Chapter Text
There was something seductive about total self-control.
He tore through the undergrowth, darting between grasping branches like a skilled acrobat. Dodging and swerving, he slashed aside the bramble curtains obstructing his path. Leaves went flying, dust muddled the air, the cackle of fiendish pursuers hot on his heels. A machete came pinwheeling at him from the forest depths, but he batted it away with his blade. It was a dance he knew well, a choreography that came to him by rote. He could keep this up for hours, for miles—a seasoned war captain pitted against some ragtag bokoblins?
Please. This was child’s play.
In one fluid motion, he ducked under a branch then soared over a fallen log, evading another tomahawk. An angry screech pierced the distance. Smirking, he sprinted onward, scarf streaking wildly behind him, the death cries of his thwarted foes lost to his ally’s blows.
But there was no time to breathe. A faction of archers lay in wait coming up. He spotted them instantly. Veering sharply, he bolted north, threading through the thick vegetation. Errant arrows missed him by a comical degree, whizzing into tree bark. Boots pounding, he shook the sweat from his eyes, relishing the heady buzz in his veins. He could feel their frustration mounting as more and more added to their numbers, taking up the chase. All by design.
The world blurred by in an exhilarating mad dash. Just ahead, an expanse of open space appeared. Excellent. He skated to a halt before a briar patch that bordered the field, his mind forming quick calculations. Out here, the brutes would have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, flushed out of their dens like sewer rats. Easy pickings for two acclaimed heroes.
Behind him, scuffling feet and bloodthirsty squeals announced their arrival. He plunged into the thicket. Forcing his way between rose shrubs, he turned to face his opponents, thistles tugging at his tunic as he backed toward the field.
“Took you long enough,” he panted, twirling his sword. “I wasn’t aware the newest plague in Hyrule traveled so slowly.”
The bokoblins shrieked unintelligible curses at him. There were only around thirty of them now—a vast reduction in their numbers, thanks to his ally. Feet stomped in agitation, saliva drizzling from bared underbites. They raised their nocked bows, heedless of the threat approaching from the rear.
“What? Can’t hurl sticks and stones, so you go to insults?” He brandished his shield in provocation. “Hate to burst your bubble, boys, but you came unarmed there too.”
A red-skinned bokoblin sounded a horn, and the party advanced toward him into the bushes.
“It takes a special kind of intellect to be on the losing side every time,” he taunted, reversing at the same rate. “Clearly you take after your demon master. Not just with smarts, but with looks too. Those alone are enough to disarm—”
He stepped backward out of the bushes.
And fell through empty space.
The last image he had of the cliff’s edge before he hit the bottom was of roses.