do you ever just stop and think about the four swords manga. like really think about it.
not about the technical stuff, either, but seeing it enacted before your eyes? seeing it realistically portrayed?
the scene where green and vio fight. the sweat dripping down their faces, neck, arms and legs under the cloth, baking in thick woolen tunic while fire rages around them. the emotion in green’s chest, pulsing against his ribs and threatening to break out, heavy breathing even without the fight and without the stakes. his hands shaking around the hilt of his sword, cold and gold under his fingers, knuckles white and teeth gritted and it’s honestly a miracle his voice comes out steady and, well, he’s proud of that.
but that being replaced by fear when vio cuts his arm, the edge of the sword and the edge of his forearm, the warm blood and the uncontrolled, sticky feeling of it staining the cloth and on the skin. the panic that throws itself like a wild animal (it’s called his heart) hitting his sternum like a battering ram when vio’s sword is above him, coming down on him, so close to his head and he’s going to die—
that one bitter, guilty thought where he curses vio for doing this. this is vio’s fault. he’s going to die and it’s his fault.
the rawness in his throat as he taunts, scolds, wounds vio, fight fight fight for your life and don’t ever forgive him. (okay, forgive him, because it’s not really his fault. plus you’re better than that. you have to be. better than vio.)
(your pride won’t allow otherwise.)
and after that; the one, two, three, moment when green falls to the ground and although there’s no pool of blood everyone thinks the worst. red feels his heartbeat in his chest because everything else fades into the background and for a moment the world ceases to exist. blue’s chest heaves and there’s something in his chest, ribs, sternum, to his elbows, fingertips, knees, toes, it’s nothing – it’s empty – and it’s spreading out over his body overwhelming. and for shadow link, well, his heart soars and he can’t help but yell his triumph, so sue him if blue’s eyes are finally leaking tears. vio’s his (and you all can eat your own tongues and choke on green’s bones).
what about something a little less dramatic, though? okay. so let’s take the opening, the establishing shot of hyrule castle (and death mountain’s lit by the sun rising and the ring above its crater is rich warm melted gold, but it hasn’t quite reached hyrule castle yet) with lanterns glittering white in the distance, and then you hear the overturning of tables and the sun is high enough that it’s more white than orange, and then you hear footsteps running full speed – clap, clap, clap, clap, wood against stone, leather boots with the seams flapping with every impact. white leggings and the glimpse of a green tunic, and then a sharp “hup!” and the boots jump off the ground and glass smashes bright and tinkling. (you’re left with a view of cobblestones, before it shifts, but that makes you dizzy.)
what about transitioning into the dark world? insides twisting in on themselves, your fingers curling backwards and you retch from the sight, your heart is in your skull cavity and your brain is by your lungs, your esophagus is your intestine and your intestines are your vocal chords and esophagus. but then it’s over, and you’re flat on the ground in a world where everything’s as distorted as you were.
what about sand in your teeth and bitterness coating your tongue? what about ice on your cheeks and pride in the veins of your wrists, hands? what about savannah grass under your sleeves and arson stuck in your tearducts? what about underbrush tucked in your collar and darkness jammed in your throat?
hm… draw the four sword, actually. link’s head reeling from the tips of the princess’ fingers brushing his as she’s whisked away, and from the mirror telling him he’s not the hero anymore; he’s not choked up with anything, just sort of spinning in place, wondering what’s happening, but he finds himself with his fingers wrapped around the unfamiliar hilt of an unfamiliar sword and something in him’s curious, his fear bubbles up boiling, his anger simmers there, the thirst for knowledge drying out his throat, duty thumping in his chest with a marching band beat, and, yes, he pulls it.
he pulls it, and he is wrenched apart.
because honestly, imagine that. your body is being split into four separate entities. link’s skin peels itself off his body, and his organs are stretched until they tear, and his life energy is being pulled too far away and he’s dying.
fire erupts in the hilt of the four sword and inflames his throat and now he has too much life energy, the skin that’s regenerated like ribbons around rubber organs, it’s burning to ashes with life enough for four separate beings. his soul is finding its way out of his heart and reality, ripping itself, neatly being folded into four (mostly) even segments, back and forth and back and forth and back and forth until it tears along the seam nice and easy.
and suddenly everything balances out.
he catches his breath, stands up straight, he notices something’s missing before he notices he’s not alone anymore.
it feels a little more… subtle, empty, drained; not like he’s tired, but like a puzzle’s been dismantled, and instead redrawn in thin colored pens. the picture’s there, he’s there, it’s just a little less definitive.
for the others, chunks of the puzzle are entirely missing, or pencil lines are all that’s left.
green looks up, to be greeted with the pieces of that puzzle grouped into chunks, the top left corner made of empathy and fear there, the bottom left corner made of something he can’t put his finger on there, the bottom right corner made of energy and anger there.
… do you just ever think about the four swords manga.
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