Nato G

Somehow I've managed to go the entirety of Hero Factory without overly noticing this. But now that I see it, you've finally found a way to put into words an issue that's bugged me through the whole series: why should we care about robot police saving people if we never meet the people being saved? While I admittedly found it difficult to keep track of and care about the throngs of Matoran introduced each year, Bionicle at least made an effort to make us connect with its "civilian" characters. But through much of Hero Factory, it just feels like a bunch of good guys and bad guys beating each other up in an otherwise empty universe. I think this is another area where Ordeal of Fire manages to stand out from the rest of HF. The episode shows us the civilian workers coming under attack and calling for help, as well as the heroes evacuating them. It feels like a proper rescue, like the heroes are actually saving someone, instead of just... stopping some villains from causing property damage in inexplicably empty cities.

Oh yes, this was really fun to play around with. As soon as I decided I wanted to do something with Tren Krom, I know I'd need to pull out all of the stops to really do him justice. I basically just pored over the limited description Greg gave - tentacles and eyes and roiling red flesh - and then imagined it taking over the cultist followers kind of like an alien, shapeshifting cancer.

Chapter 20 – No Safe Haven From the ravings of The Recorder. I’ve been the Recorder for so many millennia that I’ve long since forgotten what I was before. I no longer wonder about who I was, or where I came from. I just worry about where I’m going. The League came to Metru Nui to leave war behind. But it was waiting for us, and it has followed us. So many of those beings – the Dark Hunters, the Skakdi, the Steltians, the Vortixx – lived lives of war and violence. Perhaps it was foolish of them to believe they could ever leave those lives behind. As for me… I’ve been complicit in crimes beyond count, putting them in the record and doing nothing to prevent them. Whatever fate awaits the others, I don’t doubt for a moment that I deserve to share in it. * * * Trina “Welcome!” Toa Tuxar jeered, as Trina and Gorast were ushered into the overgrown chamber of the Great Temple that he’d made his throne room. “I never thought I’d see another Toa here again. Least of all you.” On either side of Tuxar stood an Odinan, one clad in red-and-black, the other in white. Despite the fresh burn scars adorning her body, Trina recognised the pale one immediately. Her long, bony claws had inflicted the stab wound that still troubled Trina even now. Behind Trina were the four Matoran guards who’d escorted her into the room. Foolishly, two of them still held Gorast and Trina’s weapons. The floor was shrouded in a knee-high blanket of plantlife, and as Trina came to a stop she felt vines entangle her angles, likely intended to hamper her ability to flee. Of course, they wouldn’t be much bother if she really wanted to escape. Gorast and Trina both possessed the power to kill everyone in the room in the space of an eyeblink. “Given your… condition, and the fact that you didn’t come in here lightning bolts blazing like last time, I assume you want something?” Tuxar asked, leaning back in his throne. Plants throughout the room shuffled and rustled in reaction to his movements, and on closer inspection Trina realised that the chair wasn’t mere furniture. The wood was lush and alive, anchored to all of the other plants by roots and branches. “Asylum, from those that hunt us,” Trina answered. “Why would I get involved in your troubles?” Tuxar scoffed, “I’d be better served handing you over and earning some favour for it.” “Our enemies are your enemies,” Gorast answered. “By your own admission, you have no other Toa,” Trina added. “Certainly none like me.” “You oversell yourself. I bested you once before, and you look far worse for wear now.” “I’ve changed. I’ve lost my… limitations.” “Is that so?” Trina snapped her fingers, and one of the Matoran toppled over, dead, every spark of electricity having dissipated from their body in an instant. The remaining Matoran stepped forward, weapons raised, but Tuxar waved them off. Instead of concern, Trina saw curiosity on his face. He leaned forward, smiling slightly. “I could have done the same to you the instant I entered this room,” Trina said. She waved her hand in the direction of the fallen Matoran and they lurched back to life with a sputtering gasp, electrical energy filling their form once more. “You’ve got my attention. Let’s talk.” * * * Icthilos In hindsight, using a Kakama to run through unfamiliar tunnels with only a single shaky lantern for light had not been one of Savnu’s better ideas. After a few collisions going around tight corners they’d abandoned speed and continued on foot, Icthilos’ lamp illuminating things more clearly now that they were moving at a more reasonable speed. “You alright?” Savnu bumped his shoulder. “You’re being more quiet than usual.” “Trina called it brooding,” he replied absently. “She’s not wrong. So, what are you brooding about this time?” “Her. You. Me.” “I was always kind of afraid to ask. Were you and her…?” “No. Not like we are, at least,” Icthilos looked at the lamp in his hands. “There was something she said, when we last saw her. That she lost her hope the day our Brothers and Sister died, and propping me up was all she had left.” “She didn’t mean it. That was the Shadow talking.” “That’s what I said at the time, but now… I don’t know,” he sighed. “Losing our team changed us both. I threw myself into battle, and she threw herself behind me, and-” He stumbled suddenly as his foot hit a hole in the rocky floor. He fell forward and landed heavily on his bad knee, gritting his teeth to hold back a groan. “I’ve got you,” Savnu said gently, helping him over to the side of the tunnel to sit down against the wall. She leaned down and placed her hands on the knee, channelling the tiniest trickle of Toa Power into the limb to ease his pain. “I didn’t know you could do that,” he remarked, feeling the ache abate as she withdrew her hands. “Lhiyla showed me how,” she said, sitting down beside him. “A lot of folks needed healing, those first few days after the battle, and I’ve had plenty of experience with making Toa Stones. This doesn’t feel too different. I’m trying not to do it too much, though. Between the Toa Stones and the healing I don’t know how much Toa Power I have left to give.” “Of course. Wouldn’t want you becoming all puny and decrepit.” Once, centuries ago, becoming a Turaga had been something Icthilos had aspired to. But somewhere along the way the idea of being physically diminished and relinquishing his power had lost its appeal. “Puny?” Savnu scoffed. “Rost beat both of us. If it wasn’t for Trina…” “If it wasn’t for Trina,” he repeated numbly. “What were you saying about her before?” “That Shadow or not, I think she was telling the truth. Trina was always there for me, on Xia, after we got back… but I can’t remember the last time she did anything for herself. I… think she blames me. Hates me.” “Even after her infection she was trying to help you,” Savnu protested. “That’s love, not hate.” “What’s the difference, really?” Icthilos asked. “They’re complete opposites.” “No, they’re not,” he found his gaze drawn to the lamp again, the light making his eyes water. “Apathy is the opposite. Love and hate are the same thing. An emotional attraction, an obsession… blurring… burning…” “You need to lay off the bula berries,” Savnu tugged the lamp from his grasp. “Once we cure Trina, the three of us can figure this out.” Icthilos blinked his bleary eyes, looking at Savnu. He still wasn’t used to having her at his side like this. Right where Trina used to be. “Do you hate me?” He asked, so quietly he wasn’t sure if he’d spoken the words out loud until he saw the incredulous look on her face. “No. Why would- how could you even think that?” “You chose me over Orane. That cost you… him and Keidal.” “Wow,” Savnu scowled, getting to her feet, “Are you trying to push me away?” “I got my Brothers killed. I got yours killed. And Widrek’s, and-” “You’re not to blame for every person who’s ever died on your watch,” Savnu reached down and pulled him to his feet, placing her hands on his shoulders and looking him in the eyes. “You and me, we’re the ones everyone else blames. Your leadership, my Toa Stones, all of it. Which means we can’t afford to blame ourselves as well. We can remember the ones we’ve lost without letting them drag us down.” “But I-” “But nothing.” “Thank you,” Icthilos nodded numbly. “Don’t get used to it,” she let him go and stepped back. “I’m not Trina, okay? I’m not going to dig you out of every emotional rut you fling yourself into. If you want your counsellor back, we have to find her first.” * * * Ilton Everything had gone to Karzahni, and in record time. Within seconds of battle being joined, some kind of weight-increasing Rhotuka had brought the airship crashing down into the sea. Pahlil had used her powers to levitate herself, Ilton, and Behjen onto one of the iceberg ships, though the Vahki pilot hadn’t been so lucky. The aquatic combatants had managed to take control over some of the League ships, steering them in between the flagship and the Frostelus fleet, preventing Desecrator’s Ga-Skakdi from simply washing them all away with one massive wave as originally planned. Even if the Skakdi managed to retake their ships, Ilton and his companions were now right in the firing line. Rhotuka of all kinds and colours splashed against Behjen’s Hau shield as the crew of the iceberg ship assailed the three Toa who had landed in their midst. Ilton and Pahlil focused their powers on whatever weapons or mechanical components they could find, slowing and repelling the attackers. It worked well against the Frostelus, and even most of the Pit Prisoners still had some kind of metal within their bodies. But the Toa’s powers did nothing at all to the titanic white figure who was stalking across the ice towards them. Ilton had seen a Zyglak only once before, but the one he’d encountered was nothing like the monster that stood before him now. Like scavenger rahi scattering from a predator’s approach, the other cultists gave the pale Zyglak a wide berth, abandoning their attacks and backing well away. The Zyglak stood head and shoulders taller than the one Ilton had previously encountered, it’s bleached-white body encrusted with a bony carapace. Its left arm ended in hooked talons the size of shortswords, and the right arm was just… wrong. There was no carapace, no scaly skin, just a rippling mass of red muscle, twisted tendrils of flesh tangled together in a shape that only vaguely resembled an arm. Smaller tendrils jutted out of the carapace all down the Zyglak’s side, grasping greedily at the empty air. “I am Stralgok,” the creature’s voice was harsh and raspy, the ‘S’ sound at the start of its name coming through as a drawn-out hiss, a tic that continued in the Zyglak’s next words. “Emissary of Tren Krom. Why do you stand against us, Toa?” “You started it,” Pahlil blurted out. “You’re more right than you realise. We serve he who existed before spirits and shadows, before vices and virtues, before this death and darkness. We serve he who offers us all deliverance.” “Deliverance?” Against his better judgement, Ilton decided to take the bait. In his thousands of years as a Toa, he’d learned that villains loved a good lecture. Every second this creature was talking was a second the others weren’t shooting. “What deliverance?” “This universe began as one of order, but it has descended into madness and misery,” despite his bestial appearance and hoarse voice, Stralgok spoke with the practiced eloquence of a Turaga preacher. “We have all been judged, and the sentence is death. Only those who serve will find a place in the new world Tren Krom will assemble from the ashes of this one.” “Tren Krom has been imprisoned since the time before time,” Ilton made no effort to keep the mockery from his voice. “Who is he to decide the fate of this universe?” “He is this universe,” Stralgok snarled. “It’s substance, it’s mind and memory. Before Mata Nui first opened his eyes it was Tren Krom who provided light and life. He is the firstborn of the Great Beings, the mind-child of the dream-eater, the First Flesh. He has a greater claim to godhood than Mata Nui or the Makuta ever did.” Pahlil looked to Ilton. She said nothing, but her expression was one he recognised all too well: what’s the plan? He shrugged. “Decide now, Toa,” Stralgok reached out with his mutated arm, the crimson meat sloughing away at the tip of one of the tendrils to reveal an oversized, bloodshot eye, crackling with sickly yellow light. “Serve, or suffer.”

This will never happen. Not least because Makuta smut would never make it past the BZP filters. Totally fair. It's a bad habit of mine, and I admittedly may have overindulged a bit with this one. Rahkshi are one of my favourite species in Bionicle lore. If given the opportunity, I'll always find a way to sneak one into a story.

The island had no name. It didn’t even have any actual value, with no resources to plunder, nor strategic benefit to be gained from controlling it. It was a stark, inhospitable slab, bereft of foliage or fauna, assailed on all sides by the torrential tides of the protodermis sea that surrounded it, shrinking each year as the waves wore away at it. It certainly wasn’t worth the blood that had been spilled on its shores over the past few centuries. And yet, that bloodshed would continue this day. * * * As the lightstones of the dome dimmed, signalling the shift from day to night, two figures materialised on the ragged, craggy peak in the island’s centre. It was here that the island’s only artificial landmark stood: a protosteel flagpole, upon which currently hung a black banner bearing a garish green likeness of the Kanohi Felnas. Both of the arrivals were hued in shades of ebon and emerald, with baleful eyes burning behind their dark masks. One was spindly and serrated in silhouette, each of its six limbs tipped with cruel claws. The other was a lean, long-limbed anthropoid with butterfly-like wings sprouting from its back. The two mismatched monsters exchanged no words, merely offering each other brief nods of acknowledgement as they turned their gazes southward, where the outlines of six fleeting figures could be seen speeding through the skies towards the island’s shores. * * * The island’s significance, such as it was, stemmed from the fact that it was positioned between the territories of two Makuta: to the North was the Tren Krom Peninsula, realm of Makuta Gorast, and to the South lay the Mywrenn Isles, ruled over by Makuta Aemula. Both Makuta professed that they were the rightful owner of the island, and despite dozens of decades of dispute, neither one had been willing to relinquish their claim. Given that Aemula’s appointed region was all of the isolated islets located between the Northern and Southern Continents, hers seemed the stronger claim. But the island had originally been part of the Peninsula, separated during an ‘incident’ that Gorast had been stubbornly reluctant to explain, and she steadfastly asserted that – per the original distribution of Makuta territories – the island was still technically hers. And so, the dispute endured. * * * As the invaders made their approach, the island’s six denizens rose to meet them, emerging from their caves and crevices and screeching their greetings to one another. The lengthening shadows clung to them like cloaks, dragging out desperately as if trying to draw their owners back into the deeper darkness they’d just emerged from. The six paid their shades no heed. They had waited a year for this day to come. It was, after all, the only thing they had to look forward to in their brief, brutal lives. * * * In true Makuta style, there had been no attempt to resolve the deadlock through simple debate. Aemula had simply sent a few Rahkshi to plant her flag on the island, prompting Gorast to send her own Rahkshi to wipe them out and replace the flag with her own. Aemula had responded by sending her Hagah team to eliminate the invaders, with Gorast in turn showing up personally to eliminate them. When the Toa didn’t return, Aemula had teleported to the island and found Gorast awaiting her in a corpse-filled crater. The two Makuta – recognising that a direct fight between them wasn’t worth the effort and would likely result in the destruction of the island itself – eventually arrived at a method of formalising the conflict: annual war games, fought between teams of six Rahkshi. The winning Makuta was considered the owner of the island for the next year… a year that was spent preparing defences and strategy for the next round of battle. * * * Makuta Aemula watched as her progeny approached the beach, the blades of their staves shimmering in the dying daylight. The lingering illumination highlighted the few remaining spots of colour to be seen amidst the charcoal-coloured crags of the island: mauled motes of multihued metal, the remnants of Rahkshi who had perished fighting here in years past. And like their predecessors, the incoming six were likely going to end this day reduced to scrap and scattered like snow. On this island, destruction was the only constant. For all of her outward composure, Aemula was apprehensive. There’d been a time when she hadn’t cared about this island at all, but somewhere along the line holding it had become a point of pride for her. Like the other handful of female members within the Brotherhood, she’d long been ignored and overlooked, assigned to a worthless backwater territory and never consulted on major decisions. For the most part, she’d been fine with that. She’d spent millennia watching Gorast go out of her way to be the most demented, devoted acolyte of The Plan, pining pathetically for Teridax’s affections just to be held in the same regard as blundering, boastful oafs like Icarax. It looked like way too much work, for way too little reward. Aemula had been perfectly content to keep to herself, free to experiment as she wished without fear of interference or intrusion. But then the dispute over the island had arisen, and Aemula had found herself faced with a grim realisation: if she couldn’t even defend one stupid, insignificant spit of land from a zealot like Gorast, she was validating all of the denigration and disdain the other Makuta held for her. And that could not stand. Unfortunately, Gorast had been on a winning streak of late, thanks to an irritatingly effective team of Shadow Kraata. While it was normal practice to replace team members between games to keep the numbers fair, this group hadn’t needed to. They hadn’t lost a single member since they’d first entered the fray, four years ago. Aemula was determined to see that they wouldn’t win a fifth time. The Brotherhood was tolerant of the isolationism, insanity, and idiocy that ran rife among its members, but there were limits. Weakness was something they would not abide, and Aemula would eagerly take being viewed as an annoyance to be ignored over being deemed a liability to be eliminated. “Another attempt at misdirection?” Gorast sneered, as Aemula’s approaching Rahkshi team drew close enough for her to identify their variations – Illusion, Chameleon, Confusion, Adaptation, Density Control, and Limited Invulnerability. “Have you gleaned nothing from your past lessons?” “You’re a poor teacher,” Aemula retorted. “Then pay attention,” Gorast’s reply came out as a strained, sibilant snarl. “Maybe this time you’ll learn something.” Aemula said nothing, content to let the outcome of this fight speak for itself. Four rounds of defeat and humiliation had taught her everything she needed to know. Gorast’s team hadn’t changed their tactics in all that time, justifiably confident in their capabilities. But confidence led to complacency, and that complacency was the key to their collapse. Gorast’s team favoured a deep canyon that carved a furrow deep into the side of the peak atop which the two Makuta were spectating. On either side of the lowest, narrowest point waited Rahkshi of Poison and Disintegration, who used their powers to devastating effect in the close confines. In the middle, where the canyon started to widen, Rahkshi of Chain Lightning and Power Scream had been posted on opposite sides, picking off anyone who made it through the initial attack. And standing together at the cliff where the canyon ended stood Rahkshi of Fragmentation and Mind Reading, commanding the operation. The Mind Reader was the problem. Every time, regardless of what tactic Aemula’s team attempted, the Mind Reader plucked their plan from their heads and conveyed a counter-strategy to its own team. Not that there were many approaches worth attempting in the first place. Whether by flight or on foot, traversing the canyon directly was tantamount to suicide. Flying over it wasn’t much better. Any attempt to sneak in from another direction led to the Mind Reader detecting the approach and pointing out the interloper’s positions to the Fragmenter, who was irritatingly accurate at striking targets from afar. After four years of failures, Aemula was convinced that taking the Mind Reader out of play was the only chance she had, no matter the cost. Even if she didn’t win this year, eliminating it would improve her chances next time. Gorast wasn’t one to plan for her own failure, so she wouldn’t have another top-tier Mind Reading Rahkshi waiting to replace this one. But getting to it was the hard part. Reaching the Mind Reader required getting past the entirety of Gorast’s team. Aemula had tried, multiple times, and been thwarted on each occasion. But this time she’d based her entire strategy around creating an opening to strike that one target. No matter the cost... There was no fanfare or speech to mark the start of battle. Aemula’s Rahkshi landed down-mountain, well out of range of the first pair of defenders, seeming to confer for a moment before five of them took to the air again and flew full-speed into the canyon, leaving only the Confusion Rahkshi behind. Gorast let out a startled laugh. “If you’re tired of the competition, you could have just forfeited,” she said. “This is just a waste of antidermis.” Aemula closed her eyes, activating her Kanohi. Hers was the Kanohi Visus, the Mask of Spawnsight, allowing her to experience the world through the senses of her Kraata and Rahkshi, to see and feel what they did. One of the few rules both Makuta had agreed upon was that they weren’t permitted to give aid or instruction to their team, but there was no rule against Aemula spectating in this manner. She was sending her scions to the slaughter. Experiencing their final moments with them was the least she could do to honour their sacrifice. * * * She opened her eyes again as the Illusion Rahkshi, leading the charge into the canyon. It was armoured in shades of sandy beige and burnished blue, still glistening with sea spray from the flight to the island. It was slim and skeletal, even by Rahkshi standards; Aemula had used the bare minimum of material needed in its creation. There was no point in wasting material on a Rahkshi that only needed to fly fast and die… and cast one simple illusion as it did so. Out of the corners of its eyes Aemula could see its comrades – the red-and-gold Chameleon to its left, and the black-and-green Density Controller to its right. The other two Rahkshi were somewhere behind them, bringing up the rear. The Illusion Rahkshi didn’t look back; its gaze was fixed forwards, towards the cause of its imminent demise. Gorast’s Rahkshi were already taking aim, ominous glows building around the heads of their staffs. No matter the cost… In the growing dark, the flurry of motion, the heat of battle, Aemula knew the enemy wouldn’t notice that of the five Rahkshi flying towards them, only four were casting shadows. Brilliant beams of blazing obliteration rained down on Aemula’s team, reducing rock and Rahkshi alike into steaming vapour. For a fleeting instant, Aemula beheld blinding light, was wracked by awful agony, and- * * * -she was back in her own body, her true eyes looking out across the battlefield once more. She blinked against a light that was no longer there, involuntarily shuddered at the lingering memory of pain her form had never felt, and turned to see Gorast’s condescending stare aimed right at her. “I’ll never understand why you subject yourself to that,” she scoffed. “Or what you were hoping to accomplish with such a… strategy doesn’t even seem the right word.” Aemula didn’t reply, just titled her head back towards the canyon, where a plume of putrid pollution had formed a cloying cloud that obscured the fate of her team. There was no sound to be heard save for the distant hiss of corrosive poison sizzling against the ruined rock… until the soft metallic thrum of a biomechanical being in flight sliced through the silence as swiftly as its source – the Confusion Rahkshi – burst through the veil of haze, its power active and pushed to the limit. Confusion wasn’t a Rahkshi variant that either Makuta had fielded before in their fights over the island. Its power manifested as an aura of disorientation, an area-of-effect ability that was borderline-useless in a team-based battle like this, bewildering both friend and foe alike. But it was perfect for a lone, daring attacker tasked with flying past an entire team of snipers. Pausing just long enough to enjoy the spark of surprise in Gorast’s gaze, Aemula closed her eyes again… * * * …and now witnessed the world through the Confuser’s view. It soared swiftly along the length of the chasm, drifting and diving to avoid the languid lightning and sputtering energy pulses that pursued it. Stupefied to the point they could barely stay standing, Gorast’s defenders stood little chance of shooting it down. Even the Mind Reader – not needing its power to comprehend the Confuser’s intention – could do nothing but stumble and screech as the Confuser careened towards it, stave levelled like a lance. Aemula watched through her offspring’s eyes as it struck the Mind Reader with pinpoint accuracy, spearing it through the mouthparts, armour and Kraata alike splitting asunder from the sheer force behind the blow. Pieces of purple plating pinged off the rocks as the Mind Reader toppled, its prone form pulling the Confuser to the ground with it as the grey-green Rahkshi refused to release its staff, the twisted tines tangled in the remnants of its slain prey. The Confuser landed unsteadily, turning around and planting a foot upon its fallen foe as it seized the staff with both hands and tried to wrench it free. Aemula glimpsed a flash of movement in her progeny’s periphery and- * * * -was abruptly returned to her own body once more, as the sound of an explosion rumbled across the battlefield. She let out a disappointed sigh as she looked down and took in the scene. Even disoriented, the Fragmentation Rahkshi that had been standing at the Mind Reader’s side hadn’t struggled with striking the Confuser at such close range. But its death hadn’t been completely in vain, the detonation of its armour turning it into a hailstorm of shrapnel that had shredded its slayer. The Fragmenter was now floundering, armour mangled, one of its arms hanging limp, the dissipation of the disorientation field only now allowing it to remember why making something explode right next to it was a bad idea. “One dead, one damaged,” Gorast glanced at Aemula again. “Was it really worth it?” “You tell me,” Aemula said, pointing back towards the battlefield. The smoke was beginning to clear, revealing the fissured fragments of what had once been the Illusion Rahkshi, and the much more intact forms of the Adaptation and Limited Invulnerability Rahkshi, who had been quietly clambering up the sides of the crevasse under the cover of the smoke. That the Limited Invulnerability Rahkshi had survived shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise, but Gorast let out a guttural growl as she watched the Adapter shrug off lightning bolts, sonic bursts, and globs of poison like they were nothing. Knowing what powers the enemy possessed had allowed Aemula to spend the last year training the Adapter to resist those abilities. All save Disintegration and Fragmentation, of course, there was no adapting against that… but that was what the Invulnerability Rahkshi was for. Aemula activated her Kanohi again… * * * …and saw through the eyes of the Invulnerability Rahkshi as it crested the top of the canyon wall in front of the Disintegrator, its hardy armour barely buckling despite repeated blasts that would have evaporated a lesser being. The Disintegrator lashed out with its staff, but its slate-grey assailant caught the weapon and ripped it from its owner’s grasp, snapping it over its knee and tossing the halves away. Robbed of the focus for its powers, facing a foe it hadn’t been able to fell with its full strength, the Disintegrator turned to flee, only for its attacker to draw its own staff and slash the Disintegrator’s legs out from under it. The cobalt-coloured combatant clattered to the ground, clawing and crawling, trying desperately to drag itself away from the only thing that had ever been certain in its life: a death in battle. Aemula watched on from behind her progeny’s eyes as it raised its staff overhead, then slammed it down through the Disintegrator’s Kraata-case, a plaintive wail escaping the ruined Rahkshi’s throat as its pilot perished. And then Aemula’s view became flailing limbs as the Limited Invulnerability Rahkshi was struck from behind by something heavy and fast. It tumbled, bounced, then sprung to its feet, whirling to face its attacker. For the barest instant, it saw the gleaming green carapace of the Poison Rahkshi, before its view was violated by the veritable geyser of liquid death that spewed from the Poisoner’s staff. Taken by surprise, it was too slow to close its eyes and faceplates fully, inhaling a mouthful of poison that swiftly overwhelmed the Kraata within its armour. * * * Though there was no poison in her real mouth, Aemula still tasted something bitter as she returned to herself and watched another of her children collapse. But there was sweetness to be savoured, too, for as she looked to Gorast there was no elation to be seen in the other Makuta’s expression. Though she still held the advantage from a numbers perspective, the loss of two of her Rahkshi in the space of a minute after having gone four years without taking any losses at all had rattled her… and her mood was about to worsen. Aemula turned her attention back to the battlefield. With the Poisoner having flown over to the opposite side of the canyon, the Adapter had made its way down to the canyon floor and was climbing up the other side after it. Its progress was being hampered by the thunderous strikes still being rained down upon it by the Chain Lightning and Power Scream Rahkshi, their blasts not harming the Adapter physically, but cracking and fracturing the rock, making climbing difficult. The Adapter made no effort to simply give up the climb and start flying, though. Aemula’s orders were clear. It needed to keep the enemy focused on it. Had the Mind Reader still been alive, it would have realised Aemula’s scheme and informed the others by now. Had Gorast chosen to train her team for critical thinking rather than blind obedience, her Rahkshi might have found it suspicious that the Adapter was letting them keep firing at it instead of flying away. But for the first time in a long time, Aemula finally had the edge. And the next phase of her plan was about to begin… * * * When Aemula connected with her next Rahkshi, she found herself centimetres from the ground, staring at the silver-armoured ankles of the Chain Lightning Rahkshi. Everything was distant and indistinct, sounds muffled, sensations muted, as if the Rahkshi was underwater. In actuality, it was underground. Floating up through the stone like a ghost, the Density Control Rahkshi – having become intangible to survive the first barrage, and been hiding inside the canyon wall ever since – rose up behind the Chain Lightning Rahkshi. The argent-armoured antagonist was hissing and shrieking, growing more frantic and frustrated with every ineffective strike against the Adapter, unaware of its impending end. Using Density Control in this way was a tactic Aemula had attempted in the past, only for the Mind Reader to detect the intruder immediately and point it out to the rest of the team the second it had emerged from hiding. But this time, there was no Mind Reader to save the Chain Lightning Rahkshi from being struck down, bisected by a single, brutal blow that sent its two sparking halves tumbling to the canyon floor. And where other members of Aemula’s team had been felled by surprise attacks, the Density Controller had been afforded the time needed to take full stock of its surroundings before launching its ambush. So when the Power Scream Rahkshi took to the air and let out a screech strong enough to shatter stone, the Controller was ready, phasing to evade harm. It sunk through the ground once more and reemerged beneath the Screamer when it landed, only its head and arms poking up from the ground as it drove its intangible staff through its enemy’s body, releasing its power over just the staff to turn the weapon solid inside the Screamer’s shell. The Screamer shuddered, screeched… and then looked down, eyes ablaze with anger. The staff had missed its Kraata, or at least failed to mortally wound it. The Screamer let out another blast of its power, not harming the Density Controller itself, but smashing its staff apart. The Controller let out a startled squeak. Though its intangible body was protected from the physical impact a Power Scream could inflict, at this range it had still heard enough to be subjected to the physiological effects. Its focus was faltering in the wake of a horrific headache, its awareness dampened by disorientation. Combined with the newfound panic brought about by the loss of the focus for its power, the Controller’s will was wavering. The Rahkshi started to scramble upwards, trying to emerge fully from the rock before- * * * -and then Aemula was back in her body, staring down at the stricken Density Controller, which had rematerialised with its Kraata still half inside the rocky ground. The wounded Power Screamer stood above it, twitching and contorting as it tried to find an angle from which to pull the broken-off staff out of its torso. “And you were doing so well,” Gorast crooned. Though the comment was clearly meant to be sarcastic, Gorast’s tone was hesitant, the quip not quite as biting and dismissive as her usual insults, as if she’d realised halfway through saying it that there was actually truth to the words. And the battle wasn’t over yet. The Adapter had finally reached the Poisoner, with the two Rahkshi now engaged in a brutal staff duel. The Adapter was the wilier of the two, its body reshaping to be more agile, allowing it to avoid the Poisoner’s blows while landing strikes of its own too swiftly to be parried. It deftly ducked and darted, always keeping the Poisoner positioned between it and the distant Power Screamer so that the partially-impaled Rahkshi couldn’t take potshots from across the canyon without catching its comrade in the crossfire. Protosteel scraped. Sparks sprayed. Inky ichor spattered the stones, dripping from the Poisoner’s damaged hydraulics. For the first time since the battle had begun, Aemula allowed her Kanohi’s facsimile of a mouth to align into something approximating a smile. Against all odds, her strategy had actually worked. The Adapter could win this. She could win this. All that was left was to- And then Poisoner and Adapter alike were reduced to sizzling shards as a beam of vicious, violet violence struck them both, compelling every component of their bodies to detonate in the same instant. An involuntary gasp escaped Aemula’s throat, a humiliating display of shock that went entirely unnoticed by Gorast, who let out an enraged shriek in the same moment. “You fool!” She snarled, her gaze and rage aimed squarely at the damaged Fragmentation Rahkshi responsible for the accidental double kill. Its staff was raised in a single unsteady hand, and it looked up to its irate maker with slumped shoulders and mortified eyes. Gorast let out a long, irritated hiss, then turned to Aemula. “Well, at least you managed to make this more entertaining than last year. But I think it’s time for you to get off my island.” “We’re not done yet,” Aemula replied. Her words were emphasised by the discordant clatter of Rahkshi striking rock. Both Makuta looked down to see the Power Screamer sprawled on the floor of the canyon. That its head hadn’t made the trip with the rest of its body offered a clear clue to the cause of death. “You cheated!” Gorast rounded on Aemula, lightning crackling around her claws. “Did I?” Gorast looked back to the battlefield, her gaze drifting from one fallen Rahkshi to another, further and further down the trench until she reached the entrance, and realised what was missing. The only Rahkshi wreckage to be seen there was tan and blue in hue: the Illusion Rahkshi. There was no sign of any gold or red remnants to mark the passing of the Chameleon Rahkshi. “But how? It was right next to…” she let out a groan as she realised the answer to her question, “…Illusion.” “It was never there,” Aemula’s smile returned. “It stayed back with the Confuser.” “And you took out my Mind Reader before it could notice and alert the others.” Gorast’s claws curled into fists, before relaxing as she met Aemula’s smile with one of her own. “Maybe I’m not such a poor teacher after all?” “Maybe not.” Both Makuta turned their attention back to the Fragmentation Rahkshi, which was peering out over the ledge, anxiously analysing its surroundings for any sign of its camouflaged foe. Every suggestion of sound, every imagined motion, was met with a brutal blast from its shaking staff, carving craters out of the canyon walls. But when the smoke cleared after each strike, there was no sign of a Rahkshi ever having been there. At a scraping sound near its feet, the Fragmenter leaned out further over the ledge… and the last thing it ever saw in its life was a blur of motion as the blades of the Chameleon’s stave found its face. Neither Makuta spoke as the Fragmenter plummeted out of sight, and the Chameleon returned to its natural colouration and clambered up onto the ledge. Gorast let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a snarl and made a dismissive gesture towards her flag, atomising it with a pulse of Molecular Disruption. “Well played,” she muttered, not meeting Aemula’s eyes. “See you next year.” She teleported away without a further word. Aemula fluttered down to the ledge where her lone surviving spawn stood. The Rahkshi cooed contentedly as she brushed her hand over its carapace, unbothered by the fact that all of its kin had died horrible deaths. A year from now, Aemula had no doubt, this Rahkshi would join them. Gorast would surely hold a grudge. She looked out at the crumpled corpses of her children, and sighed dejectedly. “No matter the cost,” she muttered. Her words echoed mockingly through the canyon. * * * Wrathful red eyes burned behind the contours of the crystal mirror that stood in the centre of Gorast’s opulent antechamber. “Your game is over?” Makuta Teridax asked. “Who won?” “Aemula did. She’s learning.” Gorast answered, unable to keep the glee from her voice. Even in defeat, she was victorious. “You were right… perhaps there’s a place for her in The Plan after all…” Author’s note: Makuta Aemula is a character who’s existed in my personal lore in some form or another for about a decade now, but has always been more of a side character or background presence. I’ve long wanted to make her the focal character of a story, and when the Biolympics came along – with the prompt for the narrative component simply being to “write a story involving a conflict that takes place within the GSR prior to the events of the main story” – I saw my opportunity. This character has her genesis in the Corpus Rahkshi RPG that on this site from 2014 to 2019. The basic premise was that it took place in an alternate universe where some Rahkshi randomly began gaining speech and intelligence when they were first created (rather than only at the rare Shadow Kraata stage) and were shipped off to what was basically Rahkshi high school to train and be studied. Instead of choosing one of the canon Makuta as the progenitor for some of my characters, I came up with a very loose outline of what would eventually become Aemula: a female Makuta who was fixated on creating the strongest Rahkshi and had a rivalry with Gorast, whose territory bordered hers. In-game my characters simply referred to her as “Mother”, and out-of-game I just dubbed her as “The Rival”, not needing to come up with any more detail since she never actually appeared beyond a single flashback scene. That RPG eventually petered out, but in 2022 I brought some of the players back together to write Class Is Out, a series of short stories resolving the tales of some of our characters. In 2023 I released one of my contributions, Sword and Shield, in which Xara, one of “The Rival’s” children, had a final encounter with her mother during Teridax’s reign. For this story, I put a lot more work into her characterisation, making her remorseful for the harsh treatment of her children, and forlorn at how her life’s ambitions had been rendered pointless by Teridax’s triumph. I also gave her a name, “Aemula”, a Latin word meaning “rival”, in a nod to her previous moniker. This version of Aemula believed that intelligent Rahkshi were the legacy and eventual redemption of the Makuta species, and pleaded with Xara to protect others of her kind. The story ends ambiguously, with Aemula teleporting away and never being seen again, though there are hints that she survived and made her way to Spherus Magna, (a thread I want to follow up on someday). At the same time as I was developing that story, I was also well into work on my long-form fanfic Embers, which takes places in an AU where the GSR suffers a second Great Cataclysm and shuts down shortly after Teridax’s takeover, leading to a new power struggle between the survivors. Aemula gets a mention in this story as well, once again as a Makuta known for an interest in Rahkshi development, and having a territorial rivalry with Gorast. Having mysteriously vanished before the main events of that story, she hasn’t appeared in the narrative so far, but is set to make her debut in Book 4 of the series, coming later this year. As part of development for this version of Aemula, I came up with her custom Kanohi and MOCed a design for her for the first time (with her simply being shapeshifted into a Rahkshi form in her prior appearances). War Games is intended to work as an origin story for either version of Aemula, establishing a reason for her ongoing enmity with Gorast, and her interest in creating stronger Rahkshi. It was fun to explore this rawer, more naïve version of the character, and actually have her share scenes with Gorast.

If CCBS is what you have, and what you're used to, there's nothing wrong with that. This might be a controversial opinion, but I actually hate MOCs that create complex custom stuff just for the sake of not using existing parts. I'll happily take a MOC that's actually functional over a fragile latticework of bars and axles that would fall apart the second anyone tries to do anything with it. At the end of the day, build what you like. You don't need anyone else's approval on how you create your characters.

Seek psychiatric help.

Chapter 19 – Decisions From the records of Turaga Rost (archived after his death). Politics have always bored me. When I first became a Turaga, I was the only one in our village. My Destiny was already fulfilled, but it was only after our previous Turaga passed away from an illness that I gave up my power and allowed myself to transform. He was ancient and ailing, long before his death. The last thing he needed in his final years was a young upstart challenging his authority. I had no intention of challenging him, but the mere presence of another Turaga would have been challenge enough. Matoran who didn’t get the permission or information they wanted from him would have turned to me. Even back then, I understood the value of having a singular vision in positions of power. Which is why I’ve always abhorred this Council of Turaga, with their endless bickering and butting of heads. They hail from so many different lands, each harbouring their own warped worldviews, each clinging to pasts that can never be recovered, and pining for futures that will never live up to their expectations. And all the while, they neglect the needs and necessities of the present. How much simpler things would be if one person were making all of the decisions. It doesn’t need to be me. But it needs to be someone. * * * Ilton For the second time in recent memory, a battlefleet of air and sea vessels raced across the Sea of Protodermis. But this time, they were sailing away from Metru Nui, not towards it. At the head of the fleet was Desecrator’s massive command ship, its deck covered in dozens of blue beings; Ga and Ce Skakdi, along with Bihriis and Lhiyla. Ilton and the remaining Toa were back on the same airship that had brought them to Le-Metru, keeping pace with the lead ship. The rest of the fleet were spaced out around the lead vessel, their occupants keeping eyes and weapons aimed towards the ocean. The survivors of the initial attack had reported being assailed from below by aquatic beings – likely the Zyglak and former Pit Prisoners – so everyone was more wary than usual of the water. The six iceberg vessels were drawing near, close enough that Ilton could make out individual figures clambering about aboard them. The multi-limbed creatures charging dual rhotuka launchers were clearly Frostelus, and the large reptilian monsters diving overboard into the water were Zyglak, but the other beings were far harder to identify. For the first time in a long time, Ilton had no idea what he was about to face. In the past year he’d fought Vortixx, Skakdi, Vahki, and Rahkshi, but they were all known quantities. Aside from unique Vortixx rhotuka abilities and the rare tertiary powers some Skakdi possessed, Ilton knew what to expect from every foe he’d faced in the last two years. But the beings waiting below were mutants and monsters, most of them armed with crude weaponry, some of them immune to elemental powers, and many of them likely harbouring obscure, unfamiliar abilities. He looked to Pahlil, recognising the same concern on her face as he felt now. Toa of Magnetism and Iron were normally the most powerful beings on any battlefield. Here, they would be near-useless. Especially against the Zyglak. The ships drew within firing range and vast volleys of beams and blasts flashed through the air between the two fleets, a kaleidoscope of colours reflecting wildly off the waves. Monstrous figures launched themselves up out of the ocean and onto the decks of the seaborne vessels, brandishing brutal blades. Ilton readied his launcher as he bellowed his order: “Bring us in!” * * * Sidra Sidra had watched plenty of Council meetings in her time, though this was the first time she was attending in-person. The cast of Councillors was a little smaller than usual this time, with Ilton, Tustesh, Muhlene, and Desecrator all being absent for various reasons. Everyone else had managed to attend, though not all of them looked happy about it. No one bothered with formalities this time. “I know you like being here even less than most of us,” Nomar said to Lariska, “So I trust you have good reason to summon us all here? And for bringing them?” She pointed at Neryx and Sidra. “Sidra is a trusted friend, without whom none of us would be here,” Lariska replied warily, “I don’t need to justify her presence here.” “And the other?” “Neryx. Sidra vouches for her. She’s seeking asylum, and claims to have information about goings-on in Ga-Metru.” “Let’s hear it, then.” Sidra offered Neryx a reassuring nod as she stood, looking like she suddenly wanting to be anywhere but this room. “This morning Tuxar and Greillash announced their plans to attack the rest of this city,” Neryx said. “Tuxar has been growing toxic plants. They intend to poison the next shipment of water they distribute, and dispatch agents to do the same to all of the fresh water supplies outside of Ga-Metru. Those who don’t die will be easily conquered, and reliant on Ga-Metru for water.” “How would they accomplish this?” “Our people can wear Kanohi, just like most of the other beings here. Agents wearing Hunas and Volitaks have already scouted out most of the water sources. The poisoning itself is planned for early tomorrow morning, to coincide with the next shipment.” “We can deploy operatives wearing Masks Of Detection to protect the water,” Gharkelos suggested. “We don’t have any,” Lariska reminded him. “Some of the Skakdi can see through invisibility, though. We should speak with Desecrator once they’re done with… whatever it is they’re doing.” “Tuxar also has Matoran who’ve been swayed to his side,” Nadrua spoke up. “They could walk right in without the need for Kanohi.” “Then we need to have guards posted at all of the water sources, checking everyone who comes through,” Nomar said. “To Karzahni with the inconvenience.” “You have my people,” Gharkelos said. “And mine,” chittered Karturuhk. “And my Hunters,” Lariska added. A few faces looked expectantly at Lhuhamaka, but she made no move to offer assistance. She instead asked, “How do we know this isn’t a ploy to divert our forces away from a direct attack?” “We just volunteered a bunch of beings who spend most of their days spinning webs and beating each other up in an arena,” Lariska pointed out. “No one said anything about diverting the Toa or Vahki from their usual patrols.” “Indeed. We can’t afford to take that risk,” Nomar agreed. She looked back to Neryx, “I suppose you’ll be wanting something in return for this warning?” “Amnesty for me, the others who left Ga-Metru with me this morning, and anyone else who surrenders peacefully-” “Provided they’re not wanted for other crimes, that would be acceptable,” Nomar interjected. “-and a seat of our own on the Council, with Sidra as our representative.” “I never agreed to-” Sidra started to protest. She’d been so caught up with everything else that had been happening that she’d almost managed to forget that detail. “The Council has an odd number of members,” Nomar said, “Such a thing would require-” “We already had that conversation,” Lariska spoke up, “If the Unbroken are aware of this poisoning plan – and Tustesh’s absence suggests they are – then I’d argue that their complicity would be grounds to remove them from the Council.” “Tustesh barely takes part anyway,” Gharkelos remarked. “Very well,” Nomar nodded. “I think we can at least vote on the amnesty now. The decision about representation can wait until after we’ve heard Tustesh’s side of this story. Those in favour of granting asylum to the Odinans?” Three hands and one appendage rose up around the room, almost none of which were the ones Sidra had been expecting to see. Lariska, Karturuhk, Gharkelos, and the Rahkshi Perception – who’d been silent throughout the meeting so far – had all voted their support. Sidra had expected Lhuhamaka to block them, given the recent attack in Ta-Metru, and her status as the self-appointed voice of opposition. But Sidra hadn’t anticipated Turaga Nadrua nor Nomar herself to vote against. Still, four was enough for the vote to pass. “Very well,” Nomar said, “It appears the-” “Not so fast,” Lhuhamaka protested, “We can’t make a decision with a third of our number absent. Tustesh would obviously vote against this farce.” “Surely he would vote in favour, if this is indeed a ploy to infiltrate us,” Gharkelos sneered. “Tustesh’s status as a member of this Council is in doubt,” Nomar said. “If we’re assigning intent to absent parties, then obviously Toa Ilton would also have voted in favour,” Sidra spoke up, with a pointed glare towards Nadrua. “Desecrator and Muhlene would vote together,” Lhuhamaka protested. “They wouldn’t stand for allowing the Odinans to integrate with the rest of the population.” “You’re seriously arguing that the founder of the Last League would vote against cooperation between species?” Lariska scoffed. “The same being who made the deal with Sidra to capture the Odinans peacefully in the first place? A deal that you broke, by the way.” “The vote passes,” Nomar said flatly. “Alright, since we’re all on the same side now, tell us what you know of the attack that occurred in our Metru,” Lhuhamaka jabbed a crooked claw in Neryx’s direction. “Or do you deny that your people carried it out.” “Greillash was responsible for that attack,” Neryx said. “Along with Aadra and Phidras. They wanted to stop the production of new Vahki to ease their takeover. Robots can’t be poisoned.” “The Vahki already identified who, and I don’t really care about why. I want to know how?” Lhuhamaka said. “They had to have had inside information to pull off that attack. Who’s the leak?” “From what I heard, they bribed a Matoran for information.” “Which Matoran?” “I don’t have a name, and I only saw him once. He was a Po-Matoran, with big hands and a mask I didn’t recognise.” “That tells us very little.” “That’s all I know.” “Fine. I’ll ask them myself,” Lhuhamaka grumbled. “What is that meant to mean?” Nomar asked. “It means that I’m marching my forces into Ga-Metru and dragging Greillash out in chains,” Lhuhamaka growled. “Why waste time stationing our forces at every spring and fountain in the city? The best way to protect the water is to arrest those planning the attack, and seize their poison.” “We have a treaty-” “I’m not asking for your permission, Nomar. I’m telling you what’s happening. They broke your treaty when they attacked my factory. And they were planning to break it again. I’m not waiting around to see their third attempt.” “How is this any different to what Larone just tried to do?” Lariska pointed out. “The difference is that we have proof now, and I have the numbers and the firepower to succeed.” The Vortixx looked to Neryx. “You best round up anyone who’s switching sides now. Any Odinan we see holding a weapon will be considered an enemy combatant, and treated accordingly.” With that, she stormed out of the room. Nomar looked to Neryx and Sidra, her expression apologetic. “You should get going.”

I don't necessarily agree with that interpretation, but I can definitely see how someone could reach that conclusion. It's a testament to Bionicle's rich weirdness and depth that we're still having these sorts of philosophical conversations about it so long after it's gone.

I feel similarly. Aside from Axonn and Brutaka, basically none of the Order members actually exist as sets, and the faction doesn't really play a role in any of the novels. Their shenanigans were mainly confined to the serials, which - from what I understand - were always more of Greg's personal playground, where he could cut loose without as much oversight. In principle, this is a cool idea. And it works pretty well when the greater force in play is the ephemeral, unknowledge whims of Destiny. Not so much when the greater force is an edgy band of secretive, sadistic murderhobos who can effortlessly one-shot the villains the main heroes struggle against. The Lovecraftian stuff works when the greater forces remain largely unfathomable. But Bionicle was always more about deconstructing and demythologising its figureheads and faiths. With basically every single legendary figure in the story - Artakha and Karzahni, Makuta Mata Nui, the Great Beings - the curtain is eventually pulled back to reveal a mortal, flawed being. And compared to them, the Order were never really all that mysterious to start with. I think my issues with the Order also tie in with the fact the story never dwelled on the character's reactions to big, world-changing revelations. Things were never really given the weight or exploration they deserved. That an amoral spy organisation of super-beings were committing atrocities in the Great Spirit's name, conducting mass kidnappings and assassinations, incarcerating people for millennia in inhumane conditions without trail, and at one point manipulating a Toa team into committing genocide - all under the leadership of the very first Toa - really should have gotten more pushback/discussion from the other heroes. Instead everyone just kind of takes it in stride and moves on.

Frankly, I put the Order in the same "villains who got away" category as the rest of the characters I mentioned earlier. Their whole existence and role in the story just... never sat well with me. They commit some of the most brutal murders and atrocities seen in the story, but somehow get a free pass because they put the Great Spirit's name on their business cards. While I certainly have no problems with neutral factions or exploring moral grey areas, the Order still feel very out-of-place in Bionicle. They're more like a fully evil faction that manages to avoid conflict with the actual protagonists by virtue of there being a bigger threat that they're both opposed to. They feel like the wrong kind of morally grey for a story that's about noble heroes with a strict code of ethics. This is the other facet of the Order that bothers me. The Toa are the heroes of our story, yet there's this whole faction of ridiculously overpowered super beings who are ostensibly on the same side and show up once in a while to bail the Toa out of trouble and take agency out of their hands. Why aren't they the main characters? Who don't they just save the universe since they're so much more powerful than the Toa? At times it felt like a bit of a crutch from a storytelling perspective; instead of having the Toa reckon with the Code or have to make hard choices, the Order conveniently just pop up and handle the morally murky stuff for them. It's a big part of why I didn't include the Order in the first two books, and heavily reduced their power and influence when I finally did introduce them. So that my heroes would have to make the hard choices and daring saves for themselves.

It's been fun to take a deeper dive into how each Metru might change with other species repurposing it for their own uses. Ga-Metru made the most sense as the place for the Odinans to consolidate themselves; controlling the food and water supply gave them the leverage to hold onto some degree of power. I definitely see the parallels with those franchises. Honestly, I was more inspired by Bionicle itself, with almost every named villain after a certain point - the Piraka, the Barraki, Roodaka, Brutaka, etc. - escaping at the end of their year and continuing to cause problems. All I did here was apply that same policy to an entire occupying force instead of a handful of individuals. I felt it was important to still kind of match the energy of the original portrayal. It's a bit of a balancing act, finding a compromise between honouring her roots, and twisting her to suit the role she needed to fill in the story. Striking that balance is a big part of why I was reluctant to include too many canon characters in Embers.

Chapter 18 – The Choice From the notes of Chronicler Crisda. I used to have such respect for the Toa. Their care and their code made them heroes, virtuous idols whose ideals the Matoran could aspire to. And that was all well and good during times of peace. But there’s no denying that we’re still in a time of war, even now. A war where the Toa’s unwillingness to fight their enemy is putting lives at risk. Many believe that Tuxar and the Odinans should have been captured or killed after the Makuta’s defeat. Instead, the Toa relaxed and the Matoran celebrated, and our enemies consolidated themselves in Ga-Metru. And even now, the Toa refuse to cross into the region and root out the enemy, despite the untold hundreds of Matoran who remain trapped under oppressive rule. More and more, I fear the demarcation line is protecting the enemy from us, instead of the other way around. * * * Icthilos The silent Teleportation Rahkshi led the two Toa deeper down into the tunnel network, through a narrow, winding path that clearly hadn’t been an original part of the Archives. The new passage looked to have been melted through the rock, a clear sign of Rahkshi handiwork. An acrid burning stench soon filled the air as the two Toa were guided down what was clearly a newly-created side passage, as evidenced by the fresh scorch marks and still-sizzling shards scattered on the floor. Savnu was unbothered as she walked across the scalding stone, absorbing the heat from it as she passed to ease Icthilos’ progress. The melted tunnel soon opened up into one of the wider corridors of the archives. One end of the tunnel led off into the distant darkness, while the other was partially blocked by fresh rubble. It was by the blockage that three Rahkshi stood, seemingly waiting for the two Toa. Icthilos knew these three for certain. The purple-and-black one was Perception, the red-and-orange was Precision, and the blue-and-yellow one was Patience. The three ruling Shadow Kraata of Metru Nui. “Thank you for leading them here. You may depart,” Perception nodded to the Teleportation Rahkshi, who promptly vanished. “You clearly seem to trust that one,” Icthilos noted. “I’m guessing it’s old, powerful. Pretty close to becoming like you three?” “Our advancement is random and unpredictable,” Perception answered, “Only the Makuta knew for certain which kraata could ascend to full sapience. But yes, we are hopeful that one has the potential to join our ranks.” “Enough pleasantries,” Perception cut in, “You come seeking the fallen Vo-Toa?” “I reckon she’s been here recently,” Savnu pointed towards the rubble. “Yes,” Perception’s faceplates clacked together with a metallic clang as they spoke the word. “She and the rogue Rahkshi slew two of our own, and fled up this tunnel. Our scouts followed until sunlight stopped them.” “So she’s on the surface?” “Yes,” Perception said, “In Ga-Metru.” “Well, that’s going to be a problem,” Savnu grumbled. “One you had best find a way to resolve,” Precision replied, “Before we do.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Icthilos asked. “My sibling intends to gather a group of Weather Control Rahkshi to block the sunlight, allowing our forces to enter Ga-Metru and retrieve the fugitives themselves,” Perception answered. “I won’t prevent them, but I would prefer to avoid the bloodshed that might follow such an intrusion.” “I take it you weren’t a fan of getting the Council involved?” Icthilos asked Precision. “Your delays have cost time and lives,” Precision snarled. “Instead of dealing with the problem you made a bargain to spare their lives.” “Will you still honour that bargain?” Savnu asked. Icthilos noted one of her hands inching towards the blades sheathed at her side, a move that didn’t go unnoticed by the Mind Reader in the room. “Regardless of who finds her first, the Toa’s life will be spared,” Perception said firmly, speaking more to Precision than to the Toa. “But our people will defend themselves,” Precision added. “It would be better to wait,” the third Rahkshi, Patience, spoke for the first time. Their blue-and-yellow colouration identified them as a Rahkshi of Slow, and their way of speaking was exactly that. Each syllable was spoken sedately, each word chosen with great consideration. “Let these Toa retrieve their lost companion. If they fail, then send your forces.” “If they fail, more Rahkshi will be at risk,” Precision snapped; this was clearly a conversation that had already been had. “They have until I arrive to sort this out themselves.” With that, the Laser Vision Rahkshi stepped away from the group and headed up the same scorched tunnel the Toa had arrived through. “Let’s get going, then,” Savnu said, holding her arm out to Icthilos. “Good luck, Toa,” Perception said. Icthilos took Savnu’s arm and she activated her Kakama, whisking them away down the tunnel. * * * Sidra It had taken only a few minutes of searching and asking around for Sidra to discover that Ilton had left the Coliseum by airship while she’d been downstairs, responding to some incident in Le-Metru. Given the importance of Neryx’s news, there was no sense waiting around for Ilton to return. Which meant that Sidra needed to speak to someone else on the Council to organise a meeting. Unfortunately, there was only one other Council member in the building who she knew would give her the time of day. Someone she’d been avoiding for weeks, until yesterday. “What’s wrong?” Neryx asked, recognising Sidra’s terse expression. “Stay behind me,” was all Sidra said, as she stepped up to knock on the door of Lariska’s office. Sidra heard the steely scrape of a dagger being drawn as the door cracked open. “Skirmisher,” Lariska grinned, opening the door the rest of the way, “To what do I owe- ah.” Without a further word, the leader of the Dark Hunters stepped back and gestured for the two Odinans to entered, closing the door behind them. The room was a far cry from the official office space Sidra had been expecting, with target dummies lined up against one side wall, and a rack of knives and daggers hanging from the other. In the centre of the room was a battered wooden table, its surface scored by scratch marks from what looked to be many, many times Lariska had stabbed a knife into it out of frustration or boredom. “Looks like I won’t be needing this,” Lariska muttered, sheathing her blade as she sat down behind the desk, swinging her legs up to rest atop it. “This had better be good.” “The opposite,” Sidra nodded to Neryx. “I have information for the Council,” Neryx said, “Tuxar and Greillash are planning an attack.” “And I assume you’ll be wanting something in return?” Lariska asked boredly. “Amnesty. For myself, and anyone else who willingly switches sides.” “Sounds like an easy way to get spies into the city.” “We know you have a Kanohi Rode,” Neryx pointed out. “Not to mention a bunch of beings with psionic abilities,” Sidra added. “Fine,” Lariska conceded, “Anything else?” “Fair representation,” Neryx said. “We want a seat on the Council.” Sidra glanced at Neryx. “You didn’t mention-” “The Council works because we have an odd number of members, ensuring there can never be a tied vote,” Lariska replied, “We’d have to remove someone, or add another faction alongside yours.” “If the Unbroken are complicit in this attack, then Tustesh won’t be needing his seat,” Sidra suggested. “It’d just be a matter of deciding on who should represent them.” “Oh, Skirmisher,” Lariska chuckled, shaking her head. Sidra realised then that Neryx was looking at her. “Me?” Sidra sputtered, “You can’t be- I’m not cut out for-” “Of course you are. You had our interests at heart more than Greillash or Talok ever did.” “They’ll never trust me.” “They will, if-” “Save it for later,” Lariska interjected, gesturing to Neryx, “You wait outside. I need to have a word with Skirmisher, in private.” Neryx hesitated for a moment, until Sidra gave her a reassuring nod. “When we spoke last, you said you were afraid I was coming after you,” Lariska said. She lowered her legs and sat forward in the chair. “Why?” “Because I left you all. Because the Shadowed One always eliminated those who betrayed-” “You didn’t betray us, though,” Lariska cut her off. “You completed your assigned mission, and then you left to help the Toa win the war. Your actions helped save all of us: Matoran, League, and Dark Hunter.” “I-” “I understand why you left,” Lariska tutted, “I always told you your emotions are a liability in our line of work, but I can respect a warrior who stands by her principles. You kept your word, and in our world our word is everything.” “You’re not going to punish me?” “I’m not like him,” Lariska said, looking at her own mechanical arm as if she was seeing it for the first time, “Fear is a useful tool, but it doesn’t have to be the only one we use. Your slight was a small one, and you’ve already suffered enough for it.” “So where does that leave us?” “It leaves you with a choice, though I suspect you’ve already made it. Are you Skirmisher, or Sidra?” Sidra had been surprised at every step of the conversation, but the question caught her more off-guard than everything that had preceded it. It was a question she’d asked herself more than a few times since returning to her homeland after her time with the Dark Hunters. For weeks at a time she’d fully immersed herself in her daily life, forgetting the mission and her new master. But little reminders would always arise eventually. “Why not both?” Sidra asked. “Skirmisher works for me,” Lariska answered, “Sidra works in the best interests of her own people. For now, those two things align, but that might change someday, so I need you to decide now.” There was no hesitation in the answer. “Sidra.” “I thought as much,” Lariska sprung to her feet. “Come on. You have a Council meeting to attend.”

If Embers was a book I'd be sorely tempted to put this on the back as the endorsement quote.

In my efforts to distance myself from canon I've somehow looped back around and embraced it.