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  1. Memento Vivere It is a miracle that I am still alive and have found the materials to carve this message. It is a miracle that such an awful place as this exists. My name is Reysa. Until recently, I would have identified myself as an Onu-Matoran Inventor. Now, I am not sure either title fits me. Like you, I was sent here due to injury. I was developing a Heatstone-powered engine, and when it blew up my friend Gar and I were caught in the blast. Unlike you, I have seen firsthand all the horrors this realm has to offer. Nobody should ever have to see those horrors again. I implore you to read on and to leave this place. And, if you are too stubborn to do so, I implore you to reconsider. *** Zap. Whoosh. A bolt of lightning struck the boat. After what could have been an age, I awoke. When I finally came to my senses, the remains of our vessel had floated ashore and Gar, who must have waded to safety, was drenched. When I stumbled out of the wreck, he shot me an angry look. “You—you moron! We almost died when your engine blew up back home, and now look at what you’ve gotten us into!” I was taken aback. Gar was among the kindest Matoran I knew—he never lashed out at anyone. He was taken aback too. He looked down at the ground, up at me, and back down again, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Reysa, I don’t know what got into—” “We need to find shelter,” I interjected. “You stay here and recover our supplies, I’ll try to find the settlement. I’ll return by nightfall.” He was still looking at the ground, his voice remorseful. “But the weather is worsening.” He was right. In the distance, clouds darker than the ones above us floated ever closer. They looked like they were just raring to spew out liquid protodermis. They moved with surprising speed; it wouldn’t be long before they arrived. “Which is exactly why I’m going to look for shelter,” I said impatiently. “The point is—” “The point is that I’m looking for shelter,” I spat as I stormed off. *** Karzahni. As you can no doubt see for yourself, its surroundings are completely desolate. The only thing that covers the rocky ground is sand and dust. It even seems like common logic has no effect here. While I trudged along toward the settlement, the sound of the breeze blasted like a swarm of Kirikori Nui, but it would take a De-Matoran to hear the loudest booms of thunder, if there even were any. By the time I found the canyon, it was dark enough they had placed lightstones out as if it were nighttime. On one side of the realm was a series of mysterious spires; on the other, a village. The settlement, like its surroundings, was very strange. The villagers seemed oddly short even from a distance, and many were huddled around blocks of ice as if hoping to stay warm. As I approached a group of Matoran, many tried to avoid eye contact with me. The ones that didn’t had looks in their eyes of great sadness. One among them caught my eye—a fidgety Le-Matoran who, despite his obvious fear, was trying to maintain his composure. He stared right at me. He began to jitter more and more as I grew nearer, but his glowing eyes didn’t waver. Finally, he looked down. “What do you want from me?” he asked balefully. “What could I possibly have worth anything anymore?” “I was sent here by my Turaga,” I responded. The Matoran who had avoided looking at me before were now boring straight through me with their eyes. “Where is Karzahni?” The Matoran looked back up and pondered for a moment, bewildered. “Are you mad?” I restated my question, this time more forcefully. The Le-Matoran’s eyes darted back and forth between several other villagers, but his pleads for assistance were met with blank stares. After some deliberation, he slowly raised one of his hands and pointed toward the spires in the distance. “He’s—he’s in there—” I headed off in the direction he pointed. As I did so, he called after me. The wind muted him out. *** The spires stretched up toward the sky as if they wanted to snatch the stars from it. Although the buildings appeared newly-built, they also somehow seemed indescribably ancient. A dull glow came from inside the towers, but it seemed almost sorrowful. When I entered the main building, I felt as if it wanted to devour me. The chamber was empty save for several wall-mounted torches. The only two directions I could travel were up a menacing staircase or out the door toward safety. Foolishly, I chose the stairs. After I hobbled up what felt like a kio of steps, I finally reached a landing with a large door. My legs could no longer move, and I collapsed flat on the floor. They say that Onu-Matoran have unrivaled stamina; that must be true, because I am convinced that if it weren’t for my stubbornness I would have fallen long before I did. While I was recovering, I studied the door and realized that there was no way to open it. And so I ran—or quickly limped—toward the door, hoping to alert whoever was on the other side as to my presence. However, it swung open as I was about to reach it, sending me sliding into the room it concealed. The room I was in now in was very different from the rest of the building. Although it was located in the tip of a spire, the chamber was surprisingly large. On one wall was a window looking out to nothing but fog, and on the furthermost side of the room was a stack of stone tablets covered in illegible text accompanied by the occasional scribble of a picture. Next to this mound, however, sat the strangest feature of the room: a twisted throne occupied by an even more twisted being. You no doubt know of the being. He is said to have been created by the Great Beings themselves; I can only hope that is a lie. His armor had been patched up so many times it was as if he spent his free time rebuilding himself—and he no doubt had a lot of free time, based on the amount of effort he put into maintaining his realm. And behind his hideous Kanohi sat a pair of eyes teetering on the brink of madness. I looked up at Karzahni, who was staring right through me as if deep in thought. Slowly, he contorted his face into a twisted smile. Then suddenly, he spoke. “Hello, Matoran. Do you wish to be healed?” He asked this without emotion, as if he had recited the greeting many times. I slowly nodded. It appeared there was no other option; if I tried to escape the chamber, he would no doubt catch me on the staircase. His body shuddered as he tried to hide a bout of psychotic laughter. “Very well,” he responded, standing. “This won’t hurt a bit.” He lied. *** When Karzahni finished rebuilding me, he gave me an approving smile and stared at me, admiring his handiwork. Relieved, I looked down at my body. Horrified, I looked up at Karzahni. I suddenly had the urge to run out of the rebuilding chamber and that awful realm, my fear of being caught gone. Whether the being in front of me realized this telepathically, through experience, or simply because I was looking at the exit, I don’t know. I do know that he did not approve of my plans. “If you try to run, Matoran, you’ll regret it.” I stopped looking at the door, and my eyes moved around the room before they finally settled on Karzahni. He sneered. I stared at him for a little while, and, sneering back at him, I bolted toward the exit. But before I could make it out of the chamber, reality began to twist around me. I now stood back home, in front of my Heatstone engine. I heard Gar enter the room, and he stood beside me, examining the motor. Suddenly, my hand moved, but I wasn’t in control of it; my head then looked down without my willing it, and I saw that I was holding a Heatstone. That’s when I realized what was happening. Someone—or something—was forcing me to relive the actions that had gotten me sent to Karzahni. I turned to Gar, and he shook his head in disapproval. I looked back down. Knowing what was to come, I resisted as much as I could. But despite all of my efforts, I placed the Heatstone in its conduit. The explosion was much larger than I remembered. I was blown clear away from the engine, and I lay on the ground for what seemed to be an eternity. I eventually regained enough strength to move my fingers, and was surprised to discover I was now in control of my body. After several painful attempts, I stood up. I then limped toward where Gar now lay. When I approached him, he gave me a look of disapproval. His Kanohi had been shattered, and some of its fragments were on the ground near him. I knelt down in front of him, and he grew less tense. “Don’t worry,” I told him. “You’re going to be alright.” Gar smiled, but with great effort. “You were never good at lying.” I watched in horror as his heartlight slowly began to flash. I grasped him and pleaded with him, but he just smiled and shook his head. I let go of him and looked down at the ground, and he spoke one final time. “Remember to live, Reysa.” I glanced back up at him, and his heartlight was now dark. I looked up and off into space as Matoran began to congregate around us. In every eye watching me were expressions of hatred and shame. I looked among them. I pleaded with them. I stared at Gar. I stared at the sky. I stared back at Gar. Then I was back in the rebuilding chamber. My horrible vision had ended. *** I glared at Karzahni and was about ready to attack him when he spoke. “Don’t you understand?” he asked. “Your own incompetence saved your friend’s life. In my vision, I simply fixed the flaw in your engine that made it less powerful—just like I have done with you.” It was clear that Karzahni was baiting me to see how I would react; after all, most of the other Matoran he had encountered were probably too afraid to run from him. Nevertheless, it was too much for me to bear. I picked up a gear lying on the ground and threw it at him. Karzahni walked up to me and picked me up so that my Kanohi was frighteningly close to his. “Bring it on, Matoran,” he spat. I accepted. Karzahni dropped me to the ground. I knew what to expect and braced myself. But nothing could have helped me prepare for what was to come. As the world melted and shifted around me, I found myself on the other side of the room in excruciating pain. I knew deep down that it was just an illusion, but I couldn’t think any coherent thoughts. I just lay there, hopeless. I feel if the attack had lasted much longer it, combined with the pain of actually being rebuilt, would have shredded my mind. Eventually, however, Karzahni ceased in his assault. When the vision ended, he was staring at me from the corner of the room with blank eyes. I slowly moved toward the exit. He could have stopped me again, but he did not. For reasons that I still don’t quite understand, he let me go. *** I ran and I ran, out into that cruel canyon and through the dusty haze as quickly as my new body would let me. When I finally stopped, I stood for several moments, gasping for air. I looked around at the dismal land around me, and my new, weaker legs gave out from under me. I was in the midst of a torrential downpour, and large puddles had formed everywhere. I looked down at one; staring up from it was a completely different Matoran wearing a completely different Kanohi. I felt my mask. I wasn’t hallucinating. As I sat there, watching the rain fall and the lightning strike in the distance, I planned my revenge on Karzahni. I sat there for what could have been hours, listening and watching and plotting, thinking with dread about the events that had transpired. A gust of wind blew past. But as it did, I heard it whisper to me. Remember to live, Reysa. And as I thought about those words, I suddenly understood why that realm was so horrific. It was not its dangers. It was not the awful rebuilding process. It was the fact that, through all of those tortures, even the purest being could be made into a monster. It was the fact that I was the monster, not Karzahni. If I were the same being I was when I arrived, I would have construed Karzahni’s taunts to mean it was a good thing I built the engine poorly—otherwise when it blew up Gar would have been killed. Then I would try to convince myself I deliberately built the engine that way. But I’m not the same being. I now realize I have spent my life trying to hide my mediocrity from myself with a façade of confidence and impatience. Karzahni was right, but only to a certain extent. He may have fixed a flaw in the engine, but he did not stop it from blowing up. He did something similar to me—he may have rebuilt me, but he did not curb my temper. The wind was right. I must stop hiding my flaws from myself, and instead I must acknowledge them. Only then I will be able to accomplish my Duty, fulfill my Destiny, and begin to truly prosper. Although I have lost track of time while carving this, I know it is time for me to face my fate and to live with the consequences of my actions. It is time for me to return to Gar, who has hopefully honored my request and not yet left that wreck of a boat. Then, with or without him, I must return to Karzahni, to the frightened villagers, and to that paranoid Le-Matoran. Maybe we will find a way to leave this place. Maybe we won't. Only time will tell. But your fate is still undecided. I am about to begin my journey back to meet Gar, and when I reach our landing site I will place this rock there for you to find. I hope my misfortunes will help you decide your path—whether you will leave and save yourself while you still can or if you will join me in that monster’s wasteland. But, no matter how to choose to proceed, I leave you with one simple request: Remember to live. Word count: 2,534
  2. The First Hunter For as long as I can remember, I have always lived by my wits and my weapons. I am one of those beings who, rather than allow the universe play with circumstances as it pleases, prefers to call the shots when it comes to his own fate. As for the universe, I scoff at the notion of “destiny”. I do not believe that each being in this world has but a single purpose in their life, nor that there is some divine power that watches us, judges us, and decides all things for us, completely against our wills. Simply put, I do not believe in the metaphysical. If it cannot be proven scientifically to me, brought before my eyes, be grasped in my hands, it does not exist to me. But even I must admit, there are not always logical explanations for everything. I have seen too many wondrous and bizarre phenomenon to ever believe otherwise again. There are objects, creatures and occurrences so impossible, that somehow exist in the world, that they defy all laws of nature. Where does all this lead me to, you may ask. What does discussing the laws of implausibility have to do with the story I am about to tell? Because, I myself, am an implausibility. A lowly being from a desolate realm becoming one of the most feared bounty hunters in the universe? What are the chances of that? I am known to all as the first true Dark Hunter, one of the organization’s founding members. I am the Shadowed One’s most trusted lieutenant, and his most cunning enemy. I am a soldier for the most depraved criminals and the most fanatical guardians of order in the universe. I am not a saviour. But I am also not a monster. I am not a hero. Nor am I a villain. I am none of these things, yet I am all of them. In short, I’m Ancient. ~~~ I come from a realm of ice and shadow, where only the strongest survive to see the next dawn. It was a land of harsh weather, and even harsher people, one of those places where it seemed like everything wanted you dead. In fact, were it not for the draconian laws set in place by our rulers, civil war would have started much earlier here. Even so, it didn’t do anything to stop the conflict at the end of the day, so I suppose, it all depends on your point of view. From my viewpoint, I see the former government as both a safeguard against, and an instigator of the civil war. The oppressive rules applied to everyday life did nothing to stop crime. They merely pushed it further and further down, allowing it to fester and grow. It did not deter thugs and warlords, it gave them the opportunity to plan and blossom. Thus, it wasn’t a great surprise for me when war finally broke out, turning our once-peaceful society into a battle-ravaged, anarchy-ridden wasteland. As a mercenary (one of the best on our island, I might add), business flourished for me during this time, turning me into a veritable king, in a land of paupers and refugees. This lasted until the end of the war, when the remaining leaders had been killed, and many soldiers began questioning why they were fighting in the first place. I didn’t care what happened, to be honest. I would have plenty of business either way, and I already had enough wealth to last me years should the supply of employers dry up. One such employer, who would turn out to be one of my last, came to me shortly before the war ended. I was in one of the make-shift hospitals that had been set up across the island, when yet another offer was given to me. My hopeful employer was a truly pitiful creature, a dark and twisted being, who didn’t look strong enough to even push me off the couch I was sitting on. He spoke quickly and quietly, I remember that. I found it very annoying. “My master has a very promising offer for you, great warrior,” the being said, showing me a large sack of widgets, a self-satisfied smirk on his face, “10,000 widgets, in exchange for the head of one of his rivals. ”10,000 widgets, eh? I considered it. That was quite a bit of money, enough to last me for years without a single job. However, if a mercenary survived to my age, it was because he was cautious, and cunning, and not someone who jumped at the first proposal without question. “I want names,” I said, leaning in on my employer ever so slightly, so that my shadow fell directly on him, “Who is your employer and who does he want dead?” My little show of force had the desired effect, and the being immediately cowered away from me. His thin, tapered fingers flexed nervously, and he was obviously choosing his next words with care. “I am known as the Recorder-” he began, only for me to wave my hand, cutting him off. “If I wanted your life story, I would have asked,” I said, lowering my voice to a deep boom, “Names. Now.” The Recorder hesitated for the briefest of moments, before continuing, “You are to hunt down a being known only as the ‘Shadowed One’”. He is another warlord who has gotten in my master’s way long enough. I, myself, am employed by someone who calls himself ‘Darkness’. ”I snorted, not bothering to hide my disdain for this “Recorder”, “What is it that people have against original names these days?” The Recorder seemed to feel that this was his time to speak, and replied, “I agree, s-” “Shut up,” I snapped, turning my attention away from the twisted, little being. Normally, I wouldn’t be so careless as to take my gaze off of a companion, but I didn’t feel particularly threatened by this being. It wasn’t like I couldn’t just squash him in an instant. I looked back at the messenger, my line of vision alternating between his face and the sack of widgets in his hand. I had heard vague rumours about this “Shadowed One” over the years, but nothing that would help me to know about his movements, his tactics, his skills. On the other hand, of course, I did love a challenge, and this assignment looked promising. “I’ll take the job,” I announced finally, getting to my feet and holding out my hand, waiting for the money to be delivered into my palm, “I expect an upfront payment, if you don’t mind.” The Recorder obliged my demand, quickly dropping the sack into my palm, before scurrying away from me, “May I wish you a safe and fruitful hunt, my liege.” I grunted, pocketing the money, seriously holding back the urge to punch this sycophantic, miserable wretch in the face. Instead, I merely turned, heading for the door. Just as I was about to cross the threshold, I heard the being call out yet again. “You have quite the reputation,” the Recorder said, “A warrior as ancient as this very island. The true champion of this accursed place. You should be proud.” Pausing for a moment, I allowed myself the liberty of snarling my distaste for him, before stalking out into the cold air. ~~~ It didn’t take me long to find this “Shadowed One”. For someone with this large a bounty on his head, he certainly did like leaving the most obvious clues as to his location. Asking directions from a refugee, purchasing a Kikanalo to ride, explaining his intentions to anyone who would listen. Either this warlord was some sort of moron...... or he was luring me into a trap. But even if he was doing the latter, he was doing a very bad job of it, if I was able to tell he was setting a trap. Of course, I should’ve been able to tell it was a trap when the messenger was so willing to give me my payment immediately. It was the most recognizable sign that your employer was setting you up, since you probably wouldn’t have time to spend the money anyway. Of course, the logical decision would be to stop searching for my mark, and leave with the profit I had already. However, if someone out there wanted me dead, they wouldn’t stop trying to get rid of me until they succeeded, or they died. I was hoping it would be the latter. Finally, after following his hints and clues, I found the Shadowed One at the far edge of the island. He was standing perfectly still on the edge of a steep cliff, a place characterized by the massive ice formations which dotted the landscape. Turned away from me, with one hand lazily hanging onto a long, bladed staff, this warlord didn’t even seem aware that his death was fast approaching. I double-checked the Rhotuka Launcher on my arm, eyes barely straying from figure in front of me. I was hidden behind one of the ice formations, safely out of sight from anyone who happened to be watching the scene. Above me, even the dark skies seemed to radiate heat, making my armour feel too warm and stuffy. I shuddered, a thousand thoughts racing through my mind. Was this a trap? Should I even be doing this? Why was I so uncomfortable? Slowly rising from its hiding spot, a strange new concept popped into my head. These strange feelings; could they be attributed to fear? I snarled silently, not willing to let such trivial things hinder me. I would kill this warlord, I would not die, I would not fail. In retrospect, I am truly ashamed of my recklessness when it came to this battle. Had I not been so eager to engage the Shadowed One, I would not have charged him. Had I not charged him, he would not have heard me, and whirled to reveal his eyebeams, nearly blowing me into oblivion. Had I not spun around like a dancer, while firing off Rhotuka spinners at random, hoping to hit a target, I wouldn’t have left myself so vulnerable. Instead, in my recklessness, I allowed my opponent the chance to fire a strange beam at my arm, encasing the launcher in a thick shell of protodermis.In any other circumstances, I would’ve been able to recuperate from this humiliating strike. But I was too caught up in the attack, and I fell to the ground in shock. Suddenly, I saw the Shadowed One’s staff come down, ready to neatly separate my head from my shoulders. But this is battle, is it not? One long series of motions, of decisions, each one inextricably linked together in an intricate dance. For me, this battle began with a long series of mistakes. As the Shadowed One’s blade came down, I grunted, raising my imprisoned arm to block the strike, before batting the weapon away with my free hand. The staff skittered away, leaving my opponent vulnerable, and I took my chance, slamming my feet into his chest. As the Shadowed One went sprawling, I climbed to my feet, hurling another kick at the warlord before he could recover his senses. Unfortunately, my opponent was too quick for that, and fired off another round of disintegrator beams at me, which I barely managed to block with my sealed arm. Upside: The protodermis which encased my arm was destroyed.Downside: The Shadowed One was back on his feet. Before I could process what had just happened, round after round of deadly lasers were being hurled at me, forcing me to take shelter behind a chunk of ice. Already, my mind was in overdrive, scrambling to find a way to defeat, or even stall, this warlord. I could hear him searching for me, eyebeams obliterating anything in his path. My heart sank. I couldn’t think of any way I could stop this being. I was doomed. They say that before you die, your life flashes before your eyes. They don’t lie about that. However, they don’t tell you the possible benefits of that happening. As memories popped in my mind, I latched onto one particular recollection, where I was in battle against an enraged Zyglak, with nothing but a package of Matoran fireworks on hand. With speed and strength I never knew I had, I ripped off one of my boots, each of which contained a small levitation device, activated by stamping down on them. Prying the machinery out, I dug a shallow hole in the ground, before burying it in the dirt. Without warning, the chunk of ice I had hidden behind was gone, replaced instead by a shadowy spectre of death and destruction. “Playing in the dirt, are we?” the Shadowed One sneered, revealing a truly carnivorous smile, his eyes beginning to glow. Not waiting for him to finish his strike, I fired a Rhotuka spinner at him, knowing all too well how useless such an action was. The warlord easily side-stepped the assault, giving me enough time to spring up onto my feet, trying to gain as much distance between the two of us as possible. The Shadowed One, for his part, just kept smiling, aiming for another burst of his eyebeams. Time slowed. The air seemed like water, making all of my movements sluggish. The ground under me was trembling. My gaze was locked on the light patch of soil right in front of my soon-to-be-murderer. One step. All I needed was one step. The Shadowed One let loose a barking laugh, like a Kavinika, fixing his gaze firmly on me, trying to get a better lock. His feet were too close. I remember that. He shifted his right foot forward--onto the light patch of dirt. He stepped. He really stepped. Suddenly, the Shadowed One was thrown backwards, his right leg lifted into the air without warning by the waiting levitation device. His eyebeams flashed through the air, no where near to me. In his eyes, for the first time throughout our fight, I saw genuine surprise. Without waiting, I raised my Rhotuka Launcher, firing a spinner at my opponent, hitting him squarely as he struggled to regain his balance. I watched as he collapsed to the ground in heap, robbed of all physical coordination. I allowed myself a small smile as I walked over to my fallen foe, priming myself to finish him off once and for all. One good blow to the head should do it, I thought. Maybe two, tops. Standing over the Shadowed One, fist raised above my head, I stared at the downed warlord. Even though he was lying in a heap on the ground, limbs splayed at odd angles, his eyes blazed with ferocity, as if challenging me to finish him off. I snarled, forcing these distracting thoughts from my mind. This being had tried to kill me, and destroying him would do the universe (and my lifespan) a great deal of good. However, his eyes still unnerved me. While filled with intensity, they didn’t seem afraid, not in the slightest. They almost... accepted death, begrudgingly of course, but absolutely, nonetheless. It was the visage of every great mercenary who had ever or who would ever live. In his eyes, I saw a bit of myself. Slowly, I began to recognize the potential that this warrior held. With his help, I could become even greater than I ever had been before. Under his tutelage, I could surpass every bounty hunter who had come before me. I lowered my fist to my side, chuckling, “I’m not going to kill you, old man. Not yet.” ~~~ When the Shadowed One awoke, the two of us were back in the hospital. I was leaning against one wall, intently watching the warlord lie on his cot, my Rhotuka launcher primed. I wasn’t about to let this fellow get the upper hand on me. Again. Slowly, groggily, the warrior rose up, knocking the blankets to the ground in the process. Immediately, my launcher was trained on his head. The Shadowed One merely chuckled. “Your bedside manner needs improving, doctor,” he chided, not even looking in my direction, “I believe even murderous warlords deserve a little more respect than this.” I smirked, not changing position, “Until I’m assured that you won’t kill me once I turn my back, I’m keeping the weapon up and ready.” “Your arm’s going to get tired, in that case.” I let loose a barking laugh, “You’ve got quite the mouth for someone whose being held at launcher point.” The Shadowed One shrugged, “Laughter is the best medicine, is it not?” “Perhaps,” I replied, “But while you’re laughing, perhaps you can answer a few questions, Darkness.” The warlord grinned, with a flicker of pride flashing across his wolf-like features. “Oh yes,” I continued, “I know that this has all been a set-up. There was no mark for me to find. You just wanted me dead. I’d like an explanation.” “I’m certain that anyone who has seen death wants the same thing,” my foe replied, “Do they get their wish?” “Enough jokes!” I roared, suddenly quite annoyed with this being’s antics, “Answers, old man, now!” The Shadowed One sighed, gazing at the wall opposite to him with a lazy, content expression on his face, “I’m must say, I’m impressed. You were correct on every count, except for one.” Slowly, he turned his head to face, causing me to instinctively raise my launcher even higher. However, his eyes didn’t glow, nor did he make any move to attack. He just... stared at me. “I don’t want you dead,” the Shadowed One said, finally, “I need you alive.” I distinctly remember being too stunned to make a witty comeback, and my opponent took this opportunity slip onto his feet. “I’ve been searching for a warrior of your... skill, for some time,” he continued, “A being with the ability, intelligence and ruthlessness needed to survive and prosper in the the criminal world. For ages, I was afraid I might’ve been the only being possessing these qualities.” “Flattery will get you nowhere,” I snarled. “You misunderstand. I did not seek you to find a kindred spirit. I needed you as a... business partner.” “Business partner? In what?” The Shadowed One clasped his hands behind his back, tilting his chin upwards ever-so-slightly, as if to assert his dominance. “For years,” he explained, “I have toyed with the idea of an organization of beings like ourselves, dedicated to profit and profit alone. An entire army of criminals and mercenaries, with no nation behind it. And I want you to help me create this.” I scoffed, hiding my intrigue at his idea. The notion of an organization of bounty hunters... it was certainly a possibility. The question, however: could it be profitable? “Why would I want to risk so much on such a dangerous transaction?” I asked, “Here, I have the promise of work, wealth and security. Why toss those aside for some petty warlord’s dream?” He smiled, “Dream? This is no dream, my friend. This can and will succeed, but only if the right minds are behind its planning. Which means, us.” I considered his words, before smirking, “Then I guess I’m pretty important to you, eh?” “Not too important,” the Shadowed One countered, “But yes, certainly necessary. As for the financial risks, well, consider this your chance to get out into the real world. We’re much better than this island can allow either of us to be, don’t you understand? Out there, we’ll have the entire universe at our fingertips! We could be kings!” His voice grew with such intensity, I found myself agreeing with him. His words tempted desires and thoughts that had filled my heads throughout the years. I’d always considered leaving this island, beginning anew somewhere out in the world. “If I joined you, I assume I would be considered as an equal, correct?” “Of course.” “And the profits acquired would be shared equally.” “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I smirked, “And I guess that even as your equal, you won’t be giving me your real name?” A now-familiar carnivorous smile greeted my remark, “You’re very quick, warrior. No, I will not be. You may call me the Shadowed One. And, I’ll assume that you will be doing the same.” I tilted my head with a roguish grin, “Very astute.” “So then,” the Shadowed One chortled, “What shall I call you, hunter?” I paused, thinking. What would my new name be? My new identity, which would last me for the rest of my natural life, as well as throughout my legacy. As annoying as it was, the Recorder’s voice popped back into my head, You have quite the reputation. A warrior as ancient as this very island. The true champion of this accursed place. You should be proud. An ancient champion from a land filled with ice and shadow?I rather liked the sound of that. A fitting title for the king of criminals. “Call me Ancient,” I said, lowering my launcher, “And count me in.” ~~~ A lot can change throughout time. Since that day, our brainchild, the Dark Hunters, have flourished and spread throughout the universe. The Shadowed One and I became veritable kings of criminality. We became close allies, with even a few sparks of friendship showing themselves. And now, amongst the smokestacks of Xia, I find myself recording one of the most important events in my life. The ruins of factories and workshops surround me, and I realize that my mission will force me to abandon this memoir. But, not to worry. Always some time to finish it once I get back. Word Count: 3,657 (including title and dividers) -Void
  3. All That Glitters The dwelling I currently call home is dark, dank, and crawling with Stone Rats. This is not a place fit to house a Makuta. Once I was feared and respected, able to stroll through the great fortress of Destral. And now? I rest upon a stone slab inside dilapidated ruins neighbored by a lawless population in some bleak, icy corner of the universe. Even the rodents hesitate before scurrying away from me, rather than cower at my very presence like they ought to. Despite my current predicament, I am not alone here. No, for I share these forgotten ruins with those that all would regard as monsters – the Zyglak. Those violent, ostracized creatures hide with me in the darkness and from the rest of the world. It all began an exchange of friendship. To want that with a Zyglak that is utter insanity, on par with desiring to embrace a hungry Muaka. Yet most beings underestimate them, as they often have with me, and that gave me an advantage. They, like me, are outcasts – the only individuals that they are willing to associate themselves with. I’ve managed to find a colony of them in every dark corner while in my exile, and always left with more friends than I had the day before. Legends knew my name as Makuta Spiriah – an enforcer of order and being of incredible power, working alongside his brothers and sisters to craft new life for the world. But in recent times, I am hardly that anymore, with no such company. In fact, I hear my very name now has become another word for failure. How very clever. Only now I understand all that glitters is not gold. Welcome to my story. --- Early in our existence, my kindred’s main objective was to design and create Rahi. One of my first experiments was a creature outfitted with multiple legs to assist in climbing, and large, dagger-like teeth for shredding its meals set in its gaping maws. Though, perhaps most importantly, two heads that snarled at you if you came too close. After all, two heads are better than one, are they not? None of my fellow scientists cared for that advantage, however. Chirox especially, regarding my Rahi with disgust when he visited my lab one day. “You call this a Rahi?” Chirox asked spitefully, jabbing at my work with his tool. It snapped its jaws angrily at him in response, though unfortunately did not come close to harming him. “It can’t even walk properly.” “It is a work in progress,” I retorted. “Once I perfect its design, the beast will rival even a Doom Viper in ferocity.” “Let me help you with that, then,” My fellow Makuta scoffed, snatching one of the Rahi’s legs as he did so, and then carried it off with him to the door. “After Mutran and I are finished, your creation will hopefully live up to your expectations.” The creature was still attempting to bite Chirox the entire time, albeit unsuccessfully. I uttered a curse before returning to my notes, hoping that my Rahi would succeed in wounding Chirox with at least one of those heads. Thankfully, I didn’t have to suffer such disrespect forever. When it was decided that our number would allocated across the universe to each land within it to oversee and protect its residents, I knew I could put greater plans to work in peace. I was assigned the island of Zakaz, home of the Skakdi… and the worthless, southern isle called Artidax, whose existence was known only to pirates, hopeless explorers, and scum crawling at the edges of the world. I rarely turned an eye to it, preferring the much more central location, whose land was flourishing with flora, fauna, and life with which begged for my personal touches. From what I hear, Krika was assigned to preside over Zakaz in my place, now that I have gone. Speaking of whom… Never have I met a Makuta as unusual as Krika. It was just after Teridax’s takeover of the Brotherhood when he sentenced Miserix to death that I witnessed the depth of his true nature. I remember that day well. Both Krika and I advanced on the former head of the Brotherhood, for we were fully aware of his preference to transform into large, ill-tempered lizards, and decided to exploit his shock and surprise. I seized one arm; Krika the other. Together, we dragged him from the Convocation Chamber into a corridor outside, planning to haul him down to a room below to fulfill the order. There our combined wills overpowered his own, and the power of Sleep ensured he would not put up a fight. It was at Krika’s suggestion and I complied with this. Otherwise, we would have dealt with a struggle from Miserix, one that would no doubt leave quite a mess to clean up. Then we continued onward. Not long after, however, Krika stopped abruptly. “I will take it from here,” he said, tugging the unconscious form from me, much to my surprise. The limp body of Miserix vibrated with magnetic energy and lifted into the air, then began slowly floating off before him as if carried on some invisible cart. “What?” I responded in disbelief, but my fellow Makuta was already walking away with his captive. I stepped forward, sensing my colleague did not trust me to be up for the task. “We were both ordered to execute him. Do you think I cannot handle him as well?” Krika paused then, facing me with a determined look in his eyes. “I will go on from here, alone,” he insisted sternly. Without another word, he vanished into the darkness of the corridor with Miserix. And I stood there, bewildered by both his tone and staunch attitude. However, not long afterwards certain behaviors caught my attention, such as the strange shift of Krika’s focus on other priorities, and the absence of Miserix’s Kanohi from the collection of masks nailed to the Convocation Chamber’s wall. It didn’t take me long to deduce the reason behind this. I wasted no time in confronting him, slipping into the chamber he occupied. Striding over to Krika, I narrowed my eyes and began darkly, “You didn’t kill Miserix, did you, Krika? Care to explain, my friend?” He turned, an expression fixed on his mask that stopped me short. It was also one that featured emotion I believed to be alien to him, and one I never expected a Makuta to display. Mercy – a disgusting taste in my mouth to this day. Krika was fraught with it, I could see now. I always knew there was a reason I never could take a liking to him. “What is the point of killing him when he is but a victim of jealousy and greed? What harm can he do now that all his brothers have turned their backs on him?” he answered, his voice tainted with pity. Sneering at this, I raised a claw and dashed forward to apprehend Krika. He evaded my charge, however, and in one swift maneuver, he grasped my wrist and slammed me into the wall. Although I didn’t see it in my daze, I felt Krika’s hard glare focused on me and the poisonous spikes of his gauntlet stabbing at my throat. “How rash,” he said coldly, pressing me hard against the wall. “I would have expected more consideration from you, Spiriah. And don’t think of trying that again.” I then sensed a jeering tone in his voice. “It was our mission; we’re in it together. If the others discover this, we both will suffer the consequences. Do you understand me?” I nodded hesitantly in agreement, earning a moment’s stare from Krika, before he too nodded and released me. “Good,” he said. Miserix’s whereabouts did not remain a secret to me. From what I gathered, Krika had imprisoned the Makuta on Artidax. Of all places in the universe, the one with my name associated with it. I had to applaud him for that. Not only would no one, not even I, would ever go looking or traveling to that place – but if the fate of Miserix was ever discovered, I was now accountable as well. I tried to keep this thought out of my mind, though it was Krika voicing some ideas of his for defenses that constantly reminded me of his noble deed, and why I couldn’t betray him to the others. I must say that his courage in disregarding Teridax’s command was admirable to a degree, although even today I wonder if there are any qualms in Krika’s mind about his decision. I never revealed this treason to the others, if only for fear of association and death at my brothers’ hands. My desire to focus on other matters eventually came true, for in the time to come, that was easily achieved as I planned out my grandest experiment that would ensure me the praise of many. --- All around me, the instruments of a Makuta were at work; viruses swirled within their containment vats. They stirred and whirled, molding a specimen’s essence to my wishes, actions that were reflected across the shimmering surface of a nearby pool of Energized Protodermis. Imagine the average being – small, weak, thinking that they will one day accomplish much – bestowed upon with powers out-measuring those that of a Toa, to which he will use to feed his ambitions of expanding what little power he might already have. Now picture this same being – and many others – whose successes were all thanks to me. The more I turned an eye at Zakaz’s inhabitants, the more appealing the idea of using them as soldiers became, with their fearsome appearances; powerful limbs; and clawed extremities. But not in their original state, of course, being devoid of any power or discipline for battle. They required… adjustments… to become proper servants of the Makuta. Perhaps the outcomes of some of my past experiments hadn’t been quite as I or others expected, but what I had planned for the future of the Skakdi race would best every resulting creature I had ever etched into existence. It would have brought me glory and honor among my brothers and sisters. The new Skakdi were to gaze up at their protector and bow to him for the gifts he had bestowed unto them as they claimed victory for the Brotherhood of Makuta. It had taken years of research and a few visits to Destral to devise and manufacture the perfect concoction. And, of course, I required a fresh experimental subject for each new viral compound, which may have involved a select few who society wouldn’t miss at all. But at long last the toils in my lab had come to an end. The fruit of my labors was unleashed on Zakaz, spreading like darkness when night falls across the land. How does one describe the evolution of new life to anyone less than a god? It is beyond understanding for someone other than a Makuta, even if brought down to layman’s terms. But before long, the viruses took root inside the Skakdi’s systems, initiating a memorable transformation for them. Gratified, I reclined in my lair, monitoring the island-wide event through the shadows and recording notes. I remember the grin was tight across my mask, and I couldn’t help but savor every moment of it, to think that life was good. Roughly a day and a half later, Zakaz was no longer the nation it once was. There is nothing so exhilarating for a scientist to see his work of this magnitude in action, except perhaps for an analysis of his results. Viewing the spectacle through shadowy windows was hardly satisfying, however. I had to see the details with my own eyes. Once the calculated timeline for the evolution was complete, I had sprouted myself a pair of wings and exited my lair. From above I noted the actions and changes to the Skakdi. Several were lying upon the ground and cradled themselves as if wounded, some babbled insanely, and others snarled and leered at each other as they passed by. Then I decided to take a closer look. Concealed with my powers, I observed a female Skakdi staring into a pool of clear water. Her flaring crimson eyes were the focal point of the shimmering reflection of her sickly green-colored form, which she appeared to be observing with interest. Without warning, a pair of red energy beams shot from them and struck the water’s surface, searing the air they touched and reducing the oasis to a crater. More accidental and sudden outbursts of power confirmed the presence of the other abilities I worked so diligently on granting to them. These occurred during the little quarrels and skirmishes the Skakdi began having, leveling the landscape around them to barren earth. The fighting and destruction is nothing, I had assured myself. Let them have their fun before the duties of war call for their full attention, and they truly lay waste to armies. Collected results revealed that there were more changes to the Skakdi than I had predicted. During a telepathic investigation, I discovered that they were becoming mentally agitated. Shock was in the forefront of their minds, brought about by the unexpected events. But that had quickly subsided into greed, rage, belligerence… traits all essential for a formidable army. Their reactions to the to having real power, I suppose. But it was nothing compared to the success of my glorious experiment! I remember regretting that I couldn’t yet amass the Skakdi into an army and proceed with training, for I planned to depart Zakaz for Destral very soon after, where I was to restock on resources for my lab. Such a large-scale experiment had cost me much of my supplies. However, I had no intention of leaving the Skakdi unguarded or unprotected in my absence; I had brought with me a unit of Visorak spiders from my last journey from Destral to watch over them and enforce order in the meantime. I intended to implement my goals upon my return. But when I did, it was to find my Visorak guards as mangled corpses, to see the Skakdi locked in a seemingly perpetual war that still rages today. Zakaz was indeed no longer the nation it once was, instead deteriorating from the constant warring of its natives. To the outside world, it was an utter mess. I saw their potential. I gave them power. How did they return the favors? By embracing their barbaric nature and using it to sully my reputation, as well as their own. It was because of them I lost everything. The rest of Brotherhood failed to recognize my achievement and proclaimed me rogue, possibly out of jealousy, knowing that I had succeeded in my goal, one that rivaled the creation and formation of their Visorak legions. The Brotherhood is easily the most powerful organization in the universe, leaving very few places out of its reach for a being to hide under their threat of death. Being a member of it once, however, meant that I knew its extent. A particular island came to mind – a dark land governed by harsh laws, whose civil war had torn it apart. The last place a refugee would take shelter in. Unbeknownst to me at that time was that these ruined cities housed a population of monstrous Zyglak, who were isolating themselves out of hatred of everyone else in the universe. I found myself surrounded and outnumbered by the reptilian beasts, yet rather than panic (though I admit the number of blades pointed at me were a bit intimidating), I saw the benefits with a possible alliance with them. In addition, I would not allow myself, a Makuta, to be held captive or perish at the claws of incredibly savage, unwanted mistakes of the Great Beings. “I am an outcast, shunned from society by the people of this universe,” I said, my voice my only effective tool against the arsenal of weapons pointed at me. “What I seek is vengeance, the broken bodies of my enemies beneath my boot. These are qualities that we share, that link us… Together, we could introduce to the world the wrath of those they so wrongly banish.” As it turned out, they were quite willing to accept my proposal after understanding my predicament, as well as the opportunity before them. Seeing how a being like me could be thrown out like trash, and knowing the goal they desired to achieve was possible, they allowed me to walk amongst them unchallenged. Ever since, I have occupied my disgraced existence with avoiding any contact with beings of the outside world, specifically Brotherhood agents or even Dark Hunters; and cursing the Skakdi and Brotherhood for this fate, knowing that I may never return to my former life. Should the opportunity to purge Zakaz of the Skakdi race ever present itself to me, I will gladly accept it as revenge without hesitation. The Brotherhood, too, must one day know their mistake in casting me out. Little do they know that in the very shadows they claim dominance over, a legion stirs out of sight. And how entertaining that will be to see: the Zyglak marching across lands, slaughtering every Matoran, Toa, and Turaga until their hunger is satisfied. Then they shall fill the vacancy, with me a hero amongst them, before turning their hatred and weapons toward my enemies. The Makuta will hear my name, see me standing above the carnage, and in their dying moments, they will understand what my name truly means. Fear. THE END
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