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KIRAK THE SCAVENGER


Logan McOwen

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Note: This story is all in one post, but is separated into chapters. This is due to the site automatically adding my replies to the main post. Each chapter has been subtly colour-coded for easier navigation.

 

KIRAK THE SCAVENGER

 

1.

 

"Curse it." hissed Kirak, inspecting the silver dagger he held in his clawed hands. He scowled at the sight of the various scuffs and scratches on what was once an immaculate chrome blade. He again tried to polish them away with and oiled rag, to no avail. Stowing the blade away on his left thigh, Kirak stood up. His sand-filled joints creaked as he raised his lanky body skyward, and his back clicked when he finally stood straight. He looked over the horizon, watching the sun set over the deserts of Okoto.

 

Just then, his focus shifted to a tiny insect perched on the sill of his mask's left eyehole. He noted that the insect was etching into the metallic floor beneath it with its sharp little legs, so his benevolence towards the creature swiftly turned to malevolence. Kirak slowly raised his left hand to his face, and poised a clawed finger, ready to crush the insect. Kirak then struck... But overshot and jabbed his left eye. He yelped at the sharp pain, loud enough for his wail to echo across the canyons down before him. The insect, completely unfazed by the drama that occurred, casually buzzed away as if nothing had happened. Embarrassed and infuriated, Kirak lifted his charge revolver, and sent a shot hurtling towards the flittering bug. He of course missed, and shot again - and again, and again… Until he eventually hit it. It fell to the ground, in a tiny singed heap, which Kirak crushed and ground with his clawed foot, growling.

 

Kirak inhaled deeply, and restored some composure, stowing his charge revolver on his right thigh. His eye was sore, his mask and dagger scratched, and now he was low on ammunition. However, it was slowly getting darker – his opportunity was drawing ever nearer. Kirak looked down into the canyon below, and leapt into the darkness. Priming his strong, digitigrade legs, he focused on the abyss and aimed for the rocky floor below. In his focus however, he failed to notice a particularly hand-like branch on the cliff face behind him, which hooked the gear on his back and sent Kirak into a tumbling spin, to which he again yelped. Plummeting towards the ground below, Kirak’s life of crime flashed before his eyes… Until he crashed with a tremendous clunk, in a thick cloud of sand.

 

Weakly, Kirak propped himself up, noting the tremendous headache he had given himself. He coughed, before shaking sand out of the crevices in his mask and armour.

 

“Gravity… Eugh… Gravity hurts.” He mumbled, meekly.

 

He looked up to the fiendish branch that clipped him, and scowled. He reached for his charge revolver to shoot it, but then recalled that he only had three shots left. Cursing, he stood up, his legs still primed from earlier. He looked ahead, visualized his route, and sprinted through the canyon with much haste. His powerful legs punted him forwards with immense pace, leaving a mighty plume of sandy dust trailing behind him. In the dark, it was hard to see all the cacti, stones and branches that littered the floor of the trailing canyon pathways. But Kirak knew these paths, and leapt over or around each and every single obstacle – finally, something he could do right.

 

Suddenly, something gripped tightly to his right leg, causing him to slam yet again face-first into the ground, sparks flying as he skidded across the stony path. The pain in his leg was incredible, searing through to his very core. He turned over, and looked down to his leg, only to meet eye-to-eye with a vicious animal trap that had clamped it’s maw to his ankle. He kicked his leg, attempting to dislodge the vile little machine, only for it to grip tighter. Kirak wailed as its tight hold began to pierce his metallic exoskeleton. Through reflex, he primed his right leg as if he were to make a jump… Sending a massive jolt of energy into the trap. It buzzed, steamed, clattered, and burst apart into hundreds of tiny pieces – one such piece hitting Kirak square in the face, knocking him out.

 

2.

 

Night wore on in the desert region of Okoto. The various insects and creatures that lived on the land rested, and the cool night air breezed across the sand and stone, soothing the landscape’s burns from the searing sunshine of the previous day. Okotians roaming the desert returned to their camps and villages, and rested their weary heads, with sweet dreams of the mighty Toa and their victories. Many hours passed, and eventually the sun began to rise yet again over the desert, waking it and its inhabitants up from their slumbers. One inhabitant however, needed some encouragement.

 

“Good morning, sleepyskull!” a little voice chimed, gleefully.

 

Kirak yelped, startled by the noise, and jumped up into the canyon wall behind him. He stared down at the source of the noise, his horrified expression slumping to that of disappointment. There, standing down below, was a young Okotian, in red armour. Kirak sighed.

 

“So that’s where all the screaming came from! We thought it was a dust coyote!” The little girl stated, looking as if she’d struck a most momentous revelation. She giggled, looking up to Kirak admiringly.

 

“Eugh… And who do I have the… displeasure of meeting this fine morning?” Kirak grumbled, putting his arms behind his back and leaning one foot against the wall he had slumped against. The little girl puffed up her chest, before retrieving a little green flag from her back and jabbing its pole into the sand to her side. The flag had a rather crude portrayal of an Okotian’s mask sewn into it with white thread.

 

“I am Bulip, scout of the Desert Exploration Squad of Okoto.” She proclaimed, with utmost pride.

 

Kirak raised an eyebrow, and sniggered. Bulip inhaled, raising herself above such insolent rudeness, and stated her business, pacing in circles with her hands behind her back.

 

“Now, monster, it is my doody - um, doo-tee - to record and analamalise all the makes of animals that I find in the desert. Now because you’re the firstest animal ever that has actually talked to me, I want you to tell me everything about yourself.”

 

Kirak again sniggered, and then shook his head. Bulip glared crossly at Kirak, and propped her hands on her hips, pouting behind her mask. Kirak bent down to Bulip, meeting eye-to-eye with her, and smirked.

 

“The less you know about me, Bulip, the better.” Kirak explained, condescendingly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, must be leaving. Toodle-oo.”

 

Bulip stamped her foot, and shook her head.

 

“No. I want to know what you are! Tell me!” She wailed. Kirak could tell that she was on the verge of tears. He rolled his eyes, and turned to walk away.

 

As Kirak walked down the path, finding a suitable spot to again begin sprinting, he could hear the little pitter-patter of angry footsteps behind him, along with some sniffling.

 

“It’s not fair! IT’S NOT FAIR!” Bulip screamed. Kirak skidded to a halt, holding his clawed hands to his ears in reaction to the sharp wail of the little red airhorn stood behind him.

 

“By Makuta! Just… Bugger off!” Kirak shouted, shooing Bulip away with his hand.

 

“NO!” Bulip yelled, again stamping her foot. “You are going to tell me all about you, otherwise… Otherwise…”

 

“Otherwise… What?” Kirak barked.

 

“Otherwise… I’ll bash you on the head!” Bulip threatened.

 

Kirak stared at Bulip. She was breathing heavily, her little green flag clenched tightly in her hand. He then exploded with laughter, before shooting the little Okotian square in the face with his charge revolver, knocking her unconscious and sending her flying back several feet. She landed in the sand, with a black, circular burn seared into her mask, smoking.

 

That was worth it.” He sneered, before turning to sprint away.

 

3.

 

The canyons in the desert region of Okoto are a complex system of tunnels and ravines that stretch across a vast distance. Pathways near the edges ramp up towards the level of the ground around the canyon, allowing easy access to this labyrinthine scar on the landscape. One must not be fooled however, for these paths are treacherous and long, and it is easy to get lost. Memorizing a route through the canyon is paramount if one must traverse it.

 

Kirak’s knowledge of his particular path through the canyon served him well. He ran with more caution now though, for not only did the daytime sun pose the risk of him being spotted, but Kirak also feared that he may meet another one of those peculiar traps – or even worse, another child. He planned in his head that, if he did meet anything unprecedented, he’d either jump over it, or crush it into the sandy floor in his stride. He practiced this a few times, imagining the more humanoid cacti to be little green people, squishing under his strong feet. It made the journey much less stressful.

 

Eventually, Kirak met his exit to canyon – a cliff face at the end of the path, with lots of outcrops he used as steps up and out of the canyon. Kirak began his ascent, using his powerful digitigrade legs to spring himself from step to step. Halfway up though, he found something surprising waiting for him – a black, grimy Okotian mask.

 

“Not my colour.” He joked, picking the artefact up to inspect it. He noted the difference in shaping and intricacy in this mask to the more modern masks younger Okotians wore. It bore much simpler carvings, and the eye slits were more circular in shape. This intrigued him, so he stowed the mask on his back and continued his ascent.

 

Eventually, Kirak reached the lip of the canyon, and looked out across the desert ahead of him. He looked back, and noted the vast distance that he’d traveled. He inhaled deeply, and smiled, before turning again to sprint across the desert. But just as he went to take a powerful step, his springy leg failed him, and he face planted into the scorching sands. He was pretty exhausted.

 

“I think now would be an excellent time for some… Sunbathing.” He said, rolling onto his back, crossing his legs and propping his hands behind his head. He then noticed his new treasure poking into him, and pulled it out to look at it. The craftsmanship was truly awful. He wondered if this was what the Okotians had resorted to after their celebrities, the Mask Makers, killed each-other. He chuckled at the thought, before tossing the mask aside and continuing with his rest.

 

Eventually, the sun began to set again, and the air began to cool. Kirak stood up, shaking any sand lodged in his armour free. Laying in the sun had replenished his body with energy, and also cleared his head somewhat. But now the air was cool, running would be much easier – both on his joints, and for his safety. He scanned across the desert, looking for his target. Lo and behold, there it was, the crater from Ekimu’s defeat, just ahead of him. Kirak checked his charge revolver – two shots left.

 

“Should be enough, just in case.” He commented, before resuming his journey.

 

 

4.

 

The Great Cataclysm is the name given to the tremendous shockwave of energy sent out across Okoto when Ekimu knocked the Mask of Ultimate Power from the face of his brother, Makuta. It is thought that this shockwave was the dreaded mask releasing its evil power across the land, which awoke many evil creatures such as the Skull Spiders, and allowed Makuta to manipulate evil even from beyond the grave. At the epicenter of the Great Cataclysm, a tremendous crater was formed, in which Ekimu’s body laid dormant before it’s recovery by the Protectors. It is said that residual energy from both the Mask of Ultimate Power and the Mask of Creation emanates here, and that this could only be utilized by one of tremendous power.

 

Kirak tripped over a spear that had been left in the sand. He cursed at it, before picking it up and breaking it in two. He had such a clean run before that thing showed up. Otherwise, he was close – very close. He could smell the magical energies on the air. With every stride he made, he felt a mysterious presence come closer and closer to him. It drove him, fueling his thirst for the power that legend had promised him.

 

After much trial and tribulation, Kirak had reached the crater, looking over it with joyous eyes. He laughed.

 

“It’s tiny! I guess when an Okotian says that something is ‘gigantic’, one mustn’t expect much.” He joked, looking down into the dim pit below his feet.

 

He leapt in, landing dead in the center of the crater where Ekimu once laid. Kirak noted Ekimu’s silhouette, scorched into the bare rock beneath his feet. Something however was off about the dead celebrity’s shadow – where was the Mask of Creation?

 

 

“WHO GOES THERE?” A loud voice exclaimed, startling Kirak. Kirak yelped yet again.

 

“Wh-who enquires?” Kirak retorted, clambering to his feet.

 

MY NAME IS NOT IMPORTANT, CREATURE.” Boomed the mysterious voice deafeningly.

 

Kirak looked around frantically, looking for a source of the voice.

 

“WELL?” It pressed, causing Kirak’s mask to shake. Kirak unsheathed his charge revolver, just in case.

 

“I am Kirak, the Scavenger! I have come here to take what is unclaimed!” Kirak proclaimed proudly to the heavens, arms raised and stance spread.

 

“SCAVENGER! YOU ARE A FOOL! THERE IS NOTHING WORTH CLAIMING HERE! YOU HAVE COMMITTED A FOOL’S ERRAND!”

 

Kirak pondered, finger on his chin.

 

“So... Shouty voice in the sky. If this place has nothing worth stealing—“

 

“SILENCE! YOU HAVE TRESPASSED UPON SACRED LAND, ON A FALSE PROMISE OF GREAT POWER!”

Kirak was taken aback. Had he really travelled this far on a false promise? Was the ‘power’ he felt earlier just a symptom of his excitement? He pondered.

 

“To whom is this land sacred?”

“TO ME.”

 

“And who are you?”

 

There was a pause. Kirak heard shuffling coming from outside of the crater.

 

“UH… Guys, what should I say? Oh okay. N-NONE OF YOUR CONCERN, FOUL CREATURE.”

 

Kirak raised an eyebrow, and again pondered. He then raised his hand, and outstretched one finger.

 

“How many fingers am I holding up?” He asked, slyly. He heard quiet sniggering from over the lip of the crater, followed by shushing. This embarrassed him.

 

“I HAVE NOT TIME FOR YOUR GAMES, THIEF!”

 

Kirak smiled, and leapt straight up in the air. Lo and behold, a trio of young Okotian adolescents were huddled just over the edge of the crater, one with a horn over his mouth. Pranksters.

 

“Neither do I!” Kirak exclaimed as he fell down. On landing, he took another leap up and out of the crater, towards to Okotians, to find them armed with spears – one of which had half a handle.

 

 “S-stay back!” Shouted the green Okotian with the horn. His was the voice that had been shouting at Kirak.

 

“Oh, well I apologize little one, because I don’t tend to take orders from those I can crush.” Kirak responded, aiming his charge revolver.

 

He was however, not alone in possessing such a weapon. Both of the green Okotian’s friends revealed their shoulder-mounted elemental shooters, which they aimed towards Kirak. A desert standoff, with one in the middle. The green Okotian threw his horn to the ground, and charged at Kirak with his spear. Just as he got close, Kirak grabbed the spear and used it to swing its wielder around into the crater. Just as this happened, Kirak began to recieve fire from the two elemental shooters. The shots were hot, but weren’t doing any real damage. Kirak casually raised his charge revolver, and shot each of his attackers square in the face, much to the same effect as with Builip that morning.

 

“No ammunition.” Kirak stated quietly, sheathing the depleted charge revolver on his hip.

 

“You’ll pay for that, monster!” The green Okotian insisted. Kirak turned to see the diminutive trickster wielding his spear in his shaky hands, clambering over the lip of the crater. Kirak sniggered, and unsheathed his dagger. To his opponent, Kirak’s dagger was more like a massive sword, which filled him with terror. Kirak noticed this.

Suddenly, the air stood completely still.

 

Just before he thought he would vanquish his dwarven foe, a seething pain coursed through Kirak’s body. He yelped – or rather, screamed – and fell to his knees, writhing in pain. Blue and red sparks surged through his body, bursting out through the cracks in his exoskeleton. Kirak’s life of crime yet again flashed before his eyes, this time tainted with images of a truly foul face, and the striking of two hammers on metal. As he writhed and convulsed, Kirak felt his body creak and shake with the immense energy coursing through it.

 

“Th-the power… I-IT’S MINE!” Kirak shouted, before laughing manically amidst his pain.

 

But it was not as it seemed. Armour shells exploded from Kirak’s body, still buzzing with magical energy as they landed in the sand. The green Okotian stood, watching the tall beast before him fall apart. Kirak slowly stood up, and attempted to reach out to something unseen, before finally crumbling into pieces. His mask fell to the ground, crackling with red and blue streaks of magical energy, before all subsided into silence.

The green villager stood, aghast. He exhaled.

 

His friends woke up from their induced slumber, with throbbing pain in their heads and singed marks on their masks.

 

“Kungo? You… Okay?” One of them spoke.

 

“Yeah, what… What happened?” The other enquired, adjusting her home-made black mask.

 

“I’m good. And… I don’t know.” Replied Kungo, picking up the mask that lay in the pile of scrap before him. It was as cold and as dead as ice, but its gaze still pierced into Kungo’s being.

 

- END -

Edited by Logan McOwen
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