ZOMBI3S

Part II - chapters 4-6 are (AIRHORN)(AIRHORN)(AIRHORN) reeeemixed! I'll see myself out. Bye.

ok ok ok -- Part II, chapters 1-3 are refreshed! Part II needed more work than I initially expected, so sorry for the delay!

Part I, chapters 10-11 are refreshed — and with that, Part I is complete!! I’m going to celebrate with a cocktail by the pool, but you can celebrate however you want. Or don’t, I’m not your mom. More to come soon! Love

Part I, chapters 7-9 are updated! yay progress

Part I, Chapters 4-6 are refreshed! As well as the prologue? Which I... didn't do first for some reason? I'm so whimsical and funny

@Nato G haha yes it... definitely is a long time. Great to have you along, and welcome!! Part I, Chapters 1-3 are refreshed! Or maybe... updated? Edited? Remixed? You get the idea. More coming soon!

Hello, to any of you who are still here. I've been busy! Busy with life, busy growing and learning, but also busy writing! I am pleased to announce that I've officially finished PART VII, and thus I'll be undertaking a (brief) refresher of this story, in order to ensure a more cohesive reading experience. So, over the next few weeks, I'll be editing some of the earlier chapters, before I eventually start posting the newest, and final part. If you're new, welcome! If you're old, welcome again, and thanks for still being here! It's only been 14 years since I starting posting. LOL. Anyway-- more to come. Love ya!

PAGE THREEEEEEEE I did it. I finished Part VI. Woof that was hard. One more part to go! Cheers friends

Chapter 19 - Clarity Sithrak collapsed to the deck, clawing at his throat, blood covering his chest and fingers. Eyes wide, he gazed up to Takua, gasping and sputtering as more and more blood flowed, washed quickly away by the rain. His bony fingers clutched and clasped, contorting as they desperately tried to stop it, to save himself from slipping away, but it was no use. He writhed, strength failing, his life slipping away with every beat of his heat. And Takua watched as he reached out one last time. The Kryll’s nails clawed at his boot, perhaps a last attempt to do him harm, or a maybe a final, desperate cry for help. Either way, the hand soon fell limp, and Takua saw the light leave his eyes. It was done. Sithrak was gone. Lightning flashed behind him, thunder booming as he cracked his neck, feeling what could only be closure, or maybe clarity. He looked to Rashi, unapologetic and unmoving. And the Kryll, it seemed, had nothing to say about her captain’s death. Fwoosh! The ship rocked to the side as a great wave smashed into it, spraying them with water, and suddenly they were back in the madness. Rashi sprinted for the wheel, grabbing hold and pulling, righting the ship’s course just as another wave spilled over the deck. Takua moved past her without engaging, agreeing to whatever unspoken arrangement she seemed to have offered. He sprinted down the steps to the main deck, back into the flurry of Matoran and Kryll, into the chaos of battle. Jaka. He had to find Jaka. Takua grabbed the deck’s railing as the ship rocked, riding up the crest of a wave, dodging a rolling barrel that careened past, and — “Loose!” The far-away orders of Matoran, and Takua hit the deck as they crested the wave, a volley of fiery arrows flying over his head, sinking into the deck and a few unlucky Kryll behind him. The ship rocketed forward, sailing down again as Takua scampered along the ship, whirling around a pair of Kryll and Matoran who locked blades. A Ga-Matoran, a Po-Matoran! But he had no time make allies; he had to get back to the hold. He had to find Jaka! “Takua…!” He whirled around at the sound of his name, only to be met with water crashing over the railing. He blinked, wiping his vision clear, seeing the warship fly past, and through the sheets of rain — a Matoran, hanging onto its rigging, calling out to him. “Takua!” the voice was barely audible over the storm. “…Rope!” it yelled. Takua squinted, recognizing the Po-Matoran’s mask “…Sorin!? Is that you!?” “Grab the rope!” he yelled, tossing a length of heavy cord out across the water, but they were moving too fast, and in a second the warship was out of reach. “I’ll find you,” Takua yelled out as the Po-Matoran disappeared into the dark. “I’ll find you!” he repeated, louder, hoping his ally had heard. Thunk! A battle axe sank into the rail behind him and Takua whirled around, face to face with a brute, the Kryll’s claws reaching out, trying to reclaim him as a prisoner. But Takua had no time for this. He dropped as the ship rocked again, batted once more by an enormous wave, and slid across the slippery wood, right through the warrior’s legs. He sprinted away, around the mast and toward the door to the hold. Jaka… Jaka! He prayed he was okay, that he hadn’t lost too much blood, that he could patch him up and get safely out of here before — “Incoming!” Another flaming barrel, this one smashing into the ship just a dozen feet to his left. Splintering the floor, smashing the flagship into another wave, Takua shielded his face as wood and metal flew past, as more water coated the already soaked deck. He righted himself, moving ever forward to the door… there it was! Just a few strides away — and it burst open before he could reach it. …Jaka. Takua breathed a sigh of relief. His mangled hand was bandaged, his thumb and only three fingers sticking out of a great ball of white wrappings. His shield already rested on his back and a small dagger was clutched in his off hand. It was obvious someone had freed him, patched him up, helped him find his things. And yet, there was pain on his face. Pain at the sight of Takua. Maybe it was his wounds. Maybe it was the blood, still not yet washed off his mask, or the wild look in his eyes that made Jaka open his mouth. But for whatever reason, instead of being thrilled at seeing his friend alive and free, Jaka’s initial response was… worry. “Takua…” he said softly, unfazed by the chaos of the storm. “What have you done?” But there was no time to talk. “Rogue wave!” “Wave!” Yelling, screaming, all around them, and the fighting paused as Matoran and Kryll alike looked up, seeing with horror the tsunami that rushed toward them. The Matoran ship was far away now, already riding for it, flying forward as it challenged the hundred-foot-tall wall of water. But their ship was sideways, half-sinking, and time was running out. “Come on!” Takua yelled as he grabbed Jaka’s arm, pulling him back toward Sithrak’s cabin, but Rashi had already pulled at the wheel, and the ship wrenched sideways, throwing them off-balance. It sent them, the Kryll, and anything not bolted down careening to the far railing. Takua latched onto it, holding on for dear life as the rudder pulled them, slowly turning — but they weren’t going to make it. Already at the base of the wave, Takua looked up with horror as the water towered above them, curling over, blotting out the sky before — he took one last look at Jaka. And it fell upon them. Takua was torn from the ship, pummeled by thousands of pounds of merciless water. There was sea. Sky. Sea. Sky. White. And then — black. ~~~ Through the bumpy, rumbly carriage ride, Aya waited. She sat, cloak pulled tight around her, eyes baggy as she stared half-lidded at Mako and the other Ta-Matoran guard. The Ga-Matoran noble sitting beside her nervously twiddled her thumbs. The Ussal crab that pulled their vehicle scuttled over the volcanic soil, and still, Aya waited. She tried not to pick at her bandages. She tried to think of nothing. She tried her best to stay awake. But she was thoroughly exhausted. She was on her way out of the city. Kokani had found her a healer and they’d patched her up, smushed ointment on her burns and let her rest for a few hours. As if that mattered, for with the city in utter chaos she’d gotten little sleep. People ran amok, yelling about the end of days, lamenting the Toa and Turaga, weeping for friends and family lost in the night’s violence. But to their credit, what remained of the Ta-Koro guard had stepped in and saved what little sanity the City of Fire had left. There was peace for the moment. How long that would last, however, remained to be seen. Aya herself didn’t know what to think. Maybe she was still in shock, maybe she was too tired, or maybe she was just stubborn enough to not believe it yet. But the loss of… well, everyone of importance, left her feeling… confused. If anything at all. Raipu. Aya managed an exasperated sigh. It had been Raipu all along, hiding a single canister of gas in a chest beneath his bed. A single dose for a single day, saved for the one Matoran who could give him the access he needed to carry out his plan. She looked to Mako’s Matatu, sunken, pale and just as exhausted as she was — but he looked better than the previous night. He’d spilled the details of Raipu’s plot as he detoxed, shaking as he recalled being a prisoner in his own body. Constantly teetering on the edge of sanity, he’d been unable to fight Raipu’s commands, unable to tell anyone as he’d carried just a few explosives into elder Ta-Koro, adding more every day until there was enough to destroy the old city. He’d wanted to resign. He’d pleaded with Kokani and Illum to relieve him of his duties but they’d both refused. Because they needed everyone now. Everyone who remained. Aya watched him as the scuttling of their Ussal slowed, and the carriage rolled to a stop. Mako blinked, looking almost alive again. Aya suspected they wanted to keep him close — if only for fear of what Mako’s guilt might make him do. The guard opened the door, and both Ta-Matoran exited. Aya motioned for the Ga-Matoran noble to follow, and by the time she exited the carriage and her boots hit the ground, she found a circle of Matoran waiting in the bright light outside. “So here we are.” Aya glanced around, realizing this was Illum’s informal way of starting the meeting. It was a cloudy, windy, mid-afternoon, and they were at the crossroads outside the city, where they’d first met Illum and the other Turaga upon their arrival. It seemed the most private place, with the city in its current state. But instead of Turaga and Toa standing between the silent black obelisks, there were only a few carriages, and their Matoran passengers now standing outside. Illum and Rae. Kokani and Ihka. A high-ranking Po-Matoran clerk, and the low-ranking Ga-Matoran noble that stood beside Aya. A few members of the Sanctum. A handful of advisors from each Koro. Some of the Ta-Koro guard… and Mako. “Here we are,” the Onu-Matoran said solemnly. “All that remains.” This was the highest leadership they had left — and Aya hardly knew any of their names. “We’re here for obvious reasons,” Illum went on. “To decide our next move, before we fracture into chaos.” “People are still unaccounted for,” the clerk from Po-Koro interjected. “The dead aren’t buried yet; we’ve had no time to even mourn. Can’t this wait?” “No…!” came Mako’s voice suddenly, surprising many, Aya included. The Ta-Matoran straightened his gait and lifted his chin, forcing his weakened voice to stay strong. “…We can mourn when we ourselves are dead,” he said sharply, and the stout-hearted Guard Captain he was known to be started to show. “There is no time for council or deliberation. We need a plan. Today. Here and now. Or we will splinter and fall, and the Kryll will have won.” “Unity…” Illum replied. “That is what I propose. Throughout all of history’s darkest hours, the Koro have only ever survived by uniting under one banner.” A murmur rippled through the crossing as people looked to each other, but Illum silenced them with a wave of his hand. Controversial or not, it was obvious he had the most power here. His honeyed words began to flow as he stood, cloak rippling in the wind. “Each of you has a choice to make,” he said, turning around the circle, making eye contact with everyone present. “You can go, or you can stay. It’s that simple.” Aya listened, meandering around the circle’s edge until she stood a few feet away from Kokani. The group murmured again, but she and Ko-Matoran were silent. They made brief eye contact as Illum went on. “You can go, or you can stay,” he nodded, drumming home his point. “You can go back to your respective Koro and deliver the terrible news: that we are lost and leaderless. And from there you will deliberate, you and the others in your caste. You will talk and act and push and prod, perhaps appointing new Turaga quickly, perhaps not,” he shrugged, wrapping his cloak closer as a gust whipped through them. “And I wouldn’t blame you. It’s a sensible thing to do, and I’d be doing the same if my predecessor had not already passed. But just know that while you do that, our enemies will rally.” And he paused again, if only for dramatic effect. “They will grow under Makuta’s shadow, they will dig deep and spread their roots, and when they return you may find all your blades together are not strong enough to cut them down.” Illum looked around, his eyepatch shining in the cloudy light. “Or you can stay here,” he rebutted, gesturing to the dirt before them. “And you can send word to your people that we have come together. You can say that our late Turaga wished for us to follow our ancient virtues — to unite. And overcome our foes together.” He paused, turning briefly to face Kokani and Aya. “That is… if we choose a leader.” “And allow us to guess… that leader should be you?” It was Ihka who had spoken, challenging the Onu-Matoran. Her sanctum members stood tall behind her, and her Miru smiled, gladly resisting Illum’s power. “…No.” Aya looked up, just as surprised as Ihka. “No?” “No,” Illum shook his head, pulling his cloak tighter as the breeze rustled again. “No… as much as I would like to. I have support among the Underworld, but it would be in bad taste. Krosis’ attack paints me as a villain — I brought the one who betrayed us, and it was my trial cut short by the loss of the Turaga. I cannot use this for political gain without sacrificing my credibility.” Aya huffed, leaning back against an obelisk. She didn’t know what to make of Illum anymore, but it was a valid point. The Onu-Matoran went on. “If I cannot earn your trust here, in this windy crossing, how would I ever win the hearts of all Mata Nui’s people?” “Then who?” Mako added, remorse peppering his professionalism. “It cannot be me, for I have already failed you all. A Turaga of one Koro is already much to bear. But a Turaga of six? Who among us is strong enough? Look at us — we are not Mata Nui’s leaders. We are the followers, suddenly forced into leadership because everyone else is gone. Who among us is brave enough?” And the murmur spread again. Matoran looked to the ground, avoiding Mako’s question. He was right — if not Illum, no one in this circle had any real experience. No one that remained was willing to take up such a responsibility. Aya sighed, kicking the dirt. It wouldn’t be that Po-Matoran — he was scrawny and awkward and didn’t seem have ever led more than a Mahi. And the Ga-Matoran, she was too quiet, too shy, too unknown for a position such as this. Ihka, maybe, but she didn’t speak up, and she wasn’t nearly charismatic enough to unite Mata Nui. She folded her arms, knowing it in the back of her mind. The circle was quiet. One of the Ussal crabs scuttled in place. Only the black obelisks stood tall as everyone huddled before the wind. Aya hoped someone else would speak, but nothing came. She huffed. “Are we going to dance around this all afternoon or do I have to say it?” The crossing was still, and all eyes turned to her. She should’ve felt out of place — she was a nobody, after all. And speaking up in a council to determine the fate of the island? It went against everything in her character. But most everyone here was a nobody, and at this point, she was simply too tired to care. Aya rolled her eyes. “Kokani, it has to be you.” The Ko-Matoran lifted his head. Another wave of mumblings ran through the obelisks. “I think — !” Illum stood up, stifling the noise as he repeated himself. “I think I speak for many of us when I say there is no one else more qualified.” Kokani spoke. “I am no Turaga, Illum.” “Neither was I, until I became one.” “You led my guardsmen when I could not,” Mako nodded. “You didn’t hesitate when my city needed you. You took up the mantle when no one else did.” Illum followed. “We’ve always had our differences, but we work for a common goal.” He paused, lowering his voice. “And you know, more than anyone else, what has to be done.” “Ko-Koro will follow you,” Ihka nodded. “That should not need to be said.” “You’re almost legend among my people,” the Po-Matoran spoke up. “I grew up hearing how you fought the Toa of Shadow in Po-Koro’s streets. And you were there when Pohatu returned to us. You’ve saved many Po-Matoran lives already.” And before Kokani could reply, Illum began to work his magic, addressing everyone once more. “Look! This is Kokani of Ko-Koro, standing humbly before you. Valued friend of the late Turaga Matau, member of the Sanctum Guard, protector of the Atouri, soldier of Mata Nui. He has saved countless lives in the battles across the land; he fought alongside the Toa in Ga-Koro. He rallied for Ta-Koro, uniting us when we were caught unaware — if not for him, many of us would not have made it through the night.” Illum paused, waiting for a rebuttal, but no one spoke and so he continued. “If any of you object, do so now — but know that your other option is defeat. Know, that if you do not stand with us in the light… you will undoubtedly become lost in darkness.” And the clearing was deathly silent. Only the wind rippled the fields around them. Only the clouds moved above. Only the air spoke, its breath powerless against Illum’s words. “…Let Mata Nui be our witness,” he said finally, and he turned to Kokani, his mask — for once — entirely sincere. “That is… if you’ll have us, Kokani.” A few more seconds of silence, and Aya leaned over, “You’re not a warrior anymore, Kokani. You’re a leader,” she shrugged, nonchalantly whispering in his ear. “I mean… whether you like it or not, at this point.” And Kokani muttered to himself. “Six peoples, one destiny.” Aya nodded. “We’ve no more heroes, and so we must make our own,” Kokani stood, addressing all those before him, assuming his role without reprise. “Send word to your Koro. All who remain, all our soldiers, all who are brave and strong enough to fight — say that I summon them. Say that I challenge them, to live up to their duty, to unite under this shared cause and fulfill our common destiny.” And there was a voice — some lone advisor, calling out from within the crowd. “We stand with you, Turaga.” “Tell them we will walk the path of our ancestors.” Kokani said, raising his volume. “Tell them we will unify upon the ancient stones of the Kini Nui, and from there — we sail. To the fabled lands of the Eastern Continent, to the shining White Tower across the sea.” And another voice, louder than before. “Turaga Kokani!” “We will no longer sit idly by while destiny is decided for us,” he went on, his words carried, amplified by the wind. “No… we will take it for our own. We will take everything we have — all our warriors, all our ships, everyone your Koro can spare to give. And we’ll take this fight to the Kryll. We will take this fight… to Makuta himself!” “Turaga Kokani.” “…Turaga Kokani!” And a chant had started to form, growing louder by the second. “Turaga… Turaga! Turaga Kokani!” “For as of today, we stand together,” the Ko-Matoran nodded, approving of their enthusiasm. “We will stand, proud and tall against Makuta and his minions. Without Turaga, without Toa… we will stand as our own heroes, and we will stand as one. Six peoples… one destiny! United, under Mata Nui.” And the circle erupted with cheers. They showed their support for the newfound leader, but Kokani didn’t bathe in it. He didn’t even seem pleased. His mask was as stoic as ever. His eyes were cold and blue as he turned back to Aya, seemingly immune to the praise he now received. The two took a moment to connect, each of them processing what exactly this meant, and how it would change their lives. But finally, Kokani nodded to her, and finished his speech with a promise — a vow. “We’ll find Takua,” he said, now low and unapologetic. He clenched his jaw, swearing it before her, carving the words into her mind. And Aya bowed her head, making the vow herself. “We’ll find Takua,” Kokani repeated. “And we’ll end this — once and for all.” ~~~ Hand over hand, Krosis pulled the rope in silence, slowly unfurling the sail of his vessel. His eyes stared up to the expanding cloth, and to the twilight sky beyond it, lost in thought as the gentle waves lapped against Mata Nui’s shore. It was a small ship, only large enough for him and a handful of others. Most of his circle had already left for the Eastern Continent, and so he would not arrive on a flagship with fanfare, he would not participate in the great journey his peers often spoke of. No, he would have this simple sailboat, arguably little more than a dingy. A humble vessel, for a humbled king. “All aboard?” His captain called out, and Krosis nodded to him. With the sail at its full height, their anchor was pulled, and the ship began to rock against the waves. Krosis moved to the bow, choosing only the spray of the sea for company. It should have been a victory. It should have been the crowning jewel on his campaign, and one could argue that it was. But it didn’t feel like that. It was muddled. Tainted, withered… poisoned by the price he’d paid. Perhaps Krosis was a fool for sending him. Perhaps he should’ve sent grunts, soldiers he had no personal connection to, but… no. Only he could have led this operation. Only he had the heart, the spirit, the will… to give everything he had, with full knowledge that he very likely wouldn’t come back. Blood and fire… only Noruk could have done it. Krosis watched the waves as the wind filled their sail, drumming his claws against the ship’s railing. He given so much for this cause, and he felt it now, more than ever before — the cost of his actions; the weight of his deeds. Every day, it seemed to grow heavier. Noises pulled him back to reality. A few shouts, the sound of a rope cast overboard, of something being pulled on deck. But he knew what was happening, so he didn’t feel the need to turn around. Rather, he grimaced, annoyed that this thorn in his side had returned once again. He narrowed his eyes, staring out to sea as he heard footsteps approach from behind. “Were you going to leave without me?” The voice sounded irritated, and so Krosis matched it. “I wait for no one.” “You said you’d take me. I was promised.” “You’re a fool, Raipu.” “You owe me.” Krosis turned around, looking down on the Po-Matoran. He crossed his arms, letting out a quiet sigh. “This is what you want then? The White Tower? Your payment was not enough?” “I was given visions,” Raipu held his ground, his mask sweaty, clearly having rushed to meet the ship in time. He paused to catch his breath. “I must see him. I… I was promised.” “You were promised….” Krosis couldn’t help but smile and shake his head. “Like I said: you’re a fool.” But Raipu’s anger was evident, and he put his foot down, bold against the King of the Kryll. “You couldn’t have done it without me. You will take me to him. You owe me!” “I owe you nothing,” Krosis spat, tired of his disrespect. He took a step forward, advancing. “You made your deal with Makuta, not I. You betrayed your people, not I. Now tell me, what did the darkness promise you? Power? Riches? A life you lost long ago?” Raipu stumbled, hesitating as Krosis hit the nail on the head. But he remained resolute, making his demand once again. “…Take me to him.” “Face it — you were used, Raipu. You’ll find nothing at the White Tower.” Krosis looked down on him, studying his frantic mask, reading him like a book. “None can bring back the dead — not you, not I, not Makuta or Mata Nui himself. What’s done is done.” And he turned to face the sea once more. “Take my advice… accept it. And move on.” There was a moment of silence where Krosis looked to the horizon, feeling Raipu’s eyes boring into the back of his head. He watched the clouds, thin and wispy against the sky’s gradient, unconcerned with whatever crossed the Po-Matoran’s mind. Raipu had played his part; he’d delivered results — but he was no longer needed. And Krosis didn’t have the patience to entertain those he didn’t need. “…Take me to him! You have to!” “Go home, Po-Matoran.” And Raipu must have been desperate, for Krosis turned his head at the sound of drawn steel — but his guards were close enough. A short scuffle, a few grunts as blows made their mark, and in a second the Matoran was restrained, his dagger clattering to the deck. With an exasperated breath, the King of the Kryll turned back to face him, shaking his head. “…So be it.” With more annoyance than anger, he moved, waving away his guards as he wrapped his claws around Raipu’s neck, lifting him off the ground. Wide-eyed, the Matoran struggled, fingers grasping at his arm, but Krosis held strong. Dangling him over the edge of ship, he stared at Raipu’s mask, gasping for air, hardly able to form words. “…Wait! …Please!” Krosis clicked his mandibles, silent as he drew a blade from his belt. The protosteel flashed in the setting sun, partially serrated, and inlaid with a sliver of gold — a blade he knew Raipu would recognize. “Krosis… please…!” Raipu choked. “Don’t…!” But the words were lost, and Krosis made it quick. Three times he sank the blade into Raipu’s gut, and the Matoran let out a slight moan. His eyes pained, his struggles subsiding, Krosis held him, suspended above the water, watching as the color drained from his Hau. Raipu’s grasping fingers faltered, and Krosis looked him up and down. “I pity you.” And he released his grip, letting the Po-Matoran fall. In an instant he had disappeared, leaving only a cloud of blood in the water. In an instant, Raipu was gone — lost beneath the waves of the endless sea. Krosis turned around, nodding his guards and crew away, wishing to be alone once more. He sank low, resting his tired, golden armor against the ship’s railing as he pulled out a cloth and began to clean the weapon. He took a minute, fingers moving automatically as he watched the fabric slowly stain red. The weight returned, hanging heavy from his shoulders as he finished his work. And with a deep breath, he sheathed Takua’s dagger once more. Soon, he thought. Soon… it will all be over. ~End of Part VI~

Chapter 18 - Acceptance It happened before she could move. It happened before she could think. A chain of explosions up the column, obliterating elder Ta-Koro in an instant. An eruption of fire and smoke and sulfur and stone, Aya was blown onto her back, sent sliding along the narrow bridge as scorching dust billowed out, fiery debris raining down. Something hit her in the mask and her vision went spotty. Ears ringing, the very air sucked out of her lungs, she slid to a halt, scrambling for traction as a second shockwave sent singeing embers washing over her. With only her sense of touch remaining, she felt the bridge shake, and she knew she had to move. Nearly blind, she reached out for anything, finding a broken boulder to pull herself up. Needles in her chest, she wheezed to her feet, stumbling forward, knowing the narrow structure beneath her would soon give way to gravity. Finding traction, she tore off, Rae’s blurry shape just ahead of her, fumbling as fast as she could through the steaming cloud of smoke. Her legs like lead, she sprinted as the bridge lurched, cracking under its own weight, and Aya yelled, her voice silent in her ringing ears. Pushing off the moment before the stone fell away, she sailed through the air, clamoring for a brief, terrible second before her fingers met something solid. Hands. Helping hands. They held her, just out of danger’s reach. Her senses still fuzzy, she latched onto Kokani’s arm, legs dangling hundreds of feet above the Lake of Fire. The Ko-Matoran’s grip held strong, and with the help of another he pulled her up, onto solid ground and out of harm’s way. Aya coughed, at the edge of ruined bridge, under the lip of the Mangai. Still wheezing, she realized it was Illum who also knelt beside her. “Aya….” Sound returned to her as someone spoke, and she sat up, taken aback that the Onu-Matoran had helped save her life. She blinked, unable to move as she processed the last minute of her life, before seeing Rae beside her, seemingly doing the same. Illum’s Ussal separated the four from the crowd of Matoran outside the Mangai’s shell, but her attention was drawn back the way she’d come. Smoke curled into the night sky, thinning just enough to see, and Aya turned her charred mask to the Lake of Fire, and what remained of the old city. It was gone. A pile of broken buildings and toppled towers, barely visible through the raining ash, sinking ever-so-slowly into the magma. The pillar was gone. The council chamber was gone. Noruk and his warriors were gone. The Mangai had claimed it all. “No… how…?” Aya whispered to herself, staring in disbelief. She watched the molten rock swallow, waiting for a sign, a signal that would mean the Toa were still alive. She stared with bated breath, ready for the rocks to move, the fire to give way, searching for any hint of elemental power. Aya rubbed her eyes, expecting six heroic figures to rise from the ash, proudly carrying the Turaga to safety. But the seconds ticked by, and the city sank lower. The Mangai grew quiet, already forgetting the Kryll’s explosives, already settling back into its gentle, simmering standard. Aya swiveled her head, eyes flicking to anyone who would meet her. “But… the Toa!” she stammered. “Where did… they can’t have….” No one spoke. Even outside, the great crowd of guards, soldiers, and civilians were silent. Only Kokani shifted, placing a gentle hand on Aya’s shoulder. She swallowed, her throat parched and dry, suddenly nauseous. “…The Turaga…” she objected, but the scene was etching itself in her mind, making itself known. She didn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe it. But with every second she watched the boiling lake, the more her eyes told her the truth — Ta-Koro was gone. Aya frowned. She shook her head, refusing reality. “No.” But there it was: the crumbling stone, the smoking ruins, dripping lower and lower into the molten earth. No movement, save for that caused by gravity. No sign of life, save for that of the volcano. The Matoran could do nothing but watch, and realize their new truth. Ta-Koro was gone. The Turaga were gone. The Toa were gone. They were alone. ~~~ Sithrak paused. He stared at Takua’s silhouette, mouth agape, eyes wide. There was only a second of silence before he whispered to himself, an astonished smile spreading across his face. “So, it’s true….” “Come on!” Takua roared, storming forward, ignoring Jaka’s unconscious form as Sithrak stumbled back, readying his dagger. Takua lashed out, feeling nothing from his bleeding fists, swinging at the Kryll’s head, missing as he jumped back, seemingly both terrified and ecstatic. “Yes! That’s the Takua I know!” Sithrak teetered as he dodged Takua’s claws, almost tripping over a fallen barrel. “That’s the one I want to see!” Takua bellowed, charging, half-catching his foe as the Kryll almost slipped away, but not quite. His fingers closed around his forearm, and Takua spun around, whipping him into a pile of crates and sending him crashing to the floor. He lunged again, attacking with wild ferocity, his fingers clawing at Sithrak’s mandible before he evaded again, hopping nimbly back to the stairs. “Just a finger, huh?” he teased, scuttling away. “That’s all it took to see the real you?” “Fight me!” Takua yelled, fed up as he sprang again, but the Kryll rolled to the side, sliding under his arms and popping up, slicing a shallow line up Takua’s shoulder with the knife. Enraged but still numb, Takua responded without pause, whirling around, his knuckles meeting the Kryll’s cheek. Thunk! Sithrak dropped like a rock, his skinny frame no match for Takua’s strength. The knife clattered out of his hands, and he breathed heavy, clawing at the floor to rise and escape. But Takua was on him, grabbing his shoulders. He flipped him over and sank a knee in his chest, pining him down as he unleashed his fists. One! Two! Three…! The blows sank into the Kryll’s face, stunning him, bloodying an eye before he could respond. But then a flash of dark armor had caught Takua’s fist, holding him — just long enough for the Kryll to sink his teeth into Takua’s shoulder. Takua yelled, the jagged mandibles cutting into his flesh, and Sithrak managed to roll over, pinning his arm. Takua struggled, clawing at the back of his head, punching him to no avail before he shifted forward, freeing his arm. Iron fingers latched onto the Kryll’s jaw, his other hand securing a grip the back of his skull, and — Takua pulled. Sithrak’s eyes widened and he tried to disengage, but Takua was too fast. Both of them screaming, Takua ripped the Kryll’s head from his bite, separating the mandible from his skull with a sickening crunch. Sithrak screeched, stumbling off him, falling backward as he clutched a gaping, bloody hole in his jaw. A look of surprised horror on his face, he scrambled to regain his footing, retreating back to the stairs. Takua breathed heavy as he sat up, yanking the severed mandible from the base of his neck. It came out with a spurt of blood, and he scowled, throwing it at Sithrak’s feet. The Kryll faltered. “Come on!” Takua roared, rolling his shoulder, unfazed by the blood flowing from it. “Is that all you have!?” Sithrak clutched his wounded jaw, lungs heaving, body trembling. He watched Takua stand, then let out a maddened hiss, fleeing up the stairs. The door swung shut behind him. Takua paused only to grab the Kryll’s knife, then gave chase. He was halfway up the stairs when something slammed into the ship, a deafening boom sounding from above. The hold rocked side to side as more supplies fell to the floor, and Takua paused, looking up. He knew that this was more than just a wall of water. But a second later he was moving again — whatever went on outside didn’t matter. All that mattered was Sithrak. The door slammed open and he found himself in the crew’s quarters — and pure pandemonium. It was dark, the scattered lanterns swinging wildly, but through the unused hammocks Takua could see Kryll running amok, supplies toppled over, weapons strewn about the floor. The ship veered wildly again, and Takua steadied himself against the wall, now seeing at the far end — a great hole blown through the ship’s hull. Wind and rain and moonlight poured in, the waves outside rising and falling with a force he’d never seen. Saltwater spilled into the ship as every crest lapped its edges, and Takua righted himself, fingers clinging to Sithrak’s dagger. There! Just a few hammocks away was a Kryll he recognized. “Where is he!?” he demanded, storming forward, and Chief looked up, stunned at his appearance. “Where’s Sithrak!?” “What — you!? How did you — ?” “I’m going to make this easy,” Takua glared, brandishing the knife as he grabbed Chief by his collar, barely noticing the crew member at his feet, an arrow sticking out of his stomach. “Tell me where he is, or you’re dead.” Chief didn’t put up a fight. “On deck! Or in his quarters! He went up the stairs in a hurry; I don’t know!” Takua scowled but threw him aside unharmed, turning back to the stairs and making his move. Upward, hearing more sounds of anarchy. Yelling, orders trying to quell confusion, ropes pulled, sails furled… blades clashing. Up, up the stairs he went, energy pouring through him, tension rising in his chest, until he met the double doors at their peak. Throwing his shoulder, he shoved them open and saw the mayhem. Lightning streaked through sheets of rain, and Kryll ran about, some trying to hold their ship together, others firing arrows into the night. Takua stumbled as the squall battered them, the swells rising, and he looked up to see a flaming barrel soar overheard, crashing into the sea with an eruption of water. Swords met steel at the other end of the ship, and through the inky black he could make out warriors — Matoran warriors — and farther off, the hazy outline of another ship. A warship. …They’d found him. For only a second he paused, feeling the salt spray dance upon his mask. For only a second he felt the sheer power of the storm, its electric energy flowing through him, the water and wind engulfing him in this great, chaotic world. For only a second he felt the threads of the elements, the natural yet magical connections that bound him and the earth together. For only a second he felt it, and he knew that this was no ordinary storm. This raw, unbridled power… this was the work of Toa. “Wave!” “Rogue wave!” The ship leaned, swiveling as it turned, a great wall of water barreling towards them on the starboard side. The flagship leaned back, riding the swell, facing it head on as people yelled and fighting paused, everyone grabbing onto something for fear of being thrown overboard. Takua looked to its crest, far taller than their mast, outlined by a bright crack of lightning — and sprinted for the nearest door. Slamming it shut behind him, he fell over, gripping the doorknob as the ship rocketed forward, careening down the backside of the wave. Supplies and furniture crashed into each other, thrown forward as Takua held on, and then, with a sudden jerk and a great splash, the ship slammed into another wave, toppling over more goods, shifting back and forth — but steadily righting itself. They still floated. Regaining his balance, Takua took in his surroundings. Nice furniture, a bed, maps and trinkets strewn about the floor — he was in the ship’s cabin. A dim lantern swung in the far corner, revealing a wooden chest, nestled beneath the bed, and Takua moved for it, now fully aware of whose quarters he’d stumbled into. Pulling it out, flipping it open, he smirked, the dim light shining on his sword, and beneath it, Jaka’s shield. Sithrak’s trophies — now his, once again. Securing it to his belt, readying himself for battle, Takua drew the blade. It twinkled in the lantern light, still sharp, the Onu-Koronan protosteel willing to serve him once again. He felt the leather grip in his palm, its familiar weight like the handshake of an old friend, and it brought to mind the Matoran who’d given it to him, so long ago now. He remembered their last encounter — Illum’s bloodshot eyes, trying to hold him down as the infected gas entered his lungs. I didn’t want any of this, Takua. I only do what I have to. Takua steadied himself as the ship lurched, the cabin door creaking open. His time in the hold had changed him, and his newly discovered, resolute will cemented the thought — he understood Illum now, at least on some level. He squeezed the hilt of the sword. He was not afraid to do what he had to. Instantly he bent over, a prickle on his neck warning him of the blade that sailed inches above his head, and he whipped around, his fist meeting Sithrak’s chest, just short of his windpipe. The Kryll stumbled back, breathing in sharply as Takua followed through, his sword singing, just clipping the Kryll’s side as he tried to dodge. Bloodied, the Kryll put distance between them, hissing. Takua studied him, a deep line of red against his ribs now, his right eye bruised, the hole in his jaw still dripping blood. The Kryll hunched over, gripping a short, curved sword, panting like a feral beast as Takua circled, sizing him up. “Just a mandible, huh?” he taunted, nodding to the Kryll’s devolution. “That’s all it took to see the real you?” “Worm!” Sithrak pounced, his blade swinging wildly, but Takua was fast. He sidestepped, whirling around a fallen table. The Kryll went after him, crashing into the upturned furniture, but Takua danced. Easily avoiding him, hopping to the bed to the chest, back to the floor and then up on a dresser, he grinned. “Come on,” Takua twirled his sword. “Come on!” he yelled, ready for him. Sithrak threw his sword in a rage, catching Takua by surprise as it nicked his arm. He stumbled, losing grip on his own blade, and — wham! He was on the ground, the Kryll on top of him, fighting, clawing, scratching with tooth and nail. He defended his face, the Kryll’s nails cutting into his forearms. He retaliated, kneeing Sithrak in the side, spreading the blood that already oozed out. He grimaced as Sithrak growled, blood and breath and spit splattering his mask, and — Takua managed to grab his wrist. He yanked Sithrak down, slamming his forehead into the Kryll’s. “Aargh!” Dazed, the Kryll stumbled off him, fumbling for his weapon as Takua did the same. Grabbing ahold of it, rising to his feet and squaring up — Takua wiped blood from his forearms, smearing it across his armor. He met the Kryll’s glare as he rolled his shoulders, angry again. Sithrak fled. “…No!” Takua barreled after him, pushing through the swinging door, out into the storm again. Sithrak was quick, but his wounds were taking their toll. Takua caught him in a few seconds, their steel ringing out as the Kryll blocked, Takua’s attacks relentless as they battled through the torrential rain. Hyper focused, Takua had no mind for the madness around them. He assaulted the Kryll, slashing this way and that as the ship rocked, struggling to stay above the waves. He ducked as the Kryll responded, weaving in and out of other warriors, not caring for the arrows that flew overheard, or the warship that careened past. Matoran threw grapples, sailing through the sheets of rain to board and fight, the Kryll responding, rallying, yelling. The raging tempest around them, the lightning that streaked the sky… Takua cared for none of it. There was only Sithrak’s blade. There was only Sithrak’s blood. The steel rang in his ears as he lashed out, battering the Kryll back, locking blades only to shove him off, and Sithrak retreated, falling into the deck’s railing. Exhausted, he stumbled away, his footsteps red as blood dripped off his armor. Takua chased him to the rear of the ship, sword always swinging, narrowly missing as the Kryll managed to evade. Falling ever farther back, Sithrak withdrew up a wide staircase, to the raised deck above his cabin. And again their blades locked, Takua forced him back after a second, overpowering him with a strong, single, push — and the Kryll slipped. He fell into the ship’s wheel, colliding into the Kryll who manned it. The warrior let out a yelp before abandoning his post, and Sithrak — now collapsed and moaning on the deck — was alone with Takua. The wheel spun freely above his head. Rain pelted Takua’s armor as he looked down on his enemy, advancing. “Get up,” he commanded, twirling his sword. “We’re not done yet.” Sithrak wheezed, squirming against the deck, clutching his wounds as blood pooled around him, mixing with the water. He grimaced, wrath in his eyes, grasping his sword once more, suddenly roaring, and — one! Two! Takua parried as the Kryll found the strength to stand, advancing, bringing his blade down a third time, with hate. Takua met it, twirling his grip and spinning around, yanking the blade from Sithrak’s claws and wrenching his wrist. The Kryll’s weapon slid off the deck and into the sea, and Takua was behind him now, holding him still, his sword resting against the Kryll’s throat. And they were still. The two looked out at the inky night, at the Kryll fighting Matoran, at the ravaging storm, the rising waves. Takua’s breath was cold and crisp, sharp within his chest. His heart pounded like the drums of war, loud within his ears. “…Go ahead then,” Sithrak rasped, barely able to keep himself upright. “This is what you wanted… right? Every second you hesitate… gives me more time….” Takua held steady, his momentum paused as thought returned to him. He blinked, realizing for the first time what was happening. Sithrak was right; this is what he’d wanted. This was the only thing he’d wanted. Ever since Ga-Koro. His voice weak, his breathing labored and unsteady, Sithrak waited as the seconds ticked by. And soon, he began to smile. “…But you won’t, will you?” Takua scowled, wrenching his arm tighter, pressing the steel harder against his throat. But in his mind… he did hesitate. “…That’s right. You won’t.” No. Sithrak was wrong. He would. He was going to. And yet… why? Why was he pausing? There was no reason to. Everything inside told him what to do. Just a flick of the wrist, and it would be over. Rid the world of this horrible monster, this horrible beast of a being. But still… here he was. “Yes… you won’t. You can’t,” the Kryll’s smile widened. “Even after everything I’ve put you through, you’re just not that type of person, are you Takua…? You don’t have it in you… you don’t have the power, the will… to decide fate.” His chest rose and fell, half wheezing, half chuckling to himself. “You don’t have the strength, Takua. You’re still too weak.” “Try me,” Takua growled, but with every second Sithrak’s words seeped deeper into his skin. He told himself it was because he wanted to savor this moment. Because he hated Sithrak so much he wanted to draw out this victory. But was that right? Or was he simply not able to do this? After all the pain, the suffering, the taunting and torment, after everything this awful creature had done to him… was he able to end it? To make the choice between vengeance and mercy? Takua blinked, breathing steadily. “I know you won’t…” Sithrak leaned back, resting his head against Takua’s shoulder, trusting the Matoran to carry his weight. “…Because I know you, Takua,” he whispered, the gaping wound in his jaw disgustingly close to Takua’s face. “I know what you are… and I know what you are not…” he hissed, his words now smooth and confident. “I’ve seen it in my dreams… I know it, in my soul….” “You don’t know anything about me!” Takua growled, his blade pressing deeper, breaking skin, drawing a short, shallow, line on the Kryll’s neck. “Oh! There it is!” Sithrak tilted his head back, opening his throat as he pressed his bloody jaw against Takua’s cheek. He closed his eyes, as if he yearned for death. “Give me my fate, Takua. I beg you!” Takua breathed through his nose, gritting his teeth, wanting with every fiber of his being to do it. But… but…! “That’s right, you won’t!” Sithrak rumbled. “Because I know the truth, Takua. I know what the future holds; I know how this will end — and it is not my destiny to die here.” His smile spread as lightning cracked, as the ship swerved, tossed by the waves with no one at the helm. He pressed a weak hand against Takua’s cheek, holding him gently… intimately. Skin crawling, Takua wanted to push him off. He wanted to end it, one way or another, but indecision left him paralyzed. He watched as the warship flew by once more, raining arrows and fire onto the Kryll as they tried to push back the Matoran — but he didn’t really see that. Instead he saw Matau, staring at him. He saw Talim, watching as he held his blade to this being’s throat. What were they thinking? Was this the right thing to do? Who was he to play executioner? Who was he to deal out destiny? “I have seen it all, Takua!” Sithrak preached, now clutching his mask. “I know how this journey will end; I know what will be offered at the White Tower! I know I will usher in a new age, the age born of blood and fire! And I know that I have been chosen.” Doubt crept into his mind, and Takua’s fingers started to tremble. This wasn’t really him, was it? This broken prisoner, fueled by rage? This monster who craved blood and vengeance? He was supposed to fight for good, for light, for peace… wasn’t he? “Chosen! For so much more!” Footsteps, pounding up the stairs, and a second later Rashi appeared, heading for the spinning wheel — but stopped in her tracks as she saw the two of them. Her red eyes met Takua’s. “Hear me, Takua!” Sithrak spouted, oblivious to Rashi’s presence. “As I know you won’t go through. As the stars above, as the earth below, I know what destiny holds for me, and it is not to end here!” The blade trembling at his throat, his nails dug into Takua’s mask, words loud against the rain, defying the storm. “I know how my story ends!” Over and over, his heart pounded in his ears. Takua’s muscles twitched, ready to move, ready to finish it — but he couldn’t! Why? Why couldn’t he move? Why couldn’t he do this!? “Because I am the savior of my people! I will be etched into the stars as the one who changed the world, the one who ascended to the heavens!” Tension in his mind and his body, stretching him, vibrating his core. Just… move! He screamed at himself, trapped by his own uncertainties, lost in the spinning cycle of his mind. Why? Why!? He squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing. “I am the one who will write our final chapter! I am this world’s final chronicler!” Was this really it? This was who he’d become? Takua met Rashi’s unwavering gaze, and suddenly, somehow — he knew. “I will be the herald of Makuta!” Sithrak bellowed into the sky, defying the very world as Takua’s knuckles tightened. “I will be the prophet of salvation! The messenger of the gods! I! Will be — !” And Takua slit his throat.

Wait these rock!! keep this up my dude! also uhhh where can I buy Wairuha's jacket?

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the pic says it all

Chapter 17 - To the Brink of Madness “Wait… what?” The Ko-Matoran’s eyes were wild. “He’s alive. He’s out there,” he gasped, as if still coming to terms with it himself. “…We need to find him!” Aya blinked, shaking her head, trying to wrap her head around that with so much else going on. Even now she could feel it getting hotter, the air stifling as smoke billowed up through the floorboards. She’d seen the flames on her mad dash back from the cistern, no doubt set off by the Kryll she now knew to be within the city. She’d somehow managed to avoid them, but now there was movement, and shouting, coming from down the hall. “Okay… fine!” she concluded without any more thought. “But we need to go! Now!” And it was Kokani’s turn to pause, only now smelling the smoke, realizing that Illum and Rae were gone. “What happened?” Aya helped him up, moving for the door “Kryll. They’re in the city! It was Raipu…” she shook her head in frustration. “It was always Raipu!” Kokani cursed. “The Turaga? The Toa?” “We need to warn them!” Aya poked her head into the hallway, cursing as she saw Kryll. Two of them, knocking down doors and barging into rooms, their swords already stained red. “Go, Kokani!” she ushered him behind her back. “Get outside!” “Hey! You!” “Kokani, go!” Aya whirled around as a brute caught sight of her, and she primed her bow, firing an arrow down the hall. The Kryll ducked, snarling. Its heavy boots thumped, advancing as Aya retreated, covering Kokani’s flank as he hobbled to the stairs. She let another barb fly, only for it to deflect off its heavy armor. Angry now, the brute charged, readying armored claws as Aya retreated, but with nowhere to go in the narrow hallway she stumbled back, grabbing hold of another arrow, bracing herself. “Come on, you stupid — !” Aya cried out as the Kryll’s mass slammed into her, lifting her off the ground and into the wall. Dizzy, her instinctive response was to latch onto her attacker. The Kryll tried to throw her to the ground, but she wrapped her legs around its torso, holding on as she sank her barb into its shoulder. Three times she struck before finding a seam in its armor, and her barb met flesh. Red sprayed her mask as the Kryll howled. It wavered and Aya fell to the ground, secured her bow, and ran. Back to the stairwell, down to the second floor, and then the first before she stopped, covering her mask as she was met with a wave of heat. The fire blazed here, orange flames climbing the walls, the air thick with smoke. She hunched over, barreling through the lobby and making for the exit, seeing no sign of Kokani as she burst through the doors and into open air. A club met her in the mask. “There she is!” a voice cackled as Aya hit the ground, wheezing, seeing stars. “Congratulations, Aya of Ga-Koro, you made our list!” She lifted her head, making out Kokani a few feet away, also down. A dozen Kryll stood in the courtyard, standing amidst bodies, waiting patiently for any Matoran to run out of the flaming inn. All had been cut down as they fled for safety. The warrior above grabbed her by the shoulders, dragging her to the center of the courtyard. She squirmed, trying to regain her wits. Bronze armor flashed, and she recognized emerald-green eyes as she was dropped next to Kokani. “It’s been a while, you two,” Noruk smirked. Aya faltered, head reeling, but she refused to give up. She struggled to her hands and knees, grabbing her dagger, pushing herself up, and — wham! Noruk’s fist met her jaw and she was down again, scraping against the courtyard. “That’s for my king. For shooting an arrow in his back,” the Kryll growled. He moved, circling like a wolf. Aya rolled over, spitting blood on the ground. Grimacing, she tried to clear her head, but each blow sent her farther off. She heard a scuffle as Kokani tried to rise, but that seemed to end quickly. A heavy boot met the small of her back. “I actually thought you were dead,” Noruk leaned over her. “I thought we had you on the docks of Ga-Koro… what happened there?” Aya groaned, clutching her skull, trying and failing to think of a snarky response. “Oh well,” Noruk shrugged. “I suppose I get the pleasure of ending you now.” The boot left her back and she looked to see Kryll grabbing Kokani by the shoulders. “Let him go…!” she growled, but her only answer was the tip of a blade, hovering at her throat. “Look at me, Kokani!” Noruk snarled, standing tall as he lifted him higher, his claws closing around the Ko-Matoran’s throat. Aya could only watch as he gasped, struggling, his feet barely brushing the ground. “Do you even remember him? He wore silver; his name was Nilum. You shoved a blade in his stomach and left him. You left his body for the beasts. For the Rahi to pick at!” Kokani clutched at Noruk’s grip, wheezing, gasping for air. “Let him go — !” Aya yelled, but her threat was cut off as the steel pressed against her neck. Noruk scowled, throwing Kokani back to the cobblestone. “Get up!” he yelled, tossing his sword next to Kokani, before being handed another blade by his warriors. “Get up, Kokani!” he challenged. “You and I! Let’s finish this!” Kokani only wheezed. He turned over, meeting Noruk with a cold stare, but refused to grab the sword. Aya watched, not daring to move as the Kryll’s anger bubbled. “Get up and fight me!” he shouted again, kicking the sword closer to him, pacing back and forth as his warriors watched, as the inn burned behind them. Noruk’s armor was black, silhouetted against blazing light, the smell of sulfur and smoke permeating the air. He stared down at the scarred Ko-Matoran, eyes burning with fury. Yet still, Kokani didn’t budge. He didn’t speak. “Get! Up!” Noruk shouted. Aya watched as the Kryll’s voice faded into the crackling blaze, praying Kokani didn’t fight. She knew Noruk would kill him, but didn’t dare voice her thoughts with the Kryll above pressing his blade on her skin. But then Kokani moved. Slowly, shakily, he clutched the sword Noruk had thrown him. Cautiously, the battered warrior arose to a fight he couldn’t win, first to one knee, then another. Pushing himself until he stood at his full height, he met Noruk’s glare, Akaku glowing orange in the firelight. And with the clatter of steel on stone, he let the sword fall to the ground. “If you’ve come to kill me — do it already.” Noruk glowered, his corded shoulders raising, then lowering. “Pick up your sword, Kokani,” he demanded. “I’m not going to fight you.” “Pick up your sword!” Noruk screamed, his eyes on fire as rage enveloped him. He threw his own blade to the ground, balling his fists as he paced, cracking his neck. “Fight me, Ko-Matoran!” “It’s over, Noruk.” Kokani said calmly. “You’re the better warrior. You win.” And the Kryll stood there, eyes narrow, mandibles twitching. Kokani’s words caught him off guard, and he paused, his anger faltering. It morphed briefly into confusion, and then, after a moment or two… disappointment. “So, this is you now?” he asked. “This is Kokani, the White Warrior? A weak, scarred Matoran who’s too afraid to fight?” “Scarred, yes…” Kokani answered without emotion. “But not weak. Not afraid.” “Then fight me,” he countered, his voice now wavering, the anger replaced with what could only be seen as desperation. Aya watched Noruk from the ground, now realizing what this meant to him. The Kryll’s scowl released and the fire in his eyes dissipated, leaving him with emptiness. And Kokani spoke again, seeing him clearly as well. “Go ahead and kill me,” he let out, holding his mask high. “But it won’t bring back the dead.” Noruk frowned, snapping to a decision, and with a quick wave of his arm he signaled to his troops. The blade left Aya’s throat and she breathed, sitting up and clutching her neck, astounded by the turn of events. The Kryll shifted about them, making ready to move, suddenly uninterested in her as Noruk addressed Kokani again. “You’re already dead, Kokani. Those scars are all that’s left of you.” “Perhaps,” the Ko-Matoran nodded, shifting his balance. “But scars can heal. With enough time.” “Not all of them.” “No, not all of them… some we must live with,” Kokani trailed off. He looked to his boots, pausing as he furrowed his brow, as if contemplating. Then, with a gaze of what might have been pity, he met Noruk’s eyes once more. “But we have to make that choice to live.” Noruk only laughed. He picked up his sword, securing it to his belt once more as he ignored Kokani’s words. Instead, as he and his troops turned to move, he pointed back at them. “Know that I’ve judged you, Kokani. Know that you’re alive because you no longer deserve a death by my hand.” But Kokani only let out a smirk, his eyes scanning the far end of the courtyard. “Such a shame you didn’t come to that conclusion sooner.” The Kryll’s anger bubbled again. “What — ?” Thunk! An arrow imbedded itself in Noruk’s shoulder, and the courtyard came alive with chaos. ~~~ The deafening boom of thunder cracked through the sky, shaking the ship as Takua looked up from his lockpicking. It was dark. It was night. The ship rocked against rough seas and torrential rains. It was almost time. He could feel it now, the energy of the storm, the power of the elements. It had started slow, as a mild tingle on his spine, but it had grown as the night grew darker, as the waves rose taller. The electricity in the air, the current of the world — it now danced upon his mask, and he felt alive, connected to the air and sea that raged against the meager flagship that enclosed him. Takua took a breath, smelling the dank, moldy wood of the hull, yet also the salt, the sea, the sky. And he lifted his damaged fork a millimeter upwards, feeling a subtle click within the iron mechanism. He smirked. One more to go. But there was no time to celebrate. The cell lock had proven much fickler than his shackles, and he had mere hours before midnight, before Jaka would be waiting for him. And so he doubled down, prying and prodding, lifting and rotating, feeling fork and prong between his deft fingers, focusing on the subtle vibrations within the lock, blocking out those form the ship, the waves, and the restless Kryll above. He closed his eyes, discarding what little light shone in the hull. He seemed to work better in the dark. On and on he labored, knowing that he was close, that he was this close to freedom. He was so near to escaping these bars, and he would be free to move, free to fight once more. He’d done everything he could here; he’d trained his body, regained his strength, learned to focus his energy. He’d discovered when to wait, when to listen, and when to strike. He’d learned much within these bars — some about his enemies, some about his friends, and some about himself. But now it was time to leave. He could feel it now, the last pin hesitating, wanting to obey his command, but it was just barely too stubborn. He breathed, slowing his mind, focusing everything he had on the tips of his fingers. He let go of the outside world, separating himself from it all… there was only the lock and himself. Only his breathing, only the in and out of his lungs…. A deep inhale, a soft exhale. The smell of salt. …Only the quiet, only the calm. Only the gentle embrace of the surrounding darkness. And crackling rumble of the thunder. The raging storm outside. …Only the sea, only the sky. Only the energy of the world, flowing through him. And the pounding footsteps. The racing boots of Kryll, their muffled orders shouted to one another. …Only his mind, only his soul. Only his heart, its soft thump-thp, beating within his chest. KA-BOOM! And the chaos that raged above. His eyes snapped open as something slammed into the side of the ship, sending it rocking back and forth. Crates slid across the floor, barrels thumped against each other, and Takua lost his balance, falling over as the fork slipped out of his hands. Startled, he looked to the ceiling, realizing the sounds of shift change, the sounds of Kryll getting out of their hammocks, grumbling to their stations. “No,” Takua frowned. That couldn’t be it; it was too early to be midnight. Had he lost track of time? “No,” he repeated. Whatever the ship had hit must be the reason they were getting up. But then — three knocks at the door to the hull. Jaka’s signal. “No…” Takua trailed off, stopping for a second before grabbing his fork and shoving it into the lock again. It couldn’t be time already… he wasn’t done yet! Knock knock knock! “Mata Nui!” Takua cursed, suddenly panicking, his hands trembling, unable to make any progress. How could he have lost so many hours? Where did the time go? He wasn’t ready… he just wasn’t ready! Knock knock knock! Again! “Jaka…” he murmured to himself at first, shaking his head, his mind racing, heart pounding. What could he do!? And then, louder, “…Jaka! I’m — I’m not ready!” A creak as the door opened, the sound of thunder breaking outside. Jaka’s silhouette, and another figure behind him. A taller, thinner, much more sinister figure. Sithrak. Takua met his gaze as he stared down the hull, his fork still stuck in the lock. He was caught, red-handed. “Takua…!” the Kryll rasped, yanking Jaka down the stairs. A toothy smile spread across his face. “Such a shame to know you can’t keep your promises.” He glared, jaw clenched, eyes enflamed as Stihrak shoved his friend down the stairs. Jaka stumbled, almost falling, but he caught himself — just in time for Sithrak to lash out, sending him to the floor with a kick to the back of the knee. Takua watched, flinching. “Takua…” Jaka’s mask met his eyes. “I’m sorry… I wasn’t quick enough — ” Wham! His mask hit the floor as Sithrak’s boot met his side, and the Kryll sauntered forward, grabbing him by the top of the mask, ignoring his gasps of pain as he lifted, dragging him down the hull closer to Takua. With a hard thunk he dropped Jaka just outside the cell, and Takua could see his friend was already battered. Blood on his mask, bruises on his body, chips and cuts in his armor… it was clear Sithrak’s brutes had already done their job. Jaka wheezed, wrists bound in thick rope as he struggled to get up, but Sithrak’s heel pushed him down again, resting between his shoulder blades. Takua saw all of this, knowing that the brutes had been careful — Jaka was beaten and weak, but they’d done no lasting damage. They’d been careful to save enough for their captain. “You see,” Sithrak shook his head, clicking his mandibles. “I really thought we had come to an agreement. I…” he shrugged, letting his arms hang loose. “I just really thought we were going to get along!” But Takua had no more banter. The sight of what they’d done to Jaka, it was more than enough to fuel his temper. His eyes reflected the fire inside him, flickering larger as the seconds ticked by. He let out only a few, hot words. “You hurt him and you’re dead.” Sithrak was motionless, caught by surprise. But then he cracked, blowing air out his lungs as he couldn’t contain his laughter. He clutched his stomach, doubling over. “…You!” he cackled. “See? That’s… that’s what I like about you, Takua! You always have some way to keep me guessing!” he blurted, his boot unmoving as he stifled himself, regaining his posture. “You just… wow!” he shook his head. “You really are a special Matoran, aren’t you?” But Takua could only clutch his fork with white knuckles, locking eyes with the captain. “You hurt him… and you’re dead,” he repeated, now rising to his feet, kicking his shackles out of his way. “Oh, just look at you,” Sithrak replied. “Honestly, I’m impressed. Picking a lock with a fork? Gathering supplies, hatching a plan to escape in a rowboat? All from within the confines of these bars? I’m serious, it would’ve been really impressive if you’d been able to pull it off.” “Did you come down here to chat?” Takua growled. “Because I have nothing to say. Do what you came here to do,” he challenged. Fwoosh! The sound of the ship veering hard, of a tremendous wave crashing into the side of the hull. Takua grabbed the bars to steady himself as Sithrak leaned into it, staying upright as he scanned the ceiling. He twitched with displeasure, but turned back to Takua, suddenly very, very angry. “…Fair enough.” “Aah!” Jaka cried out as Sithrak sprang into action, flipping him over as he shoved his bound wrists aside, tightly grabbing the Matoran’s mask. Takua moved as well, springing forward and shoving his fork into the lock, now desperate to move the last pin and save his friend. But the Kryll paid him no mind. With Jaka’s Kakama between his bony fingers, Sithrak leaned closer as the Matoran struggled. “Your kind are such interesting creatures. Don’t you agree? So small yet so numerous, weak alone, yet strong through unity.” He produced a tiny knife from his sash, bringing the blade close to Jaka’s terrified eyes. “Your Kanohi gives you strength, but without it… what are you, I wonder?” “Don’t — !” Takua’s words fell on empty ears and Sithrak rasped on. “The different kinds have different powers, yes? Perhaps… perhaps not. I always found a wonderful irony to it.” He drew the tip of the blade against Jaka’s cheek, caressing it as he taunted Takua. “Like yours — a Pakari… the mask of strength? You can’t break your cage.” Then, to Jaka. “And yours — a Kakama, the mask of speed… you just weren’t quick enough, were you?” Takua gritted his jaw, breathing heavy with stress, making quick work of the pins he already knew how to move. But the last one, it still didn’t budge. He poked and prodded as fast as he could, this way and that, desperate to free himself and fight! But no, no… the last one wouldn’t budge! “The markings have meaning… they symbolize the virtues you hold dear…” Sithrak breathed, barely able to contain his excitement, forcing Jaka down as he struggled again. “Mark a mask, forge it into the semblance of a Hau, and it becomes beloved to Ta-Matoran, a symbol of their duty. Likewise, mark the shape of a Kaukau and it becomes associated with unity, held in high regard by Ga-Matoran everywhere…” he sneered, looking back to Takua with bloodshot eyes. “…But what is the mask of destiny, I wonder? The Akhovii, perhaps? The Mask of Light, worn only by your sacred Seventh Toa?” His hands were trembling, and he couldn’t get it. Why, Takua cursed in his head, why couldn’t he do this? Why were his skills failing him when it mattered most!? “Where is your Toa of Light, Takua? Where is he to save you now?” “Please…!” Jaka’s pleaded, struggling to no avail, trembling beneath the knife. Takua froze, pausing his frantic work to shoot the Kryll a furious glare, warning him. But Sithrak took it as a challenge. “Oh yes, that’s right — he’s gone. Dead, probably. I am your destiny now.” Jaka screamed as the knife cut into his mask, as Sithrak carved a deep line just below his eye. He squirmed, frantically trying to escape, but the Kryll held him still as the knife made its mark. As Sithrak branded his Le-Matoran. “Look what you have done!” the Kryll yelled as he dug the knife deeper into Jaka’s mask. “Look at the pain you have caused! There is no one who can save you now, Matoran — no friends, no family, no Toa, not even a merciful member of my crew… no one!” “I’ll end you!” Takua screamed back, his rage boiling over, but his threats still empty as he couldn’t escape. He slammed on the bars with his fist, shaking them with all his might. “You’re dead!” And Sithrak let up on the knife, satisfied with his mark. Jaka gasped, eyes rolling back underneath his weight, and the Kryll began to smile. His crooked, foul teeth spread wide. “…Is that a promise, Takua? Because I already know you can’t keep your promises.” Takua roared, attacking the lock again, trying to force it into submission — but his anger was his undoing. The fork snapped, the prong wedging itself into the lock and suddenly he had nothing to use. He had no tools to pick it, to break it, to get around somehow. Suddenly he was helpless — powerless, and he could do nothing but watch as Sithrak grew more and more enthralled. “Let’s go back to the beginning, shall we? Back to the beginning of our wonderful journey, when you were refusing to eat? I think I promised you three fingers then, didn’t I? “You dare —!” Slam! The ship lurched to the right as thunder cracked outside, as crates toppled over, supplies spilling across the hull. Sithrak stumbled, regaining his balance and forcing Jaka down as his momentum faltered. The hull door abruptly opened, a Kryll rushing down, pausing only a second to look at what was happening by Takua’s cell. “Captain…!” the Kryll blurted out, surprised to see Sithrak here. It was Chief, come down to grab supplies from his infirmary. “They... uh, they might need you up on deck!” Sithrak’s response came as a vicious boom. “They can wait!” And Chief nodded, not daring to say more. In an instant he was gone, the door swinging behind him, and Sithrak turned back to his prisoners. “Three fingers to start…” he rasped, trying to force himself back into the mood. He nodded, repeating himself. “Three fingers to start, and then we’ll go from there. Which ones do you prefer, Takua?” “Don’t feel like you have to stay if you’re busy,” Takua snapped, still furious, but knowing he needed another approach. “We can wait until you’re done with your duties.” “Don’t think you can talk your way out of this, Matoran.” Sithrak sneered, Jaka’s pale, half-conscious mask still in his claws. “Destiny waits for no one.” “So obsessed with destiny… maybe you’d be a better captain if you focused on duty a little more. Or even unity — you’re pretty terrible at both.” “Takua…” Jaka’s voice whimpered. “Don’t….” “My duty is my destiny!” Sithrak snapped. “And they are all Matoran virtues — Kryll need only what we have earned by strength and will — by blood and fire!” “Maybe, but you still need them.” Takua threw back, taunting. “Krosis knows that, and you don’t. That’s why you’ll never be as great as him. That’s why you’ll never be capable, or strong enough, why Krosis will never let you work without sending another to watch over you. You’ll never be good enough for him.” “Ha! Haha!” Sithrak started to laugh, but it was different now. It seemed forced, as if he were putting on a show, and Takua realized he was starting to unravel. “You think I care? You think I care about rank? About respect? No, Takua, no… I am beyond this world; I am beyond anything it can offer me. I care not for riches, for power. I care not for fame or remembrance, the love of peers. I am beyond everything you can imagine,” he spat, passion in his voice, the stench of his breath reaching Takua’s mask. “I am beyond what you know to be real! I am the seeker of change; I am the chronicler who rewrites history; I am the prophet who brings salvation!” Takua rose to meet him. “You’re a puppet, obsessed with delusions, intent on your one-way ticket to nowhere. And to nothing.” But Sithrak only grinned, happier than ever to receive Takua’s words. “And you are nothing — a mere Matoran with the mask of strength — yet powerless before me!” The door wrenched open again, but this time it was Rashi, storming down the stairs with purpose. “Sithrak!” she yelled, her voice echoing down the hull as the ship lurched again, whether hit by a wall of water or something solid, no one could tell. Everyone stumbled as thunder cracked, but Rashi raised her voice once more. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “You dare interrupt me!?” Sithrak bellowed, furious at the mere sound of her voice, stepping off Jaka and whirling around to meet her. “You dare question your superior!?” But Rashi raised her voice and stood her ground. “They are coming!” she pointed above them. “Our escorts are gone! The storm is ravaging! We see them over every wave now!” “Then tell them to do their job and get us to shore!” “Your crew needs you! They need a leader, Sithrak! Are you not their captain!?” “No…!” Sithrak stood tall and triumphant, pausing as his answer echoed, stopping Rashi short. Slowly, he raised his chin, proudly proclaiming his words. “I am… their savior!” Rashi’s mandibles twitched for only a second before she turned away. Her response was cold. “…So be it.” And she was gone. “What’s the matter, Sithrak?” Takua sneered, grabbing the bars and leaning forward. “Scared of what’s coming? Afraid you won’t ever make it?” “Takua…” Jaka’s low voice again, weak as his mind teetered into focus, begging his friend. “Please don’t — ” “You! Sithrak roared as he whirled around, screaming at Takua but pouncing atop Jaka, his little knife twirling between claws. “Enough of you! Which one to start, hmm? An index finger? A thumb?” “Aah!” Takua’s senses flared as Jaka was shoved around, his bound wrists spread above his head, mask against the floor, Sithrak’ knee on the back of his skull. Takua slammed against the bars, grabbing them, leaning towards the Kryll, his temper raging once more. “You hurt him and — !” Jaka’s left palm down, fingers spread apart as Sithrak twirled the blade. “This one, that one! How to decide, what to choose? So many options!” Clang! Takua’s palm slammed against his bars. “Stop it!” “The thumb is probably the most useful, but if we did that first then the rest would seem anticlimactic, wouldn’t it?” “You’re dead! You hear me!?” Takua yelled, slamming his fist against the lock, anger rampant, flooding his chest with heat. “Come on!” he yelled again, this time at the lock as he beat against it, again and again, desperate to break something as Sithrak’s blade hovered over Jaka. “Hurt him and you’re dead! You hear me, Sithrak!?” “Let’s let fate decide, shall we?” Sithrak closed his eyes, moving the dagger blindly. He took a deep breath, ignoring Takua’s threats. “Let us allow destiny to take its course!” The metal bars rang out as they resisted Takua’s fists. Pain shot through his hands as the metal cracked his armor, bloodied his knuckles, but it didn’t matter — pain was nothing now. He had to save Jaka. He had to! “Don’t! You dare — !” “And, one… two….” Takua roared, using all his strength to break free, using everything he had to pierce his prison, again and again and again lashing out, but no matter what he did he still couldn’t — “…Three!” Thunk! The bloodcurdling cry shook Takua’s core. He couldn’t move. It didn’t seem real. But Jaka writhed on the floor, clutching his hand, blood spurting from what remained of his ring finger, staining the wood around him. It was very real. Sithrak opened his eyes, leaning back, his toothy smile widening as he wiped a bit of red from his face. “…Well! That’s one.” Takua stumbled back from the bars, the putrid smell of flesh and Sithrak’s breath reaching him, and he wanted to wretch. Jaka’s screams fell away as he lost consciousness, his body going limp, yet it was Takua who was paralyzed. A knot in his stomach, bile in his throat, his rage fell away as he stared at his friend. Beaten, broken, tortured… permanently disfigured. And that familiar thought entered his head. This was all his fault. All this pain, all this anguish… it was all his own doing. He’d taunted Sithrak. What had he hoped for, to unsteady him? He knew he couldn’t free himself; he knew he couldn’t protect Jaka, yet he’d taunted Sithrak anyway. And look where all of it had gotten him. The Kryll’s words resounded in his head. Look what you have done. Look what you have caused. He could blame Sithrak all he wanted. He could blame Krosis, Saku, or any of his enemies — they’d spread all this darkness after all. He could blame Nuju, Nokama, or any of the Turaga — they’d sent him on this doomed quest. He could even blame Kokani or Matau —they’d trusted the Atouri to him in the first place. But Takua knew the truth; no one had forced him down this path. Everything that brought him here, every step, every choice, and every turn in the road he’d taken — he’d made the decision all by himself. The truth flooded him as he stared at his best friend. Unconscious, bleeding, and at the mercy of the monster who knelt above… it was all his fault. “Hmm,” Sithrak frowned. “It’s not nearly as exciting without the screams, is it?” But Takua’s head was elsewhere. It wasn’t just Jaka who bled, passed out on the floor. It was Cook, broken in a pile of crates, the one Kryll who had been kind to him. It was Kokani and Aya at the docks of Ga-Koro, arrows in their chests as the Kryll left them to die. It was Nika, trapped behind a door as she breathed poison, unable to escape. It was Saku, begging for a moment of mercy before Takua stole his spirit. It was Raipu in the desert. It was Matau on that platform. It was Talim that same fateful night. All lost, in one way or another. And what had Takua ever done about it? “Not much to say now?” Sithrak’s green eyes glimmered, his blade flashing once more. “All that anger, gone so quickly? Where’s that fighting spirit I’m so used to?” He’d promised he’d stopped running, but what did that matter when he was still so weak? What did fighting matter when he was powerless against his foes? No matter how much he fought, no matter how hard he tried… none of it mattered. He’d come so far, he’d learned so much — and yet here he still was. That same young Matoran on the platform, helpless as his world was destroyed. Unable to do anything but watch. He was still so, so weak. And then came the hate, beating within his chest, pounding within his heart. Thump-thp. “Ah, well,” Sithrak shrugged, twirling the blade once more. “I suppose we can get on with the rest then!” That rising, pulsing hatred, coursing in his veins. He hated Sithrak. He hated the Kryll. He hated these bars, he hated this ship, this sea, this journey, he hated it all. He hated Krosis, the Atouri, the Turaga, his decisions, everything that had brought him here. He hated Makuta. He hated himself. He hated Mata Nui. Thump-thp. He knew nothing but hatred. Thump-thp. He knew nothing but darkness. And his eyes opened, glowing in the dark as he looked to Sithrak, channeling his sweltering fury. Fists and jaw clenched as pain abandoned him, his lungs fumed, erupting with fire. Bloodlust consumed him and his very spirit boiled as he rose to his feet, inhaling the salt air, feeling now, more than ever before, alive. “You’re dead, Sithrak.” “There he is!” Sithrak grinned, about to say something else, but then — Wham! The Kryll flinched as Takua’s fist hit the lock, and the solid iron creaked before the blow. Sithrak squinted, his smile fading as Takua wound up, twisting his hips as his fist slammed into the lock again. His knuckles cracked open, blood dripping to the floor. The Kryll withdrew, stepping off Jaka and giving Takua his full attention, sensing the sudden change in his demeanor. Takua pulled back once more, mindless, yet resolute. He knew only the shadow that coursed through him, and the raw power it offered. Closing his eyes, he clenched his fist and summoned his rage, his strength, his pain, his spirit — infusing it all into his palm. And he could feel the energy pulsing through his fingers, he could feel the coursing, crackling power of the dark. Tighter and tighter as he squeezed, his hand sizzling in flame, until his eyes opened again, wild, bloodshot, and brimming with chaos. He let loose, releasing it all, throwing the shadow bolt at the lock. Its sizzling energy cut through the solid metal, and the cell door screamed as it swung open, twisted, red-hot, and smoking. And Takua stood tall in the doorway, unchained, unshackled — unleashed, as he met the Kryll’s gaze. ~~~ Noruk screamed, stumbling forward, as he whirled around. Arrows flew from the darkness, and the Kryll retaliated, firing their own, yelling, regrouping as Matoran appeared. They rushed in with blades of their own, and Aya scrambled for her wits as their captors were forced to engage. She grabbed her dagger, pushing the last of the spots from her eyes as she found a new figure standing over her. “Get up, Ga-Matoran,” Rae offered her hand, her voice distractingly smooth, even amongst this chaos. “Stay close to me.” Aya took it, and was pulled to her feet. Up again, she ran to Kokani, covering him as he grabbed his cane, deflecting a stray arrow as he struggled to move again. Rae ran forward, engaging a nearby Kryll as the Matoran advanced, relentless in their barrage, pushing the Kryll back. One by one they disappeared, either falling to the ground or into the shadows, as quickly as they’d come. Aya caught a glimpse of Noruk as he retreated, helped by one of his warriors. The Kryll hissed before disappearing into an alleyway. “Go! Go!” The courtyard was almost clear now, and Aya whirled around as she heard a loud, scuttling noise. She squinted, catching a glimpse of Ihka as a handful of Ko-Matoran ran past, but the others were a scattered mix of Ta and Onu-Matoran. A huge shape came racing forward as their saviors surrounded them, soon making itself visible: a giant, jet-black Ussal crab. It careened to a halt beside them, revealing Illum, holding the reins. He paused, looking to Kokani, allowing them a brief moment of calm. “To the brink of Madness and back… you made it, then?” he said, more of a statement than an actual question. Kokani nodded. “I did.” “You’re a braver Matoran than I.” “I know.” Illum smirked. “My guards will follow me, but I’ll need your help if we’re going to rally the Koro’s troops, and save this city in time. I’m a Turaga, not a warrior.” “You seem to need a lot of me recently.” The Onu-Matoran slid off his Ussal. His boots hit the stone and he stepped forward, holding out the reins, offering them to weathered Ko-Matoran. “Mata Nui needs a lot of you.” A deep sigh left Kokani’s lungs as he took the reins. “So be it.” And Aya saw the change wash over him. Just like that, Kokani was alive again. “You two!” he barked from atop the Rahi to a couple of nearby Ko-Matoran. “Go after Ihka and your brothers in the Sanctum! Meet us at the entrance to the Lake of Fire! And you! Go to the outskirts and rally the guard stationed there! We need soldiers in the city tonight, not on the walls!” he snapped his reins and the Ussal started to move. “You in the guardhouse, find Mako and keep him safe! The rest of you, with me! We rally everyone we find. The Kryll are quick and quiet, but we have numbers on our side. They wouldn’t have retreated if they had warriors to spare.” Aya sheathed her dagger, her heart pounding as she looked up to Kokani. His energy pervaded her as their eyes met. “Aya… Rae…” Kokani nodded. “With me. Clear the path ahead.” Her steel sang as she drew her short sword, glancing to her newfound partner. A quick nod from the Onu-Matoran, and together, they moved. Out into the street, to Ta-Koro’s main road, Aya and Rae sprinted ahead, seeing now the damage the Kryll had already done. Market stalls turned over, goods were strewn about the street, fires burning here and there. Matoran yelled, searching for friends, family, loved ones, or barricading themselves in their homes. But the Kryll were few and far between — Kokani was right. They’d struck quietly, then disappeared. The inns where nobles were staying, the guardhouses where generals slept, the taverns where advisors talked. It was quick and calculated, designed to pick apart Matoran leadership, to leave them fractured, scrambling, and vulnerable. It all led to one obvious climax — the Turaga. The Toa. At the center of the city. “To your left!” Aya whipped around as Rae yelled, an arrow flying over her shoulder. Two Kryll stood between the burning market stalls, one readying another arrow, the other charging forward, sword high. Ching! Its steel met Rae’s blade, blocking the blow above her head, and Aya retaliated with a thrust, her blade piercing its stomach. A guttural groan, and Aya shoved the limp body aside, pulling Rae by the arm as another arrow flew past, narrowly missing her flank. With a roar Aya charged at the archer, steel swinging through air before it could nock another barb, but the Kryll jumped back, dodging — and there was Rae again. She tackled it from the side, her dagger in its back, the Kryll writhing. But another stab met its mark, and the archer dropped. “Go! Go!” “With me!” They pushed forward, hearing Kokani and his troops behind them, directing survivors, arming them, rallying them together. Weaving through the burning stalls, the two locked blades with another pair of Kryll, catching them by surprise as they cornered a lone Ta-Matoran guard. Aya pushed one down, whirling around to grab the other, opening it up for Rae to finish it off. And then the other was short work — a slash, a parry, and a kick into Aya’s sword — another two down. Another step closer to the Turaga. Aya barreled forward, her heart pounding, her legs sprinting in sync with her partner. The two moved as a unit, quick and agile, using speed and thrust to take down their foes. Where Aya stumbled, Rae was there to block. Where Rae didn’t have the strength, Aya was there to overcome. Building by building, block by block they pushed toward the Lake of Fire, cutting down a warrior here, a brute there. Another freed guard who could join Kokani’s force, one more saved civilian who they could arm and spread the word to others. “Go to the eastern wall, secure the gate to the Mangai!” “Sir!” Kokani’s orders echoed as an arrow flew past her mask, and Aya retaliated with her own. Firing straight ahead, through fire and darkness she saw her barb meet its mark, and she smirked as another enemy fell. And behind, the gate came into view. Through the smoke and haze, great Mangai rose above, black against a somehow blacker sky. She raced forward. Lungs heaving, muscles pushing, she could feel it now — their momentum. Energy flew through her body as she held a Kryll at bay, allowing a nearby Po-Matoran cut it down. Her mask tingled with strength as Rae saved a Ga-Matoran from a brute’s clutches, the force behind them growing ever stronger. The Sanctum Guard had arrived. Guardsmen from the wall had secured other gates to the Mangai. The great shells atop the walls sounded, alerting, rallying all those who had yet to come. Minute by minute, piece by piece, the scattered forces of the Koro came together, and Aya could feel it in the air. Another body on the ground, and Aya pulled her sword from a brute, nodding to Rae who stood beside her, her mask splattered with sweat and blood. They pushed forward once again, finding themselves face to face with the charcoal guard tower, built into the shell of the Mangai. And beyond it, the Lake of Fire. Neither of them took time to rest. “Come on!” Aya yelled, beckoning as she ran through the gate, unfazed as she entered the sweltering cavern. The magma’s glow lit her mask, and with Rae by her side and Kokani at her back, she sprinted with full confidence. Across the stone bridge, her footsteps echoing, her blade shining. And through the sulfur and smoke elder Ta-Koro arose, looming ominously above. Up ahead — the gate! They were so close now, and Aya ran as fast as her legs would carry her, trying to ignore the creeping doubt in her mind that they were already too late. There! Shadowy figures through the haze, warriors clustered at the entrance to the inner city. “Aya!” She ignored her name, bent on moving as quickly as possible. Her lungs stung in her chest, but she was ready. The figures up ahead… Kryll. Aya gritted her jaw, her grip tight on her sword. “Aya!” it was Rae’s voice. “Aya! Stop!” Fingers closed around her wrist, pulling her back, slowing her down. “What are you doing? Get off!” “Aya, stop! Don’t be a fool!” The two slid to a halt, halfway across the bridge. Behind, the far-off footsteps of Kokani’s forces. Ahead, only a handful of Kryll… Aya could count them on her fingers. She squinted through the smoke, making out Noruk’s bronze armor. The Kryll was pulling his blade out of a body, and Aya’s heart sank as she saw more strewn about the city behind him. The Kryll looked up, his emerald eyes shining like stars through the smog. Aya had to stop herself from charging in. Instead, she gritted her jaw and called out. “It’s over, Noruk! You’ve lost!” The Kryll spared a look to his comrades, so few now, before meeting Aya’s gaze again. He held his head high, his silence somehow more threatening than any rebuttal. “…You’re outnumbered!” Aya continued, hearing now the scuttling of Kokani’s Ussal approaching the bridge behind them. “We’ve rallied our troops! You’ve no way out now!” “You’re too late.” Aya fidgeted, not willing to believe him. He didn’t yell, but his calm, collected voice still managed to echo. Aya chose to call his bluff. “You don’t have the numbers to take down a Toa, let alone six of them.” “You’re right, I don’t.” Noruk replied, his demeanor far too relaxed. “I never did.” Aya looked to Rae, who seemed as skeptical as she was. Kokani was closer now, and Aya glanced over her shoulder to see the Ussal halting a ways behind them. He had dozens of warriors beside him now, and even more clustered outside the volcano. “We’ve secured all the Mangai’s gates! You’re surrounded, Noruk!” Kokani’s voice boomed over the bubbling magma. “Lay down your weapons!” And Noruk did. He tossed his sword to the ground, followed in suit by his warriors. The small squad of Kryll surrendered without a fight, and yet still they stood, proud and tall, at the entrance to the old city. Aya’s heart thumped in her chest, taking a hesitant step forward. “What was your plan?” she demanded. “To break into the most fortified city on the island, undermanned and underpowered? Did you think you could sneak in and out without being noticed?” Noruk shrugged. “I’d hoped!” Her chest warmed with frustration. His nonchalant attitude, the way he took all this in stride… what wasn’t he telling them? “Targeting advisors and nobles? It means nothing while the Turaga live. And if the Toa still live, so do the Turaga!” The Kryll nodded, his voice rumbling, matching the tone of the volcano. “Very true.” Aya put her foot down, fed up. “What have you done!?” “I’ve sent a message.” The Mangai roiled, lava bubbling up from the lake, and Aya’s temper matched it. She snarled, gripping her sword as she stepped forward again, determined to put an end to Noruk, once and for all. But the stone beneath her feet trembled. The volcano around her shook, first subtly, then violently, and Aya stopped, looking back to the Kryll, seeing a smug look on his face. And then louder, stronger — the volcano came alive, the great column of elder Ta-Koro shuddering as the earth awoke, spewing cinder and basalt skyward. “Noruk…” Aya called out, hesitant. “What — ?” Boom! An explosion, halfway down the base of the pillar. A giant metal pipe blown apart by unseen forces, and the Mangai roared, drowning out Aya’s voice as she yelled once more. Only this time, her eyes were desperate. “What have you done!?” “What I came here to do! I’ve started a new age!” Noruk yelled now, turning to his companions, moving to each of them, clasping a hand on their shoulders, pressing his forehead to theirs. An act of respect and thanks; a warrior’s blessing. “We have walked the path of glory! Fought with all our might, until the very end!” Crash! Another blast, this time closer to the Lake of Fire. A support for Ta-Koro’s column, blown to pieces, chunks of obsidian careening into the boiling magma. Aya looked to Kokani, then back at the volcano, covering her mouth as volcanic fumes billowed up. “For our brothers and sisters!” Noruk yelled over the thundering earth, turning back to the Matoran as he spread his arms wide. “For our king! For our people!” Rae’s grip on her wrist again. “Aya, we have to go!” “But the — the Turaga!” “For blood! And fire!” Noruk raised his voice, bathing in the heat of the earth, triumphant and accepting of this fiery end, this ultimate, glorious doom. “For the new age — !” And elder Ta-Koro exploded.

Big chapter. Making big moves. Posting getting better for the time being! Thanks if you're still here reading