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IC: Mar (Obsidian Outpost) 

It took a while for me to answer the question. The green Toa with the jovial attitude got a solid minute of back turned to him as I got to digging for a bit. 

Oh, I heard him just fine. It was just a lot going on at once, in my head including the realization that I was ignoring him and that compounding with the rest to make me really need a physical activity to keep me from thinking too hard. Stopping to take a moment to assess what I was digging into, I could turn my head to mutter across my shoulder.

"Name's Mar... Brother"

I wasn't used to paying attention to those old-fashioned honorifics, but it couldn't hurt. Probably not. 

OOC: @Endless Sea (Alaki Nuva) @Wotz

Edited by Geardirector

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IC: Joskander (Obsidian Outpost)

Joskander flashed Mar a smile, even though his back was turned- in his experience, some smiles were big enough to be heard.  "I'm Joskander.  Pleased to meetcha, Mar."  He thought for a moment, then added, "How'd you get mixed up with the Skakdi over there?  Judging by the way he's been pushing you around, something tells me you're just along for the ride here."

It is not for us to decide the fate of angels.

Dominus Temporis, if you're out there, hit me up through one of my contacts.  I've been hoping to get back in touch for a long time now.  (Don't worry, I'm not gonna beg you to bring back MLWTB or something.  :P )

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IC: Savrehn - Ko-Wahi - Somewhere In The Wastes

“Right, right.” Savrehn stood up with a grunt and stretched. As much as he could still do, and as young as he told himself he still was, the way his joints felt reminded him that his body was continuing to age. Kreigero and Atamai were still in their respective primes.

He would never retire, though. Savrehn’s idea of retirement was the Wahi taking him, not hanging up his snowshoes one last time and spending the rest of his mortal life sitting around in a claustrophobic hut. He grabbed his backpack and began walking again.

“We’re making good time, anyway. Getting there before nightfall shouldn’t be a problem. Let’s go.”

OOC: @BULiK@~Xemnas~

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IC: Skorm & Zueya - Dark Walk Entrance

"Hmmm..." Zueya's mask scrunched up in thought. She had to trawl through a good amount of briefings... "He said we should use our best judgement, and he left the matter to our discretion. So, translating it from politician, we can blow it up if we need to, but regardless of the danger, its a valuable tactical asset. And we know its here; better the dark hole in the ground we know."

Skorm cleared his thoat behind her. "Point of order, if it will protect the rookies and the Koro, I'm all for dropping this tunnel, but I'd take it as a personal favor if we didn't collapse it behind us. I'd rather not pay Mangaia another visit, especially not if Makuta truly has returned."

OOC: @Leaf + dark walk crew

The times, they are a-changing...

 

 

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On 9/21/2021 at 1:59 PM, BULiK said:

IC: Nichou [The Massif, Chapel] (Many weeks prior)

 "What will you do next, builder Nichou?" he said, looking a bit more alight as he swerved the conversation back to the matoran.

"You won't stay here forever. Fate's strings are too connected to you."

IC: Nichou [The Massif, Chapel] (Many weeks prior)

"Connected to me as much as anyone," Nichou blushed after nodding along in agreement to Brykon's description of Stannis. 

While he appreciated Brykon's gesture, there was a part of Nichou that was uncomfortable with the association. The carpenter always tried to keep his humility in check - even though he had been an adventurer once, most delusions of grandeur had faded back to more realistic expectations. Nichou had faith that everyone had a destiny, though it oft worked in mysterious ways, and even if from his experience, some appeared to be more 'destined' than others. 

Not all destinies were created equally, but he considered it a fool's errand to attempt to compare them. It was as futile as saying one star was more important than another. Each star was uniquely incomparable, as was the unknowable and infinite complexities of each being's destiny. 

The stars were something Nichou treasured about life on the surface. Some shined brighter than others, and some constellations were known far and wide, but he liked to think that even though astronomers named some and astrologers tried to derive meaning from them, that did not diminish the beauty or meaning of the other stars or their uncharted asterisms. Nichou saw himself in that celestial tapestry - the Onu-Matoran's only apprehension about Brykon's statement was that the carpenter tried to avoid dwelling on where he himself fit into it.

"You're right, I won't stay here forever," the craftsman answered after a brief pause. "When Ko-Koro is free again and the other guests here are safe to return, I will be leaving with them. I will help them rebuild, and afterwards..." 

Nichou trailed off for a few moments. He looked back down at the letter his hands had been fidgeting with as he talked. The craftsman folded it back up, the creases bending with ease for the hundredth time, and stowed it back in its pouch on his tool belt.

"Afterwards, I'll try to find all of my friends who disappeared in the wars with Makuta and his followers." 

Aurax, Lepidran, Kyhra... they each had a destiny too. Each matoran shared a constellation with Nichou, even if their stars weren't as bright and as easy to pinpoint as Stannis's. Despite the somber topic, Nichou seemed to brighten up, almost, as if saying his plans out loud filled them with a strength and certainty that they had been missing in his prayers and ponderings. It was clear what he was saying was as much an answer for himself as it was a response to Brykon's question.

"That's why I came here, initially - I had tried to reconnect with Stannis, as I had wanted to for a long time since Makuta's defeat, but... I got lost on the way there, and it lead to fulfilling work, learning new things, and meeting new friends that I never would have expected. I didn't know how the Massif would help me find what I needed to see within myself... but I knew that it would somehow, and it has. I think - I know - I'm ready to leave, ready to lead, to blaze my own trail that can help others."

"I'm sure I'll also finish that original goal from all those months ago and meet with Stannis again, too. As you said, he may not always arrive when people want him to, but he has a way of appearing precisely when people need him to." 

"The Wanderer would appeal to the romantic side of sojourning to plead that if you found fulfillment and learning then you were never lost in the first place," Brykon said. He turned his ponderous face at the candelabras on the altar and stared longingly at them, as if seeing Mata Nui's face in each of their flickering flames, then sighed. "I think that's a crock of cow chips. You can't find your path if you're not hopelessly lost in the first place, and that's exactly what this home is for."
 
"Yes, yes." Sigrus spoke for the first time in what seemed like years of meditative silence. "Sometimes you have to truly become lost to find what you need, yes." 
 
The camerlengo waited until both Nichou and Brykon's eyes were settled on him before speaking again. He was an able administrator, but he was a wayfinder first and foremost—he needed to roam and explore, and he already charted the whole of the Massif's many ravines and meadows to exhaustive reaches. It came as no surprise to the toa-protector that his trusted friend harbored desires to leave, but it did please him how Sigrus delicately chose this specific time to drop his intentions. "I would like to become lost again," he said. "I wish to leave with Nichou, yes."
 

Brykon turned back to the carpenter and studied his reaction. Nichou's optics seemed to brighten at the idea. While he had not known the camerlengo by name until that evening, what he had learned about Sigrus in that short span made this prospect appealing.

"Then it's settled," Nichou said with a nod to Sigrus. The Onu-Matoran stood up from the stone pew and offered a handshake to the wayfinder. "As soon as the war ends, we'll set out and..."

Nichou paused, choosing his next words carefully. His first impulse was to associate Sigrus's desire to be lost again with wandering, but that word had connotations that Nichou did not want to bring up lightly. More importantly, was wandering even an accurate description? How would the carpenter define what he wanted to accomplish? Nichou knew his desire in his heartlight, but it took a moment for him to find the words that described it.

"... discover truth, be it of the world, or within ourselves along the way. The trails of Mata Nui are meant to be tread by companions."

"Is that alright, Protector?" Sigrus timidly asked the toa. The Massif had been his home for a long while by then and he was exceedingly valuable as a leader in the village, his absence would be felt. As camerlengo he was practically the mayor of the town. His deference was, however, matched by Brykon's. 
 
"Of course," he said with a single nod. "You know the rules as I do." It wasn't a rule as much as a common understanding: All were welcome to the Massif for refuge and rebirth, and by that same token all were welcome to leave whenever they wished and the only one . Stannis had left when he needed to when he was town leader and the sequence would surely continue with Sigrus. Brykon had no issue with people doing what they needed, and even if he did, his role was to protect the village, not govern it. Sigrus was chosen by his peers, and another would be selected in his stead. 
 
"Then so it is," Sigrus said with an excited little smile as he meekly looked at the sandstone floor. "I will be lost again but I will always be found. Thank you, Nichou. Thank you, Brykon. And thank you, Mata Nui," he said, clasping his hands together and giving a small bow with each acknowledgement.

Nichou gave slight bows in return.

"Thank you for accompanying me on the road ahead, Sigrus, and thank you Toa Brykon for ensuring our safety and helping guide us towards asking ourselves the right questions."

His last bow was a solemn nod to flickering candles on the altar.

"And thank Mata Nui, indeed. I think our prayers have been answered, and by no mere coincidence."

The carpenter moved to the chapel's exit and opened the door while looking back towards Sigrus.

"Let's get to work: with the Maru on the move, the war will be over before we know it, and there is much to prepare for."

OOC: More from the jam to come.

Edited by BULiK
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13 hours ago, Leaf said:

NPC: The Lieutenant, Ihu-Koro Highlanders. Giving the Long Awaited Orders to those who Pause with Bated Breath

IC: Kehuri - Dark Walk Entrance

The shield hero couldn't help but smile a little. Between Plagia backing him up, and the lieutenant echoing his phrasing, there was a little more pep in his step, at least for the moment. He nodded along, keeping his silence. He did have one more question/suggestion before the mission began, but he would wait his turn. He glanced at the rookies in the meantime. He remembered being them, not so long ago. If they made it out of this- and he would make sure they did- then nobody would have the right to call them rookies anymore. That was why he wanted to comment about the center position of their formation. He was hesitant to front and rear-load their firepower. They would be surrounded by darkness on all sides, and if they were snuck up on by the sides or from above, their forward and rear defenses would be useless. All in good time though.

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On 9/25/2021 at 11:51 AM, Ramona Flowers said:

“My hope is that there could be something in there that was little use to him and his grand goal of overcoming death itself, but would make significantly more of a difference to someone whose body is wasting around them.”

IC (Syrik, Echelon's lair)

"My condolences," Syrik replied. As to whether he meant it or not, Aerus couldn't tell: his face was unreadable. "From what I remember, it's worth a shot. Let's get to it."

It didn't take long for the Toa and the Matoran to explain the ciphers they each knew; most of the fundamental principles were the same. As ever, Echelon had had supreme confidence in his own techniques.

As Aerus began to pull documents from the once-impenetrable trove of Echelon's older notes, Syrik shot out a hand to seize one particular folder before the Matoran reached it. Its label bore a project code-word rather than an unreadable cipher: MARIONETTE.

"Hope you don't mind if I hang onto this one," he said. His smile looked somewhat guarded. "Don't worry, it's nothing useful to you."

Edited by Ghosthands

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IC: Aerus (Echelon's Lair)

The action could hardly have been more suspicious. Aerus felt the predator in Syrik that had been dormant for most of their conversation tense up - the Toa’s face was, as ever, impenetrable. But in those indecipherable eyes, Aerus could swear he detected a hint of… warning.

Marionette. The word conjured in him again the image of a spider; at first, the spider that toys with its trapped prey, but then…

He had read of a rare spider, deep in the Le-Wahi jungle. Not all spiders, after all, were Fikou. This spider did not stop at building a web - it built another spider. It would gather leaves and twigs and spin them together into its own image - only far larger. Then, it would use its web to puppet it. Aerus could no longer remember exactly why - whether it was to fool predator, prey, or both. All the same, the thought sent a chill up his spine, and he began to feel the prickling caress of crawling legs upon his skin.

He wanted to know. He doubted Syrik was lying, it was quite likely it wasn’t relevant to Aerus - but it was very clearly relevant to him. Something stirred inside him, a desire, much as it had when the Necromancer was alive and his journals forbidden: knowledge, for knowledge’s sake. His mind was whirring - questions to ask, what words to use, the best way to pry what he could from Syrik - and then he stopped. Something about the Toa’s tone, his eyes, his careful smile, had set off a siren somewhere inside Aerus, the silent cry of ‘danger’ that had steered many a Rahi away from the underbrush.

For once in his life, Aerus chose not to speak, and simply nodded his understanding.

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IC Tarkahn - Akiri's Office

"Very good, let me clear some space..." The Akiri haphazardly moved various bits of Exo-matoran and tools with his foot, and threw a cover over the machine. It ggav the room a little more space, and looked a little less like a mess.

"Alright, let's get through this, come in, everyone, please. There's much to talk about."

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:i::c:

Korzaa shuffled in to the office, a stack of tablets under her arm, and took up a position a respectful distance from Tarkahn. 

Her eyes darted to the hastily covered Exo-Matoran in the corner and shifted uncomfortably in the heated room. She was acutely aware of the fact that she was not in a Ko-Matoran’s space here. This room felt felt more like an inventor’s workshop than an austere religious center like the ones her previous Akiri had commanded from. It made her uncomfortable to feel so literally out of her element in the very heart of her own city.

Nevertheless, she held her expression and stance as stoic as always, ready to attend to her Akiri’s words with all the attention her duty owed him, trying to ignore the sweat already forming beneath her Kanohi. 

--------------   Tarrok | Korzaa | Verak | Kirik   --------------

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NPC: The Lieutenant, Ihu-Koro Highlanders

"Mmm. Very well, we will only collapse it if it becomes tactically necessary," he said, then continued dryly, crossing his white-plated arms. "If I have time for personal favors, I'll consider this mission to have gone very well."

His eyes flicked to Kehuri. "That will fall to you, should the order come. If you are incapacitated I will improvise. Otherwise--" He looked to the Vortixx, then nodded. "I believe the ability to completely shut down a Rahkshi's powers will prove handy, but the helm could save us all. Be ready to use it if things seem... unreal. Rahkshi are adept at deceiving the mind and senses. To avoid weighting our ability too much to the fore or behind, Ronan, the Kalta and I will arrange ourselves around the rookies until we reach the hideout, Plagia and Skrihen will bring up the rear. Darkhan, you'll be in the middle with us. I would prefer you to have time to get that helmet on before something happens, you can move to the fore later."

He looked to Charek. "You should go wherever you think you'll be least likely to blind the rest of us using your abilities. Perhaps the fore would be worthwhile if you can detonate plasma out of your line of sight. Are we ready?"

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IC: Ronan

Ronan placed a hand on the hilt of her sheathed shortsword, and nodded. She knew that not a one of them was ready, and some less than others. But Death was her oldest and most loyal companion, and she had never doubted It would follow her into this accursed darkness. She had no fear - only caution, and her own wits.

But then, Death and her wits had always seen her through so far. What more could she ask for? Let this nightmare finally begin.

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IC: Charek (Dark Walk entrance)

"Don't worry too much about blinding people, sir," Charek said.  "I've got settings on my plasma that aren't 'Great Spirit preserve us, my eyes!', I assure you.  That said, I'd like to stay towards the back, just in case I need to use this-" he tapped his Kakama- "to rush someone out of a firefight.  Won't give me a clear shot unless we get flanked, but it sounds like some of us would rather I keep my gun to myself anyways."

OOC: @Leaf

 

It is not for us to decide the fate of angels.

Dominus Temporis, if you're out there, hit me up through one of my contacts.  I've been hoping to get back in touch for a long time now.  (Don't worry, I'm not gonna beg you to bring back MLWTB or something.  :P )

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6 hours ago, Leaf said:

NPC: The Lieutenant, Ihu-Koro Highlanders

If you are incapacitated I will improvise. ... Are we ready?"

IC: Kehuri

He smiled resolutely and nodded, pleased the Lieutenant had everything covered. He didn't even have to bring up his concerns, of course the veteran had every angle covered. "Just one last thing," he said, loosening a satchel under his cloak. Her mention of improvisation should he fall had given him an idea. "I always carry four mining explosive charges, because... well, you never know. If you need to cause a cave-in, you can't do better." He held the bag out. "They're totally inert without fire, so don't worry. They're covered in putty to stick them to walls- or Rahkshi, for that matter- but they'll do when thrown in a pinch too."

Edited by ARROW404

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IC: Skorm & Zueya - Dark Walk Entrance

The Ba-Toa nodded, his mask furrowed with determination. Time to go; let the dice fall where they may.

Zueya started edging away from Kehuri as he brandished his explosives. She didn't need any loose static blowing a hole in someone.

OOC: @Leaf

Edited by Keeper of Kraata

The times, they are a-changing...

 

 

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IC: Safina - Near Ko-Wahi Dark Walk entrance

The winds finally died down a bit as the Lieutenant gave his assessment and disseminated his orders. Safina made sure to straighten her back as he addressed her specifically; his words to which she nodded curtly, before he continued in his inquiry around collapsing the tunnels. Having finished assigning placements in the formation, she replied to the Lieutenant simply with “Ready,” before backing out of the circle of those assembled and starting towards her nearby Exo-Matoran.

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IC: Minnorak - Obsidian Outpost

Ever upwards the Vortixx trudged, stark snow staining his darkened armour as he followed the trail of tattered flags and flickering lightstones towards the place he called home. At last, the battered barricades of Obsidian Outpost came into view, and he quickened his stride, eager to be out of the cold. 

He moved cautiously, the cultist's warning about strangers in the outpost still in the forefront of his mind. He hadn't seen any sign of them or their tracks on his way up, which suggested they were probably still around here somewhere. Hopefully they were just travelers passing through, seeking shelter from the harsh conditions of the mountain. If not... well, he'd cross that bridge once he came to it.

"Hello?" He called, as he passed through the gate and entered the courtyard, "Anyone out here?"

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On 9/28/2021 at 6:12 PM, Goose said:

For once in his life, Aerus chose not to speak, and simply nodded his understanding.

IC (Syrik)

"Much appreciated."

The tension hung in the air between the two for a while longer: Aerus' mind clearly on the information he had been so suddenly denied, and Syrik clearly aware of it. Their gazes remained locked as he carefully slipped the folder into the satchel that hung at his hip.

It was the Toa that broke the silence, folding his arms and cocking his head to one side as he spoke. The hint of danger was gone from his voice as he returned to the same relaxed, conversational tone.

"So...how'd he get you?"

Edited by Ghosthands
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IC: Aerus (Echelon's Lair)

"I got caught in a web," Aerus said, with a rueful smirk. "Wrong place, wrong time. We met in Ko-Wahi; he'd just been melted out of Merror's latest attempt to stop him without killing him. The two Matoran who did it must've realised their mistake pretty quickly, given that they were already dead by the time he caught sight of me."

He remembered the chill that had passed through him when first he saw the two reanimated Matoran flanking the Necromancer; he had his Tryna back then, and it wasn't yet infected, and still he looked utterly demonic. Aerus had tried to hide at first, for all the good it had done him. Blue on white snow stood out almost as much as black and acid green.

"He asked me why he shouldn't kill me. I told him I was good at reading people. Then he monologued about how evil he was for a while, and gave me the choice of how I'd follow him. I chose the option where I kept breathing."

Funny that Aerus had had this conversation before, with Merror himself. He, and his rightfully suspicious compatriots, had asked why Aerus stayed with Echelon, and why he had gone back to him when given the chance to escape. He made his vague excuses, about how he could only leave because Echelon allowed him to, but the truth was…

The truth was he didn't really know. It scratched at the inside of his skull like nails on a chalkboard, to pride himself so on profiling others and still not understand why he himself kept making the most dangerous decision of his life. All the times he had nearly died…

"How about you?" he asked, suddenly aware of how he had drifted into silent thought.

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IC: Dartakh (Ko-Koro, near the Lieutenant)

Dartakh simply nodded and ignored the fact that the Lieutenant had said his name wrong. His orders were reasonable, at least, so the Vortixx had nothing to complain about. While he remained outwardly calm, he was eager to finally get some action, even if it meant risking his life in a foolish suicidal expedition.

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IC: Plagia | Dark Walk Entrance

"Sooner the better, LT!" I said as I made my way to the back of the heap. "I've got a roast in the oven that I gotta get back to!"

Along my path, I bopped Kehuri on the shoulder and flashed him a friendly wink, hoping to take the edge off -- although whose edge was, well, a little up for debate. The last time that I had walked into a place like this had been next to Akinii, swords out with the rest of the 'Squad to take down Makuta's big, bad hive of Nui-Rama in Le-Wahi. And if my record held out, I would get to the other side of the Dark Walk just fine.

It would just be only me coming out, is the thing.

God, I wish I had a drink right now.

"Hey, Skri," I whispered to her as I settled into the rear (badum-tss! still got it). "First confirmed kill buys lunch when we get out. Deal?"

OOC: @Leaf 

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IC:

It was enough to make her gnash her teeth and wish for Madrihk's return. She hadn't been the man's biggest fan, she hadn't liked his deputy much more, but back in the ILF's heyday no one had gotten their feathers so ruffled. She had her own reasons to be irritated with Skorm and Zueya; she'd gotten irritated with the big moron faster than she should have because of it. But someone so determined to pick out the negative, the abrasive, when she was trying to provide a critique was bound to get under her skin. Someone kitted out to fight like the two Kalta should know better. Both of them should understand what real unit cohesion was, the same way Plag did, the same way the Highlanders did. 

It must be something about being part of a 'Toa Team'. All that time with the same five people, all that lip service to Unity, had to rot the brain. Unit cohesion didn't exist because you made a plan. It came from practice, from drilling, and if you lived long enough from shedding enough blood to believe, on the most unconscious level, that your people knew how to do their job and that they'd do it properly. That you didn't have to keep one eye looking over your shoulder in case someone did something you didn't expect. Just because Skri didn't always get along in groups didn't mean she didn't know how it worked. And it was why she missed the ILF. Chaotic, abrasive, occasionally violent they might've been but she knew them. And they knew her. Even the littler group, the remnants that took Ko-Koro back. Give her Alfon and Ril to go along with Plag. Reo, too. With those four she'd have felt comfortable walking into Karzahni itself. If they failed they'd die laughing.

But she took the meaning of Plagia's nudge and stayed quiet, giving the Lieutenant a curt nod when he issued final instructions. She didn't bother saying anything else; she had better uses for her energy. She had already fished a packet of seeds out of her jacket and dumped some of them into her hand. Working in Ko-Wahi had forced her to get clever, and if she didn't have any native plants to use she could at least limit her energy expenditure a little. Growing a plant from a seed took energy, but less than conjuring it from thin air. And grow is what they did; quickly and steadily, sneaking up her arm and around her shoulders. Circling loosely, again and again. With a quick palming motion she slipped a few of the incipient plants onto Plagia's shoulder, too, where they did much the same. It probably looked a little ridiculous; such numerous, looped plants brought to flowering and, for the moment, suspended there. But she thought she'd need them soon, and it was better to be ready.

"Huh?" Skri blinked a little when her friend whispered, drawing her back to the present. A little grin crossed her face as she bent down, just a little, to get closer to Plagia's ear when she whispered back. "You're on. Deal."

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6 hours ago, Void Emissary said:

Along my path, I bopped Kehuri on the shoulder and flashed him a friendly wink, hoping to take the edge off -

IC: Kehuri

He flashed her a grin and a thumbs-up, then went over to Charek. "Here, with your speed and element, I think these would be most effective in your hands," he said, offering his bag of explosives. "Just make sure to keep your plasma well away from them until the right time," he added with a grin.

On 9/30/2021 at 4:11 AM, Endless Sea (Alaki Nuva) said:

IC: Charek (Dark Walk entrance)

OoC: @ing people doesn't work for me, so I'm quoting instead. Sorry!

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OOC: ambience

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yL2LXOO0Hj4&ab_channel=LucasKing

IC: The Dark Walk

If the cave had been anywhere else, perhaps the entry would have been mundane. Average, perhaps even something of a comfort to those who regularly ventured underground. The Dark Walks were wide and well formed--artificial passages, after all, meant to allow for the transport of a legion abreast in some places. They had none of the crawling, sticking places, none of the places where the earth crowded in and made further passage difficult.

But somehow, those walking in would have preferred to be surrounded by crowding dirt.

The vast darkness that filled the wide passages seemed to almost brim around them, cloying to their forms wherever the scant light from their stones cast shadows. It seemed to resent the specks of dim light flickering into it. The black at the edges of their light seeped in, roiled, filled every cranny and gap in the coverage of their light sources. And somehow, it seemed to dim them even further. The Toa of Earth found himself questioning his own eyes--didn’t his darkvision usually extend a little further? 

Was that a wall, or was it just more darkness?

Around the first bend, it became maddening. When the walls fell away into blackness, when the light behind was choked by the drowning dusk, there were stretches where all feeling of progress vanished. The Lieutenant guided everyone to keep the left hand wall in sight at all times, but even then… the featureless earth, the clinging dark, made it feel like they were walking on a treadmill, going nowhere at all. 

It could be alternately dizzying and suffocating, vast and claustrophobic.

There was no order here.

And that speck of light behind them had vanished so long ago.

OOC: @Daniel the Finlander @Goose @Keeper of Kraata @Krayzikk @Perp @ARROW404 @Endless Sea (Alaki Nuva) @Void Emissary 

 

Edited by Leaf
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No such thing as destiny.

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IC: Ronan

As the light of the entrance faded behind them, Ronan unsheathed her right-hand sword. They may not have been able to see, but they could - to some degree - hear. And so she did; she had no sensory advantages, nothing to give her an edge. Only her instincts and her ears. And her instincts told her that, although Death was not yet walking with them, It was not far behind.

Or far ahead.

Her grip on the hilt of her sword tightened.

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:m_o::m_o::c:

Thanks so much Leaf for wrangling everyone and leading the expedition! I'm gonna pop in to give these npcs a little personality.

:i::c:

The group of Sanctum Guard rookies tightened their grip on their spears.

There were 12 of them, organized in two groups of six, all Matoran. Half were not from Ko-Koro. The retaking of the village had brought heroic characters from across the island who felt the village of ice needed to be defended, and some had been present during the battle to retake the Koro, so they had remained to keep it safe. The others were villagers of ice who had taken to their mandatory training, or who felt responsible for the fall and wanted to keep their homes and families from being lost again. Although most hadn’t held a spear before, they’d been working hard for months, and each one had been brave enough to personally volunteer for the mission.

Many were so confident that they were indignant when they found out how many mercenaries would be accompanying them during training with Skri and Darktahk. One, a Ta-Matoran with a scarred Kakama, had even said so, his fiery attitude spurring him to claim that he could handle the dark walk all by himself, he was the best fighter in the group, and Rahkshi didn’t scare him. Although the critiques and scoldings from the other soldiers hadn’t completely cowed him, he showed no sign of his bravado now that he had been swallowed by the darkness. He was one more person completely out of place, feeling more unfamiliar and unsafe with every step, just like everyone else in the tunnel. 

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--------------   Tarrok | Korzaa | Verak | Kirik   --------------

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IC: Safina - Ko-Wahi Dark Walk

The whirr of servos began to dominate the soundscape of the massive cavern as Safina descended from the frozen slopes of Ko-Wahi down into the abyss that yawned before her. As the rest of the formation filed in behind her, their footsteps mingled with the sounds of her Exo-Matoran and flooded the chamber with a sort of homogenous thunder. Her thumb flicked a switch on her left hand-controller and a split-second later, the blackness in front of her was illumined, at least partially, by her suit’s lightstone torch. It made for far greater visibility than the last time she’d been down one of these cursed Dark Walks, but she could tell that the ever-present choking shadow was snuffing out a great deal of the light - maybe even more so than before. She shuddered at the implication, but composed herself as she continued the march down.

She intoned within her mind: Be with me, Artathi.

No response.

Artathi?

I need you, Artathi.

Yet the darkness did not relent. Her blood ran a little colder, and she let out a breath she’d been holding for too long.

Artathi, grant me my sight to see the path before me. Grant me the wisdom of the stars. Grant me…

But despite her pleas, the darkness did not relent.

She was alone here.

It was a while later, having continued down the Dark Walk without any sign of trouble. The light from the surface could no longer shine at their backs, and the pale glow of lightstones and the thrum of boots on stone were the only indications that something living occupied the gargantuan tunnel.

Safina found herself talking to those at the front of the formation, for her mind was uncharacteristically silent. As she swung her torch this way and that, scanning the darkness carefully, she addressed the Onu-Toa, whose name she had learned was Kehuri, staring into the shadow astride her.

“Kehuri, keep watch on the shadowed areas where my light is not pointing. We must be vigilant for any place these beasts may be hiding.”

OOC:@ARROW404

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IC: Dartakh (The Dark Walk)

The deeper they went, the darker it got, to the point where almost all light was swallowed up by the shadows. The only thing Dartakh could clearly see was the fact that this was indeed a suicidal mission. He moved forward slowly and carefully, trying to stick as close to the group as possible. Being ambushed alone down here would be certain death. Though being ambushed at all would still probably result in someone dying.

But he did not feel fear or anxiety. Death was no stranger to him, and neither was pain, so there was nothing for him to fear. What he did feel was frustration, mostly due to the rookies who were accompanying them. This was no place for inexperienced warriors, and even if everything would go better than expected and nobody would attack them, they would gain little worthwhile experience from the expedition. They were little more than a burden, or a bunch of moving meatshields. And now he was one of the mercenaries responsible for trying to keep them alive. He had signed up to be a warrior, not a tutor or a matoran-sitter.

He sighed, and hoped any survivors of the expedition would be rewarded handsomely. Perhaps he'd be one of them.

still alive somehow

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10 hours ago, Perp said:

IC: Safina - Ko-Wahi Dark Walk

“Kehuri, keep watch on the shadowed areas where my light is not pointing. We must be vigilant for any place these beasts may be hiding.”

IC: Kehuri - Dark Walk

Kehuri had expected his vision to be worse here than it usually was in the dark, but it was even worse than he had anticipated. As Safina had, he too wondered if the darkness had grown stronger now than it had been before. He tended to find himself looking at where the Turaga's powerful light beam was pointed, it being the farthest ahead he could see. Was this how most people normally saw in the dark? No wonder Onu-Koro was unpopular. He practiced running through the list of known Kraata powers in his head, until someone spoke.

He glanced at his partner in the lead and nodded. He realized it wasn't a tactical statement- of course he was going to be doing his job- but rather a way of breaking the silence, and of clinging to Unity in this dark moment. He knew because he could just as well have done the same thing for the same reason. "I will," he assured her. "Train your light frequently on the ceiling," he instructed her in turn, "don't linger too long on the walls, we're most vulnerable to a sneak attack from above or from the air."

He lifted his shield up in front of his mouth and spoke up a little, trying to reach those toward the middle of the team, "Someone in the middle, cycle through all the known Rahkshi powers. We can use a voice to keep us close, and it could help prepare the less experienced if we encounter some."

Edited by ARROW404

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On 9/30/2021 at 2:57 PM, Goose said:

"How about you?"

IC (Syrik)

"I was just a kid," the Toa said, sounding almost wistful. "Back in Xa-Koro. I was still learning to use my powers; playing in the street, throwing around bits of metal. Guess I must've shown some promise, because one day when I was walking home, a couple of the old man's zombies showed up and grabbed me."

He smiled grimly.

"I can still remember the smell of 'em. They must've been out of cold storage for a while because they reeked. Never even saw the old ####### himself, but he had to have been there somewhere, controlling them. They stuffed me in a bag. I was in there for hours; must've passed out somewhere on the way. Woke up here, in one of the cells."

He jerked his head towards one of the doorways that led to Echelon's laboratory areas, adjoining which were a number of cells that usually held the Necromancer's living test subjects.

 

Edited by Ghosthands

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IC: Various

It is often discussed what it is like to be dead - but is never discussed what it is like to never have been born.

I remember being young, growing up under his controlling wing, the black wing that blocked out the sun and reigned eternal night over our clan. I was at home. Never safe, nor secure, but at home. That was where I belonged, under the obsidian umbrella. Conditioned from the age of six to be a warrior, a killer. Convinced (and I believed, wholeheartedly) that all other beings were animals, beasts in a beast world to be tamed and enveloped by the underworld. The open sky, the fresh air, the sun, all of it, was a sin, a blight on the perfect utopia of everlasting darkness. All of the surface was to be ruled from stalactites and some brutal throne to which all inferior life would bow. We, and we alone, were permitted to roam free. But we were entombed.

All living things with the capability to dwell, at some point, on what it might be like to be something other than alive. What is it like to be dead? I happen to be among the few with the unique privilege of knowing the answer to that question. Only, there is no language built to relay the experience, because none who speak exist in death. They simply cease to be.

It is never discussed what it is like to never have been born, because there is no experience to be related. Before birth, there is nothing. It is naturally assumed, by those living, with no point of reference, that to be dead is much the same. But it isn't even close.

To be dead is to be entombed. (Your agency is robbed; you are no longer yourself.) The black wings that shield away the world, become a world, and your non-reflection is laid bare, until there is nothing but darkness, and endless void. (All life is beneath you; it is other.) Only in a state of death do you walk the earth a zombie, mindless and empty, plaguing the living with your never-ending hunger for consciousness, your thirst to exist being the only semblance left of an identity concept. (Through death you become it; throw death upon all.)

None who are dead speak of life, for it is they who have never been born. When we were exposed to the light, we were exposed to true life. We saw Ignotus, the keeper of we, the dead, in his true colour - not black, nor void, but a very, very, very dark blue. Where there is colour, there is life, and where there is life, it can be killed. It became my mission, then, to degrade death, to humiliate him, torture him, and kill him, then kill his memory and its children. All I dreamt of was him and his utter obliteration. It was my sole fantasy. Our - my - glorious leader, smeared off the face of history like a dust darter, vaccinated from the ingrown pores of our race; my dreams were those of birth. A first birth for all Mystix kind, from the darkness into the light - and we could already see the end of the tunnel.

I knew my destiny.

But destiny is a fickle Mahi - horned and temperamental. I moved too quickly and too soon; I was disgraced, cast out from his dark wing and discarded into the grey caves of limbo, purposeless and empty. My destiny was a hopeless facade. Soon, one of those rogue horns would impale me, cold steel in my chest, my back, my bussy, and my ballsack. I wish my last breath had taken just a little longer. Perhaps then I could've appreciated the irony. I might've laughed.

What is it like to have never been born? It is to betray the betrayer of trust, be betrayed again in turn, and stabbed in the back by a stranger. Then, a moment of nothing passes, a moment that spans from creation to destruction - millennia - and from destruction to creation - eons - nothingness and every single individual moment in the whole of time all at once. Beyond light and darkness, apathy and desire, within and without. All values mean nothing to you. You are a naked flame on a bed of nails.

Then, somehow, I returned. Somewhere in the eternal oblivion was an opening, all of my nothingness was sucked through by the vacuum, forced through a gap an atomic fraction of my size. After that, I was back. I wasn't me, but I was still myself, and I was back - but not better. I have to confess, it wasn't a pleasant experience. For six months, I wished I had stayed dead. Besides the searing taste of superheated bile, chilblains, and the crushing overload of all my fully-functional senses firing at full power, was the traumatic image of my final frame—the last image I had seen, and the feeling of dying. I may talk learnedly of what it is like to be dead, and to have never been born, but dying is a very real, dread-soaked sensation. It haunted me for six months; for six months, I was in delirium. I was still the unidentified corpse kept in cold storage in the hopes that someone might come and at least explain the death rites for this strange species. I was still the forgotten body, a nobody used as fodder in some sick game or other. My muscles, cartilage and flesh tore through their long and painful recovery from semi-decomposition, while my mechanical parts carried them (barely) from cave to cave, a winged, broken shell.

By the time I could think straight, I was already single-mindedly assembling a small army of mercenaries to act as cannon fodder in my fight against Ignotus - but they would never be paid. The job would never even take place.

Death was over - I had been born, like all who live, against my will. It was his brother who had killed him and forced me to breathe free air. Was I grateful? Yes. Did it also fill me with bitter resentment? Indeed. I'd believed until then that the reason I had come back, or defeated death, was to kill Ignotus, my oblivion. Now, again, my destiny had been torn from me like a child stolen from its mother. Yet I found myself under a new wing nonetheless, this time not suffocated by a deathly embrace, but instead incarcerated in an open prison. Zarnarax's feigned benevolence easily seduced me. Here, I thought, was a true leader, one I could follow. It seemed so natural to slip back into subservience and ignore, comfortably, the blatancy of his sadism.

My illusion was short-lived, however. It was Aru who saved me, the demon's daughter, but where the demon was a toxic fume she was clean air, fresh water. And, rarely seen, there was Flame-of-Summer-Sun, Aclaraung of golden scales, whose ancient eyes slept open and vigilant. Did the two of them meet at that time? Was the plot to topple the new order not mine, as I had been allowed to think, but the work of Ignotus' most ancient enemies? I have never had the chance to ask. In my darkest nightmares, I learn that I am nothing but a tool, replaceable and devoid of agency. I try to take control, but the spectres of the unknown plague me until I think I am dead, again and again, and my only life is lost at last.

 

-            -            -            -            -            -            -

 

Onu-Wahi. One week before Makuta’s defeat.

The criteria for the meeting were simple: For starters, He had to be busy. Secondly, the chamber couldn’t be too large, or have many entrances - it didn’t matter if the attendees were Aru’s former conjoined twins; they weren’t to be trusted. I knew that much from experience. 

While the premise of the meeting may have been straightforward, the actual timing was immensely tricky; the Initiations only took place on sporadic occasions, according to the whims of Zarnarax. This was the only time when Zarnarax would be sufficiently occupied for us to hold our covert meeting. 

There was no message sent out, nor a signal. Everyone knew to keep their eyes peeled for when the window was open, and immediately assemble in the antechamber. On at least two occasions, meetings had to be called off because our cover was nearly blown by some clutz or other. Zarnarax knew, he must have, that we were planning something. Only, to suppress our uprising he ran the risk of nobody talking, and thus no evidence, which didn’t exactly line up with his ‘by-the-book’ image. Regardless, all we needed was one meeting to form a plan - then it was only a matter of time.

Ensuring the small party of Mystix we had assembled was here in its entirety, and hearing someone slide the cave entrance shut, my eyes spared the group my suspicious glare and drifted over to Aru. I was still in awe of her dummy thicc thighs determination to topple our deceptive leader, not least because he was her own father - it had taken me my entire lifetime to even see Ignotus as a mortal, let alone to recognise that my faith in him was a forgery, even longer yet to bite his poisonous hand. I didn’t know the first thing about her, but I felt a certain sense of kinship with her, a certain familiarity.

There was something ironic about the fact that I was finally enacting a years-old plan to decapitate the Mystix cult, but on the wrong cult and the wrong leader. I found some pointless consolation in the fact that the antechamber was about the same as I had remembered.

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

The darkness.

The cold, empty darkness, quiet save for the occasional drip of water somewhere deep within. He detested the darkness. He longed, as ever, to be out in the air, soaring among the mountains, delighting in the rays of the sun beating down upon his scale-armored body. To dive down from the heavens, tackling some unsuspecting prey and claiming his kill. He longed for the light.

For outside.

But as always, there were tasks to do, and this task brought him deep within the caves. Caves he’d been trapped in for so long, forced to suffer the indignities thrust upon him by the bat-kin. Always the other, denied even the barest scraps of respect. Always treated as something unsavory. Something lesser.

“No more.”

The words’ echo quietly spread, barely registering as recognizable language each time it came back to him. It was a vow, his own quiet promise to himself that he would never suffer such treatment again. A vow that would soon be sealed in blood.

For the Mystix had accrued quite a debt to him, over the years, and in one day he intended to repay them in kind.

“No more will these delusions of dominion be allowed to persist. No more will these spurious claims of supremacy be heeded.”

His sinuous, serpentine tail coiled around one of the supports holding up the roof of another tunnel, before yanking it aside quickly. Immediately, that branch caved in, throwing dust up in the dark, winding caves. So far out from where the others were situated, the sound would scarce be likely to be noticed, over the constant, small tremors that they had grown so accustomed to.

Aclaraung closed his eyes against the dust that rose; while his sense of hearing wasn’t so heavily developed as the cave-rats he sought, it was still sharp, as was his sense of smell; both could easily guide him to the cavern that was his goal. And all along the way, another branch cut off, another path to the open air rendered unusable. Coinciding with all those that had already collapsed in times past, whether while they were all trapped below or in more recent years. Some accidental, some by those who rebelled against Ignotus’s rule, and some during the tumultuous shift of power after Ignotus’s death.

And so, as he walked, the all-too-familiar web became a maze—

A labyrinth—

A hunter’s trap.

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

“Keep your voices down!” I snapped, and the room descended into silence. I continued in a hushed tone. “We all know why we’re here. We can’t afford to risk being overheard.” 

Having said that, I moved in a little closer and gestured for the others to shuffle inwards as well. A brutish, but well-spoken Mystix to my right was still holding the chisel he had been working with in the main hall outside, which I gently relieved him of and knelt down. I began drawing a bat’s-eye view of the entrance to the initiation chamber, pointing with the chisel at individuals around the room and back at markings on the map, assigning roles, positions, everything about how the ambush was to take place, but without a single word uttered. Months had been spent mentally rehearsing this part, and we were banking on the other attending members of our little revolt having done the same.

Like clockwork. Wasn’t that what Xar had said when they first began planning? Or maybe that was just what Aru herself had thought at the time. It was, after all, more like her to think of war and politics as machinery.

Xar, on the other hand, made it sound like a dance, as if planning a revolt was the same as laying out choreography. Steps and timing and positions. Aru had never known revolution to be so elegant, and she wondered - not for the first time - if Xar was truly prepared for the blood and chaos that would follow when his grand designs met reality. Still - now wasn’t the time for doubts. She was committed, and she could not allow her appearance of confidence to falter, not this late in the game. And so she stood at Xar’s side, watching silently as he reduced civil war to lines in the dirt.

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

Before long, he found himself at the threshold.

Aclaraung gazed at the great stone door, taking in every detail, every last little scratch that had not yet been worn smooth by time’s passing, as the flickering light of his flame passed over it. Just a bit longer—a few hours at most—and that door would be sealed forevermore, the final chapter of Ignotus and his bat-kin brought to a close.

Ignotus.

The thought of the name threatened to make the rage contained in Aclaraung’s chest explode prematurely. Ignotus. The petty king. The worm emperor. The ringleader of these Mystix, and the one who had cemented Aclaraung’s place of disfavor amongst the flying rats. Yet, for all Ignotus had done to secure his rule, to eliminate any possibility of challenge, Aclaraung had seen the records. Old correspondences, ‘court records,’ and histories.

Many had been destroyed, to ensure that none questioned the Lord of the Caverns in his right to rule. But others were still partially legible. And they spoke of many things; a diplomatic mission, a land over the oceans, far past the horizon, the twinkling of starlight, the heat of high noon. Over all, they spoke of a different leader, a different patriarch of a different people.

They spoke of himself. Aclaraung, He-of-Golden-Scale, Flame of the Summer Sun.

They were his vindication after countless cold years of ignominy beneath the dirt.

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

There was something wrong. Something was in the room. Someone. I froze in place, the chisel still midway through etching the east side of a pincer maneuver. I dared not look up, I couldn’t - yet somehow I knew what was there, at the back of the room, in the corner of the eye. The dreams of self-immolation, the inner death of my preborn self; yes, I knew what was next. My eyes crept upwards, and I saw it before me, black wings in shadow: my destiny. 

The others were growing steadily more uncomfortable, unsure whether to break the silence to try and snap me out of it, then - SLAP!

Okay, so, that was slightly harder than intended. Either way, it had done the trick - Xar seemed to be (vaguely) lucid again. “If you’re gonna throw up, you probably shouldn’t do it on your battle plan.”

I looked up - not at Aru, but at the suspicious eyes of our cohorts. I was losing them. Some of the ones further back were whispering amongst themselves.

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

One clawed hand raised to rest upon the portal. For a moment, he felt himself caught in the liminality; the unmistakable knowledge that this entrance represented a fundamental shift in his existence. A departure of what it had been, an egress from the shame, and a pathway to what should be.

The light of the flame disappeared without warning, leaving Aclaraung in total darkness. Alone with his thoughts, before he would leap over the precipice into a new realm of existence. “I know not through what sorcery you stole my memory from me, emperor of rats and parasites,” he whispered, each sibilant hissing out slowly, dangerously—as though the steam from a kettle soon to boil over.

“I know not how you made me forget my birthright. But I never forgot my place. Neither did you, and yet you ensured so many of your followers did, even if they should have known better.”

The claws tapped lightly, impatiently, against the stone hatch.

“A pity I could not invite this retribution upon you as well. Nonetheless, cousin, know that your unworthy children shall suffer this punishment as well, for so blindly believing your lies.” He pushed, hard, and the door slid open at his command.

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

Before I could respond, I could hear the stone door slide aside. Were they leaving? Or… No.

I rose to my feet. He was here.

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

Empty, at first, save for the voices, ever so quiet, of those who were awake. The grinding of the door covered the growl that he could hold no longer as he moved forwards, into the halls he’d hated for so long. Eyes narrowed as he cast his head about, carefully watching for any possible ambush. He could not risk losing his surprise so easily, so worthlessly. A moment passed, silent, still, tense, before, in satisfaction, he continued onwards.

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

Zarnarax allowed each step he took into the antechamber to echo, savouring the moment, casting his cold blue eyes over the room, before finally settling on Xaruthan’s. This, he silently told him, is true power. To walk into a room, and have all eyes on you.

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

He crept, slowly, quietly, along the hard stone floors in the halls of the Mystix. Toward the central chambers, where he knew many of them would be, save Zarnarax and his lieutenants, who by now had likely come to confront Xaruthan and Learu. For once, he did have something to thank Ignotus’s brood for; they’d at least seen fit, in their grandiosity, to expand the size of every passageway. It made maneuvering his own bulk around in the darkness easier.

Ahead, he could sense them, he could smell them. There were few who were sleeping in the normal way, but the majority had settled into their hibernations. To sleep away the years until memories were lost and they could more safely wander the island above, seeking to subvert the rule of the Matoran to install themselves as rulers.

Zarnarax, foolish Zarnarax, just as imperially minded as his brother, but trusting too much in his own honeyed words to realize that the very idea was foolish.

“No more will the lies be perpetuated.” Claws scraped against hewn granite tiles as he pulled himself deeper into the heart of his foes’ territory. “No more will the minds be polluted, and the souls turned towards the sin of such overweening arrogance.” The growl built deeper within his chest. Animalistic, predatory, in a way that only one among the bats would understand.

The same scheming, ignorant schlemiel who’d thought Aclaraung’s ambitions amounted merely to re-sealing him and his ilk. And even then, that same bat was more inclined to trick and deceive, rather than to subdue and kill.

He stopped in the center of the chamber. Up above, even in the very dim light of nearly fully covered lightstones, he could see the many Mystix that hung from the ceiling, already in slumber.

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

Had her father ever actually looked intimidating before?

His pristine white complexion had certainly stood out, surrounded by caves and darkness as he always was, but it marked him as a misfit. The spikes of ice on his armour, likewise, had always seemed a vanity. But flanked either side by his loyal followers, standing at the mouth of the cavern, his chin stained red…

Zarnarax noticed the looks focused on his chin, and chuckled drily, wiping it clean with the back of his taloned hand. “Well, I suppose the cat’s out of the bag now. Not that anyone in this room will live to tell.”

Suddenly, it all clicked into place: “In you flows the very stuff that makes us what we are, and it would be a shame to lose that." The way he had looked at Zaruthan from the start, that perverted lust in his eyes - I thought I was imagining it. He wasn’t eager to recruit another enemy of Ignotus, he saw something, he knew… My blood!

Immediately after Zarnarax spoke, I stepped forward and unleashed three beams of plasma from my fingertips at him and his two front-most bodyguards. Not a complicated maneuver. I wasn’t yet so accustomed to this element like I had been for that of air, but I was only trying to buy some time to let the others spread around the room a little.

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

”MYSTIX!

His voice thundered in the cavern, echoing far. Many of them began to stir in confusion, shaking awake those others near them.

Aclaraung reared up to his full height, one arm languidly grasping around the skull of one of the Mystix still stirring.

And he pulled.

The bat screamed, forced to full wakefulness as its legs snapped apart from being so forcefully yanked from the cavern’s apex.

Then the blood-curdling screech was cut immediately short, as the dusty grey floor exploded in a shower of red under the dragon’s grasp. He threw the limp body aside, where it collided with one wall with a dull, lifeless thump. The building growl shifted into the laughter of anticipation.

“Wake up, my precious flying rats. Ignotus isn’t here to safekeep you. Zarnarax himself shall be gone soon enough. Now, however, is the hour of your reckoning.” Many of them dropped, still groggy, to the floor, landing carefully.

Watching him warily, some already with knives in hand.

Good.

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

And just like that, the spell holding the room in stunned silence was broken. Before she could even blink, Zarnarax had grabbed one of his bodyguards by the arm and physically thrown him into the path of the plasma. The other bodyguard, moving almost as quickly, rolled out of the way - but not before his shoulder was scorched by the blast.

“Don’t be like that,” Zarnarax snarled, sidestepping the screaming mass of melted metal and melted man that had fallen to its knees in front of him. He gently laid his palm on the once-bodyguard’s face, and silenced it with a spike of ice directly through its eye. “Weren’t you the one who wanted to avoid bloodshed?”

The façade was gone, then. I knew he had been hiding his true self, Aru told me as much. But to see his mask be discarded in such a brutal display was sickening. I looked at each of his entourage in turn, my eyes pleading - but there was no point. They belonged to him, just as I had once belonged to Ignotus. Their agency was robbed; they were no longer themselves.

“The blood is on your chin, Zarnarax.” I threatened him again with a ring of ionised earth around where he was standing. “Believe me, the last thing I want is for anyone else to die. This is your last chance to fly, before I render you unrecognisable.”

“Funny, I was about to say something rather similar myself.” Mentally, he reached into the ice on his armour, and-

The torrent of water burst forth without warning, taking even Aru herself off guard as it swept Xar off his feet. Her father pounced on the opportunity, freezing the floored Mystix in place. And then he turned to Aru, and her heart dropped into her stomach. He looked… proud. I’m sorry.

This didn’t make any sense. This didn’t make any sense. This-

“Aru-? What?!”

Zarnarax’s lips twisted into a smile, baring his bloodstained teeth, as he kept his gaze on Aru. “Ah. He didn’t know.

He stepped over the fused heap of metal and flesh in front of him, approaching Xaruthan. “I thought you might have figured it out by now. After all, blood is thicker than water.”

I’m sick of this #####.

Zarnarax, his reflexes as fast as they were, still didn’t have time to defend against the next torrent of water - only to turn towards it, allowing Aru a split second in which to savour his surprise. As her father was thrown back, she saw the perplexed looks on the faces of ally and enemy alike. “Well? What the Karz are you all waiting for?”

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

“Not one of you is blameless in the sin which has encompassed your tribe. Not one of you in this room kept themselves pure of the Worm-Emperor’s delusions or the Vampire’s lies. However, despite the years of mistreatment you subjected me to, the decades of ignominy, the centuries of indignity, I am not without mercy.” He launched forth a gout of flame, the heat melting away the covers that shrouded the lightstones around the exit.

“Many of the tunnels have collapsed,” he stated, though the ominous undertone of his words clearly wasn’t missed by his audience. “But paths to the surface still remain. Should you find your way into the clear air, then you have my word: You will be safe from my retribution. But know this, little mice—I will be hunting you.”

He leaned in towards the closest, who involuntarily stepped back.

”Every.”

He turned again, rapidly, and the group backed away.

”Last.”

He could hear the rustling of others, their armour shifting as they lifted their small knives.

”Step.”

His mouth split into a wide, predatory grin.

“I was even nice enough to leave your weapons down here, though I’ve moved them throughout all the tunnels. Should you find them, and attack me...know that you will at least have my respect, for once in your miserable, worthless existences. And if you should kill me, well, you’ll all be safe, won’t you?”

One rushed him. He swiped lazily with a wing, knocking the thin, would-be-warrior to the floor, and pinning him down. “I certainly invite you to try.” His gaze shifted downwards, drinking in the fear in the young bat’s eyes.

With a heave of his mighty shoulder, the armour crunched inwards. Bones shattered, lungs and heart were punctured. The bravest of the lot died not with a yell of defiance, but in a whimper of agony.

The great yellow eyes rose again, the grin unchanged. “My little flying mice.” His voice dropped to a whisper.

”Run.”

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

His head was swimming. As he picked himself back up, Zarnarax saw- Chaos.

A tongue of flame whipped past him and he dodged, ducking just in time to miss a fist of stone that swung towards him. Learu - his Learu - had one of his faithful drowning in a sphere of water, holding off another with her bare hands. What was that sound-

His attacker’s punch connected this time, leaving him reeling, with just enough wherewithal to impale them on a spit of ice, which he quickly retracted back into his armour. What in the-

Zarnarax looked up just in time to see my two clawed feet hurtling towards him in a flying dropkick. 

The attack sent him back momentarily - I took that split-second to scan the room. It was bedlam; in that small snapshot I already witnessed someone I didn’t recognise getting blinded by jets of flame, and another ripped in half at the midsection by, I assumed, a manipulation of gravity.

By the time my gaze arrived back at Zarnarax, he was beginning to recover. I was about to follow up when I realised I was still holding the chisel from earlier; clutching it tight, I willed it to heat up to just below its melting point, then launched it like an oversized dart at Zarnarax’ torso.

As quick as ever, Zarnarax grabbed the projectile in mid-air - a reflex he quickly regretted as he hissed in pain and let it clatter to the ground, clutching his wrist. “You insolent RAT!

In the instant he spent closing the distance with Xaruthan, he had sheathed his burnt hand in a blade of ice, its point on a collision course with Xar’s throat.

I leaned back and whirled my body around in such a way that the knife narrowly missed my jugular. The maneuver nearly cost me my balance, but I shifted my weight onto my right wing and cartwheeled into the air, where I hung from a stalactite for a second to catch my breath. I smacked my lips. There was a taste in my mouth.

Looking down, I saw that, while he had indeed missed my jugular, Zarnarax had snuck in another slash before I was out of arm's reach, splitting my abdomen. Glowing fluid oozed out, but for now, it was only skin deep. Plus, I was going to make him regret it.

Gobbing a mouthful of searing-hot spit at my fast-approaching opponent, I swooped down to tackle him to the ground.

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

Many scattered, disappearing into the tunnels like rabbits into their warrens. Aclaraung watched them with a careful eye, taking note of each tunnel taken, where each route could lead, before returning his full attention to the few that now stood surrounding him. He circled his head around warily, taking count of his current foes. Five.

Disappointing.

“Know this, children of the catacombs,” he rumbled, bringing his head low to the floor, muscles tensing, ready to pounce. “This sacrifice of yours has earned some small respect, an honour that none of your cowardly kin possess. I’ll remember you as the few who were brave enough to stand against the oncoming destruction.” With the scent of blood on the air already, he could spare no more words. The glow of energy spread quickly from his chest, travelling up his neck in a split second.

And when next he opened his jaws, the first of the doomed protectors fell as he was consumed in a gout of flame, blackened armour sliding off a charred corpse. Reduced to ash before he even had a chance to scream. The others, though, let loose their battle cry; the dragon wheeled around, raising a wing to protect his head as a barrage of sharp spikes of ice flew for him.

Many bounced off the leathery membrane or shattered on his scales; some few, however, penetrated, sublimating to steam upon meeting the heat of his blood. He swatted outwards, and the Mystix flew into the wall. Another stabbed at his flank, managing to slip their knife between his scales before he shifted away, turning the thrust into a thin cut. His tail whipped up, catching that one’s neck and slamming him to the ground.

Then a hard impact between his shoulder blades, the last attempting to find purchase atop his back. Aclaraung rolled, wiping her off onto the rough granite floor before coming upright again. The short battle paused, each would-be ‘hero’ dazed by the impacts they’d sustained.

”Hmph.”

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

Zarnarax dropped down and slid forward on the very same ice that he formed into a spike behind him, shooting up to intercept Xaruthan’s path. His smugness was short-lived - a clawed foot shot out and pinned him to the floor, his daughter at the other end of it. If she expected him to hesitate in striking her down, she was mistaken; ice jutted from his chest armour, throwing Aru off balance as he got to his feet.

The ice pierced my wing, I winced as I turned my fall into a roll, and by the time I was back up the pain was suppressed. Seeing his attention taken by Aru - whose side was she on? - I fired three concentrated beams of plasma at Zarnarax, one after another, each lasting about a second in duration.

Oh #####.

Once again, his reflexes failed him - with his attention on Aru, he noticed Xar’s attack a fraction of a second too late. He was alive, and he had scrambled out of the way of the latter two blasts, but not without cost.

His left eye was watering - he blinked it back. He still needed his one good eye.

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

Aclaraung moved towards the one he’d caught with his tail, stomping down upon the neck of the earth-wielding Mystix who’d tried to jump atop him, rather than simply bury him. Her heaving breaths turned instantly to choked gasps of pain, her crushed trachea unable to draw in air. His claws wrapped around the other’s neck, pinning him to the floor.

“Aclaraung,” he gasped, reaching up to try, futilely, to loosen the grip. The dragon watched the struggle dispassionately, cocking his head to the side in the mildest of curiosity. “P-plea—”

Snap.

The earth Mystix rapped her heels against the floor, brought to convulsions even as her lips were turning as blue as her eyes. He stepped over her, this time, towards the ice-wielder who he’d slammed into the wall. That one was starting to stand, though his eyes were still hazy, unfocused from the impact.

His last word came in a strangled, agonizing gasp as Aclaraung pinned him back to the wall, claws dug deep into his abdomen and wrapped around something. “Why?”

The great scaled head turned, one large, golden eye trained upon him. “Your kind have a debt to me, Traxus,” he snarled, and yanked backwards. Traxus fell to the blackness swiftly, his last sight being Aclaraung, covered in blood—his blood, spirits forbid—and a trail of detached viscera that flew to splatter against the opposite wall.

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

Aru felt nauseous. The entire right side of her father’s face was-

White armour had turned black and charred, melting over his eye, his mouth, trapping his face in an excruciating snarl. Ice crept up his neck to cool the burn, but steamed when it made contact. She winced - and then realised-

He barely even had time to register that he was choking. The steam condensed around his head - Learu. As usual, the girl was surrounded by puddles - for the first time, he was glad instead of disappointed that her element had taken after her mother - and he froze her to the spot, breaking her concentration long enough for him to launch the same - now frozen - water she had tried to drown him with directly at her, before refocusing his attention on Xaruthan.

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

Arctan ran, heart pounding in his ears.

He’d already lost track of how long he’d been running. Ever since Aclaraung had first told them to. He’d already run into three different dead ends, deep in the web of tunnels. Aclaraung had picked and chosen which supports to break, which tunnels to collapse, very well; even for one with power over the earth like himself, it would take too long to clear each one. Nevermind trying to use his element to dig himself out in a straight line.

“Too deep,” he muttered to himself, panting heavily. “Too deep. Too far. Too much.”

It was stupid, all of it. Ignotus’s dreams of conquest, Zarnarax’s plans of subversion. The way that he had helped raise this generation of Mystix to worship the ideals of power and dominion above all else. How he had helped Ignotus to easily deny Aclaraung’s own status to the other Mystix.

How he’d even completely lost track of which direction he was going. Zarnarax was yet somewhere within the tunnels, he knew. He just had to find him. Perhaps, together, they could save themselves.

He came to a stop in a relatively open cavern, catching his breath. As he did so, he strained his ears, listening—and his breath caught in his throat. “No,” he whispered. “Not now. Not so soon.” He could hear the sound of others falling beneath the scaled beast’s claws and teeth, and when that stopped, he heard the dragon’s bounding stride, claws scraping the rock, coming down the tunnels.

Arctan did the only thing he could think to do. He lifted into the air, crawling up to the ceiling of the cavern and curling up as small as possible. The aged Mystix couldn’t run fast enough to escape the dragon, but perhaps he could avoid notice by hiding in the darkness, being as still and quiet as possible.

He even held his breath as Aclaraung burst into the space, crouched low to the floor, eyes open and wary as he looked through the cavern. There was no light, Arctan wasn’t making any sound; there was no way the dragon’s eyes could catch him, so long as he didn’t loose any flame.

He tried to shrink into himself more as he heard Aclaraung’s sniffing, and his reptilian tongue sliding between his teeth, tasting the air. Eventually, just as he was beginning to feel lightheaded, Aclaraung continued on past, down one of the side tunnels. Arctan permitted himself a small sigh of relief, and began to uncurl his body—

Just to feel white-hot teeth sink into his shoulder.

But that pain didn’t compare whatsoever to the agony that came as Aclaraung ripped him down, throwing him to the floor. Somewhere beyond the immediate, mind-consuming, torturous waves that raced along his nervous system, he could recognize that his legs were ruined. Blinking away the tears, he looked down to where his ankles were supposed to be, and realized he was screaming.

“You thought you could escape me so easily, Arctan?” he heard the dragon say in his harsh, deep, guttural, almost unnatural voice. Somehow he found the will to stop screaming, and noticed Aclaraung slinking towards him with a predatory glare. He rolled over onto his front, clawing at the ground, pulling himself away, only to be held down by the same legs he’d never walk on again, superheated claws instantly cauterizing the wounds at his knees.

“I was hoping to find you most of all, record-keeper, the hateful creature said. “Or shall I say destroyer? Tell me, how many centuries of history have been lost by your working with Ignotus? What power do you have now of what he promised you? What about the others that once led your kind? Did you help discredit and ruin them, as you sought to do with me?”

The claws released him, and he resumed his mad crawl towards one of the cavern’s exits. He couldn’t even register the laughter behind him.

“Crawl, Arctan, and see what your arrogance has earned you! Where is your superiority now? How now can you claim to stand above any Matoran? Crawl, scribe, and see if your new precious master can save you, see if you can still be made viceroy like you dreamed of!”

Had this been any other time, he might have had the presence of mind to feel insulted at Aclaraung’s words, but all he had was terror. He didn’t even notice when Aclaraung left him behind to hunt down the other tunnels, propelled onward along the floor through nothing more than the sheer imagination that Aclaraung hunted him still.

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

The room was starting to feel emptier. I looked down - a pool of blood flowed beneath me, diluted with something else - no time to get distracted. Can’t even check on Aru-

I looked up to the ceiling and obliterated the base of the stalactite I had been hanging from only moments before, and was now directly above Zarnarax’ position. This I followed up with a wave of molten rock, torn up like a carpet from the cave floor in front of my enemy.

The stalactite struck ground less than an inch from where Zarnarax’s head had been mere seconds before, the molten rock colliding with it before his eyes. Eye. Singular. For that, I will make sure you suffer.

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

Somewhere along the line, the noise had subsided, at least for the moment. The screams had ceased, there was no echo of rushing flame or harsh laughter through the tunnels.

Somehow, Atare found that worse.

At least when he heard others screaming, he knew Aclaraung wasn’t right behind him. That was a luxury he’d lost within the last few minutes. Not only that, he’d already found himself blocked off at three different routes to the exit, and was forced to backtrack.

Again.

“What is this?” he complained, petulantly, into the mostly-silent tunnels. “I deserve better than this.” And he did! He’d put his faith and trust into Ignotus and Zarnarax, just like he was supposed to. Why now should he be punished like this? And all because of that scaled giant!

Atare reared back one arm, hurling a stone he’d been fiddling with down one of the tunnel branches. Unfortunately for Atare, he’d not taken too close a look down said tunnel, before hearing the rock bounce off of something hard and metal; and he froze to the spot, almost paralyzed by fear, as a great eye opened.

“You do?”

Oh no.

“Poor, devoted Atare, never receiving his dues.”

Atare couldn’t take it anymore. He lashed out, sending a gout of flame in Aclaraung’s direction, only to be met by one stronger from the scaled beast in turn. He fell back, tripping over his own feet to the floor, but just as he thought the flame would consume him it fell short, leaving the air clear.

Just Aclaraung, waiting expectantly, who nodded down another tunnel. “Walk. You haven’t far to go to see the rewards of your loyalty.”

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

Her father’s attack was clumsy - it took Aru full on, and still could only have left bruises at most. Whether he had hesitated to kill his own blood, or he was simply being worn down and his attention split in too many directions, she was thankful for it, and set to freeing herself.

Turned out, she needn’t have bothered - the earth below her feet was torn up and tossed against the cavern wall, Aru along with it. Her head spinning, she managed to pick out her attacker - not that it was hard. The room was a bloodbath, corpses strewn everywhere, stabbed or crushed or torn limb from limb. Are we… the only ones left?

She was swiftly brought back to reality by a gut punch from the Mystix with the melted shoulder, who looked positively gleeful at being one of the final few left standing. Before she could hit back, she felt the wall burst forth behind her, closing around her wrists.

And then, she felt the cavern wall deform once again; this time, constricting her throat.

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

Without much choice, Atare got up, and with the dragon at his back, he walked. And walked; evidently ‘not far’ for Aclaraung was further than he’d ever consider describing in such terms. “What is this?” he asked, peevishly, after another minute or two. He could already feel the air growing dead, as they walked further from any route that led to the exit.

“Light your way and see.”

So he raised a hand, a small orb of flame within it, and looked onwards. The tunnel opened up slightly ahead of them, into a small little alcove, but within it...His blood ran cold again. Corpses. Not even fresh ones, but a few that he’d known missing for a while, each unmoving, cold, and frightfully pale.

“Tell me, Atare, how long were you from your initiation into Zarnarax’s circle?” Aclaraung asked, his voice harsher than usual. “You were so excited for it, weren’t you? Even after your own sister disappeared after hers. You honestly believed what he’d said, didn’t you? That she’d been sent out to scout the Matoran? But somewhere, you had to know. Yet you remained ever focused on yourself.”

Claws at his back shoved him roughly, and he stumbled forward, landing with a yelp in the embrace of the dead. He pushed up, tried to get his footing, and stumbled again as the arm he planted one foot on slipped beneath him.

“This is your reward for your service, Atare.”

Wood splintered and cracked behind him; he rolled over just in time to see Aclaraung rapidly moving back, the tunnel collapsing behind him.

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

My eyes darted between Zarnarax and Aru, trying to prioritise - the enemy was nearly defeated, and she had nearly betrayed us all earlier-

Us all? Who? I looked around the room at the carnage, body parts external and internal jumbled into an indecipherable mass that infested the cave floor. ‘The enemy is nearly defeated’: what a pointless concept! Some of us had to survive, or all of this would all have been for nothing.

Chucking a wad of heat at Zarnarax, I whirled around and tore across the room towards Aru’s attacker, springing off a corpse into the air and down onto his back. So focused was he by his sadistic glee that he didn’t even notice until I landed on him, rolled backwards and kicked him overhead. 

The Mystix slammed into something, it didn’t matter what, and I was on him in seconds. His feet already melting, he roared in pain as I stabbed my fingers up through his lower jaw, and ripped the armour from his chest, superheated it, and impaled him with it.

Leaving the degraded corpse to slide to the ground, I turned back to look for Zarnarax. I couldn’t see him anywhere at first, until-

“How very gallant of you, Xaruthan.” Zarnarax’s words were a slurred hiss, but the gleam in his eye made it all too clear that his agony had only made his mind sharper. He shoved his scorched fist further into the small of Xar’s back, jamming the blade of ice even deeper. “How fitting that you should die the same way as your precious Ignotus.”

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

“Take the sword, idiot. This is no time to hold yourself to ancient customs, not when your life is at stake!”

Cerax couldn’t stand the pair she’d found herself with. Brothers, but two of the most old-fashioned, conservatively minded to be found within the tunnels. Still, at least they’d agreed that they needed to try and turn the tables on the dragon, hunt him down rather than be hunted. To that end, they’d been walking back towards the last sounds of fighting they’d heard, eyes—and more importantly, ears—open to any sudden changes.

It didn’t help that Aclaraung had always been hard to recognize down in the tunnels, whenever light didn’t hit him and shine off his scales. It was that shape. That cursed, reptilian shape, so long and low, and the scales that deflected sound around him as badly as some of the rough-hewn tunnels further out from the central chambers did. Why couldn’t he have just been a proper Mystix? She wouldn’t have trouble finding him then.

She didn’t even notice the mass on the tunnel ceiling that she walked under, covered in blood and dust so that it didn’t shine like before.

“Blasted dragon. Why couldn’t he just accept the way things are supposed to be?” One of the brothers whined, the other grunting agreement beside him. “There’s no way he’s even Mystix, with a body like that.” His scales bristled in anger, still unnoticed as the trio passed fully beneath him, his breath held to avoid giving himself away.

“Shut up. Do you think Ignotus would’ve let him stay around so long if he wasn’t one of us? Or Zarnarax, or even Arctan? He has to still be a Mystix.” Behind them was a heavy thud against the ground, dusting kicking up in the tunnel. Cerax and the brothers whirled around, weapons raised, to see Aclaraung slowly lifting himself off the floor.

“Looking for me?”

Cerax lunged forwards with the spear she held; it was swatted aside, the haft snapped entirely by a set of red-hot claws. She stepped back, raising her hands, giving the brothers the opportunity to step in and try and attack without her in the way. One did, the old, dull sword clanging uselessly against the dragon’s scales. The other dropped his axe, shouted “Run!” and all three did.


 

-            -            -            -            -

 

Aru had just managed to prise herself free - earth, after all, was rather more flexible when wet - when she saw her father stab Xaruthan in the back. She couldn’t speak; all that escaped her throat as she fell to the floor was a choked whimper.

Xaruthan’s boiling blood was making the ice steam up and melt, but the searing pain only fuelled Zarnarax further, his focus on keeping the blade solid unbroken as he began ever-so-slowly to twiiiisssssssst…

“I would have killed you quickly, you know. As quickly as I killed him, at least; the poor ##### never knew what hit him. But you just had to dig. Deeper.” He punctuated both words with a jerking twist of the knife, his good half grinning.

Not like this. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Zarnarax was oblivious to her. If she could just get to him - if she could just keep her eyes open-

None of us can survive, or all of this was for nothing

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

Thankfully, Cerax had always been quick, and knew the tunnels well. The brothers were quick as well; the three of them outpaced Aclaraung quickly as he came up behind them, this stretch of the tunnels a bit narrow for his bulk. If only they could outrun the flames he might unleash—

She saw a strange nod out of the corner of her eye, and the brother to her left slowed slightly. Before she even had the opportunity to tell him to keep moving, she felt the hands of the other on her back, yanking her roughly to the ground before they kept going. She slid with a cry, trying to turn over so she could get back on her feet and at least look death in the face, before the blood-and-dirt covered shape of Aclaraung sailed over in a single leap, claws still glowing bright red with heat.

She watched, incredulous, as he descended upon one of the brothers, screams and searing flesh accompanying a spatter of blood against all three of them, Aclaraung digging his superheated claws along the unfortunate man’s back. The other turned, ready to fight—

Cerax was thankful she couldn’t see in detail what happened as the first one’s screams ended with a wet ripping sound. Then Aclaraung whipped his arm around, and the second brother grabbed at his throat, something slick with blood choking the life away from him amidst Aclaraung’s animalistic growls of hatred.

Shuddering, she stood, turned, and ran down a side hall, following the quiet sound of rushing air as much as she could manage to hear it. She had no clue if she was the only one or if there were others, but if Aclaraung intended to spare her, she wouldn’t argue.

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

It may be assumed that dying once may serve as adequate preparation for dying a second time. This is not the case. My breath was snatched away in shock, for I had nearly forgotten how it had felt the first time - only this time it was ice. As the cold spread through my body, the world seemed to dissolve into a swirling mass of images, faces, the earth fell away and oblivion yawned before me, eager to correct the marring of its non-reflection with my mortal soul.

Your agency is robbed; you are no longer yourself.

The blade was gone now, and my body remained cold as it fell into the abyss, past memories and places and things, and I watched it fall, capable of only apathy. Death simply was, and I welcomed it yet again: my home in the void.

But then, who was this? His armour so green, his flesh so whole and unscathed - was this Zaruthan, the rogue puppet of Ignotus? He stood with such pride, such unbridled, perhaps undeserved, self-confidence. His naivety would be his undoing, his weakness… But he was me. Since he had died, he had been something other to me, but now I looked upon him, looked into him, his own eyes looking back - and he was me.

It was my mission to degrade death, to kill him, his memory and its children. My sole fantasy. Our - my glorious leader, smeared off the face of history. Finally, birth for all Mystix kind, from the darkness into the light - and here, now, was the end of the tunnel.

All life is beneath you; it is other.

I looked down to see Matoran moving into the caves of the Mystix, repurposing them, colonising them. Their lives were by now untainted by infighting, their way of life finally triumphant over the shadows that tormented their existence. It… Did not disgust me. It felt right. This was the way. Destined.

But then their world was swallowed into a great quaking chasm, huts, machinery and all. They screamed helplessly as their world collapsed away into the obsidian wings of-

Oblivion.

Ignotus was oblivion’s burning eyes, glaring back at me.

There was a voice in my- ear? I was beyond physical, but the voice spoke to me, first Aru, then Zaruthan, then Zarnarax, then-

“...of us can survive, or all of this will have been for nothing. It was nothing. Don’t make me go back there. Don’t turn back now, Xaruthan. This is your final use. You must die. For the good of our kind, you must die. Into oblivion, now. Die, Zar. Die! Die!-”

DIE[---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------]DIE

DIE[------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------]DIE

DIE[---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------]DIE

    DIE[----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------]DIE

DIE[------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

DIE

 

 

No.

I reached out my hands, and grasped Ignotus’ oesophagus with all the strength left in me. I squeezed and squeezed the life out of him, my destroyer, keeper of my oblivion, my death, I was killing him, I hated him, finally, his death, death, kill him, I was killing him die die die i hate you everything you did to me everything i became because of you i hate you i hate you i haTE YOU I HATE YOU EVERYTHING YOU DID TO MEEEEEEEEEE

Now the plasma melted his insides, his remaining eye exploding out of his head, his torso glowing with white hot energy, his armour melting and fusing with his liquifying flesh, and I squeezed harder, harder, till whatever I was holding wasn’t Ignotus anymore, it was just a husk, the excretion of my rage, my vengeance, the placenta of my final birth-

My hands slipped through his neck like a hot knife through butter, what was left of his head disappearing into the mess of bodies that surrounded us. I fell back, and looked up to see his torso explode in a fountain of ionised blood and guts, showering the surrounding area in its glimmering majesty, sending his limbs spinning into nowhere.

He was death. And I had killed him.

The umbilical was severed. I was finally alive. I was finally free.

 

-            -            -            -            -

 

Arctan had been crawling for...minutes? Hours? Too long. He could still hear the echoes of fighting. He didn’t even know when Aclaraung had left him, had ceased his chase, only that he had to get to the meeting room Zarnarax had mentioned earlier. Surely, between Zarnarax and Learu, they’d managed to deal with Xaruthan’s treachery, and they could stand against the beast—

He crawled, fighting to ignore the pain in his bitten shoulder, the agony from where his legs used to be, around the turn, to the threshold, and stopped for a moment, gawking at the sight before him. Learu and Xaruthan alone remained alive, the latter’s hands still wrapped around a lifeless, maimed Zarnarax’s throat.

“X-Xar,” he croaked, before shaking his head, struggling to maintain his composure. “Xaruthan, you have to help! It’s—it’s Aclaraung, he’s finally lost it, he’s slaughtering the others—”

“Slaughtered.”

His eyes went wide, bulging, as the dragon, caked in blood, sweat, dirt, and worse, came around the corner he’d just been by. “I must admit, Arctan, watching you crawl like this, once I caught back up with you, has been enjoyable.” The dragon turned from him, eyes landing upon the other two.

“Very good, Xar. And Aru as well, when she should awaken.” His tone sounded almost...congratulatory? Arctan couldn’t believe it. “Removing Zarnarax like that, well done. I imagine you didn’t wish for him dead, but...he and Ignotus were stains on our world that needed to be removed. Much like this one.” And the great orange eyes fell upon Arctan.

Aclaraung crossed the room in a single bound, rolling Arctan onto his back and pinning him with one leg. “Arctan, scribe, viceroy, I find that you have been entirely complicit in spreading the delusions and mistruths of Ignotus and Zarnarax both, and moreover, for not speaking up to warn your people how they had been so utterly deceived.” Aclaraung’s left hand came down, forcing his jaw wide open, cutting off any protestations he might have made.

In the other, he could see the claws growing heated again, burning away the blood and viscera that stuck to them.

“But I have lived among the Matoran, Arctan, and I know they aren’t unworthy slave-stock like you helped to preach. And I read those records you and those other two didn’t manage to destroy. Yes, Arctan, I know my rightful place, and I know just how vehemently you denied it, just another set of lies sprouting from a diseased tongue.” By now, the claws had passed red hot, and were glowing white, Aclaraung’s own flesh around them starting to crack and blister.

“Let me remove that disease.”

Aclaraung plunged his claws deep into Arctan’s mouth, slicing carefully and pulling out a charred, red mass that he dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Arctan sputtered and choked, unable even to scream around the blood that he was asphyxiating on as the dragon turned away, back to the other two.

“Now. At last, the disease is wiped away. The tumor excised. And the two of you...” He stepped forwards, planting his claws on the expired Zarnarax’s chest as he inspected Learu’s unconscious form. “I have an offer for you, Xaruthan, if you would hear it. Of protection, and a place to heal.”

I was barely conscious when he spoke to me. All I could think about was Learu… The two of you, he had said. The two of you...

I must’ve said yes. I remember the journey - he helped us, carried her. I don’t think I spoke. If I had, it would’ve been thank you, thank you...

 

-            -            -            -            -            -            -

 

The screaming and the crying was over. Since then it has been… Nap time. Years and years. Dreams within dreams upon dreams without dreams... A liminality as old - and as new - as me  we  the Mystix. 

Once again, I had slept on ice - the caves of Ko-Wahi have very unforgiving temperatures for the unprepared. But this time, there was heat within me - energy, plasma, whatever it was - and the two extremes met and subsided where they clashed, both in equal measure, leaving me quite comfortable where I hung.

By the time I awoke the cave was empty. Had Aru been here with me? I could still smell her. Was she even alive?

I detached from the ceiling and collapsed in a brittle heap on the ground. My skin seemed to wake up suddenly, and the cold hit me in a way that it only can after a long hibernation. There’s no point trying to translate the sensation into Matoran. It would take hours.

Promptly, my body had heat up - I was surprised to find that my new powers had become instinctive, just as they had been when I was what you might call a Le-Mystix. In fact, my muscles, bones, eyesight - everything was as it should be. Everything was as it should be.

I sat there on the ground for a minute, collecting myself, discerning dream from reality (not everything was exactly discernable), sorting through my misted consciousness until-

Aru.

I rose - too quickly, as the flickering lights before my eyes informed me - and went to leave the small Mystix-sized cave I was in. Only, I in-SLAM-stead walked directly into a thick layer of ice, and slid cartoonishly down to the floor in confusion, my claws leaving a trio of straight lines carved into its frosted surface - the cave must have frozen over while I had been hibernating. My wing still pressed against the ice, my instincts kicked in again and in a second I was drenched. In another I was dry again, and stepped clumsily out of the chamber into the main cavern. My eyes still adjusting to being open, it was an impressive sight.

The cavern was shaped like an enormous pine cone, with maybe a hundred small openings (much like the one I had just melted my way out of) lining its walls. I suppose(d) it was a sort of hive or nest, no doubt carved out by Aclaraung or some relative of his. A few of the other openings weren’t frozen over - I was banking on one of these belonging to Aru.

There was a short tunnel, then 

d a w n

Inside the cave, light had been refracted via the ice, creating a crystalline fluorescence - but this was something else. I hadn’t seen, let alone felt daylight in literally years, and although by nature Chiropteran Mystix favour the darkness, the experience was sublime.

And there she was, standing with her back to Xaruthan, facing out into the rising sun. Her eyes closed, Learu allowed the sun's warmth to wash over her, to soak deep into her bones; this had become routine for her, now - sometimes, she would even allow herself to stare out onto the horizon, savouring the sublime sting of the sunlight in her eyes, relishing the chance to feel.

"Long time no see, Xar." She didn't turn, but she didn't need to; the sounds of his footsteps, and even his breathing, were entirely distinct from Aclaraung's, and her heightened senses meant that she had known he was awake from the moment he began to fumble his way through the nest. "Welcome back to the land of the living. Again."

Edited by Wotz
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IC: Mar (Obsidian Outpost)

It surprised me that I actually hadn't heard them until the new arrival spoke up. That wasn't normal, but at least this didn't seem like it was going to be a problem because of that.

The new arrival was heavily armed, but he didn't look like he was searching for a fight, just curious about what was going on. Another wayward traveler looking for shelter? Either way, there wasn't much for me to suspect there was going to be trouble. Besides, it's not like trouble was something I had to avoid.

I looked over at Joskander, and nodded in the direction we'd heard the shout from.

"Do you mind? I'll finish up here"

OOC: @Endless Sea (Alaki Nuva) @Nato The Whisperer

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BZPRPG Profiles

Nuparu-Ferron-Mar-Zelvin-Wiremu-Farzan-Mako-Krex-Tamachan-???

Akiri Nuparu Posts:

1. 2. ...

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IC: Joskander (Obsidian Outpost)

Joskander nodded absently, squinting into the snowy wilds.  That voice had sounded vaguely familiar...  and now that he thought of it, so did its owner.  "I think I recognize that guy from the first couple times I've been through here.  One of the guys that used to run this place."  He turned back to Mar and grinned.  "Yeah, I'll go say hi.  But I want an answer to my question once I get back, 'kay?"

OOC: @Geardirector @Nato The Whisperer 

For the record, I see Joskander as having travelled by cable car a couple times back when the Outsiders were still active, so he's at least seen Enforcer before offscreen (or off-post, if you will).  They probably never interacted much, mind you.

 

IC: Charek (Dark Walk)

Not for the first time in his life, Charek was quite thoroughly regretting running his mouth.

Yeah, sure, let the Toa of Plasma be a light source, he won't have any problems with a little darkness, right?  Ha.  No.  This wasn't "a little darkness".  This was...  what, advanced darkness?  Supreme darkness?  Darkness within darkness?  It was nasty stuff, at the very least.  He and his comrades' shadows seemed unusually stark, right down to the shaded recesses and cracks in their armor.  More distressingly, there was actually a defined edge to the light of his conjured star where it outright ceased to be, where just inching over it would put one in total blackness, and that edge seemed closer every time he looked at it, no matter how powerful that light was.  He was almost tempted to start strobing the darn thing just to taunt the dark- not that doing so would really accomplish anything other than making his companions angry.

It was just as well that he'd refused Kehuri's explosives.  Untrained as he was, he would've been far too likely to blow himself up by accident even with proper visibility.  Even running, were things to come to that, would likely be a nightmare- he'd probably need to hug a wall the entire way up (and the walls were quite far away, Great Spirit have mercy why were these tunnels so BIG), something that would be tough enough if he needed to carry someone out.  Actually fighting was undoubtedly going to be a nightmare-

Charek stopped that line of thought.  Risk assessment was all well and good, but panic brought down teams with ease.  He exhaled, reminded himself that he'd lived through nightmares before.

But then he looked behind himself again, and the edge of his starlight seemed closer than ever before...

OOC: @ARROW404 Just a heads-up that Charek didn't take the bombs.  He doesn't actually know how to use them xD

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It is not for us to decide the fate of angels.

Dominus Temporis, if you're out there, hit me up through one of my contacts.  I've been hoping to get back in touch for a long time now.  (Don't worry, I'm not gonna beg you to bring back MLWTB or something.  :P )

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IC: Skorm & Zueya - Dark Walk

Even in Mangaia, Skorm hadn't been surrounded by darkness like this. He was used to tunnels; he wasn't touched by the claustrophobic area... not the way Zueya was. She had a determined look on her mask, and she had reduced the length of her staff slightly to accommodate the mixed grouping. Skorm squeezed her shoulder, and he could feel her body untensing. She glanced back at him, smiling slightly. When Kehuri asked Safina to watch the ceiling, his head wasn't the only to glance up. But Skorm realized he could uniquely cover that approach. Visualizing a path bouncing off the cave wall, he leaped up, kicking off the stone, inverting his own gravity so that the ceiling became his floor. He tossed his lightstone ahead, but it fell neither to the floor nor roof of the cave; instead, it flew straight ahead, tumbling end-over-end. Skorm figured if he carried it, it would mark him out to any opportunist.

Still... there was something about this darkness that disturbed the Toa of gravity. It didn't feel suffocating, oppressive, as he guessed the others felt. It was... comforting. Like he didn't have to worry anymore... or like it was inviting him.

OOC: @Leaf @ARROW404 @Perp +Dark Walk group

The times, they are a-changing...

 

 

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IC:

For all his irreverence and skepticism in the face of the Toa Kalta, when confronted with the Akiri even Reordin Maru gave the Onu-Matoran a salute. Tarkahn had been fairly chosen, no matter Reo's disdain for politics or even voting, and was due the same deference as Ambages, Matoro, and Nuju before them. The Sanctum Guard ran deep in his blood, a fact that had earned him Korzaa's trust and respect over years of shared disdain, and in the face of an authority figure he actually accepted the Toa Maru of Ice was still capable of respectful decorum. 

For a moment.

When his salute dropped, arm flopping to the side as limply as any corpse, Reo found a lone patch in the office where he was comfortable. The floor was unfettered with any of Tarkahn's junk or half-constructed equipment, and no weapons or adornment hung against the wall to impede his trademark, affected slouch. It reminded Reo uncomfortably of the abandoned, scorch-marked shop that the Piraka had left behind in their madcap escape from Ko-Koro. Some of the tech he had requisitioned there had undoubtedly helped his home Koro advance, and Tarkahn would certainly know more what to do with it than him, but still...

He wished he had a cigarette. Occasionally he found two fingers drawn to his lips, pursing around an imaginary smoke, and though there was a certain comfort in going through such motions it was hard to replace the actual feeling. It was another freedom Takua had found glee in taking away from him. He smiled ruefully.

"I live but to serve you, my liege," he drawled.

-Tyler

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SAY IT ONE MORE TIME 

TELL ME WHAT IS ON YOUR MIND

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IC: Minnorak - Obsidian Outpost

A flickering figure of green soon filtered through the frosty haze, a Le-Toa he vaguely recognised as having been a regular traveler through the region. The Vortixx's stance relaxed, his hand shifting away from the handle of the halberd slung across his back to wave at the Toa instead. "Greetings."

@Endless Sea (Alaki Nuva)

Embers - a new Bionicle Epic - Coming 2024 

Class Is Out - A Farewell To Corpus Rahkshi - Chapters/Review

BZPRPG Characters - Minnorak, Kain, T'harrak, Savis, Vazaria, Lash

BZPRPG Mercenary Group - The Outsiders - Description - History - Base

Ghosts Of Bara Magna - Ash Tribe - Precipere - Kehla, Somok, Skrall, Gayle, Avinus, Zha'ar

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IC: Joskander (Obsidian Outpost)

Joskander straightened up immediately, making a quiet "eep" of mild shock.  "Just a minute!" he called out, shifting the corpse in his hands.  "I got an old man here who's seen better days."

Gently he lowered Gak's body to the ground beside Mar.  He wiped his hands in the snow, then spun on one heel and jogged over to Minnorak, waving as he did.  "Apologies, mister," he said earnestly.  "Ran across a plasma Skakdi and that Toa of Sonics over there-" he gestured at Mar- "handling a body.  Skakdi didn't seem to know how to treat the poor thing with respect, so I offered to help bury it.  Sorry we didn't ask permission- as far as I was aware, you fellas weren't in town anymore."

OOC: @Nato The Whisperer @Geardirector @Wotz

It is not for us to decide the fate of angels.

Dominus Temporis, if you're out there, hit me up through one of my contacts.  I've been hoping to get back in touch for a long time now.  (Don't worry, I'm not gonna beg you to bring back MLWTB or something.  :P )

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IC:

The darkness yawned before the Toa Kalta of Gravity and it swallowed his lightstone whole. It tumbled end over end over end and with every rotation its light dimmed, obscured by darkness as thick and as tangible as fog. His vantage point on the ceiling let him see the pools of light above— or rather below— but afforded him little further insight into their surroundings than anyone else.

Still he moved ahead cautiously and attentively in time with the others with his lightstone a set distance away. Without the same lights as the others it would be foolish to allow his entirely out of sight. The feeling of warm comfort, the safety of being wrapped inside a soft blanket, didn’t abate; if anything its traitorous welcome grew with every passing moment that he was divided from the group, with every step that took him deeper into the black above and beyond his comrades’ easy view. Perhaps it was in his own mind, a dark corner that still remembered the freedom of his infection and longed for it anew. That thought, that insidious voice, could itself have been an interference; a trick from a force malevolent in its purpose to ensnare him or to lull him into false security. 

Maybe that was paranoia talking, the natural result of fighting the feeling that the darkness seemed to instill within him. Fighting to remain alert and aware. 

Ultimately it didn’t matter; only clairvoyance would have been enough.

Skorm had a moment to realize that a claw had wrapped around his foot from the very ceiling upon which he stood, a moment in which he might call out but far too little time to act if even he understood what had happened. With incredible strength, and a grip like a vise, he was himself ripped through solid stone soundlessly and without hope of escape.

Below where he had stood the group, and Zueya, continued on with the reassuring sound of footsteps above and the light continuing its steady pace.Not a single unusual sound reached their ears.

***

With his gravity inverted and the rough, inconsistent path that he was dragged through it was impossible for the Kalta to know which way was truly up or down. His erratic, shaken journey without regard for matter or direction defied even an accurate estimate of how far he had traveled. But within a few moments he slammed into solid ground, dropped from a scant few feet above the rocky surface. There was no sign of his abductor; not sight nor sound, and Skorm could be forgiven if for a moment he believed he had gone blind.

But no; his eyes worked there simply was no more light. His lightstone had not traveled with him, and within the shadows there was not the faintest glimmer of illumination. There was no sound but his own breathing, and perhaps the heavy thump of his heart as shock forced a little adrenaline into his system.

The darkness had indeed welcomed him; now only would it let him go? 

 

OOC:

 @Keeper of Kraata + Darkwalk Crew

Your characters don’t know anything has begun just yet, one obvious exception aside, but you as players now do. Some of you weren’t here for the heady days of Arc 1 and those of you that were may need a refresher. Kaithas is running this little quest, with my authority, cooperation, and assistance. When a fight (if, allegedly, one were to begin) commences you are allowed one post per round of posts from your opponents, namely Kaithas and myself. Since we have a tagging system now please remember, just to make things easier, to at least tag Kaithas or myself depending on which one of us is relevant.

Here’s the bit that some of you may not be familiar with. A staff-run, or staff-sanctioned as this case is both, Rahkshi fight carries real risks to your PC. Unlike some of you might remember we’re not looking to be particularly bloodthirsty. But for as long as you are engaged with an opponent there is a real possibility of serious injury, or death, for your PC. That does imply, and I am making explicit, that if you disengage from one we won’t seek to punish you for it.

Additionally NPC enemies under Kaithas’ control or mine are afforded the same protections as PCs, and the rules against autohitting are somewhat relaxed where they are concerned to allow for smoother flow. If you have a significant grievance you may of course take it up with Kaithas or myself and we will look at it reasonably.

Have fun, and good luck!
 

Edited by Krayzikk
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fK5oqYf.jpg

 

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

 

 

  Breaking Point: An OTC Mecha RPG

 

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