Day 2 Morning

[Magus]

Before Kopaka’s most recent post

Neither mentioned it. They didn’t need to. Both were forced to acknowledge the taciturn intelligence of the other, and each of them knew that the other had come to the same conclusion – that Teucer wasn’t the only being pulling the strings on this bizarre island.

Clashing flashes of light swirled up, pillar-like, from the thick of the humid jungle, spiraling up into the sky. Magus was tempted – anything to defy Teucer as a small revenge for having been literally spirited away would have brought a smile to his lips.

Kopaka’s direct query brought him back to earth – or wherever the hell they were – and forced Magus to give pause. Electing to opt out of the battle was easy and the decision came swiftly. The wizard appreciated this; too many times had he been stuck with would-be heroes who would dumbly charge into every challenge presented to them – or worse, to bicker amongst one another for goddamn eons about what the best decision would be.

Kopaka just wanted progress, and didn’t seem to care about how to go about achieving it, and that suited the Demon King just fine. If the frigid thing could fight, this partnership would be a fine one indeed.

- - - - -

Their progress was relentless, but the march was grueling. The ground alternated from rough and rugged, with dips and bumps and ridges, to muddy and slippery at a moment’s notice. To compound their problems, tree roots and vines snaked their miserable way across whatever snippets of terrain hadn’t been consumed by undergrowth, making each step a perilous one.

The fact was emphasized when, after slogging through a particularly difficult patch, Magus slipped on a wet stone and when he tried to recover, caught his other foot beneath a gnarled root, toppling to his hands and knees with an alarming pain shooting up his ankle.

Magus remained still, eyes wide and panting. He was so hot. So goddamn, miserably hot. And sweaty. Sticky. The miserable chill of the Forbidden Magic still eluded him, compounded with this oppressive heat.

The wizard rose up, still on his knees, and dragged his cloak over his head, caring not for how matted and wild it made his hair. He threw the garment to the floor and did the same with his thick, leather gloves, and then his shirt. He climbed to his feet, an imposing tower of pallid, sun-shy flesh, covered in old scars and war wounds.

He was delirious, and knew he was on the verge of passing out, overwhelming by the heat that he’d endured in his heavy attire.

And then, without a word, he bear-hugged Kopaka from behind. The machine-man could only manage a curt “What?” as the wizard pressed his flesh against the Toa’s frigid form. It was awkward, to say the least, and Magus dreaded someone stumbling out of the jungle and spotting them.

But it worked. The frigid metal cooled his heat-soaked body and cleared his head. After a few moments, his flesh burned from being pressed against such cold metal, and Magus ceased his embrace. Immediately, Kopaka whirled around and stepped back, seemingly glaring at him from behind the mask.

“It was either that or I pass out from exhaustion,” the pale, half-naked wizard quipped, before the cyborg had a chance to say anything. Magus was a little red and struggled to hide it. “I suggest we…” he cleared his throat. “We should just-”

Before he could continue, the ground began to tremble, before escalating into a terrible quaking. All around them, they could hear the groans and crashed of new fissures opening up in the earth, along with the snaps and cracks of ancient trees being felled.

Oh thank God.

“We must vacate this place, or it will bury us at the bottom of the sea,” Kopaka declared. The Fiendlord nodded and led the way back from whence they came. He wasn’t fond of back-tracking, but the idea of being dragged to a watery grave by thousands of tons of earth didn’t exactly seem like an appealing alternative.

After Kopaka’s post

Three strong now, and still it seemed as though Magus was at the helm of their quiet alliance. This suited him well – the Demon King had been suspicious of Kopaka, but he really was beginning to accept that the only thing the machine was concerned with was the death of the one called ‘Mickey Mouse.’

No matter, he finally decided, if Magus could walk out of this place with great power, then Kopaka would walk out with Mickey’s head.

And Link…

“There are artifacts out there,” Magus quietly began, climbing to his feet and dusting himself off. “Guardians or not. They’re ours to take. We have strength, numbers, and strategy. All that remains…” he paused, looking at the Hylian boy. How innocent was he, and why did the overwhelming sense of déjà vu keep scratching at the back of his mind like rats, eating away at him. “…Is blood.”