Eldin had a certain appeal to it. The smell of ash and fire pervaded the air, and the molten rock that flowed through the land made the place all but inhospitable to anyone but monsters. Perhaps that was why his master took such a liking to it. During the war the treacherous mountain alone had claimed many lives and made their fortress at the top nearly impenetrable. But he dare not go there now. No, such a failure as himself should not disgrace his master by intruding. And the guilt he felt knowing it had been turned into a sanctuary by the remaining sheikah made the demon lord sick to his stomach.
Ghirahim entertained himself watching the blood drip off his blade onto the scorching rock below. A mogma who had been unfortunate enough to cross his path now baked on the rock, motionless with a big gash across its front. It had been decades, no, perhaps even a century since his master was sealed and his kind retreated to their dark realm. He had walked alone on the surface since, with one sole mission: Find the spirit maiden, and use her soul to resurrect the Demon King. Except the goddess hadn't been reborn yet, and likely wouldn't be for another century or so. Oh how the time seemed to pass so much more slowly now. Before, hundreds of years passed in the blink of an eye, now even the days were insufferably long.
The demon glances back at the mogma, which had long since stopped twitching. Sighing, he stabbed his sword into the earth to clean it, then dispelled it from his hands. He picks up the corpse, careful not to let it dirty his white garments. The bokoblins happened to love mogma flesh, but they were so brainless that it was a miracle if they ever managed to catch one themselves. Regardless, Ghirahim was interested in watching the monsters ruthlessly tear each other apart for a bite when he tossed it into their camp. They were like rabbits anyway. Any ones that died would be replaced soon enough. Hard to believe these creatures came from what used to be demons. And that they were some of the only monsters left.
Watching the bokoblins fight over the mogma provided some decent laughs for about an hour or so. A fresh one would probably have been better though. Ghirahim made a mental note to capture one next time rather than killing it. When it was done it was done, and he went back to boredom again. He had given up on sleeping to pass the time, as nightmares of his failure to help his master win the war haunted his dreams whenever he tried. Not that he required sleep anyway. Eating was a needless chore, too, so he also avoided that. Perhaps tonight he'd send up another tornado to try and bring down another human, even if he had no chances of bringing down the girl. Hylia's treasured ones were the only ones who provided decent entertainment, after all. But the demon was still learning their limits. It was no fun to accidently kill one during a torture session.
Yes, humans were far less durable than demons. They took time to heal, and died if they bled out. Ghirahim had had his share of injuries that would have proven fatal to these frail people during the great war with Hylia, and even before then conquering most of the demon realm with his master. His master who he gave his life to, who made him what he was today. His master who, given the opportunity, he would gladly endure everything all over again.