Shadow Puppet

by HyperfixationStation (JoeyRuthlock)

Summary:

Zant is visited by the mysterious mask spirit Majora while he's locked in the dungeon of the Palace of Twilight. Majora helps him escape, but what its goals are for freeing him are yet to be seen (but pretty obvious to assume if you know anything about this stupid mask.)

Aka Zant finds a new god and Majora gets itself a new puppet

Chapter 1: Hands Tied

Notes:

So um..........I may or may not have found myself hopelessly obsessed with Zant recently.....
Anyway if this keeps up id expect a LOT more Zant related fics sometime in the future, because i have sooooo many different ideas. This is just one of them and I have no idea what im gonna do with it but we'll see how it goes i guess. Also I'm currently reading the Twilight Princess mangas and theyre so, SO good so far dude, at least in my opinion. I cant think of anything else to say at the moment so I'll just say I hope you enjoy whatever this is :D

A cold wind sweeps over the stone dungeon, hidden away deep within the Palace of Twilight. The cool makes for a nice break from the usual stale and stagnant air, Zant thinks, although his shackled hands rebuke as little needles of dreadful chill stab through the metal encasing them. Certainly there must be more than a simple hex preventing his escape imbued into the wretched things, likely a sort of sadistic addition just to add to the torture—always painfully cold or tight to the point of agony or some other creative punishment. And the sudden bursts of wind can be nothing but a manufactured torture themselves, as no natural air flows so freely in such a miserable pit. It angers him beyond measure, and the fact he can hardly move to properly lash out only proves to exacerbate his wrath. If he were to ever get his hands on that pathetic creature the Twili call their princess...

Oh, what's the point in daydreaming? His fate is to waste away in a cell until his day of reckoning arrives, where he will face the full power of unfettered daylight and pass into nothing. There is no hope left for him: his powers have been rendered useless, his kind have shunned and abandoned him, and his god is...his god is dead. That sweet taste of kingship passed him by far too quickly and turned so very bitter, yet he yearns for it again. As long as he's living, he'll long for it so desperately until he can almost taste it's sweetness once more. The allegiance, the confidence, the power to conquer with hardly a word. How terribly he missed such power.

A noise, something brushing against the stone walls, startled Zant out of his forlorn musing. The sudden jolt sent a sharp pain through his hands and up his long arms, eliciting a hiss of pain past his needle-like teeth. Still baring his teeth like a blade, he considered calling out, but disregarded the urge when he recalled it was likely just another urchin eager to gaze upon the sorry state of their former king. Barbarous fiends...the Shadow Beasts suited them better for such savagery, he'd only made their appearance match their incivility when he made them that way. Lowly, useless brutes—at least he'd found a good use for them as thralls. 

A giggle from the darkness confirmed his suspicion. 

He couldn't stop from voicing himself any longer, his native tongue reverberating through the empty chamber, "[So another dullard has come to gawk, have they? Be my guest, cretin, you do not faze me.]"

To his surprise, the thing replied. To his further surprise, it was not in the Twili language. "Ohh, what a rude one you are! And here I was about to offer my aid, but if you're going to be like that then I suppose you don't want it!"

Zant strains against his tethers as best he can, but the mystery figure is still just out of his sight. He replies, in the language of the stranger now, "Pray tell, how can anything you offer benefit me? And who do you think you are, to understand my language and refuse to speak it back to me? You're useless to me." 

"I'd mind my tongue, if I were you. Making assumptions of me is the last thing you want to do, given you want a chance out of this dreary basement."

"Do not tantalize me, whoever you are. I'm certain you're only being cruel, trying to make me feel hope, but I won't fall for your sick games. Now begone." 

The stranger goes silent. Zant believes he's won until he hears that infernal giggle again. "Have you ever heard of a little artifact your ancestors used before they were trapped here?" 

With chagrin, he couldn't help himself but to answer, "I know of the Fused Shadow."

"No, no, not that one. I far precede that relic."

"You?"

"Yes, before the Interlopers had ever conceived of the Fused Shadow, they had me to assist in their machinations. They wouldn't have been able to create such a feat of magic without my help, but once they were finished they tossed me away! They sealed me in this realm, but what irony it is that they would end up sealed here along with me."

"You call yourself an artifact. How can that be so? Surely I haven't deigned converse with nothing more than a clever object."

The visitor laughed, but paid no other heed to the slight. "It's simple, really. Long before I was sealed here, my spirit was sealed inside a mask. The Interlopers used my mask and the powers I granted them through it to do wonders beyond their imagination. I escaped from this realm for a time before I was defeated by some boy who called himself a hero. At least I'm free from that mask, but now I'm stuck here again—it's so unfair! Don't you think so?"

"I think you're either a very creative liar or a lunatic. Why else would you hide from me? Show yourself and give me reason to believe you."

"If you insist..." 

Out from the shadows steps something bright, with so many colors they're almost difficult to look at. Certainly no Twili, that much is obvious. Horns of different colors protrude from the top of its head and around its ruddy face, and long violet hair ends in magenta tresses swooping upwards at its shoulders. It wears intricate garb completely foreign to his knowledge of different tribes, with stripes and odd symbols and so, so many colors. Despite all that, it's eyes are the most striking, glowing orange with crazed green irises—they almost seem familiar…

Because he's seen them before. Never in the flesh but in old manuscripts, texts almost as old as the Twili themselves. Those same eyes drawn in ancient documents, on a mask no Twili could ever decipher the origin of. Those eyes, embossed onto the Fused Shadow itself...

"Ah, how odd," the mask spirit says with a snide grin, exposing a mouthful of sharp teeth to rival Zant's own. "You suddenly have this more docile way about you. How very curious. What possibly could have caused it? Could it be that you recognize me from somewhere? Oh, but of course that can't be it, we haven't even been properly introduced. I suppose it will remain a mystery." It shrugs before waving a dismissive hand. "Well, whatever. Do you want my help or do you not?" 

Zant is stunned, afraid to so much as breathe in the presence of such a creature. Then this must be true. He knew of no Twili with shapeshifting abilities as proficient as this, and...and now what? If he hasn't gone completely mad and this is all true, then this creature is partially to blame for his tribe's rot in this miserable realm. But not quite either, he supposed. Just as the Twili shouldn't be punished for the sins of their ancestors, then certainly this spirit should not be blamed for something it inadvertently might have caused. Yes, that's right, and especially not when it's offering something so very enticing. 

"Well?"

The usurper king, although with a bit of bruised pride, said in his most diplomatic voice. "Your aid would be invaluable to me in this hour of need, as such I accept your offer." 

"Say please?"

Zant tenses.

"Aw, come on! It's the least you could do after all those mean things you said to me earlier. I'll take this as your apology."

A growl forces itself from his chest. How dare this befallen spirit speak down to him, much less make such a vile request? Even if it were once a powerful being, with the sorry state it's in now trapped in this realm, there simply are no grounds to make such demands of a king. But, clearly, it knows not to whom it speaks, so only this once he decides to humor it. He takes a breath to pry the cursed supplication from the deepest pits of his soul. Through gritted teeth, he hisses, "Please."

"Good. I suggest you practice that, if you want me to continue being your ally."

Feeling the anticipation rise ever higher, Zant squeals at an embarrassing pitch, "Just release me from this forsaken place!"

The mask spirit takes a step back, hand at their chin and inspecting the chains like a puzzle. "You know, that princess must be awfully confident in the magic of those bonds of yours, without a single guard in sight. If I had to guess, I'd say if I break those chains the magic will alert the guards or something. Probably the same thing will happen if I try to open the door." 

"What, are you trying to say you can't help me after all? Don't tell me this has all been one sick joke." 

"Fret not, you underestimate me! It is true that my magic hasn't yet been restored to its former glory, but it's still nothing to scoff at. No, what I'm saying is we need to be quick about this, in case my intuition is correct. So what I'm going to do is break your chains and teleport us both away from the palace all at once—how does that sound?”

Zant's heart races in his chest until he can feel it's pounding in his head. So close to freedom, so very close he could almost taste it. He nods feverishly, unable to form words. 

"Then brace yourself, this might not be pleasant." 

In a flash, faster than he can properly comprehend, he is far outside the palace, his hands free of metal and dizzy from the sudden shift. As he holds a hand up to his forehead, the bones in his wrist pop from disuse. It feels heavenly after so long confined. Reorienting himself, he notices how far they are from the palace, in a pseudo-wooded area on the outskirts of a small Twili village. He takes a deep breath, savoring the sensation of anything but metal against his hands and the view of twilit skies that seem almost unfamiliar after so long.

"Well, aren't you going to thank me?" The mask spirit inquires. "Or ask my name, at the very least."

Zant lets himself collapse against one of the black, artificial-looking trees, its branches twisting towards the heavens. Without much thought, he responds, "What is your name?"

"My name is Majora, and Majora knows an opportunity when she sees one.”

Notes:

Thanks and I hope you enjoyed reading!!! I didn't put much thought into this first chapter and that may or may not change across future chapters (given i write more) but yeah. Idk what else to say but uh yeah, thanks again for reading!

Chapter 2: Puppet King

Summary:

Zant and Majora massacre a village and, by the time it's over, Zant finds a new god

Notes:

So I went a little crazy this chapter, I guess I just wanted to experiment with writing gore and darker subjects n stuff like that, so watch out for that

Also okay so anyway these first few chapters are probably gonna be fumbling trying to figure out how I want to write Zant. I have no idea what I'm doing I'm just making up stuff as I go with very little thought. Idk I'm just vibin I guess.

"And of course, you require no introduction, Usurper King." Majora grins up at the tall figure before her. "I must say, that whole escapade of yours was quite the spectator sport! I might have even joined your cause, had our missions aligned."

Zant pushes off the false tree, brushing himself off and straightening his posture. What a relief it is still to be free from that horrible box. He's so relieved he forgets to be angry at what the mask spirit says, for being robbed of such an ally over something as pedantic as diverging missions. Once it catches up with him, he scoffs. "Yours couldn't possibly be so different from mine that you couldn't offer any aid at all.'"

"Not so, friend. You see, our motivations couldn't be any more different—you aim to rule but, in order to do that, you need something and someone to sovereign and some sense of order to uphold your power. That's true, yes?"

"Yes, it is."

"Therein lies the problem, Your Majesty, as I want for none of those things. Mine is a very simple wish and very easy to grant: I want total decimation. I want to leave a trail of annihilation in my wake, to strike fear into any poor creature who so much as looks my way, crescendoing into the beautiful view of watching them die by my hand. That is my wish, my very reason for being, and if you're not stupid then you should be able to plainly see how incompatible we are as partners in crime."

"If that is so, why bother freeing me? I am of no use to you." 

"There you go again with your silly assumptions! I have my reasons for freeing you, now hush and be grateful."

Zant doesn't particularly enjoy being told what to do, but he does stay quiet, if only for a lack of things to say. 

"Those guards will be all over these lands looking for you. I estimate it will be hardly any time at all before they arrive here." Majora says, scanning the little settlement before them, a void surrounding it on every side. "That shouldn't be a problem. In fact, I say we greet them in kind once they dare show their face here."

Zant's jaw fell, completely beside himself, "Are you insane? We can't defeat an entire army."

"Who said anything about we? I can defeat an entire army, all you have to do is watch from the sidelines—I could bring this miserable realm to its knees if I wished. Don't forget, Usurper King, you know nothing of my power."

In the silence, they hear the whispers of gossip among the Twili villagers, hissing as they learn of Zant's escape. Zant knows how fast news travels in the Twilight Realm, but even he is surprised at how fast this has traveled. Among their quiet cacophony that grows louder each moment, a few voices stand out from the rest:

"[I hope they find that traitor soon.]"

"[What a pity he escaped! I was looking forward to his execution.]"

"[Such a heartless creature...and to think he believes it is his right to be our king.]"

"[At least when he's recaptured and executed, he will die with less worth than the soil we tread on.]"

Nothing but pure rage electrifies Zant, permeating his very flesh and bone until his body wracked and shuddered with it. The blind hubris of the savage mites...he's certain they would not be so loose with their lips had they known of his presence. If only...

The wretched mask spirit giggles in his ear, taking pleasure in his torment. "How weak you truly are. You know, if you were really made of tougher stuff, as you claim to be, then you wouldn't stand for such blatant disrespect. Don't you think a proper, powerful king would make an example of his dissenters?"

Zant bared his teeth at it, seething, "That may be so, but I am in no such state to make a risk like that. It would be foolish of me."

"Nonsense! Yes, it might bring those guards faster to us, but so be it. We want them here, so we may make an example of them too—why delay it? You dispatch your unruly subjects and I will be rid of those pesky toy soldiers once they arrive, simple as that. It would be a great display of power, one the people will fear you for. They'll never take you seriously if you continue to cower like a defenseless child! Now listen to their disparaging words and make your choice: continue as a coward or make them eat those words."

They grin.

"[What a pathetic excuse for a man.]"

They laugh. 

"[There is no reason to fear him anymore. He has no power and will be recaptured soon.]"

They laugh.

"[After all, why fear a failed tyrant?]"

He screams.

And then he's got his hands around some poor Twili's throat, watching it thrash as life fights to stay in its eyes. With the quick twist of the things head, the sound of its neck snapping sounds with a nauseating crack across the thick silence of the village. Its body goes limp at once, and its eyes lose their light. Zant stands to his full height again, the corpse at his feet, surrounded by stunned faces of villagers too frightened to move. Staring back at them, his lips curl into a wicked smile. 

He lunges into the crowd and they finally scatter like ants, but a couple of them get pinned under his large frame. They both writhe and sob, but Zant cages them, unwilling to let them free. He turns his attention to the noisiest one, pleading for its life with drizzling eyes and flaring nostrils, almost choking on its own saliva with how little it shuts up. Zant rips his teeth into the flesh of its bobbing throat, sickly sweet blood flowing into the cavern of his mouth. He tugs and he tears, the other creature in his grasp screaming so loud it could wake the dead, until a chunk of flesh is gone from the thing's throat and held in his teeth instead. He spits it to the ground near the conscious one's head, fresh blood dribbling down his chin and dripping onto the pitiful creature's tear streaked face. As the first one bleeds out, he covers the other's still screaming mouth with his sleeved hands until it's fighting for breath. He presses and presses and yet the insect still refuses to die, so he removes his hands and the thing takes in a massive breath of air, before raising its head above the ground and bringing it down again with as much force as he can muster. It cries out, but he doesn't stop, bashing its head on the hard ground again and again until it finally stops moving. 

Zant removes himself from the carnage, taking a step back to take in the now three bodies. It isn't enough—he won't stop until every last one of these treasonous whelps are made rotting corpses. He will give his subjects reason not to cross him, even without the power of his old god. 

He is still powerful, and he is still the rightful king.

The pests will remember that soon. 

 

Instead of chasing them all like mice (however entertaining that might have been), Zant, with the help of Majora, herded them all together in the center of the village, the lot of them bleating like goats. Even if they are to be made examples of, it's only befitting of a king to speak to his subjects with some ounce of civility. With the metallic tang of blood still on his tongue, he begins his decree, "[Only one of you miserable, sniveling weaklings will live. That is, given you comply with my one, very simple demand. Whosoever denounces that princess as their monarch and declares me as their king shall be graciously spared. So who shall be the lucky one?]"

No immediate takers, which only fuels Zant's rage. How could anyone be so stupid? Do they not fear death? That will have to change...

One especially foolish Twili has the gall to spit at Zant, although it falls short of its mark. As the fool seems ready to make some grand speech, magic overcomes it, shutting its mouth and forcing it to the ground with a harsh thud, muffling the sound of cracking bones. With the thing suddenly at his feet, Zant is confused until he glances over at Majora, the obvious cause of the sudden magic. Such kindness, he thinks, being helpful while still letting me do the honors. Perhaps they can work better as partners than he originally assumed. Maybe not quite equals—perhaps more of a king and his advisor—but close enough. 

Looking down at the pitiful creature before him, having lost all its misplaced confidence, it cowers and pleads, no better than a rabbit at the jaws of a fox.

Zant raises his foot and brings it down onto the crying thing's head. Blood pours as bone caves under the weight of his metal shoe, the sharp corners of the heel only serving to mangle its face further. Needless to say, that shut it up. However, unfortunately, it sent the remaining villagers into another uproar. Some scream, some sob, some wretch and expel the contents of their stomach. Some try to run, but Majora's magic prevent them from getting far. Zant turns to the mask spirit. "Kill all that try to run."

More than a few Twili fall to Majora in some gruesome way or another. 

By the time the dust settles, only a handful remain. "[Well?]" Zant asks, tapping his bloody shoe against the ground like an impatient parent. "[Last chance.]"

As he's about to give up and kill them all anyway, one boy, no older than seventeen, finally speaks with a voice weak and crackling like an unsteady flame. "[I do.]" He says between heaving sobs and panicked breath. "[I accept you as our king. Now please don't kill me, please...]" His head hangs low, in shame or subservience Zant can't figure. "[Please, I don't want to die.]"

Majora cast the boy to the side, sparing him from the massacre to occur, as was promised. Zant and Majora make good on the other part of that promise. Once it's done, they're both covered in Twili blood. Zant returns to the survivor, the thing shivering and wide-eyed, curled against the wall of a quaint shop. As Zant approached, it tried to crawl away, but only ended up backing itself further against the wall. 

"[Oh, what a pity. I truly wish I didn't have to do what has been done, but I'm afraid your village was a necessary sacrifice in the reestablishment of my reign. Every good king has vast power, and sometimes mutinous subjects need reminded of that. You may understand, one day. As for now, boy, I have one more demand of you.]"

Zant kneels to the level of the frightened youth, grabbing its face in his hand. "[Scurry off to the palace and tell those brigands of the purge that has befallen this village. Once you've done that, you're free to do as you please. Do you understand?]"

The boy nods feverishly.

Zant tightens his hold on the boy's face. "[Use words to address your king, you halfwit.]"

"[Yes!]" It squeals, all too much like whining, "[I understand.]"

"[Good. Now get out of my sight.]" 

As soon as he's able, the boy arises and sprints away, never so much as glancing back. Running for his life.

Majora floats by Zant, slithering around him like a serpent. "What fun that was! And what was it you were saying before? That it would be stupid to do this? I thought you were afraid of the guards, said we couldn't take them all or something." 

"I was not afraid, just cautious, but what need is there for caution when we can wipe out an entire village with ease?"

"See? You've got nothing to worry about, even if that kid really does what you say. Once the palace learns of this, this ghost town will be swarming in no time. Then it'll be my turn to have all the fun."

 

The boy must have made haste, as it's hardly any time at all before the soldiers show up. Zant feels an embarrassing pang of anxiety upon seeing the small army descend upon them, but it's quelled by the way Majora perks up as she does, grinning from ear to ear as they make their approach. She gives him a sidelong glance, her sharp smile never faltering. "Do you want to see a magic trick, Usurper King?"

She doesn't wait for an answer, charging into the fray of battle without a hint of fear. As soon as she's within reach, her form changes all at once, growing into a massive, muscular beast with tentacular whips in place of hands. Zant can't look away from the spectacular beast, a kaleidoscope of color and movement as it dispatches at least four soldiers in a single swing. So many colors...they assault his eyes and yet now they don't seem so lurid as they did before. It's beautiful. So very powerful. 

They are not equals. The realization crashes over him in waves. They are so very far from being equal. Majora is raw power, a being forged of magic too powerful for him to ever hope to comprehend, and he is but a mortal king. But oh, what a lovely beast this is, immaculate in its workings. He forgets himself as he watches it move, as fluid and graceful as a dance—he forgets the soldiers after him, now only hapless victims in the way of an angry god.

A god. 

A violent, powerful, and wonderful god. 

Oh, what a glorious day.

Notes:

So yeah Zant sees any display of great power and is like I need to start licking boots and kissing ass immediately

Anyways uh hope you enjoyed this even tho its kinda a mess (and let's be real will likely continue being a mess), like this thing is being held together with glitter glue and a dream rn

Regardless, thanks :D