Don’t take this out of context, but I never thought killing a bird with a hammer could be so cathartic.
Link climbed through the opening of Forsaken Fortress’s central tower and stood at the top. He waited only a moment before the three stone slabs began to close together. They were sealing the massive hole, as well as creating the floor space for the inevitable showdown. All around Link were spikes and no exit. There was no going back, and no moving forward. It was time to deal with his avian adversary, the Helmaroc King, who flew out of the opening before the slabs closed behind him.
The beast and Link stared each other down for a moment, both possibly wanting to prepare themselves. Or, perhaps they wanted to savor the moment. The king had brought havoc to Link’s home island, abducted his sister, and tossed him across the vast seas as if Link was a crumpled-up piece of trash. Link himself had pursued the king across the sea, invaded his home twice, attacked his master’s followers, and smacked him in the face with a giant hammer. Things were personal.
And considering that I had to endure everything alongside Link, it was personal for me as well.
The king flew high into the night sky and circled around Link. The fortress spotlights shone brightly, illuminating him as he descended for his first assault. He was methodical about his approach, either because of too little or too much intelligence. Whether ignorant or arrogant, he gave me plenty of time to wait for his landing, avoid his stomping around, and take advantage of his mistakes.
The king reeled back and thrust at me with his beak. I dodged the attack, and the beast found himself in the embarrassing and dire situation of having his beak stuck in the ground. This was my chance to teach him why the Skull Hammer was called the Skull Hammer. (I know it’s because the hammer’s head is shaped like a skull. Let me have this.)
The massive hammer connected with the side of the Helmaroc King’s head, with enough force to crack his helmet. The blow motivated the king to free his beak from the ground, letting out a pain-filled squawk in the process. As he regained his composure and returned to the sky, I watched and waited, now knowing this was his pattern.
We repeated the process a few more times before the helmet could not take any more and its shattered pieces fell away from the monster’s face, revealing his small, red, hate-filled eyes. Links eyes, inversely, were filled with delight, as he had found a weak point. Now Link’s (and my) desired outcome was inevitable.
I knew I could have used the sword, I figured as much, but the Skull Hammer was more than my weapon of choice: it was my tool for proving a point. During each following attempt the bird took to pin me, I repeated my now-patented “dodge and wail” strategy. I tapped the button as much and as fast as I could. I wanted Link to land as many blows as possible. The final blow eventually connected, and the Helmaroc King let out a louder-than-usual scream and returned to the skies for the last time.
He flapped his wings frantically and erratically, the pain now too much for him to handle. The spotlights all fixed on him, one by one, giving everyone a clear view of what I had done. The Helmaroc King let out a final, mournful screech before exploding in splendid boss-monster fashion.
I walked over to and picked up the dropped heart container, while feathers — the king’s last remnants — floated slowly down to the ground. I took my time, wanting the moment of claiming the bird’s heart as my trophy to be as memorable as possible. (Too macabre? Possibly, but you get my point.) The Helmaroc King was finally gone. I could now focus on Ganondorf, who I assumed had watched the fight. The bird had been a problem, but all of its actions were at Ganondorf’s behest, so it only seemed right to target my frustrations at him as well.
The Wind Waker taught me many things, and apparently, one of those things was how to hold a grudge. But, you know, in a productive way.
