Hyrule was burning.

The sky was dark, the sound of the pouring rain drowned out by the vile screams of the Calamity and the mechanical whirring and stomps of his spider like army pouring across the countryside. There were bright flashes of light in the distant, and explosions. Signs that those guardians had found something living and scoured it from the earth.

This was undoubtedly their hour of greatest need. Linkle knew what she had to do.

So why wasn't it working?

Her muddy boots scraped across the marble floor of the temple, her grunts of exertion echoing across the high, empty walls. She pulled. She pulled with all her might, arching her back, face red from the effort, her hands slick with sweat on the hilt. Too much. Her hands slipped off the top, sending her tumbling back and down the short set of steps leading up to its resting place.

She sat on the cold floor, staring at it. The Master Sword sat, resplendent in its pedestal. Linkle stood up rubbing her head and ran back up to the sword. She laid on her back, put her feet up against the cross guard and pushed until she felt like she was going to pop a vein before relenting and sitting up again.

She looked at herself in the reflection of its blade. She was doing something wrong, she had to be. Maybe there was some test she hadn't passed, or there was some kind of key she hasn't bothered to get. That was stupid, though. There was no way the sword would let Hyrule be destroyed on a technicality like that. She had to draw it.

It was something only she could do.

She got up, caught her breath, and went to they again. As she did so there was a flash from outside. She spun around, expecting to see one of those crawling machines and hear the beeping of it charging up its beam, but all that greeted her was the welcome crack of thunder. She deflated with relief. It wasn't like her crossbows did any good against those things. It's why she'd come for the sword.

She was about to turn back when she saw movement. A boy stumbled in out of the darkness, clad in blue and wearily wearing what looked like a pot lid on his arm. In his other hand her gripped the busted remains of a short swords. He looked up at Linkle, surprise plastered on his face.

She mirrored his look, but then dismissed it. No, it wasn't weird. You took shelter anywhere you could in situation like this. She was surprised more people hadn't fled here. He was just one more reason she had to get this sword unstuck.

"It'll be okay." She said as the boy started opening his mouth. "I've got it. Just give me a few more minutes."

He gave her an odd look, turned around to stare out into the darkness for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders and sat with his back to her on the steps.

She nodded, then resumed pulling.

"Hey?" The boy asked after a few more minutes.

"Yeah?" She answered, breathless.

"Why do you want it?"

"It's not a matter of wanting it." She said, just a hint of pride creeping into her voice.

"But you really want it." The boy went, not looking up.

"Well, who wouldn't?" She replied, a little offended.

The boy ignored her. She went back to pulling.

They counted the time with the rumble of thunder. They came almost regularly now. Flash, rumble, flash, rumble. Three, four, five, ten, twenty. It was impossible to tell how much time had really passed, but it was enough for Linkle's frustration to build to excruciating levels. She pulled back from her task and lashed out with a foot, kicking at the word as hard as she could. It didn't even wiggle, the only result being a clanging echo and a sore toe. The echo hung around the chamber for a long time, unnaturaly bouncing off ever wall and somehow getting louder and louder as it went.

It was only when she heard the boy behind her stand up, when she turned to look at the entrance, that she realized that changing wasn't an echo. In the doorway, do large that it couldn't fit its bell shaped body through the door, one of those metal monstrosities stared in at them. The blue of its eye chanced to a hateful red as it locked on to them.

Linkle scrambled for her crossbows. She knew the eye was a weaker part, maybe if she used to doorways as cover she'd eventually manage to plink the thing to death. She dived of the small raised platform and started for the doorway, but she realized she was the only one moving.

The boy stood, eyes narrowed, staring down the barrel of that thing even as it began to beep. She saw his grip on the pot lid tighten as he raised it up. "Hey!" She called out. "Move or-"

"It'll be okay." He said, again not even looking at her. Never breaking his focus. "I've got it."

The things beeping was reaching a fever pitch now, and there was a flash that lit up the room as a beam of light shot out of the eye toward him. Linkle couldn't even move fast enough to push him out of the way, so she braced to watch this boy get obliterated. He braced to though, and as the beam was just inches from him her struck out with the pot lid.

What happened next struck Linkle as some kind of miracle. Instead of vaporising as it met the beam the pot lid looked like it was pushing the beam back, like it was just water. Not just deflecting it, reflecting it. The beam bounced right off the lid and lanced right through the guardians eye. The guardian sparked, stumbled back, and exploded into a shower of bolts and gears as she looked on in awe.

"Hey." He said, arresting her attention back toward him. "Would you mind if I gave it shot?"

She looked between him and the sword, then slowly nodded her head.

He hooded back to her in gratitude, dropping his broken sword to the ground and approaching the Master Sword. He placed both his hands solemnly on the handle, took a deep breath, and began to pull up. At first Linkle was sure that nothing was happening, but as the boy strained a light began to pool at the bottom of the blade. Slowly but surely, inch by laborious inch, the blade began to withdraw from the stone until finally it was wrenched free. The boy, panting like he'd just run a marathon, nonetheless raised the sword over his head despite how heavy it seemed to weigh on him. Satisfied, he solemnly shethed the thing and walked down the steps, past Linkle, and toward the stormy night.

"Wait a minute." She called after him. He stopped, looking over his shoulder at her. "Why do you want it?"

He shook his head. "It's not a matter of wanting it." He said, a hint of sadness creeping into his voice.

"Well...," Linkle stumbled, struggling for words. "When is it going to be my turn?"

The boy thought about it for a moment. "Hopefully? Never," was what he finally settled on. He gave one last nod to Linkle and then dashed out the door of the temple, leaving her alone with only one thought playing in her head on what seemed like an endless loop.

The thing only she could do was get out the way.

“Cheers!”

A great many voices swelled at once, and a host of cups thrust into the air. Every face held weariness, scarred on the inside and out from the months-long campaign, but today they held joy, too. Enough days had passed since the end to let the numbness fade away and the scars scab over, and now the veterans had gathered to celebrate. They'd come from their chosen homes all over the World of Light, from the cities, villages, remote reaches, and pitstops alike, to this gorgeous terrace atop Lominscuttle Town overlooking the western sea.

Tora drank deep from his glass, emptying the whole thing in one long gulp, his eyes closed to savor the sweet taste. “Aah!” With a smack of his lips he set the cup down, the impact reverberating through the giant ring-shaped table so that everyone else could feel it. Their motions reached him too, thanks to the table's design. It was a reminder that everyone was linked, close together in ways despite how far apart they might seem. Even someone on the opposite side could feel what Tora was doing, and he could feel them. Of all the things he'd designed, it stood out as a particular point of pride to Tora, though of course he treasured a few things more.

Beaming, he looked around. He saw quite the assembly. Several dozen faces, some new and some old. A few from the very beginning, but just as the Master of Masters promised so long ago, none exactly the same as back then. Even with all of her acquired parts uninstalled, Blazermate looked totally different from how he remembered her. Like a next-generation model of a device, versus one that had been in production a few years. Plus, ever since she embraced becoming technoorganic, she'd been alive, too. A big change, one that took a long time to settle in. Tora saw Junior living it up as well, enjoying a meaty feast. Well, he wasn't so junior anymore. With all the spirits he'd taken in, one couldn't say he was the spitting image of his father, but he carried the torch proudly. As Tora looked at the others in turn, he tugged at his whiskers absently. A full two months, and he still hadn't gotten used to the facial hair gained from absorbing both doctors Wily and Light. Or the nose, for that matter, but he tried his best to forget about that. At least Light had helped him maintain his roundness, which Tora was grateful for. All this time, and he was still a Nopon. Still himself.

His eyes fell upon a familiar shape, one that filled his heart with pride and joy every time he saw it. The one and only Poppi, his greatest creation. He remembered with a twinge of embarrassment the first time she accessed her third form—everyone's judgmental stares. But they learned to live with it soon enough, especially with how rarely she ever changed back nowadays, pretty much only for practical purposes. Tora could not deny the metaphor presented by those changes: that she was growing up. While still his Blade, now and forever, she had become her own person through and through. Those days of self-doubt and worries about real or fake were long gone. Sitting there, joking with Daxter with a smile on her face, she displayed a gratifying, confident self-assurance. For his part, Tora couldn't be happier.

A moment later he found himself looking at the sunset. A gorgeous orange against the horizon, it tinged the entire World of Light in yellow and gold. For a while the sunset instilled in him a touch of fear; not only did it remind him of that splendorous nightmare in the Ancestral Farmstead, but it also carried with it a measure of uncertainty. What would the night bring? And the next morning? But here they all were. Alive and well, changed but not undone, able to unconditionally appreciate the beauty of a vivid sun shining upon the endless sea. The sun's glow created a road of glittering white straight below it across the water, a path to the horizon. Tora gave a long sigh, glad for peace and happiness at last.

“Father?”

Tora turned, unaware of how long he'd been staring down at the flawless coast. Poppi stood beside his chair, hands clasped behind her back and that same smile on her face. It still sounded a little strange after all this time, but every time she said that word, his heart became full. There remained no doubt in his mind, no words like 'artificial' and 'unreal'. Like a father he had once created her, his beautiful girl, and here she stood—all grown up, far beyond the point of doubt. Beside her, there stood another familiar face, this one looking a little sheepish. Another machine that appeared human, with spiky brown hair and adventurous eyes above a genial smile. “Meh?” Tora said.

“I wanted you to say hi to Volnutt. You remember him, right?” Poppi put an arm around her companion, pulling the slightly-shorter fellow close. That provoked a very slight furrow of Tora's bushy brows, though he knew it wasn't the first time, since he did remember. Mega Man Volnutt, one of the many 'Mega Men' encountered during the long journey. A nice guy, earnest and spirited, he joined the team in the Ruined Metropolis and soon proved that the heart of a hero resided in that metal body. From the moment he and Poppi met, they'd been fast friends. Something else prodded at Tora's mind, like a snippet of the first half of a conversation, left in stasis some time ago.

Poppi broke into his reverie. “Could we talk in private?”

---

A few minutes later, the Nopon, the Blade, and the reploid stood by the water's edge, a story down from where the revelry on the terrace continued. A few feet away, the lapping waves separated land from a sea that stretched on forever, but Poppi wasn't looking at the beauty of the western coast. Instead Poppi looked conflicted, like she wanted to say something but couldn't. Only after a time did finally she start to speak. “I asked you something a while back, and you said we'd talk when the war was over.”

Tora nodded slowly. That sounded right.

“So here we are.” Poppi chose her words carefully. “I want...I want to spend my life with Volnutt. To be with him. To travel the World, to adventure, to see everything there is to see...together. I...we wanted to get your blessing.”

Tora held his breath steady. In, out. In, out. He closed his eyes for a moment, then reopened them. They gleamed like metal, steely black and implacable. “Tora cannot give blessing, meh. Cannot give Poppi up. Poppi too important to Tora!”

Wringing her hands, Poppi shook her head. Her cascading lavender hair flicked from side to side. The look on her face suggested that Tora's response was not unexpected, but it did not suggest compliance. “Father, please,” she pleaded. “I know you love me, and I love you too, but I'm not yours to keep. Volnutt is important to me, too. It's time that I walked my own path.”

Tears had formed in her eyes. Tora's, too. He meant to be stern and firm, but here he was, weeping, betraying himself. Somehow he knew his grip couldn't hold. “Poppi, no!” Rubbing his eyes with the back of a wing, he burbled, “Meh, meh, meh! Since creation Poppi has been whole life for Tora. Before, just shut-in loser who fiddle with machines. Poppi let Tora become hero. Poppi gave Tora a family. If Poppi go, Tora will be all alone!”

Poppi shook her head again, then affixed him with her amber gaze. “Father, look around. Look at all your friends. How could you be alone? Your days of being alone are gone. They've been gone forever. You're a hero without me. Just take a moment and think about everything you did! I helped you get where you are, but you don't need me anymore. You're more than Poppi's driver. And I am more than Tora's Blade.” Her creator fidgeted, trying to find the right words to describe what his heart was feeling, but Poppi stepped forward and knelt. She had to get on one knees to be level with Tora, who she now stood so far above. Her arms circled him in a great big hug and squeezed tight. “It's not like I'm disappearing,” she murmured. “We can still see each other. Get together, work together, laugh and cry together.” Tears flowed freely from both pairs of eyes now. “We might not see each other for a while, but we're still connected. Father and daughter. Driver and Blade. No matter how far apart we are.”

Tora remained silent. He was thinking about tables. About feelings that reached reached across great distances.

“Do you understand?”

The Nopon frowned and tugged himself free. Poppi watched him, still kneeling. A long moment passed, with only the murmur of friends and the soft sound of waves breaking on the shore to fill the silence. Then Tora reached a wing forward to wipe away her tears. First one wing, then the other. “Tora understand,” he said, his tone heavy and low. “It been good, long time. But now is time for Poppi to find own way. Live own life. Guess Tora knew all along, even back then maybe, but didn't want accept.” With the other wing he beckoned to Volnutt, who came over and knelt beside them. Tora took him by the hand.

“Young man, Tora is giving Poppi to you. Poppi is most precious thing in world to Tora. You take good care of her.”

Volnutt smiled and nodded his head in determined affirmation. “I will.”

He and Poppi stood. With a squeal of delight, Poppi embraced him, and the two stood like that for a long moment. Then another long moment. Tora didn't see any sign indicating it would stop, so he turned away, sniffing quietly. For a time it had felt as though a piece of him were being carved up, taken away, leaving a gaping hole behind. But the piece he thought he'd lose was still there. It would always be, no matter how far apart from the rest of him. A bond connected it to him that would stretch any distance.

Tora's stomach rumbled, and he started to waddle away, back to the terrace to find friends and food waiting for him. Dimly he sensed that some of them at least had been watching him. So much for a private moment. But he was happy, for himself and for Poppi. As he left, he didn't look back to see the two machines locked in each others' arms. He felt that he didn't need to. Whenever he needed to look, he knew, she would be there. No matter how far.

(1828)

Name: Death
Game Origin: Darksiders 2
Appearance:

Personality: Death is an arrogant, sarcastic, cold and calculating anti-hero who is resourceful and opportunistic. He can also be cunning, such as when he devised a plan during the Abomination crisis, deceiving both his enemies and allies in order to achieve his goal. He is usually very ruthless, much preferring to achieve victory by any means than lose. Despite his seemingly harsh nature, Death can be kind. He can (and has in the past) help people in their endeavors, even if the end goal does not benefit him personally.

Background: After War was accused by The Charred Council of starting the Apocalypse prematurely and imprisoned, Death would not believe this and set out on his own to find some way to save the younger Horseman. Unknown to the Council, Death traveled to The Veil in search of the Crowfather. He intended to speak to the Crowfather in hopes he would know of a way to resurrect the human race and prove War’s innocence. The Crowfather told Death that the key to proving War’s innocence would be found in The Tree of Life and opened a portal there.

Before Death could enter, the old one closed the portal and refused to open it again. A ferocious battle ensued, in which Death would have defeated the Crowfather. An amulet that the Crowfather had around his neck fell and shattered on the ground, it’s glowing green fragments shooting out and imbedding themselves within Death. The Horseman was rendered unconscious and the Crowfather died, a dark vortex forming around the two and consumed them. When Death awoke, he found himself in the Forge Lands, home of the Makers. Soon, he found out that this land was filled with Corruption and this corruption would soon destroy the Tree of Life and the rest of the land along with it.

After a long and perilous journey, Death was close to reaching the end of his quest. He came face to face with the Avatar of Chaos, the thing that was spreading all of the corruption. A brutal fight commenced with Death prevailing over the Corruption. The Horsemann made it to the Well of Souls where he knew he had to plunge himself into it to resurrect the Human Race and save War. But before he could do so suddenly a bright light came forth and overtook him and everything around him.

Specialty: Melee Combat
Level: 1
Experience: 0/10

Powers: Death Grip - A power that allows Death to use a ghostly hand to pull items towards him or pull himself up to certain points he cannot reach regularly.

Strengths:
Agile - Death can use his tremendous agility to climb, run on walls and leap large distances.

Weapon Combat - Death can wield a variety of weapons such as armblades, gauntlets, and claws to maces, axes, and spears.

Crafting - Although not nearly as good as a Maker, Death has learned to craft and can create weapons and potentially other items as well.

Weaknesses:
Ranged Attacks - Death much prefers using his signature scythes or other close-range melee weapons to fight his enemies. Because of this, he is extremely inept at using any type of ranged weapon. He can also have a difficult time dealing with enemies that mainly deal damage from afar.

Glass Cannon - Death isn’t too tough and has trouble when it comes to receiving damage. Although not super weak, he can’t take much damage before he cannot continue to fight any longer.

Spirits: None

Kindred Spirits:
War - One of Death’s fellow Horseman,The Red Rider, War.

Strife - Another of the Horsemen, the gunslinger Strife.

Fury - The last of the four, Fury.

Inventory: Death carries his scythe The Harvester with him. The Harvester has the appearance of two short dual-wieldable scythe blades that can be joined together to form a double bladed scythe staff.