a mercy. 

Andy’s part of the alley wouldn’t have running water for at least twenty four hours. It was a good thing Jason’s main apartment was across the river in the business district. 

They crossed the bridge, and he felt her looking around at their route.

He had never actually shown her his apartment before. He didn’t really bring anyone there. Roy and Lian were cleared to visit but usually he went to them. Bruce and assorted bats knew where it was, but didn’t visit unless they were actively dying. He was very protective over his space and made it perfectly clear how he felt about gate crashers. 

He pulled off a side street into the parking garage beneath his building. It was one of the taller buildings on this block and right on the edge of the river. 

Andy peeled herself off of his back and he missed the warmth, wet though they were. The damp front of her leather jacket made a horrible ‘shlorp’ sound unsticking from his. 

She pulled off her helmet and looked around. Damp strands of her hair stuck to her face and he resisted the urge to brush them away. 

“So, where are we and why?” she asked. 

He gestured towards the elevator and explained the situation as he followed her. 

 “This is your place then?” Her eyebrow rose. “You didn’t go out and rent a decoy one for the occasion?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not that much of a paranoid bastard.”

“Debatable.” 

“I wasn’t going to let you come home only to find you have nowhere safe to stay for the night,” he said quietly. He stopped, then started again quickly. “Not that you have to stay here, if you don’t want to. Just… the offer’s there. If you need it.”

“Jason, I’m not complaining. Thank you. Marlow’s staying with a friend for the week, thank goodness, I probably would have tried to grin and bear it.” 

“That’s how you get cholera outbreaks.”

The elevator pinged as it reached his level and the doors slid open. He had the entire floor to himself, all the other apartments were empty. He held open the door to his place. 

It had tall ceilings, an exposed brick wall, and a slightly industrial air to it that he liked. It could feel kind of austere sometimes though and he would find himself walking quieter than he needed to through the empty space. 

They both unzipped wet jackets and boots, and left them to dry on the hooks by the door, then walked barefoot into the main apartment. Andy looked around with wide eyes. He found himself unusually nervous. She would probably be cold, she usually was, so he turned the heating on. 

She passed the wall of weapons to admire a forged painting he and Artemis had picked up in Vienna while pretending to be black market art dealers. 

“I can’t believe you’re out here hogging my ratty couch when you have a place like this.”

“Your couch has been properly broken in. Much better for hogging.”

She scoffed, and brushed her damp hair back from her face. Her wet blouse pulled against her chest. 

He cleared his throat. “I’ll get you some dry clothes. Guest bathroom’s through there.”

All he had to offer were his own clothes. She would be swimming in them, but he hadn’t thought to stop and grab any of her clothes in advance. Maybe she should keep some things here? He kept a hoodie at her place, and had a mug in her cupboard which he had claimed as his. She sent him photos of her drinking coffee from it when he was annoying her. 

She took the clothes he offered and disappeared into the bathroom. He heard the shower turn on soon after. He towelled himself off in the ensuite then got busy with making dinner. 

Sometime later, he heard soft footfalls padding around behind him. 

“You’re sure you’re alright with me staying?” she asked.

“Of course,” he called while plating a beef stir fry. “How many times have I passed out on your couch? Besides, with Bruce and Dick both injured I’ll be out most of the night anyway.” 

He turned around with two bowls of food and caught sight of her. Her hair was frizzy with a recent blowdry and piled on top of her head. She was wearing his much too large hoodie and sweatpants, with the pant legs rolled up many times to avoid dragging on the floor. He smirked.  

“Don’t you laugh at me,” she said, and flapped a too-long sleeve at him. 

He chuckled and put the food down on the dining table. Normally he only sat here to work on his weapons and ate on the couch. The spirit of Alfred that lived in the back of his head would never let him do that with a guest here. 

Andy perched on a chair adjacent to him and they tucked in. 

Sheets of rain ran down the floor to ceiling windows next to them. The scattered lights of the Alley, the Narrows, and the Bowery glowed across the river, occasionally lit up with flashes of lightning. The apartment didn’t feel so empty and austere with her there. They talked casually about the day's escapades, rehearsals for a production of Lysistrata for her, and punching a crocodile man for him.

“Gotham’s yours tonight then?” she asked after they had finished eating and both pushed their bowls away. 

“Yup, I get to clean up the mess this week,” he said. “Probably be on the quieter side from the worst of the dress ups, nobody likes to be an underwhelming second act, but that’s when organised crime spikes.”

“Oh yeah? Everybody getting bright ideas?”

“The same bright ideas they always have. Me and the kids will keep them on their toes.”

“How does Tim feel about you calling him a kid?”

“Fucking hates it. Almost as much as Damian.”

She laughed.

He smiled and leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. The patter of the rain and the unusual warmth in the house was extremely relaxing. He couldn’t think why he’d waited so long to invite her over, it was… it was so nice. He let his eyes close for a moment. 

When he opened them again she was retreating with the dishes. 

“Hey!”

“You snooze, you lose,” she called, disappearing into the kitchen. “You want a cup of tea?”

“Na, I’ve got to head out on patrol soon anyway.” They had established patterns for this from all his visits to her place. Whoever cooked didn’t wash up. The sounds of the sink running drifted out from the kitchen. He hauled himself up to his feet and off to the bedroom. 

When he re-emerged, fully kitted-out in armour except for his helmet and shoes, Andy was sitting on his couch making notes in a textbook. She had a pencil shoved into her hair and her feet tucked in beneath her. A steaming cup of chamomile sat steeping on the coffee table. The rain hadn’t slowed down and through the windows there was nothing but glowing smudges in the dark. 

He chose his weapons for the night from the cabinet and tucked them away on his person. He expected leaving to be harder with her here and the apartment bright and warm for once. Instead he felt emboldened to venture out into the cold and wet. She was somewhere safe and he could worry about everything else. She would be here when he got back. He sat next to the door to put on his boots. 

She got up and padded over to him, cradling her steaming mug.

“Be careful,” she said. “Don’t catch a cold.” 

He looked up at her as he did up his laces. “I’m gonna go frustrate as many rifle-toting mobsters as I can, and you’re worried about colds?”

She took a sip of her tea. “Bullets aren’t contagious.” 

He scoffed. She smirked. He wanted to kiss it off her annoying face. 

He stood and grabbed his helmet. She looked smaller than usual, dwarfed in his clothes, here to see him off. Her expression softened into a smile. “Be safe though.”

The warm pleasantness he had been feeling all night finally revealed its true face as bone-deep yearning. It grasped him by the throat. Yearning for her, for this, for it all to be real. 

What were they playing at with this domesticity? Pretending she was his to come home to? 

He put his helmet on and choked down the sudden acid in his throat. 

“Don’t wait up,” he said. The voice modulator disguised the turmoil in his voice, and he disappeared out the door.

Part 2>>

[usafphantom2]

Electronic Warfare Systems On Ukraine’s F-16s Getting Specially Tuned To Russian Threats By USAF

The U.S. is using its highly classified threat library to improve the chances of survival for Ukraine's F-16 and to gather critical intel in return.

Joseph Trevithick Posted on Aug 26, 2024 8:15 PM EDT

Before the Ukrainian Air Force received its first batch of F-16 Viper fighters, the U.S. Air Force helped optimize electronic warfare (EW) systems on those jets against Russian threats.

Ukrainian Air Force

Before the Ukrainian Air Force received its first batch of F-16 Viper fighters, the U.S. Air Force helped optimize the electronic warfare (EW) systems on those jets to defend against Russian threats. As part of ongoing collaboration on this front, the Ukrainians will pass data they collect in real combat back to the United States to help further refine and improve electronic warfare capabilities available to both countries, as well as other allies and partners.

The U.S. Air Force’s 68th Electronic Warfare Squadron (EWS) at Eglin Air Force Base in Florida, part of the service’s 350th Spectrum Warfare Wing led the reprogramming effort in collaboration with its counterparts in Denmark and Norway. Earlier this month, the Ukrainian Air Force showed off some of its initial tranche of F-16s, which includes ex-Danish and Dutch examples, at least some of which have specialized pylons with integrated self-protection systems, as you can read more about here.

At the time of writing, Denmark and the Netherlands, along with Belgium and Norway, are collectively planning to send Ukraine approximately 91 F-16AM/BMs in the coming years. This includes another six ex-Dutch jets pledged just today. A portion of these aircraft will be used as sources of spare parts for the others. There have also been reports that Greece may commit an additional 30 F-16C/D variants.

“With the third-party transfer of F-16s by Denmark, Norway, and the Netherlands to Ukraine, another EW capability is joining the fight for Ukraine,” the Air Force said today in a release on the 68th Electronic Warfare Squadron’s work. The electronic capability in question is not named, but it is described as one not currently in U.S. inventory.

As already mentioned, at least some of Ukraine’s initial tranche of F-16s have been spotted with pylons from defense contractor Terma in Denmark that have built-in approach warning sensors and that can be fitted with electronic warfare jammers, as well as dispensers for decoy flares and chaff. The pylons are tied to the jet’s internal self-protection suite to provide synergistic effects. It is worth noting that the Air Force has acquired similar pylon-based systems for its F-16s in the past, but without any express mention of integrated jammers.

An annotated image of a Ukrainian F-16 showing it equipped with 4 AIM-9s and a Terma pylon with integrated self-protection features. The inset at bottom left also shows a pilot wearing a Joint Helmet Mounting Cueing System (JHMCS). Ukrainian Ministry of Defense capture

A chart showing Terma’s various pylon offerings and their respective features. Terma

Regardless, the Air Force says unfamiliarity with the electronic warfare system in question, together with “the timeline needed to optimize these EW systems to meet the delivery date of the aircraft,” presented challenges for the 68th EWS.

“Relying on data provided by Denmark and Norway, then adapting new processes and approaches to the usual process, the team was able to understand the system and start their work. After understanding the system, the 68th EWS deviated again from normal methods and sent its members overseas to a partner-nation lab to collaboratively develop and test the system alongside coalition teammates,” according to the Air Force’s release. “By working alongside partner nations, the 68th EWS was able to test and verify the unique elements required by the Ukrainians and even improve the reprogramming processes by all parties.”

“This is not our standard operating procedure,” an unnamed individual described as “the 68th EWS director,” said in a statement in today’s release. “The fact that the team was able to figure out the system in two weeks, go in-country with a partner to develop a best-ever mission data file is unheard of and is thanks to the talent here in the squadron and the wing.”

Specific details about what the reprogramming entailed are not provided, but for electronic warfare systems to work most effectively, they have to be able to accurately detect, categorize, and respond to waveforms using the data in their built-in threat library. As such, operators behind air defense radars and other emitters have now long relied on tactics like switching between different operating modes, hopping frequencies, and/or taking other actions to alter the output signature to help reduce vulnerability to electronic warfare attacks.

In turn, electronic warfare systems have to be routinely reprogrammed to update their databanks to respond to evolving threats. The electronic warfare threat libraries available to U.S. forces are one of the biggest advantages available to America’s armed forces. As part of work on so-called cognitive electronic warfare capabilities, the U.S. Air Force and other branches of the U.S. military are also working to increasingly automate and otherwise accelerate various aspects of the reprogramming process, including the ability to push out upgrades rapidly, including to forward-deployed units or even aircraft in flight. Electronic warfare suites capable of adapting autonomously in real-time, even during missions, is the absolute “holy grail” of the concept, which you can read more about here.

Contractors with the 68th Electronic Warfare Squadron prepare the Advanced Integrated Defense Electronic Warfare System test lab for a test run. Members of the Advanced Systems Flight of the 68th EWS work closely with their foreign customers to facilitate future requirements so their mission data can be tailored to the ever-changing threat environment and define the customer’s necessities to build future products. USAF

Last year, now-retired Air Force Col. Craig Andrle, whose last posting was as commander of the 388th Fighter Wing, shared a particularly relevant anecdote with Air Force Times about how the current process works and its importance. At the time, F-35A Joint Strike Fighters assigned to his wing had recently returned from a deployment to Europe where they had flown patrols near Russia.

“We’re looking at an SA-20. I know it’s an SA-20. Intel says there’s an SA-20 there, but now my jet doesn’t ID it as such, because that SA-20 is operating, potentially, in a war reserve mode that we haven’t seen before,” Andrle explained, using the NATO reporting name for certain versions of the Russian-made S-300 surface-to-air missile system.

Elements of a Russian S-300 surface-to-air missile system. Russian Ministry of Defense

“The F-35 flagged the object for troops who updated and re-uploaded the data into the jet,” Air Force Times‘ report added. “After that, NATO aircraft knew what they were looking at and how to geolocate it.”

The F-35’s electronic warfare suite is already extremely powerful, much more so than the capabilities that are found on Ukraine’s second-hand F-16s, and has an impressive secondary capability to collect and fuse electronic intelligence. That data is also highly classified, limiting who the U.S. government can share it with and where programming work can be done physically, which is then where units like the 68th EWS come in. The squadron is a focal point for electronic warfare reprogramming, and not just within the U.S. Air Force, but elsewhere across the U.S. military and in support of foreign allies and partners.

As of 2022, the 350th Spectrum Warfare Wing overall handled “mission data or reprogramming… for over 70 systems for over 40 countries,” Col. Josh Koslov, then commander of the wing, told The War Zone in an interview that year. You can find the full exclusive interview, which provides deeper details about the 350th’s work, here.

A member of the 16th Electronic Warfare Squadron, another unit with the 350th Spectrum Warfare Wing, analyzes radio frequency signals at the B-1 Lab at Eglin Air Force Base in Florida. (This photo has been altered for security purposes by blurring out portions of monitors). USAF

The electronic warfare partnership between the United States and Ukraine won’t end with the reprogramming of the systems on the F-16s being delivered to the latter country, either.

“With Ukraine now being onboarded as an official foreign military sales [FMS] case for the 68th EWS, the unit will provide reprogramming capabilities based on feedback from the Ukrainians,” according to the release from the Air Force today. “Traditionally, feedback from FMS cases is derived from training environments; this case will provide combat-tested data to improve capabilities.”

Like so many things about Ukraine’s incoming F-16s, it is important to stress that the U.S. Air Force’s reprogramming of their electronic warfare systems won’t make them work perfectly against all threats. Still, they could offer a critical edge in survivability for Ukraine’s Air Force, which is operating in one of the densest active air defense environments we have seen.

“One F-16 with a reprogrammed [electronic warfare] pod won’t achieve air dominance alone, but it may give you a pocket of air superiority for a moment’s time to achieve an objective that has strategic importance and impact,” the unnamed 68th EWS director added in the release the Air Force put out today. “When you’re talking about a near-peer conflict, you need all of your coalition partners to operate with the same playbook so you can achieve spectrum dominance.”

Ukrainian Ministry of Defense capture

As The War Zone has repeatedly pointed out, it will also take the Ukrainian Air Force and its pilots years to fully unlock what the F-16s have to offer, in general. At the same time, the jets bring a host of new and improved capabilities, including weapons and electronic warfare suites, to the Ukrainian Air Force beyond what its Soviet-era combat jets have to offer. Deliveries of additional types of stand-off munitions that could arm Ukraine Vipers, possibly including AGM-158 Joint Air-to-Surface Standoff Missile (JASSM) cruise missiles, may already be on the horizon. The F-16s also bring the ability to carry various podded capabilities, including Lockheed Martin’s recently unveiled networked version of the Sniper Targeting Pod, which can act as a hub for localized ‘kill webs’ and would be ideally suited to Ukraine’s needs as The War Zone has previously highlighted.

While F-16s may not be silver bullets for Ukraine, we know now that the U.S. Air Force has helped with programming their electronic warfare systems to be as capable as they can be against Russian threats. Further data that gets collected, along with other lessons learned from the use of the self-protection systems on the Viper, looks set to be a major boon for both countries going forward.

Contact the author: joe@twz.com

[grandpasauce]

Dreadwolf Companion Predictions

These are my personal predictions based off concept art, leaks, and other official media. Using this edited lineup of the alleged companions from reddit. The added text is mine tho.

Left to right:

Dress lady is one of the ones I'm pretty unsure of. The dress and jewelry give me Rivaini vibes for some reason, specifically a lord of fortune? Also the fact that a similar looking woman is seen in another concept art being used as a sort of decoy for the rest of the party to sneak up on a target, and the Lords of Fortune are sometimes adept at disguises and impressions. She gives me 'face of the party vibes'. Honestly, I equate her with mage simply cause the robes but i could be totally wrong lmao.

Next is qunari lady. Not much to say about her, other than some different concept art has her dual wielding daggers, so rogue seems a strong presumption. Probably tal vashoth, perhaps a member of the executors or some other faction?

This is Davrin. We've seen him voiced in that one trailer, the leaks heavily suggest he is a companion. Pretty easy to assume he will be a grey warden based on his one voiced line. His armor gives rogue vibes here, but I'm pretty confident he will be a warrior. But who knows. Leaks also suggest he may be an elf.

This being Calpernia would be my first guess, as no world state from Inquisition actually confirms Calpernia is DEAD dead by end game. Although Maevaris is also a strong guess, I feel Maevaris will be an important npc, not a companion, when/if she shows up in dreadwolf, since she is running a whole ass political party alongside Dorian. Other concept art shows a similar blonde woman casting magic, so this further bolsters my belief that at the very least, this is a mage companion. The armor looks hella tevinter style to me as well, so I'd not be surprised if whoever this is is part of the shadow dragon faction introduced in the missing comics.

This is Harding. It's Harding. Like, come on. Look that the other concept art. It's Harding. Obvs she will be a rogue.

This is definitely a crow assassin. Whether it's Lucanis or not is up for debate, but this is def gonna be a crow rogue companion.

Qunari dude is a warrior, assuming the other concept art is accurate, since he's wearing a full suit of heavy armor + a helmet in that illustration. No idea what his faction alliances may be. I'm really excited to have 2 qunari companions thoooo.

Ghost rider boy is probably Audric from Tevinter Nights, or another undead spirit sort of thing similar to Audric. Class wise, I would assume warrior, as I think bioware is more likely to give us an extra warrior character as opposed to an extra mage character. (There's only 8 companions in this lineup so the split would be 2 mages/3 warriors/3 rogues, which i feel is more likely than 3 mages/2 warriors/3 rogues). This makes me think he will be a warrior of some type.

Now they could leave it at 8. That would leave us short a mage. Specifically, a male mage. We also have a noticeable elf shortage with this cast compared to the other 2 previous games. Not saying there is a secret companion, but. Y'know. This does leave room for a certain ancient old elf man. Maybe.

Okay let me know what you guys think like do any of these predictions seem wildly out of the realm of possibility to you?

[cloaksandcapes]

This armor was originally designed as a Armor Model for my homebrew Gunslinger\Artificer in a game I got to be a player. May rework it as a subclass later, but thought it would make a cool artifact armor as well!

Dawn Breaker Armor

Armor (light or medium), artifact (requires attunement)

“This magical armor is made of thousands of small, silver and gold plates that are housed in a star-shaped receptacle. When activated they flood out and form a nearly weightless full-suit of light or medium armor around the wearer, including a full helmet.”

While attuned to this armor you gain a +3 bonus to AC. You can don and doff the armor using a bonus action.

This armor has 20 charges for the following properties. The armor regains 1d8+6 expended charges daily at dawn. If you expend the last charge your speed increases by 10 feet until you regain any expended charges.

Quick Boost. (2 charges) You can use a bonus action to Dash or Disengage.

Warp Jump. (3 charges) When you are struck by an weapon or spell attack you can use your reaction to teleport up to 20 feet away to a location you can see.

Create Decoy. (5 charges) You can use a bonus action you turn invisible until the end of your turn and create an illusory decoy of yourself. When you use your movement, the decoy moves the same distance in the opposite direction. If the decoy runs into any obstructions, its movement ends. Kinetic Storage. (5 charges) Whenever you take physical or force damage, you can choose to take an additional d6 of that damage type. You store this extra damage as energy in the armor, up to 6 times. You can release this energy during an attack and add it to your normal damage roll. You expend charges only when adding the damage to your attack. All stored energy dissipates when the armor regains expended charges.

Join us on Twitch every Mon\Wed\Fri to create new Homebrews and check out our Patreon for 474+ magic items, tokens, maps, and more.

[theworldvsyoshiko]

Since I just linked it from my main blog anyway, I guess this would be a good time to do a State Of The Union for the colony. I usually do some kind of summary a week or so into each colony, but never got around to it for this one.

The fine seaside orphanage of Robot's Ocean is fucking huge now.

We've got multiple nested layers of defensive walls, a world-class temple and rec room, three geothermal generators, a tidal generator, a solar generator, a full natural gas helixien system for heating and cooling, a greenhouse, a genetics lab with an extensive gene bank, space for 5-6 prisoners to live in comfort, and enough freezers to keep about a year of food on hand at all times. And an in-colony hot spring, most importantly.

The colony's currently worth is about $400k, which is $50k more than any of the previous ones have hit, so it probably isn't a coincidence that I've needed to burn two antigrain warheads on recent attacks. That growth has stagnated a bit, which is fortunate, because as combat goes we're about at our limits. On the upside, we now have something like seven combat owlbears, a Scyther, a Tunneler, a Tesseron, a Centipede Blaster on the way, and of course Yoshiko's pet thrumbo Chiyo.

On the other hand, after investing about $15k into building and upgrading Spencer only for it to die trying to get to its bedroom, we're pretty strapped for cash. And we need some, because the map is just about mined out, and all of these robots and endgame weapons require a lot of materials. Unfortunately the map being mined out also limits our options for producing trade goods. The current plan is to mass-produce... corsets. If you haven't played the game just trust me when I say that this is a sensible plan, but we'll need to do a lot of hunting to make it work.

Following the terrible Tactical Nukes In The Hospital incident, I've rearranged things a bit. The short version is that we've only got one outdoor orbital targeting beacon now, and it should steer most drop pod raids to a less terrible location. Will this help much if another group shows up with a dozen rocket launchers? Hell no. Eventually I'd like to set up one or two extra beacons as decoys.

The population is currently 8, which is just about the lowest it's been in years. These kinds of things happen when four colonists get blown up in one evening.

Yoshiko "Happy" Russell

is, of course, a forever-22 psychic cyborg vampire foxgirl who controls robots with her brain. (Her actual effective age is now 34, but the game doesn't care about that.) She's currently undertaking her Dark Slumber in her Chambyr of Bloode for the next day or two, as one must when they are a vampire.

She's good at fucking everything now. (And good at fucking too; she's got an implant for that.) Her lowest skill is Plants at a 9, or 'solid professional.' She's rated as Expert or better in Shooting, Melee, Construction, Animals, Crafting, Art, Medical, Social, and Intellectual. She has 827 kills, 34 mechanical implants, maxed psychic potential with 10 psychic abilities, and wields a sapient EMP sledgehammer named Nalorgargur. Thanks to being a vampire, the only way to permanently kill her is to destroy her brain. With so many implants, I think the only other ways to even incapacitate her in combat are with an EMP or by destroying her liver. In theory you could make her bleed out too, but she's effectively immune to that. (You should go for the brain thing anyway, because she has pretty good body armor under that parka, but still insists on wearing a beret instead of, like... a helmet.)

Truly she is... the ultimate lifeform.

Toby Lang

Man, this makes for some real mood whiplash. I mean, look at him. There isn't much to say about Lang.

He was found in the wreckage of a space battle a few years ago. He spends all of his time cooking, doing doctor stuff, or handling the colony's pet rabbits. He's no good in a fight. Yoshiko adopted him and he adores her as much as is physically possible; her opinion of him is 7/100.

Actually though, Lang does have one solid accomplishment under his belt. During the last Diabolus fight, all of the blood bags prisoners staged an escape. Everybody who was good in combat was off doing that, and Lang was the only person nearby. So, he grabbed a shotgun and did surprisingly well at controlling the situation. By which I mean blowing their brains out. Can't get any blood out of them like that, but it's better than having them set the base on fire on their way out.

Saburo Richards

Listen, I can't stress this enough. He was like this when I found him. Unlike everyone else, he's an Animusen, a natural foxboy by birth. What benefits does this give? Well, uh. Not any, really. He's fast in the cold and slow in the heat, which was nice before the climate's average temperature got bumped up by 18F.

Richards is still 12 and I'm really hoping he gets some fantastic growth at 13, because he isn't good at anything. For whatever reason, he apparently gets really abusive when he's in a bad mood, because every mental break he's had has been an insulting spree. So most of the colony has opinions of him like

In fact, Olga and Yoshiko are the only two who would even be sad if he died, I think. Yoshiko, of course, adores him.

Raymond "Raywolfen" Wolfen

... has to be the most colorful kid here, as a slug person who was raised by wolves and then crashed outside during a space battle. Don't let the sprite fool you; the game just doesn't know how to render how fucked up she looks. According to her genes, she's got the body of a slug, but covered in scales, with the face of a fox, slug-style eye stalks, and constantly secretes a foul-smelling substance that decomposes corpses. You'd think that being a hideous slug/fox amalgam who smells like rotting bodies would be horrible for her social life, and you'd mostly be right, but Yoshiko adores her. She didn't even adopt her or anything. This happened naturally.

Raywolfen's only really good at combat, but that's okay, because we desperately need that right now.

Ben "Bush" Nitsiza

... is another adopted son who recently turned 13. He's great at melee combat, and got two mechanoid kills while horribly sick with the flu last night. He's... decent at crafting, art, and research. We're working on it. He's not decent at social stuff, but he's the preacher anyway. For now, at least.

Bush actually gets along with everybody else pretty well, which is surprising for somebody with the traits of 'snob' and 'too smart.'

Cindy

... is a sapient mech (it/its) that has only been around for half a year, as part of Yoshiko's ongoing quest to find true love. (This isn't working out very well.) As a hunter-killer mech, Cindy's only really good at combat, and is incapable of... most other things. It's decent with animals and research though, and is slowly learning how to do medicine too.

Cindy is currently flirting with Yoshiko about once every few days, which would be cute if it would just wait until Yoshiko considered it more than a passing acquaintance. It'll work out some day though. I'm sure of it.

Dae-up "Nerd" Kim

Is it fair for me to blame Nerd for the fact that he was chased here by pirates with rocket launchers? Probably not. But it still happened, and it got four people killed. And Nerd's a completely amoral kid who tortured small animals when he was little, so I'm not gonna pretend that I like him. I genetically modified him to be good at mining, so he could mine out the collapsed rocks that trapped Sora as he burned to death. Take some responsibility, you little prick.

Most of the colony likes Nerd, but he's really rooted in his intensely xenophobic ideology, so he hates almost everybody in return. The one person he actually likes is Yoshiko, and that's only because she's ridiculously pretty.

Nerd's actually pretty competent, unfortunately. He's great at mining, crafting, and medical. He's pretty decent at construction, and he'll pick up art fast if we find the time and resources for him to do much of it.

Olga Keuneke

... is 11 and a pretty recent arrival, so there isn't much to say about her. Unlike certain assholes, the trouble that she brought with her was a machine that warmed up our Siberian-ass climate, so I already like her. She's got a huge passion for animals, but she isn't learning much about it because she's not skilled enough to work with our animals. You can't start out by training predatory owl monsters that weigh half a ton.

[badbatchposts]

Quiet Corners of the Galaxy, Chapter 7

While on a routine mission for Cid, the Bad Batch encounter a woman fleeing from the Empire. Crosshair suspects her seemingly free-spirited, nomadic existence is actually a cover for something else, but struggles to keep his attraction toward her in check as their personalities and ideals clash.

Relevant tags: Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut (it finally starts getting spicy in a couple more chapters!), Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use

Chapters posted 1-2x weekly!

Read the full fic so far on AO3

Read previous chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l Ch. 3 l Ch. 4 l Ch. 5 l Ch. 6

Chapter 7 summary: Dara joins them on a mission. She performs a little too coolly under pressure.

“I don’t want her staying on the ship alone,” Crosshair insisted. The Batch was huddled together in the cockpit as they began their approach to the red planet which loomed largely through the Marauder’s viewport. Dara had returned to her makeshift room in the cargo hold just as they were exiting hyperspace, and the sniper meant to take advantage of her temporary absence to continue to voice his protestations against her involvement.

“We need someone to remain behind to provide a pick-up when we make our exit,” Tech insisted impatiently. “And our infiltration strategy requires five.”

“That won’t matter if she takes off with our ship and leaves us stranded,” Crosshair replied angrily. The others considered the dilemma; he had a point.

“Why didn’t you bring that up before we made this plan?!” Hunter protested.

“Why did you insist on bringing a complete stranger with us to break someone out of jail?!” the sniper shot back.

“Hey!” Echo, as always, stepped up to mediate. “Think this through first, fight about it later. Tech and I are needed to access the back entrance. Crosshair is setting up decoy fire at the landing pad and front entrance. Hunter and Wrecker are setting the charges to first draw their attention and later cover our escape. How about Hunter stays with the ship and Dara helps with the charges.”

Dara returned before the issue could be debated further. “Change of plans, boys?” she asked.

Hunter nodded. “Just a small one. How do you feel about helping Wrecker instead? You shouldn’t have to engage with anyone directly. Just a bit of sneaking around and property destruction to keep them occupied while we go after the real target. Not that we doubt your piloting skills, but the Marauder’s a complicated ship, and if things go sideways it might be a bit chaotic getting us out of there.”

“Oh, sure,” Dara agreed affably. “That and you don’t want to have to worry about someone you just met stealing your transport and leaving you for dead.” She chuckled at the squad’s vaguely embarrassed expressions, ignoring Crosshair’s sneer. “It’s okay, I get it. Trust is built, right? I’ll just go with Wrecker.”

“Yeah!” the giant clapped her on the back enthusiastically, nearly knocking her over. “This’ll be way more fun anyway!”

Tech set the Marauder down some distance away from the prison to avoid detection, and Hunter handed Dara a comm before they began the trek toward their destination. The Sergeant looked sternly at Crosshair as the sniper made to exit. “Watch their back,” he instructed.

Crosshair’s expression was disguised behind his helmet, but his voice had lost some of the hostility of their earlier discussion, and now sounded more amused. “Don’t I always?”

“That includes her,” Hunter called insistently after his retreating form.

***

After a short hike, the sniper, dug into position, watched through his scope as the others approached the prison, flanking it from the west. The team moved stealthily amid the gathering dark, pausing only momentarily for Tech to easily bypass the perimeter sensors. Inside the prison, no one would even notice a glitch on their screens as they drew nearer to the building, and the next foot patrol wasn’t due to pass by for another 20 minutes. In the meantime, the group separated, Echo and Tech heading to the back of the building, Dara to the landing pad, and Wrecker to the main entrance. He had no concerns about Wrecker; while he wasn’t the stealthiest among them, Tech had already overwritten any camera feeds with a loop, and his brother would be able to easily stun anyone he came across while planting the first set of explosives, which would draw all attention to the front of the building as Echo and Tech entered and retrieved their target.

Dara, however, was another story. Crosshair watched her closely, his keen eyesight still able to easily detect her shadowy form through his scope even in the failing light. He was not much happier at the decision to bring her along than to leave her with the Marauder, but at least here he could keep an eye on her.

But, of course, there was already a problem. The landing pad was supposed to be empty.

“Dara, you have company. Maintenance tech and a couple of droids just exited the building and are headed to the landing pad. Abort,” he instructed. It wouldn’t be ideal—the landing pad explosion was meant to cover their exit—but they would have to make do.

“Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.” Her voice over the comm was perfectly calm. He felt annoyance bubble up in him; the landing pad was well-lit, and they couldn’t afford to alert anyone to their presence before Wrecker set off the first set of charges.

“That’s an order. Turn the kriff around.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

Infuriated, Crosshair could only watch as she turned her comm off. He briefly shifted his scope to Wrecker, who had just reached the main entrance. The nearby guard station was empty, apart from the crumpled forms of the two aliens who had been staffing it—at least, up until the moment that Wrecker snuck up behind them and knocked them out. His brother began setting the charges.

“Status update?” he requested over the open comm channel.

“Approximately 1.5 minutes to get the back door open,” Tech reported.

“Front’s gonna go boom in one.”

Crosshair moved his scope back to the landing pad, where Dara was crouching by a cabinet out of sight of the maintenance tech. She opened it, pulling out a vest and hat that matched the worker’s uniform, then stored her larger blaster in the cabinet and pulled the clothing on before straightening up. He grinded his teeth together as she headed straight for the maintenance tech, a look of confusion on her face. After a brief, animated discussion, the tech headed back inside, followed by the droids. She strolled leisurely about the landing pad, placing her own charges at regular intervals.

Wrecker’s explosion at the main entrance rocked the building, and Crosshair returned his attention there. Alarms began blaring throughout the prison, and only minutes later, a wave of guards cautiously filed out of the front doors, guns drawn. It was time for him to make them think they were under attack by nothing short of an invading army. Calmly, he let out shot after shot, letting each of them narrowly miss. From the position he had retreated to, Wrecker did the same, occasionally lobbing stun bombs. The guards scrambled, looking for cover. By now, Tech and Echo were well on their way to the target’s cell.

“Landing pad charges set,” Dara’s voice reported over the open comm channel.

A few minutes later, Echo indicated that they were on their way out, and a second explosion drew the attention of the guards. Even more of them exited the building in the direction of the landing pad as Crosshair alternated his shots between there and the entrance. Now thoroughly distracted on two fronts, the others would be able to make their exit from the prison nearly unchallenged.  

“Coming in for a pickup at the rendezvous,” Hunter piped up. First Dara, then Echo, Tech, and the prisoner, and finally Wrecker all converged on Crosshair’s position. He kept the guards pinned down until Hunter landed the Marauder behind them and everyone was on board, then made his way up the ramp himself. They were leaving the atmosphere before the guards even realized it was all over.

“So…who’s this guy?” Wrecker asked. The Rodian they had picked up at the prison stared at them with wide, glassy eyes as they entered hyperspace. He didn’t seem to speak Basic.

Hunter shrugged. “Cid didn’t say. Just said he was scheduled to be transferred from the local authorities to the Empire and her client wanted us to get him out before that happened.”

Dara raised her eyebrow. “You guys just broke someone out of jail without even knowing why he was in there?”

“Yeah, well…Cid isn’t always the most forthcoming about what her jobs entail,” Echo responded, his resentment toward the Trandoshan palpable.

“Mmmhmm…” Turning to the fugitive, she spoke to him in Rodian. They exchanged a few sentences before she reported back in Basic to the squad, pursing her lips critically. “He’s a bounty hunter. Works for the Hutts. They apparently weren’t interested in letting him undergo interrogation.” Crosshair thought she looked like she had more to say, but she bit her tongue.  

“You speak Rodian?” inquired Tech, with polite interest. He himself spoke several languages, and had developed his own translation program to help communicate in those he did not.

“Among a few others. I was a linguist, in another life.” A pang of sadness flashed across her eyes before she could tamp it down. “Didn’t work out.”

“Well, hey,” Wrecker announced cheerfully, “you could be in for a long career with us! You did great today!”

Crosshair’s anger, briefly forgotten amid his focus on completing their mission, flared back up. “Actually, what she did was disobey a direct order and put the whole team at risk.”

“I had everything under control. It was just a maintenance tech, not a guard. All I had to do was tell him there must have been some sort of scheduling mix-up because I was already assigned to repairs at the landing pad, and by the time he was inside trying to sort everything out Wrecker’s explosion would have made him forget all about me.”

The sniper pointed angrily at her with his toothpick. “That wasn’t your call to make.”

Her eyes flashed, but her tone remained calm. “Well, it wasn’t yours either.”

“Enough.” Hunter’s serious tone shut them both up. “Dara, that was good thinking on your feet, but next time, listen to Crosshair. We have more experience at this than you. If he says to play it safe, it’s for a reason. We said we’d take your help on a few jobs, but you’re not a soldier. We don’t want to put you in harm’s way if we can avoid it.”

Dara looked chastened. “Of course.” But when Hunter turned her back on them, she glared at Crosshair before retiring to the cargo hold, leaving him there to stew.

Next chapter

Tag List: @stardusthuntress @skellymom