Ghirahim glowered at the empty Sealed Grounds, wringing his hands in frustration.
Where might they have gone? Skyloft? One of the old strongholds?
He wracked his brain, trying to devise just what his Master's first priority would be.
Perhaps he's gone in search of the Triforce, but I am at an utter loss as to its location. I wonder if that skinny fiend knows? After all, he knew how to resurrect my Master. It seems he knows a tad too much for my liking.
The demon lord uttered a sigh.
It appears that I will find little use in remaining here, so where to look first?
He only had a few seconds to ponder the question before a voice interrupted him.
"Oh dear. I had no idea I had a guest."
Ghirahim spun on his heel, facing the masked creature. To his surprise, he found it relaxing in a recliner chair that hadn't been there just moments before. It took Ghirahim a moment to recompose himself before he began his interrogation.
"Where is my master?"
"Oh, pardon me for being a terrible host."
Majora rose from his seat, the recliner vanishing almost the moment he left it. With a wave of his hand, he produced a table from thin air. Adorning it were several cups, as well as a pot containing Ghirahim knew not what. The demon lord glanced at it, then back at Majora, who now held a matching cup in his hand.
"Tea?" he queried.
Ghirahim summoned a blade, aiming it directly at Majora.
"You may keep your tea, you simpering reject," he hissed.
"Majora, please," the creature corrected.
Ghirahim ignored him.
"Answer the question before I make you rue the day you ever left your goddess-forsaken Termina."
"Now, now, there is no need to insult a humble creature's home. Besides, the Goddess has far from forsaken my dear Termina. On the contrary, I believe she will now never leave it."
Ghirahim advanced on Majora.
"Enough of your riddles. Answer me."
"I do so hate to be the bearer of bad news but I'm afraid your master is dead."
Ghirahim struck at the creature, but his sword cut through air. When he turned back, there was Majora.
"You have very poor manners," the creature remarked, "Attacking me after I gave you your answer. I swear on my honor it is the utmost truth. Your master and I didn't exactly see eye to eye, so naturally I reached the conclusion that it would be much less troublesome for me to just kill him. Though I must admit I was quite distressed over the matter."
Ghirahim's words died in his throat.
My Lord can't be dead. He cannot. I had so many dreams of the chaos we would wreak together, the sheer delight of bending these lands to our will. If my Master is dead, what will become of me? How will I ever regain his favour?
He fixed his eyes once again on Majora.
"Bring him back, you filthy aberration," he hissed.
"Majora. Ma-jor-a. Say it with me now. Ma-jor-a."
Ghirahim flung his weapon, sending it catapulting with deadly precision toward his enemy. Majora didn't teleport away this time. He lifted a finger, a single finger, and stopped the blade in its path. It hovered there weightlessly before tipping upright. Majora bounced it up and down on the end of his finger like it weighed no more than a piece of paper. Then, like a wisp of air, it vanished. Ghirahim stood, stunned, speechless.
I don't understand, he thought, How could anything hold such power?
"You really should be more careful," Majora chided, "Swords are dangerous you know."
Ghirahim never heard the full lecture. He had already fled.