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One by one, they stepped through the portal, and into complete blackness. There were grunts, clanging equipment, and hushed swears as the links crashed into each other, suddenly robbed of their sight. Someone was on the ground, maybe more than one of them; a few of their group didn’t do well with portals.
The air was thick, humid, and stagnant. It smelled of dust and dirt, of stale blood, sulfur, and even more things none of The Chain had names for. More than the stench, the air was heavy . It pressed in on them, weighing them down, slowing their movements. It felt as though they were submerged deep underwater.
There was one more scent. Something none of them could describe but all of them recognized. Monsters.
Everyone who was able to scrambled for light. There was desperate scuffling, clanking equipment, and more mumbled curses. They were saved by a sharp crack , followed by a soft chime, and a light that suddenly bloomed in the center of the group. Literally bloomed . The light source was a small plant that had appeared from nowhere, a twisted stem held up a small bulb that glowed with a soft but pure light. Their tension eased.
A sound blasted over them. A long, loud blare of a horn. Nine pairs of eyes snapped to the source. Shoulders drew tight. Metal scraped as swords were drawn. The brisk tap of boots on stone turned to face the dull pounding of bare feet charging toward them. A shrill, animalistic scream was answered by a man’s guttural war cry.
The two groups fell into each other. The flower’s small circle of light was filled with the chaos of clanging steel, yelps and grunts, the scent of sweat, leather, and blood .
The monsters were more organized than usual. They had first charged with the usual reckless abandon, but another horn blare pulled them back. They stood before their leader with shields raised, protecting each other from the heroes clever swordwork.
The heroes matched their opponents. Standing shoulder to shoulder they formed a defensive line, protecting their brothers that had yet to recover from their portal sickness.
But the bokoblins had an advantage. The boss they defended was at least twice their height and wielded a lengthy club. It swung easily over the heads of its allies and slammed into the defenders, scattering their protective wall.
The monsters spread out again to pick off the stunned fighters, but these Chosen Heroes were tougher than that. They had seen their share of battles, had seen the strike incoming. Those that could had lept out of the way. Those that couldn’t raised their shields and braced for the impact. They were thrown back, battered and winded, but on their feet again in seconds. There was no time to rest. Not here, not yet.
One of their group hadn’t just dodged the swing, he had backflipped . It seemed like he hadn’t even touched the ground before he was charging forward. He threaded through a gap in the line no one else could see to let loose upon the leader. A flurry of swings cut deep into the beast’s side, faster than the eye could track. It stumbled to the side before turning to face the blue-clad hero. He had shifted his focus to cut deeply into the back of an unaware minion, yet he was still aware enough to leap out of the way of the boss’s retaliatory swing.
A pained yelp erupted from the bunched up fighters, followed by a warning cry of “Archers!”. One of the group sheathed his sword and dashed away, melting into the shadows. His brisk footsteps quickly shifted to a heavy thudding of paws and faint rattle of a chain. Shortly after they heard growls, violent barks, and a monster’s dying wail. One of the archers had fallen, the rest would soon follow.
The hero cloaked with a white sailcloth dashed up behind the boss bokoblin, then continued his charge up the monster’s back. His sword glowed a faint blue as it made shallow cuts running up the beast’s spine. He crested over the beast’s shoulder and leapt clear, aiming to land beside his sworn brother. The Champion was already moving. He used the distraction to lunge in, laying another flurry of deep cuts on the monster’s uninjured side. The beast stumbled, fell to it’s knees, and both heroes siezed the opportunity to end it. Two swords slashed deeply on either side of the monster’s neck. Two heroes leapt clear as the monster collapsed forward. Two heroes panted heavily as they watched the body turn black and puff into smoke. Two heroes met each other’s eyes in a moment of exhausted celebration before they turned back to the group, rushing to aid the rest of their brothers.
With the leader gone, their foes were disorganized. They once again fought as individuals, and were easily picked off by the heroes that were still standing. They lured their targets away from the center, right to the edge of the light but never past it. With room to move, the youngest hero executed a rolling parry; dodging around his opponent’s shield to strike from behind. The bokoblin fell soon after. He cast his gaze about to find somewhere he was needed, and he found his new objective quickly.
The oldest hero fought with a two-handed sword and no shield. He was heavily armored and slow to move. Thus, when the boss bokoblin’s bludgeoning swing swept through them, he had been badly hurt. He had managed to get to his feet, but winced with every movement. His left arm hung completely limp, his Biggoron’s Sword discarded to the side. In his right hand he held a short sword, far to short for someone of his size, but he was still fighting.
He was backing up. Defending, but losing ground. He parried blows where he could and hissed painfully every time his opponent’s sword bounced off his armor. When the young hero’s blade finally cut down his opponent, the relief and gratitude that shone on the old man’s face was immeasurable.
“You need help.”
“Yeah. No arguments. Thanks,” He groaned, as he closed his good eye and sank to his knees.
Wind stayed alert, ready to defend, but the battle was winding down. The monster beside Warriors puffed into smoke. It was followed by two more that Sky and Wild had teamed up against. Four and Legend were on their knees, shields raised; defending the still prone Hyrule. Warriors dispatched that beast as well, and then the circle of light was clear.
They nearly relaxed, before a clipped bark and a monster scream reminded them that there were still archers to contend with. Those that were able once again scrambled for light. Wind helped Time to his feet, half supporting, half dragging the wounded hero to the relative safety of the group.
There was a shrill whine. “My slate! Where’s my slate!” Wild shouted, his panic obvious.
Lanterns were finally found and lit. Warm orange joined soft white and expanded their range of vision, though not by much. More shuffling, then a gentle “Found it!” and the device was passed to the panicking hero, who snapped it up sharply and pulled it tight to his chest. No one batted an eye at his rudeness. They knew that device was the most precious thing he had. It held a special place in his heart that no relationship had yet reached. A place it might not be possible to reach.
“All clear,” came a voice melting out of the shadows. The ranch hand’s reappearance finally allowed the group to relax.
“Who’s hurt?” was said next, and that was followed by a quiet symphony of care. Mumbled complaints, affirmations, and groans of pain. The rustle of packs being searched, clothing removed, bandages wrapped. The clink of armor laid to the side, of potion bottles both full and empty. A gentle light and soft chime as a fairy was released.
Four, Legend, and Hyrule had all fallen to the floor upon exiting the portal. They were the ones most sensitive to magic. The maelstrom of energy that was the portal, as well as the sudden change in background magic from one place to the next nearly always left them reeling. Four and Legend were at least sitting upright now, though still too shaky to stand. Hyrule remained curled into a tight ball, head spinning and fighting the urge to vomit.
Time was the worst off. The bludgeon had hit hard, breaking his arm in multiple places and cracking several ribs on that side. Warriors and Sky, both with formal training in field medicine, set to work. First the armor came off; it had dented in a few places and every movement caused their friend to whimper in pain. Time fainted before the last piece could be removed, as the adrenaline finally gave way. He was laid down on his back so the treatment could continue. They removed his tunic and undershirt to assess the rapidly growing bruising underneath. Thankfully no bones had broken the skin. Said bones were pulled and prodded back into place, then secured with a splint.
Once they had done all they could without magic, the fairy was released. It spiraled around the wound, and Time’s expression softened. Even in slumber, they could see his pain ease. But the fairy didn’t fly away. It hesitated, then circled again. A faint buzz of worry started up in the tiny creature. It circled again.
“Hey. It’s ok. Come here,” came Warriors’s gentle instruction, alongside his outstretched hand delicately held to provide a perch. The fairy obeyed and was pulled in close so it could be heard more clearly.
“What’s wrong?” the Captain asked. He had his own bonded fairy at home, so he understood them better than most, but nowhere near as well as Time. As this one chirped at him, half in a panic, Warriors couldn’t understand a single word.
“Sorry, sorry, I’m not understanding.” Wars interrupted, keeping his voice gentle, “I need you to slow down, one thought at a time. Did you heal his wound?”
The fairy fell silent, hesitating, but gave an affirmative chime.
“Is there an injury you can’t heal?”
An uncertain hum, and the buzz of worry returned.
“Is it more like a sickness? Or an infection?” Sky weighed in.
Another chime of worried affirmation.
The others had noticed, they fell still and silent to eavesdrop on the hushed conversation. All but one of them, who walked over to join in.
“Is it the same as this?” Asked Twilight, holding out his right hand. Strange red veins were wrapped around his hand and up his arm, resembling tightly clinging roots buried just under the skin.
The fairy fluttered closer, hovering just above the offered hand. It paused for a moment, then gave a hushed whistle of alarm, darting back to the safety of warriors’s shoulder.
“What is it?!” Sky raised his voice in alarm.
“How did it happen?” Warriors asked, controlling himself a little better than his fellow knight.
“Stepped in some red goo. Burned like hell,” explained the calm, serious voice of the ranch hand. “Pain stopped the second I got out of it though.” He flexed his fingers and slowly turned his palm upward before continuing.
“It don’t feel quite right. ‘S workin fine, but-“ he grimaced, “-numb, I guess? Not quite painful… I just… I can’t tell ya what’s wrong, I just know that it is. Even without lookin at it,” He finished, continuing to stare at his own outstretched fingers.
The next moment of silence stretched on and on. The heroes remained frozen, minds racing to find an explanation for their friend’s wound.
“It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.” Wild stood up sharply. His voice had an edge to it that made it immediately clear he was not fine .
“We’ll get you to a light-root and everything will be fine.” He was fiddling with his slate. A torch appeared from a cloud of blue threads and fell to the ground. A moment later the blue threads materialized something in his hand that glowed faintly red. Without warning he chucked the red thing to the ground where it released a small blast of flames.
Wild picked up the now lit torch and turned his back to the group. He started pacing, scanning the darkness for some unseeable landmark. He was tense. The team had learned to identify these warning signs. If they didn’t calm him down quickly he would bolt, and it might be days before they would see him again.
Twilight was the one to stop him. He grabbed the Champion’s wrist and held tight as Wild nearly leapt out of his skin. Twi had grabbed the hand holding the torch, so it couldn’t be swung at him as the younger hero lashed out on instinct. As the Champion whirled around, the ranch hand managed to grab his other arm, just below the shoulder.
“Breathe,” commanded the older hero, as he held firm against the writhing child. “Just breathe”
And Wild obeyed. His awareness caught up with what was going on and he stopped flailing. He stood still, trembling as he took deep, ragged breaths. Minutes passed before anyone spoke again. It was Twilight who broke the silence.
“One thing at a time, Cub. You know ‘bout the red stuff?” He asked, not releasing his grip.
“Gloom. Gloom Sickness.” Wild’s eyes were fixed forward, unseeing. He was still focused on getting his breathing under control. “Makes you weak. You can’t heal fully.”
“Ok. An’ how do we fix it?”
“Sunlight, but I can’t-“ He paused and took a deep breath. “Or a Light-root. We can find one of those. And certain foods help.”
“You got any of those foods?”
“Yeah. Mmh, not a lot.”
There was a pause. Finally someone else joined in.
“Wild,” Four spoke softly, “Do you know where we are?”
“Depths. Underneath Hyrule. My Hyrule. Deep down. Really, really deep.”
“How do we get out?” Wind spoke this time.
Wild fidgeted. This question upset him, but he answered anyway.
“I- I don’t know…” he mumbled.
“You don’t know?”
“Wild,” Warriors stood up and walked closer, “You’ve been here in the past, right? How did you leave last time?”
Wild was trying to pull away, but the ranch hand’s grip was too strong. “Warped out.”
“Can we warp out again?”
Silence.
“You can’t warp us out?”
“Slate broke.”
Tears welled up in Wild’s eyes, the rest were stunned silent. If the Sheikah Slate was malfunctioning, that was bad for all of them. Most of their provisions were stored in the device, without it they would quickly starve. But their own concerns were nothing compared to the grief Wild would feel if his most treasured item were to break.
The moments of silence pressed on. Once again, Twilight was the first to speak.
“You pulled a torch out just now. Part of it’s still workin, so which parts ‘r broken?’ He asked.
Wild twisted his wrist to get Twilight to finally let go. He did, and Wild swapped his torch to his left hand to grab the slate with his right. As he started to flip through it one-handed, Twi grabbed the torch to free both his hands, still keeping a firm grip on Wild’s shoulder to keep him grounded.
They waited while Wild cycled through every function of his slate. It lit up briefly with the colors from each rune. There was a familiar click of the slate snapping a picture. Blue threads glittered as he pulled out items from different sections of storage and then returned them.
“Just the map,” he finally declared, “and parts of the compendium. The runes and storage seem fine. But without the map I can’t warp, so we’re stuck down here.” He paused, brow creasing with a sudden thought. “The light-roots update my map. Activating one might fix it.”
“And if not, we’ll get out a’ here and show it to yer Sheikah friends. They’ll know how ta’ fix it.” Twilight concluded.
“but I don’t know how to get out of here.”
“How far to the lightroot?”
“I don’t know.”
“All right,” Warriors spoke up, perhaps a bit louder than needed. “It makes no sense to go wandering in our current state. We’ll make camp right here, give the potions time to work. We’ll try moving in a few hours, once we’ve all rested a bit.”
There were a few mumbles of agreement, though no one really said anything. A watch was set, though it wasn’t really necessary to have a guard with how few of them were sleeping. The fairy hiding in Wars’s scarf was finally sent on her way, only after being thoroughly thanked and offered a sip of sugar water for her trouble.
The Chain settled down for whatever brief snatches of slumber they could manage. The fearful unknown pressed in on them from all sides.