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  1. The End of Time, by SkullKid Narmoto ran through the thick jungle toward the Temple of Time. The temple’s bell’s tolls were so loud, that it rattled the molecules of his very being. His age was getting to him. His muscles screamed, his armor cracked, but he kept going. Suddenly, the world went black. When Narmoto came to, he was face-first on the ground. As he looked around, he noticed two things. One, the root that tripped him was unusually large. How he didn’t notice it while running befuddled him. The second thing he noticed was the wind against his naked face. His mask must’ve fallen off when he tripped. After a brief survey of his surroundings, Narmoto found his mask. Taking it in both hands, he prepared to return it to its home, but something stopped him dead in his tracks. Was this his mask? It was familiar, but it seemed off. Gone was the ornate red metal and translucent orange ore that made up his mask, and before him was a light orange mask, rounded, save for a grated fixture around the area his mouth would be. The bells chimed again. Narmoto had no time to be confused. He took one last look around before he threw on this alien looking mask, and moved forward. If those bells were chiming, it could only mean trouble. As the Protector of Fire climbed the stairs, he thought back to the past few weeks. Ever since Ekimu returned with news of the Toa’s departure and completion of their destiny, peace had returned to Okoto. Ekimu had returned to his forge, and had taken Narmoto in as his apprentice. He had tinkered with mask making in the past. The art itself was lost for the most part after Makuta and Ekimu’s big clash, but he managed. He’d never made real masks of power, but he’d made his fair share of ornate, non-powered masks for his village. When Ekimu took him on as an apprentice, the mask maker gave him full access. Any material he desired, he got. Any advice he needed was given. Any formula, any power source, everything was at his fingertips. He was content with this life. He even began to consider his retirement as the protector, and whom he might pass the torch too. Things began to change however, when Ekimu encouraged a new task, one that had been puzzling him for ages. The task: the completion of the Mask of Time. Legend claimed that the Mask of Time that lay in the Temple of Time was only one half of a mask. The lower half was lost a long time ago. “I have searched the oldest prophesies, the most ancient of legends, and none give hint of what might of happened to the lower half.” Ekimu mused. “But if it’s impossible to find the lower half, perhaps we can make it a new one.” Many formulas were tried. Ore from a meteorite, possibly the oldest metal on the planet, was gathered. Bones from ancient beings were dug up and carved out to create a frame. After forging, the mask was quenched in water drawn from the Temple of Time. However, no matter what the shape, the density of the metal, or how long it was forged, it shattered every time. With each failure, Ekimu became more and more agitated. Narmoto had never seen the usually calm and collected legend lose his temper. But the apprentice kept at it, despite the continuous failures. It was when a seemingly desperate Ekimu suggested maybe a combination of elements needed to be added to the formula, that Narmoto questioned the master Mask Maker. “With all due respect, my liege, this is not the way. This would lead to destruction! You can’t repeat Makuta’s mistake for this!” A wildness that had occupied Ekimu’s eyes for weeks now had left them as realization fell over him. He excused himself, saying he needed to meditate. Narmoto too took his leave. It was late, and tensions were high. Once he arrived at his home, he finally was able to rest. Unfortunately, this was short lived, for the very same bells that rung now, cried their shrill toll. Narmoto shook his head. He had to focus on the now, not relive the past. The temple’s bells chimed again. He reached the top of the stairs and stopped. Something felt off. Everything felt cleaner, shinier, and new. It felt wrong. “HALT trespasser!” A voice boomed from the open door that faced him. Two figures, tall, slender, and covered from head to toe with armor emerged, wielding shields that depicted the elements. The one with red and gold armor had a shield adorned with images of fire and sparks. The other had blue and silver armor with a shield depicting the ocean and torrential rain. “This is the Temple of Time, stranger.” The red one exclaimed, its words almost sounding like the average Okotian, but with the slight uncanniness that gave away its artificiality. “It is off limits to all except for high level mask makers, and elemental protectors.” Two things went through Narmoto’s mind at once. The first was simply him trying to comprehend what he was looking at. This was impossible. These were ancient automated warriors that he’d learned about on only the most ancient of tablets. They were created by ancient mask makers to protect sacred lands. But they were as ancient as those tablets, and had long since fell into disrepair, without Makuta and Ekimu around to keep them running. But these two automatons were up and running. The second he figured he could solve immediately. “My name is Narmoto, Protector of Fire like my father before me. You might not recognize me because of my mask.” He pointed to his mysterious orange replacement mask. “Incorrect response. Turn back or be forced back.” The blue automaton hammered his shield with his fist in a show of force. Narmoto had no time to question these two. In a swift motion, he removed the cloak he was wearing, and threw it at the face of the blue one. He took advantage of the beings temporary blindness, and unloaded his elemental blaster at its head. It was quick. The blue being fell to the ground, sparks flying from where its head should be. The temple’s bells chimed. Narmoto was about to book it, leaving the red one behind him, but a simple glance changed everything. The red being was gone, replaced by what looked like an Okotian Villiager. “What did you do!?! He was my brother! HE WAS MY FRIEND!” The villager screamed. Narmoto looked over to where the automaton should have been laying, but what he saw gave him the greatest chill he had ever felt. Most of the body was covered by his cloak, but what stuck out were not the feet of the robot he’d just dispatched. They were much smaller. The red villager tackled Narmoto, too distracted to see it coming. “YOU DID THIS TO US! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO US!?!” he cried, a deep mourning resonating in his voice. The bells chimed again. “I-I’m not….you…he…you both weren’t like this a moment ago…who are you?” Narmoto stammered. His fear had only just begun, for the villager rapidly began to change. His body broadened, gears and tubes emerged where they weren’t before. His arms and legs shortened, and the hands that gripped Narmoto’s armor began to turn hot as they began to morph into fire laced claws. “I…REMEMBER...WHAT…you…diiiiiiiiiiiiiii…..” An electronic buzz reverberated from the villager’s head, which began to elongate. The now round, buglike being, threw Narmoto to the side. “It…must…be…cleaned….” The creature’s now severely distorted voice said. The robotic bug suddenly jumped at Narmoto. Time inched by as he faced death. There was so much he’d done with his life, but there was so much more he wanted. He’d never completed his mask-maker training. He’d never fallen in love and had a child of his own. He’d never climbed the tallest peak of Mt. Ihu. Mt. Ihu, he thought, that’s not right. Just then, wind blustered by his face as stone stalactites impaled the red beetle-like creature. Narmoto looked for its source. Standing there, triumphant, was Nilkuu, grinning, elemental blaster in hand. “Come, on fire-spitter,” said the Protector of Stone, “You’re gonna let that take you out. I thought fire consumes all?” “Fighting fire with fire was never my strongest suit” Narmoto admitted. Nilkuu hoisted Narmoto to his feet, took off for the main hall. Narmoto looked back, trying to convince himself that he didn’t have killed an innocent life. Nilkuu was the first to speak. “You gonna tell me what that was all about? The new mask, robo-bug back there, the bells?” “It’s a long story, much of which I don’t understand.” Narmoto mused. “But if there are answers to be found, they will be in here.” He pushed open the inner sanctum door, just as a new set of chimes reverberated through the hall. Inside, he could see the stairs that led up to Mask of Time. But unlike the rest of the temple which looked completely refurbished, the inner sanctum appeared to be in further disrepair then they had left it, like millennia had passed with no upkeep. At the top, the other Protectors stood, waiting for the two. “Come on, Kohlii-head!” Nilkuu exclaimed, making his way up the decrepit stairs. “Not a moment to waste!” “Kohlii-head….what?” Narmoto questioned. The term seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He followed his brother in arms up the stairs to meet the other Protectors. Vizuna, Protector of Jungle and Kivoda, Protector of Water were watching the mask from a distance, while Kargot, the Protector of Earth was tending to the Protector of Ice, Izotor, who seemed to be in a daze. “Kargot, what happened?” Narmoto asked, concerned. Kargot looked toward her long-time friend, recognition absent from her eyes. “Who…….Narmoto? What’s with the mask?” Kargot queried. “Not important right now. What’s wrong with Izotor?” “I don’t know.” Kargot looked worried. Narmoto had rarely seen her like this. She was usually the brave one of the lot. “We were the first to get here. When he saw the mask, he tried to grab it, but it….affected him.” Kargot returned her focus to Izotor, who looked around franticly, whistling and clicking like a bird. Narmoto looked to where the Mask was, floating above a basin of water. He noticed the difference immediately. Before when they came to summon the Toa, the mask was golden, and the water in the basin was pure. Now, the mask was rusted over, taking on a more orange appearance, like age had gotten to it. Cracks were forming on the outside, and pieces of it were falling off into the basin. “This is what I was talking about,” said Vizuna, “My tail has been going crazy ever since the bells went off. It has to be the mask.” “I’ve never seen a broken mask do something like this,” Kivoda said, walking over to Izotor. “Do masks usually leak their power when broken?” Everything seemed to click in Narmoto’s mind. These odd fluctuations, the age of the Temple, the resurrection of the Temple guards, all of that must be the Mask’s doing. “It would make sense,” the crimson protector said. “Such powerful masks rarely exist or have been broken…but the Mask of Ultimate Power was shattered by Ekimu, and we all know the results of that.” Dread began to fall over the gathered leaders. The destruction of the Mask of Time could lead to something even more catastrophic than Makuta and Ekimu’s cataclysmic battle. Kargot approached Narmoto. “What should we do? You’re a mask maker now. Do you think we can fix it?” Narmoto reached his hand out, but stopped half way. “I don’t know. I don’t think I should even touch it. Didn’t it mess up Izotor?” “Who?” Kargot asked. “…Izotor…” Narmoto said slowly, “…Izotor, Kargot…our friend.” Narmoto looked around. Izotor was nowhere to be seen. “Izotor…who is Izotor?” Kargot asked again. “There is just the five of us Narmoto.” “No! That’s not right…I…” Narmoto paused. He couldn’t remember what he was fretting about. The name that was just in his mind was gone. Kargot put her hand on his shoulder. “Narmoto! Snap out of it. We need to figure out what to do!” Vizuna spoke up. “My tail is driving me nuts! I can’t…I can’t focus. Maybe if I..” He grabbed for the Mask of Time, but as soon as he touched the rusty mask, he was flung back by an invisible force. The bells chimed again, as Vizuna collapsed on the floor. “Oh no…” Kargot gasped. Kivoda ran over to his fallen brother as Kargot stood by. Narmoto was shaking. Something was wrong. He felt there was something else missing. That couldn’t be right though. There was always just the four of them leading Okoto. Kivoda shook the unconscious Vizuna, trying to wake him. Suddenly, with a swift push, Vizuna launched Kivoda into the air. “NO! This…this isn’t right!” Vizuna cried, as he began to transform. He grew taller, one arm growing longer, and more beast like. His shoulders broadened as his full frame hunched over. “We…we were fighting….spiders.” The bells chimed again as Kargot ran forward to try to calm the now monstrous looking Vizuna. Narmoto ran to help…he couldn’t remember. There was no one to help. He gripped his head as a massive headache rendered him useless. Kargot put up her hands. “Vizuna, it’s going to be alright. Let me help you.” Vizuna jumped back. “No! No! We were fighting…..spiders…..” “Yes, we defeated the Skull Spiders, Vizuna. Come on, we need to get you help.” Kargot said, trying to coax Vizuna from the shadows. “No….the Visorak. WHAT HAPPENED TO THE VISORAK!” Vizuna screamed, launching himself at Kargot. A bright light illuminated the chamber, and both Kargot and Narmoto covered their faces. Vizuna cried out in pain. When the light dimmed, Narmoto looked down to see Ekimu blocking the enraged Vizuna. “GO! Narmoto, take the mask, and leave. Return to my forge. I’ll meet you there.” Ekimu grunted, as Vizuna clawed at his shield. Narmoto had the urge to ask questions, but was stopped by Kargot. “We have to go.” She said, urgency in her eyes. Kargot reached for the mask. “NO!” Narmoto said. “Wait! Don’t touch it.” He took a deep breath, his mind clear for the first time in hours. “I believe this is my destiny.” And with that, he grabbed the decaying Mask of Time. Everything went white. Everything was quiet. Everything stopped. Narmoto blinked. No, it wasn’t all white. He could make out the outline of a vast city, reaching far into the distance. He stood on a balcony, overlooking the vast metropolis. This looks…. “Familiar, right?” a voice said. Narmoto jumped. Sitting on the ledge right next to him was a Toa, but not like he’d ever seen. He was grey, thin and lanky, with a mask that looked sort of like Tahu’s did. The Toa pointed to his mask. “My mask reads minds. Don’t freak out too much. You didn’t the first time we met. Krakua’s my name…or do you remember?” “I’m sorry, I think you have me confused for someone else.” Narmoto said, puzzled. Krakua sighed. “I was afraid of that. This will be tougher than I thought.” He paused. “Sit with me, won’t you?” Narmoto, careful to not fall off, took a seat with the tall grey Toa. “Where are we?” “Well, nowhere really. This is just an echo of what once was. Residue of the destruction of the Vahi” The name Vahi resonated in Narmoto’s mind: it was the ancient name of the Mask of Time. Then the rest of what Krakua said hit him like a brick wall. “Wait, what do you mean?” “Maybe it’d be better to show you, Vakama.” When Krakua spoke that name, the world erupted. A massive war surrounded him. Toa of all shapes, colors, and sizes teamed up with other armored beings amongst an onslaught of vicious warriors. Some had toothy grins, others had elongated obsidian helmets with war paint. There were even more of those beetle-looking robots. Amongst the carnage was a hooded figure, holding on high a rusty orange mask, a truly monstrous being under his foot. The Mask of Time Narmoto thought. “It’s the final moments of the War of Spherus Magna. That hooded figure right there is Velika, the last Great Being. He led an army against the combined forces of the Toa and Glatorian. When a great leader called the Shadowed One tried to use the Vahi to secure the victory, he almost lost control, and Velika struck him down.” Narmoto stared at this, confused, which Krakua noticed. “That’s not as important as what’s about to happen.” Suddenly, out of nowhere, the Mask of Time flew out of Velika’s hands, as an orange figure appeared out of thin air, flying overhead. Narmoto immediately recognized the mask he wore as the one he found in the forest. “And there you are. Always seeming to cheat fate, right Vakama?” Krakua laughed. Vakama landed in the arms of a Toa Narmoto immediately recognized as Onua. The other Toa soon gathered around him, to protect the elderly leader. Vakama and Velika began speaking to each other, but Narmoto could not hear their words. “What are they saying?” Narmoto asked Krakua, who frowned. “The details aren’t important, but this was the end. You threatened to break the Vahi, knowing full well what would happen if Velika didn’t stop. You’ve made this gamble once before. This time, though….” Velika raised an arm as he telekinetically began to disassemble the biomechanical beings around him, with a crazed look in his eyes. As more Toa charged, more fell. None could stand his might. Those who didn’t crumble immediately thought twice about charging and backed away. All that stood in his way now was Gali, Onua, Lewa, Pohatu, Kopaka, Tahu, and a gold-clad Toa he mistook for Ekimu. The gold Toa leaped forward, and just as his attack was about to connect, Velika knocked him aside. Each of the remaining Toa put their hand on Vakama. They all knew what was about to happen. “There was no choice,” Krakua said. “Velika had caused so much carnage already, and would cause so much more unchecked. No reality was better than a reality where he ruled.” There was a solemn moment before the hammer came down. The mask cracked. It hit again. Another crack. With each impact, and new crack formed, and in turn, the reality around Narmoto cracked too. Then, it shattered. Everything was white again. It was just him and Krakua sitting on an invisible ledge. Krakua was silent. Narmoto was numb. “After you broke the Vahi, time began to unwind. Everything happened at once, and never happened. Time ran backwards for some while for others it moved forward. The universe ended that day.” He paused. “But it also began that day too. The universe established a reality loop with constants. There is always a threat of shadow to take over the land. There are always six heroes summoned to fight it. There is always an object, imbued with the power of time that holds together that reality, no matter how brief it might be. And then there is always you, a wise sage, with a will of fire to guide the heroes to their task. You may take on other names and faces, but you at heart are always Vakama. Always the mask maker that accidently created this loop in the first place. Every time, the loop plays out the same. Shadow tries to conquer light, but light always prevails. Then, the object imbued with Time falls apart, and the cycle happens again. But this..” Krakua motioned between them.”…this hasn’t happened. In fact, I’ve been waiting for it to happen for what seems to be eons.” Narmoto looked puzzled. “Why you though. Why are you here and no one else from…the first reality?” Krakua shrugged, “I‘m not sure exactly. It could be my destiny, a previous connection we shared, maybe just the universe being cruel, or maybe I’m just your guardian Great Spirit. I’m not even sure if this is the real me. I might just be an echo too. What I do know, and have waited so long to tell you is this. You have a choice to make. You can either break the mask or continue the cycle, which is not the worst way to go. It’s consistent, and though the events might be a product of the Vahi’s influence, the lives are real. Or, you can repair the Vahi. This will stabilize the current reality. I cannot promise everything will return to the way it was, but life will go on here until the end of the natural universe.” Narmoto considered his choices. On one hand, who knows what the next reality would hold, or if he would ever get to this point again. On the other, he wasn’t sure what was left to save. Who knows what havoc the Mask of Time caused outside of the Temple? In his hand appeared his realities Mask of Time. It was so fragile, like it would shatter at any moment. “It’s your choice, brother.” Krakua said, his voice fading “I’m just the messenger. This decision is up to you.” Reality bled back in like a liquid, and filled the space around him. He was back in Ekimu’s Forge, what remained of the Mask of Time in hand. Narmoto took the mask, and put it on the table. He knew exactly what he was going to do. He wasn’t a destroyer or a fixer. He was a creator. He heated up the forge, took a pair of forging tongs, and began to melt down the Mask of Time. As he did, he could feel the coils of space-time begin to unravel around him. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, but he persisted. He took the molten metal, and poured into a round cast. As it cooled, he began to hammer and mill out the form burned in his memory. Reality began to fade as white oblivion over took it. After what felt like years, or maybe it was seconds, it was done. And for a brief moment, everything felt normal. Narmoto took the mask, complete for the first time, and put it on. He turned to face the oncoming oblivion. Now Narmoto thought, Let’s see what a real mask maker can make. Then, Narmoto, Vakama, and the countless names he was called before now, activated the Vahi for the last time.
  2. Bionicle: Journey to Zero It was midnight in the City of the Mask Makers, and sleep had taken the world. The Sentinels, warriors of silver and blue crystal, held their eternal vigil from the rooftops and gateways as ever, but the streets were empty and silent. All the villagers had long since retired to bed, and apart from the gentle blue glow of the lightstone lamps and the stars, there was not a single speck of light to be found… save one. Flame still flickered through the windows of the Temple of Creation. In the heart of the Great Forge, Makuta was crafting a masterpiece. No, not a masterpiece. A wonder. A miracle. A work of art beyond anything even the First Tribe had ever dreamed of. The universe in microcosm: six elements in one mask of Ultimate Power. Fire. Makuta’s hammer rose and fell, striking the mass of metal burning in his crucible. The unborn mask flashed, its light shifting from white-hot to the rich red of a dying star. Jungle. Makuta’s hammer struck again, and the mask shifted in response, now the vibrant green of a lightvine in full bloom. Earth. The hammer came down yet again… and this time, something cracked. Makuta’s eyes widened behind his Mask of Control. He spat a curse in a language as old as Okoto itself and dove backwards. Behind him, the mask flared amethyst, light so bright it could pierce one’s eyelids- -and exploded. The blast hit Makuta with the force of a charging Habbarak and smashed him against the forge wall. Blazing fragments of the mask peppered the stones around him, filling the air with the smell of burnt coal. The crucible itself was undamaged- it would have taken unimaginable power to even scratch it- but nothing of its previous contents remained. Makuta just laid where he fell for a while. He didn’t much feel like getting back up. Hours of work and preparation, gone to waste. The most beautiful design he had ever produced, a mask of waves and curls like the great ocean, proverbs etched in long-dead tongues across its brow- gone forever. The great door creaked, then burst open. Ekimu raced into the room, his pet fox bounding beside him. He frantically scanned the room; he gasped when his eyes fell on his brother. “Makuta! Spirits alive, Makuta, are you all right?” Makuta groaned and picked himself off the floor. “Perfectly fine, brother.” “Are you sure?” Ekimu asked, moving to help him up. “There’s a Mask of Mending in the other room, it’ll only take a minute to-“ “I’m fine, Ekimu,” Makuta growled, pushing Ekimu away. “The only thing I injured today was my pride.” Ekimu sighed and looked at the crucible, then back to Makuta. “What in the world were you trying to make there?” “A better mask than anything you could ever make,” Makuta said simply. Ekimu stared. “Makuta, we’ve been over this. You don’t need to prove anything. As long as your masks fulfill their purposes, they’re as good as they need to be.” Makuta scowled. “Then why do the people only ever ask for your masks?” he said. “Why do they never accept mine, no matter how well they perform?” He walked back to the crucible and stared into its depths. “They only settle for masks like yours, brother. Nothing less.” “You need sleep, brother,” Ekimu said, stepping forward and putting his hand on Makuta’s shoulder. “Without it, your work suffers- you suffer.” Makuta slapped Ekimu’s hand away. “I ‘suffer’ regardless, brother. Leave me.” Ekimu frowned, but backed away. “We’ll talk again in the morning, then,” he murmured. Makuta grunted. “No. We won’t.” Ekimu shook his head and walked out. His fox followed him, purring mournfully. The door shut… and with a mental command from Makuta, channeled through his Mask of Control, it locked itself. “You should have just killed him,” a voice rasped from the dark corner in the far reaches of the room, grinding out each word like stone scraping stone. “You should have done it long ago.” From the shadows emerged a twisted, skeletal figure of tarnished steel and dull orange flame, his face hidden by a horned mask of death. In one hand he carried a vicious, pointed mace as tall as he was; in the other, a hatchet not unlike the blades of the Sentinels’ halberds. His build was practically nonexistent beneath his armor, all bone and no muscle, and yet he carried himself as if he could pick up a mountain with ease. Most of the city, Ekimu especially, would have been horrified to know that Kulta, lord of the Skull Raiders, walked its streets once more. But Makuta had not wanted the people to notice his new ally, and through his mask, they did not. Makuta looked up from the crucible, his eyes dull. “I don’t want him dead, Kulta,” he said. “I hate him, hate how the people love him… but I am not a killer like you.” Kulta snorted. “That was why you made that bargain, was it not? You restore our kingdom, and we kill anyone that tries to stop you.” He stepped over to Makuta and dropped to one knee before him. “He’s stopping you, isn’t he?” he whispered. “I can end him in an instant. All you have to do is ask.” “No,” Makuta said, and there was an edge to his voice. “I don’t want him dead. I’ll make that mask. I’ll show him and everyone else my power. That’s all I need- that’s all we need to win.” Kulta scowled and walked away, grumbling under his breath. “It’s all about that mask, isn’t it?” Makuta’s eyes narrowed. “You doubt me, then.” It was not a question. Kulta stopped. “Makuta…” he said, turning slowly. “Please understand. I want to believe you, truly. But you’ve promised so much to my people, and yet after all this time you’ve nothing to show for it. My tribe is still trapped in the mountains, dreaming of the day they can return to their old hunting grounds, and meanwhile you wait here, going on and on about a mask you can’t seem to make-“ “I can make it,” Makuta spat. Kulta closed his eyes. “I mean no offense,” he said. “But it’s been so very long…” “Just a little bit longer,” Makuta said, his voice softening. “Trust me. I’m almost there.” “How long?” Kulta asked. Makuta’s head sank. He didn’t answer. *** A new design. Three spikes, one atop the head, two at either side. A strong, angular jaw. Ridges everywhere. Two small eyeholes beneath a heavy brow, crowned with a sculpt of the third eye through which Tren Krom, the fallen master builder of the old legends, saw the power of destruction in the hearts of his peers. This would be the one. It had to be. Makuta would brook no more failure, not now. He carved the tooling. He stoked the flame with the shadow embers Umarak had given him in the Artidax Vault. He aligned the six elemental crystals through which he would endow his mask with power immeasurable. He prepared the vat of boiling protodermis from which all masks were poured. The liquid filled the tooling and resolved into a solid. The crystals flared. Makuta brought out his hammer. Fire. The hammer fell. The mask shone with the rich red of a dying star. Jungle. The hammer fell. The mask shone with the vibrant green of a lightvine in bloom. Earth. The hammer fell. The mask shone with the dull amethyst of the twilight horizon. Water. The hammer fell. The mask shone with the deep sapphire of the deepest oceans. Ice. The hammer fell. The mask shone with the blinding white of the Ihu slopes. Stone. The hammer fell. The mask shone with the soft gold of Makuta’s own mask- and Ekimu’s as well. Power. The hammer fell one last time, and dark flames surrounded the mask, billowing and curling. Makuta thought he saw words in the flame- words that no one was ever meant to read. He pulled a lever, and a deluge of water fell from a tank in the ceiling, drenching the mask. The black fire vanished in an explosion of steam, and in the hissing, Makuta heard words- his own promises, reflected back at him. He knew they would soon be fulfilled. This would be the one. It had to be.
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