Chapter 41: Between Life & Death (PT5)

"Was this your idea?" Noah asked, but the assassin spoke at the same time, her voice overlapping with his. "You had the same idea?"

The two froze, staring at each other in awkward silence as Cado stood between them, looking back and forth like a spectator at a tennis match. Finally, the assassin broke the silence, her voice hesitant. "W-why do you ask…?"

Noah shrugged, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "You said it with such confidence. It's different from your usual self."

"O-Oh." The assassin glanced away, her cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of red. "Well, yes, it was my idea, although Lady Impa assisted with the specifics."

Noah nodded. It wasn't surprising that they'd both arrived at the same conclusion. After all, leading the cause of the disaster away from its intended victims wasn't exactly rocket science. Still, Noah had only sent her away to ensure Lady Impa was safe, he didn't expect her to return with results. He couldn't help but feel a flicker of respect for her quick thinking.

"The fire arrows as well?" Noah asked, gesturing to the burning village around them.

The assassin nodded. "It was a hunch, based on our attack in the cave. The creature seems to have an instinctual fear of fire, but…" She trailed off, her expression darkening.

Cado stepped in, his tone grim. "On that note, the creature is already getting over its fear. It's begun its approach back toward the village."

Noah's smirk faded. "Then there's not much time." He crossed his arms, his mind racing. "We need to get its attention—enough to lure it away from the village. The further, the better."

The assassin shook her head. "Actually, I want to lure it directly outside the final checkpoint."

Noah raised an eyebrow, confused. "Isn't that practically right outside the village? Wouldn't we want to lure it further away?"

The assassin crossed her arms, her expression firm but guarded. "I don't want to explain further until I find out how viable my plan is."

Noah studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Fair enough. Then that's where we'll go."

He turned to Cado, his tone shifting to one of concern. "Our allies—the Zora and the woman who was with me. Have you seen them?"

Cado nodded, though his expression was grim. "The Zora is using his strength to transport villagers through the water behind Lady Impa's dwelling. As for the woman… I'm not sure."

Noah frowned, his worry growing. It wasn't like Neph to stay out of the fray. Had she been hurt in the chaos? But that didn't seem likely—she was more than capable of handling herself. Still, the uncertainty gnawed at him.

'Ah, right,' he thought, turning back to the assassin. "I briefly spoke with the Great Fairy. According to her, destroying her own body is the only way to eliminate the monster."

Both the assassin and Cado took a step back, their eyes widening in shock. "K-Kill her?!" Cado stammered, his voice trembling.

Noah nodded; his expression solemn. "I understand how you feel, but these were her words. And it's the most logical solution. The creature is drawing its abilities from her, after all."

The two Sheikah exchanged uneasy glances, their faces pale. It was clear they were struggling to process the idea of killing the Great Fairy, a being they likely revered. But whether it was because the words came from the Hero or because they understood the grim necessity, they both nodded slowly, albeit reluctantly.

Cado cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence. "We haven't discussed how we'll get the creature's attention and lure it out of the village."

Noah groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe we can throw chickens at it and let them fight back…" he muttered, half out of frustration, half as a joke.

Cado, however, took him seriously. His eyes widened in alarm. "No! The chickens would be in danger!"

Noah couldn't help but chuckle, though it was tinged with grim humour. 'If this world is anything like the game,' he thought, 'the chickens wouldn't be the ones in danger.'

Vivid memories of attacking cuccos within the games—and subsequently being obliterated by an angry flock—flashed through his mind. For a brief, absurd moment, he considered asking a Sheikah guard to find Doop, the village cucco, just to test the theory. But he quickly dismissed the thought. This reality was far too dangerous for such antics.

His amusement faded as he remembered the old man he'd gotten into a fight with earlier. He sincerely hoped the man was okay. Shaking off the distraction, Noah refocused on the task at hand.

'The creature isn't killing for food,' he thought, piecing together what he knew. 'It has intelligence… and it can be provoked.' A realization struck him, and he turned to the others. "Not long after we followed the creature, it immediately attacked us. Two humans out of hundreds."

Cado's eyes briefly looked confused before being lit up with understanding. "You're saying it targeted you intentionally?"

"Absolutely," Noah said, his voice low. "It likely wanted revenge for bothering it."

'Can't say I blame it,' he added silently.

The assassin tilted her head, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "Meaning…?"

Noah tightened his grip on his sword, a determined glint in his eyes. "We need to piss it off."

"Master Link," Cado began hesitantly, his voice tinged with doubt, "you're hinging your entire plan… on pissing it off?"

Noah sighed as he tried to find the right words to explain. "From its behavior, we can deduce that it's a monster formed from malice to some extent. Even if it isn't, it clearly has a great deal of intelligence—far more than your average monster." He paused, glancing at the burning village around them.

"We attacked it in the cave, and the moment it spotted us in the village, it likely understood that we were pursuing it. It deemed us the biggest threats."

Cado frowned, still unconvinced. "But to rely on angering it… isn't that risky?"

Noah shrugged, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "If you don't like the 'piss it off' plan, think of it as simply hurting the fucker the most until it prioritizes defeating us over everything else. We've attacked it twice and actually hurt it—something no one else has managed to do. I'm confident it'll come after us first before continuing its rampage."

Cado's expression softened, and he bowed his head slightly. "I-I apologize for doubting you, Master Link."

Noah waved a hand dismissively, his tone gentle. "It's your home. I understand your concern. You don't have to apologize for wanting to protect what's yours."

Cado straightened, his gratitude evident, though the tension in his shoulders didn't fully ease. The assassin, who had been silent during the exchange, stepped forward, her arms crossed and her expression thoughtful.

"We hit it where it hurts—literally and figuratively. We target its weak spots, taunt it, and make it so angry that it forgets about everything else. If we can keep its focus on us, we can lead it right where we want it." Noah explained. "Although we shouldn't need to put much further effort since it attacking us before it was interrupted.

The assassin raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "You make it sound so simple."

"It's not," Noah admitted, his tone turning serious. "But it's our best shot. We've already seen that it reacts to pain and provocation. If we can exploit that, we might just have a chance."

"That's where you come in…" Noah gestured to Cado, but the Sheikah's expression made him pause. Cado's face was strained, his usual calm demeanor replaced by visible unease. He shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Noah's gaze.

"I apologize, Master Link," Cado said, his voice heavy with regret, "but the Sheikah will be unable to assist you further."

Noah frowned, his brow furrowing. "Why?"

The assassin stepped forward, her tone matter-of-fact but tinged with urgency. "It's nearly midnight. The Sheikah—and everyone within the village—must head indoors. We won't be able to assist you for the time being."

Noah's eyes widened in disbelief. He quickly pulled out his Sheikah Slate, the screen illuminating his face as it displayed the time: 11:43 PM. He let out a frustrated sigh, 'Of course,' he thought, the pieces falling into place. 'That's why Cado's so stressed. If everyone's heading indoors, no one else is available to fight the creature.'

The weight of the situation settled over him like a heavy blanket. He glanced at Cado, then at the assassin, his mind racing. "I understand," he said finally, his voice steady despite the growing tension. "You've done more than enough already."

Cado bowed deeply, his expression a mix of guilt and gratitude. "Thank you, Master Link. I wish we could do more, but no one can fight the blood moon's gaze."

Noah nodded grimly, though the explanation did little to ease his frustration. He turned to the assassin, his tone firm. "Then we'll have to move fast. Let's leave now while we still have time."

The assassin met his gaze, her eyes sharp and determined. She gave a single, curt nod. "Agreed."

Without another word, the two of them turned and began making their way through the village. The streets were eerily quiet, the usual hustle and bustle replaced by an oppressive silence. The only sounds were the distant crackling of flames and the occasional groan of collapsing structures. Most of the villagers had already retreated indoors, their homes sealed tight against the dangers of the night.

As they walked, Noah couldn't help but glance at the assassin. Her movements were precise, her posture tense but controlled. She seemed to be deep in thought, her brow furrowed as if weighing their options. Noah cleared his throat, breaking the silence.
"You know…" Noah began, his tone softer than he intended, "when you speak confidently, it suits you quite well. Your voice has a natural authority to it."

The assassin glanced at him; her expression unreadable for a moment before she quickly looked away. "I… I don't know what you mean," she muttered, her voice quieter now, almost self-conscious.

Noah chuckled, the sound low and warm. "I mean it. Back there, when you were explaining the plan—you sounded like someone who's used to leading. It's impressive."

She hesitated, her steps slowing slightly as she seemed to consider his words. "I'm not used to leading," she admitted after a pause. "I'm more accustomed to following orders. But… someone I deeply value placed her trust in me. I wanted to prove she made the right choice."

Noah nodded; his expression thoughtful. "Sometimes, doing what's right means stepping out of the shadows. And you did that today. Don't sell yourself short."

The assassin didn't respond immediately, but Noah noticed the way her shoulders relaxed slightly, as if his words had eased some of the tension she'd been carrying. They walked in silence for a few more steps before she spoke again, her voice steadier this time.

"You're… not what I expected," she said, her tone almost curious.

Noah raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh? And what were you expecting?"

The assassin hesitated, her words stumbling slightly. "I-Uh, that's—not what I meant!" she explained quickly, her voice rising in pitch. "It's just… I thought you'd be louder, maybe. The stories make you out to be this larger-than-life figure, but you're… different."

'Louder? Does she mean more arrogant?' Noah thought with amusement, though he kept the observation to himself. He couldn't help but notice how flustered she became when put on the spot. Outside of combat or work, she was strikingly shy—a stark contrast to the composed, confident figure she presented when the stakes were high. It was almost endearing, in a way.

'It almost reminds me of….'

The thought lingered in his mind, vague and half-formed, until suddenly, it clicked. His steps faltered, and he came to a complete stop, his eyebrows furrowing as the pieces fell into place. The way she stammered when flustered, the way she carried herself around Lady Impa, her terrible case of shyness and the one-character Noah had not seen yet—it all pointed to one person.

Paya.

The realization hit him like a thunderclap, and for a moment, he just stood there, staring at her. The assassin—no, Paya—turned to face him, her expression a mix of confusion and concern.

"Is something the matter, Master Link?" she asked, her voice steady but laced with worry.

Noah remained silent, his mind racing. Then, without warning, he burst into laughter. It wasn't a polite chuckle or a quiet laugh—it was full-bodied, unrestrained, the kind of laughter that came from realizing something so obvious it was almost absurd. He laughed so hard that he had to brace himself against his knees, his shoulders shaking with the force of it.

Paya stared at him, her concern deepening. "Are you… alright?" she asked cautiously, as if unsure whether he'd lost his mind.

Noah waved a hand, trying to catch his breath. "Yeah, yeah," he managed between laughs. "I'm fine. Just… just had a thought, that's all."

She didn't look convinced, but she didn't press further. Noah straightened, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, his laughter subsiding into a wide grin. "Well, I'll take that as a compliment," he said, pretending as if nothing had happened. "I've never been one for theatrics. Besides, the stories tend to leave out the messy parts—like plummeting to the floor on a Galemaw or getting kicked across a village by an eight-year-old."

Paya's lips twitched, as if she were fighting back a smile. "I-I suppose they do. But… it's refreshing. To see the person behind the legend."

Noah's smirk softened into a genuine smile. "Glad I could exceed your expectations." But the smile quickly faded, replaced by a frown as a sobering thought crossed his mind.

'Except I'm far from that person.'

As they continued, Noah couldn't help but steal another glance at her. The shyness, the quiet determination, the way she carried herself—it all made sense now. This wasn't the Paya he remembered from the stories or the glimpses he'd seen in his past life.
In the game, she had been little more than a shy, flustered granddaughter of Lady Impa, someone who blushed at the slightest attention and seemed to exist solely to provide information, comic relief or someone for Rule 34 artists. She was an NPC, a side character, someone who didn't step into the spotlight or take on a role beyond her quiet, unassuming presence.

But this Paya was different. This Paya was an assassin, a fighter, someone who had taken up arms and stepped into the fray to protect her village. She wasn't just a bystander or a passive observer—she was someone who had grown into her own strength despite her insecurities. It was no wonder he hadn't connected the dots earlier. In this reality, she wasn't confined to the role he'd expected her to play. She had broken free of those expectations.

'If anything, the fact she is still shy shows just how vital it is to her character somehow…' Noah thought, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

He didn't say anything more about his realization. If Paya wanted to keep her identity hidden, he would respect that. After all, she had her reasons, just as he had his. For now, they were allies, and that was enough.

'Well, it's not like I actually know it's her… for all I know it could literally be someone else…' he couldn't exclude.

Noah came to a sudden stop, his eyes scanning the area. "This spot will do," he said, his voice firm.

The assassin, or the assumed Paya paused beside him, her brow furrowing in confusion. "But the creature is still further away," she pointed out, her tone hesitant.

"True," Noah admitted, a sly smile spreading across his face as he pulled out the Sheikah Slate. "But it's heading this way. That's enough."

The creature crouched low, its massive body coiled like a spring, its many eyes reflecting the flickering orange glow of the flames around it. The fire had been a threat—a searing, unpredictable force that had driven it back, forcing it to retreat. But now, as it watched the flames dance and die, it began to understand. The fire was not alive. It did not chase. It did not hunt. It was a tool, a trick used by the small, soft things that scurried like prey.

A low, guttural sound rumbled in its throat, a mixture of frustration and satisfaction. The small things had tried to hurt it, to drive it away with their stinging bites of fire and metal. But they were weak. Fragile. Their tricks had failed.

Its many eyes shifted, scanning the landscape. The air was thick with the scent of fear, a sweet and intoxicating aroma that drew it forward. The small things had gathered in one place, their presence concentrated like a beacon. It could feel them—their warmth, their movement, their vulnerability. They thought they were safe, hidden away in their stone dens. But it knew better.

The creature's legs twitched, its body shifting with a fluid, predatory grace. It no longer feared the fire. The flames were nothing but a nuisance, a fading memory of a threat that no longer held power over it. Its focus narrowed, homing in on the source of the fear, the place where the small things had gathered.

It did not know what the small things were. They were not like the sleek, scaled creatures that swam in the deep waters—the ones with fins and gills that moved like shadows beneath the surface. It had seen those creatures before, though it did not know their names or their purpose. They were fast, elusive, and uninteresting. These small things, however, were different. They ran on two legs, their movements clumsy and panicked. They screamed and scattered; their fear palpable. And when it caught them, when it wrapped them in its threads and felt their struggles fade, it felt a deep, primal satisfaction.

Turning them into its children was even more satisfying. The small things became part of it, their bodies reshaped, their wills erased. They were no longer weak, no longer fragile. They were extensions of its own malice, tools to spread its influence and its hunger. The thought sent a surge of dark pleasure through its body, a twisted joy that fueled its advance.

The creature's eyes glinted with malice as it drew closer to the source of the fear. The stone dens loomed ahead, their shapes familiar yet insignificant. It did not know their purpose, nor did it care. All that mattered was the prey inside—the small, soft things that had dared to challenge it.

The creature stopped its advance, its many eyes narrowing as it focused on a figure standing not far in the distance. It was another small thing, like the others, but different. This one was wrapped in layers of cloth, its skin mostly hidden—a common trait among the prey in this area. But this time, the wrappings seemed to serve a different purpose. They looked almost like armour, as if they were meant to protect the small thing rather than simply cover it. The creature's eyes lingered on the long, white hair that flowed from its head, a stark contrast to the dark fabric that shrouded its body.

It was female. The creature didn't understand the concept of gender, but it recognized the differences in scent and form. This small thing was distinct, and that made it intriguing.

The creature's body tensed as it relied on its keen sense of smell, its many nostrils flaring as it took in the scent of the small thing. And then, it happened—a wave of revulsion and recognition washed over it, causing its entire body to pulsate with anger.

'It's… that one…'

The creature remembered now. This was one of the four small things that had invaded its burrow, the ones who had awoken it from its slumber too early. The memory burned in its mind, sharp and vivid. This small thing had been there, had hurt it, had disrupted its peace. The creature's mouth clicked in displeasure, a guttural sound of anger rising from its throat as it let out a piercing scream.

It charged forward, its spindly legs propelling it with terrifying speed, its many eyes locked on the small thing. But as it drew closer, it slowed, its instincts screaming at it to stop. Something was wrong. This small thing wasn't reacting like the others. It didn't scream. It didn't run. It didn't try to fight. It just stood there, unnervingly still, as if it were waiting.

The creature hesitated, its primal mind struggling to process the anomaly. It had only been born recently, and while it lacked knowledge, it had learned quickly. After being attacked multiple times, it understood the reactions of these small creatures. Fear, panic, defiance—these were the responses it expected. But this? This was different. Different meant danger.

For a moment, the creature's rationale began to override its anger. It paused, its body coiled and ready, its many eyes scanning the small thing for any sign of threat. And then, it saw it.

The small thing moved, its limb lifting from behind its back. In its grasp was the severed head of one of the small thing's children—no, not its children. The small things' children, reshaped and remade in the creatures image. Its first creation, its first triumph, now lifeless and mutilated.

The creature froze, its body trembling with a mixture of shock and rage. The small thing was taunting it, holding the remains of the creatures child like a trophy. The creature's mind, already fragile and primal, shattered under the weight of its fury. Rational thought was lost, consumed by an all-encompassing need to destroy.

It threw itself into a frenzy, its massive body thrashing and tearing through everything in its path. Trees were uprooted, stones were crushed, and the ground trembled beneath its weight. But its rage had a singular focus now. It turned its many eyes back to the small thing, its scream echoing through the night as it charged once more.

Paya stood her ground, her heart pounding in her chest as the creature's scream tore through the air. Her hands trembled, but she forced herself to remain steady, her grip tightening on the severed head she held. It had been a risk, a desperate move to provoke the creature, but it had worked.

"It… it worked…" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the creature's roars. But there was no confidence in her words, only a quiet acknowledgment of the danger she had unleashed. "Now what…?"

She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes searching for Noah. He handed her the head of a child that attacked them in the caves and practically said "don't worry about it.". She trusted him, as he had promised to back her up, to be ready when the time came. But as the creature bore down on her, its massive form blotting out the moonlight, she couldn't help but feel a flicker of doubt. Had she gone too far? Had she miscalculated?

The creature was almost upon her now, its many eyes gleaming with malice, its mouth clicking in anticipation. Paya took a deep breath, her mind racing. She had no choice now. She had to hold her ground, to trust in the plan—and in Link.

"Come on…" she muttered under her breath, her voice trembling but resolute. "Any time now…"

She could feel the ground trembling beneath her feet, the creature's fury shaking the earth itself. Her instincts screamed at her to run, to flee, but her legs refused to move. She was rooted to the spot, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure the creature could hear it.

Just as she began to close her eyes, bracing for the inevitable, something extraordinary happened.

A deafening crash echoed through the night, and Paya's eyes snapped open just in time to see a massive metal pillar plummet from the sky. It struck the creature square on the head with a force that sent shockwaves through the air. The spider let out a guttural screech as it was driven into the ground, its legs flailing wildly as it crashed mere feet in front of Paya. The impact was so powerful that she flinched back, raising her arms instinctively to shield herself from the debris that scattered in every direction.

Before she could process what had just happened, another pillar descended, this one missing its mark slightly. It grazed the creature's side, slicing through its chitinous armour and eliciting another pained scream. The pillar embedded itself into the ground, standing tall like a monument to the chaos unfolding around them.

The creature recovered quickly, its many eyes darting around as it pieced together what was happening. It had been too focused on the female prey, too consumed by its rage to notice the trap being set. Now, it understood. The female was a distraction, a lure to keep it in place while the real threat came from above.

Its gaze snapped upward, just in time to see several more metal pillars hurtling toward it from the sky. The creature's instincts kicked in, and it lashed out with terrifying speed. One of its spindly legs struck an incoming pillar, deflecting it away with a metallic clang. Another pillar aimed directly at the Great Fairy embedded in its rear missed its mark, slamming into the ground instead. The creature let out a sinister, clicking laugh, its confidence growing as it realized it could evade—or even destroy—the falling pillars.

But the assault didn't stop. The pillars continued to rain down, each one forcing the creature to twist and turn, its movements growing more frantic as it struggled to keep up. It kicked another pillar aside, its focus divided between the falling projectiles and the female prey who had dared to taunt it. The creature's thoughts were consumed by the promise of revenge, by the image of tearing the small thing apart piece by piece.

And then, through the corner of one of its many eyes, it saw something that made its blood run cold.

One of the pillars, seemingly defying physics, changed direction mid-fall. It hurtled toward the creature's rear, its trajectory impossibly precise. The creature panicked, its many legs scrambling to reposition itself, but it was too late. It couldn't reach the pillar in time, couldn't stop what was about to happen.

The pillar struck true, its sharpened end piercing straight into the chest of the Great Fairy embedded in the creature's rear. A sickening crunch echoed through the night, followed by a deafening, otherworldly scream that seemed to come from both the creature and the fairy itself. The creature's body convulsed violently, its legs thrashing as it let out an agonized screech.

The creature, despite its grievous wound, managed to turn its head. Its many eyes, now clouded with pain and rage, locked onto another prey—a male this time. The small thing had abandoned its hiding place among the fallen stone structures, its chest heaving as it gasped for air. Its arms shook violently, clutching a stone tablet in its hands. The creature didn't understand what the tablet was, but it recognized the male as one of the four who had invaded its burrow. The one who had hurt it. The one who had caused all of this.

The male prey knocked the shoulder of the female, and the two bolted in a different direction, leaving the creature alone for a brief moment. The sight of them fleeing together, their movements frantic and desperate, only fueled the creature's rage further.

At this point, the creature could no longer think rationally. Its intelligence, already fragile and primal, had been stripped away, replaced entirely by raw instinct and emotion. It didn't know how to process what had happened, didn't know how to control the storm of anger and pain that consumed it. All it knew was that it wanted—no, needed—to destroy the two preys. It wanted to tear them apart, limb by limb, to make them suffer for what they had done.

With a guttural growl, the creature slowly pushed itself back onto its feet, its massive body trembling with the effort. Its movements were unsteady, its legs dragging as it forced itself forward, but its determination was unwavering. It didn't matter where the prey were going. It didn't matter how far they ran. The creature would follow. It would hunt them down, no matter the cost.

The chase was on.

"That actually worked!" Paya exclaimed, her voice a mix of disbelief and relief as she ran alongside Noah. A dazed smile spread across her face, her earlier fear replaced by a flicker of hope. "It's completely forgotten about the other villagers!"

Noah, however, didn't share her enthusiasm. His expression was grim as he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the creature slowly rising to its feet. 'I actually wanted to kill it there,' he thought, his mind racing with frustration and self-reproach. The plan had been risky, but it had also been precise—or so he'd thought. He had underestimated the creature's intelligence, and that mistake had cost them the chance to end this once and for all.

The original plan had been straightforward: the initial metal spike was meant to hit the Great Fairy directly, incapacitating the creature long enough for the subsequent pillars to finish it off while it was dazed. But the creature had sensed the danger, its instincts sharp enough to evade the follow-up attacks. It had forced Noah to manually take control of one of the few remaining pillars, a desperate move that had thankfully landed true, striking the fairy and dealing a critical blow. But it wasn't enough. The creature was still alive, still a threat.

'How terrifying,' Noah thought, his stomach churning with unease. If the creature had been able to adapt so quickly, to anticipate their moves and counter them, what would happen if it had more time to mature? Its intelligence was already far beyond that of any monster he'd encountered. If it grew stronger, smarter, more ruthless… God only knew the damage it could do.

Using Magnesis to drop those pillars at the proper timing was a huge pain in his ass.

The sound of the creature's guttural roar snapped Noah back to the present. He glanced at Paya, her face still lit with cautious optimism and forced himself to focus. They weren't out of this yet. Not even close.

"Don't celebrate too soon," he said, his voice tight with urgency. "It's still coming, and it's pissed. We need to keep moving."

Paya's smile faltered, her lips trembling as if the weight of their situation had momentarily crushed her resolve. But then she nodded, her jaw tightening, and her determination returned, sharp and unyielding. "Right. Now that its attention is on us, all we need to do is—"

Her words were cut off abruptly as a deafening bell chime reverberated through the village. The sound was so immense, so all-consuming, that it seemed to vibrate through the very ground beneath their feet. It wasn't just loud—it was oppressive, a wave of noise that drowned out thought and reason. For a moment, even Noah's racing mind went blank, his thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm.

"What is…" Noah's thoughts spun, disjointed and frantic. 'Wait.'

Instinctively, his hand shot to the Sheikah Slate at his hip. He activated it, the familiar blue glow illuminating his face, but before he could even register the time—'12:00am'—the screen was flooded with a dark, ominous red. The colour was unnatural, almost alive, pulsating like a heartbeat. A warning. A curse.

Noah's head snapped upward, his gaze drawn to the sky as if pulled by some unseen force. Curiosity mingled with dread in his chest, but he couldn't stop himself.

"Link! No!" Paya's voice rang out, desperate and sharp, but it was too late. Her warning was swallowed by the suffocating atmosphere, her voice cutting off as if the air itself had stolen it.

The moment Noah's eyes met the moon, pain exploded behind his eyelids. It was as if a white-hot blade had been driven into his skull, and he let out a strangled grunt, his hands flying to his face. His vision swam, dark spots dancing across his sight, but the pain was only the beginning. His body convulsed, his blood feeling as though it had turned to molten lava, coursing through his veins with a searing intensity.

His skin crawled, writhing as if it were alive, as if thousands of tiny worms were burrowing beneath the surface. The sensation was unbearable, he almost felt as if he was being observed but just as quickly as this entire sensation had come, it faded, leaving him gasping and disoriented.

'Because I looked away?' Noah thought, his mind reeling. The pain had subsided, but the memory of it lingered, a phantom ache that made him wary of the sky above.

The world around him had changed. The once-familiar village was now cloaked in an eerie, otherworldly light. The air was thick with a faint red haze, and what looked like ash—no, not ash, but something darker, more sinister—drifted lazily from the sky. It fell like snow, but it was wrong, unnatural. The ground was already dusted with it, and the faint red fog creeping in from the horizon only added to the sense of dread.

Noah's attention snapped back to Paya. She was on her knees, her body trembling violently. Blood streamed from her eyes, dark and viscous, staining her cheeks as she coughed uncontrollably, each breath a struggle. Her hands clawed at the ground, her nails digging into the dirt as she fought to stay conscious.

Without hesitation, Noah moved. He grabbed her shoulder, his grip firm but careful, and hauled her to her feet. Her weight was nothing to him now—Link's body was strong, far stronger than his own had ever been. He adjusted his hold, slinging one of her arms over his shoulders, and began to move, his eyes scanning their surroundings for cover.

The Blood Moon had risen, its crimson glow casting long, twisted shadows across the village. Noah didn't know how long its effects would last, or even what they truly were. All he knew was that they needed to get out of its gaze. He glanced at Paya again, her face pale and streaked with blood, and felt a pang of guilt.

Why wasn't he affected as badly as she was? Was he immune? Resistant? He didn't have time to ponder it. Survival was the only thing that mattered now.

But their escape wasn't going to be easy. The Spider—the monstrous creature that had been hunting them—was still there. And it wasn't just following them; it seemed to be thriving in this hellish environment. Its movements were more fluid, more deliberate, as if the Blood Moon had given it new life. Its glowing eyes locked onto Noah, and he could swear it was smiling, a grotesque mockery of joy.

"Lead…" Paya's voice was weak, barely a whisper, but it carried a sense of urgency. "Outside the village…"

Noah frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. "We need to get you indoors, isn't that right?" he asked, his voice tight with concern. The idea of staying out in the open, exposed to whatever horrors the Blood Moon had unleashed, made his skin crawl.

"No…" Paya insisted, her voice firmer now, though it still trembled. "Outside…" she muttered as she pulled out a paper talisman, a golden light surrounded her briefly which appeared to lighten the colour in her face.

Noah hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to find shelter, to hide until this nightmare passed. But Paya's tone left no room for argument. She knew something he didn't, and he had to trust her. With a frustrated tsk, he adjusted his grip on her and changed course, heading for the edge of the village.

As Noah sprinted toward the edge of the village, Paya's weight heavy but manageable in his arms, he couldn't help but glance back over his shoulder. The sight that met his eyes would haunt him for the rest of his life.

There, standing in the middle of the village square, was the old man Noah had encountered earlier—the same frail, white-haired Hylian who had been searching for Doop, the runaway chicken. The man who had seemed so kind, so determined, now stood frozen in place, his face tilted upward toward the Blood Moon. His expression was one of pure, unbridled terror, his mouth hanging open in a silent scream. But it wasn't just fear that gripped him—it was something far worse.

The old man's eyes, once clouded with age and forgetfulness, now glowed a faint, sickly red. Blood began to seep from the corners of his eyes, thick and dark, trailing down his weathered cheeks like tears. His hands, gnarled and trembling, reached up toward the moon as if he could somehow ward off its influence, but it was no use. The Blood Moon's gaze was unrelenting, its crimson light enveloping him completely.

Noah's steps faltered for a moment as he watched in horrified fascination. The old man's skin began to change, his once-pale complexion darkening to a deep, mottled red. Veins bulged beneath the surface, black and pulsing, as if the Blood Moon's light were poisoning him from within. His body began to convulse, his limbs jerking violently as though he were being pulled by invisible strings. His mouth opened wider, and a guttural, inhuman sound escaped his throat—a sound that was part scream, part growl, and entirely unnatural.

And then, the worst of it began. The old man's body started to twist, his bones cracking audibly as they bent and reshaped themselves. His spine arched unnaturally, his shoulders hunching as his arms elongated, fingers curling into claw-like talons. His face contorted, his jaw stretching and warping until it no longer resembled anything human. His skin split in places, revealing dark, glistening muscle beneath, and his hair fell out in clumps, leaving behind a patchy, blood-streaked scalp.

Noah's stomach churned as he realized what was happening. The Blood Moon wasn't just killing the old man—it was changing him. Transforming him into something else. Something monstrous.

'It's almost… like King Rhoam's transformation…' Noah thought

The old man—or what was left of him—let out a final, ear-piercing shriek before collapsing to the ground. Then, there was only silence.

Noah didn't continue watching. He closed his eyes and ran, faster than he ever had before. As he fled, a dark thought crept into his mind, cold and insidious:

'...What if I just... ran away...?'

Authors Note):

(Extra long chapter due to.. uhm not obeying the self-imposed rule of chapter postings)

(I'll make a more official authors note in a few chapters and not now for reasons I won't disclose...)

(...The point of this particular note is a quick THANK YOU for continuing to read this story, and getting to this point! I've made mistakes with this story but I'm striving to make improvements... every theory & comment i read drives me insane with appreciation...)

(see you in a few chapters...)