Chapter Text
She was alone.
She was helpless.
She was scared.
Surrounded by four kids stronger and meaner than her, the girl could only curl into a defensive ball on the ground and endure the abuse she was given. Kicks collided with her head, arms and legs. The assault seemed to go on forever as her attackers showed no signs of stopping.
She gritted her teeth so hard, she feared they'd break. Her entire body screamed in agony. She endured the beating for as long as she could, until, her strength gave way. Drained, she opened herself up and lay on her back, looking up at the sky, the the evil grins of her attackers sullying her view. They mocked her, laughed at her, but the tongue wasn't that of her people, so the words meant nothing. As she prepared for and accepted her fate, a foot slammed into her side, cracking a rib, but she lacked the energy to react. The edges of her vision began to darken, and the world grew quiet as she felt her spirit ready to leave her mortal form.
The onslaught suddenly stopped as the attackers suddenly whirled to the South. Something had gotten their attention, but who or what it was didn't matter. She was already dead.
Soon her eyes closed, her ears heard nothing.
And in time, even her thoughts ceased as darkness took her.
-----
The quiet town of Skyloft, named as such due to the town's position atop a plateau overlooking the endless expansion of cacti, weeds, mesas and sand that made up the Yarna Dessert, was suddenly thrown into panic as three riders rode into town, whooping and hollering. They kicked up dust and causing a few coughs amongst the onlookers. They slid to a halt in front of the saloon, where only one other horse was tied.
The leader leaped off of his horse, removing his hat, causing a large spike of red hair to stand up atop his head. He climbed the steps in front of the 'Lumpy Pumpkin Saloon', turning to his two comrades who remained on the horses. "Son of a bitch, boys, I didn't think we'd make it!" He exclaimed.
The shorter and round rider tipped his canteen upside down and a few drops trickled out. "Just in time, too. Waters plum' dried up, boss!"
"I can see that, Cawlin. Now hop down from there and tie your horses so we can go on in and get some refreshments."
"Der her her, sure thing boss," the tall and thin rider, Strich, said.
And they did. After securing their horses, they began to enter, when the sign bearing the establishmen's name caught the leader's eye. "Lumpy Pumpkin? What kind of retarded name is that?"
"Hope it's not run by Sheiks," Cawlin grumbled.
(a.n: Sheik = slur for the Sheikah Tribe )
"better not let Vaati hear you say that," Strich warned. "He's half Sheik."
"Shut up, toothpick," Cawlin snapped. "I ain't afraid of no fuckin' Sheik. No less a half breed." The last words were said with such venom, one would mistake the short man for a rattler.
The leader suddenly turned, grabbing Cawlin by the front of the shirt and bodily lifting him to his face. His yellow eyes bore into Cawlin's frightened orbs. "That's enough, you little shit. Vaati is one of the top members of the Thieves, and earned the boss's respect. We normally don't hold each other's hands in this gang, but this once, I'll warn you to watch your tone around Vaati. That 'Sheik' you hate so much would fillet you faster than a runaway train on greased tracks."
Cawlin swallowed his words, as well as his pride. "Sorry, Groose. Won't happen again."
Groose dropped Cawlin, who was unprepared for the fall and fell on his butt. "Good. Make sure of it."
"There a problem, gentlemen?" A new, younger voice said. The three turned to see a young man with jeans, brown boots and orange shirt and hat standing nearby. Pinned to his shirt was a sheriff's star.
Groose smirked. "Not at all, lawman. Just correcting my rather loud companion here. We mean you no trouble."
"Good. Now, I'm not sure you're familiar with the sleepy town of Skyloft, but around here, troublemakers are swiftly-" the Sheriff stopped mid sentence, eyes widening as he spotted the bandanas around the men's necks.
Groose chuckled. "Noticed those, did ya, boy? Then I suppose you know what that means. And I suggest you go back into your office and get nice and comfortable." He slowly walked over to the Sheriff, who was frozen in fear. He leaned in, whispering, "cuz' if I see your face again before me and the boys are ready to leave, a mama in this village is gonna be mournin' her fool of a boy who thought he'd dress up and play Sheriff in a real man's world."
Sweating profusely, the Sheriff nodded frantically before turning around and bolting back to his office, leaving the three outlaws cackling at the coward of a Sheriff.
"Alright! Let's drink!"
The Lumpy Pumpkin wasn't too different from any other saloon in the hundreds of other towns in the West. It was a bit on the smaller side, but it didn't need to be big, as the town didn't have more than twenty, maybe thirty people, and less than half were frequent customers.
But what it lacked in size, it more than made up for in quality. Not only did they serve many different types of alcohol, (whiskey, beer, tequila, Noble Pursuit, to name a few), but it also had rentable rooms and served home cooked meals. Calling it just a saloon didn't do it justice, but since a saloon is what it started as, the owner decided to just keep it simple.
Casual poker players frequently had low stakes games going, and someone was almost always playing away on the dingy piano in the back of the room. The interior smelled of alcohol, unwashed bodies and tobacco, and for three outlaws just in from a long dessert ride with a day and a night to burn off steam before traveling again, the smell was like ambrosia.
"Have fun, boys!" Groose told his underlings, and the two crooks immediately went for the bar, ordering large glasses of beer.
"That'll be ten rupees apiece, gentlemen," the bartender, a large middle-aged man with long brown hair tied behind his head said.
"Ah, of course, good sir," Cawlin said, smiling as he patted his pockets. "Oh my, I seem to be a bit short." He looked to Strich, who was gulping down his beverage with gusto. "Say, pard', mind lendin' me some rupees."
Strich slammed his half empty glass down, exhaling in relief. "Broke as a cheap whore."
"Aw, what a shame." Cawlin flashed a mocking smile at the bartender. "Guess I'm not paying."
"Well, then you're not drinking," the bartender said, reaching for Cawlin's glass but stopping short as a cold metal barrel was pressed to his face and a metallic click brought all commotion in the saloon to a stop.
"The hell I'm not, fatass," Cawlin said with a cackle. With his other finger, he pulled his bandana off of his neck and showed it to the bartender. "This here? Consider it my free pass. Now back up and get ready to serve us when we ask for it. Oh, and I know you got a piece somewhere, so hand it over nice and slow."
Slowly, the bartender ducked below the bar and emerged no faster than he descended with a double barrel shotgun, hands far away from the triggers. Cawlin snatched it and slung the shotgun across his back thanks to the convenient strap it had. "Very nice, bartender. You get to live another day.
The hours went on, with Cawlin and Strich drinking to their hearts content (and to the owner's chagrin). Groose drank as well, but less and less frequently, so when night fell, both Cawlin and Strich were sozzled, Cawlin a bit more than Strich. So when Cawlin noticed the painting of a young woman above the bar, it encouraged him to ask the bartender, "Hey, have you got any women here?"
The bartender frowned at the outlaw, disgusted at his licentiousness. "We don't have harlots in this establishment. The law forbade it in the state of Gerudo many years ago."
Cawlin chuckled, nearly falling off of his stool in a drunken stupor. "Mister... I didn't say nothin' 'bout no whores." He leaned in closer, close enough for the bartender to smell the alcohol on his breath.
".... I said women."
The bartender was silent for all of ten seconds. "... No."
"You hesitated." Cawlin shot back.
"I said no, and that's the honest to goddess truth."
Cawlin pointed to the woman in the picture. "Who's that, then?"
"... My late wife."
"Mister, I don't believe you."
Cawlin looked at the stairs near the back of the room. "What's up there, huh?"
"Rooms."
"For renting or living?"
"Both."
"I wanna see 'em."
Without waiting for the bartender's consent, Cawlin got up and walked (or more accurately, stumbled) towards the stairs. He got halfway up the creaking steps when the bartender shouted, "Wait!", Causing Cawlin to stop in his tracks.
"Okay, I do have a girl. My daughter, Kina. But she's a sickly girl, and has been bedridden for most of her life. She got hit by a cold pretty bad last night, and has been in bed since."
"You think I give a damn? Hell, mister, if she's pretty, I'd fuck her if she had dysentery."
The bartender narrowed his eyes. "I've no doubt you'd stick your pecker in a cactus if it meant bringing you some brief pleasure." He sighed, and began wiping down some glasses with his apron. "I won't stop you, but just to let you know, she's not alone. Someone was kind enough to keep her company while I work the bar."
Cawlin chuckled. "I don't give a shit. I'll kick him out and have me some fun. If it's a lady, might invite my buddy up to join us."
"Der her her."
It was the bartender's turn to chuckle. "Heh, heh, heh. It's no lady, friend. It's a man." His eyes narrowed. "It's a man I wouldn't trifle with, if I was you."
"You think I'm scared of anybody? I'm one of the Demons, porky! I fear no one!"
The bartender shrugged, resuming his work. "Suit yourself. But don't say I didn't warn you."
"Oh, okay. 'Suit myself.' well, fuck you. I'm gonna fuck your daughter."
At a nearby table, Groose, perfectly fine with the actions of his crony, was engaged in a game of solitaire. He cursed when he was forced to draw another card, but smiled when it turned out to be one he needed.
So distracted was he that he almost missed the muffled yells of his underling upstairs. When he noticed them, he focused on the noise, catching only a few words.
".... Room.... Bitch.... Fun."
"......Warning.....jackass....Lead!"
"...anything?"
"....talking, dammit!"
"....asked..........hell, bitch!"
Groose couldn't make sense of it, but there was a language that he did understand, and that was gunfire.
And that's what he heard next.
A single shot, then Cawlin screaming. Footsteps grew louder until Cawlin appeared at the top of the stairs clutching his bloody hand. In his pain and drunken state, he tripped and rolled down the stairs, landing on his back with a thud. His right pistol was missing, but he still had the second on his left side. All throughout the ordeal, he hadn't stopped screaming, and because of this, Groose hadn't heard the second set of steps until Cawlin had to briefly stop yelling in pain to take in air. His eyes darted to the top of the stairs, where he saw an unfamiliar man with blonde hair in dark clothes at the top, holding a pistol in his hand.
Cawlin slowly reached for his second pistol. He withdrew it from the black holster, and attempted to aim it at the stranger. "You son of a-"
Cawlin didn't get to finish his sentence, as his words, as well as his life, were interrupted by a .45 caliber slug plowing through his skull.
a few minutes earlier
"Thank you so much for staying with me, Link," the young woman said. She had been confined to her bed all day, and when she finally started to feel better near dusk, only then did Link allow her to move to a nearby chair where she currently sat, blanket wrapped around her slim frame as the two played their tenth game of chess that day.
"Eighteen."
Kina looked at Link in confusion. "Excuse me?"
Link was silent, then reached down to grab his bishop, moving to take an exposed and unprotected rook. "That was the eighteenth time you've thanked me today."
His words made Kina laugh, which brought a smile to Link's face. "Really, Kina. It's no bother at all. It's the least I can do for the debt I owe you and your father."
Kina flopped back against the chair with an exasperated sigh. "Really, Link, you've long since made up for that. We were even, now we owe you a favor again!"
Link shook his head. "You don't owe me anything. I'm happy to help without needing anything in return."
"B-but it doesn't feel right! We can't just-"
"You can and you will, Kina. I don't need anything, and you don't owe me any favors."
Defeated, (not because she agreed, but because she knew there was no point in arguing), Kina averted her gaze and pouted. "You're hopeless."
"Sure, sure. Now move, it's your turn."
"Oh no, I forgot! I'm sorry!"
"Just move."
The game lasted for a few more turns, and ended with Kina putting Link in checkmate, which he didn't even see coming. Baffled, all Link could do was stare.
"Haha, yes! I finally won one!"
"yeah, one to nine," Link muttered.
"Did you say somethin', Link?"
"I said congratulations."
Kina's smile brought warmth to Link's heart. Seeing her happy, even just a little, managed to send sunbeams through his hardened core and touch his soul. That fella of hers doesn't know just how lucky he is, he thought.
Kina's stomach suddenly growled, and she turned away, feeling herself blushing. "Say, Link, do you think you could go-"
"Say no more. Pumpkin Soup comin' right up."
Link got up to leave, but the door was violently pushed open, and an unfamiliar man stood, swaying in the doorway.
Can I help you-"
Link froze. His eyes trailed down to the man's neck, where a bandana hung. As soon as he saw it, images from his past came to the surface, and he felt his blood boil.
He heard their screams. Saw their blood. Heard the laughter of the Demons who ruined his life.
He saw her...
"The fuck are you starin' at?" The intruder slurred. He looked down at his bandana, and smiled. "So ya saw this, didn't ya? So then you know... *hicc*.... who I am, and who I work for. So get the hell out of this room so me and that sickly bitch can have some fun!"
Most would be intimidated by anyone wearing a bandana marked with the symbol of the Gerudo Tribe. And they wouldn't be shamed for it. These killers had struck fear into the hearts of most people living in the West.
The drunken demon began getting more and more agitated. "Hello? Can you hear me? Leave! I'm warning you, jackass! Leave, before I pump you full of lead!"
Link loosened his body, ready for the inevitable. He knew he'd have to get off the first shot, lest he risk Kina getting caught in the gunfire.
Kina stood and hid behind Link. "Link, who is this?" She asked.
"Get down," Link whispered. He was thankful Kina complied, crawling under her bed.
"Oh, so you'll talk to her, eh? What I'm not good enough to waste your words on?"
More silence from Link, who's gaze never left the demon.
Why aren't you saying anything? Can you even hear me, boy?"
Link's hand inched closer to the pistol at his side, attempting to force the demon to draw first. But he was so drunk, he apparently didn't notice.
"You're starting to piss me off, you retarded cowpoke. You better start talking, dammit!"
Link's lips watered at the prospect of killing this man.
... Man? No, this was no man. As soon as he put on that kerchief, he'd given up his rights to be called a man.
He was nothing but a rabid dog, destined to be gunned down.
The demon had had enough. "That's it. I've had enough of this bullshit. You asked for this." He drew his gun, screaming, "Go to hell, bitch!"
Present
All eyes in the saloon were on the dead outlaw.
Some had fear in their eyes, others shock. But a few had pleasure at seeing one of the members of the most notorious gangs in history bleeding out on the floor.
The bartender smirked at the dead outlaw, still shining his drinking glasses. "Warned you, didn't I, motherfucker?"
Groose shot up from his seat, and Strich sobered up very quickly. "That was my pard' you done killed." The former said, stepping away from the table to get a good line of sight at the guy who'd shot his comrade and friend.
"You murdered him... Fuckin' murderer!" Strich hissed.
Link laughed as he descended the steps, reloading his pistol as he did, coming to a stop at Cawlin's corpse. "That's rich, coming from a demon." He reached down, snagging the now bloodstained bandana from the dead man's neck. Any sign of amusement left his face as he fixed Strich with the same venomous glare he'd given Cawlin. "How many men have you killed, demon? How many women, and even children, have you raped, then murdered?"
Strich was silent, but his face betrayed the fury he felt inside.
Link placed his gun back in his holster, then continued. "I won't talk about all of them. Just a few."
Groose didn't know exactly where this was going, but he knew the story that was going to come out of the stranger's mouth. "Lemme guess: we killed someone you knew?"
Link took his time answering. He considered saying nothing, not wanting to waste words since both of these men would die anyway.
Before he addressed the demons, he turned to the bartender. "Plumm, Kina was feeling hungry. Take her some soup, please."
Plumm nodded. "Sure thing."
Then Link said aloud, "The rest of you... Leave."
The patrons knew how to take a hint, and soon, everyone shuffled out of the saloon, leaving only the demons and Link facing off in the center of the room.
"It's story time, gentlemen," Link announced.
"... Five years ago. Hateno."
Groose's eyes widened. That was when...
"The entire Demon Thieves gang descended upon the little hamlet, out in the middle of nowhere. All of the bigwigs showed up, with a hundred men, all armed and bloodthirsty. And the reason?
"A former member. A member who, after seeing all of the carnage he'd wrought, and understood the meaning of suffering, defected, ratting out several major demon hideouts to the law, then went into hiding.
"Outraged, all the demons could do was hide. Hide and wait until a sliver of info about the missing member was found.
"... And finally, after twenty years, they found some info."
He fixed his eyes solely on Groose. "So to answer your question, no, the demons didn't just kill someone I knew.
"....... They killed everyone."
Strich was the first to draw, and thus he was the first to die.
Groose drew his own gun milliseconds after Strich, and realized too late that by the time he'd gotten his hands on his gun and almost cleared the holster, and Strich had not even leveled his piece at their enemy....
.... Link had already pulled, cocked, and aimed both of his pistols.
Link's first shot drilled into Strich's chest, and his second into Groose's gun hand. The former fell backwards, landing on top of a round table behind him face down as blood pooled beneath him.
Groose dropped his gun, and felt some more pain as Link shot him twice - once in both knees. He landed on his ruined knees, which increased his pain, eventually falling over onto his back. "You son of a bitch! I wasn't even in Hateno! That was before I joined! Your fight isn't with me! It's with the others!"
With a twirl of his guns, Link holstered them. "That's where you're wrong, demon. My fight isn't just with those who participated in that massacre." He walked over to the bar, reaching up to grab a bottle of whiskey from the top shelf. Finding a glass, he filled it, then just as quickly downed it in one shot, resting the cup on the counter with a satisfied sigh.
"My battle... Is with all of them." He walked over to the dead body of Strich, yanking the kerchief from his neck. He then walked over to Groose, slamming his foot down on top of the outlaw's cheat hard enough to crack a rib. He bent down, waving the bandanas in Groose's face. "I will not stop until every single one of them is dead." He leaned back up, smirking, foot still planted on the outlaw. "I should thank you. It was only recently I felt capable to take your gang on. In truth, I know it's not hard to find one of you bastards, but you just so happened to walk right up into this establishment. Had you been a day later, I'd have missed you entirely. But now... I have you."
"Go on then, bitch!" Groose spat. "Kill me!"
Link shook his head, still smirking. "Not yet. Not until you've told me what you know." He drew his knife, reaching down and placing the tip against Groose's throat.
"What, exactly, do you know?"
the next morning
the morning sun beamed down, assaulting the town of Skyloft with early morning heat. This heat was nothing compared to when the glowing orb in the sky reached its zenith, so folks with outside jobs hustled to get as much work done before the noonday baking they'd recieve.
Link stepped out of the Lumpy Pumpkin, running his fingers through his freshly washed blonde hair before planting his black hat with a green band on top of it. His pistols rested in holsters at his side, and he carried his rifle and shotgun on one a, and his saddle bags were slung across his other shoulder. With his free hand, he patted Epona, who'd patiently stood there waiting for him all night. As thanks, the first thing Link did was hand her an oat cake as a treat, which she graciously accepted and munched happily.
Link slung the bags overtop of Epona, then slid the rifle and shotgun into their respective mounted holsters. Placing his left foot in the stirrup, he launched himself upwards, slinging his other leg atop Epona and patting her neck. "Good girl."
The swinging doors on the Lumpy Pumpkin opened, and Plumm and Kina stepped out. The girl was still a bit pale, but she had enough strength to move, and wanted to see Link off.
Who knew when, or if, she'd ever see him again.
"Did you manage to get anything out of that dirty demon before he kicked the bucket, Link?"
Link retrieved a piece of paper from his front pocket, handing it to Plumm, who squinted to read the writing. "Hmm. Got a few names, and even some locations. Good." He handed it back to Link, and it went right back in the pocket.
"I think I'll start with the witch first," Link said. "But we'll see. Perhaps another lead closer by will come up."
Plumm nodded. "Well, if you're ever in this neck of the dessert again, you'll always have a table and good meal waiting for you. And even better company."
Link nodded, then turned to Kina. "Take care of yourself, Kina. And take care of that buck of yours, when he gets home."
"He's gonna be sad that he missed you. Couldn't you stay a couple days? In his recent letter he said he was due back on the fifteenth. That's just two days away!"
"Wish I could, but my journey has begun, Kina. I'm going to end the bloodshed, once and for all. I've put it off long enough."
Her smile faded, replaced with a frown. "But what if... You don't make it?"
Kina was a dear friend, one who'd been there to help ease his pain after the massacre. Had her and Plumm not showed up when they did, Link would be dead, and thus he owed the world to them.
He trusted her, she trusted him.
So even if he lied to her, she'd know, so he told the truth.
"If I don't make it, then you can count on two things.
"First, that I fought like hell, and took as many of them with me as I could.
"Second, that if I die, I'll be happier than I would if I succeeded, because I'll finally be reunited with...." He let that sentence trail off, choking back tears. With a sigh, he let all of his sorrow out.
He'd cried enough. It was no longer the time for tears.
It was time for blood.
With a tip of his hat, Link swung his steed North, to the winding path up the plateau. Forty five minutes later, he reached the base of the plateau, and headed East, into the heart of the dessert. He was well prepared with supplies, ammo, and the knowledge of the wilderness and humanity gifted to him by his teachers.
He withdrew the papers on which he wrote the names he pulled from the demon. His thoughts went back to the experience, and he chuckled as he thought of the three killers boxed up, ready to be buried: one with a mangled hand and a bullet through his head. Another with a single, well placed shot to the heart.
And the third, with a mangled hand, ruined knees, missing ears and fingers, and a slit throat.
He glanced at the notes, reading the names. At the top of the page was the first name he was given, as well as a general location. Folding the paper, he put it back in his pocket, and reached into his bag, retrieving a small instrument. He took his hands off the reigns (Epona knew which direction to go) and began playing songs to entertain himself on the long ride ahead.
It was a long ride to the Southern Swamp. He'd cross multiple biomes, stop at several towns, and undoubtedly cross paths with more demons before arriving at his destination.
Which was perfectly fine with Link.
He'd hate for his guns to get rusty, after all.