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Chapter Text

The roof dripped incessantly. Green eyes glared up at it. The cold stone he was chained to left him frozen and uncomfortable. The dim torches cast shadows across the walls that made his eyes second-guess whether he was alone or not. A dread had settled within his soul. He wouldn’t change it, though; it was better for him than his successor, the one whom his soul loved above all else. 

The ring still sat on his finger; his likeness had changed to Hyrule’s, with his hair now brunette and freckles on his skin. Legend found it disconcerting how well the ring worked. Even his magic felt different - more vibrant, more green than purple. They’d taken him without a second glance, the Cult of Ganon now celebrating their victory before his inevitable death. Legend would die again and again if it meant his brother could walk free. Legend would undertake any means of pain or torture so that Hyrule could flourish. He’d become a human sacrifice to let those he loved be free. Love, after all, was selfless, and for a Hero who already had a proclivity to be altruistic, this combination was deadly. 

His head ached, the lump on the side of it sore against the unforgiving stone. Already he could feel swelling on the side of his face from the blow he’d taken, his one eye squinted shut. The force of the club, held by one of Hyrule’s moblins, felt like it had dented his skull. He couldn’t see the blood pooling in his eye, the blood vessels having exploded from the impact.

He wiggled his arms, trying to see if the chains could be loosened. Biting metal sunk into his wrists. His feet, now bare of boots or socks, were similarly encased, shackles tight around his ankles. They’d stripped him of all but his shorts, Rulie’s green tunic cast away, still under the fall of the magical ring’s power. He looked down at his own body and felt strange seeing scars that weren’t his, freckles that extended everywhere, and ribs that weren’t as exposed as his own. 

A dark-robed magician entered the room, the magic following behind cloying and thick. He craned his head backwards trying to see the figure, his magic thrumming under his skin, alert and wary. Red eyes stared down at him, cheeks hollowed out and rotting, jaw exposed, grinning at him. The Cult of Ganon was more undead than living in this cursed land. The figure leaned over him, and Legend felt his heart uptick. This was no low-level wizzrobe; this was a mage who knew what he was looking at. And he was staring straight at Legend - a fraud. He was not the half-fairy blood-cursed boy that had stolen his soul, no, he was just Legend, a hero before all else. A self-sacrificial fool who’d thrown his life in front of his successor’s. 

A rage swept over the skeletal face, a hiss escaping its decayed mouth. His hand was gripped mercilessly, the one that held the deceiving ring. He struggled, trying to pull away, his magic whirling around him, trying to help. With an ungodly screech, the monster wailed and bent down, its sharp teeth closing around his finger and ripping the digit away. Teeth crushed bone and skin, pain erupting from his missing finger. The magic disappeared, and he was left as himself once again. 

He let himself gasp and moan, his magic still too pent up and forceful for his liking. He could abate some of the strain by voicing his pain, by doing that which he never did: crying out. Blood, hot and fresh, slid down his hand, dripping onto the cave floor beneath him. Purple eyes saw himself once more, his scars back, his stomach gaunt and ribs prominent, the freckles gone. His vertebrae dug into the stone, no extra weight cushioning his bones on the harsh surface. The chains grew tighter, his missing height now extending his spine within the grip of the shackles.  

“Fool!” was hissed at him and he sneered at the mage. Bloodied teeth growled at him and his finger was thrown away like garbage, the ring still glinting on it as it thunked against the wall and hit the floor. His stomach turned, but he ignored it viciously. 

“Clearly I’m not the fool here if you fell for it.” He gnashed back hotly, his blood boiling in anger. His magic groaned under his control, desperately seeking to be set free, but Legend wouldn’t let it. If this mage saw his power hidden underneath his frail human frame, then he’d have no hope. His magic could reach the others, could reach Hyrule, his most beloved, easier than his physical voice ever could. It needed to lie low, to be passive and fickle, and yet it reared up, angry and indignant. He yelled out harsher words, trying to take the attention away from his building magic. The magician’s awareness of his magic grew. He spat out more words to distract. 

“Fucking moronic cult! Can’t even tell the difference between an average nobody and the one you seek!” Spit flew from his lips as he snarled. It wasn’t enough; the mage drew back suddenly, and Legend felt the dark aura encompass him. Panic shot through him, hot and visceral. Like a sharp knife slipping between tendons and bones, it seared through him and gouged at his soul. A gleam grew in those red eyes, dangerous and dark. Bony hands clasped together in front of the robe in glee, and Legend knew he was fucked.

The mage rumbled out words in a foul tongue, and more cultists appeared around him. 

“It seems we’ve caught a rabbit.” The mage said, sickeningly sweet. 

“And nothing screams quite so well as a rabbit in pain.” The mage stepped closer, a decayed hand landing on his jaw, clenching it bruisingly tight. Legend glared at him from underneath his pink fringe. 

“But not his audible voice, no, your magic will find him and draw him near.” Fuck, okay. Shit, alright, he’d need to pivot; he needed to survive, to persevere. He was the Hero of Legend after all; he wouldn’t be laid so low by a bunch of pig-worshipping shitheads. A darkness invaded his mind, pushed at his thoughts and stunned his thinking; it was far too strong, far too powerful. He gritted his teeth in frustration, his eyes squeezing shut. Get out of my head, he screamed in his mind. There would be no contacting his brothers now without them falling right into a trap; now the cult knew, and they were going to exploit him. 

“Tell me, little rabbit, what do you fear?” Legend glared at him, but it didn’t matter; his brain had already betrayed him, the shape of a needle flashing through his mind. The closeted fear, always held at bay, now lay at the forefront for the cultist. He prodded at Legend’s mind, and Legend fought back. It wasn’t enough, he’d already found it. 

It was a fear he’d kept from others for as long as possible; an illogical one that warped his thinking and left him sweating and panicked. He still remembered when Wars and Rulie had found out. He’d taken a hit, a large slice through his forearm, the enemy’s blade turned by his bone. No potions remained, his lifeblood soaking into the ground around them. The Captain had held up a stitching needle and Legend’s mind had whited out in terror. The thought of it sinking into his skin, of pulling and slipping through his flesh made his skin crawl, his breath stutter. He’d bolted, much like a rabbit, afraid to stay still, afraid to admit his irrational fear to those who held him in high esteem.

He’d stumbled and crashed through the fauna around him, his past dogging at his heels. No, he didn’t care for needles, and he certainly didn’t need to be stitched up. He’d rather die, his brain told him dramatically. He’d refused to think of the origin of his fear, had pushed it so far down in him that it would never return. He was exhausted, but he powered on, his boot catching on a rock and sending him tumbling through the brush. He lay on his back, his breath having been forced from his lungs by the impact. He blinked stupidly into the sun and lay there panting, his head light and his wound throbbing. 

Green eyes and poofy brown hair stared concerned down at him. His heart burst forth in comfort; Hyrule was sun on a rainy day. A gentle hand landed on him, and Legend sucked in a much-needed breath. 

“I’d heal you if I could, Ledge.” His successor mumbled out, his voice dripping in sorrow. Legend’s heart reviled at the tone, no, it was not worth his charge to stretch himself. His fear may be all-encompassing and illogical, but he would not harm Hyrule for it to be bypassed. 

“I’ll be right next to you the whole time.” As if to accentuate this, Rulie’s magic washed over him, all pine trees and dew. His soul lightened, his fear pressed into the back of his mind. The world moved slowly, the blood loss catching up, the adrenaline fading away and leaving him weary and delirious. 

“Okay, only if you stay.” He slurred out. He didn't remember the trip back to the Captain, but he remembered the next part clearly. 

Shaking, he’d held his arm out, slumping into his successor. Rulie held his other hand, mumbling nonsense in his ears about the stories of legend. The Captain was quick and efficient, but it didn’t stop the shaking, the fear, the way his skin crawled in unease and his soul was ripped apart as his skin was stitched back together. No, he feared needles and no amount of logic or comfort would change that fact. 

He was brought back to his captivity, his hopelessness, his dread. He didn’t want to bring Hyrule to this place, and perhaps he could keep his magic contained and well-behaved and not draw the others here. He could pour his hurt and worry into his own voice, he could scream and cry and wrestle his magic under control. He would die, and he found that thought not as painful as he thought he would. A hero’s time is always short, and to die for those whom he loved more than his own soul was worth it. His hopes were dashed to pieces at the next words that left the cultist. 

“Sew its mouth shut, no potions for this one. Keep it alive, but barely. The one we seek will come, will search him out forever.” The mage uttered and Legend felt all his blood drain away. His hastily-formed plan was already destroyed. He’d known what he was signing up for when he’d slipped that ring on, but a part of him had hoped it wouldn’t be this bad, that he would stay himself through it all. Now that hope hung precariously; he wasn’t as sure in himself as he wanted to believe. Pain was nothing new for him, but the mental anguish that would accompany these acts... He swallowed thickly; it was time to put himself to the test. What could the Hero of Legend endure at the end of the day? How long could his love for his brother hold true? Failure meant the death of his brothers, and Legend would not fail. The dark figure before him echoed the same fear that festered in his mind. 

“But what will be left of his precious hero when he arrives?” 

Chapter Text

Legend had never experienced a fear so visceral, a terror so all-encompassing. He’d stared down Ganon, he’d slain the Demon-King, and had wandered around dark, decaying crypts, the Skull Woods, and the Dark World. He’d been to lands beyond the sea and places nonexistent. He strained against the chains, his horror overwhelming. The iron bit into his skin, cutting and bruising. He writhed under its grasp as blood dripped over his wrists and ankles. 

A sadistic chuckle sounded above him, and purple eyes caught on the gleam of a needle above him. He thrashed, his head hitting the side of the stone and stunning him briefly before he redoubled his efforts to get free. In a sick contradiction, he locked his magic away, afraid for it to be loosed and lead the one whom his soul loved here. 

Hands gripped his hair, pulling it tight. A crushing grip ground into the lump on the side of his skull and made pain blossom through his head. He spat and cussed at his captors, his fear bleeding out into harsh words and empty threats. 

“I’ll fucking kill you all.” He spat, his anger a mask for the terror that overwhelmed his soul. Belatedly, he realized he was already shaking, his heart thundering in his eardrums. He thrashed again, and the hand in his hair ripped away a chunk of the pink fringe. His eyes stung from the pain, but he blinked it away. A solid punch landed in his exposed stomach and winded him; he stilled. He sucked in a pained breath, and then clawed hands landed on the sides of his jaw, the force bruising. 

“I’d stay still if I were you, little hero.” The creature above him mocked. Legend snarled, but then that damned needle was tracing down his cheek, and he froze like a rabbit caught in the sights of a predator. His hands clenched, his blood freezing cold. 

No, no, no, a thick thread was at the end of it, and his eyes widened at it. His body betrayed him, his muscles shaking, sweat breaking out over his skin. There was no escaping this. There was no one here to free him, and he was helpless to free himself. He’d trained himself to be silent in pain, and now he was going to lose that as an outlet for his screaming magic.

A clawed hand moved over his eyes, and he hissed, his lack of vision now making him even more aware of every sensation. The hand on his jaw kept his mouth shut. Embarrassingly, a whimper escaped him, and he struggled to keep his magic inside. He couldn’t let it out; he couldn’t let it reach Rulie and lead his brother to this place. The very thing he used to stay connected and in touch was now being used against him viciously. 

He panted through his nose, his jaw crushed shut. His ears flicked rapidly back and forth searching for any information. His skin prickled, and he shivered again, soaked in a cold sweat. 

A sharp, pointed pain stabbed underneath his bottom lip, and he desperately wanted to scream. Attempts at thrashing just pulled at the needle embedded in his lip, and his mind whited out in panic. A hand pinched his lips together, and the needle slid through his skin, and he could feel it.

His stomach churned dangerously, and he fought down the nausea. Another prick of pain appeared at his top lip, and he felt the needle push his lip upwards before breaking through his skin, and the string pulling through his mouth, rubbing across his teeth. 

The Hero of Legend had gone through many things; he’d scraped himself back together after battles and heart attacks. Somewhere in his soul, he believed he could endure all for the sake of those he loved, but this. His heart stuttered, his breath hitching, his eyes stinging underneath the hand that held them shut. Legend wasn’t sure he could endure this.

His magic was reeling, angry and wild. He clenched his fists, keeping it inside him. It hissed and recoiled at his control, and he pleaded with it to stay put. Fear clogged his mind, irrational and all-consuming, his grip failing to keep it controlled. This is what they want, he explained, desperately. 

“Look at you, pitiful and shivering like a scared little rabbit.” The voice above him mocked, and he squeezed his eyes shut even tighter. It was true. His soul broke at the admittance.

The needle jerked, fast and painful, and he felt the string pull through his mouth and out of his skin. It was shoved roughly downwards now. He was hyperventilating, his muscles tense. The hand over his eyes left suddenly, and he opened them to the horror. He could see the bloody needle, the thick thread streaked in red. A shameful tear escaped his eye as he saw the needle turn in the hand of the fucker above him and plunge back into his mouth. It scraped against his teeth, and he shut his eyes, unsure whether it was better to see it coming or not. A silent scream was building in his throat. His magic thrummed beneath every nerve and sinew of his muscles, begging to be loosed, begging to seek out his soul brothers and be saved from this torture. Legend staunchly refused. He would die down here before bringing them into this hellhole. 

It was painful to keep his magic locked away now, burning under his skin. Two more passes of thread further sealed his lips shut, and he found himself no less used to the sensation. His head was light, his entire body taut as a wire; his heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest. The pain in his missing finger was dull and far away. His tongue prodded at the thread, and he winced, the metallic taste of blood seeping into his mouth. 

A harsh tug and all the thread moved, tightening his lips together more. He wanted out. He didn’t want to be here; he needed to be here. This fate was far better than what would have happened if they’d gotten Rulie. He’d spared his brother the guilt and condemnation of his blood being spilt and reviving Ganon. This is what heroes did. They bled and endured for those they loved. Legend would endure to the end of days, even if his sanity slipped away and fear coated his soul completely. 

Everything was still around him, and for a moment, he thought perhaps it was over. A purple eye peeked open to see a malicious smile; he’d waited til he came back. Then the needle was headed for his lips again. A groan rumbled in his throat; anything to relieve some of the fear. It sank into his flesh once more, and he squeezed his eyes shut, all his will bent on this being over. His ears rushed with the sound of blood, his head light and dizzy, his lungs panting, and still there wasn’t enough air. He was panicking, he reasoned. But even knowing that, it did nothing to calm the pure terror in his veins. This felt like the dark world, being surrounded by towering monsters as a helpless rabbit caught in a trap, and his soul screamed for a way out. 

The needle pulled taut, and he felt the tug, a knot slipping against the outside of his mouth with a harsh pull. Blurry, tear-filled eyes opened to see the figure disappearing. The sound of shackles echoed in his ears, but it was as if it were far away. His body was moved, but he found he didn’t feel it. The shaking in his limbs was unstoppable, the stinging in his eyes shameful. A cold metal pressed around his neck and snapped into place. More chains sounded behind him, and his arms were moved forcefully behind his back, his wrists still cuffed and bleeding. Feeling like he was floating above himself, Legend was shoved forward onto his stumbling feet. His mind didn’t believe that it was actually over, still locked in the raw terror that had consumed him. 

A clawed hand gripped him by the collar he now wore and guided him to a side room. Thrown to the ground, his knees screamed, and he went to hiss, only to find his mouth aching and silent. He was pulled up by his collar, and his feet landed under him again. His hands were freed, and the collar fastened to a stone wall. A cell door clinked shut, and still Legend stood, wavering, facing the wall. He blinked, trying to process, to see if this was indeed real.

Was he dreaming? Some nightmare put upon him by a dungeon boss or rogue deity? His eyes stung more when he realized he couldn’t tell, his stomach dropping. Holding his hands up, he looked at them - they were shaking. One of his fingers was missing, a steady stream of blood still oozing down his arm. His legs gave out, and he fell harshly to his knees once more in the damp dirt. Tentatively, he brought his fingertips to his lips and winced, pulling back. One finger was missing, the thought whispered across his mind. 

His fingers were bloodied, his mouth swollen and tender. His mind fought him; surely that hadn’t actually happened? In a moment of insanity, he pressed his fingers to his mouth again. The sharp pain remained, and he fought through it, trying to feel. Sure enough, the coarse thread disappeared into his swollen flesh, and he curled over himself, the clink of the chain attached to his collar rattling around him. 

He couldn’t breathe. Desperately, he tried to suck in air through his mouth, but there was no hope, and instead, he breathed harshly through his nose. His eyes burned, but the thought of crying further incited his panic that if he were unable to breathe through his nose, he’d suffocate.

This was no way to act as a hero. The words burned like a brand in his brain, and he sucked in a stuttered breath through his nose. Quietly he crawled his way to the wall, the chain loosening, and he pressed his side into the damp stone wall. Where was his courage? Like slipping on a familiar tunic, he found a calm inside him that he drew out. It was over; they’d sewn his mouth shut. The truth of the fact made bile rise in his throat, but he fought it down. What would even happen if he needed to vomit? No, he couldn’t think about things like that… What about eating? He wrapped his hands around his already skinny ribs and stomach. Stop, Link. Panicking anymore would do no good; he just needed to figure out a way out, or a way to survive. They weren’t going to kill him, the leader said so himself. Goosebumps rose up over his skin. No, they wouldn’t kill him, but… how much could he endure? How long could one survive without being able to drink? He pressed his head into the wall trying to find some comfort, but alas. There was nothing but stone and the metallic smell of his own blood. His tongue moved in his mouth and ran over the criss-crossed stitches in his mouth. It hurt. He continued to do it, trying to process. How much could he endure? 

His soul burned brightly inside him; he could endure the end of the world if it were for Hyrule’s sake. He let his head thump against the wall, his eyes impossibly tired, his limbs still shaking and sore from the horror he’d survived. Purple eyes closed, and a fitful sleep overtook him. 

Chapter Text

Sleep did not take to him, not in the way he’d hoped and needed. Now that his panic had abated, he was left frozen and shaking. The dripping of the cellar echoed in his mind, every drop louder and louder. His mind fuzzed, but never did pure unconsciousness take him. Purple eyes opened to a dim and dank place. A radiating pain enveloped his entire face, and every heartbeat made his hand hurt. A headache pressed behind his eyes, and he shivered, the movement causing more pain to his frozen joints.

Confusion clouded his brain, delirious and dazed. Where was he? What was happening? What had happened? Something wet was on his face, and he moved his head to wipe his mouth on his shoulder. His lips connected with his arm, and he screamed, but no noise escaped him. Terror, hot and fresh, shot through him again, his magic whirling to life again. No, he demanded it. Don’t move. His chest heaved as he attempted to breathe in enough air through his nose. It wasn’t enough. He needed to calm down; he needed to calm the fuck down. He let his eyes slip closed once more and struggled to relax his breathing. Panicking would not do any good here. Slowly, he herded his magic back into his core and locked it away. The intensity of it made his nerves light on fire.

Loud footsteps thudded across the wet stone floor, and Legend flinched at the sudden noise, his ears pressing flat against his head. The door slammed open, and he started, his mind snapping back into place. He glared at the figure stalking towards him. Curse words formed in his mind, but none could leave his lips. A malicious smile crossed his captor’s face, and Legend swallowed.

“Hard to mouth off now, isn’t it?” He hissed at him, and the Veteran held his gaze. Legend’s hands were free; he just needed to let him get a little closer. A metal rod slid out of his sleeve, and he balked. No, he wouldn’t lie here in defeat. Legend eyed it warily but still bided his time. A few steps closer, and he could lunge and attempt to get a chokehold on this demon.

Mockingly, the cultist came forward, the rod swinging back and forth easily in his grip. Legend counted, one, two, three. Come here, you fucker, his fingers twitched, his muscles tensing to spring. A sharp pain was in his hand, but he ignored it; a missing finger wouldn’t stop him. The demon turned his back to the Veteran, and he lunged, climbing onto the back of the cultist.

His skinny but muscular arms wrapped around the hooded neck. The metal rod connected with his side, and the crack of a rib echoed in his ears, his breath catching in his nose. He gripped tighter around his neck, but a sudden onslaught of magic surrounded him, and he was locked in a war. His own magic turned feral, desperate and aching to be freed and seek out those whom he loved. He refused, and in his refusal, he was stunned for a second, and that’s all it took. Clawed hands wrapped around his wrists, and bereft of his power bracelets, his arms were pried free, claws sinking into his flesh.

He was flung back to the ground, his collar clanking, his broken rib smacking on the ground, making him want to gasp in pain, but nothing could escape. The figure stalked forward, a wicked smile on its rotted face. He struggled getting his breath under control, his chest heaving, and he curled defensively on the floor, his ribs shooting unending pain in his wiggling. The rod was held to his face, and he glared up at it. It moved back threateningly over him, and Legend felt a cold swell of panic in his stomach, his skin breaking out in a sweat at what was to come. Fuck was the last thought he had as it swung down.

A white hot pain made him black out. Static filled his brain as he came to. A hard kick to his abused rib made him gasp, but his lips just pulled in their stitches and his eyes shot open. He was still in hell.

Another scream was silenced as he tried to breathe, but found it harder than ever. The rod had struck him across the face, his nose a searing mass of agony. It was broken. Tears sprang into his eyes. He tried to gasp, unable and terrified again. His nose gushed blood, his breath nowhere to be found. He could feel the swelling already, and his one lifeline to breathing was closing up. His mouth was full of blood from his draining nose, and he desperately tried to swallow it down.

A chuckle rang across the dim cell, and Legend didn’t have the wherewithal to even process it in his panic. Every inhale through his broken nose burned, ached, and made flashes of agony spread across his face. In a deranged sort of desperation, he tried to open his mouth again, but more pain shot through the incisions, and he whined behind his sealed lips. His magic begged to be released, to call upon those who shared the same soul as him, but he staunchly refused. No. If they captured Hyrule, this world would be doomed for all eternity. No. If they took his brother, it would be Rulie’s blood that would drip onto the ground until nothing was left but a cold, dead corpse. Legend refused, and his magic thrummed hotly under his skin to the point that the Veteran wondered if it was going to burst through his skin.

His collar was gripped and jerked, and Legend was dragged with it as he attempted to stay alive in this moment. His lungs were on fire, and he pressed his hands gingerly to his face as his back scraped across the ground to his next torment. Couldn’t he get just a minute? His heart was beating too fast, his head dizzy with lack of air. He closed his eyes; pain surrounded him, but his face was the most prevalent. He couldn’t bother to try and figure out where he was being dragged; he was just trying to stay alive.

The world stopped moving around him, and a clank was heard that he knew was his chains being fastened to something. His arms were raised above him, and he struggled in vain to free them from the monster’s grip. Shackles closed around his thin wrists, and his broken rib was jostled with the movement; all his weight shifted as he was lifted into the air by his wrists. Purple dazed eyes blinked open to the same room as the time before.

A knife was held to his face, sharp and gleaming; it danced in the torchlight. Legend was no stranger to pain. A hysterical part of his mind supplied that he was just glad it wasn’t a needle again.

“Rabbits are so delicate; a single strike can kill them.” The voice hissed, and the words he wished to spew at his captor were trapped behind his teeth. The voice ‘tsked’ at him, and Legend’s brow furrowed.

“But this one is not destined to die, not until it brings forth the cursed one.” The knife moved over his exposed chest. The flat of the blade pressed into his ribcage, right over his broken rib. Legend wanted to hiss, to curse, anything, but only silence came from him. His magic made his heart burn, made his eyes water in its desperation. NO, he would not sentence the one he loved to this. He could endure.

The sharp blade slipped into his skin like butter. His chest stuttered; pain blossomed fresh and raw over his nose again at his anguished breathing. Legend knew what being stabbed felt like; he knew how a blade in his flesh ached. His head tilted down to see the once gleaming blade now drenched in his blood, the handle sticking out of his side. Hot and sticky blood poured from his side and dripped to the damp ground. He let his head lower once more, his vision swimming. Every nerve hurt; every movement of his body caused fire to spread through his veins. He wasn’t sure if it was his own magic or the pain of his mortal body anymore; maybe it was a sick, twisted amalgamation of both.

A sick, spreading feeling encompassed his side, and he wanted to scream at the pure fire that licked up his nerves. An unnatural pull grabbed at his bone, and panic swarmed through him; his mind blanked out. There was no fighting, no fleeing in this cursed place. The broken rib was slid through his open wound and held to his face, the tip of it tracing down his cheek in mockery. Unforgiving, malicious red eyes stared into his eyes, and he found himself flinching away from the sight, his courage cowed. How much can I endure? echoed through his mind once more, and he thought of Rulie’s soul. No, he would lay down his life for his brother; he would never break and subject Hyrule to this place. His mind may flicker out, his body may crumble and be pieced apart, but he would never give Rulie up. Come what may, torn apart and stitched back together, Legend had to endure. He just hoped he’d be forgiven. That when they discovered the sacrifice he’d made, when his corpse eventually rotted away in this forsaken place, that they would know. He hadn’t given them up.

His breath caught in his nose, the swelling causing him to wheeze. His skin shuddered as a needle was held to his face once more. Exhausted, he closed his eyes. His body was already reacting to the thought of it, was already shivering and coursing adrenaline through him, pleading for him to flee. There was no hope for that. His magic agonized under his skin. Blood still flowed from his side, leaving him weak and cold. The first prick of the needle had his eyes opening again, wide and fearful.

With a sick fascination, trapped in the jaws of horror, he watched as it was slid through his skin and turned back to repeat the process. He groaned behind his sewn lips, despondent and exhausted. A wicked grin was leveled at him as the needle was pulled up to his face, the thread tugging at his flesh uncomfortably, his rib cast to the ground like rubbish. Coherent thoughts drifted from him as dread encompassed his mind and soul. His tongue pressed against his stitches, blood and gore smeared across the thread. His lungs still screamed, still ached, still lacked sufficient air, and Legend wondered if one could suffocate to death while panicking. His heart was far too fast, the blood pumping down his side, the stitches slow and brutal to prolong his torment.

When it was finally over, he was left to hang. His head drooped forward, but sleep still evaded him. His magic was too taut, too wound up, and he feared that if he lost consciousness, it would seek out the one whom he loved. So he nodded and awoke countless times. Time moved strangely around him; the dim, dark room offered no visual signs of time moving. Blood started dripping down his mouth and onto the floor below him, and blurry eyes watched. Why was his mouth bleeding? He wasn’t sure if it was his nose or mouth anymore. It didn’t matter; he had far too little blood remaining. He swallowed, thick and dry it felt. He would like some water. His shoulders screamed, his wrists were numb and painful above him, and every breath made his side pull in agony. He was so thirsty.

A door creaked open once more, the sound of a chain whirled behind him, and suddenly the world was tilted as he dropped to the stone floor in a heap of shaking, painful limbs. He would have gasped if able, but instead his mouth pulled on the stitches and shot a stinging pain through his face. Dazed and confused, he blinked rapidly. The stone floor was cold against his side; he’d luckily fallen on his undamaged side and now lay there like a dead thing. The chain attached to his collar was pulled once more, and he was dragged back to the cell.

Every nerve only contained pain, and with that sensation, all else faded away. The door was shut, the clanging final. There was no hope in this place; there was no light, courage, or belief here. Only pain and torment. He pressed his forehead into the stone, careful that his mouth didn’t meet the ground. He couldn’t sleep; he couldn’t rest. What would happen in the throes of unconsciousness? What would his magic convey and seek? How long could he keep a grasp on it? Tears, unbidden and unlooked for, pooled hot in his eyes. He refused; he couldn’t spare the moisture, couldn’t spare the extra energy they would wring out of him. He shuddered, his skin prickling with cold.

He would not last the week. Not like this. Not with blood being spilt and no way of obtaining any nutrients. His hands had been freed again, and as he lay on his side, he slipped them up to his eyes. They were shaking, thin and frail, his wrists bruised and bleeding. Pale skin stretched too tightly over bone. He had no more blood to give, no more energy left in his already thin frame. Had it even been a day? How much time had transpired in this cursed place? How pitiful. He felt like a rabbit caught in a foot trap, left to starve to death. His soul lit aflame in his chest, like a spark refusing to die and thus burning brightly before it dwindled altogether. Purple eyes slipped open once more and caught on the door of the cell. Something shimmered in the torchlight. Hope burst forth in his chest like a flower suddenly seeing the sun. A key lay in the dirt, forgotten and mishandled.

Slowly, he uncurled, purple eyes darting around to see if anyone was secretly watching him. His breath hitched in his nose, and then he started to crawl forward. His side ached with each movement, the stitches pulling uncomfortably across his skin, the trauma his flesh had incurred brutal and invasive.

He reached the edge of the cell, and his collar pulled taut, the chain fastened to the wall. All movement stopped, and he wasn’t close enough. Legend breathed deeply through his busted nose, pain igniting in the nerves. He reached out a hand, but it was still too short. His fingers scraped across the dirt and stone as he tried to stretch himself further. The collar pressed against his throat, and he stopped breathing altogether as he desperately scrambled for the one thing that could give him hope. The stitches on his ribs pulled, and he felt fresh blood drip down his chilled skin as he continued to extend himself to the furthest reaches of possibility.

The tip of his finger grazed the key, and he tried to pull in a breath, only for it to be strangled against the metal collar on his throat. He wanted to cry; he wanted to tear and bite and rip the world apart in the iniquity of it. His blood boiled in his veins, what little of it could, and with a final ditch effort, he pushed forward and grabbed hold of the cold metal key on the floor.

With the last of his energy and oxygen, he scuttled back to the wall and tried to breathe. The key was held in reverence in his hands, and he clutched it close to his chest, curling forward over himself to keep from breaking down. He had a chance now… a tiny sliver of hope that he nourished in his soul. Legend could escape from this place and not endanger the one whom he loved. With shaking hands, he dug in the corner of his cell, the mossy wet dirt peeling back just enough to hide the key. He’d have to wait for the perfect moment. For when his very body wasn’t still processing shock and disbelief with shaking limbs and a rapid heartbeat. They didn’t want him to die, so they’d have to give him some sort of nutrients. He’d just hold out til then.

Chapter Text

Fitfully, he’d snatch glimpses of sleep, waking in panic and horror at his mouth still sealed shut. A cold sweat drenched his skin. The shifting in his ribs was uncomfortable and tormenting. The stitches etched into his side and face ached. He was so thirsty; hunger pains had passed, and left him feeling empty. He longed for some food, and yet he couldn’t even process how he’d get anything into his stomach. Half-delirious eyes blinked open. His skin was so cold, the dungeon damp and wet, and his bare flesh was constantly exposed to the moisture and cold. He was still bereft of all of his clothes; only his shorts remained. 

His hands were constantly shaking now, no longer strong and firm in his duty and purpose. He was shaken, and he didn’t know what he could do anymore to fix it. He tried to tuck his frozen hands into his armpits, but it pulled and hurt his ribs. Once he had even held them up to his mouth to breathe warm air on them, but alas… 

Time moved oddly in his state of mind. He was sure no more than a day or two had transpired, but it felt like a week. Every movement made him dizzy and coursed fire through his nerves. It was best to just lie and wish for sleep to take him again; rarely did it. A lifetime of sleeping issues was stacked against him. He knew he wasn’t safe, he knew he couldn’t rest here, and so his body and mind fought it at every turn. 

The thump of footsteps headed his way echoed off the stone walls, and his ears flicked at the new noise. Forcing his eyes open, he could see the light of a torch approaching, and he squinted at it; it was so bright. Another drop of water splashed onto his face from the dripping ceiling, and he flinched at it. The sound of keys jangling on a ring made his heart beat faster. Would they realize? Would he be doomed to more torture and fear for his insolence in attempting to hold on to some shred of hope? He heard the lock turn, and some of his anxiety eased; they had multiple copies of the same key.

The looming figure, hooded and smelling of rot, stepped forward to him and released his collar from the wall shackle. Legend did not move. A vise grip landed in his pink hair and pulled him forward, his body too weak to fight back, his muscles screaming as he tried to get them to move. He was dragged unceremoniously out of the cell and down the hall. His skin scraped, and he weakly pulled an arm up to grab at the hand in his hair. There was no cussing or pleading, his lips forced to remain silent. 

They turned a corner, and he was in another room. More torches were here, but no warmth sank into his frozen skin; a cold sweat enveloped him. There was a singular chair in the room, and he was thrown into it. His wrists were placed in the shackles, and his head was so heavy he could barely lift it to look around. The frozen iron snapped into place, and Legend wanted to groan, wanted to voice his frustrations, but there was no way. His magic, forsaken and shunned, stirred inside him, and tears stung at his eyes. He couldn’t. The thought of keeping it under wraps and under control was so exhausting. 

His soul longed to reach out to those who were his only hope. His mind knew if he did, he would doom them all. A potion bottle was on a stone table next to him, and Legend felt another spark of hope light up in his chest. Perhaps he could gain some strength back; perhaps his mind wouldn’t be so muddled and his body in such agony. He looked at it longingly and noted the color. 

Fear sank into him…that was not a normal color. Dark and evil it looked. He shuddered, trying to let his magic reach out and touch it. It swelled, as if about to rebel and seek out his soul brothers, and so he sealed it away again. It made his heart beat faster and his vision go white for a moment. He breathed harshly through his busted nose. 

“Can’t have our bait going and dying on us now, can we?” The figure mocked, and Legend bowed his head again, too tired to keep it up. That same hand landed in his hair and yanked his head back, his neck screaming in pain. Blood-red eyes in a sunken skull stared at him. 

“This will make you feel better, little rabbit,” it said threateningly, and Legend suddenly wished he were back in his cell. A needle was held up to his face, and he shut his eyes. Please, no more. Anything but those. His eyes stung again, and shame and nausea filled his stomach. Oh, how far he had fallen so fast in the face of his irrational fear. A harsh slap to his face had his eyes opening again, and he blinked, trying to clear his vision from swimming. 

“No looking away now, or perhaps we will remove another part of you.” Legend would have hissed if he could have. Instead, he sat eerily silent and blinked heavily. His soul burned. I must endure. 

He watched the needle as it came closer to his skin. His arm was locked into position, and even if he wished to, he couldn’t struggle anymore. The sharp prick that accompanied all needles stung his arm, and his mind bounced from thought to thought, each more chaotic and frenzied than the last. It disappeared under his skin and sank into his flesh, into his vein. He wanted to throw up. 

Harshly, a tube was connected to the end of it and then deposited into the potion bottle. He jolted as the black liquid seeped into his body. It burned. His breath wasn’t enough, his nose clogged with blood and suppressed tears, his lungs lighting up in fire. The magic in the potion laced through him, thick and cruel; it blended into his own. Terror screamed in his soul, his own magic reviling against it as he kept it locked away. 

His blood sang with renewed energy, his stomach roiling at the disparity of how he’d felt seconds before. He struggled against the restraints; his wrists, bleeding and bruised, didn’t register in his mind. There was no way he was going to be able to keep his magic from lashing out. A wail built up in the back of his throat, but there was no place for it to escape to. Pain blossomed fresh and intense in his nose with each jagged breath. The world around him grew clearer and also went further away, developing into something too vivid, the colors turning vibrant and swaying with each beat of his heart. 

He was going to be sick. Legend desperately didn’t want that to happen. Not without a way for it to escape from him. He shut his eyes, trying to calm down, when pain, sudden and unlooked for, struck his arm. The cloaked figure had a metal rod back in hand, and Legend squirmed in his chair at the fire that licked up his bones. Fuck. He glared daggers at his captor, a renewed vigor filling his body that made him want to gnash his teeth and tear at flesh. None of his injuries were healing; the broken nose was still searing, the stitches still holding his cut flesh together, his mouth still tender and sore. 

Whatever was in that potion… The world was still moving strangely, tinted in colors that Legend knew to not be true. His magic flared again, and he clamped down on it, the sensation wrong and agonizing. It was begging for a release, but Legend refused. Pulsing under his skin, it clawed at him from the inside out. Digging closer and closer to the surface and he was losing the willpower to keep it suppressed. The black magic frenzied his own; it recoiled and hissed at the tainted substance, and he knew this was their purpose. To drive him crazy and let it loose. To lure his brother here to his death and sacrifice. To resurrect the very bastard that Legend had slain four times now. 

He refused. Gritting his teeth, blood filling his mouth at the movement; he forced it back. Purple eyes twitched in wrath at the figure before him, and a bloodlust he’d never experienced surged through him. Oh how he longed to harm and maim and kill this cult. To revel in their defeat and ruin, to soak the ground in their tainted blood and crush their skulls beneath his feet. A sharp prick of shame and terror ran through him; that was not him. Legend didn’t enjoy killing; it was a necessary part of his life, but he never delighted in it, never sought it out. What the fuck was in that potion? 

He watched it empty into his veins, felt his muscles singing back to life, energy returning to him, his skin burning. No longer did he shake and freeze; now everything was scalding: his eyes, his flesh, his soul. The needle in his arm was ripped out, and he found his blood boiling in rage and indignation. His ears were straight up, alert and straining, his eyes searing into the darkness, colors swirling in his vision. Every muscle was tensed and poised. His magic dragged itself across his soul, daring him to release it, and his grip faltered for a second before he remembered his main goal. Get out, survive. He must endure. His main drive echoed in his mind. Keep Hyrule safe. 

Chains were fastened around his wrists once more, and he was led back to his cell on his own legs instead of being dragged half-dead and lifeless. Tossed unceremoniously onto the stone, he watched as his knees bled and felt a longing to see more of it under his hands. The cell clanged shut, and he was left alone once again. Hate flared in his soul as he was left in silence to plot.

They’d left his wrist shackles on; they knew the potions would enhance his strength, but it was a risk they would take to get him to break. To make his magic run wild and free and call those whom his soul loved to him. No, he refused. His tongue traced over the thread in his mouth, a quickly developing habit. The taste of it was of iron and flesh, and even with the false energy of the potion, he longed for food. 

He looked at his shackled hands; the missing finger was now scabbing over, and pus was oozing from it already. The way his mouth still felt like it was leaking meant that it wasn’t healing properly either. Everything itched, and he found himself rubbing at it tenderly, trying to abate some of the discomfort. 

The feeling was odd; it hurt, but it inflicted some sort of odd comfort that he found himself basking in. He scraped his nails across his tender mouth and felt new blood run down his face. It appeased the bloodlust thrumming in his veins, and he sank into it more without truly understanding. He just needed to get himself out of here, and this may very well be his only means. He would not cower like a scared little bunny anymore; he would flee, fast and brilliant in his escape. 

For now, he would wait. He would wait until the effects of whatever was coursing through him dwindled. He would wait until he understood some sort of pattern, until he knew that there wasn’t a cursed side effect to what he’d been given. It was best to gather knowledge and then enact a plan. Legend curled into the corner, his head tipped back against the stone. His chains fell heavy around him, his vision still alive in brilliant colors and hues. Ragged breathing echoed in an all-encompassing silence that strangled any words he’d even hoped to say.