World Tree MUSH

  The Kingdom of Hyrule is normally a peaceful and prosperous place, given to beautiful vistas of wide open fields, majestic mountains, and pristine forests. It's the kind of place most people dream of when they think of the idea mediaeval kingdom -- quaint houses with rustic architecture, somber citadels with their soaring towers, and a handful of seemingly disparate but friendly races living peacefully with one another.

  Magic is also a thing, here, more so than some worlds. It's not exactly common as dirt, but there are some individuals known to exhibit such powers. In fact, its beloved and benevolent royal family is well-known to exhibit hereditary sorcery, which they often use to better conditions for their people, or to defend them.

  But there is evil afoot in Hyrule. A curse is spreading from the southeastern provinces and the heart of Hyrule, where Hyrule Castle towers over its dominion. Glowing embers that don't burn and darkened skies, leached colour -- all of these things happen the further from safety one strays. The malicious Twilight is real, and imminent; and it seems to render the people into helpless spirits, unaware of their fate and unable to do anything but fear the nameless evil that has blanketed their world.

  It's up to someone to save the kingdom. Who better than the one who put it into these dire straits? As far as most assume in the provinces furthest from the twilight, Hyrule's sovereign is dead; the king and queen were murdered in the Twilight King's initial raid, and as far as most are aware the only surviving family member, the princess, must be imprisoned. Or worse. Maybe she's dead, too. This far from Hyrule Castle, nobody really knows anything. They only know that the twilight is spreading, and that there's nothing much they can do to stop it.

  In the northeastern region of Hyrule, the fields give way to rocky gorges and sun-baked stone. This place, known as Eldin Province, is home to desolate badlands, canyons, and mountain ranges; a few rugged villages and outposts, and the trailhead of the imposing Snowpeak mountain range. Travel here does not rely on technology, but on beasts of burden or by walking.

  So it is that there's a cluster of figures standing near the snow-dusted road in upper Eldin Province, headed northward towards the still-distant Snowpeak range. It's savage weather to be travelling; winter on the mountain is brutal. One of their number seems to be down, having suffered some kind of accident or another; a broken leg, maybe. A figure in a black cloak and hood is knelt over them, grey-gloved hands splayed over the wound. The hands are shaking, slightly.

  There is a soft voice murmuring. It's a young woman's, but it isn't terribly steady, and seems to be asking Hyrule's gods for benediction.

  Golden-white light radiates from the hooded figure's hands. The villager looks on in consternation, but it must not be painful; they're not saying anything.

  The sorcery is pretty noticeable, because it is late evening and the mountain pass is already obnoxiously dark. It's like having a torch lit.

     The land is beautiful. The land is soft. The sprawling lands are green and glorious in a way that nothing mechanical has ever been. Its rolling hills would drive an artist to tears. Its vast blue skies would bring a poet to ther knees. It is a triumph of the natural world, a magic entirely without Magic. Even accursed, even sick with black ink, with leaching color and poisonous clouds, the land is still a glorious place. The rock gorges, the desolate badlands, possess themselves a quiet glory. 

     None of it means anything to the young man. He walks with the purposeful stride of someone with a mission in existence. He walks with the purposeful gait of a man on a mission, of a man with a goal. Every now and then, he casts his eyes at the black clouds, at the twisting twilight, the warping power, and his knuckles clench. His white hoodie is pulled low, hiding much of his face. A strange, high-tech shield is slung over his shoulder like a backpack. At his side hangs a heavy, high-tech revolver. His weapons are ill-at-odds with the landscape around him, triumphs of machinery glorious in ways nothing natural could ever be. The revolver is sleek and heavy-looking, with a ponderous sort of majesty that compels at least admiration for the designer's willingness to push the boundaries of the phrase *high-caliber* to the absolute limit. The shield is a big white slab with a glowing red x upon it, the same sort of X that hangs around his hood and his chest, giving his hoodie the impression of impossibly sleek medieval armor. In the dim light, the red lining of his hood and the red X along his chest pulse with an eerie crimson. To most people in Hyrule, he would seem a devil, a demon, a strange white Darknut striding from the mists of the Twilight for some unknown purpose. 

     That would likely be more comforting than the truth. 

     The caravan enters his sight. The light of the sorcery flares. Unnatural pushes away the shadows of the mountain pass, illuminating the air before him. A moment ago, the only light was from his own red lines. 

     Now, from the darkness emerges the young man. The red xs give way to the white metal armor and the white hood, to the half-hidden face and the heavy revolver. 

     He says nothing. He simply draws the heavy revolver, levels it at the sorceress, and fires. 

     The shot rings out in the mountain pass, a sound likely unheard in Hyrule, as the massive, unnecessarily large bullet emerges from the gun. 

     Compassion? Mercy? Kindness? Good? Evil? Wickendess? Suffering? Cruelty? These are the lies the world is built upon. 'Show me one atom of justice, one iota of mercy.' 

     There is only Power. And Power corrupts, for the road to hell is paved with good intentions. 

     Adept Slayer Copen waits at the end of that road.

  The spreading curse is an ugly situation, a literal and metaphorical blight on the very landscape it devours. There is nothing natural about the way the squared-off embers flit skyward, or the way the world beneath them seems to be leached of colour and light. Their status as some manner of supernatural force is patently obvious.

  It has most of Hyrule's people on edge, to say the least.

  When the sharp crack of a report rings through the canyon, all of the group turns in unison, their immediate reactions one of fear. Some throw themselves to the ground, although it's probably luck more than in knowing the weapon. Some of them hold to one another. One draws a crude-looking sword; one hovers over the robed figure protectively.

  Scraps of black fabric are left in the wake of the shot that grazes the robed figure; the force of the blow actually flings them off their feet, to slide a half a foot or so in the dust, curling up to clutch at the wounded shoulder.

  The blow did serve to knock back the hood. It's a young woman beneath it, pretty enough if not for the deep shadows of exhaustion under her eyes, or the hollowness beneath her cheekbones that suggests more than a few missed meals. Her hair is a dark honeyed blonde, neatly braided; her eyes the clear blue of a summer sky. At her brow rests a delicate but ornate crown of golden leaves, set with a sapphire, thin chain fastening it behind her head.

  A number of the villagers gasp. One or two of them give shocked whispers of, 'Princess Zelda!' or, 'It's the Princess!' Apparently they didn't know who she was, hiding in the hooded robe.

  Zelda finally manages to pick herself up, but she staggers. Blood spots the dust underfoot. Her eyes flick briefly to the group of stunned villagers. "Good people of Hyrule, I beg of you, continue down the road."

  The sword-wielder steps forward uncertainly, shaking his head. "No, Your Highness, we--"

  A flicker of pain crosses her face; pain deeper than the blood on her shoulder. "Please go," she insists. "I do not wish to order you, but this is not your concern. You are not safe here. Take your women and your children, please, and go."

  Her good hand rises to clap over her wounded shoulder, and she flinches. "What is the meaning of this?" The order isn't one of royal command, despite the suddenness of this. Either she's arrogant, or she's doing really well not to dissolve into a panicky mess, because she meets Copen's eye -- even if there's very obvious fear in her own. "Who are you?" She's stepping back and away from Copen as she speaks, feeling her way uncertainly. "What is the meaning of this? Has--has the Twilight King sent you?" Her tone hardens, but it's false bravado. Her voice breaks. "Are you one of Zant's lackeys?"

     Zelda gets a glimpse of Copen's eyes. It's only a glimpse, in the darkness, illuminated by the lining of his hood. Those eyes are angry. Those eyes are young and angry, maybe not much older than she is, but full of a profound, a deep, a /thorough/ hatred. There is no magic in those eyes, no clouding mysticism, no tell-tale pulses of illusion or anything else. Within those brilliant red eyes is raw, naked, unabashed hate. 

     The cartridge falls from the revolver, smoldering from the sheer heat. It's large enough and loud enough to ring out like a gong bell on the steps of the rock. 

     "Time to shatter this crown." His voice is hard, but dramatic, the kind of proclamation someone under the control of another could never make. It's not the loud bombast of the kind of monsters Zelda is used to dealing with - it's a calm, collected, fixated atmosphere, a performance that is as much a weapon as that gun. 

     Copen's eyes flash as he unslings his shield. "You, who strays from the light of God; you, impure beast that lords over the righteous. That you cannot imagine any reason one would slay you but your enemies speaks loudly of your ignorance." 

     "Rest assured." Copen tilts the gun to the side, still walking forward. "If your enemies are the same as you, then go to your grave knowing that the Adept Slayer will not spare them this fate. I will purge the taint of your kind from all worlds." 

     Another, resounding bang.

  It's only royal command that forces the people to flee further northward; they obviously don't want to, but maybe they also know that they're outmatched. Maybe they're going to go summon help. Going by how reluctant they are to leave, if that's what they plan, they're not going to wait too long to do it.

  "What?" Zelda sounds confused, even as she staggers to stay upright. If she has something she can use to defend herself, she isn't reaching for it; she seems to be taken more or less off her guard. Nothing this young man is saying makes any sense whatsoever to her. "What are you--what are you even talking about?"

  No, this guy probably isn't one of Zant's, unless Zant managed to find some weird off-worlder. There's no way this guy is from Hyrule with an arsenal like that.

  He also hasn't answered her question, so she tries again. "Have you been sent by the Twilight King, Zant?"

  That he comes from some realm beyond Hyrule's bounds is not a comforting thought. It means she can't possibly gauge his abilities or even his intent; he is a completely unknown factor, and one that appears to have her in the cross-hairs for some reason. The calmness, the singularity of purpose, is as much frightening to her as the strange weapon he wields.

  "Stray from the light of the gods? I honour the Goddesses. I am in turn blessed by them. What are you even talking about? What kind?" Zelda reaches for what is presumably a weapon, but she never gets that far. Another shot cracks; birds fly from a tree further down the canyon in a blind panic.

  The princess looks down with a frown more confused than angry. She doesn't understand. Who is this young man, and why is he so intent on murdering her? And what did he mean by 'her kind?'

  More importantly, how is she going to get herself out of this mess?

  "I do not know who you are, or why you have come here. But know this: I must defend myself, or my people will have no defender." There's the light in her eyes, that moment of steel to ward herself against her terror: Her people, it seems, are the leverage by which she can be drawn to action. A monarch, but a curiously unselfish one. "Lower your weapon, young man. I implore you. Leave this place. I have no quarrel with you. If Hyrule has wronged you, than I would set things aright."

  Her voice is not steady, but whether that's from looking as exhausted as she does, from being injured, or from her fear of Copen, it's hard to say which. Probably all three. "I will guide you beyond, if you do not know the way."

     Those burning, hateful eyes never waver. There's /nothing/ in them but wrath, but hate, but pure and utter rage. This is true rage, true wrath, the sort that one finds in old legends and myths. This is true hate - the sort that creeps into a human soul and seeps into it until it is twisted beyond all belief, until it is barely recognizable as a human. 

     "If the Twilight King is of your kind then he will be slain. If your people are like you then they will be slain. This land's darkness will be put to light. This land's evils will be put to destruction." 

     "You are a poison upon God's creation. Your existence blights all lands with your arrogance. You will not be allowed to spread. No other worlds shall know your illness. You are the curse, the source of wickedness beyond wickedness." 

     "You, Adept. You, Magician. You, Defiler. You, Sickness." 

     "I am the cure. I am the cure to your evil. I am the Demon of God that scourges your kind from existence on behalf of those too weak, too weak-willed, too indoctrinated by pretty faces and pretty words to do the deed." 

     Copen tilts his head to the side. "I have given you now two shots more than you deserve. Pick up your blade and bring forth your evil power if you want to die like a human being, eyes forward. At the end of your wretched life, find some forgiveness in the arms of the LORD." 

     Copen lowers his gun as she implores him to do so. She might almost be forgiven for thinking that she's managed to sway him - almost, if she isn't still looking into those hateful eyes. There's not even a twitch of hesitation as he surges forward, sweeping his massive tower shield out at her like a sword, as if it weighed almost nothing. The crimson glow of its X casts his face and his hood in a bloodier pall, lending his eyes an almost supernatural air all their own. 

     And he's /fast/. He's fast in a way that things in Hyrule really normally /aren't/. Zelda can see, around his boots, the red lights glowing brighter as he moves forward, as he swings at her. The blade swings around, and his foot swings upwards, lashing directly for her stomach and breasts - the vulnerable center of mass. 

     But he's not trying to hit her. No, nothing so kind. Nothing so simple. Nothing so easy. 

     And he's not giving her a chance, either. No, that would be merciful, and Copen has no mercy. 

     He's trying to *force her back towards one of the canyons.* So he can pin her. So he can make her choose. 

     Take her own life, or let him take it.

  It's rare to see such hate in someone's eyes. There is nothing melodramatic or theatrical about it, and that's what makes it such a deadly serious threat; it's the kind of driving force that consumes someone's life, and makes them without fear. No leverage exists that could be wielded against that kind of singularity of purpose.

  That kind of hatred begets only more of itself, and it will not listen to reason nor have a place for anything but more of itself. At that gradual realisation, fear seems to settle on the princess.

  No. She can't let this weapon-toting lunatic start killing her people indiscriminately. But what can she do? She may not even survive this altercation herself. Already her right arm hangs, nearly useless. With her left she grips her own wrist, bringing both hands up to her heart. She murmurs something that might be a prayer. It's muffled by the violet silk at her throat.

  When she looks up, there is a blade swinging in her general direction. Zelda kicks back with an undignified yelp, hand automatically reaching for something under her robe. She produces a bow, which looks suspiciously common for royalty. Her other hand draws an arrow from the quiver at her hip, smooth enough to suggest this young woman is not a notive archer.

  The arrow is drawn back to her pointed ear, held for a heartbeat, and eased back to a ready position with an unladylike grunt of pain. It's going to cost her to defend herself -- she's using muscles torn by the shots he'd fired earlier for her drawing hand. There is more of the princess' blood spotting the ground.

  Maybe it's just a trick of the light, but that blood seems faintly luminous.

  "I'm sorry, but whatever grievance you have with me, it is misplaced." Zelda's voice is strained, because she is currently hurting like hell, and also because she's already going into this tired enough to fall over, and the evening is taking an alarmingly bleak turn in regards to her odds. "Since reasoning with you will not work, I am sorry, but I must defend myself. I have not yet fulfilled my purpose, and I will not return to my ancestors in shame."

  Her boot slips in the dust, and she staggers to stay upright. She doesn't yet seem to notice that she's being herded. She's also looking at the path beyond him, as though gauging whether she could run fast enough to get away from him, or whether he'd just shoot her in the back.

  Yeah no he'd shoot her in the back in a hot minute. Okay, scratch that plan off hte list. She's going to have to keep him talking or keep him interested, and pray to the Goddesses that they provide her some way to get out of this situation alive. She meant her words. She will absolutely not return to her ancestors in shame; being remembered as the queen who heralded Hyrule's ruin is not an option.

  But this hateful young man is out of her league, and she knows it. She's going to be lucky to get out of this alive.

  Her boot slips again. Only then, in startling to keep her balance, does Zelda seem to notice how close to the edge they are. The colour seems to drain from her face, but her eyes harden as she regards her assailant.

  "So be it. I have tried to reason with you, but you are determined to be an enemy of Hyrule." The princess smoothly lifts her bow, draws, and fires in a single trembling movement; even as she tries to make her way to the left or right, to safer and less dizzying ground.

  Zelda swallows against a dry throat. "Leave my kingdom, or I will be forced to remove you."

  It's false bravado. It's so false bravado. She sounds like she's trying to convince herself, with what she's up against.

     "Misplaced!" Copen's voice is almost incredulous in its spite, steeped equally in shock and distaste, "You, Witch, would claim that you are not, when it was your own power that drew my hand? Your own magic that lit my path?" 

     "How utterly preposterous." 

t And then the arrow is launched. Copen has two choices. He can let her go - let her dodge, let her run, let her attempt to get around him - and avoid the arrow himself...or... 

     Or he can do exactly what he does. 

     Copen soaks the arrow. It punches into his shoulder, past his high-tech armor, scoring a solid wound on his shield arm. The arrow, shot wild, sinks in - and in exchange Copen has freedom of movement, unherded by Zelda's strike. He can *cut her off* - by sacrificing his own body. 

     That is a *deep* hatred indeed. 

     His blood is not luminous; it is red, and in the darkness of the Hyrule night, almost invisible. He is nothing but an ordinary human. 

     "Compensate," he says to the air, and he seems to just *move* as if by some other force, like a puppet being jerked to the side. His arm rises; unlike Zelda he does not wince in pain, though he is clearly bleeding *and* trying to hold that massive, heavy shield. His other arm draws his revolver again, firing a bullet at the ground in front of her. 

     "I am an enemy of all those who defy the order of God. I am the Demon that purges the powerful, the wicked, the sinful. Are you simply not listening? Not uncommon." 

     The revolver clicks and whirrs. "You cannot remove me. I am not an idiot. If you had such power you would have mustered it by now. But it does not matter. Even the smallest seed can become a kudzu." 

     "Your unnatural power is what has brought this upon you. Curse those who gave it to you. Curse those who gave you the power to stand above mortals, and know that even you, Adept, are not beyond the reach of men." 

     Copen brings his massive tower shield slamming forwards with a grimace. He's clearly not doing most of the work there, but he's still *feeling* it as he tries to simply shove Zelda off the cliff. Why? Why not just shoot her? 

     Because shooting her, and missing, wastes more ammo. Because if she can run him down on ammo, she might be able to get away. But does she know that? 

     Copen won't take the chance.

  It's sorely tempting to give in to the panic-noises at the back of her mind, but Zelda holds her composure together through sheer force of will. It's imperative that she buy her people time to escape this lunatic. He's shown he won't take mercy even on the villagers if they satisfy his conditions, and once he talks about it more, she understands.

  Magic. She was using magic. Is that what set him into such a murderous rage? The blessings of the Goddesses themselves? How would that even be a problem?

  Would it matter? He's insane. She can see the wild hatred in his eyes, so at odds with his calm and deliberate mannerisms. It's a slavering beast lunging at the end of its chain.

  "I have never met you before today," Zelda insists, hand surreptitously reaching for her quiver, drawing another arrow and nock it to the string. "What you saw had nothing to do with you. When that man lost his footing on the path, he broke his leg. I was mending his wounds, because he asked for someone to help him."

  She can feel her hand spasming even as it loosely clutches the bowstring. Already she can feel she's pushing her body further than would be safe... yet still she pushes on, against all personal desire to run. The needs of her people come first. It's a compulsive insistence -- the Triforce of Wisdom doesn't care about her personal desires; it cares only to guide her decisions to be the best decisions for her subjects. It forces her to embrace wholly the philosophy of sacrificing the good of the few for the good of the many.

  Her expression is torn. She doesn't want to hurt this young man, and firing on another living being is something she's never been comfortable with, but... well, she's going to die if she doesn't. An idiot could see that, Triforce or no Triforce.

  Zelda leaps back at the bullet biting into the ground at her feet. She looks up, raising high her bow in the same movement, but she doesn't draw yet. Blood runs down her right arm, and the fingers that clutch the fletching and bowstring are trembling. Something in her expression is disbelieving. How can someone be so insane, and act so violently on that unflinching confidence grounded in such insanity?

  He's killing people for their magic? Because he believes it's unnatural? If the Goddesses willed it unnatural, it wouldn't be a known phenomenon. And Hyrule's queens certainly wouldn't have divine sorcery in their blood.

  Oh, dear. This is a pickle, isn't it?

  "You are insane; that is what you are." Zelda's tone is cold, but the illusion is ruined when her voice cracks again. It's hard not to be afraid of that kind of illogical motivation. It's also hard not to ask how he thinks he has the right to indiscriminately murder, but wisdom suggests she wouldn't really get anywhere with that argument.

  "I am--I am sorry that you feel this way, but I can see that this is the only truth that you will believe. I must choose my battles carefully, and I care not to surrender this one, even if I care less to fight it. I must save my people. I will not allow you to step between me and my duty to my people." Zelda narrows her eyes, staggering in place again. It's clear she's tiring; her breath is laboured and ragged, and she seems to be having some trouble keeping her footing. "I cannot indulge you your madness. Not today."

  The princess lurches to the side as Copen tries to bowl her over the edge of the cliff, boot skidding on loose rubble. Several small stones are sent clattering into the abyss, and it takes a little scrabbling for her not to overbalance. Zelda throws herself forward in a lunge, trying to both dive and bring her bow around; shoulder braced out to land on and keep her aim true.

  Going by the way her face blanches and the ghastly expression on her face, landed on her wounded shoulder hurts like a son of a bitch. "Get out of my kingdom," the princess snarls, even as she lets the arrow fly. "Let my people be."

  But it isn't an arrow she fires. It's a shaft of golden-white light itself, leaking from between her fingers and casting stark shadows. It's almost too bright to look at; the way it crackles over the arrow shaft is almost electric in its intensity. It flies as fast as any other arrow, with the exception that Zelda didn't fire it as a disabling shot.

  She fired it as a kill shot. It's lancing straight for Copen's torso... but by the desperate look on the princess' face, she isn't expecting it to get past that enormous shield.

     Copen says nothing. Whether he agrees with her, or whether he feels that he is sane, or whatever is going on behind those hateful eyes, Copen has lapsed into absolute silence. It's probably worse than hearing his motivations - hearing his motivations, however deranged, makes him /human/. Hearing him ignoring her words - hearing him simply /silent/, swinging his shield, striking at her, trying to kill her with no noise but his footsteps in the light snow, but his breathing in the cold - makes him an inhuman, murderous avenger. 

     She lurches to the side. He swings, but she's already out of the way, throwing herself forward. That means he's against the cliff. That's...bad. 

     And then she conjures up her magic. Her witchery. Her light arrow. 

     Copen slams the shield into it directly. The light arrow crashes against the shield with thunderous power. It digs, the sacred power of Hyrule brought to bear against the offworld intruder. Copen holds it, holds it fast, but it's pressing against his injured shoulder, and his Wargear can't possibly keep this up for long, not with his body inside it. He has no choice. 

     She's not in an optimal firing range but it'll do. 

     Copen sacrifices. Red light flows from the boots and the hood to his arms. His left arm's bracers glow slightly brighter, casting that bloody pall across the snow and the back of the shield; his right arm's erupts into light. His hand snaps upwards with impossible, inhuman aim as the programs inside his suit are diverted to /make/ his aim impossible, to /make/ it flawless. But it means he's skidding backwards towards the cliff, sliding backwards towards potential death, because he's got nothing to secure him, nothing to hold him, and the arrow is driving into his wounded arm like nothing else. 

     Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang. Five shots ring out in almost perfect succession, only stopped from being simultaneous by the laws of physics. One bang chains into the next. One bullet flies the second the first has crested free of the chamber, glistening in the red light. They are flawlessly spread - one above, one below, one left, one right, and one right for the middle. He's out of bullets - but he's covered her escape routes as best he could in his new disadvantaged position. Perhaps she'll bleed to death when she tries to run. 

     He braces against the shield. 

     Then he releases it, spinning to the left, balanced only just above the crevice. The arrow cleaves past him, slicing through his breastplate, blood spilling from his chest with the sparks. The red light flickers. 

     Copen's face remains unmoved.

  The lack of words is most chilling of all. The silence turns him from a misguided killer to a force of nature as inexorable and implacable as the mountain itself. That is infinitely more horrifying to the princess.

  Zelda doesn't even have time to move. Two of the three shots miss, but only because of happenstance -- the first of the three slam into her with enough force and immediacy to spin her around, causing the other shots to go awry. One lances past her side, cutting a deep gouge, and one each slams into her already-wounded shoulder and her hip. She doesn't even have time to cry out.

  Reeling away with a wheezing gasp of agony, the princess forcibly staggers away from the precipice, heedless of the luminous blood that spatters to the snow. She tries to hold herself upright, but she can't; she collapses to her hands and knees, curling in on herself. It hurts. It's pain like she's never felt before. What are these weapons? What power do they wield? How can he run down practitioners of magic while wielding something that seems quite like magic itself?

  ...Who cares? She's going to bleed to death if she doesn't do something about it.

  "You... you are misguided," Zelda rasps. She seems about to say something more, but something in her face twists. She staggers a half-step back, and crumples to the dust. She doesn't get up.

  Maybe he succeeded... but if she's still alive, it isn't by much, and it won't be for very long. She sounds like she's struggling to breathe, ragged and laboured. Has Hyrule's last sovereign fallen? No... not quite. She's whispering something, brokenly.

  Her hand still clutches her bow, but she's too busy bleeding out to use it. It falls from her nerveless fingers.

  There's a shimmer of light around her. A barrier, made of pure light; weak, but maybe enough to save her life.

  "Go," she whispers, brokenly, to Copen. "L-leave me... to die... in peace... and make my... prayers... to my Goddesses..."

     Copen's eyes flick down at her. 

     They are merciless. They are merciless in a way that none of the corrupted monsters of Hyrule ever could be. They are merciless in an entirely, a *painfully* human way. They are the eyes of a man doing what he believes he must do. Doing what he believes must *be done*. If he is mad, then he is mad in a way that is most painfully lucid. If he is deluded, he is deluded at the core, capable of reason and logic but working from a flawed and terrifying premise. They are the eyes of a man on a mission - a mission of hate, but a mission nonetheless. 

     Copen hits his shield against hers. 

     But his blow is weak. His Wargear is broken; he has no superhuman strength, now. Her weak shield is enough to keep him out. 

     He could sit here. He could sit here, and watch her die. But there's a nonzero chance she's called for reinforcements. There's even a likely one. Adepts tended to stick together. The faster you killed them, the faster you could leave before their friends showed up to kill you. The longer he wastes... 

     Copen's hateful red eyes flicker for a moment. It's not a flicker of remorse. It's a flicker to the snow. 

     With deft fingers, he goes searching for a rock, scooping up some of the snow with Zelda's glowing blood on it as he does so and surreptitiously slipping it into a hidden pocket. It's not much, but it'll be enough for his purposes. 

     Then, he kneels in front of her. With his armor, and his hood, he looks almost like a medieval knight, kneeling in front of a princess. If not for those eyes, he'd even be princely in his demeanor. 

     He opens his hand and sets the rock down outside her shield. 

     "If you wish to be spared the agony of a slow death," Copen says calmly as he rises, "There is the means to do so, if you have no arrows left in your quiver. I advise you to do so. Your suffering holds no purpose but false hope." 

     Let her think that he thinks she's dead. Then see what else takes the bait. 

     Copen shoulders his heavy shield and vanishes into the darkness. He's not leaving - he's moving into hiding to watch and see who comes to claim the suffering woman. 

     Then he's going back to the lab. The hunt is never over.

  Her strength is gone.

  Zelda can only watch Copen beyond her shield. It flickers unsteadily when he clashes his shield against it, and it does waver for a moment, but her prayers to her goddesses hold steady. They save her life.

  Half-curled on her side, with a pool of luminous blood spreading beneath her, she can only wait and pray that the silent summons she had flung at Rydia managed to find its mark. It was a simple enough plea for urgent help, and a simultaneous warning of grave danger.

  She tries to answer him, but all she can do is cough wetly, curling a loose fist. Zelda sighs, eyes flicking up as Copen rises, but her gaze doesn't follow him all the way up.

  Her eyes flicker closed, and she's not acting when the strength goes out of her. All she can do now is have faith that Rydia will come before the last of her blood soaks into the red earth of Eldin Province.

  This will... complicate her duties, somewhat.

>> GAME >> Zelda spends an Edge for: One single arrow, and one single shield.