In The Shadow Of Glory - Part 2

Sheik had become a convenient tool for telling time. Ghirahim had counted at least four occasions when the human had been dragged out of their cell for interrogation, leaving him alone without entertainment. Of course, Ghirahim did not truly mind this. The guards had been wonderfully neglectful of him and the demon was thoroughly enjoying the lack of attention.

Each of Sheik’s session seemed longer than the last, and although he could not see where they had taken his cellmate, he could still hear their activities. The demon lord would have his keen ears prick up at the echoing snaps of whip lashes. However among the savage taunts and harassing  jeers, he did not hear the Sheikah’s voice. The human had been curiously silent and often Ghirahim half expected to have him returned dead or crippled into silence.

But without fail, the human was returned to him, battered and bruised but spirit unbreakable. Those red eyes burned with a fierce, wild spirit that both impressed and infuriated Ghirahim. He had been heard stories of the Sheikah being persistent, little pests, (as well as Sheik’s boasting) but did not expect this level of resilience. The human always seemed to bounce back in confidence, insisting he was getting closer to setting his plan into motion.

On the fifth day Ghirahim noticed the Sheikah’s absence had been significantly longer than expected, and when his cellmate was thrown back in, Ghirahim gave his usual greeting.

"Have fun today?’ He asked in a croon, leisurely splaying himself across his throne, head lazily draping just over the arm and hair sweeping back. “With as lively as they were today, I’m surprised they were even willing to part with you."

He wasn’t looking at Sheik as he spoke, instead he seemed to be playing with his neck chain, letting it slip and fall over his hands as if he were weaving.

_______

Sheik had no idea how much time had passed while in the cells. They fed him once a day (he thought), and dragged him out at intermittent hours to try and get the information they wanted out of him. Each time he was flogged or beaten usually, but he remained resolutely silent. The most they got out of him was a hiss of pain. And each time, he was dragged back to the cell barely conscious and a complete mess, left to recover some before the next round.

Each time though, he saw more of the area in which he was contained. The cells were lined with demons who jeered and snickered at him, but who were also cheering for him in a strange way whenever he came back and the guards were visibly irritated. They seemed to revel in the fact that he was unbreakable. The place was easily navigable, and in the middle of the cold stone flow was a heavy drain lid. Stupid spot for it, but made it all the better for Sheik when he finally busted free. He’d go straight into the waterway and let that carry him out.

After the fourth time the demons were distinctly more aggravated. Before that they were careful not to break his skin or cause him significant injury for some reason, but this time they didn’t care. His back was torn to shreds from the whip they used, and even though he had managed to keep silent, his fingers were screaming in agony after they’d shoved splinters under his nails and broken two fingers on his right hand.

The fifth time, they burned his face. In a mock of his heritage no doubt, one of the demons had burned the insignia into the skin around his eye, threatening to take the entire eye if he didn’t answer. Still he remained silent, only spitting in the demons face.

They’d kept him for even longer, trying as best as they could to get their answers from him, but Sheik didn’t budge. Finally, they hauled him back into the cell and jeered at him as he hit the ground, before disappearing.

He heard Ghirahim speak but didn’t register it, too dazed and in far too much pain to do anything but keep himself silent. He wasn’t sure how long he laid like that, but eventually he groaned low and rolled over to his side, spitting out a mouthful of blood. He sure looked a mess; eyes blackened and swollen, bruises, cuts and whip lashes all over his back and arms and blood covering half of his face.

“They’re getting desperate,” he said thickly, snickering as he slowly pulled himself up. He steeled himself and gripped the dislocated fingers on his right hand, forcing them back into place with a hiss of pain. “Before yesterday they would barely leave a mark. Someone must be breathing down their necks.”

He rolled his neck, still focusing on keeping his breathing as even as possible to mask the pain. He was sure it as obvious though, even Sheik couldn't hide the reflexive winces and much slower movements he was making.

“The other demons are taking bets on how long it’ll take them to kill me from now. Heh.”

_______

By the time Sheik came to his senses, Ghirahim had slipped off his seat and was sauntering toward his mutilated cellmate. His chain chimed lightly as he began to circle around the Sheikah like some curious animal surveying its prey.  

"Pity." Ghirahim said, clicking his tongue as his eyes tracing over the new marks left on the human’s body.

This had been the first time Ghirahim had been so close to his cellmate. They often kept their distance while they conversed and usually no more than a few words were exchanged before the human’s exhaustion forced him to lose consciousness.

Now however, Ghirahim had the luxury of seeing the human in greater detail, from each ripple of muscle to the decorating carvings on the human’s flesh. Despite Sheik’s mangled look, the demon still found him fascinating to look at and was drawn to a surprisingly slender neck.

When his cellmate spat blood however, Ghirahim took a step back to avoid having it splatter on his clothing. His nose wrinkled slightly in disgust, but he was far too impressed by Sheik’s quick recovery to be truly offended. A normal human would have been sniveling and crying in their own puddle of mess.

'Someone must be breathing down their necks.'

Ghirahim still paced around his cellmate, red mantle swaying behind him in each, lingering step.

"Hm, Stolas was never one of patience," he admitted, bringing his fingers to tap thoughtfully at his chin. "However he is also easily bored, which I’m afraid, would be troublesome news for you human."

He wasn’t concerned of course, and didn’t bother to try and project such a trivial thing nor hide the smirk tugging at his lips. All of this was mere entertainment for him.

'The other demons are taking bets on how long it’ll take them to kill me from now. Heh.'

Ghirahim’s smile grew bitter. He often heard the demons call to Sheik, heard their jollity and gamesome mood, far more lively than they had ever been since he was discrowned. Not a single one them had remained loyal to him, and as far as they were concerned, Ghirahim was long forgotten.

"Yes, you have certainly been the center of attention lately." He chuckled, spinning lightly on his heel before suddenly dropping behind Sheik, hands resting not-so-gently against the human’s shoulders. "But I suppose I should thank you." His voice came in a whisper against Sheik’s ear.

_______

Sheik gave the demon an exhausted glare when he felt the heavy weight of the others hands on his shoulders. Closeness was not something he liked, and Ghirahim was way inside his personal space zone right then. Sheik shifted in distaste but he was too weakened to move away.

“Thank me?” Sheik snorted. “What for? For providing you with some entertainment when I’m thrown back in here each day?”

He shook his head, finally managing to drag himself upright after steeling himself properly. He gave an audible groan, but moved away from the Demon who smirked at him from the same spot. Was it a trick of the light or did Ghirahim’s eyes seem…dilated?

“Whether they want to kill me or not is beside the point,” he said, using one filthy arm to begin wiping the blood off his face. Not that it made much difference; over the last few days he hadn’t had so much as a cup of water to rinse in, so his body was caked in dried blood and scum. “I’ll be out of here either way before they do.”

________

Ghirahim had little regard for Sheik’s discomfort, instead drumming his fingers along the skin as he spoke.

"Entertainment I am equally grateful for," he replied tunefully, allowing the human to slide away. "But having you soak up all that attention has been beneficial for me."

He watched Sheik try to groom himself, eyes falling to the red smear on the skin and looked as though he just witnessed someone spilling over fine wine. A small urge rose within him to lap it up but he knew better than to act upon such a thought. However, Ghirahim wondered if such a temptation was being shared between the guards and suspected Stolas was beginning to consider other options.

'I’ll be out of here either way before they do.'

Ghirahim chuckled, drawing himself up to his feet and strolling back to his throne. “I suppose that’s one way to look at it.”

Poor fool.

He didn’t even spare the human a glance as he spread himself over his seat, feet propping up and having his fingers interlock against his chest. His eyes were on the ceiling as his words lazily drifted towards Sheik dismissively.

“However I advise you enjoy what little time you have left.”

________

Sheik watched the demon retreat through narrowed eyes, and he shuffled over to his little spot in the corner of the cell without saying anything more. Even with Ghirahim’s cryptic last words, Sheik was far too exhausted and crippled by pain to feel anything other than his usual resoluteness. Without a word to the demon eyeing him from the throne, Sheik lay down as best he could on the cold stone and promptly blacked out.

He was woken some time later by the rattling of the doors, and before he could even comprehend the intrusion Sheik was shocked into full wakefulness by a bucket of freezing water thrown on him. If he’d been anyone else he’d have cursed, but Sheik just sputtered and wiped his sodden hair out of his eyes.

Something snared his wrists, and Sheik was wrenched upright, pulled taught by chains fastened to his wrists. He couldn’t see where they were attached to, but it left him with his arms and legs wide, and his face full of an ugly looking demon.

It snarled something in its language, before more water was thrown over him. Again Sheik was left sputtering, and he could hear the low chuckle coming from Ghirahim’s direction.

The demons chattered and gibbered about, not caring that he didn’t understand them. Sheik just watched them with a glare, red eyes following as far as he could.

They were poking and prodding him, one of them cut his finger and tasted the blood that welled, while the other grabbed at the meaty parts of his arms and thighs. Whatever it was they were doing, it was clearly an inspection and he suspected it had something to do with his unwillingness to talk. Perhaps he was going to die sooner than he thought.

Sheik was left there once they were done, the demons apparently not caring that he was left just hanging in such restraints.

With grumbled irritation, he tried to yank at the chains holding him.

_______

It came to no surprise when Ghirahim had his suspicions confirmed. He had watched the demon cooks string up the human and clean the wounds with a lack of gentleness. They did not care about being thorough, only focusing on scrubbing off the dried blood and hard crusts on skin. They didn’t even bother to remove the splinters wedged beneath the Sheikah’s blackened nails.

He heard them talk amongst themselves as they took the human’s measurement, one of the demons expressing their dissatisfaction in the lack of fat Sheik contained. Muttering about questionable texture, they gripped at the Sheikah’s muscles and tasted him while Ghirahim sneered at them from his seat. The demon lord took delight in reminding them of Stolas’s critical nature should they fail to appease their new king.

Then he laughed when they showed visible displeasure in his words.

"Such a shame," he had said in their native tongue, "I was rather fond of the meals you used to prepare for me."

When they left, Ghirahim was drawn to the sound of Sheik’s struggling, eyes fixated on his cellmate’s dangling form.

"Well, isn’t this funny?" He cooed, resting his chin on his hand. "You may get to enjoy the fruits of your labor after all." He flashed a smile but it was far from kind. "No more playtime with your little guard friends I’m afraid, but I suppose being relieved of hunger would be more favorable hm?"

_______

Ghirahim conversing with the demons in their own language did nothing to quell Sheik’s irritation. If anything, it amplified it, and he snarled at all of them while they poked, prodded and pinched at him.

When Ghirahim switched back to the common tongue, Sheik turned his head (for that was the best he could do) and sneered.

“They’ve threatened to eat me more than once,” Sheik spat. “I’m not going to start sobbing like a child just because they have escalated their attempts to drive me to fear.”

‘Oh, but it’s not just a threat this time.’

Red eyes flashed, fixed on the pale form as Ghirahim rose from his ‘throne’ and approached him. Sheik turned his head away and focused instead on the rest of those in the cells, and indeed began to pick up on the snickers and weirdly somber attitude of the other detainees.

Not just a threat, huh? So they really are planning to eat me this time.

“Well, looks like my time’s run out then, hasn’t it? Time for me to do what I said I would all along, and get the hell out of here.”

With renewed vigor, he began wrenching on the manacles hooked to his wrists. Sheik was not above dislocating the joints in his own hands to get them out of there—they could always be easily re-set.

He paused though when the demon’s shadow fell over him, and cold red eyes turned up to meet his gaze.

“You planning on stopping me then, my Liege? Because even if they do decide to make me into Sheikah stew, I doubt you’ll get any.”

____

Liege

The corners of Ghirahim’s mouth twitched marginally, the amused look in his eye dimming.

"Caught on have you?"  he whispered, a hint of a snarl biting into his words. "How kind of you to notice."

His voice was drained of all pleasantries, leaving it cold and dry as he glared down at those red eyes with his own venom.

"Courtesies aside, I have no intention of stopping you."  He said, hand resting against the wall beside Sheik’s head. "You see, as entertaining as it would be to watch you fail on your own, I think my time would be better served if I were to," His face inclined forward ever so slightly, lips spreading into a coy smile. "ensure your success."

The quizzical look on Sheik’s face brought him to a better mood, breath spilling out in soft laughter. The suspicion behind Sheik’s eyes was equally satisfying and compelling, making his words grow silky and tickle at Sheik’s jawline with a gloved finger.

"Oh does that surprise you? I can be a cooperative fellow, you just have to let me in on fun."

Footsteps sounded in the hallway.

The demon lord stiffened slightly and glanced over his shoulder, sensing a familiar presence approaching their cell.

Ghirahim tutted softly, eyes turning back to Sheik before pulling away. “We will have to save our talk for a more agreeable time, but I recommend you reconsider your options, little rat.”

_____

Sheik turned his head away from the touch, lips twisting into a snarl as he glared up at the demon. This again? Still trying to find a way to make him talk?

Early on in the piece, Sheik had quietly suspected Ghirahim of being a spy for the demons; someone they’d planted there intentionally to see if he would talk. The way Ghirahim was treated by the guards though put that thought aside, but his current actions were slowly causing those suspicions to resurface. Of course, fear of death and a well played act could convince anyone to spill their guts and talk, particularly when faced with the unknown.

Too bad for them that Sheik wasn’t just anyone.

Red eyes followed the demon as he moved away. It was difficult for Sheik to figure Ghirahim’s game, but any thoughts on that were hastily shoved aside when the cell doors rattled again.