I found myself awakened at night by a blaze of blue light that seared the inside of my eyelids and caused my skin to tingle unpleasantly. It has been the fifth time this month. I know this light, this tingling sensation. I try to tell myself that it means nothing, just a remnant of those memories of him. But in the end I can't fool myself, he grows nearer and his strength has increased since our last encounter at the drawbridge. Seven years... He would be a young man now and perhaps a threat, though minor, for what can one man do when faced an army of darkness? The rebels show to be strangely optimistic despite the darkling sky; they have intercepted a supplies caravan, and the castle servants suffer for it. I had had spies locate an outpost, and would teach them of their insignificance that day.

I sat up in my bed, the sheets felt too small and constricting that morning and I rose quicker than I may have any other day. The morning was bleak, and I found myself growing tired and moody from the stale atmosphere that hung over Hyrule since my usurp of the throne, as if the land herself mourned the king. But no, I would not allow myself such liberal thoughts. I was the king now, and the land would accept me in time, as would her people. That morning I wore my blackened armour, the young Gerudo who I had charged with tending the metal plates placed them over my shoulders, shins and chest with a certain reverence, and it was as if she were afraid to touch me. I could not blame her. Many had long called me the King of Evil. This name disturbed me only in my deepest hours of reflection and I felt that it should worry me. Those were more thoughts I did not allow myself. However, at this time I was not aware of how critical my people's view of me truly was.

I rode out with my army, no Hylians, nor Zoras, nor Gorons present. They would not fight for me, and I did not trust their wills, in any case. My army was lead by Moblins holding Wolfos on thick chains. The beasts were snapping and pulling on their leads in a frenzied rage. Wolfos were not meant to be chained. A dark bloom of glee flared to life in my chest at the thought of what those hungry beasts would do to the rebels. Tear them to bloody pieces, sparing none, and eating some. A chuckle threatened to spill from my lips at the surge of power that was like a drug to me. Behind the Wolfos were three Stalfos and behind those skeletal warriors, more Moblins. I adored the brutish creatures. Their wills so weak and mouldable, they bred like rabbits and they fought like trapped animals. They held no grudges and would work until exhaustion killed them. They were truly the perfect minion, the perfect pawn. Finally, flanking my out riding were two Moblin riders on those boars I had created especially for this purpose, partly bull and partly pig. They were the perfect mount for the perfect minion. Their tusks would cripple any who got in their path with a savage force. Those pigs would feed on human flesh if allowed, I was sure.

It was not after half a day's ride toward the Kokiri Forest before signs of the rebels were found. They had obviously chosen a place so close to the Forest knowing I didn't have it under my rule... yet. The weakness bothered me, and a dark anger filled my mouth with a foul taste. We followed the evidence of a hurried escape; the rebels had obviously had a camp here and had heard wind of my approaching forces. They wouldn't run far. I could tell the Wolfos had a scent. I signalled their release and I drove my army after them with an unrelenting force. The chase brought me sick pleasure, and I very nearly purred, I allowed my fingers to stroke my black steed's mane twice.

It was not long before we spotted a small force holding off two of the five Wolfos, the other two were dead, we had passed their corpses in our pursuit. Arrows stuck out from their white forms and they lay in a poetic half-leap, collapsed on their sides. Death was poetic... I frowned, this was not enough, I guessed that these young and strapping men were here to delay my forces to protect the core of the outpost. No matter, it was a futile attempt to salvage an already dead people. There were maybe fifteen young men; at least five were already wounded. My cold, calculating eyes took tally of their forces and my own. For the most part, their men seemed trained well enough in the sword or mace. Only a few seemed fresh and ignorant. I was not surprised, with such small numbers they would need all the strengths they could earn. My forces numbed nearly double theirs. But Moblins fought blindly, only the Stalfos could be accounted for having any true skill. I signalled an advance and cued to my riders to flank the rebels. I could feel victory like a warm flush across my cheeks, pleasure settled warmly in my stomach.

I was nearing my forecasted victory in short time, and it was only at this time that it occurred to me to take a couple hostages, the best of their fighters, the ones who were still left alive. I could use them for information, milk them for all they knew, and then kill them and place their treacherous heads on the battlements of Castletown. Now I did allow a dark chuckle to bubble from my blackened core. I ordered for the capture of two rebels, though I did not mention for my men to be gentle or kind and I knew they would not be. For what can Moblins understand of honour and dignity?