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I don’t know how to explain it. I cannot explain how dangerous I am. As far back as I can remember I have had incredible powers. People have said that my voice is so loud that it shakes Heaven and Earth together. Whenever I would touch something like a bottle or a pot it would break. One day my parents told me not to speak and gave me a quill feather, ink and paper if I needed to communicate. For many years, I felt my power grow stronger and stronger with each day passing. What made me angry all my life was not only I was refrained from speaking but I was used only for power.

My father was a warlock and my mother was a priestess. We were in a constant war against the black mages of the land. Of course I was involved in that war at the age of 15. The battles were intense and lasted for nearly 5 years. Throughout those 5 years I was only used as a last resort against the demonic creatures the black mages summoned. I was told to use my powerful magic against the demons but the mages themselves, my father told me. Knowing how cold and demented my father was against the black mages, he said that my full power should be saved until the time was right. Even though the black mages were losing they never gave up, despite knowing they were hopelessly outmatched by me and my father’s leadership of the white mages.

At the conclusion of the war, the black mages summoned 7 giant demonic creatures as their last resort. These demons were close to 15 to 20 feet tall and wickedly powerful. My friends and comrades were slaughtered left and right. My father thought it was the right time to use my ultimate power. He walked towards me and gave me a big sword the moment the black mages advantage was in their favor. It was a strange looking sword, it was gnarled and silver. Gripping the sword I felt an amazing surge of power, my magic and strength increased tenfold! The sword felt like it was a part of my soul. Before I marched out of the tent towards the demons and mages my parents thought it was a good idea to change my outfit. I was given a white tunic, a white hat, and armor that were painted in white, black, and gold patterns.

White clothing my parents, friends and I wore and black clothing the mages wore. This whole war was about white and black magic. Two separate types of magic couldn’t co-exist in the same land, hell; it couldn’t co-exist in this WHOLE WORLD. Stepping out from the tent I swung my sword in great enjoyment at the demons. I enjoyed every moment slaying these demons. As I yelled and grunted while swinging the sword my voice roared throughout the land. After the demons were killed, I proceeded to slay the black mages too. They begged for mercy but I didn’t care to have mercy for them, not after they killed my friends and tormented our land. Once the black mages were killed, I was congratulated by my parents and remaining soldiers and white mages. Looking at the landscape, my parents, the white mages, myself, and the black mages I noticed something, what I was told about white and black. White was defined as holy, bright, good, and prosperity. Black was defined as evil, dark, gloomy, and despair.

I was also taught that white represented death and nothingness. What horrified me as I was leaving the canyons was that I wore white my whole life. It also seemed strange that I was the one to kill the demons and slay the remaining black mages, as if I was the bringer of death. Returning home wasn’t the best thing. There were people who worshiped me as a hero and a god. Other people slandered me as a demon, a monster, inhuman. During my twentieth birthday, my feeling of hunger and thirst diminished completely and my powers of overwhelming strength was controlled. I still couldn’t talk because whenever I did it would still be too loud but no tremors would follow after. I was never separated from my sword because it was the only thing that suppressed my powers.

I asked my parents what was wrong with me after I told them I could no longer feel hungry or thirsty. My father told me, “Son, it’s because you’re special.” My mother followed with, “You were a blessing.” Seven years later my parents passed away from a sickness. The town I lived in was no longer called home because I was ostracized after their deaths. I wandered the land searching for a new home and a new purpose in life. The only thing I had with left with me was my sword, my mother’s harp, and a flute that my father and I created along with his journal. I went to the coast to look out at the ocean. I was bored after looking for hours at the sea which made me read my father’s journal. Going through the pages of my father’s journal I see drawings and text.

The drawings depicted monsters and people I slaughtered in the canyons of the east. The next several pages had drawings of the demons I also killed during the last days of the White and Black War. What absorbed my attention even more was the final journal entry my father wrote. My father wrote that I had markings all over my face and had no pupils in my eyes the day I was born. Whenever there were bad occurrences I cried and it would end somehow. The last paragraph brought tears to my eyes which said that when I was four years old I cried in pain from a cut I received which caused a massive earthquake throughout the land.

My father contemplated in ending my life the night of the earthquake I caused. My mother stopped him and convinced him that I would have purpose and be useful someday. They also thought from what my father wrote is that I would cast judgment on them after my death. I cried for a brief moment and felt heartbroken, then, I stopped. My crying and heartbreak stopped so suddenly. I still wondered if I was a monster, a demon, or a god. I stopped guessing on what I am and proceeded to burn my father’s journal with a match I had and left the beach.

I continued to wander the land for days and days. With nowhere to go, I found myself heading to the east where the canyons were located. Heading up to the cliff top of the canyon, I walked to another canyon where I saw two large towers. After a full day’s climb I reached the top where the towers were at and was greeted with a large muscular demon depicted my father’s journal. This must have been another demon he saw way before the White and Black War. The demon was a towering, hulking giant, dark in color, with glowing red and orange eyes. The demon and I started at each other for what seemed like an eternity.

The next day as the sun rose and shined at our faces the demon asked “Why must you keeping staring at me?!” The demon spoke in a chilling feminine voice. “I should ask you the same thing, but the truth is I can sense that you are too powerful and I’m too powerful as well. Therefore, we can’t exist in this world. You are evil and I am holy, well I maybe evil too. I’m sorry but you’re going to die!” I said as I pulled out my flute from my pouch. “You say I’m evil, yet the spirits of this land tell me that you killed them along with my incarnations! The rest of the people who live in this land are in the castle next to us. They are protecting it from YOU and intruders!” The demon said as I played a song on my flute.

After the playing the final notes of a song my parents taught me I spoke by saying, “I know demon. That’s why I’m going to die as well.” As my eyes were closing along with the demon’s, it felt good. Dying along with the most powerful being the land, much possibly the whole world, I realized that my holy or demonic power will never be used again. I will never be considered anything anymore than a monster, or so I thought.

I don’t know how many years it has been now, but I find my soul awakened. I’m awake but in someone else’s body. A kid’s body, he had to be no more than eleven or twelve years old and wearing almost the same clothes as me but in green. He turns around and begins to talk “Hi Fierce Deity, I’m Link, pleased to meet you. Are you ready to kill Majora?” I asked, “But how, I’m dead and so is Majora.” He responds, “Didn’t you know? You were both turned into masks.

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