The bokoblin shivered in the half-darkness that enshrouded Hyrule Castle. Despite the sullen red of the sun fighting to penetrate swirls of black-and-red mist, it was cold here, the warmth from this place having been drained long ago.

But not life. Things lived within Hyrule Castle, if not in the same manner as other creatures. The bokoblin was all too aware as it limped its way along the broad, smooth avenue meandering up snaking between towers, walls and natural cliffsides. The entire structure was built into the only rise of land in Hyrule Field, making it the unmistakable and undisputed seat of the kingdom. Those who sought an audience with the castle’s ruler were forced to symbolically walk the ascending pathway to meet him or her.

That was how it had been long ago. Now, no travelers journeyed to or from business with royalty. No citizens dwelled within the ruins of what had once been the vast city that sprawled just beyond the palace’s magnificent southern wall. The seat of Hyrule was now home to a different sort of denizen, one which nearly made this day’s visitor turn back in terror.

Only fear of disobeying the Stalfos prevented the bokoblin from fleeing back down that sloping street of flagstones — that and the attention of countless eyes upon it, single orbs that glowed red in the semi-darkness obscuring the entirety of the castle. They were perfectly round and emotionless, unceasingly monitoring the bokoblin’s progress toward the central spire. Some stared from within large, bell-shaped bodies of metal that sat on battlements or clung to walls with serpentine, segmented arms. Others tracked him from flying, armless versions of those same machines, looking for all the world like hovering, up-turned urns. Each Guardian kept its gaze fixed on the intruder until it turned a corner and escaped its line of sight. Then their eyes would return to glowing blue, though still alert in their never-ending vigil.

The bokoblin could not abort its terrifying errand, but neither could it hasten its completion. Mounds of red-and-black ooze covered large portions of the avenue. More of the strange substance clung, fungus-like, to walls of natural rock or man-made stone with equal tenacity. In some places, it had even grown to support itself upright, stretching taught filaments from surface to surface like some hellish spider’s web.

Single eyes sprouted from these last versions of the sticky substance, but eyelids made of the same ooze gave them a life the Guardians lacked. They rarely blinked, allowing bright yellow orbs divided by vertical pupils to drive further fear into the bokoblin’s heart. It had only been here once before, but it could already see the putrid evil had grown, slowly seeping over and devouring the once-proud capital of Hyrule.

The bokoblin’s right leg accidentally grazed the edge of a pulsating mound of ooze as it rounded a corner, causing it to immediately squeal in pain. The cursed stuff burned worse than wildfire, leaving a patch of smoldering, discolored flesh between hoof and knee joint. This nearly caused the beast to collapse completely, compromised as it was already by a wound in its side. The bokoblin snuffled pathetically at its bad luck, mentally cursing in its own dark tongue the Sheikah arrow that had found its mark. It had been lucky, however, compared to its kin, all three of which had fallen to the pair of Sheikah warriors that had ambushed them at Horwell Bridge. They had no reason to think Sheikah would be patrolling so close to Hyrule Field. That lack of thought had cost the Stalfos three of its four messengers.

The lone survivor now limped piteously along the final stretch of street that fed directly into the southern entrance of the Sanctum, the main chamber within the center spire of the castle. One last hovering Guardian monitored its progress, its single eye momentarily changing from blue to red before recognizing its target as a creature of the Master. It then changed back to blue before moving on in its circular flight pattern, the final sentry between the outside world and the horror within.

The bokoblin’s entire body was seized with violent tremors, a combination of mortal terror and agonizing pain from its wounds. It stopped briefly upon passing two small statues facing each other from atop the low walls lining the avenue. Both were originally fashioned to look like proud birds, their squarish bodies framed by a majestic set of wings. The one on the left still retained most of its original form. The statue on the right, however, was a crumbling ruin of what it had once been, a final reminder of Hyrule Castle’s fate.

Still trembling uncontrollably, the bokoblin limp-shuffled through the open archway into the Sanctum, the former throne room from which Hyrule’s royalty had ruled for untold generations. Unlike the rest of the castle — inside and outside — this main chamber stood undisturbed save for the pall of darkness that hung over the entire structure. Marble archways lined the circular wall, forming an exterior hallway for those waiting their turn for an audience with a member of the royal family. More hawk-like statues stood atop pedestals placed at intervals along the rail lining the balcony above, completely intact unlike their unlucky counterparts outside. The crown jewel of the chamber hung above a low dais where a line of thrones would have been assembled: an enormous work of gold fashioned into a pyramid of three triangles.

The symbol of Hyrule’s power, however, was not what held the bokoblin’s transfixed gaze. That lay upward, where marble columns soared to meet a vast, domed ceiling. Like some diseased fruit, a great, pulsing mass similar to the ooze that had burned the bokoblin just moments ago hung from the center of the ceiling. Vein-like cords, so numerous and tangled it was impossible for the naked eye to separate them, held their unnatural produce securely in the air. Every so often, a part of the disgusting sack bulged, as though something within was straining to escape. The attempts were brief, but the bokoblin looked on with a pathetically simple combination of terror and awe. Even its dumb mind could see that hanging mass had grown significantly since its previous visit.

Pain. Pain such as the bokoblin had experienced only once before. It was worse, far worse, than the scratches that were the wounds in its side and leg. It squealed in agony, throwing itself on the tiled floor and thrashing again and again. The Stalfos had once threatened to toss the bokoblin into one of its own cook pots. That would have been a mercy compared to this.

As suddenly as it began, the pain stopped. The bokoblin whined, sweat pouring from its body as it lay limp on the floor, waiting to die. Instead, a voice resounded in its head. The voice made that of the Stalfos sound like a lullaby. It grated like metal being ground upon metal, with only an echo of humanity to give it more life than that. It boomed within every corner of the bokoblin’s consciousness. There was nowhere it could flee, nothing it could hide from that voice. It could kill with a word and crush with a breath.

STAND AND REVEAL ALL TO ME.

Shivering in pain and fear, the bokoblin complied. As it clambered upright, the air in the middle of the Sanctum began to shimmer with a red haze. Horizontal lines coalesced until they formed a vague outline of a giant boar, completely wild in appearance. It sported two enormous tusks, and its pinprick eyes glowed with hungry yellow light.

Before it solidified, the image shifted into the unsteady image of an immensely tall man with a sloping forehead and hawkish nose. Heavy eyebrows hooded over eyes that bore the only similarity to the boar in that they glowed yellow at their center. He was clad in regal attire, complete with a sweeping cape and an enormous sword sheathed at its side.

Quick as a thought, the image shifted again, this time into its most frightening apparition yet. It reared and writhed, and the bokoblin had time only to discern a leering, rotten skull with gleaming yellow sockets before the red tendrils dissipated again and reformed into the boar.

The bokoblin’s eyes rolled madly toward the back of its skull, the fright and pain of the last hour nearly robbing it of its senses.

NO, FILTH. YOU WILL STAY AWAKE LONG ENOUGH FOR THIS.

The bokoblin was frozen, its eyes trapped in an expression of extreme stupidity. Though its body clamored to move, even if only to tremble out its fear, not so much as a shiver escaped it. It might as well have been a statue.

Then, like a man in a dark room that knows someone else is there, the bokoblin felt the Master’s presence in its mind. It was like feeling a rat scurry near its sleeping place, a fairly common occurrence for its species. Its Master was sniffing here and there, honing in on His quarry through a maze of stupid and broken thought.

AAAAAAHHHHHH…

Ecstasy bloomed within the bokoblin’s mind. It was so powerful that the feeling of euphoria might as well have been its own. If it could move, the bokoblin would have smiled.

Instead, it remained motionless, held captive by nothing it could see. Once more the flickering image in front of it morphed into a sinuous, skull-headed monstrosity before reverting back to the boar.

LISTEN WELL, WORM. YOU WILL RETURN TO THE STALFOS AND TELL IT TO KILL THE BOY. YOU WILL SHARE THE SAME MESSAGE WITH ANY OTHERS YOU MEET ALONG THE WAY. IT IS TO BE DONE IMMEDIATELY, HIS HEAD RETURNED TO ME. THE CREATURE THAT DOES THIS WILL BE MADE KARANLIK.

The bokoblin was again forced to absorb a shudder that would have otherwise racked its body, but this was a tremor of bliss. To be Karanlik — Chief of Dark — was a prize without equal, coveted by any who followed the Master. The Karanlik was second to Him only, Commander of His legions and receiver of His spoils. A lowly bokoblin would attempt to kill a Lynel for such an honor.

ONCE YOU HAVE DONE THIS, YOU WILL CONTINUE EASTWARD BEYOND THE FORT RUINS AND GREAT CLIFFS. THERE YOU WILL FIND MANY OF YOUR BRETHREN. TELL THEIR LEADER THIS: ATTACK THE VILLAGE. LEAVE NONE ALIVE. AFTER THE VILLAGE FALLS AND THE BOY IS DEAD, WE WILL CHOKE THE SHEIKAH FROM THIS LAND — ALONG WITH EVERY RACE THAT HAS OPPOSED ME.

The Master’s rage coursed through the bokoblin, far more intoxicating than the cheap spirits its kind often drank by a night fire. In its mind’s eye came the unbidden image of houses burning, humans falling to the clubs and blades of its brethren. Smoke blackened the sky, stifling whatever hope Hylians sought from the heavens. The bokoblin wanted to lick its chops. It would feed well when the glorious reign of the Master began anew.

Without warning, the bokoblin was released from the power that held it. The beast collapsed on the floor, its wounds throbbing anew. Once more, the transparent red image in front of it changed to reflect the cruel, austere man. His eyes gleamed yellow, drawing in the bokoblin’s gaze until it felt nothing else existed.

FAIL ME, AND YOUR SCREAMS WILL BE HEARD FROM THE FOUR CORNERS OF HYRULE.

The pain returned, and if the bokoblin’s screams did not reach that far, they at least resounded throughout the entire breadth of the castle. The yellow eyes of the red-black ooze outside widened, seeking the source of the shrieks. The blue-glowing orbs of the Guardians did not stop their circuitous search, uncaring of the howls that echoed off the rock walls and battlements on which they perched.

Only when the bokoblin fled as fast as its wounds would allow did the Guardians’ eyes change once again, briefly flaring red while monitoring the beast’s pell-mell gallop down the broad flagstone street. Once it disappeared from their sight, their mechanical eyes’ glow returned to blue, unconcerned with the squeals still uttered by the terrified bokoblin — or the harsh, peeling laughter behind it.