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You’re in desperate need of a lot of things right now, but what you want most is a clock.
There is no time here. You’ve been locked up in this dreary, awful place for so long now that you’ve lost track of it. The only indicator that it even still exists is the slow and steady drip of leaking water into your sodden hair. Your wrists are hung up in tight metal manacles, lifting you up just enough off the floor for the toes of your boots to touch. Enough to tease at being comfortable. Like if you could just find the right way to adjust yourself, then maybe your tender shoulder muscles wouldn’t hurt so much. It’s too dark in here to worry about seeing anything, but even if it were lighter you know you wouldn’t be able to. Your head is too fuzzy. There’s a film over your eyes; a halt in the processes necessary in transferring visual data from your eyes to your brain in a way that you can comprehend. If you had to guess, you’d say it’s been a good number of days. Weeks, maybe. He locked you down here and took time with him, and the only things he left you with are murky water and hunger pangs.
You figured that when he caught you trying to break the Mirror, he would have just killed you on the spot. And that’s what it seemed, at first. Apparently the idea wasn’t good enough for him, though. Apparently he decided he’d rather stick you down here to rot. There’s something deep in your gut that stirs when you think about the way he acted around you- something like pity. You’d feel bad for him if he weren’t trying to wipe your kingdom out and kill your princess. He’s just terribly misguided, really. Just needs a push in the right direction. You could have been that, you think, but you squandered that opportunity. Your loyalty to Hyrule and your own personal mission outweighed the need for morals, outweighed the chance to put some patience and compassion to use. Shadow could have made an invaluable ally, and he could have made an unforgettable friend. But none of that matters now, you think. The other three aren’t going to be able to complete their task without you, and you are going to die.
Your thoughts are interrupted by the hiss of screeching metal. The door opens, draping a strip of torchlight across the floor. He saunters in, the subtle swing of his hips and curve in his step catlike in their calculation and grace. Like somehow he can walk backwards into the woods where he thought he’d seduced you. Like this is something casual. A chat between friends.
“Hello,” He says, simply, and his voice is cold. You don’t bother to offer him a response, and all too quickly he’s in front of you, there’s a hand across your face and takes a moment to register the stinging smack as it echoes across the walls.
“Answer me when I speak to you.”
You look up, bleary and disoriented. Your tongue, heavy and dry, slides out across your lips to lick some of the water from your face. You’re too tired to be scared to look at him, and his eyes are angry, pupils thin and brows drawn tight. His lips are hitched up into a snarl, but his expression smooths itself out seamlessly when you draw a breath and speak.
“How have you been, Shadow dearest?”
“Oh,” he says, bringing a clawed hand up to his chin thoughtfully, “I’ve been very well. Very busy. I’ve been working my ass off for you, actually. I thought I’d bring you a present. Well-” he corrects, “Two presents.”
Your brow raises.
He smiles, and it shows his teeth off and scrunches his eyes up. “I think you’re going to appreciate them in more ways than one, actually.” His hand comes down and pulls a burlap pouch from a pocket on his belt, and your tired ears perk at the sound of some sort of quiet squeaking. He pulls the drawstrings on the bag and empties its contents into his palm, which struggle to readjust themselves. Two little bugs with cool coloured shells… Wait, no no no no. Your ears strain harder and hear a complaint, a cry of ‘put me down you sick sack of shit’ and bugs don’t talk bugs don’t talk those aren’t bugs-
“Well?” Says Shadow, holding them up close to your face, and sure enough it’s Green and Blue and when they see you they scream and fall over back onto his hand.
“Do you like them?” Your senses are returning to you in a cold rush of horror, and you grit your teeth and shake your head, making a delirious sort of noise that bubbles up from the back your throat like a sob. They’re watching you, wide eyed, and you can hear Blue curse under his breath.
“Nonono- oh please gods don’t hurt them,” you breathe, eyes so wide you fear they’ll bug out of your head if you strain them any harder. Shadow laughs, dropping the bag so he can pluck Green up by the back of his tunic and dangle him up in the air. The tiny hero yelps and flails in his grip, but it’s of no avail.
“I’m not going to hurt a single hair on their heads,” he coos, flashing a sickly sweet grin in your direction.
“No- don’t lie to me, Shadow.”
“Oh, like you have any right to say that.” He pouts childishly. “And I really do mean it. I won’t hurt them at all. I won’t need to.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you’re going to do it for me.”
You’ve been in a dungeon for weeks and somehow, your lips and tongue have never felt this dry.
“And how,” you murmur, speaking slowly, “am I going to do that, Shadow?”
You’re not stupid. You know where this is going. You just want to hope, for even a fraction of a second, that maybe you’re wrong. This is why he’s been starving you. He didn’t just want to make you suffer- he needed to make you desperate. A fitting sort of punishment- you betrayed him, so now he would make you betray your teammates. He’d make you feel the gravity of your actions. If not for him, then for them. Somewhere, in the back of your head, you applaud him for managing to find the most personal punishment imaginable.
A thought occurs to you rather suddenly. Something’s missing. Your eyes bug for a moment and you stare down at your captured companions and croak “Red-”
Green seems to be on the same page as you, at least, and he pipes up with a shaky “Hidden,” and that’s enough to soothe you for now.
Shadow scowls and rolls his eyes as he dumps Blue into the collar of your shirt and tightens the strings to hold him up in place against your throat. The sensation of him squirming against you is chilling and unpleasant- but it’s also the closest thing to human contact you’ve had in a long time and a small part of you savours it. Shadows fingers are tracing along the curve of your cheek, and then there’s a bruising grip on your jaw as he forces it open. You yip in protest and try to move away from him, but you just don’t have the energy to put up a fight. When you feel him push a squirming body past your teeth and hear the start of Green’s screaming, that’s when tears start to well up in your eyes. Your tongue curves up and tries to push him out of your mouth, but Shadow forces your mouth shut and pushes his thumb up hard against the underside of your jaw. Your eyes screw shut and your chest convulses with sobs, lips curling up so that only teeth keep Green in place. You can feel him kicking and pushing and fighting, the wet squelch of his failed attempts at escape.
The sound makes you realize that you’re drooling all over yourself, like the floodgates have opened after weeks of inactivity. For a moment that feels like forever, your hungry head ponders over the salty sweet taste of his skin, the warmth of the blood and muscle that make him up, the sweet crunch of tiny bones that hide rich marrow inside of them. It’s when you feel yourself pushing him up between your molars, catch yourself about to bite down, that you scream in horror and start to hyperventilate. You feel your throat clench up and your stomach twist. You’re going to be sick, oh gods, and you dry heave a couple of times and bring up nothing and sob hard against the hand that’s still keeping your jaw held shut. There’s an unfettered stream of unintelligible begging trickling from between your teeth, but Shadow ignores it entirely and continues to hold you in place. Evidently he’s getting impatient, because he tips your head back as far as it will go and lets your jaw go slack enough for him to force his fingers back in. Green struggles hard against the intrusion, but he just can’t fight off something that much bigger than him. You feel him slide downwards, down deep, and then you gag hard and make an awful retching noise and swallow him up to his waist. From there there’s not much you can do- instinct takes over to keep you from choking, and you’re swallowing over and over again until you can feel your throat clear and there’s something wriggling and painful behind your collarbone, and Blue is struggling against your drawstrings and shouting in disgust.
Shadow moans, a soft sound of appreciation that starts in his chest. His hands slide down to your waist and undo your belt, and then he’s sticking a hand up your tunic to rest above your stomach. Vaguely, you can feel a little bit of movement. You feel light headed and nauseous, but there’s a warm feeling in your stomach that combats the sickness you’re struggling through. A few moments pass and it gives you an appreciative gurgle, and you pale and nearly pass out.
“Ah-ah-ah,” sings Shadow, and he takes his hand out of your clothes so that he can retrieve Blue from the collar of your shirt. You snap your jaws shut and shake your head furiously, but your resilience is no match for him.
“Open up,” he says, voice soft and sweet, “Or I swear to the gods I’ll make you chew him to death.”
Miserably, you comply. Shadow skips the pleasantries and goes straight to shoving him down your throat, and you’re at least grateful that he didn’t live up to his threat. Blue fights valiantly, making you choke and sputter as black swims in the corners of your vision. But like his companion, it doesn’t amount to anything once the muscles of your throat suck him in past your gullet. Shadow traces one claw down the path Blue follows, kicking and fighting until he plops down into the same fleshy prison as Green. His passage is not quiet, however- as soon as you feel him move in there, you hear him screaming himself hoarse. You don’t want to think about what he’s seeing. You don’t want to think about any of this. There’s no way any of this is real. This is a nightmare.
“Feel better now, Vio?” He’s gone back to rubbing your belly, which you’re sick to say is feeling full and content. The effort of digestion after this much time is threatening to put you to sleep.
“Yeah,” you quip, because you know that’s not the answer he’s looking for. He rolls with it smoothly, of course.
“That’s what I figured, you disgusting traitorous piece of shit.” He scowls, and then he takes his hands off of you and turns to head for the door. “I’ll have the last one for you soon enough.”
The door closes. Your eyes are drooping, tired from crying and adrenaline and fatigue.
You’re not supposed to eat before bed, you think numbly, and then you black out.