Prologue - Army of One
The youthful man ignored the voices emanating from the one thing he dreaded carrying. It was his burden to bear. In the middle of the night, in the throes of madness and panic-inducing despair, it would whisper to him. It would cajole him into doing unspeakable things. Resolute as ever, he continued his wayward journey across the snow blasted mountains. The wind would whip and tear at his clothes and tatter the satchel he wore on his back like a pack.
In his satchel were many treasures wrought from long-lost civilizations, cunning salesmen and expert craftsmen he had met over the years of his travels. The bag had seen better days and it was covered with the years of the road, its bright sheen now a ruddy brown. The young man did not carry much on his travels but the bare essentials for living. One would definitely call into question why he bothered carrying superfluous baggage such as the masks contained within the satchel. He would just smile at the innocuous question and walk on.
There was one mask, however, that he refused to place inside the bag along with the others; almost as if he were worried it would corrupt and tarnish the others inside. No. This mask he kept secured to the exterior of the satchel, always facing outward behind him as if in a guardian role, to keep two wary eyes on the road alert for incoming dangers. This mask was no protector, it had two bloodshot eyes that seemed to bore into your soul and entrap you within the depths of anguish, despair and gnashing of teeth. The intricate design flourishing the eyes and multitude of bright colors belied the malevolence residing within. The outer horn protrusions on the side of the mask only enhanced the feeling of doom as the viewer looked at it.
“You are not the master of me!” The young man yelled back at the mask through the billowing winds.
He hacked as snow blew into his mouth, sucking his breath away as he stumbled down into the snow trying to catch some air. His body wracked with the intensity of the convulsion. The whispers caressed his earlobes and massaged his shoulders. They would not leave him alone. He was so close to the place he was seeking, he did not want to falter now. He looked over at the satchel, now lying in the snow after his collapse and saw the mask staring at him from its perch on the bag. It seemed to be watching him.
The man shook his head to clear the clouds brewing inside his mind and gave a crooked smile to the mask, “You have not won yet, my old friend.”
He took the strap half buried in snow and hefted the bag back onto his shoulders once again. He continued up the steep mountainside until he finally reached the top. The slope slid down and gave way to a mass expanse of fertile fields and rivers undulating through the plains, but that was not what drew the man’s attention. He took in a deep gasp as his eyes descended upon the object of his search down on the plains below, mere ants to his eyes at this height.
It was an army, one the world had never seen the likes of before. The line of bodies skirted the edges of the slopes where he looked down on the procession in awe and dread. It stretched onward towards the horizon as far as the eye could see. There seemed to be no end to this horde. Even at his great altitude, he could faintly here the roars, cheers and screams of the millions of soldiers making up that grand parasite. Destroying, looting, pillaging, raping and killing. This beast would not stop and would continue onward to sack anything in its path.
The man looked up at the sky in the waning light and saw the heavens alit with a brilliant many stars of light. He charted the course of the heavens and nodded to himself. A few weeks’ time and they will be at Hyrule’s doorstep. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel the mask being able to see what lay before him and the whispers came yet again.
“Why do you resist? You know no one has the power to destroy these fools but me. All you must do is take me in your hands-”
The man dropped the bag with a thud behind him which shut the mask up quickly, “I know what you propose my old friend, but it will not be I who will be wearing you. I know I cannot control you and for that I must decline.”
There was rage in the air and the spitting of daggers but it fell on deaf ears. Fury seethed in the emotionless eyes of the mask as it bored holes into the man’s psyche. He faced the mask head on and with one swift motion, unclipped it from the satchel and held it up in front of his face.
“You are obedient to no one, death to everyone. You cannot be trusted and cannot be worn. However, there is still time to find the one who can manipulate what you can do for good.”
The mask was an impassive façade as it spoke in a menacing whisper, “You know that will not come to pass. All I need is but one host body and your world is nothing but dust! You cannot win, not against me, not against that thing down there you call an army!”
The young man just smiled back at the mask as he gently placed and secured it back to his pack, “I know Majora, but we shall see who truly wins in the end…”