Nato G

I've been wanting to become a proper published author since 2009. I've lost count of the number of manuscripts I've sent to publishers over the past fifteen years, and so far I haven't been successful. Suffice to say, that got pretty stressful and depressing after a while, especially when 2020 hit and compounded those feelings. I looked back on some old Bionicle RPGs, remembered how much fun I'd had when there were no serious expectations or financial pressures involved, and decided to put together some old character and story concepts to create this project. The reason the releases have been so regular is because the whole thing (including the next five "books") are already completely written, edited, proofread, and revised. Something I'd noticed with other projects released here is that when the creators are writing as they go, there'll sometimes be big time gaps between chapters, or the author will go back and revise/rewrite everything that came before. I wanted to put in the time beforehand to be able to provide a more consistent experience. I'm weird and dumb and don't like having a lowercase word in the middle of uppercase ones. It just looks wrong to me, somehow. (I'm well aware that this habit flies in the face of all conventional education). This is still one of my favourite chapters of the entire story. I was always kind of disappointed by how characters in canon reacted to these huge reveals. Obviously everyone was running for their lives and trying to stay free during Teridax's reign, and the 2010 storyline was rushed to reach the giant robot fight, but I always found it weird how everyone kind of just took the giant robot reveal in stride and didn't dwell on the world-changing existential implications of the whole thing. So I really wanted to explore that angle in this story.

Chapter 23 – A Matter Of Perspective From the notes of Chronicler Crisda. While most of the Toa were gone, those that remained forced me to wait near Maliss, where his guard could easily keep an eye on me. Though I wasn’t made to stay in a cell as he was, we were both prisoners. If something went wrong for the Toa out in the field, suspicion and blame would undoubtedly fall on me, as the person who had pleaded for the Toa to act. I sat there quietly for a time, updating my notes. It was Maliss who broke the silence. “What happened to your vow of neutrality, Chronicler?” He asked, his tone accusatory. “The privileges you enjoy come with a price, or did you forget that?” “I tell stories. That’s all I did. I guess they didn’t like what they heard.” “Turaga Rost won’t like what I have to say, either.” It wasn’t so much his words that gave me chills, but the confidence with which they were spoken. As if his escape was a certainty, beyond question or challenge. “What do you have to say, then?” I asked him. “You and the rest of the Hagah have always refused my requests for interviews. Is there anything you want me to record for posterity?” “No. You and your scribblings have no place in the world to come. None of us do.” He didn’t say anything else, and I was glad of it. * * * Icthilos “I’m fine,” Icthilos insisted, brushing off any attempts to assist him as he made his way back into the Moto-Hub. “See to Savnu.” He spotted two Toa carrying Bihriis in on a stretcher, and waved for them to stop as he approached, “Tend to her wounds, but don’t give her a Kanohi. Secure her in one of the side rooms, with at least four guards at all times. I’m not sure if she still has the strength to try to mind control someone in her condition, and I’m in no hurry to find out.” “We’re imprisoning our own?” Trina asked, joining him. “Until we figure out what to do with her, yes,” he turned back to the stretcher-bearers, “Have the guards wear Suletus. Instruct them to bombard her with mental noise until her defences are drained, but make sure they don’t actually try to read her mind.” “That’s… almost torture,” Trina protested. “It’s necessary. Once her elemental reserves are exhausted she won’t be a threat.” “You’re skirting a dangerous line, Brother.” “I’m well aware,” he nodded for the stretcher-bearers to continue on their way, before he turned back to Trina, “Any word of Vhalem or Pira?” “Not since the last time you asked, no. I’m sure there are plenty of Toa here who’d be willing to make a foray into the Archives if-” “Now who’s being reckless?” Icthilos asked, sighing, “From what we saw on our first night, the Rahkshi aren’t in the habit of taking prisoners. If they haven’t been able to rescue themselves, then there’s nothing left of them to rescue.” He hoped they were alive, more than he’d hoped for anything in a long time. But even if they were still alive against all odds, trying to get to them would put even more lives at risk. “I’m sorry,” Trina said, gently putting her hand on his shoulder, “This is my fault. I was the one who suggested that you take Pira with you.” “She would’ve volunteered if given the chance,” he said, shaking his head, “And from what Savnu says, if Pira hadn’t kept Widrek distracted for a while he might have just buried all of them.” “Them? Not us?” “I was… separated from them.” “What happened to you down there?” “I’ll tell you when I’m ready. For now, I want you to have this,” he handed her the golden staff that Makuta Vhel had allowed him to take, “I have reason to believe this is the Staff Of Artakha. It repaired my armour, see what else it can do.” “At least you didn’t come back empty-handed,” Trina muttered, turning the tool around in her hands to inspect it from all angles, “What will you be doing?” “Speaking with our Brother.” * * * Vhalem “Hey. Hey!” Vhalem awoke to sharp whispers in his ear and a firm hand shaking his shoulder, “Come on, wake up, please!” “Ungh…” For the first few seconds, Vhalem wasn’t sure if he’d managed to open his eyes or not. What lay beyond his eyelids was every bit as dark as what was behind them. But a few small pinpricks of dim light filtered into view as his eyes adjusted; the greenish glow of Pira’s eyes and heartlight as she leaned over him, trying to shake him awake. “I’m here,” he groaned, trying to sit up. “Wherever here is.” He could feel rock and dirt under his hands, and a curved wall at his back. “Still in the Archives,” Pira whispered, sitting down beside him. Her voice was laboured, every word an effort, and she winced as she moved. “Are you alright?” He asked. “Widrek. Then Rahkshi. Turns out they can see in the dark just fine.” “You’re hurt?” “A few burns and stab wounds… hard to tell how bad it is. And I think one of my hands is broken.” “What happened?” “To me or you?” “Both, I guess.” “Widrek pulled the earth out from under the room I was in, dropped me through… I don’t know how many levels. I got attacked by some Rahkshi, managed to get into the elevator shaft, and then you nearly fell on me. The Rahkshi were climbing up after me, so I opened the first door I found and here we are. Not sure what level we’re on now.” “Karzahni… and here I was trying to rescue you.” “You’ll have your chance,” she replied, “There’s Rahkshi in the levels below us, probably on this level as well. And I’m guessing the rest of team bad guy is upstairs waiting for us to come up?” “Probably. Assuming they haven’t already written us off.” “Any chance of a rescue?” “I doubt it. Savnu was hurt pretty bad. And I don’t really know what’s up with Icthilos. He looked… shaken. I’ve never seen him that way. Not even last night when he was talking about his Brother trying to kill him.” “I’m getting the impression that we’re out of our league here,” Pira sighed. “Seems that way,” Vhalem began carefully patting himself down, searching for any signs of damage or injury. Beyond his aching head from where Widrek had pummelled him, he felt fine. “Should we try to get out of here, then?” “We should-” Pira broke off at a sound from somewhere in the darkness. Heavy footfalls, accompanied by the clack of shifting faceplates and the slithery hiss of a Kraata. Rahkshi. * * * Icthilos Icthilos stood alone, just few bio across from the stone cell were Maliss was caged. He’d sent Crisda and the guards off to make themselves busy elsewhere, ensuring everyone else was out of earshot before he dared speak to his twisted sibling. “I met your Makuta.” “And he showed you the truth. I see it in your eyes, the burden of knowledge,” Maliss replied, “So why am I still caged?” Icthilos blinked at him, incredulous. “Why would I let you out? Your new friends just tried to kill us today. You threatened to do the same.” “Surely you understand why, now? You’re not still clinging to the Matoran’s petty plea for defiance, are you?” “You think some insane slideshow of ancient history is going to make me abandon everything I stand for?” Somehow, despite the borderline absurdity of the visions he’d been given, he couldn’t bring himself to doubt their veracity. The history he’d seen had been too detailed, too complete and complex, to be any mere illusion. He was willing to believe that some of it could have been embellished or misrepresented, but there was no pretending there wasn’t some truth to it. Makuta’s rage had been too real. But even now that he’d been shown the same things his fellow Toa had, Icthilos still couldn’t understand the choices they’d made in response to it. “What you stand for is nothing,” Maliss hissed, “You are nothing. We are nothing.” “Why? What does this change? We always knew we were made by a greater power. We always knew we had a Duty.” “But we aren’t real. We’re just machines, maintaining an even larger machine.” “Maybe we were, once. But clearly we’ve become more than that.” “We’re less.” Maliss rose to his feet, snarling at Icthilos through the bars. “Mistakes. Malfunctions. Those real beings out there are the only ones who matter.” “Oh, please!” Icthilos scoffed, “You don’t give a Karz about those creatures. You’re not doing this for some lofty higher purpose.” “Then why am I doing it?” “You abandoned your Duty for the same reason I cling so strongly to mine. Because it hurts. Everything we suffered, everyone we lost… but where I kept fighting, you sought an excuse to shut everyone out and pretend you don’t care.” “I don’t.” “I think you do, though. Vhel is using this vision to make you all believe that everything you’ve ever done is for nothing, and that sense of futility… I can’t begin to imagine how much that must hurt.” “Why?” Maliss’ hand gripped tightly at the bars of the cage, ““How do you not feel the same way?” “Because that’s the way I’ve lived my life, Brother. You know that. I can’t accept… I don’t know how to… it has to have meaning. Everything. Always.” “But it doesn’t. It was all pointless, a distraction from our true purpose, from the true beings we’re supposed to save.” “You honestly think our lives are worth less than those… stupid savages, squabbling in the sand? They fought each other to destroy their world, but we have always fought together to save ours. At least, we used to.” “We’re just as savage. Did you not pay attention to the vision? Our species has spread through this universe like a plague, carving our mark into every corner of creation.” “No,” Icthilos scoffed. “I know that part wasn’t real. Our people have always been everywhere. That’s why it’s called the Matoran Universe.” “Says who? The Turaga? The Chroniclers?” Maliss sneered. “Isn’t Vhel’s entire argument that Matoran were designed to be workers, to run this giant machine?” “Exactly. So of course there’d be Matoran in the cities like Xia, Artakha, and Metru Nui. But what purpose do the settlements across the other continents serve? Where’s there’s nothing for them to build or maintain? The places where the Matoran just exist, like the villages we lived in?” “I don’t claim to be all-knowing. But there has to be a purpose to-” “There is no purpose. We made more of ourselves because we wanted to. We expanded for the sake of expanding.” “So? It’s a big world. There’s room for-” “This world doesn’t matter.” “It does to me.” “So, what? You’d abandon the Duty you were designed for because you think you’re better than our makers? When we find the Great Spirit and return him to power, you’ll see how he rewards those who stayed true to their Duties.” “My Duty is to the Matoran. Theirs is to the Great Spirit. Repairing that shattered world is Mata Nui’s problem, not ours. But he’s gone, and he’s never coming back.” “You can’t…” Maliss cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowing as he tried to make sense of Icthilos’ expression, “…you know something.” “I know this world is enough for me. I know these people matter to me. I know-” “-I’ve heard enough.” Icthilos heard something splash behind him as Maliss made a beckoning gesture with his hand. As Icthilos whirled towards the noise, he saw a puddle of black protodermis slithering across the floor like a serpent, originating from one of the crates nearby. The liquid metal slipped into the cage and crawled up Maliss’ body before reshaping and solidifying onto his face in the familiar shape of his Kanohi. “I’ll see you soon, Brother,” Maliss smiled, before vanishing into shadow. “Don’t-” He was already gone. Maliss knew him too well. But he didn’t know everything. Icthilos needed to get back to Ko-Metru, to figure out for certain if his suspicion was correct.

IC: Avinus - Streets of Tajun "No way to know for sure until the matches start," Avinus replied. "One thing's for sure: a lot of 'em are wonderin' the same thing as you right now." @Emzee

IC: T’harrak – Fort Razorfish;Vaa “Thanks,” she said again, nodding at Gashril before turning away and continuing on towards the armoury. Praise and promises pursued her the entire way, the whispered words of her newfound confidantes seeming to taunt her as they echoed endlessly inside her stunned skull. The ambition and eagerness she’d felt earlier was fading fast, replaced by an overwhelming sense of panic and bewilderment. It was too much, too quickly. Yesterday, her biggest concern had been making sure the Najin dust she manufactured was stable and safe to handle. Now she had responsibilities and secrets, the future of the entire fort in her hands, and her own fate resting upon the whims of two far stronger Skakdi who undoubtedly had agendas of their own. It felt like a dream. Or a nightmare. She kept expecting to wake up back outside Fort Garsi at any moment, drowning in the mud and blood. Her encounters with Sohmak and Gashril were surely nothing more than the deluded illusions of a dying mind, born from T’harrak’s own feelings of being powerless and unappreciated. But after pinching her arm several times as she walked, the world around her remained unchanged. This was her new, ridiculous reality. She entered the armoury and slammed the door behind her, firmly shutting out the rest of the world. She slumped against the coarse wood, her breaths coming short and shaky, her hands curled into white-knuckled fists. There was too much to think about: preparing to fend off a potential reprisal from Fort Garsi, coming up with a way to expand the Fort’s influence without getting Skakdi senselessly slaughtered, trying to help Gashril with her goals… where was she supposed to start? Relax. Focus. She screwed her eyes shut, trying to steady herself. Short-term goals. Keep your mind busy. “Take inventory,” she muttered, reminding herself why she’d come here in the first place. She opened her eyes, and looked around the room. “What do I have? What can I use?” She didn’t need to make a full count to know the Fort still had plenty of Najin dust. Aside from some spare rockets for the Cordak launcher, Zanakra hadn’t taken anything from the supply of projectiles and powder. The launcher itself was gone, though, either destroyed or in Fort Garsi’s hands by now. Also lost was the Eccentric Rock that Ahuum had taken. The Firework Revolver was missing as well, but was hopefully still in Jojax’s possession. Only the Lightstone Rifle remained hanging on the wall. The other weapons arrayed around the room weren’t anything especially impressive, just simple blades and launchers, in varying states of disrepair. Most warriors kept their preferred tools on their person; these were just spares. Still, everything had its use… She stepped back, replaying yesterday’s events in her mind. Firepower wasn’t their problem. It was the fact that no one had used it. Aside from the opening salvo from the Cordak launcher, Zanakra’s party had engaged almost exclusively in melee tactics and elemental feats against a group of fighters who’d specialised in traps, ranged attacks, and mounted combat. The slaughter that had followed spoke for itself. T’harrak turned away, brow furrowed in thought. It hadn’t been Fort Garsi’s weaponry that had so effectively routed their attackers. It had been their tactics, and their use of the terrain. There was plenty to be learned from that. Perhaps… yes, that could work! She burst out of the armoury, excitedly hurrying towards the nearest staircase that would take her up to the battlements. The terrain was the answer to all of her problems. The island had everything she needed.

IC: T'harrak - Fort Razorfish;Vaa "I'll give it some thought," she said. She started to walk away, but stopped and turned back. "I appreciate your honesty, and trust. I haven't gotten a lot of that in the past... and I wasn't expecting any after how yesterday went." @ARROW404

IC: T'harrak - Fort Razorfish;Vaa "Best we part ways, then," she said, once the passing Skakdi had faded from earshot. "I'm sure we'll have plenty more to discuss in future." @ARROW404

IC: T'harrak - Fort Razorfish;Vaa "A... bold plan," she replied, caught off-guard not just by the significance of the scheme, but Gashril's confidence that T'harrak could somehow manufacture something to assist with it. Tinkerer though she was, her expertise extended mostly to najin powder, weaponry, and boats, the three technologies that mattered most to the denizens of the island fort. But already, she found herself contemplating the possibilities. Reaching the lake was a non-issue; it would be easy enough to sail upriver. Reaching deeper than anyone had managed before was where the difficulty lay. She'd heard that some divers used air bladders to stay underwater longer, but surely someone would have tried that by now? Maybe- She forced herself to stop. This was a puzzle for the future. "I might recommend focusing your research on finding out where other attempts went wrong," she suggested. "Or learning more about what the Vortixx did. Assuming you haven't pursued those avenues already." @ARROW404

IC: T’harrak – Fort Razorfish;Vaa A part of her was eager to ask further about the piece of evidence Gashril had mentioned. But the fact that she’d simply mentioned it in passing and not offered to show it off suggested she didn’t have it on her person, or wasn’t willing to share it. By her own admission, Gashril didn’t have all of the answers, and wasn’t yet ready to act on what she knew. So whatever it was, wherever it was… it could wait. T’harrak had more pressing priorities than her curiosities. “Perhaps we should bury this for now, then,” she said. “And... see what grows?” Metaphors were good, she decided. Vague and mysterious (especially with dramatic pauses thrown in), but with an imposing edge to them. That was nice and leader-like, wasn’t it? Zanakra had dabbled in wordplay. Sohmak had already given himself a catchphrase. Maybe metaphors would be T’harrak’s leadery thing, at least when she was speaking with the few who knew about her real role. “I trust you’ll keep me informed if your research… bears fruit.” @ARROW404

Chapter 22 – Retreat From the notes of Chronicler Crisda. Unity is the first and most important of virtues to the Toa. To them, there is nothing harder than having to abandon their allies. * * * Vhalem “What in Mata Nui’s name made you think this would work any better a second time around?” Vhalem taunted, gesturing to the fizzling Electro-Rocket he’d suspended in antigravity just a half-bio in front of the Exo-Toa. “We came here to take those suits for ourselves, but if you’re going to make me keep blowing them up, I will.” His bluster wasn’t much more than a bid to buy time. Savnu and Bihriis were injured, Pira and Icthilos were still missing, and he was alone with no way to find them all or get them out safely. “If that’s what it takes,” Orane’s voice grated forth from the suit, “How many more explosions do you think this room can take? I’m not worried about being buried… how about you?” “You’d kill your Sister, and your ally?” Vhalem challenged. “You can’t kill what was never alive,” Orane snapped back, “What we are… it’s not living. It’s an echo. An imitation. A mockery of life.” “Orane…” Savnu’s voice came out soft and strained, “…please.” “It’s almost over, Savnu.” “For you, it is,” Vhalem snapped, orienting the pull of gravity back towards the Exo-Toa and sending the rocket careening into its launcher, shredding the suit into sparking shards of mangled metal. The room rocked once more, lights and wires falling to the floor as the walls and ceiling splintered further. Vhalem fell against the wall, groaning as he struck his injured shoulder. “That doesn’t sound good, does it?” Widrek’s voice reverberated through the room almost as loudly as the rumbling itself. He strode out of his tunnel and into the room as the tremor subsided, regarding the scene before him with a solemn expression, “Unlike Orane, I have no desire to bury you all. Surrender, and survive.” “Not a step further,” Savnu warned. Her voice was weak, her hands shaky, but she still had strength enough to level the blade that wasn’t already embedded in Bihriis’ body to the Ce-Toa’s throat. “Or I’ll-” “What? Even if I did believe you were stupid enough to kill your only leverage, I know you don’t have it in you to kill in cold blood.” “Interesting choice of words,” Vhalem observed, looking not at Widrek, but at the white-armoured Toa emerging from one of the tunnels behind him. Widrek started to turn, but by then Icthilos was already upon him, encasing him up to his shoulders in a block of ice. For a moment, it seemed like Icthilos was ready to freeze him even further, claws of cold starting to curl around Widrek’s neck and chin as well… but Icthilos stopped himself short, lowering his hand and turning away without a word. It was only after Icthilos stopped of his own accord that Vhalem realised he hadn’t even thought about stopping him. “You should kill me now, while you have the chance,” Widrek growled, “We’d be even then, at least.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Vhalem demanded, a knot of fear forming within him, “Where’s Pira?” He started to move towards Widrek, but Icthilos caught his arm, pushing him instead towards the elevator. “This mission is over. We need to leave.” The Ko-Toa helped Savnu to her feet, letting her lean on his shoulder, and after a moment’s hesitation he lifted up Bihriis as well. “You’re taking her but not Pira?” Vhalem protested. The familiar clanking footsteps of another Exo-Toa rumbled from the same tunnel the others had emerged from; Orane was coming back for another round. “I’m saving who I can.” “We’re out of time,” Savnu wheezed, “I’m sorry, Vhalem.” “We didn’t leave anyone behind on Xia. I’m not leaving anyone behind down here.” “I need you to lift us up the elevator shaft,” Icthilos grunted, prying open the doors, “If you want to stay after that, I’ll be too far away to stop you. Your life is yours to gamble with… but ours are not.” “I- okay,” Vhalem nodded, moving to help them. He summoned a gentle column of reversed gravity in the elevator shaft, allowing the three Toa to levitate steadily towards the surface. “Good luck. I’m sorry. I don’t want to abandon you, but-” “-but you’re the only one who can help her, if she can still be helped,” Savnu smiled down at him, “Do what you have to do.” “Thank you, I-” He broke off to the sound of ice splintering somewhere behind him. “Sorry!” He increased the upward pulling of gravity, sending the three Toa soaring towards the surface. And then he felt a brutal blow against the back of his skull and was flung, flailing, into the darkened depths. * * * Icthilos Icthilos didn’t see Vhalem fall. In the space between eyeblinks, he went from being a silhouette in a darkened doorway to a black shape buried in the blacker shadows below. The gravity well dissipated in the same moment, and it was only the hasty summoning of a slab of ice across the elevator shaft that stopped Icthilos, Bihriis, and Savnu from falling after Vhalem. “Savnu, get us out of here!” He barked, gesturing to the bottom of the elevator above them. With a pained groan, Savnu forced herself to her feet and superheated her sai, plunging it into the bottom of the elevator and starting to cut a circle big enough for them to get through. Sizzling sparks rained down onto the precarious ice shelf, forcing Icthilos to constantly reform and reinforce it. Through the bottom of the ice, he could make out the figure of Widrek clambering up the elevator shaft after them. “Faster!” The roundish slab of scalding steel soon splintered free from the bottom of the elevator, melting a hole straight through the ice in a rain of molten metal. Icthilos helped Savnu clamber up into the elevator, then lifted Bihriis through and clambered up after them, forming more ice below to block Widrek from following. It was a reprieve, but a brief one, for as Icthilos opened the elevator doors he found Dhozoh, Tuxar, and a few dozen Vahki waiting on the other side, weapons already aimed. Two Vahki transports were crowded into the square, inside which even more of the enforcers waited, currently powered down but likely able to be activated quite quickly if a fight broke out. Dhozoh wore a scowl that was only made all the more menacing by the scratches on his Kanohi and bruises on his face from where Icthilos had knocked him out earlier. “Step out and surrender,” he snarled, brandishing his bident – styled to appear similar to a tuning fork – in their direction, “I’m only going to ask once.” “Why ask at all?” Tuxar snapped, raising his scythe and causing vines to rise from the ground and drag the three Toa out of the elevator, before binding Savnu and Icthilos in place. “Take their masks and weapons and prepare them for transport. We’ll make an example of them, and broadcast it on all of the telescreens.” “That’s not for you to decide,” Dhozoh snapped. “Tuxar, Dhozoh, you don’t need to-” “Spare me the speech, Icthilos. Your words have cost enough lives.” Icthilos tried to continue, but broke off as he realised no sound was coming out; Dhozoh had summoned a sphere of silence around him. A pair of Vahki moved in to disarm the two trapped Toa, but before they could reach them a third Vahki Transport came stomping into the square, from the direction of Ko-Koro. Icthilos couldn’t hear what Dhozoh and Tuxar were saying, but from their demeanour he surmised that Dhozoh was asking if the transport was one of theirs, and Tuxar was confirming that it wasn’t. Sure enough, when its side doors slid open it was Toa who came springing out, brandishing Hagah Plasma Cannons, Nektann Turrets, Heavy Rhotuka launchers, and an assortment of other powerful Vortixx-made weapons that the Toa had salvaged during their escape from Xia. Trina stepped out, bellowing a command as she brandished her blade. After a few moments of shouting back and forth, Tuxar and Dhozoh backed off, withdrawing their vines and silence and letting Trina’s Toa rush in to help Savnu and Icthilos. “-and beg for his mercy, he might be willing to let this one go,” Tuxar was saying, as Icthilos felt his hearing return, “There won’t be any second chances.” “I could say the same to you,” Trina said, nodding to Icthilos as he moved to join her. He hefted the barely-conscious Bihriis with him, handing her over to a pair of Toa wearing masks of healing. A pointed glare he projected towards Dhozoh and Tuxar all but dared them to object, though neither of them seemed especially concerned. “Is that everyone?” Trina asked quietly. Icthilos nodded gravely, earning a grimace from Trina. “Back onto the transport!” She called to the rest of the group, “We’re leaving.” The Toa piled back onto their transport, weapons still aimed warily towards the Vahki, before the vehicle turned around and trundled back the way it had come.

IC: T'harrak - Fort Razorfish;Vaa For several long seconds, T'harrak just stared at Gashril, trying to decide if the other woman was insane, inebriated... or somehow enlightened. Every Skakdi who'd survived long enough to serve a warlord knew how to combine powers with another. And many - Gashril herself included - possessed technology that would allow them to access their powers to some extent. Which meant that whatever goal she was pursuing went beyond technology or unity. The kind of spiritual powers the Nakihl spoke of. And given that Gashril had managed to gather a group behind her in pursuit of that goal, she was either extremely charismatic, or she actually knew something. The thought was tantalising. T'harrak had spent most of her existence making do with less. She couldn't lay waste to her enemies with her gaze alone like other Skakdi could. She wasn't strong enough to best other warriors in a straight fight. Her channelling tools were only useful for making things, not breaking them. The thought of having more... of being someone who helped give more to all Skakdi... it was enticing beyond anything she'd dared imagine before. Yesterday, she'd been content to serve as a simple armourer. Today, she was a warlord in all but name. Tomorrow... who knew? "Getting these people killed chasing a mad dream would be just as wasteful as letting them die at Fort Garsi," she said, forcibly smothering the embers of ambition that were starting to smoulder within her soul. "So... before I agree to anything, I'd need you to prove to me that this dream isn't mad. How could we get our powers back?" @ARROW404

IC: T’harrak – Fort Razorfish;Vaa Her brow furrowed. She’d never heard of a vision power that let someone borrow another’s sight… but she was still inclined to believe the story. Given that Gashril was a De-Skakdi, claiming she’d simply enhanced her hearing to overhear their conversation would have been a far more obvious and believable excuse. T’harrak relaxed somewhat, now convinced that this at least wasn’t leading into some kind of revenge for helping recruit Gashril’s people in the first place, or for giving the order that had resulted in several of them being left behind. But still, her cynicism lingered. In a handful of sentences, Gashril had given her compliments, approval, and information. Such gifts weren’t given freely on Zakaz. Which could only mean… “You want something.” @ARROW404

IC: T’harrak – Fort Razorfish;Vaa As she made her way towards the armoury, T’harrak’s own words echoed in her ears, the memory of a conversation she’d had the last time she’d walked this route. "Why would someone pretend to be a warlord anyway? I mean... what's the point? I could understand someone using it as a short-term ruse, maybe... but to spend the rest of your days living a lie, adding fame to another's name while yours is never known..." It felt like a lifetime ago. It had only been yesterday. And she had her answer now. "T'harrak. A word?" She turned back to see Gashril behind her. For a moment, T'harrak felt a small thrill of relief at the realisation that the Tahtorak Encampment survivors hadn't abandoned the Fort after yesterday's events... but there was something in Gashril's tone and demeanour that left her unsettled. Given their grim circumstances, she sounded too friendly, too eager. The thought of a Bog Snake sizing up a potential meal was suddenly in the forefront of T'harrak's mind. "Gashril," she said, forcing a smile. "What can I do for you?" @ARROW404

IC: Avinus - Streets of Tajun "Well, you could play into that," she suggested. "Instead of tryin' to be somethin' you're not, you could exaggerate who you are. Play it up, make it kinda ironic." @Emzee

IC: T’harrak – Fort Razorfish;Vaa For the second time in less than an hour, T’harrak’s hand inched instinctively towards her launcher. The sound of splintering stone was all too common in a place like this. It had never been comforting, but now it was outright alarming. She followed Sohmak as far as the wall, relaxing once she saw who and what was responsible for the sound. A part of her considered following Sohmak the rest of the way; Jojax was the first friend that T’harrak had made at the Fort, and the only Skakdi here other than Sohmak that she supposed she could trust. If she needed help, or someone to talk to- A pair of excuses executed the thought before it could finish forming. Jojax had nearly been left behind in the retreat; she wouldn’t want anything to do with the coward who’d abandoned her. And Sohmak was already on his way; he could handle a warrior’s woes better than T’harrak could. Moreover, her mind was a mess. She’d endured more stress in the past two days than she had in the past two decades. Yesterday’s events were as harrowing as the future was daunting, and she didn’t want to dwell on either. The armoury. Taking inventory. A distraction, small and simple. Something to focus her thoughts. No different from telling the warriors to patch up the fort. She turned away from the wall and headed inside.

Chapter 21 – History Lesson From the notes of Chronicler Crisda. We know a world exists beyond our own. Its light keeps us alive. Its existence gives us hope for a better future. The Matoran who lived on Mata Nui and Voya Nui have seen and explored it, a dome-less dominion of endless ocean almost entirely without land or life. But if our universe is artificial, does that mean the one outside is “real”? Or is it merely another self-contained sphere housed within an even larger realm? Are we merely the innermost layer of a Nynrah Nesting Doll of universes? And if our universe was made, then by who? How? Why? * * * Icthilos He saw a world. It was vast beyond anything he’d ever imagined, a gigantic globe spinning slowly in a sea of stars. There were no domes or lightstones, just open skies and shining sun. There was no smog to obscure its skyline, no machines to mar its landscape, no structures in sight save for a handful of ramshackle villages and the shadowy silhouette of a formidable fortress, rising up from the heart of a lush valley amidst the mountains. In the tower’s shadow toiled beings the size of Matoran and Toa, though their bodies appeared wholly organic, devoid of protodermis armour or mechanical components. Time passed, years of peaceful trade and cooperation flashing by in seconds until Icthilos found himself watching two white-armoured beings of the smaller race approach a pool of silvery liquid leaking through the ground. It was a substance Icthilos recognised instantly: energised protodermis. Sure enough, as one of the beings bent down to touch the silvery liquid, they sizzled and screamed, vaporising into nothing. More images blurred by, almost too swift to understand. More beings interacting with the energised protodermis, some mutating, others dying. Innovation. Industrialisation. In-fighting. Armies of beings clad in all kinds of colour clashing over the new resource. Entities of elemental energy leading those armies. The earth itself shaking and shuddering as more and more of the precious liquid was siphoned from within it. The vision changed again, flitting swiftly between the furtive discussions of the beings in the fortress, their belligerent commands to the warring parties, killing machines of their making slaughtering indiscriminately on the battlefield… and finally, grim realisation and resignation that the world’s imminent annihilation could not be averted. Construction began. A new shape came to dominate the dying world’s skylines as those below continued to battle. A mass of metal shaped like a man towered among the clouds, but when it moved it blew apart, scattering its remains across the sand. But construction soon began on a second, even larger than the first, its body filled with domes and oceans. Beyond its empty eyes, Icthilos saw a city he recognised. The very city in which he now stood. Beings were created to occupy the new world. A creature of incomprehensible crimson, who slithered through the confines of the towering titan. Two brothers, equal in ambition but disparate in skill, made to compete for the Mask Of Creation. And then Matoran, but not as Icthilos knew them. These Matoran didn’t dream or desire, didn’t wonder or worry, just worked. They were unthinking, unfeeling, no different to the Fire Drones they would later build to assist Mask Makers, or the Vahki who would come to patrol their city streets. The first Toa were made. Then the six Prime Species, then other beings and races, some of which Icthilos didn’t even recognise. But all were the same, soulless and silent… cogs in the massive machine. A machine which found itself imbued with an equally mighty mind, the Great Spirit that would come to be worshipped as Mata Nui. A machine that was sent soaring into the stars as the planet shattered beneath its feet, splintering into three fragments whose silhouette Icthilos had seen more times than he could ever count. A silhouette that would someday become a symbol, a symbol he would dedicate his life to. The man-shape soared through the stars, bound and bowed by a Duty to explore, learn, and return to repair the broken world. Within his new world Mata Nui followed in his maker’s footsteps and became a creator himself, birthing a new race into being. These were creatures of great power and dark impulses, brought into being with minds full of ideas and hearts full of ambition. True sapients, like Karzahni, Artakha, and Tren Krom before them, created to create in turn. “We were everything,” Makuta Vhel’s voice cut through the vision, “And the rest of you were nothing. You were so beneath us that we didn’t even notice you all beginning to change.” More images came, fast and fleeting as centuries passed by. Workers asking questions, abandoning their tasks, discarding Duty to instead create worthless pieces of art and pursue meaningless hobbies. The Barraki, confused and crazed by the paranoia and inadequacy taking root in hearts that were never meant to hold such feelings, succumbed to doubt and distrust. Their desperation to fulfil their Duty twisted them from generous guardians into controlling conquerors. The Makuta, finally realising that something was wrong, intervened to end the conquest, but they soon realised the problem ran far deeper than they’d dared imagine. Factions and civilisations had risen up around them, weaving a turbulent tapestry of culture and creativity, politics and prophecies, stars and stories… and the Great Spirit did nothing, even when strife and civil wars brought him to the brink of death. In the wake of the Barraki’s fall, new factions like the Dark Hunters rose up to fill the power vacuum, and expeditions of Matoran and Toa ventured out across the continents, exploring and expanding, dispassionately displacing the other species they encountered to establish new settlements of their own. The Makuta scrambled to keep the universe on course, appointing themselves overseers of the populated islands, ending conflicts and uprisings through whatever means necessary. “Something needed to be done to fix the mess you’d all made,” Vhel said, “We did what we had to. For Duty. How… why… I still don’t understand it. You were never meant to be like us!” The Makuta’s hands withdrew from around Icthilos’ head, shoving him away and severing the telepathic connection. “None of this matters. Somewhere out there is a real world, with real beings, waiting for us to come and save them, and the petty protests of your people are preventing us from following that path.” Icthilos slumped on his knees, clutching his skull. He couldn’t speak, could barely think, his head aching, his psyche struggling to make sense of what it had just seen. “Your kind were never meant to be able to contemplate your own existence, but now that you can, know your history. Know that you are a flawed facsimile of true life. Know that everything you have ever felt and thought is a mistake.” And with that final, cruel word, Makuta Vhel vanished, leaving Icthilos alone in the vault.

Not harsh at all. Matoro literally made that exact argument the first time he sacrificed himself: "Please. This is the logical choice. I’m not a warrior, like you, Jaller, or you, Kongu – or an athlete, or an inventor, or even a Chronicler. I am just a translator for a Turaga, and not even that anymore. I won’t save the universe with my fists or my wits, but maybe I can do it this way.”

IC: Minnorak – The Iron Mahi For his part, Minnorak was also relieved to see the other Vortixx. Her survival meant that no one was dead yet (discounting the possibility that the shooting he’d heard earlier had been lethal for someone). The news she brought was also welcome. If there was a Sentinel here, it hopefully meant the distraction was finally having its intended effect. “We’ve met,” he said, the slightest shadow of a smirk flitting across his features. “Looks like we’re all back where we started.” Despite his conversational tone, Minnorak was tensed, ready to fend off an attempt to get past or through him. The other Vortixx had already managed to flounder past him once, and the Ta-Toa looked to be growing impatient enough to fling himself into the fray at any moment. @Tarn @Vezok's Friend

Matoro's sacrifice was the first death in Bionicle to evoke a genuine emotional reaction from me. It was the moment that Bionicle really stepped up and asserted itself as something very different from other Lego themes: a compelling story that wasn't afraid to mature with its audience. With so many focal characters in the books every year, I'll admit I had a lot of difficulty connecting with characters for the most part. Everyone got lost in the ensemble, and very few characters got moments to make them stand out. But Matoro was different. He was an established character who'd been around since the beginning. He'd always occupied a somewhat unique place in the story, making him all the more intriguing. He got a lot of additional focus throughout the 2006 and 2007 novels, which made his passing far more impactful. And the 2008 reveal made his death truly tragic. Up until the point of Matoro's sacrifice, Bionicle had a pretty bad track record of death fakeouts: Jaller died in Mask of Light only to come back five minutes later. Lhikan's death was unfortunately kind of predictable, due to the passing-the-torch nature of the story, and the fact that 2004 was a prequel. Matoro himself died in 2006 only to get resurrected seconds later. A lot of deaths were robbed of their impact by the Red Star reveal. Out of all of that, Matoro's loss stands out. It raised the stakes, and showed that victory comes at a cost. Most importantly, it left a mark - which, based on threads like this one - has never fully healed for some people. One thing I always like to ask people who say Matoro should have lived is what they expected him to do if he survived? His Destiny was complete. Was he just going to turn into a Turaga and sit out the rest of the story while his team kept adventuring? Given the way that a lot of characters got sidelined once their story was done (eg. the Turaga Metru, the Voya Nui Resistance team, all of the MNOG Matoran, etc.) death is probably the best ending Matoro could have gotten. As harsh as it sounds, he wouldn't be remembered the way he is today if he hadn't died.

IC: Skrall - On The Road Again Though he'd been given no specific order to stay close to Atakus after leaving the stronghold, Skrall still found himself compelled to join the party leader in the first wagon. He saw no need to appear over-eager by sitting close to Atakus, though. He instead settled near the rear of the wagon, his spear balanced across his knees as before. His back was turned to the horizon ahead; his gaze instead lingering on the fortress they were about to leave behind. When he’d first arrived here, he’d thought the Gatherers to be a simple people. But he’d gotten a glimpse of their complexity and ambition during his brief time here, and it left him wondering what other secrets still lingered behind the fort’s walls. His gaze lowered towards the other members of the expedition, all thoughts of the tournament and the Southern warriors slipping from his mind. The first foe he would be forced to face was already right in front of him.

That's fair. One of the biggest problems I have with a lot of the Bionicle novels is that there are so many focal characters (usually all twelve of the canister sets from that year, and sometimes the titans and Matoran as well). With so many heroes and villains jostling for the spotlight, a lot of them didn't get enough screentime for me to really sympathise with them. So with this story I really wanted to dedicate a lot more time and attention to my focal characters, and explore the rest of the cast from their perspectives. Some characters also might seem like background characters because they've retroactively been introduced earlier than they originally appeared. Writing drafts for all six books before I started posting anything allowed me to go back and namedrop/set up some folks well ahead of where they'll actually be important, instead of them just being introduced out of the blue much later. For example, the Ga-Toa healer from the second chapter originally didn't debut until partway through Book 2. That's exactly the vibe I was going for. I always found the time spent in the Archives to be some of the creepiest moments in the novels. Even as a kid, I was kind of unsettled by the inherent existential horror of being trapped in stasis and turned into a living display piece, and disturbed by how blasé and irresponsible the Onu-Matoran were about it, sometimes leaving entire levels of exhibits unattended for years. The Metru Nui setting had a lot of weird, messed-up stuff going in in the background that seemed to have been normalised by the citizens, and it's been fun to explore some of that from the perspective of characters who aren't natives of the city and are understandably horrified by it all.

I know what you mean. I've been watching the movies and rereading a lot of the books recently for another project, and it's been weird seeing how differently canon approached combat. People got blown up, thrown through walls, etc. all the time. Blunt force trauma was only fatal if you were Lhikan or Sidorak. This means a lot. Finding the right balance of classic Bionicle with the more mature tone I wanted to go with has been a constant battle, so it's great to hear that someone thinks it's working.

Chapter 20 – Outmatched From the records of Turaga Rost. Talok once asked me if I believed our Toa could best those who might someday return from Xia. I offered him my honest answer, yet he still laughed at me for it. The returning Toa have deeper determination, and far greater numbers and experience. But now that Vhel has swayed more of their kind to our side, if Talok were to ask me that same question today my answer would be a very different one. * * * Pira Just as she’d hoped, Widrek had abandoned the battle to focus on following her after she’d sprinted past him. And though she’d successfully spared everyone else from having to deal with an Onu-Toa with a home field advantage, now she had to contend with Widrek alone. She could hear him somewhere behind her, not running or exerting himself, just following. He didn’t need to chase her down. The soil slithered and slid beneath her feet, tripping her up as the ground cracked and quaked. She jumped, kicked off the wall, swung from a pipe overhead, anything and everything to limit her contact with the floor. She rounded the next bend and found herself faced with a locked vault door, a sealed slab of solid steel that might have spelled a certain dead end for any of Pira’s companions. But just as her Kanohi could be used to combine components, so too could it uncombine them, though doing so required an approximate knowledge of how it fit together. And though she of course didn’t know enough about an Onu-Metruan vault to disassemble it effectively, she knew that every door had hinges… and those were easy enough to take apart. At her touch, the fastenings securing the door to its frame popped loose, disconnecting it on one side and putting the entire weight of the heavy door onto the bolts keeping it sealed. Metal creaked, and Pira sprang backwards as the door toppled towards her. She avoided the door, but not the earth opening up like a mouth behind her to engulf her ankles. She sank to her knees and fell forwards, rattling her skull as her chin struck the lump of metal now before her. “I know it doesn’t matter… I know I shouldn’t care…” Widrek said, as Pira felt his heavy footfalls behind her, “But I do. He was my Brother… he mattered to me.” “Spare me the lecture,” she spat back, swinging her staff wildly behind her. With dismissive ease, he caught the weapon and ripped it from her hand; she heard it bounce off the wall somewhere far behind them both. “You stole a precious gift from a dead man’s hands,” Pira felt Widrek’s foot slam down onto her back, buckling her armour and wringing a strained cry from her lips, “You don’t deserve this power.” Blinking through bleary eyes, Pira looked past the fallen door and into the room that lay beyond it. The chamber contained a veritable armoury, its racks lined with ancient Toa tools and other relics from wars long forgotten. Displayed on shelves against the far wall were Toa Disks, emblazoned with the Kanohi of heroes from long before Pira’s time. There was nothing she could reach. Nothing that could help her. Unless… “So now I will take it back.” Widrek’s burly hands grasped her head on either side, and she let out a gasp equal parts hurt and horror as he started to pull and twist. In pain and panic she struck, summoning a blast of air behind the rack of Toa Disks she could see before her, propelling them through the open vault door. Bursts of elemental energy enveloped the tunnel as the disks struck the walls, the floor, each other, and Widrek. Widrek’s hands mercifully withdrew as he recoiled with a roar, his elemental control dissipating in the same moment, allowing Pira to kick free of the dirt trapping her legs and scramble towards the vault. Water splashed across her back and heat seared her feet as she moved, a burst of magnetism from one of the Kanoka causing some of the nearby disks to move and reactivate once more. She pulled herself into the vault and hauled herself upright, straightening her dislodged Kanohi and looking back towards Widrek. He was looking right back at her, eyes narrowed in a hateful glare as he broke chunks of ice from his shoulder. Pira reached out blindly and grabbed the nearest weapon, a sword with a wavy, flame-like blade that had clearly once belonged to a Ta-Toa. “Another stolen relic,” Widrek sneered, “That’s all you know how to do, isn’t it? Take from those better than you?” “I hope you’re not counting yourself in that category,” she snapped back, her shaking voice betraying her lack of bravado, “You’re in no state to judge anyone right now.” She could barely keep the sword steady. She’d been in brutal battles, had brushes with death before on Xia, but this was different. For another Toa, someone she knew, to literally take her life in his hands and try to end it was something she didn’t know how to process. He hadn’t even hesitated. “I am,” Widrek answered, “I saw the truth of this world and our place in it. The Code… our mad grab for moral mightiness… it’s all meaningless.” “And yet you condemn me for stealing?” “I know, I’m a hypocrite,” he shrugged, “But he was my Brother. Even if nothing else matters, what I felt for him was real. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand. What would you know of loyalty or love?” “I’m learning.” For a moment, she saw genuine surprise on his face. But it vanished as swiftly as it appeared. “Not quickly enough.” “Widrek, please,” she pleaded, “I don’t know what happened to you, but I don’t want to hurt you.” “That makes one of us,” Widrek raised his hands, and Pira felt the chamber shudder. Metal clattered as weapons toppled to the floor all around her. A falling spear slashed her arm and the sword fell from her suddenly-slack fingers. A hammer fell against her bruised back and she doubled over with a groan. “You came here to steal artefacts, but you were never going to find them,” Widrek sneered, “The true objects of power are buried in the sub-levels below, where the Rahkshi protect them better than we ever could.” “Widrek, wait-” “Here, let me show you.” And then the earth below withdrew, and the entire chamber plummeted down into the dark. * * * Vhalem The fight wasn’t going well. Vhalem had finished off Orane’s Exo-Toa and used its wreckage to block up the tunnel, but even in a two-on-one fight Bihriis still held the advantage. Savnu had taken her by surprise in the initial scuffle, but she’d recovered quickly, and was now dancing circles around them both. For every attack they threw her way, she’d already read their minds and had a rahi power primed to counter it. Projectiles passed harmlessly through her as she channelled a Phase Dragon’s intangibility, fireballs were negated by a Lava Eel’s heat resistance, and attempts to pin her in place with gravity failed as she used a Fader Bull’s ability to teleport away. She was equally unrelenting in her counterattacks, barrelling at her foes with a Vohtorak’s berserker charge, or engaging them in close range while her body was superheated or electrified. Recoiling from another swipe of Bihriis’ brutal Skakdi saw, Vhalem retaliated with a gravity blast that sent her flying back a few bio. She sprang back to her feet a second later and flung a ball of magma right back at Vhalem, which Savnu swiftly intercepted. Unharmed by the heat but blinded by the brightness, Savnu was too slow to see Bihriis coming at her again, taking a savage slash across the chest, followed by a telekinetic blast that flung her towards the far wall. Vhalem cushioned her impact with a burst of antigravity, but he had little time to do anything else before Bihriis was lunging at him. He ducked a swing from the saw and followed up with a slash of his bow-blade, but Bihriis had already read his mind and started moving out of the way, leaving Vhalem open to an electrified punch from her free hand. He stumbled back, managing to deflect another saw strike with his own weapon, then found himself flat on his back as Bihriis blasted him with her telekinesis. She didn’t pause to gloat or demand surrender. She was already raising her weapon to bring down for finishing blow before Vhalem had finished hitting the ground. For a fleeting moment Vhalem caught the look in her eyes, not one of triumph or victory, but one of grim resignation. Any reservations she had weren’t enough to stay her hand, but for that brief, fleeting moment, her eyes and attention were solely on Vhalem, and that second of undivided focus was all Savnu needed. In a rush of red she slammed into Bihriis, shoving her to the floor with a sai sunk into her side, her saw skittering from her grip. Vhalem kicked out at her, knocking her Kanohi from her face before she could recover. “I’m sorry,” Savnu said gently, her voice strained as she slumped beside the groaning Ce-Toa. Her torso was stained with oily ooze from her own wound, and even the effort of the single attack seemed to have exhausted her. “Thank you,” Vhalem said, scrambling to her side, “Is there anything I can do?” “Find Icthilos and Pira. This mission is a bust. We need to get out of here while-” She was cut off by an Electro-Rocket explosion from the corridor Vhalem had blocked with the broken Exo-Toa suit. Dislodged dirt drifted down from the ceiling as shards of metal scattered into the intersection, making way for a second possessed Exo-Toa, which was already reloading its launcher for a second shot. “-never mind.”

IC: Avinus - Streets of Tajun "Exactly. I find it's actually less stressful if you think about it that way," Avinus said. "The tournament aint like ordinary matches. It aint about resources. There's nothin' on the line but prestige and personal pride. It doesn't actually cost Tajun anythin' if we don't win in the end. So cut loose. Have a little fun." @Emzee

IC: T’harrak – Fort Razorfish;Vaa For all of his misgivings about being fit to lead, Sohmak was a skilled spokesman. He’d appealed to the fear, pride, and outrage of every Skakdi present, and it had gotten results. Already the warriors were bustling about, taking up their tools, fetching stone and lumber from the storerooms to begin making repairs. T’harrak was under no illusions about her ability to garner the same reaction. Sohmak had been right. He was the perfect figurehead. Repairs were a temporary distraction, though. Structurally, the Fort was already in good condition. There’d been no battles here in T’harrak’s time. What damage there was had mostly been inflicted by negligence and irresponsible inhabitants: the cracks and craters in the courtyard inflicted during training sessions and Sarke matches, the damage to the walls dealt by stray blasts or demonstrations of strength. But patching it all up would keep the warriors busy for a while, keep their minds focused and their hearts motivated long enough for T’harrak to come up with a more long-term plan. She already had a few ideas in mind. There were plenty of lessons to be learned from the battle at Fort Garsi, brief and brutal though it had been. There was more to defence than strong walls. Sohmak’s call pulled her away from her thoughts. “Perfect,” she grinned back. “You were right. We can make this work.” @Techn0geist

IC: T'harrak - Fort Razorfish;Vaa The first time Sohmak had called her "boss", in the chaos and bloodshed of their retreat yesterday, it had startled and unsettled her. She hadn't felt deserving of it then. She still didn't now. But this time, with her head clear and Sohmak's confidence urging her on, she felt like she could become deserving of it. "Put them on patching up our walls first," she said, gesturing to the hole Sohmak had punched in the stonework earlier. "Fix and reinforce everything. I'm going to inventory our supplies, try to figure out what weapons and tech we lost yesterday." @Techn0geist