Link's eyes darted to the Zola's cheeky smile and then to the Zola's right arm which was cocked back, ready to dig the wooden club full of nails into Link's head.
Link quickly lifted his splinted leg, his fingers wrapped around the grip of the knife sitting just outside the bandages and yanked it upwards, cutting through the fabric in the process. Bringing his right palm up and over the Zola's left arm, Link dug the blade into the fishy, soft muscle. After a raspy cry of pain, the gang leader instantly dropped the boy. As his arm slid downward, so too did Link's body follow. But not without pulling the blade out of the arm first, and drawing more blood on the way out.
As soon as Link's feet touched the ground, his instincts prevented him from following up with another attack. Had Link attacked, he would not have seen the mace coming from the side. Just as Link's instincts predicted for the boy, the Zola leader had just swung his weapon, instead forcing Link to dive out of the way. His acrobatic body and years of practice gracefully helped Link finish a forward roll.
As he turned around, he saw a more alarmed and angry, to say the least, Zola. His opponent had lifted his weapon and was inching cautiously towards Link, but with every feint from the defender, the gang leader would jump back. Their standoff brought energy, as the crowd was excited to see someone finally put up a fight. Their false sense of security was placed in the abilities of their leader, who had never lost in front of them. Wolves chose to eat sheep instead of other wolves for a reason.
Taunts and cheers and jeers were being thrown into the ring as the two circled each other. One was cautiously waiting for the other to make move. The other one was slowly placing his back against the wall so that no one would pounce on him from behind, and he was lining up a shot.
Link set up his attack with another feint stab. Clearly afraid of another wound, the gang leader flinched and retracted defensively, which was exactly what Link wanted. The boy shifted his weight on his back foot, wound his right arm back, and then sent the blade spinning forth as fast as he could. With this much power involved, it was pointless to aim for the lieutenant standing behind the leader. After years of practicing knife throwing, Link knew that hitting his target from his distance was a matter of chance.
The Zola slipped to his right and dodged the knife. Before the Zola retracted even further into a defensive stance, Link sprinted forward and followed the trajectory of the knife. The blade continued spinning past the leader and towards the unsuspecting lieutenant. He had to die first.
There was almost no sound when the blade's trajectory drove metal into the flesh of his neck. The surprised expression on his freckled face almost looked like he was watching his last seconds escape from his throat in disbelief. The sight of blood spurting from the wound consumed the bloodthirsty energy of the crowd, leaving only silence and shock. The looks on their faces were stretched as wide as their facial muscles allowed in response to their second in command lifelessly falling onto his knees and collapsing onto his side.
While the surprised expressions were turned toward their fallen comrade, their distraction provided the opportunity for Link to reach the lieutenant. His light body tackled the dying body to the ground, and then his legs mounted the chest. When he pulled the knife out, blood shot forth from the open wound. As the blood of Link's first victim began to stain his shirt, he looked into the lieutenant's eyes, hanging on for life.
And then Link brought the blade down into the face. Again. And again. With each plunge of the blade, a splatter of blood would escape from the deceased's face. With each withdrawal of the blade, a splatter of blood flew onto Link's tunic.
Just as the rest did nothing as they watched their comrade struggle to stay alive, their petrified bodies did nothing as Link continued stabbing the face until it was beyond recognition. As Link had predicted, the two boys at the end turned tail and ran. The one with the bruises had absolutely no compassion for anyone in the gang, and was certainly not about risk death to fight a bloody killer with whom he had no qualms, but he would not run for some reason. The blood soaked killer gave him a threatening glare, and that was the encouragement needed for the bullied child to turn and run after the other two.
Three against one was better odds. "Kill him!" the Zola commanded his remaining two subordinates while nursing his wound. The taller, older of the two looked at Link with the eyes of a soldier ready to obey his commander's order unto death. Link dismounted the corpse quickly before the first strike came. Link had to jump back from the first swing and again for the second. His opponent's swings were fast, and his recoveries were even faster. With nothing to stop the force of the wooden club, Link's opponent utilized his superior reach.
Each swing forced Link backwards, away from his beloved longsword. Link was not concerned. So long as the other two combatants remained idle, Link had all the time in Hyrule to tire out the active one. It would only be a matter of time before the incoming swings would lose their ferocity. Link danced on the tip of his toes around each swing. And after the tenth miss or so, each swing became noticeably slower and slower.
As he ducked and dodged each increasingly burdened attack, he began to maneuver towards his sword. When each attack became sufficiently sluggish and predictable, he stood his ground in front of his opponent, just far enough away from the first swing. His position was a dare for the teenager to lunge forward on his second swing, and Link would move into striking range during his opponent's short window of recovery.
Blood rushed through Link's body at the sense of an unseen, imminent danger, but it was too late. The impact of the club forced the air out of his lungs before he could deduce that the younger brother had unexpectedly stepped in.
Thankfully, the swing had no conviction, no experience, and no power. As far as Link could immediately tell from gently feeling the stricken area, there were no broken bones. Still, the forced a cough out of him as he keeled over in pain and quickly backpedaled from the boys to catch his breath and then turned around to make sure the Zola had not made any attempts to enter the battle as well. He needed a new plan, and he needed that sword lying on the filthy ground more than he needed a plan.
Only the younger boy stood between Link and the sword, his older brother flanked on the left, and the Zola flanked on the right. Either way, he would have to get through the boy in front.
Link decided to make the first move. He postured his torso upright and held out the knife hand in front, letting his feet swiftly stride forward to close the distance between him and the timid defender. With an extra push off of his back foot, he leaped forward to attack. He quickly planted his foot to abruptly change direction, but it sent a frightened, unbalanced boy stumbling backwards. It was a nice bonus, but that was not what Link was after.
He did not have to look left to see the incoming, overprotective big brother intervene to protect family. The bigger gang member stepped with his right, lifting his club over his head, and brought his weapon down with as much force as he could. Link had already cut to his left, into the oncoming attacker. His superior agility and timing bypassed the weapon's deadly range. With both hands on the grip, Link thrusted his short weapon forward and plunged his shorter weapon into flesh. The wounded teenager fell forward, unable to fight his forward momentum, and as he fell, Link turned the body over and yanked the dagger out, sending the incapacitated combatant spinning away.
The younger boy, no longer concerned for his own safety, ran past Link without picking his club. The boy was now occupied with his only family's survival. So long as Link did not disturb the two, they would pose no threat.
The only thing standing in the way between Link and his beloved new toy was the filth on the ground. Link took casually slow steps to catch his breath, while the Zola stared in disbelief that a boy had bested his entire gang.
He replaced his knife onto his trouser strings and picked up the significantly heavier weapon. After a few practice swings, Woaphie's prized possession was still just as heavy. Parrying or blocking with this sword was probably a bad idea. It was a disadvantage that irked Link the most since defense was the reason why he even bothered to steal the blade at all. But after the Zola gang leader watched the Kokiri slowly take care of his gang, the boy deserved some respect or fear at the very least.
The Zola licked his dry lips and bent into a fighting stance. He angled his body, right foot forward, and held his weapon across his face. Link responded by shifting his left foot back and, with two firm grips, hoisted the sword up and pointed it at his foe.
"Make this interesting for me please," said Link.
"Heh." With a flick of his wrist, The Zola whipped the club around to knock the heavy weapon out of the way. Link was not about to lose his weapon a second time, but impact of metal on metal forced him to move along with the momentum of the heavy blade by spinning around and taking two steps backwards, safely away from the Zola's followup attack. Link continue his spin until his right foot planted again, and then he used the sword's undeterred momentum to deliver a powerful horizontal swing.
The Zola would have been a fool to attempt a third strike in the combo, let alone block the incoming attack. He stepped back instead, respecting the sword's reach. This gave Link the authority to control the distance. He swung his sword again horizontally. When the Zola jumped back, Link used the momentum of his first swing to bring the heavy blade back around and lift him off the ground. With a cry, Link brought down the blade with as much force as his small body could muster.
But the sharpened metal hit the stone ground. The sword was just too slow. The Zola had gracefully sidestepped the blow and was ready to bring his club down on Link's head. Had Link jumped away from the swing, the club's reach would have been long enough to split his skull open. Instead, he leaped towards the Zola's inner space, slipping just inside the weapon's effective reach and landing on one foot at mere arm's-length away from the Zola, and then used that planted foot to launch his right shoulder into the Zola's gut.
The gang leader was not expecting such an aggressive move and thus clutched his stomach while backstepping to safety. After knocking back the Zola, Link raised the blade to end the fight, but he was too slow to see the front kick coming. "Ooph!" the force into his chest knocked some air out of his lungs and knocked him over. Link growled for underestimating his opponent.
He was not going to make that mistake again. Link rose to his feet and readied his weapon.
His eyes wandered away from his target for one split heartbeat and caught sight of the fairy again. This time, the fairy was much closer to the fight, too close for safety. Suddenly, Link felt an immense amount of pressure in his head. Images exploded in his mind, like they were trying to escape.
In all these images, Link was in a forest, talking to another child. Were these memories? Whatever they were, they were giving Link a headache. He felt every heartbeat pump blood into his already pressured brain. His left hand suddenly began to sting with pain. His scar underneath the bandage suddenly began glowing. "Grraaaah!" the pain was too much for him to handle. Link backed away instinctively and squeezed his eyes shut to alleviate the swelling ache.
And when he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by forest. All the pain was gone.
The pressure in his head disappeared. He looked around himself and saw that he was wearing a clean pressed green tunic and a green hat with a pointy tip. A small, leather belt with a metal buckle fastened tightly around his waist. He wore skin-tight, white trousers and small, brown leather boots. It was cleaner clothing than anything Link had worn in the last two years, maybe even more. To his left was the edge of a ridge that overlooked a village built along trees. Miniature treehouses, bridges, vines, and sturdy branches made up the infrastructure of their community. The Kokiri Village. Link was beginning to remember.
The ridge made him feel an emotion that he had forgotten he once had. The same feeling that washed over him when he first spotted the fairy returned to him. He could distinctly smell the lilac and lavender flowers blooming at the beginning of spring. He could pick out each animal call in the background. He could feel every cool gust of air on his skin. This was the place where he spent the most time when he lived in the forest.
The Lost Gate was named so because the top of the cliff was the main entryway into the Lost Woods, and it was only accessible by scaling up the rocky wall. A large vine, though, ran down the center of the cliff, giving the children easy access to the top. Link did not come here to sight see and admire the beauty of his innocent village, whose population had swelled up to the hundreds by this point. He was after the Kokiri sword.
In the village, there always one sword that was sacred. The Kokiri sword was the only weapon in the village with a metal blade, for it was against the rules for the children to possess a deadly weapon in their homes. Of the hundreds of Kokiri that resided in the village, only one was even allowed to wield the blade, and the only way to obtain the blade was to defeat the Protector of the forest. Everyday, Kokiri Village's champion would defend her title at least five times.
What was her name? She had been Protector of the forest for long enough that the children simply called her by her title. No one called her by her given name for decades now.
Regardless, there was no mistaking that the golden haired girl standing in front of him with the Kokiri sword loosely held in her right hand was the Protector. The strands of her silky mane waved back and forth with the wind. Her flawless skin, beautiful face, tall body, athleticism, skill with the sword, and strong personality were the envy of everyone in the village.
Link tightened his grips on his wooden, two handed sword. "Relax," said the Protector, who seemed to know his every twitch of movement. He stubbornly kept his grips tight.
Raising his sword into the air, Link proudly declared, "I will be the Protector of this forest!" like he had done many times before.
"Well, you better hurry up and beat me!" the Protector retorted, "Maybe the eighth time will be your lucky time?"
As he spun the blade in his hand, he noticed that his memory began to feel more like a dream. Link inhabited the body with all the skills that he had accumulated in recent years. His feet felt light and controlled. The wooden sword felt like a feather in his hands as he twirled it about. As Link twirled the blade, muscle memory was coming back to him… muscle memory he never had during this lifetime.
They circled each other clockwise, studying each other's movements, respecting each other's distance. Link's eyes darted up and down to observe her slow but relaxed movements. And, like any other Kokiri boy, to admire her looks.
Then the Protector telegraphed her great lunge forward before her front foot pushed forth. Wait, that's not right, she was much more skilled than that. Her arm was extended, ready to strike, but her body was too vulnerable to attack. No, the Protector would have never done this in a fight. She would never make her first strike so easy to parry.
As the Protector landed, she unwound her twisted torso and unleashed a powerful forehand slash from her right hand. Link timed his own swing earlier. Using the superior reach of his wooden sword, he cut upwards as the Protector's hand was coming around.
And then the dull wooden sword cleanly sliced through flesh and cleanly cleaved her right hand off. Something wet splashed onto his face. Blood. No, this was not a memory. This never happened. On the eighth attempt, the Protector had knocked Link off the cliff. Right? What was going on?
As the hand and the sword both traversed through the air, a sudden thought clicked in Link's head. It wasn't even the Protector to begin with. As this realization washed over his body, he led the upward momentum of the wooden blade into another attack position and back stepped.
Twirling around gracefully like a dancer, Link brought down the heavy sword into the top of the Protector's left shoulder and, with the sickening sound of metal separating flesh and bone, buried it into her stomach.
It wasn't her. He knew it wasn't her. But that did not stop the scar on his left hand from burning with pain. He cried out, not in pain, but in grief. The burning pain brought Link back to reality. It was his cursed reminder of the only thing he knew about his past...