Destined to Fight (GhiraLink)

Loria and Avdima

Darkness reigned the short, narrow hallway of the crumbling, ancient home. Ghirahim deftly avoided a hole in the sagging floor as he headed towards the end of this corridor, towards the bedroom in which Avdima was awaiting him.

When he walked in, he didn't blame her for choosing to stay in there. Being a demon, at one time it would have satisfied his taste; a dirty, black carpet muffled his footsteps as he walked in. The faded ruby red curtains were parted slightly, allowing there to be a sliver of sunlight on the floor. Avdima stood on the opposite side of this sliver, watching him with unseen eyes. She'd taken on the form of a Sheikah that must not have eaten her vegetables as a child, for she only stood an inch or two above Link. In this darkness, her eyes looked more like hollows in her skin than eyes.

She smiled; it was genuine, and it made Ghirahim want nothing more than to bash her face in with his gloveless fist.

"I see you've decided to actually come this time," she said. "Well done."

It took every ounce of effort Ghirahim had to restrain himself. He would have liked to drag her around by her hair as she had done to him, maybe cut off her lips so that she could never smile a pretty smile again, or rip out those long fingernails, show her how he truly felt about her, make sure she felt—

"Calm down," she said, voice gentle yet only making Ghirahim's temper worse. She took a step towards him, holding out a supposedly gently hand.

A dagger, formed out of thin air, shot toward it. The pain that shot through Ghirahim's entire form was unbearable, agonizing, he screamed with the intensity, but at the same time it was so satisfying because he knew she felt a similar pain, and her face as she looked down at the dagger sticking out of her hand showed it.

Then she looked up at him. “You…”

He lunged at her, bloodlust dulling the pain and his body's cry for him to stop, to just relax so that the pain would go away. She fell back, eyes wide with perhaps fear. Did she truly fear him? Just with that simple move? It didn't matter.

His sword appeared in his hands. He ripped across her flesh, grinning at the blood his attack drew, at how it coated her clothes and flew through the air. All of this would be gone later, he knew, but he didn't care. He slashed repeatedly any anywhere he could reach, at her arms, her legs, her torso, her head. She was bleeding everywhere, but Ghirahim continued, forgetting all the pain he felt because of his actions. A sword spirit wasn't supposed to attack their master--everyone knew that--but he cared for nothing.

Then, suddenly, the ground left him and he slammed into the wall behind him, the old wood and stone cracking under his weight. The pain that blossomed throughout his back, head, and arms brought him back to reality, and as he fell back to the ground it rendered him unable to move.

Avdima glared down at him as she pulled the dagger out of her hand and tossed it to the side. "You fool. I can see now why that boy beat you. Impulsive as you are, he didn't need strength, did he?" As soon as her fingers wrapped around Ghirahim's sword, he used what little strength he had to make to disappear. She stood upright once more, her hollows burning with hatred. "You're just as defiant as ever. Evidently Link didn't teach you to obey your superiors."

A well-aimed kick caught Ghirahim in the nose with a sickening crack—despite the blood pouring from her wounds, she was just as strong as if she wasn't injured. Ghirahim could only muster enough strength to moan.

Ghirahim glared up at her, trembling. His eyes screamed defiance.

"Now, Ghirahim, what am I?"

He didn't answer. That earned him another hard kick.