We're back, baby! Chapter 19 of Corrupted Hero is here!
I know I say this every time, but I am truly, deeply sorry for the long wait. This chapter ended up more complicated than I initially anticipated.
But honestly, this is one of my favorite chapters so far. It'll take you for a ride. It certainly took me for one! It's also nice and long, just to make up for things. But if you think I should shorten future chapters, let me know.
Anyway, I won't ramble. Thank you all so much for your patience, your readership, and your support! I can't wait to present this chapter. Read on, and enjoy!
For all its attitude, the Sheikah Slate showed remarkable patience as it awaited Link's response. It simply sat in his quaking palm, the eye on its screen watching them all as they stared, goggle-eyed, at it. Though it lacked the facial features to do so, Link held the distinct impression that it was smirking, relishing in their bafflement. And as the long moments of their stupefied silence crawled on, the Slate's enjoyment only grew.
Link ground his jaw, trying to wrap his head around this bizarre development. He struggled to comprehend that the device he held in his hands was, in all respects, possessed. It was a dumbfounding thought, but as he continued to stew on it, it all slowly began to make sense.
He thought back to his prior run-ins with the Slate's newfound personality. In the past, the Slate had reacted in ways that were impossible for a machine. It had snapped at Purah, thrown a tantrum when Maz Koshia had taken it, and spiraled with panic when separated from Link. Such reactions were illogical, unpredictable… organic. With each of its outbursts stacking up in his mind, Link finally came to the shocking understanding that the reason the Slate even had a personality was because it wasn't just a machine. There was something living inside of it.
A spirit. One that was completely obsessed with him. And it was offering its help. But why was it here? And how had it gotten into the Slate in the first place?
Unless…?
Link's mind shot further back into his history with the device. When he had first beheld it in the Shrine of Resurrection, it had glowed blue. But when he had picked it up, Malice spawned from his hands and forced its way inside of it, changing it. Was that…? But that would mean the spirit had been… inside him. No, that couldn't have been...?
Link shivered, his mind a maelstrom of questions, fear, and speculation. He had no idea what to make of this. It was absolutely insane. But, insane as it was, the spirit's timing was impeccable; its proposal was exactly what Link was needing. What he and Maz Koshia had been in the middle of attempting. This should have been godsend.
Only it wasn't. Though his awe tried to convince him otherwise, Link knew in his right mind that something about this wasn't right. It was too good to be true. But he had to know more. Something inside of him — he couldn't name exactly what — was dying to heed the spirit, goading on his curiosity. He could feel whatever-it-was smoldering in his veins, battling against his better judgement. It all served to make his stomach roil with tepid uncertainty.
But he wouldn't get any answers by just sitting there. Somewhat overcoming his shock, Link finally managed to say something. It had gone so deathly silent that everyone flinched when he shakily asked the Slate, "What are you going to show me, exactly?"
The device glittered with crimson light upon being spoken to. What you've been missing, the spirit replied.
Link blinked. "Missing? Wh-what do you mean?"
Why not find out? All I need is a yes.
Another uncomfortable pause settled upon them. Once again, Link froze, stunned and confused by the spirit's words. What could he possibly be missing? He was almost afraid to find out. And yet… he burned with curiosity. He couldn't wait to find out — if he dared even agree to the spirit's lurings.
Symin's head shot up, his eyes alight with panic behind his glasses. "You're not seriously going to trust this thing, are you, Link?!" he wheezed.
Link pursed his lips, studying the Slate's screen. Its eye continued to watch him expectantly. "I-I don't…" he stammered, struggling to sift through his ambivalence. "I don't know…" Troubling as this development was, it wasn't without its intrigue, Link couldn't deny that.
Neither could Purah. Her hands tucked close to her chest, she leaned forward slightly, inspecting the Slate with bated breath. "Fascinated as I am… I can't say that I trust this... spirit," she said. She hadn't forgotten its snarky attitude towards her. "I don't like that it's taken up residence inside the Slate. It feels wrong."
The spirit seethed at that remark, but it chose to ignore it, reining in a comeback. Now that it had their attention, it didn't want to tear down its already-feeble rapport with its company.
Meanwhile, Maz Koshia's eyes were tight as he studied the Slate, taking mental notes of his words, its reactions — both physical and vocal. His mind itched at the vague familiarity of its behavior. Like Link, he wasn't sure how to interpret this interloper, but he nevertheless found his inner scholar teeming with dark curiosity. He had never seen anything like this. He wanted to dissect it however he could.
"I couldn't agree more, Director," the monk agreed, his voice low and thoughtful, yet disturbed. Everyone turned their gazes on him as he steepled his fingers, tapping them against his chin. "But as much as this concerns me," he continued, "if what it is saying is true… then this spirit could potentially teach Link something that we don't understand."
They all jumped again when the Slate gave off another strange sound — something mechanically akin to a chuckle. Potentially? the spirit repeated. Oh, ye of little faith. I could teach him things even you don't know, monk. You're not the only one who has lived for millennia.
Maz Koshia stiffened at that. Before he could ask a follow-up question, everyone's eyes were diverted back to the Slate when additional words appeared on its screen.
But we're getting off topic. You still haven't answered me, Master.
Link's face burned as everyone's gazes — including the Slate's — turned on him. Once again, he found himself torn between his curiosity and his own disquietude.
On one hand, he leapt at the chance to learn more about his Malice. Now that he knew that he had been resurrected at Ganon's hand, he was itching to take control of his corruption and unleash it against the beast. And Maz Koshia, Purah, and Symin all felt the same. Yet despite their righteous intentions, they honestly had no idea what they were doing. Their recent bout of training was evidence enough of that.
But to be taught by something that was Malice itself… something that wanted nothing more than to serve him… it was an opportunity Link couldn't afford to waste. Who knew what he could learn? What he could perfect?
But at the same time, Link's gut brewed with a sense of caution. Just as before, he wholly acknowledged the power he carried inside him. It was Calamity Ganon's power. Unmatched, unprecedented. Exhilarating. But for all its highs, it carried even darker lows. Link shuddered to think of what else he was capable of — of whatever the spirit was hinting at — if he dared dabble into his own darkness. He had already done so much damage. What more destruction could he wreak, if he actively sought it out, but couldn't control it?
Link wrestled with himself for a moment or two. "...I'm not sure," he finally mumbled. His grip tightened on the Slate as he gazed into its eye. "Y-you said you were Malice; Ganon's Malice." His heart started to race as his mind wandered to his previous outbursts. The nauseating crack of Maz Koshia's neck and the garbled screams of Izer echoed in his ears.
Shivering, Link shook the memories out of his head, grunting, "How can I trust that? That poison...? How can I trust you?"
The spirit pondered for a moment before replying. I have been with you since the beginning, Master, it wrote. When you asked, I answered. Have I ever steered you wrong?
Link's eyes widened as he thought it over. Truth be told, the spirit wasn't lying — when Link had asked it to guide him, it obeyed. And the Slate had been his longest, for lack of a better word, companion following his resurrection. Link had carried both of them with him all this time, none the wiser as to the spirit within's quirks, its personality, its motivations. Yet, for all its support and sacrifice, the spirit within the Slate had never given Link any reason to be wary of it.
That said, Maz Koshia sat up straighter, a chilling thought dawning on him. "Link…" he began. The monk cocked his head, wondering lowly, "How long has the Slate been speaking to you?"
For some reason, Link cowered as though he had been caught in a lie. He ducked his head, eyes darting through the grass. "I'm not sure exactly when it started, but i-it's never been like this," he stammered.
But as soon as he said it out loud, Link's brain spun with the realization that he was awfully right. The Slate had spoken to him before, but only in short, cryptic answers and trills. Now, it was speaking in full-fledged sentences, actively participating in conversation with people other than himself. Though he yearned to tame his Malice, this knowledge only served as fuel for Link's hesitations to trust the spirit.
A slew of new questions buzzed around in Link's mind. Why was the spirit only now coming out of its proverbial shell? Why was it only now offering its... services?
Link turned back to the Slate, intent to find out why it was suddenly being so forthcoming. "If we've been together since the Shrine of Resurrection, then why haven't you spoken to me like this until now?"
A slight pause.
You haven't needed my help until now, the spirit eventually responded.
Link's heart stuttered. "What?" he gaped, blinking. "Who says I need your help?"
The Slate seemed offended; its lights flickered. Oh, please, don't pretend you know what you're doing, it said. Everyone's eyes widened. The spirit only bolstered their shock when it added, Your past uses of your Malice were flukes. Accidents. You have no idea how to control your power; you've destroyed everything you've touched.
You were trying to control it just now, but you were failing. I couldn't just leave you to flounder in your own devices; I had to step in. Controlling Malice is possible, Master, but you will need my help. As I said, I live to serve you. The Slate's lights then glowed like coals. Now, will you accept my help? Or would you rather ravage every person your Malice touches?
Link recoiled against a sudden onslaught of memory from his outbursts, his Malice curdling in his veins. As he endeavored to clear his head, his gaze wandered to Maz Koshia, to the ragged hole in his throat peeking just below his veil. A bead of sweat crawled down from Link's hairline at the reminder of the poison he had inadvertently placed inside the monk. All because he couldn't control his power.
But this spirit — it said it could help him. Maybe with its help, he would never hurt anyone ever again?
Link's posture sagged as his grip on the Slate tightened. His chest hollowed out. "I can't — I can't hurt anyone else..." he murmured. He exchanged a long glance with the Slate before he pointed a finger at its screen. "You promise you'll show me how to control it?"
A symphony of light danced along the Slate's decorative embellishments. That and more. So much more, the spirit replied. That was what you wanted, wasn't it? To right the wrongs of Hyrule? To tame the beast? I'm here to help, Master. I will gladly show you how. I promise.
Link's body seized up. He tried to swallow the rock that had formed in his throat, but he couldn't choke it down for some reason. As he knelt there, his mind swimming with his conversation with the spirit, the Sheikah Slate warmed again in his hands. The spirit's final words lingered on its screen as if to convince him of its sincerity.
I promise.
Link gave a shaky sigh, slowly lowering the Slate into his lap. He gazed emptily into the grass for a moment, mulling it all over. Raising his head, he looked to Purah, Symin, and Maz Koshia. "What do you guys think?" he wondered. "I… I think this might be worth a look. It's just what we need. Wh-what I need."
Maz Koshia studied the Slate in silence for a moment, drumming his fingers on his knee. Eventually, he responded, "I agree with you, Link. It couldn't have come at a better time." He shrugged. "As much as it pains me to say it, I do not fully understand how Malice functions, therefore I am a less-than-suitable teacher." Gesturing to the Slate, he continued, "But who knows what this spirit could show you? Perhaps this is the teacher you truly need?"
Hearing this from the monk's mouth helped soothe Link's anxieties slightly. He shrugged. "Yeah… maybe…?" His gaze then wandered to Purah and Symin.
Purah nodded, though her shaken expression told a different story. "This is really, really weird, but, I'm with you, Link," she said. "Every step of the way. Let's see what it's got."
Symin, however, pursed his lips and shrunk back. "I don't know..." He swallowed when he felt the spirit's gaze turn on him. "But it's not my decision to make." He then raised his hands in solidarity. "Can you at least ask it if you can back out if things get... dangerous?"
Link thought on that for a moment. Symin's suggestion was actually quite sound. After all, Link had no idea what the spirit was going to show him. Link's brow furrowed as he turned to the Slate.
"Is that possible, spirit?" he asked.
The spirit found that question odd, but it nevertheless answered. If you desire it, so be it, but I guarantee that won't be an issue. No harm will come to you throughout all this. My only motivation is to serve my Master.
Maz Koshia's eyes tightened. "Only motivation, hm?" he mumbled to himself.
Growing impatient, the Slate flashed its lights. Well? I'm waiting, it urged.
Link's gut fluttered at the spirit's insistence. Clearly, it was more than eager to show him… something. He supposed he would have to find out what that was. With everyone's input under consideration, and with a way to back out if need be, Link took a deep breath and brought the Slate up to his face. It glowed brighter, anticipating his response.
"Show me," Link said.
Finally.
The spirit wasted no time in getting started. With a chirp, the Slate's display suddenly changed, giving way to a brand-new interface that Link had never seen before. Everyone gathered in closer. On the screen sat two rows of square icons, each bearing a unique glyph in their center. Puzzled as to what they were, Link inspected the top row. The first two icons were crimson glyphs of a circle and a square topped with looped handles; the third, a horseshoe-shaped magnet; the next, a padlock; then a snowflake; and finally, a box with a circular lens.
Link's face scrunched. He wasn't entirely sure what he was looking at, nor why the spirit was showing these to him. But the Sheikah around him knew exactly what they were. The moment they laid eyes on the interface, they each did a double-take, leaning forward, their jaws dropping.
They ignored the icons on the top row, their gazes flying instead to the three at the bottom. Without Link's input, the spirit highlighted each of the new Runes, showing them off.
The first was portrayed as a cluster of diamonds, labeled Scatter Mines; the second was emblazoned with the Sheikah eye in vivid red, labeled Laser; and, finally, the third showcased a small, minimalistic icon of what looked like a Guardian, labeled simply as Guardian.
"Are you guys seeing what I'm seeing?" Purah breathed. Symin and Maz Koshia gave slow nods.
"...Those are new," the monk marveled.
Link's brows furrowed. "New?" he repeated.
Maz Koshia gestured to the Slate, his finger shaking. "Those three Runes weren't there, before…!"
"What do you mean? What are Runes?" Link wondered. He remembered Purah mentioning something about Runes when they were first introduced, but he couldn't place what they were.
Thankfully, Purah chimed in, enlightening him, "Runes are applications — erm... tools — built into the Slate. One can manipulate metallic objects, others can freeze water, create explosives, stop time."
As he listened to Purah's explanation, Link's brain spun at the sheer variety of uses these Runes had. Sheikah technology still continued to surprise him. His eyes flicked back to the Slate's screen. It was wild to imagine that he had been carrying these tools all this time, totally ignorant of his arsenal.
Meanwhile, Maz Koshia's mind was similarly spiraling with bewilderment. Only it wasn't for the Runes he knew. No, it was the new set of Runes that were yanking his world out from under him. He stammered, "I worked personally alongside the monks who designed these Runes — Oman, Keh, Ja, Owa — but those three… those were never programmed. Th-they don't exist."
They do now, the spirit jeered. Maz Koshia's breath caught at that.
Care for a demonstration?
"What?" was all Link had time to breathe before the spirit highlighted the Guardian Rune.
A submenu opened, three additional options appearing. Each option bore its own unique glyph: the first was a smaller, more petite rendition of a Guardian; the second, what looked to be an inverted Guardian, crowned with propellers. The third submenu featured the same Guardian icon as the main Rune.
The spirit activated the first Guardian submenu.
Everyone's attention was yanked from the Slate's screen and to the grass in front of them. A crimson light had begun to coalesce near the shoreline. Before their eyes, the light formed into an oddly-shaped figure, gradually solidifying. When it finally came into existence before them, Link cocked his head, gaping at it.
It was a miniature Guardian. A Scout. Small as it was compared to its larger cousins, it was still as tall as Link. The Scout was sculpted from dark stone, stood on three segmented legs, and bore a single blood-red eye in the center of its smooth, domed head. Like the Sheikah Slate, its body breathed with crimson light.
Maz Koshia, Purah, and Symin recognized it in an instant. They all shot to their feet, Link following suit a split-second later. For a tense, suffocating moment, the Scout's eye and their eyes locked as it stared at them, unblinking. Then, without warning, the machine transformed, extending its central chassis and doubling in height. Link couldn't believe his eyes.
He gasped when the Scout proceeded to unfurl two robotic arms, each equipped with a sword and shield respectively. Link recognized the sword from his training session with Maz Koshia. The shield's craftsmanship matched the sword perfectly — forged from plasma that burned with an otherworldly blue light — providing the Scout protection as it skittered across the grass towards them, sword at the ready.
The eye on Maz Koshia's veil caught fire; he immediately threw his arms out to shield Link, Purah, and Symin. Hunkering behind the monk's ribs, Link's stomach dropped as his eyes flew between Maz Koshia and the Scout. He had felt that blade before. There was no way Maz Koshia's body could withstand it. He'd be shredded to smoking ribbons. As the horrible thought struck him, Link winced against a sudden swell of anxiety deep in his gut. His grip on the Slate tightened, his jaw clamping shut.
"Spirit?! What is this?!" Link panicked.
But it didn't respond. Meanwhile, the Scout continued its advance. But, to everyone's shock, it didn't attack them. No, as it came closer, it redirected its pathing, skirting about while keeping its eye riveted to them. Maz Koshia tucked Link, Purah, and Symin behind him as he shuffled to face the Scout. It circled them a few times, its sword and shield raised. Yet, for some reason, it refused to attack.
Link, now clenching down on the Slate in a death-grip, felt the device buzz in his hands. He risked a glance at its screen. To his horror, it activated the second Guardian submenu.
The Scout ceased its patrol around them for a moment to cast its gaze into the sky. Everyone froze, gaping at it for a moment before their attentions were pulled skyward as well. Another cloud of light was gathering high above their heads — only this one was absolutely enormous. Their jaws dropped when whatever-was-inbound finally came into existence above them.
The Sheikah had christened it a Skywatcher, and it was by far the strangest Guardian Link had ever seen. Like the Scout, its body glowed with crimson light, but it hung upside down and lacked legs entirely, instead equipped with great propellers that held it aloft in the air. They all cowered when it turned its eye on them. A blinding spotlight shot from its iris, painting them with a pool of hot red light.
Symin immediately lost strength in his knees, falling to his backside on the grass. Propped up on his hands, he gawked at the Skywatcher, his lungs shriveling with terror.
Next to him, Purah wheezed, "Ohmygoddess, ohmygoddess — !" She flung herself into Symin's arm, ingraining her nails into his sleeve and shuddering close to him.
Link barely heard her over the intense chopping of the Skywatcher's propellers. Their hair and clothes whipped as strong downdrafts tore into them. Helpless as they were in the Skywatcher's shadow, it, miraculously, didn't fire upon them either, circling them instead, joining the Scout as it resumed its patrol. Now totally surrounded, everyone's gazes flitted rapidly between either machine, their eyes bulging and their faces drained of color.
"Link…!" Maz Koshia said, his chest heaving. He stumbled back a little, his hand flying to Link's shoulder. When he turned his head, a passing snap of wind lifted his veil, revealing his glowing eyes, alight with panic. "Link, what is it doing?!"
"I-I don't know!" Link wheezed. His legs had turned to lead, an ocean of fear sloshing in his gut. He had no idea what to do. No idea what to say. He knew he had brought this upon them by agreeing to heed the spirit. He raised the Sheikah Slate, shooting it a wild look. "What are you doing?!" he cried, his voice breaking. "How is this going to — !"
But he cut off when a spike of bitter cold pierced his hand, shooting up his arm and into his brain. A voice — one that was not his own — crept inside his mind, slicing through his fear. The voice was dark and sonorous; it rang in every corner of his skull, sharp like a knife with wit and cunning.
There now, can you hear me, Master? it asked. Link's strangled gasp was enough of an answer for the spirit. It chuckled — no, he chuckled; the voice in Link's mind was male — continuing, Good, good. Our bond is stronger than I thought. This makes communication so much easier, wouldn't you agree? I was getting sick of typing, anyway.
Link choked on his voice, giving a guttural grunt. His hand clamped against his temple. The spirit's presence had paralyzed his brain. All he could do was listen. His head swam with dizzying heat, making him sway.
Maz Koshia noticed Link's reaction. Though oblivious to the spirit's entry into Link's mind, the monk squinted at him, probing, "...Link?!"
But Link couldn't hear him. The spirit's voice filled his ears, drowning out all outside noise as he began, Contrary to what your past experiences may have you believe, you CAN control your Malice, Master. You just need the proper... motivation.
Link, petrified by both the spirit's presence and his words, was unable to watch him activate the final Guardian Rune.
They were each too preoccupied to notice a third light coming into fruition above the waters of Lake Sumac. When the light eventually formed a solid body, it landed with a mighty splash in the lake, shaking the earth and dumping a tidal wave against the shoreline. Everyone's gazes — including the Scout, the Skywatcher, and the Sheikah Slate — flew to the lake, where they beheld their new arrival.
Link's heart crushed in his chest, his blood flushing with white-hot terror when he saw it — an active, enormous, six-legged mobile Guardian. A Stalker. Even at a distance, it utterly eclipsed them in both stature and menace. It, too, burned with an evil crimson light, its eye immediately zeroing in on them, studying them, before it focused upon Link. It recognized the tunic he wore.
He turned to stone beneath its gaze. A shudder rattled his spine when the spirit whispered to him, Something familiar about this Guardian, Master? You share some history with it. Can you guess what that is?
Unable to wrest his gaze away, Link took a closer look at the machine. Though he had only seen a few Guardians since his resurrection, their features were nevertheless ingrained into his memory. But there was something different about this particular Guardian. It was severely damaged, its stone body rugged with chips and dents and cracks. Its inner mechanisms were exposed in places, rivers of sludgy Malice pulsating along its pistons. As it rose out of the water, Link's gaze flew to one of its legs. It had six legs, but only five feet. One foot was distinctly missing.
Link's skull suddenly spliced with pain. He convulsed, his hand flying to his third eye. He pinched his eyes shut as he was wrenched away from the lakeside and thrust into an entirely different place within his own mind — one that time and death had hidden from him. One that the spirit was forcing him to relive.
Try, Master. Try to remember...
When Link reopened his eyes, the scenery he found himself surrounded by was completely new, as vivid and real as the blinding terror scalding his veins. He could see it, feel it, smell it. It was as if he had been plucked from his body and placed into another one somewhere far away.
The sky suffocated with heavy, ashen clouds. Rain lashed on Link's skin as he ran through an expanse of blazing grassland. Wind whipped at his hair, sopping with sweat and mud and blood. His throat burned with fatigue and from the ashes adrift in the air. But he couldn't pause to catch his breath. He had to keep running. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, while the other held fast to her as he tugged her in his wake. He held her hand as though his life depended on it.
"Just a bit further!" she gasped. "We can make it!"
Though he didn't respond, he knew they would. Together.
Through the roaring of his pulse in his ears, Link heard it again — the unmistakable, heavy laboring of a machine. He cast his gaze over his shoulder to glimpse the hulking silhouettes of the troop of Guardians pursuing them.
He cursed. Goddesses above, these things were relentless. He couldn't shake them, not even through the Dueling Peaks. But the Fort was close. All he had to do was get to it. If he could make it there, he would be safe. She would be safe. Exhausted, yet driven by adrenaline and hope alone, they forced their feet on toward the sanctuary of the Fort.
But Link had failed to take into account just how many Guardians were on their tail. He skidded to a sudden halt, the girl bumping into him, as he spotted a pair of Stalkers prowling ahead. Their unfeeling eyes scanned the terrain voraciously, but by some miracle, Link and the girl were overlooked. But their luck wouldn't last.
Thinking quickly, Link's gaze flew to a nearby pile of dead Guardians, their bodies smashed to pieces. It appeared that Daruk hadn't held back with these ones. They would make a decent spot for Link and the girl to get their bearings. Firming his grip on her hand, Link ducked his head and pulled her with him to their respite.
He ensured she was safely tucked away before he looked about and planned their escape route. He could see the Fort from there, beckoning to them through the smog and the rain. They had a clear shot, just across the path through the low hills. Grabbing the girl's hand, he motioned for the Fort and bade her follow him.
But just as they were about to move, Link and the girl were bathed in a grisly crimson glow. Link froze in his tracks, slowly turning his head. Both their bodies locked up as they watched another infested machine perch itself atop the Guardian remains, looming above them. This one had met with the other Champions, no doubt, its body riddled with gouges, its machinery bare in places. Its head whirled about in search of something else to eradicate. The girl's free hand flew to her mouth, stifling a whimper of terror; Link gripped her hand tighter, bracing himself. But the Guardian didn't look down. Perhaps it hadn't seen them?
For a moment, it appeared as if it hadn't. But as the Guardian raised itself higher to better gauge the terrain, its foot slipped on the slick bodies of its fallen brothers, plunging toward Link and the girl. Link, stood directly beneath it, shoved her out of the way as the Guardian toppled over. One of its feet shot out to break its fall. Link scrambled back, but the Guardian's talons met his abdomen, forcing him down and pinning him to the ground. He was helpless to escape as its tremendous weight bore down on him, its foot piercing his flesh and sinking into his body.
His ribs crunched into shrapnel, shredding his crushed organs. His ragged wound spurted with a squelch. Link pitched back, a splitting scream erupting from his throat; he howled so hard the blood vessels in his eyes burst.
The girl, strewn in the mud, flushed ghost-white with horror. "LINK!" she shrieked.
Beneath the weight of the Guardian, Link's pulverized stomach heaved, something hot climbing up his ragged throat. With blood dripping down his chin, he somehow soldiered through the pain and regained control over his erratic breath, swinging his sword at the Guardian's leg. The sacred blade sliced through it, sludge spraying out, gushing down its leg and into his wound.
The machine staggered. Freed from its weight, and with the aid of the manic adrenaline surging through his body, Link flipped over, clambered to his feet, and pulled the Guardian's foot from his abdomen, casting it aside. It had torn his tunic, leaving behind a soddened, shredded mess of flesh and cloth that sizzled and smoked.
Clutching his abdomen, Link jammed his sword into the ground to hold himself up on his swaying feet. Fighting to stay upright, he shook his head, blinking blood out of his eyes. He didn't pause to look once at the Guardian as it struggled back into autonomy. It didn't matter that he'd been wounded. No doubt, his scream had alerted the other Guardians. They had to move. Now.
Link stumbled toward the girl, grabbing her by the shoulder and hoisting her to her feet. Without a word, he ushered her forward. She didn't even flinch against his hand smearing her skin and her white dress with his blood, doing as he urged her. And as they shambled off toward the Fort, they clung to each other, their bodies drawing close.
She laid a hand on his fluttering heart. "You're all right — y-you'll be all right, Link," she breathed.
Link tried to look into her eyes to reassure her, but for some reason, he couldn't. Her face — it was blurry, impossible to make out. His own face contorted as he strained to take her in, but the harder he focused, the more distant she became. It was only until a voice slithered into his brain that Link recognized what was happening, what he had just experienced.
He had remembered something — a gruesome memory that had slumbered inside him. He let out a ragged exhale, his chest hollowing out. Silent tears had since leaked out of his bone mask — what for, he couldn't say — but he was too numb to feel them.
The spirit's voice returned to him, dispelling the remnants of his memories and pulling him back to the present — to the now-familiar Guardian as it clawed its way out of Lake Sumac. The spirit purred, making Link's brain itch, Remembering it now?
Link finally found his voice. But when it came out of his mouth, it was rough, scarred. "I remember…"
The spirit went on, spitting, You saw what it did to you. Everything that's happened to you, Master — all the pain you've dealt to yourself and others… is all this Guardian's fault. It was an accident. YOU are an accident. Now how does that make you feel?
Link's heart stopped. He stared, emptily, at the Guardian that had turned the tides of his fate — by accident. Dear goddess, it was an accident. His death, his infection, his struggles and his losses were all because of this machine and the poison that had leaked out of it. But it didn't care what it had done, that it had single-handedly set in motion the events that had turned him into what he was.
Link knew exactly how that made him feel. The spirit's words awakened something familiar within him. Something primal. Monstrous. Before, it would have sent him reeling with fear. But not then. At that moment, Link welcomed it. Even savored it.
Link's hands balled into fists, a snarl curling his lip. His Malice boiled in his blood, each of his eyes igniting with bitter fire. As he stared at the Guardian, his senses sharpened; colors became more vivid, his ears perked to listen to the whirring of the Guardian's inner workings. He could even smell the acrid stench of the Malice inside of it. His breath began to race, hot and caustic — it billowed out of his mouth in a black cloud.
Feel it, Master, the spirit encouraged. His voice electrified Link's Malice. Embrace it.
And for once in his life, Link did. He was ready. He wanted this. He needed this.
As Link's Malice primed, Maz Koshia, Purah, and Symin's eyes fell on him. They stared at his dramatic change in demeanor. Link suddenly wasn't himself. They had no idea of the malevolent storm brewing inside him. For a moment, Link forgot they were even there as tunnel vision set in, honing in his gaze on one thing. The Guardian. That was all he cared about — and all he listened to was the spirit as he continued to whisper in his mind.
Go on, he said. Impress me.
As if on cue, the Guardian's eye flashed — it aimed its reticle at Maz Koshia, Purah, Symin, and Link. The three Sheikah jolted.
"Link?!" Maz Koshia cried.
That was all the incentive Link needed. The Guardian had already damaged him — he'd be damned if he let it even touch his friends.
Link's spitfire breath hissed through his bared teeth as his Malice stormed through his body like an avalanche. A deluge of adrenaline surged into his every cell, bolstering his vindictive desire. It was nothing short of intoxicating. His companions watched with dread and amazement as two twisting tentacles of Malice burst out of Link's shoulders. They encircled his neck, engulfing both of his arms and coating them in a thick mire of poison.
Like a wolf for his prey, Link leapt into action, darting around Maz Koshia and toward the Guardian just as it released its deadly laser from its iris. Undaunted, Link dove straight into the oncoming beam of light, raising an arm as if to intercept it. When the beam met his Malice, he swiped his arm skyward. It was almost instinctual. The light glanced off of him, shooting into the air and directly hitting the Skywatcher above. The machine swayed, its propellers stuttering. Purah screamed.
But the Skywatcher was not Link's prize. He continued his advance on the Stalker, unleashing a feral roar as he thrust his other arm toward it. Obeying his rage, his Malice extended, surging for the Guardian's eye like a rocket. Link didn't hold back. Not an ounce. His Malice punched through the machine's eye, shattering it, before delving deeper, melting its circuits until it exploded out the back of its head in a shower of sparks and sludge.
The Guardian was knocked backward, its lights stuttering. Link pulled his Malice back and skidded to a halt, watching it tip over and crash into the lake. Twisted glee frothed in Link's chest, a grin spreading his lips. He didn't even blink when the Guardian detonated like a bomb, flinging shrapnel and Malice in all directions. The ensuing blast wave launched Link back into his companions. They all ended up piled near the tree line in a heap.
Everyone lay still for a moment, dazed by what they had seen, their ears ringing. It had suddenly gone deathly quiet — they could hear their gasping and the water lapping at the shore. They raised their heads, glancing about. But the silence only lasted a moment before the Skywatcher dropped from the sky, landing with another massive boom on top of the Scout mere feet away from them. Luckily for them, the Skywatcher didn't explode, but they nevertheless anticipated it; they instead shielded themselves from a shower of dirt and machine parts raining upon them.
When the dust had settled, Link sat bolt upright, adrenaline still barreling through his veins. He gaped at the smoking husk of the Guardian protruding out of the lake, magenta fire curling off of it. He couldn't stop a triumphant cackle from bubbling out of him. He had done that. He'd taken his revenge on that cursed machine. It had felt amazing.
He clenched his fists and raised them above his head, cheering, "YEAH! HA HA!" Whirling around, he faced his companions, beaming, "Did you see that?!"
They had seen it. But they weren't laughing. Grateful and amazed as they were, they had each just witnessed a side of Link that disturbed them to their cores. Purah and Symin clung to each other, their faces pale. They endeavored not to look as horrified as they were feeling, offering Link weak nods. Maz Koshia, meanwhile, inspected Link from his slowly-fading smile to the Malice that still smothered his arms.
The monk breathed, "Link… th-that was… incredible."
Link's thrill suddenly fizzled, his heart murmuring in his chest. He'd felt those gazes before. Blood chilling, his gaze drifted down to the Malice coating both of his hands before his head swiveled back to what remained of the Stalker. Good goddess — he had done that. Taken his revenge on that machine.
They all jumped when a familiar trill roused them. Suddenly breathless, Link's sludgy hand snatched up the Sheikah Slate. He held it up for everyone to see, reading its new message. The spirit's words rang in his skull as clearly as they appeared on its screen, making him shiver.
Excellent work, Master! Bravo! the spirit congratulated, glittering with pride. Couldn't have done it better myself. Consider this a taste of what I can do — and what you can do. But don't get cocky, now. You still have much to learn. For now, I'll take that. You won't be needing it. I'm exhausted...
Link was about to ask what he meant when a bizarre sensation struck him: he felt a distinct tugging deep in his gut, behind his navel. It was as if something were squeezing his insides. He grimaced and doubled over, his grip on the Sheikah Slate tightening without his control. Eyes widening, he watched the Malice on his arms slowly begin to creep downward of its own accord, absorbing into the Sheikah Slate. The spirit was taking it for itself.
Purah and Symin scrambled away. Maz Koshia remained in place, knotting his fingers into the grass as his lungs burned. Link stared, squirming against the uncomfortable sensation. It was all he could do. All any of them could do. Eventually, the spirit drew in the last of Link's Malice, returning him to normal. When the spirit had gotten his fill, the Slate hummed, the eye returning to its screen. It seemed as though it were finished.
Link's brow crinkled. He must have been missing something. Granted, what they had just seen, and what he'd just done, had been nothing short of exhilarating — perhaps even a bit disturbing. But Link couldn't help but feel that there was more to his Malice than that. Something the spirit wasn't showing him.
Link raised the Slate, prodding, "Wait, that's all you're going to show me?!"
The spirit chuckled. Patience, Master, he cooed, both in Link's mind and on the Slate. Make no mistake — I intend to show you perfect mastery of your Malice. But not now.
Link took his chin back. "What? Why not now?"
Now is not the right time.
As soon as the spirit's words appeared on the screen, they abruptly vanished. In their stead, a set of six numbers materialized. Everyone leaned in to get a better look. With each passing second, the numbers on the far side of the set flickered lower and lower. Link quickly realized that the spirit was showing him time. Seventy-two hours… and counting down.
Link's stomach sunk with each second ticking by. "What is this for?" he gasped.
But to everyone's horror, the spirit simply replied, You'll see.
Link gawped at the countdown, a wave of defiant heat swelling through him. He shook his head, eyes widening. "I-I don't understand…! What are you waiting for?!" he pressed. But the spirit was being less than helpful. He merely stared at him.
Link couldn't comprehend it. Not a minute ago, the spirit had champed at the bit to teach him — why was he being so cryptic again? Unable to get anything else from the spirit, Link's head snapped up, his gaze flying to Maz Koshia. "Maz, what do you — Maz?!"
Link cut off when he found the monk hunkered over, clutching his chest. His ribs rattled as he fought to douse the fire in his lungs. He stared at the Slate, the Malice in his throat bubbling. "I don't understand it either, Link," he grunted, shaking his head as well. "But… s-something isn't right. I can feel it..."
"What do we do?!" Purah asked, tossing her hands up. "What's going to happen in seventy-two hours?!"
Their panic was delighting the spirit. He rather enjoyed seeing them sweat. He couldn't resist offering them just a little more. The spirit chirped, recapturing their frantic gazes. He tempted them with, Something beautiful, before darkening the Slate's screen.
Everyone froze. When their senses returned to them, they all immediately whirled on Maz Koshia for answers. If anyone knew, he would. But he was beside himself with bewilderment, his mind foggy as he struggled to breathe. He shook his head again, choking back a cough. "Seventy-two hours… Three days….? What could it possibly be waiting for… three days away?"
Something caught the monk's attention, then, wrenching his gaze beyond the lakeside. Everyone turned toward whatever he was looking at, their ears perking. A chorus of voices drifted on the wind, sounding from the trail that snaked up the hill. They each exchanged a brief glance before Symin jumped to his feet, darting away to get a better look.
He skidded to a halt when he saw it. Tangling his fingers in his hair, he cried, "It's the town! They must've seen the Skywatcher — heard all the racket!" Turning, he shot Link and Maz Koshia a stiff look, adding, "And you'll never guess who's leading them."
Link and Maz Koshia immediately came to the same conclusion. Bolson. Maz Koshia slapped a palm against his forehead. "Persistent, that one. Urgh…" Swallowing, he glanced around at the devastation littering the lakeside before he turned his gaze on Link. Pursing his lips, the monk heaved himself up on shaking knees to his feet, Link and Purah joining him.
The moment he was upright, the monk lost his balance. Link was immediately in his shadow, catching him. Maz Koshia leaned heavily on Link's shoulder, looking to Purah and Symin. "Link and I can't stay here," he breathed. "We will only make things worse, I'm afraid."
Link remembered with a rush of panic his face was fully exposed. If the sight of Maz Koshia didn't send the villagers screaming, then his face would surely do the job. He ground his jaw, keeping the monk steady as he swayed on his feet.
Purah frowned, but urged them on. "Head to the lab. We'll meet up later." Scampering toward Symin, she called, "Better get those lying pants on, Symin!"
He shifted his feet, sighing. "Already on, Director."
Link flinched when Maz Koshia's grip tightened on his shoulder, his nails digging into his skin. The monk thrust his free hand forward, grimacing as blue light began to gather on his fingertips. "C'mon, Link. We need to talk," he mumbled. Link, feeling feverish for some reason, pinched his eyes shut as the monk's light consumed them, breaking them apart before whisking them away from the lakeside.
When they materialized into existence at the lab's doorstep, Maz Koshia's breath punched out of his lungs as he broke into another round of wet coughing. His legs gave out. He hit the ground with a grunt. Awash with panic, Link flew to his aid, kneeling beside him and laying a trembling hand on his spasming spine. All he could do was kneel beside the monk, clinging to him while he struggled to regain his breath.
Thankfully, the monk didn't suffer for very long. When the fit subsided, it went quiet, the only sound his ragged breath.
"Maz…?" Link asked, his voice agitating the rigid silence.
The monk didn't look at him, his gaze fixed into the dirt. He sighed, his fingers curling. "...Why didn't you tell me about the Slate?" he murmured, his voice rough. "That it was speaking to you?"
Link recoiled against a pang of guilt that stabbed him in the gut. His shoulders sank. "I-I never meant to keep it a secret, Maz, it just…" He drifted off, only to cower beneath the monk's gaze when he suddenly turned on him. Link swallowed. "It never occurred to me. I'm sorry."
Maz Koshia inspected him, making him squirm. "Well… what has it told you?"
Link hung his head. "Not much. Really. It..." Link's mind suddenly shone with the spirit's words. Its revelations. Raising his head, he added, "But it said that my infection… it was an accident."
Maz Koshia blinked, stiffening. "Accident?"
Link was about to respond when he was abruptly pulled out of their conversation. The spirit scoffed inside his head. Clearly, he was listening in. Would you look at that? the spirit jeered. Even our all-knowing monk had no idea. Some servant of the Goddess he is. What a joke.
The spirit's snide remark sent a flash of anger across Link's brow. How dare he speak like that about Maz Koshia? Link straightened, his hand flying to his temple. A huff of disdain blasted out of his nostrils.
But before he could challenge the spirit, Maz Koshia gave a start at Link's out-of-the-blue reaction. He cocked his head, wondering, "Link? Are you all right?"
Link fidgeted with anxiety at the reminder of the spirit's presence in his head. He hadn't told Maz Koshia about this, either. His stomach flipped. "Th-there's something else, Maz," Link began, his voice little more than a murmur, as if trying not to alert the spirit. But he listened all the same. "It's in my head — he's in my head. I-I can hear him."
Maz Koshia was aghast, his veil igniting. "What?!" he hissed. "Who, the spirit?"
Link nodded.
The monk's face contorted beneath his veil. "When did this happen?!" he sputtered.
"Just now," Link replied, twisting his head in the direction of the lake. "And… he showed me something. He helped me remember. The day I fell, Maz." Link pursed his lips. "He showed me everything."
Maz Koshia scrambled upright and seized Link by the shoulder, wrenching his attention back to him. He leaned in close to Link's face. "Tell me what you saw," the monk urged, his voice gaining a stern edge.
Link obeyed, retelling every gritty detail of what the spirit had shown him. The flaming field, the Guardians pursuing him, the girl he had been running with. When the Stalker pierced him. When Link had finished his tale, the monk's eyes flickered between Link's face and the Sheikah Slate, his mind a whirlwind.
The monk leaned back, releasing a weary sigh. "Has it revealed anything else?" he wondered. "Anything at all?"
Link shook his head.
For a few moments, Maz Koshia simply watched the Sheikah Slate, hoping to catch it doing something. They both knew the other was staring — they exchanged silent glances for what felt like an eternity before the monk finally shook his head.
"I don't like this. I don't like this at all," he breathed. He drove his fist into the ground. "We were foolish to indulge it… Curse your curiosity, Maz Koshia…!"
Grumbling to himself, the monk rose to his feet, shuffling toward the front door of the lab. Link watched, concerned and slightly puzzled, as the monk's fingertip lit up with blue light. He began to scrawl out a message on one of the doors in light-based ink. When he had finished his message, he shambled back to Link, taking him by the shoulder and ushering him toward a grassy incline at the edge of the courtyard. Another path down the windward side of the cliff shot down beneath them. Link swiveled his head to catch a glimpse of whatever-it-was that Maz Koshia had written.
Left with Link. Will return. Maz Koshia
Link, brows furrowed, turned back to the monk to find his hands aglow again. Link tilted his head, wondering, "We going somewhere, Maz?"
The monk didn't face him; he was deep in concentration, replying with a mute nod. Curious, Link stood beside him, waiting for his light to coat them and warp them away. Only it didn't. Instead, Link watched a cloud of blue light begin to manifest before them, gradually solidifying just as the Guardians had. When whatever-was-coming successfully formed, Link did a double-take.
Sheikah technology still continued to stupefy him. The machine that Maz Koshia had summoned was unlike anything he had ever seen. It wasn't a Guardian, but something else entirely. It stood around Link's height, with a sleek, vaguely horse-like silhouette, crafted from dark stone and decorated with elegant accents. Spots of blue light dappled its body. It had a set of handlebars and balanced on two wheels, one in front and one in back, its engine rumbling. It bounced softly, almost eagerly, as it waited for them to mount it.
Link stared, awed by the strange vehicle, when the Sheikah Slate vibrated on his hip. Ooh, what have we here? the spirit purred in his mind. The spirit's captivation for the vehicle made Link's head swill with nauseous excitement.
Link winced against the spirit's voice, pressing his hand to his temple. Maz Koshia's attention jerked from the vehicle and to Link, his spine stiffening as he took in Link's expression. Without saying a word, the monk pointed at the Sheikah Slate before pointing to his head. Link, understanding his meaning, nodded.
The monk scowled. His fists balled up till his knuckles cracked. He hobbled over to the vehicle and straddled its seat, taking it by one of its handlebars. "Get on," he ordered.
Link came forward, both his own curiosity and the spirit's guiding his feet. "What is that, Maz?" he asked. "W-where are we going?"
The monk only replied once Link had seated himself in front of him. His long, bony arms encircled Link as he gripped the vehicle's handlebars.
"Somewhere without any spies," the monk said lowly.
Without a word of warning, Maz Koshia snatched the Sheikah Slate from Link's belt and flung it aside. He then hit the accelerator, launching them onto the path down the cliffside.
HEY! WHAT ARE YOU — the spirit shouted.
Link's body convulsed. His heart exploded with panic, his gut writhing. His ears split as the Sheikah Slate unleashed a violent, high-pitched shriek — it filled his skull and burst from the device itself, shattering the air. Maz Koshia cringed against it, but he wasn't moved.
Link slapped his hands against the body of the vehicle, crying, "Maz?! Maz, what are you doing?!" He tossed his head over his shoulder, barely glimpsing the Slate as it hit the grass, a torrent of Malice erupting from it. Link reached for the handlebars, grimacing. "Go back! I-I need it!"
But Maz Koshia refused. He stamped harder on the acceleration, throwing Link back into him. As Link continued to hyperventilate with panic, the monk wrapped an arm around him, tucking him close. "You don't need it, Link. It needs you," he replied, his voice firm.
Link gripped the monk's wrist, wheezing. "What?!"
"Your infection may have been an accident, but that spirit was put into the Slate for a reason," Maz Koshia stated. "I may not know what that reason is, but it's not being as forthright as it should be." Maz Koshia held Link tighter. "It's hiding something, Link. Plotting something. It's playing with us. And it's enjoying it."
Link's stomach flushed with anxiety at Maz Koshia's words. He realized the monk was right. The countdown that the spirit had started… he hadn't told Link what was coming. He conveniently left that ambiguous, teasing them. Just what was he plotting? What was he waiting for? And if he claimed to serve Link… then why wasn't he telling him anything? Link came to the awful realization that he had put his trust into something he shouldn't have — but all too late.
"Oh my goddess…!" Link breathed. "What have I done?! I-I let it in… I listened to it…!"
The monk shook his head. "It wasn't just you, Link. We all had equal say in trusting it. I goaded you on. I should have known better. I was too blinded by my desire to tame your Malice. But after seeing what it's done, I don't trust it as far as I can throw it. I needed to get you away from it — to get it out of your head."
Maz Koshia hit the acceleration again. Briny wind battered them as they flew down the cliffside trail, descending a series of sharp switchbacks. In spite of his injuries, Maz Koshia drove the vehicle with all the deft of a master rider, banking the hairpin turns lining the cliffside with a mere flick of his elbow. He could have done it with his eyes closed.
The further they traveled from the Sheikah Slate, the more faint the spirit's raging became until, eventually, Link's mind and body quieted. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his chest, a vise on his brain released — he felt like he could breathe, think, again. He slumped into Maz Koshia, releasing a sigh of relief.
"Better?" Maz Koshia wondered.
"Better," Link said. "Th-thanks."
"Don't mention it," the monk replied.
After tearing down the trail, they finally reached the beach. Maz Koshia drifted the vehicle to a sand-slinging halt at the base of the cliff, cutting the engine. He paused, falling quiet for a moment, his hands still tightly gripping the handlebars.
"Are we alone, Link?" the monk asked reverently.
Link looked along the vast stretch of sea and sand spreading before them. Apart from a few scattered palm trees and crabs scuttling the surf, no one was around.
"Yeah, Maz, we're alone," Link replied, puzzled.
Maz Koshia squeezed the handlebars, repeating, "Link — are we alone? Completely?"
Link suddenly realized what he meant. He paused, retreating into his own head for a moment. Nothing. He turned his gaze back to Maz Koshia. "He's not here."
The monk's shoulders slumped. "Thank Hylia for that," he wheezed. Releasing his grip on the handlebars, he dismounted the vehicle, stumbling a few steps before he cast his gaze upon the ocean. Link joined him, drinking in the glittering blue water and the waves.
The monk sighed, reaching up and pulling down his veil to allow the sea breeze to wash over his face. His brow wrinkled with worry. His tone was anxious as he mused, "It seems that for every answer we get, we uncover another slew of questions, doesn't it?" He hung his head. "What are we going to do about that spirit...? We're going to have to go back up there eventually."
Link frowned. The monk was right on all accounts, as always. "I don't know, Maz…" His hands rolled into fists. "I-if I had just said no to it, then we wouldn't be in this mess. This is all my fault."
Turning, the monk knelt and laid a hand on Link's shoulder. "No, don't think like that," he said softly. "Don't misunderstand me, Link — you only agreed to what it told you. It changed the game on us by starting up that countdown. That wasn't your fault." He gave him a reassuring smile. "You did very well back there with your Malice. You were perfect. That was just what we wanted. In that regard, the spirit was true. But..." Maz Koshia paused, searching Link's face. "You changed. I've never seen you like that. It was… disturbing. I am only growing cautious of the spirit because of its methods, what it did to you, the secrets it's withholding, its... attitude. I worry it may not have your best interests at heart."
Maz Koshia then squeezed Link's shoulder, pleading, "Please — as your teacher, as a monk, as your friend — please, for the love of the Goddesses, do not trust that spirit. Heed his teachings with regards to your Malice, but do not listen to a word he says. He may claim to serve you, but I have no doubt he is externally motivated. If he is Malice, then he was sent by Ganon. We still don't know why the beast brought you back to life. This spirit might have even had something to do with it. We just don't know. And it seems the spirit won't tell."
Link's gut churned at that. He wanted to drop to the sand and wallow in his own doubt and fear, but Maz Koshia held him in his gaze, inspiriting him. "Can you promise me that, Link?" he began. "That you won't let this spirit get to you? That you'll keep your head, in spite of its whisperings, no matter how attractive they may be?"
In spite of his lofty request, Link found solace in the monk's earnest, glowing eyes. He nodded. "I promise. I won't..." His jaw ground, the horror on Maz Koshia, Purah, and Symin's faces bleeding into his mind. "I won't let it change me."
Maz Koshia smiled. "That's my boy," he said. "I believe in you. Always have. Always will." Pausing, he admired Link's tunic before he turned his gaze out to the beach. "Right now, I don't want to worry about Malice or spirits or corruption." He looked to Link, gently poking him on the chest. "I'm here for you, Link. The Champion of Hyrule. That's all. Now, what do you say we do some training? Just you and me? Like I promised?"
Link's uncertainty retreated at the monk's proposal. A hopeful smile found his lips. "I'd like that," he said.
A twinkle shone in Maz Koshia's eye. He heaved himself to his feet, musing, "Well then, I'd say you'll need some equipment. I should have a few things here…"
The monk's hands glowed again. With a snap of his fingers, he summoned a slew of tools: an ancient sword and shield, along with a large bow of similar design, a Guardian Scout (aglow with blue light, not red), and the vehicle they had ridden in on. With the spread of tools before them, the monk invited Link to equip himself, which he did gladly. Wearing his new equipment, and with Maz Koshia raring to teach him, Link felt more whole then than he ever had.
Maz Koshia spread his arms, his veil igniting keenly. "Let's get started, hero."
Link and Maz Koshia spent the rest of the day training on Hateno Beach. Amidst the surf and sand, Link sparred with the monk's Scout, shot at glowing targets with his ancient bow and arrows — both while stationary and while riding the monk's vehicle; a thrill he repeated for hours and hours — and battled with a small armada of Maz Koshia's copies. They made for perfect training partners, adept with a sword, yet unable to feel pain, diffusing into a shower of light when struck. Link must have "slain" a hundred or so of them by the time the day was out.
Meanwhile, Maz Koshia watched from the sidelines, from either beneath a palm tree or while carefully pacing around. He issued commands, offered Link motivation, praised or critiqued his form. And when Link eventually tired by late afternoon, they meditated in the shade, listening to the surf. As the sun began to set, Maz Koshia told Link stories — stories of his day, of legends and fairytales of old. Link couldn't get enough of his tales.
Through it all, they laughed, they joked, they enjoyed each other's company. Both of them forgot the poison inside them and the weight of their futures on their shoulders. That day, they were each the other's world entirely. And that was enough.
When the sun finally set beyond the watery horizon, and waves of twilight soaked the sand, Maz Koshia decided to call it a night. Sand clung to the sweat on Link's brow and crusted his clothes. His hair was wild, his arms and legs sore, but his smile was wide.
Maz Koshia brushed some sand off of Link's shoulder, chuckling, "We'd best return to the lab and get you cleaned up and fed. Purah and Symin will be expecting us."
As they walked back toward the monk's vehicle, Link's brow furrowed. In the heat of their training, the vehicle's history and origins had never been brought up. Link had ridden it without a second thought. "You never did tell me what this is, Maz," Link began, gesturing to it.
The monk grinned. "This is one of my, erm, more unorthodox inventions. The other monks didn't quite understand why I built it. Most were too afraid to even ride it. But I didn't make it for them. I made it for you." When they reached it, Maz Koshia laid his hand on one of its handlebars. Its engine revved. He continued proudly, "This, Link, is the Master Cycle. A Beast beyond the Divine Four." He held out his hand, a flat disc of blue light appearing in his palm. It featured a small icon resembling the Master Cycle.
The monk beamed at Link. "And I want you to have it. It won't be much use to me when I pass on."
Link's eyes glittered as he plucked the disc from Maz Koshia's hand. Enchanted as he was by the monk's gift, Link's shoulders sagged, his awe abruptly fading. The gift came across as bittersweet in the wake of Maz Koshia's news earlier that morning.
"I still can't believe you're leaving…" Link murmured.
Maz Koshia pursed his lips, shifting his feet. Somehow, he knew this would come up again. He sighed. "Once my duty is complete, I must return to the Goddess. That was our agreement." He shrugged. "Besides, after I'm through teaching you, you won't need me anymore."
Link gave a snort. "Says you. I've never needed you more, Maz."
The monk's heart oozed at that. He padded up to Link, reassuring him softly, "Well, there's no reason to fret just yet. We still have a lot of work to do, so you're stuck with this old Sheikah for a while." He reached out, collecting Link in a side-hug, garnering a smile from him. The monk continued, "Until then, I will continue to train you. That's what I have waited all these years for. I won't be denied that, I'll tell you that much."
Link looked upon the sand, ghosts of their training flitting through his mind. He couldn't help but feel a tad disappointed that they were stopping for the moment. "Can we do this again tomorrow, Maz?" Link wondered, glancing up to him.
Maz Koshia nodded. "Definitely. This wasn't our only training session. Far from it. I plan on doing more until I deem you ready. Now, come on, let's be off. I want you rested for tomorrow," he finished, gesturing to the Master Cycle.
Link stared at it for a moment. His gaze then wandered from the disc in his hand to the vehicle itself. "Can I drive?" he asked with a grin.
Maz Koshia smiled, stepping aside. "It's all yours, hero."
The ride back up to the lab was pleasant. Link found that driving the Master Cycle came naturally to him, though the monk still cautioned him to take turns slowly. He ripped up the mountainside wearing a broad smile, eager to resume his training with Maz Koshia while he still had him.
But midway through the trip, Link's stomach turned as he thought ahead. Now that they were returning the lab, he would no-doubt have to confront the spirit in the Slate. He wasn't entirely eager to reunite with it after his discussion with Maz Koshia, but if he had the monk by his side, he felt he could handle it. As they reached the top, Link took a deep breath, ready to scoop up the Slate and face it.
But when they pulled to a stop in the courtyard at the top of the cliff, an unsettling sight greeted them. It was pindrop quiet, no signs of the Purah or Symin. The Sheikah Slate was gone. A trail of blackened grass stretched from where it had fallen, curling off to the entrance of the lab. One of the doors was ajar, hanging off its last hinge, a dim red light emanating from within.
Link's blood shot with ice. He stopped dead, exchanging a split-second glance with Maz Koshia.
"Something's wrong," the monk breathed. They didn't waste another moment — they abandoned the Master Cycle and stormed into the lab, calling out for Symin and Purah.
They found the lab in chaos. Several shelves had been smashed, spilling an ocean of documents onto the floor. One of the chairs lay in pieces against a cracked wall. They discovered Purah and Symin huddled together in the far corner, shivering so violently the chopsticks in their hair rattled. Symin's ankle flared with an angry crimson burn, his pant leg singed, a bruise on his forehead. Purah's eyes were bloodshot as she stared, unblinking, at something over Link and Maz Koshia's shoulders.
Link's eyes widened at the state of the place. He was about to ask them what in the world had happened when something stole his attention from them. There, on the central table, lay the Sheikah Slate. It was the source of the red light filling the room. Link broke out in a cold sweat at the sight of it. He and Maz Koshia exchanged a quick glance before they carefully shuffled forward. When they approached, the Slate gave off a harsh chirp, startling them. Its eye bored into them, burning with a crazed fire.
A single sentence appeared on its screen.
Where have you been?
A chill tore through Link. He knew it was talking to him. He felt a weight plunge onto his shoulders, sinking him into his boots. "T-training. With Maz," he replied, his voice weak.
The Slate physically shivered, rattling upon the table. Its lights glared. In the corner, Purah whimpered, cowering into Symin's shoulder.
Without me? the spirit snarled.
Everyone jumped out of their skins when the front door slammed shut. Link and Maz Koshia whirled around. They both turned to stone when they found someone barring the exit.
The figure was broad-shouldered and colossal, standing eye-level with Maz Koshia. His strong, toned body was comprised entirely of thick black shadow, and adorned with scraps of what looked like Guardian armor, each piece smoldering with crimson light. A set of peculiar shackles were clamped around the apparition's wrists, ankles, and neck; the shackles were of Sheikah design, but none of the Sheikah in the room had ever seen anything like them. They were made of the same dark stone as the Sheikah Slate, connected by long chains of pinkish light.
The figure kept his head bowed, glaring into the floor. He trembled, shedding darkness, his breath shuddering with his wrath. When he finally spoke out loud, Link lost strength in his knees, stumbling into the table. He knew that voice. It was cold, dark, and deep — it sent a shiver into their necks as though the spirit were running the edge of a knife down their skins.
"After everything I've done for you… everything I've sacrificed… and this is how you repay me, Master?" he spat. "By running off with a monk?" He raised his head, his raw betrayal almost palpable in the suffocating air.
Link's blood soured when his gaze met the figure's face. No, not a face — a horrific visage that had replaced whatever face he once had. While the figure bore a shaggy mess of shocking red hair and pointed ears, he had no other distinguishing features, lacking a nose, a mouth, a forehead. His face had been completely shorn off, leaving nothing but an exposed lower jaw bone lined with razor-sharp incisors.
But he did have an eye. Just one. It was a stone effigy of the eye of the Sheikah hovering in the cavity of his face. He turned it on them, aglow with toxic crimson light.
"You ungrateful little WRETCH!" the spirit roared.
And then he charged.
Dang, what a chapter! This one was a total joy to put together. So many twists and turns! I especially loved the flashback scene. It made me feel things. Argh, I hope you liked it as much as I liked penning it. It's one of my favorite things I've written for this piece so far.
As for our new arrival… has anybody figured out his identity? I kept who he was a secret for a while, but dropped HUGE hints (if not a reveal) here. Hope he was everything you were hoping for. I guarantee we WILL know his name for sure next chapter. I had a bit too much fun designing him and getting into his character. He's a strong personality, both in terms of who he is and how he can throw his weight around. He'll play a vital role in the story. Stay tuned for more from our new friend! What could he be waiting for, I wonder…?
All in all, this one was big. But next chapter will be even bigger, so hold onto your hats. I mean it. Things start getting real, here. Let me know any predictions, concerns, or ideas you might have! I'd love to hear from you.
Oh, and on a side note, I am also going back and making minor edits to previous chapters. The old word processor I used cut out some parts of previous chapters, so I'm fixing them. If you get random notifications for updates, don't worry. But I am adding a few new scenes and making minor tweaks… :) If you want to read a bit of new content, be sure to give chapter 16, Fallout, another read. Look for the v.1.2 at the bottom of the footnotes for up-to-date content. :)
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Thank you for coming back for another chapter of Corrupted Hero. I'll see you in the next one. I'm not gonna lie. I think it'll knock your socks off. See you then, and thanks for reading!