large, cylindrical pillars just inside the doorway, the light and shadow wave to and fro in a black and orange theatre of stone. Finding nothing, the women remain vigilant, scowling past the rubble of the dim doorway. A torrent of needles erupts from their left like a rain storm, impaling one of the warriors countless times. Frozen in place, the unfortunate Gerudo shakes mildly, paralyzed by the metal spikes riddling her form. Stepping over to defend her ally, the warrior is hardly perceptive enough to notice the twisting shadow flip overhead, landing on her shoulders in a handstand. Unable to do anything but stare in horror, her paralyzed companion watches the figure snap her ally’s neck effortlessly, dropping back into the shadows with the briefest glimpse of blond hair. Finally able to work her eyes about, the Gerudo searches between the cast shadows and flickering light furiously, desperately attempting to regain her motor functions. In the instant between heartbeats, the shadow is upon her, staring into her very soul with a single red eye. Frozen in fear himself, Rift clings to a large hunk of rock, remaining concealed for the time being. The shadow’s hand gently takes hold of the Gerudo’s ponytail at the base, and Rift’s eyelids decide they desperately need to replenish moisture. Before the blink of his eye even reaches the halfway mark, they’ve both vanished with a muffled squeak of pain.
Intimately aware of the certain doom moving into the darker places would bring upon her, the remaining warrior tensely grips her circular blades, waiting for the shadow to step into the light. Soon enough, a twirling dagger enters the torchlight from behind a pillar. Spun on an index finger via a loop at the base of the handle, it sheds the last of the blood it has claimed from its most recent victim. An arm wrapped in white cloth follows suit as the figure reluctantly rounds the pillar, and is revealed. A Sheikah, pulled strait from the legends of their almost forgotten race, decides her time in the darkness is up. Her skintight, blue jumpsuit seems to let go of the darkness’s embrace like a pair of lovers forced to part. A splash of blonde bangs conceals what little of her face isn’t masked by the white collar of her cowl, rising up past her nose and hovering just below her single visible eye. The red symbol of the Sheikah, the tear-drop eye, stands out boldly on her tattered, white cloak. Bobbing forward, like a bird approaching a worm, her movements are too refined to be considered simply graceful. Her mannerisms are profoundly odd, but obviously well practiced as she seems to half-skip toward her opponents, a long, tightly wound braid of hair bouncing on her back. Her ninja tabi style boots practically hover across the stone floor, touching the flat slabs briefly and soundlessly. It isn’t a style or grace that defines her, nor is it excessive stealth or skill. It is timing. Utterly perfect timing that allows all of these concepts to radiate from her form like an aura of mastery. Having expected this turn of events, the helmed man upon the staircase prepares to engage the sly assassin.
The subtle twang of a bow string doesn’t catch the man’s attention, but in the instant before the arrow hits its mark, his dark, gauntlet covered hand whips up in a blur, batting the arrow aside like a pesky fly. Even with his senses shrouded by the helm, the man’s reflexes are impossibly acute. Two more arrows scream through the air in rapid succession, fired from some unseen location at the room’s perimeter. The first is slapped aside just as easily as the initial shot, but the second is caught, the dark man’s absurd speed becoming even more obvious. Crushing the feathered bit of wood like an oversized toothpick, the man drops the pieces to the ground tauntingly, prompting their owner to emerge with a throaty war cry. A tunic of a deep, forest green rests upon a simple farmer’s outfit, aside from the leather gauntlets and weaponry. An average Hylian kite shield hangs before him in his right hand while an equally average broadsword skips along the stone in his left. Clearly having seen a hundred battles, the blade appears well past its prime, though dangerous as any weapon in the proper hands. His blonde hair is only partially concealed beneath a long green cap, flapping against the quiver on his back as he rapidly closes the distance to the staircase upon which his nemesis resides. Gliding just ahead of him, the very fairy Rift followed to the temple seems to lead the charge into battle.
A circular blade narrowly misses its target as the Sheikah twists left and continues to stalk the evasive Gerudo. The second chakra flies low along the ground, easily vaulted over by the nimble woman. Seeming to have overplayed her hand, the Gerudo waits for an ideal opportunity before summoning her weapons back to her palms. Taken by surprise, the Sheikah flips forward into a twirling display of athleticism as the blades simultaneously return along their trajectories. Catching the discs with a twirl of her own, the Gerudo advances to engage in combat of a more traditional nature. Meanwhile, the man in green leaps several stairs at a time to close the distance to his waiting antagonist. Faking a low, scooping swing, he suddenly changes into a spinning, vertical backslash, aiming to cleave the man in two. Reacting at the last possible moment, the dark man unsheathes the pair of daggers on his hips, catching the approaching blade between them. His movements are not fast in the typical sense, but appear meditated upon until their execution. His body seems to be moving as if it were submerged in water one second, and the next, a blur of dark purple, impossible to follow with untrained eyes. Throwing the young man’s blade aside with a sudden blast of force, the helmed warrior stares at him curiously for only a moment, a torrent of metal clangs sounding the next as his blades bounce off the kite shield aggressively. Barely able to defend in time, the young man remains resolute, spinning into a whirlwind slash that forces his dark opponent back a step. Two successive slashes are batted aside with fierce, graceless movements, the dark man’s speed and reflexes showing no openings in his guard.
Just below the battling men, the females continue to trade assaults, neither of them quite able to gain the upper hand. The Sheikah’s skill and timing seem impossible to overcome, yet the Gerudo’s tactics prove overwhelming, her ability to keep the ninja at range an invaluable asset in the fight. The bladed discs scream past the Sheikah at varying angles, but fail to find their mark time and time again. Managing to move in close, the assassin slashes diagonally, narrowly missing the Gerudo as she awaits her thrown blades to magnetically return to her empty hands. Seamlessly arching into a scorpion kick, the blonde ninja pulls a sharp groan of pain from her red headed combatant as her foot lands dead center in the Gerudo’s armorless chest. Catching one of her returning blades, she immediately launches it back, missing the Sheikah’s leg by a negligible margin. Spearing into the stone floor, the razor sharp disc remains useful, preventing the assassin’s foot from reestablishing equilibrium. Forced to warble off-balanced for only a moment, the ninja must push her elasticity to its limit as the second chakra is caught and thrown at her head. Watching a small tuft of hair drift away from her, the Sheikah decides this battle has gone on long enough. Twisting impossibly into a prone position on the floor, her red eye narrows as she finds her ideal footing in her spider-like pose. Skipping back a step, the Gerudo doesn’t let her gaze wander, hoping the ninja will make the critical mistake of moving into the path of her returning projectile.
A storm of stabs is consistently deflected by the helmed man’s twisting blades. The suddenness of his movements makes the task of reading ahead unachievable. His every instance of attack or defense seemingly conceived only an instant before it is carried out. Striving for the unorthodox, the young man scoops a low swing, knowing it will be easily deflected and appear to offer an opening. Catching the blade between his own once again, the dark man is taken by surprise for the first time as his spirited opponent throws an overhand right with his shield. Barely able to dodge in time, the shield nicks the man’s helm as his head jerks backward to avoid the collision. Having expected a solid impact, the young man is temporarily off balance, over extending his reach with no assistance recoiling. Spotting his opening, the cloaked man dips forward, his blades ripping through the air at imperceptible speeds as he attempts to cleave the man’s shield arm off at the el
bow. Refusing to let panic dull his senses, the young man releases his heavy shield, the weightless effect allowing him to pull his arm out of harm’s way just as the pair of swords slice by like a deadly pair of scissors. The razor sharp blades promote their sinister intentions as they manage to slice the tip of the young man’s fingernail off like a heated blade through a stick of butter. Determined to keep the upper hand, the helmed man knocks the idly floating shield aside with a heavy back-fisted strike, sending it soaring away. Shaking off the minor setback, the young man elects to wield his sword with both hands, amping up his aggression ten-fold as he attempts to turn the tables.
Springing toward the Gerudo like a bloodthirsty frog, the Sheikah spins into a perpetual tornado of kicks. Another cry of pain escapes the desert dweller’s lips as the final kick in the series connects with her jaw, forcing her to backflip out of danger. Squeezing the handle of her unique dagger, the ninja nimbly closes the distance once again, but