Embers - A Bionicle Saga

[Nato G]

Chapter 9 – The Last League

From the notes of Chronicler Crisda.

In the months where we waited with bated breath to see if our Toa would ever return, there was another question on our minds. What would we do if someone else came, seeking safety in our city?

We were all too happy to take in refugees of our own race, of course. If the rest of the universe is truly unliveable, if this city truly is all that’s left, surely we have an obligation to extend to other peoples the same mercy and asylum we offered to our own kind? That was what many of our leaders believed, at least.

But there were others, Rost and Larone among them, who clung to the teachings of old. They asserted that Metru Nui was ours and ours alone, a paradise made solely for the Great Spirit’s “chosen people”. To allow refugees of other races to step foot in our city, to willingly invite potential enemies into our midst, was – in Larone’s words – “both sacrilegious and stupid”.

Rost swiftly abandoned his views when he fell under the Makuta’s sway, even allowing the Rahkshi to freely roam our streets. But Larone never wavered from his belief that all non-Matoran should be driven from the city.

So you can imagine my surprise when I learned of the alliance he had made during my tenure in prison.

* * *

Pira

All night the three Toa sat up on the cliffside, alternating shifts of two asleep while the third kept watch. But even as morning broke, the fleet still didn’t move, and Larone’s boat remained moored beside the larger vessel.

The thought of the treacherous Turaga filled Pira with rage. All of his promises and posturing, and this was his plan? Letting these invaders gain a foothold in Metru Nui was only a miniscule improvement over bombing it into oblivion. And what came next would arguably be far worse.

“I might actually kill him.”

Pira didn’t realise she’d muttered the words aloud until she saw the way Ithnen and Vhalem were looking at her… and the way neither of them were objecting.

“This is the part where one of you tells me that Toa don’t do things like that,” she grumbled, taking in their grim expressions, “This doesn’t work if I’m the one calling myself out.”

Vhalem regarded her solemnly for a few moments, before turning his back and starting the trek back up the rocky path towards the camp. 

“Hey airhead, how long were you on Xia for?” Ithnen watched him go, then turned back to Pira, “Before… everything happened, I mean.”

“Only about a week. It wasn’t exactly the prime holiday destination I thought it was going to be.”

“Whatever you went through in that week, however awful the war was for you, it’s nothing compared to what Vhalem and I endured for our entire lives,” Ithnen said softly, her stare making Pira feel small despite being the taller of the two, “However much you hate the Vortixx, or Larone for bringing them here, we hate them even more. We’d sink that whole fleet if we could, Larone and all.”

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t,” Ithnen shook her head, “I’m not trying to… reprimand you. I’m just trying to make you understand. I know your whole schtick is being all prickly and rebellious, but we’re not going to rein you in this time.”

And then she too turned away and started working her way up the path.

For a long while, Pira stayed up on the cliff, letting the calming sea breeze wash over her as she looked out at the fleet. Everything she’d fought against, everything she’d run from, right here in front of her. Did she really want to destroy them? Did she really want to kill Larone? Could she? She’d spent so much of her time joking and jibing, pushing against boundaries knowing someone else would push back and put her in her place if she pushed too far… and now it was all on her.

No one would stop her. No one would tell her no. There was no turn of luck or twist of Destiny to decide what she did next. There was no one except herself.

Whatever she did next, she was responsible for it, and her alone. Whether it was nothing at all or something reprehensible, there would be consequences.

At long last, she saw Larone’s boat push away from the rest, and she set off the rest of the way down the path to meet it. By the time she reached the beach she could see the boat much more clearly, and the new passenger it carried. They were an unnaturally gargantuan Skakdi hued in red and black, their proportions closer to that of a Vortixx, and their rippling muscles more like those of Steltian Bruiser.

Pira had never met them before. As far as she knew this being had never directly come into conflict with any of the Toa on Xia. But their name and reputation were well-known to her all the same.

This was Desecrator, a Dark Hunter who’d refused orders to kill their own kind and switched sides to support the Skakdi, leading them to several victories against the Dark Hunters. Their grim nickname came about from their perverse practice of mutilating the bodies of their fallen foes, utilising some unique, unnatural ability to absorb the powers of the slain.

The sight of them was equal parts sickening and exciting. That Larone would willingly ally himself with such a repugnant monster nauseated Pira to her core, but at the same time the logic behind the decision was all to evident. Given how many powers they were reputed to have absorbed, Desecrator was likely the only being left in the universe who came close to matching the Makuta. Which meant they would be just as difficult to defeat if they proved to be a foe.

As the boat drew closer to the shore, two creatures almost as large as Desecrator suddenly surged upwards out of the water, bounding onto the beach and brandishing blades, blasters, and twisted tendrils in Pira’s direction. Despite being different hues – one black and blue, the other silver and orange – the two beings were all clearly of the same species, with the slimy, streamlined physiques of creatures well-adapted to aquatic environs. Their broad feet were webbed, and a mane of organic, fin-like spines flowed over their shoulders and backs. They each had four arms, two of which were tipped with tentacles, while the other arms ended in hands. Their heads had large, snapping jaws and big beady eyes, all of which were fixated on her.

“Calm, my friends,” Desecrator’s voice was guttural and grating, their accent distorted and disjointed, sounding more akin to multiple voices speaking over each other. “I’m sure if this Toa wished us harm, she wouldn’t have let us get this close.”

“What I wish and what I’m willing to do are two very different things,” she replied, “Luckily for you.”

Inwardly, she wasn’t sure if her decision was borne of careful consideration or impulsive evaluation of her current circumstances. She wanted these creatures gone, but she knew the rebels needed help to defeat the Makuta’s Administration. She hated these beings for their actions during the war, but not all of them had been there, not all of them had fought against the Toa specifically, and if this city truly was the last liveable island left in the universe, where else could they go?

Despite her remark, the amphibious creatures did as Desecrator asked, lowering their weapons and moving back to make space for the boat, helping pull it fully ashore once it reached the beach. Pira noted that only Larone had returned with Desecrator, even though Turaga Ihnes and several others had been visible in the boat on the trip over.

“You’re wise beyond your years, Pira,” Desecrator said, stepping out of the boat, “I’ve met many beings older and more experienced than yourself who would struggle to set aside their pride.”

As the massive Skakdi stepped out onto the shore, Pira saw that their right leg was fully mechanical from the knee down, the prosthetic plated in dull silver.

“Pride is too pretty a word for what I’m setting aside,” she growled, “How do you know my name?”

“Your Turaga has spoken highly of you,” Desecrator gestured to Larone, “He says you’re principled, sometimes petty, but more open-minded than most of your kind. The fact that you stand here alone when I know there are two other Toa at this camp only confirms his words.”

“I’m glad you’re here, Pira,” there was an earnest tone to Larone’s voice, “I knew you I could rely on you to see sense.”

“How long have you been in contact with these… people?” Pira asked, her skin crawling at the pseudo-compliments from the two equally-loathsome beings. “How were you in contact with them?”

“We’ve been communicating for weeks now. They started scouting this city via Iden after the Toa escaped Xia. Ihnes stumbled across their agents while he was using his own Iden. It didn’t take much discussion to realise we had a common interest.”

“And you… trust each other?” Pira couldn’t keep the doubt from her voice.

“Being able to spy on each other any time we choose without the other knowing leaves little room for scheming or secrets,” Larone replied.

“You’re so desperate to oust the Makuta that you’d trade one conqueror for another?”

“We wish to share this city, not steal it,” Desecrator said, “Your side were the only ones to truly win on Xia, and there are far more of your people here than there were there. We’ve learned our lessons.”

“I’m almost willing to believe that, coming from you. But all of them, out there…” Pira pointed out at the fleet, “…the ones we did fight against… I can’t imagine them just burying the hatchet.”

“They were fighting each other just as much as they were fighting you,” Larone pointed out, “I know you’ve been alone for a long time, but even you must know the value of Unity.”

“Our homelands are gone. Even Xia has succumbed to the dark,” Desecrator said, “We set aside our differences to stand together, to survive. Metru Nui is the last chance any of us have. We won’t squander it.”

“You Toa call yourselves heroes,” Larone said, “Don’t be the ones to ruin this.”

Pira sighed.

She didn’t want to fight the four of them. She didn’t want to fight the fleet. She didn’t want to fight at all. At least if she stood beside these psychopaths there was only one foe left to fight. If she stood against them it was just going to be Xia all over again. 

Besides, the Toa in the city had already tried and failed to fight the Makuta. It wouldn’t hurt to let someone else try. And she doubted she would shed a tear over any of these beings if the Makuta killed them.

“I won’t be the one to stand in your way,” she finally said, “But I can’t make any promises for my Brothers and Sisters. Not the ones here, and not the ones in the city.”

“No one will be denied their right to choose,” Larone assured her.

“But know this,” Desecrator’s voice took on a darker tone, “Choices have consequences.”

* * *

Trina

“How’s your head?” Savnu asked, nudging her shoulder.

“I’ve had worse hangovers,” Trina replied absently, reaching back to brush her fingers over the ragged graze Tuxar had left on the back of her head.

“Hungover? You?” Savnu sat down on a rock beside her. “That sounds like a story.”

“Not one I’m willing to share.”

The four Toa were hunkered on the ocean floor off the coast of Ga-Metru, sheltering in an air bubble Lhiyla and Erdo were generating. Lhiyla was holding back the water, while Erdo was growing airweed so they could breathe. This far down, and this far offshore, the Vahki were unlikely to find them, and it was a safer place than anywhere else in the city.

Still, they couldn’t stay here forever. Though the abundance of water meant Lhiyla could constantly replenish her elemental energies, she was still weak and fatigued from her time in captivity. They needed to move on before her physical exhaustion took its toll.

She and Erdo were huddled together by the edge of the bubble, speaking in hushed tones. Their bodies and armour had restored to their natural state – he armoured in dark green, sky blue, and silver – she in grey and translucent blue – but both were clearly still strained from their ordeal. Neither of them had spoken about what Tuxar had put them through, and Trina knew better than to push them for answers.

There was someone else she could turn to for insight instead.

“Speaking of stories, what did you see in there?” She asked Savnu. “I’ve seen you angry before, but nothing like the way you were when you came out of there.”

“The three shadowsick Toa, and the four missing Turaga…” Savnu physically shuddered, “…he had them in the same room he was keeping these two in. They were bound to the walls, roots and vines grown into their bodies. The last one… the blood was still fresh.”

“He killed them,” Erdo muttered, “One by one. Every day we didn’t agree to join him.”

“Seven days since the Moto-Hub fell. Seven victims,” Trina grimaced. “That means-”

“I would’ve been next,” Lhiyla said, “Erdo’s the one he really wanted.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t find you sooner. We didn’t know-”

“You are not to blame for this,” Lhiyla said firmly, “I don’t blame Erdo for refusing, either. I blame the Makuta, for turning Tuxar into… this.”

“The Makuta’s not to blame,” Trina lowered her head, “Not really. All he did was show our Brothers a harsh truth. What Maliss and Tuxar and the others have done with that knowledge is all on them.”

“You mean… he chose to do all of this?” Erdo stammered, “He actually thinks he’s a god?” 

“He thinks he can make the Matoran believe it,” Trina said, “The real gods and Great Spirits are gone. He’s trying to insert himself into the void they left behind.”

“It’s working,” said Savnu, “Those were Matoran back there. Fighting for him, against us.”

“There’s nothing we can do about that right now. Tuxar is either being taken into custody by Rost, or surrounding himself with even more protectors. Either way, we can’t get to him.”

“Then what do we do?” Lhiyla asked, “I can’t keep us breathing down here forever.”

“Rost is here,” Trina said, glancing at Savnu, “Which means he’s not in Po-Metru. We’re not going to get a better chance to test your theory.”

“Even if there are more prisoners there somewhere, Po-Metru’s a big place, and we have no idea where to start looking.”

“We might,” Lhiyla spoke up, gesturing to herself and Erdo, “Tuxar taunted us about Rost having more Toa imprisoned. That’s what you’re talking about, right?”

Trina nodded.

“He mentioned a canyon, and something about our Brothers walking in the footsteps of legends,” Erdo said, “He seemed disappointed when we didn’t react to it. Like he thought it was a really funny joke.”

“Would Rost really be that obvious?” Savnu glanced at Trina.

“It makes sense. It’s away from the populated areas, and all of the infrastructure for a prison is already there.”

“Where?” Lhiyla asked, “What are you talking about?”

“Long ago, when Makuta Teridax was impersonating the city’s Turaga and trying to cause the Great Cataclysm, he had a prison here in the city,” Trina said, “A cave, in a place called the Canyon Of Unending Whispers.”

“The Matoran turned it into a bit of a tourist trap after they retook the city,” Trina said, looking to Savnu, “Did you ever end up going on the tour?”

“Yeah. Our team made a day of it while you guys were… oh. Visiting Xia the first time.”

Trina grimaced. She’d never really stopped to think that her friends back in Metru Nui had just been living their lives, enjoying themselves, while Trina was busy burying teammates who’d stood by her side for centuries. Someday soon, she hoped, she might finally be able to properly mourn her fallen friends.

But for now, there was still a war to win.

“The layout can’t have changed much in just a few months,” she said, forcing herself to refocus, “Do you think you could get us in? Guide us?”

“I can certainly try.”

“Then that’s the plan,” Trina got to her feet, wincing as the sudden motion brought a fresh wave of pain rolling through her skull. She looked to Erdo and Lhiyla, “We’ll need your help to get us to Po-Metru. But beyond that, you two don’t need to be involved in the fighting.”

“You set us free,” Lhiyla said, “What kind of Toa would we be if we didn’t do the same?”

[Nato G]

Chapter 10 – Alliance

From the ravings of The Recorder.

For so many weeks, our focus has solely been on survival. Reaching Metru Nui is all any of us have thought about, all any of us have striven to do. But now that we’ve finally arrived, we’re forced to face the magnitude of the mission that still lies before us.

Merely winning the city isn’t enough.

We must also win the hearts of those we were fighting less than a month ago.

* * *

Ilton

Without engines or a Ga-Toa, Ilton and his companions had spent most of the night floating, at the mercy of the stagnant sea, and what seemed like quite a sudden influx of large aquatic rahi swimming past. But morning brought with it the arrival of a patrolling rebellion airship that threw down a cable and towed their stricken vessel the rest of the way to the Great Barrier.

When he saw the fleet gathered before the Sea Gate, Ilton almost wished he’d been left adrift.

They weren’t close enough for him to clearly identify the beings milling about on the decks of the various vessels, but the banners alone were enough to dispel any doubt about who and what they were. The fact that the rebel camp on the nearby cliffside wasn’t currently in flames somehow made the sight more worrying, not less.

“Please tell me I’m hallucinating,” Pahlil pouted, as she joined Ilton at the railing.

“Only if you want me to lie to you.”

“What are they doing here?”

“Probably offering their services in exchange for the rights to settle somewhere in the city,” Ilton guessed, “And I’d wager Larone has agreed to their terms.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“It’s not my decision to make.”

“Maybe it should be,” Tivni said, from behind them, “Those Matoran and Turaga have no idea what we went through on Xia. If they’ve allied with these beings then they’ve made a massive mistake.”

“We don’t lead the Matoran,” Ilton protested, “Only protect them.”

“And it looks to me that what they need protecting from the most is their own stupid decisions.”

“Perhaps, but-”

“Let’s wait to hear what the rebels have to say before we make any rash decisions,” Behjen suggested, joining the rest of the gathered group.

“Not just the rebels. It looks like Pira will have plenty to say on the matter,” Ilton said, pointing at, then waving to, the lime-and-grey figure on the beach, standing by where several other boats of varying sizes were moored.

Her presence offered a happy answer to the question of what had happened to her, and hopefully to Vhalem and Ithnen as well. There’d been no announcements about any of them during the days since the Moto-Hub had fallen, and Ilton hadn’t seen them during the battle itself, either. He’d hoped they were hiding out somewhere, though he certainly hadn’t expected to see them this far from the city.

The normally-standoffish Toa of air was smiling widely at them as their boat scraped to a stop, the airship above detaching its cable and sweeping back around to resume its seaward patrol.

Pahlil magnetically lowered the gangplank, and the four Toa made their way down to greet their Sister.

“You have no idea how glad I am to see you guys,” Pira said, bumping fists with Behjen and Pahlil, “We heard about the Moto-Hub. I was worried we were the only ones left.”

“We?” Tivni perked up, “Ithnen? Vhalem?”

“In a cave up near the camp, with some of the Matoran who also want nothing to do with our new visitors,” Pira said, pointing to the path behind her and starting to walk that way, “Come on, I’ll take you to them.”

Behjen quickly volunteered to stay back and guard the boat, seeming none too eager to approach the camp unprepared. 

“How long have you three been here?” Ilton asked, as he, Pahlil, and Tivni followed Pira up the path. “I didn’t see you at the Moto-Hub when the Makuta attacked.”  

“All week. We were in Ta-Metru with Larone when things… went bad for you guys. He got us straight out of the city that evening.”

“What were you doing in Ta-Metru?” Pahlil asked.

“Rescuing an Av-Matoran from Widrek.”

“Sounds like we’ve all got a lot to catch up on,” Tivni said, “But maybe we should start with the Tahtorak in the room?”

“Believe me, none of us were excited to see these guys again,” Pira grumbled, “Apparently Larone’s been in contact with them for weeks, before we even arrived back in the city.”

“These beings were at each other’s throats last we saw them,” Pahlil said, “What changed?”

“Desecrator. Sometime after we got out of Xia, they killed the Shadowed One. With both the Skakdi and Dark Hunters on side, no one’s willing to challenge them now. I’ve managed to get a few of our visitors to open up, and they’re not all happy about it, but whether it’s out of fear, desperation, mutual survival, or genuine loyalty, they’re all following Desecrator’s lead.”

“These visitors… are there Vortixx with them?” Tivni asked quietly.

“I haven’t seen any come ashore yet, and I haven’t gotten close enough to their fleet to see any,” Pira shrugged, then grimaced, “But their flag is flying on the big ship out there, so… I think so.”

“If they’re smart, they’ll stay on their boats,” Tivni growled, “If I see any of ‘em-”

“You’ll do what?” Ilton asked, a challenging note creeping into his tone, “As much as you may loathe them, consider what it means that they came here.”

His comment was intended to curb her anger as much as his own. He held no love for the Vortixx, remembering all too well the atrocities they’d committed against his fellow Toa. But the darkest years of his life had been spent living in hatred of something so large and powerful he could never hope to destroy it, and he didn’t want to see his young companion fall down that same path.

“Forgive me if I don’t have much sympathy for the creatures who worked my friends to death and used me as slave labour.”

“You don’t have to feel sorry for them. But you do need to understand them,” Ilton said, “With everything we’ve endured, it’s easy to-”

“More Toa,” a lean, teal-armoured being sprang down from a ledge overhead to land before the four Toa. Her beady red eyes drifted right past Pira, lingered on Tivni for only a moment, but fixated eagerly on Pahlil and Ilton, “Useful ones, this time.”

Beyond the unusual hue of her armour, the most noteworthy detail of the woman’s appearance was her mechanical left arm. Though he’d never crossed paths or blades with her before, Ilton knew immediately who she was. Her formidable reputation well and truly preceded her.

“Lariska,” he said.

“You know me? It’s always nice to meet a fan.”

“I wouldn’t call myself that.”

“Does anyone in your species have a sense of humour?” The Dark Huntress groaned, absently twirling a dagger Ilton hadn’t even seen her draw in her regular hand.

“Uh… nice of you to drop in?” Pira offered.

“Good attempt, but it’s a little late. Keep working at it, though,” Lariska sheathed her blade and started to spring up the path, “Come along, heroes, I’ll take you to the boss.”

Something in the way she said the last word made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t happy about Desecrator’s position of power, and didn’t care who knew.

The “boss” proved easy enough to find, a towering crimson figure standing in the middle of camp, surrounded by several other beings of varying species. At Desecrator’s side stood a tall, Shelek-wearing titan clad in green and metallic grey, of a species Ilton only vaguely recognised. There were also two members of a semi-aquatic four-armed race, a half-dozen titans of varying races that Ilton wasn’t familiar with, several Steltians and Skakdi, what looked to be one of each of the seven types of Visorak, and perhaps strangest of all, a lone Rahkshi. 

“Behold, more Toa to join our noble crusade,” Lariska remarked, somersaulting aside to let the Toa approach Desecrator and his aides.

“Ilton!” Larone emerged from somewhere amidst the gathered monsters and hobbled over to greet the Toa, “We feared that you were among the fallen. My sources in the city say it was you who wounded the Makuta.”

“I just wish I’d managed to finish the job.”

“We’re all wishing that,” Lariska grumbled, from her new perch atop a pile of supply crates.

“He’s alive,” Larone countered, “Which he means he can try again. And I see Pahlil is with us as well, which brings our total to three beings who can rip the Makuta out of his shell. Perhaps more, once we find out whether the Skakdi have any Iron or Magnetism wielders still among them.”

Ilton glanced at the crowd once more, trying to determine which of the group was the third Larone was referring to. Unexpectedly, he found his gaze drawn to the Rahkshi, which was armoured in black and gold, the traditional hues of the Magnetism variation.

“I’m going to take Tivni to her friends,” Pira said to Ilton, clearly wanting to excuse herself from the conversation, “If you’re okay with that?”

“You survived this long without me,” Ilton said, “You don’t need my permission.”

As the two young Toa departed with grateful smiles, Ilton turned his attention back to the twisted Turaga, “So, Pira says you’ve been negotiating this little deal for a while now. When were you planning to tell us Toa about it?”

“When they got here. Given how prone your group were to splitting off without informing each other…” Larone glanced pointedly at Pira’s departing form, “…I didn’t want to jeopardise my arrangement by risking the possibility of some of your companions slinking off to blockade the Sea Gates or try to sink the fleet.”

Loathe though he was to give any credence to Larone’s paranoia, Ilton had to admit he had a point. Many of the Xian Matoran who’d been transformed into Toa would likely have objected to the decision, and some of them might have acted on that rage. Savnu would have been all too quick to aid any that did in whatever scheme they came up with.

“We wouldn’t have had the chance anyway, after what happened at the Moto-Hub,” Pahlil said.

“I know this may be difficult to believe coming from one you once considered an enemy,” the voice of Desecrator was like many being spoken at once, “But I’m truly sorry to hear of what happened to your forces since arriving in this city. Your people deserved a better homecoming.”

“I- thank you,” Ilton stammered, caught entirely off guard by what looked and sounded like genuine remorse in the monster’s expression and voice.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Pahlil was unfazed by the remark, stepping forward to face Desecrator, “If Larone has been keeping you informed, then you know what awaits you in the city. I’m guessing you’re going to offer us your help, and ask for settlement rights in return?”

“Among other things. But Larone has seen to our other request.”

“Other request?” Ilton asked.

“The Vortixx had an additional demand,” Larone said, gesturing back towards the fleet, “My agent foolishly let slip during our negotiations that I’d sent a party to scavenge Mangaia a few months ago. The Vortixx want all of the weapons and schematics we found there.”

“And you’re willing to give them that?” Ilton sputtered, “Are you insane?”

“We’d be insane not to,” Desecrator said, “The Vortixx population make up almost one third of our forces. They have the most advanced knowledge of engineering, mechanics, and weapon-smithing. Without them, we wouldn’t have made it this far. Without them, we can’t take the city.”

“And you think they won’t-” Pahlil started to protest, but Larone waved her off.

“The decision was mine to make, and it’s already been made. We handed off the crate when we greeted the fleet yesterday.”

“Fine,” Ilton scowled, equal amounts of dread and helplessness taking root within him. There was no telling if anything of true worth had still been intact in Mangaia after all this time, or even if the Vortixx could do anything with it. But the worst-case scenario wasn’t a pleasant one. “Teridax’s loot, settlement rights… was there anything else you wanted?”

He was startled for a moment by just how swiftly he’d switched to negotiating mode. He hadn’t come here expecting to be the one making the decisions, but it was clear enough from the conversation so far that Larone was only speaking on behalf of his group of rebels, and had wisely refrained from negotiating on the behalf of the city. As the senior-most Toa around, it was left to Ilton to speak for whatever remained of his Brothers and Sisters.

“We’re told the Makuta established a council, with representatives from the Matoran, Odinans, and Rahkshi,” Desecrator said, “We’d like for that council to become the main means of governance for the city, and for its membership to be expanded to include species from our coalition.”

“Which ones?”

“The Skakdi, Vortixx, and Steltians, at least. Perhaps some others.”

“I can’t speak for the council, but I’m sure that could be negotiated. I’ll certainly put in a good word. Anything else?”

“Amnesty from any crimes that may have been committed in the past, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Ilton repeated, nodding numbly. He didn’t like it, but he’d certainly seen it coming. Most of the beings in the fleet were mercenaries and murderers, slavers and savages. They hadn’t come all this way just to be thrown in cells.

“We’ve got some conditions of our own, then,” Pahlil cut in. “First of all…” she pointed past Desecrator, towards one of the seven Visorak, half again as large as any of the others, with a blue body and a golden carapace, “…no summoning the Zivon. Not even as a last resort.”

“We already had this conversation ourselves, weeks ago,” Lariska spoke up, still balanced atop the crates, “We’re not stupid. We didn’t come all this way just to destroy the city we want to live in.”

“Then I’m sure you can understand our next condition,” Ilton said, ignoring her to focus again on Desecrator, “Minimal collateral damage, minimal casualties. You’ll mostly be up against Vahki and poorly-trained Mesmers. Any Matoran you face will be coerced or hypnotised. You won’t earn the acceptance of the Matoran by razing their homes and painting their streets in blood.”

“Acceptable.”

“Then I guess we have a deal,” Ilton extended his hand, which was utterly dwarfed by the one Desecrator extended to shake his, “But do we have a plan?”

[Nato G]

Chapter 11 – Prison Break

From the notes of Chronicler Crisda.

In my time as Chronicler, I’ve written down a great many words. It’s easy to think you know what something means, to provide its definition, to appreciate its meaning. But until you’ve experienced it yourself, you can never truly comprehend a concept.

I never understood helplessness until my time in prison. Not until the occupants of the other cells whispered to me their stories of watching the Av-Matoran and other prisoners be dragged away one by one, never to be seen again. Not until I spent a day watching Mesmer interrogators take turns trying to rip Icthilos apart, body and mind. Not until I watched Brothers do battle just beyond the bars of my cell.

* * *

Vhalem

“…and we were stuck out there all night until that airship spotted us,” Tivni said, wrapping up her retelling of her past week in Metru Nui. “Considerin’ our newfound company, I almost would’ve preferred stayin’ at sea.”

The four Toa – Pira, Vhalem, Tivni, and Ithnen – along with a dozen-or-so Matoran, were hunkered down in the mouth of the cavern they’d been exploring earlier. They were close enough to the camp to get there quickly if they were needed, but far enough away that the new arrivals were comfortably out of sight.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re back with us,” Vhalem said, “I’m just sorry that we weren’t there for you.”

“Don’t be,” Tivni sat back against the wall, “I spent all week wonderin’, worryin’, wantin’ to look for you. Knowin’ you guys were safe the whole time is a weight off my back.”

“Not all of us,” Ithnen said, “You didn’t hear anything about Erdo?”

“Nothin’, sorry,” Tivni shook her head, “Though, that might be a good thing. If he was dead, they would’ve made a public announcement about it.”

“It’s not much of a comfort.”

“Speakin’ of uncomfortable things… what the Karz?” Tivni snapped, waving vaguely towards the seascape outside the cavern. Though the Sea Gate and fleet weren’t visible from where they currently were, everyone knew what she was indicating. “After everythin’ we did to get away from ‘em, they get to come here and play the heroes?”

“I don’t have the vocabulary to express how much I hate it,” Vhalem said, “But I… I do understand it. Until you guys got here, Larone literally had no other options.”

“Until we got here?” Tivni asked.

“Until today, he had no way to know if there were any Toa left besides us,” Vhalem pointed out. “But now, he’s got Toa to spare. Pahlil and Ilton could probably take Vhel down, if they got lucky. Failing that, there’s more than enough of us to make a Toa Seal.”

“He’s not going to waste time betting on us now that he’s got an army of desperate refugees,” Pira said, speaking up for the first time since she’d brought Tivni to the cave, “I don’t think any number of Toa would’ve mattered.”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t see his expression when Trina told me there were Toa ready to look for us when we were trapped in the Archives,” Pira said to Vhalem, “I’ve tried to justify the things he’s been saying and doing… but I keep coming back to the same conclusion. I think he just hates Toa. Hates what we stand for, hates the way we do things, hates that Matoran are so reliant on us. He’d rather make the Matoran bomb the city into oblivion, or lead an army of our enemies into the streets, anything except let Toa save the day.”

Vhalem wanted to tell her she was wrong. But out of all of them, she was the one who’d spent the most time with the wizened Turaga. She knew better than anyone else here what loneliness could do to someone. If this was her conclusion, he couldn’t bring himself to doubt it. Nor could he convince himself that it didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Larone hadn’t included the three of them in any of his planning or training. He hadn’t paid much attention to them at all except when he was asking for Toa Stones.

“Why would any Turaga want that?” He muttered. “Matoran aren’t fighters.”

“They can be,” Ithnen said. “You’ve heard the stories about the villages on Mata Nui, Voya Nui, Mahri Nui. When the Matoran have no Toa to protect them, they learn to fight for themselves.”

“You’re forgetting Metru Nui,” Pira said quietly. “The Civil War. That’s when Larone was injured. I think Matoran were a lot more warlike back then. And I think Larone misses it.”

“That’s all soundin’ awful, but what can we actually do about it?” Tivni asked.

“What can we do about any of it?” Ithnen added, “We can’t fight this army any more than we could fight the Makuta.”

“There’s nothing we can do, for now,” Vhalem said, sighing, “We just go along with it.”

“No,” Pira said. “There has to be a limit.”

“Agreed,” Tivni said firmly, “I won’t be a slave again. I don’t want any more Matoran goin’ through what we did.”

“What limit? What are we actually supposed to do?” Vhalem interjected, “I know I was all fired up yesterday when I said I’d make sure their flags would never fly over the city… but I had all night to cool down and realise how stupid it was for me to think there was anything I could do about it.”

“And I had all night to realise the opposite. Icthilos asked me once if I was ready to step up, to be responsible… I wasn’t then, but I am now,” Pira said, looking to Vhalem and Ithnen, “I’m the one who agreed to work with Larone. I asked you two to come with me. I’m the reason we’re here.”

“Being with Larone that day is also the reason we’re still alive,” Ithnen pointed out.

“You couldn’t have known how things would go.” Vhalem added, “None of us did.”

“I know. But I should’ve. I never stay lucky for long. I should’ve known it would turn... that things were going too well… so we can’t be complacent this time. We’ll go along with this for now, but I don’t care how much we need them. If the time comes, if they go too far, we draw a line in the sand, and we hold that line.”

“We hold the line,” Ithnen agreed.

“Metru Nui won’t become another Xia,” Tivni said, nodding firmly.

Vhalem smiled at Pira, surprised beyond words by how much she’d changed in the short time he’d known here. “I’m with you, Sister.”

He realised then that this was the first time he’d called her that.

* * *

Trina

“This is a terrible plan.”

It was far from the first time in her life Trina had spoken those words, especially in regards to Savnu, and she was getting all too tired of saying it.

After a brisk swim around the island and a few hours to rest and recuperate in the seclusion of Po-Metru’s wilderness, they’d made their approach to the Canyon Of Unending Whispers. Though there was obviously no way to tell who or what was inside the cave, the presence of a hundred or so Vahki – more than they’d seen deployed anywhere else in the city – patrolling the ground and skies of the surrounding area seemed a pretty strong indicator of there being something important here.

“Just because it’s a simple plan doesn’t mean it’s a bad one,” Erdo protested quietly, “Mother knows what she’s doing.”

“That’s what worries me.”

Trina, Erdo, and Lhiyla were hunkered in the shadows just outside of the canyon, concealed by a mass of desert foliage that Erdo had summoned. Hopefully the Vahki hadn’t been paying too much attention to the layout of the local shrubbery.

Savnu was in position nearby, ready to put the very plan Trina was complaining about into action.

“You’re biased,” Lhiyla said, nervously adjusting the Mahiki Savnu had given her in exchange for her Hau, “But for what it’s worth, I agree. It’s probably the best plan we have.”

“Quiet,” Trina hissed, peeking out through a gap in the branches.

The sound of metal on stone soon followed, as a Vahki patrol stomped past their position for the second time that hour, moving into the canyon as a second patrol moved out. It was a pattern the four Toa had watched repeat like clockwork for the last few hours… but that pattern was about to break.

A red blur blasted between the two columns of Vahki moving through the canyon mouth, close enough for them all to notice its passing despite its speed. The Vahki turned as one and hurried after Savnu, abandoning their patrol.

With the canyon mouth clear, the three Toa moved up, taking up positions by the entrance as they watched the scene unfold. 

Savnu had come to a stop in the middle of the canyon, flinging fireballs at the groups of Vahki scattered about the area. Of the roughly one hundred the Toa had counted in the area, around eighty of them were in the canyon, with the rest being out on air patrol. Aside from the twenty Vahki returning or departing on ground patrol, the same number were guarding the entrance to the prison cavern, while most of the remainder were hooked up to charging stations or hunched over in standby mode, ready to activate at the first sign of trouble. And Savnu’s appearance certainly qualified as trouble, bringing them lurching to life with weapons at the ready.

As one, the Vahki opened fire, their Kanoka and stun blasts sparking against Savnu’s Hau shield as she swiftly switched to the Kanohi she’d borrowed from Lhiyla.

And with the attention of the Vahki now solely focused on the distraction, Lhiyla and Trina put the second part of the plan into action.

Lhiyla kneeled down and placed her palms on the sandy ground, summoning a wave of water that began washing across the floor of the canyon. It was no torrential tidal wave or flashy focused blast that would exhaust her still-strained powers or catch the attention of the Vahki, just a shallow, swift-spreading puddle. The water didn’t need to be devastating, or deep.

It just needed to be touching as many of the Vahki as possible.

As Savnu’s battered shield began to weaken, Trina added her own powers to the mix, and this time there was no need for subtlety. The full fury of a thunderstorm struck the puddle, sending a surge of electricity across the canyon floor, up through the feet of most of the Vahki, frying them where they stood. They collapsed almost as one, making it all too easy to spot the few that had been standing on rocks or were positioned far enough away that the water hadn’t reached them.

They only outlasted their companions by a few seconds, falling to blasts of fire and lightning.

“Like I said, simple doesn’t mean bad,” Erdo said, grinning.

Trina absorbed what little residual electricity remained in water and fallen Vahki before giving the go-ahead for her companions to cross the water and approach Savnu, who had escaped unscathed by making sure to stand on an upraised rock to avoid being in the water.

“Credit where it’s due,” Trina conceded, “Your plan worked.”

“Most of my plans do,” Savnu said, passing the Hau back to Lhiyla.

“Yeah, but not this well.”

“True, but as much as I’d love to stand around gloating, I reckon it won’t be long before those air patrols circle back this way. Let’s get inside.”

With Erdo and Lhiyla taking up watch outside the cavern, Savnu and Trina headed into the prison. Although the aboveground entrance was on the Po-Metru side of the border, the prison itself was built into Onu-Metru’s subterranean service tunnels, with architecture and layout very similar to the Archives. Given how frequently Onu-Metru’s various tunnel networks intersected and overlapped, Trina was bracing herself for the possibility that Rahkshi might be lurking down here in the dark.

And lurking was certainly an apt description for the hunched, pale creature that came lunging at her from around a bend in the tunnel as approached the corner. It was a Mesmer, with pale flesh and bleached white armour, eyes aglow with a sickly green light. Her hands in ended in long, hooked claws, striking out in a wild slice that Trina parried almost effortlessly with her tonfa. But too late she realised that the strike wasn’t the true attack. She met her attacker’s eyes for only a moment, but that split second was time enough for the Mesmer’s psionic powers to take root.

It felt like a cruel, cold claw was reaching into the confines of her consciousness, clasping her most miserable memories and dragging them into the forefront of her mind. In an eyeblink she was kneeling on that ash-strewn beach again, hands clenched into fists in the coarse sand, unbidden tears in her eyes as she starred down at a cracked Kanohi placed atop a shallow grave.

Immersed in the memory, she didn’t even feel the claws sinking into her side.

What she did notice was the frigid sea breeze was giving way to a roaring rush of heat, the gentle lapping of the waves being replaced a shrill shriek of pain. The warm sun overhead gave way to dull darkness as Trina was flung out of the memory and suddenly found herself back in the tunnel once more, now slumped against the wall with blood soaking her side.

The pale Mesmer was now curled up on the floor, whimpering weakly as smoke wafted up from its scorched armour and seared flesh. The acrid stench of sizzling organics filled the tunnel, making Trina’s eyes water almost as much as the memory had.

“Are you okay?” Savnu was standing over her.

“Yeah, I…” she tried to stand up, then groaned and collapsed as she suddenly became aware of her wound, “…no… not okay...”

“Erdo! Lhiyla! Get down here!” Savnu shouted, “I’m going on ahead and find the prisoners. If that Mesmer so much as moves its head, zap it.”

Trina reached up to seize Savnu’s hand, “Find them. Don’t let anything stand in your way.”

[Nato G]

Chapter 12 – Battle Plans

From the ravings of The Recorder.

Word has it that the Onu-Matoran of this city are avid collectors and curators of the past, with a love for imprisoning living beings in stasis.

They would get along quite well with Desecrator.

There is much debate among our warriors as to which fate is worse: that of the beings that Desecrator kills and mutilates to steal their powers, or that of the beings they defeat and keep alive. Stasis is supposed to be like sleep… but when one looks into the terrified eyes of Desecrator’s living trophies, there’s no doubt that they’re awake and aware for every second of their suffering.

* * *

Ilton

The flagship of the Last League was even more impressive and imposing in person that it had appeared at a distance. Ilton and Larone had agreed to go out to the ship to consult with the other League leaders and finalise the battle plans for the impending attack on Metru Nui, and its appearance grew more grand the closer their boat got to it.

Beings of every species – many Ilton recognised, and many more he didn’t – occupied the deck of the ship. A quartet of different beings were playing a dice game by the gangplank as Ilton, Larone, Desecrator, and the Shelek-wearing titan – who Desecrator had introduced as their second-in-command, Muhlene – came aboard. On the other side of the deck, a tan-armoured Steltian was leading a group of other beings in drunken song. Nearby, a small gathering of warriors were throwing knives or shooting arrows at a target painted on the side of a neighbouring vessel, while the occupants of that ship seemed to be doing the same to the flagship. On each ship, a small crowd was gathered around the throwers and shooters, cheering and taking bets.

For beings who’d been running for their lives for weeks, who now faced a war against an impossible opponent, they were astoundingly carefree. Ilton was surprised to find himself envying them. Even with their leader and a Toa Of Iron stepping aboard, no one snapped to attention or abandoned their cavalier activities. Most of them barely glanced their way as Desecrator led the party inside the vessel, gesturing sharply to a few other beings along the way, who stopped what they were doing and followed the procession inside. 

Desecrator’s cabin was dominated by a large round table laden with maps and documents, with mismatched chairs arrayed around it. Display shelves occupied the back wall, and a porthole window was positioned on the right. Perched on the wall next to the window was a weapon Ilton recognised as a Skakdi Lava Launcher, probably Desecrator’s weapon of choice before it had been made redundant by their absorbed powers. On the left of the room was a door that presumably led through to Desecrator’s sleeping quarters. All of it was surreally oversized to Ilton; the vessel has clearly been built with Vortixx in mind, its furniture and furnishings comfortably accommodating beings of Desecrator and Muhlene’s size, leaving the Toa feeling almost comically small by comparison. This is probably how Matoran feel when they enter a Toa’s dwelling, he reflected.

Although, the decorations in this room were far more macabre than anything a Toa would adorn their home with. At first glance, Ilton might have mistaken the multihued miniatures on the display shelves as mere figurines, the likes of which a young Matoran might play with. But they were far too detailed, too life-like. It was only when he spotted five larger shapes curled up on a central shelf – eel-like creatures with the faces of Skakdi – that he developed a sickened inkling as to what he was looking at.

“Are those-” he pointed at them.

“The Piraka?” Desecrator nodded, “All but Zaktan were handed off to the people of Zakaz after the Order Of Mata Nui grew bored of them. I hear that he and some Order agents tried to get into the Core Processor beneath Metru Nui – and were never seen again – so I guess I’ll never get to complete the set. The Skakdi gave the rest of them to me as tribute after I ended the war on Xia.”

“Are they… alive?” Ilton wasn’t sure which answer he would find less disturbing.

“In stasis. Easier than keeping them in their fishtanks. We only had so much food to spare,” Desecrator replied absently, pulling out a chair and sitting down, gesturing for the rest of the group to do the same.

“And the others?” Larone asked, gesturing to the dozen-or-so other figures arrayed around the shelves as he pulled himself up into one of the too-large chairs.

“Vanquished enemies. Shrunken to a more manageable size with Kanoka, then frozen in stasis. Why settle for taking mere trophies from my fallen foes when I could just make my foes the trophies?”

Ilton’s eyes swept across the shelf, searching for figures he recognised. There was a Tahtorak, what looked to be Roodaka and other Vortixx, several Skakdi, Darkness and a few other Dark Hunters he recognised from descriptions, and even what appeared to be the rogue known as Shadow Stealer.

“No Shadowed One?” He asked.

“Not all of my enemies have the privilege of becoming trophies,” Desecrator said, “Some become… meals.” The Skakdi’s green eyes briefly lit up with an orange glow, and Ilton felt a sudden thrill of fear as he realised what the monster was implying. They hadn’t merely defeated the Shadowed One, they’d ripped his disintegration power from his remains.

“Now sit,” Desecrator clapped their massive hands together, “We have much to discuss.”

Ilton glumly settled into a seat next to Larone. On his other side sat a strange, Vortixx-esque creature who had a lucent, crystalline quality to her black-and-blue body. Muhlene sat at Desecrator’s right, while the tan Steltian who’d been singing outside sat on their left. The others at the table were a brown-and-white Skakdi, and a Vortixx with red highlights to her ebon armour. Another being – who had been sitting so still and silent on the edge of one of the shelves that Ilton had initially thought it was one of Desecrator’s stasised trophies who simply hadn’t been shrunken down yet – wordlessly pulled out a stone tablet and prepared to start taking notes. This creature had crooked limbs and a hunched posture, easily mistaken for some kind of rahi were it not for its dexterous hands and the intelligent glint to its inquisitive eyes.

“What is that?” Ilton asked, pointing at the creature. Something about the being’s unsettling nature left him uncomfortable referring to it as a “who”.

“The Recorder,” the crystalline Vortixx-alike said, “The Matoran aren’t the only ones who have Chroniclers.”

“Thank you, Immolator,” Desecrator said, speaking with a bored tone that made the woman’s grim nickname sound far less horrifying than it should have, “For the Record, the others in the room at Toa Ilton, Turaga Larone,” they gestured to the Steltian, “Imperator Gharkelos,” then pointed at the Vortixx, “Commander Lhuhamaka,” the Skakdi, “Warlord Narkhek, and of course my second, Muhlene.”

Most of the new names meant little to Ilton, but one very much did. According to Vortixx prisoners taken during the Xia conflict, Commander Lhuhamaka had been the mind behind much of their strategy and decisions, even before the war had begun. It was she who’d convinced the Vortixx of Xia to eliminate their Toa team and enslave the Matoran. She and her wives had been ghosts throughout the war, their presence often felt, but never seen. As far as Ilton was aware, he had just become the only Toa to have set eyes upon her and survive the experience.

Looking at her now, Ilton was almost disappointed. After all the damage she’d done, he’d expected her to be some abnormal specimen of her species like Desecrator was to the Skakdi. But Lhuhamaka was average in height and build for a Vortixx, easily a physical match for most of the beings in the room, but nothing exceptional for her kind. A Rhotuka launcher was mounted on her left arm, and some kind of storage cylinder on her right, connected by a hose to the sword sheathed at her side.

“See something you like, Toa?” She crooned, her acid-green eyes meeting his own.

“Quite the opposite.”

“Good. I’m spoken for.”

“Based on our communications with Larone and his rebels-” Desecrator launched straight into the plan, pre-emptively cutting off any further banter, “-we have a general idea of the layout of the city. Our enemies have an army of Vahki, Odinans, Rahkshi, and three Toa, which we understand to be distributed-”

“Six,” Ilton corrected, “Three of our number were swayed to the Makuta side. Perhaps more since I left the city.”

“You neglected to mention this,” Desecrator glowered at Larone.

“I didn’t think it relevant. What difference do a few Toa more or less make?”

“It depends on what kind of Toa,” Desecrator growled, looking to Ilton.

“Orane, Widrek, and Bihriis,” he answered, “Plasma, Earth, and Psionics.”

“Manageable,” Desecrator said, after considering the new information for a moment, “The last information we had was that Ta-Metru was assigned to the Fe-Toa, Onu-Metru was assigned to the De-Toa, and Ga-Metru to the Bo-Toa. Is that still the case? And what of these other three?”

“As far as I’m aware,” Larone replied, “I don’t know where the other three might be. They haven’t been assigned regions as far as I know.”

“It seems you don’t know as much as you once claimed.”

“I’m burned. I’ve been away from the city for a week.”

“It’d make sense for them to put Widrek in Onu-Metru,” Ilton interjected, “Orane prefers to use his Iden to fight via proxy bodies, so he’d probably be at the Coliseum, acting through Vahki. I’m not sure where Bihriis might have ended up.”

“If you’re confident the Onu-Toa will be in Onu-Metru, then we can assume the Ce-Toa won’t be,” Muhlene said, turning to Desecrator, “I recommend we stay the course.”

“You’re planning to assault Onu-Metru?” Ilton asked, “Why not land in Le-Metru or Ko-Metru? There’s no Matoran population in either right now, and far fewer enemies.”

“If we land in an empty Metru the enemy can throw everything they have at us without fear of collateral damage,” it was Lhuhamaka who spoke, “Onu-Metru is lower priority, but it is populated, and protected.”

“You’re talking about… using the populace like living shields,” Ilton protested, “What’s next? Taking hostages?”

“If we have to.”

“You can’t-”

“The last time a Toa tried to tell me what I can and can’t do, he didn’t survive the experience,” Lhuhamaka leaned forward in her chair, her voice turning cold, “I didn’t come all this way to repeat history. Did you?”

“Lhuha!” Desecrator’s hands slammed down upon the table, splintering the wood. Judging by the expressions of some of the beings sitting around the table, Desecrator raising their voice in this way was a rarity, “You can disagree all you want, but you do not threaten.”

“That’s the rule of the League,” Lhuhamaka challenged, “He’s a Toa.”

“He is our guest, and our ally.”

“Allies? He looks down on us.”

“Like you did to his people in your city?”

Lhuhamaka let out an irritated hiss, but said nothing more, slumping back in her seat.

“I apologise,” Desecrator said to Ilton, “Many of us have done terrible things to each other, hatreds ingrained over generations… we all have much to adjust to. We will all have to accept things we don’t agree with.”

Expectant stares from the other beings at the table – Larone included – made it all too clear to Ilton what Desecrator meant. The strategy was already decided. This meeting was for his information only, not his input. 

“I understand,” he sighed, seething at the sight of the smug smile forming on Lhuhamaka’s face.

* * *

Trina

“How does this water healing thing work anyway?” Trina asked quietly, “I’ve always wondered.”

After tying up the lone Mesmer with vines and dragging Trina out into the better light outside, Erdo and Lhiyla had been doing their best to tend to her wound. Neither of them were professional medics, but between them they’d managed to stabilise her. Erdo’s knowledge of medicinal plants and the ability to make them, combined with the natural healing abilities that many Ga-Toa seemed to possess, had allowed them to stop the bleeding and loosely stitch up the wound, though Trina was still far from fighting fit.

“I don’t know, to be honest,” Lhiyla said, shrugging. Her hands were extended over Trina’s abdomen, maintaining an orb of water that was flowing back and forth over the injury. “In theory any of us can channel Toa Power to heal someone. It’s the same process as channelling that energy into an object to create a Toa Stone. We Ga-Toa are just… naturally good at it, I guess? Something about the way energy and water flow in similar ways, maybe?”

“Well, I’m not complaining,” Trina mumbled.

Despite their efforts, it was a struggle for her to keep her eyes open. She wanted to rest. She’d wanted to rest for a long time now. The war was meant to be over. She wasn’t meant to be fighting anymore. She didn’t… didn’t want to…

“Hey!”

The sharp pain of a finger prodding at her wound startled Trina back into awareness.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” Lhiyla said sternly, “There’ll be a whole queue of grumpy Toa lining up to kill me as well.”

“They wouldn’t-”

“For you, they just might,” Erdo chuckled, then stopped. “Assuming they don’t kill us first.”

He pointed out towards the entrance of the canyon, where a fresh group of Vahki were massing. At their head stood a tall Toa clad in white and orange, with a broadsword in each hand and an Iden on his face.

Orane. 

[Nato G]

Chapter 13 – The Price Of Freedom

From the records of Turaga Rost.

I know the Matoran resent me, and the Toa perhaps even more so. They’re stuck in the past, still clinging to a world and way of life that has long since been lost to us all. They fail to see the necessity of my actions. They mistake compliance for endorsement.

I don’t like the way the Makuta’s Administration does things. I don’t enjoy seeing my people oppressed. I don’t derive any enjoyment from seeing others suffer. 

But I do what I must… whatever I have to.

Even if that means pitting Brother against Brother.

* * *

Trina

“You think Rost would leave his prison unguarded, especially when he wasn’t here to supervise it himself?” Orane sneered, striding across the canyon towards the three Toa.

The Vahki that had arrived with him remained waiting in the canyon mouth, while others were in the process of landing atop the canyon walls. Trina didn’t doubt for a moment that they’d open fire with stun blasts and Kanoka at the slightest hostile action towards Orane. He wouldn’t have been approaching them so confidently otherwise.

“I kind of hoped he had,” Trina admitted, wincing as Erdo and Lhiyla helped her upright. “We’re overdue for a lucky break.”

“Luck is just a word we use to give meaning to the things that have none, Trina. Just like Destiny. I see that now.”

“I’ve already heard one insane speech today, Orane. I’m not in the mood for another,” Trina said, “We all know where this is going. You’ll insist that your side is the right one, ask us to surrender, and when we refuse, you’ll attack.”

“That sounds about right,” Orane’s expression changed to a cruel, self-satisfied smile, “Except that I won’t be the one attacking you.”

Too late, Trina realised that it wasn’t merely his facial expression that had changed. It was his entire face… or rather, the mask upon it. He’d clearly connected with the Great Temple Suva at some point during the past week, for his Iden was suddenly replaced by a Kakama, and then he was gone. Trina felt a familiar rush of air wash over her as he blurred by, and then the canyon was filled with energy beams and Kanoka and she couldn’t worry about him anymore.

* * *

Icthilos

Slumped in the back corner of his cell, Icthilos wondered if his headache would ever go away. His ears were ringing, his vision blurred, and the pain that came with the merest movement made him fear his skull was going to split asunder.

He had no idea how long the pale Mesmer had tormented him. Time had lost all meaning as he’d been forced to endure his worst moments over and over and over again, the memories merging into a meaningless loop of misery.

She’d promised the pain would stop if he just told her what she wanted to know. But he couldn’t. He didn’t know it himself, and he was suspected she understood that. He was fairly certain she was simply trying to break his mind entirely, to bypass whatever defences Bihriis had established by tearing his mind apart and sifting through the pieces.

He was still getting flashes. It was so hard to tell what was now, what was then, what was real, and what was… “Savnu?”

“You all better be singing my praises for the rest of forever for this,” the Ta-Toa grinned, her superheated blade shearing easily through the locked door of his cell, “You especially, Chronicler,” she pointed over at the adjoining cell, where Crisda was confined.

“As soon as you get me out of here.”

“Obviously you’ll let me out first, though,” Keidal called out, from his own cell across from Icthilos’.

“Of course,” Savnu said, shoving open Icthilos’ cell.

“Savnu…” Icthilos tried to stand, but flopped to the floor halfway through the attempt, “…Mesmer… be careful.”

“Already dealt with,” she took a half-step into the cell, then groaned and rushed across to Keidal’s cell instead.

“Help him, please,” she urged, wrenching open the door when she was done melting the lock, “I need to get the rest of these cells open.”

“Any news of Ilton?” Keidal asked, stopping to grab his and Icthilos’ Kanohi and tools from a chest in the corridor before rushing to Icthilos’ side.

Keidal helped him to his feet, letting him grab onto the bars of the cell to hold himself up as Keidal fitted Icthilos’ mask back onto his face. The difference was immediate; Icthilos felt power and strength flood back into his body, his vision clearing and his hearing regaining clarity; even the ache in his head abating somewhat.

“Nothing, sorry,” Savnu said, moving on to Crisda’s cell. “But that’s actually a good thing. If he was dead that creep Talok would’ve made a broadcast about it. So hopefully-”

Whatever she was going to say next was drowned out by a billowing breeze and the sound of a heavy impact. When the dust cleared Icthilos saw Savnu sprawled on the floor, with Orane standing over her.

“There is no hope,” Orane snarled, “You saw to that.”

Savnu didn’t respond to his words, nor to the vicious kick Orane delivered to her ribs.

Keidal, however, did. Lances of lightning leapt at Orane, sparking wildly as they passed through the bars of the cell. It happened so quickly Icthilos wasn’t even sure if Orane even had a chance to try to avoid it, but it didn’t matter. Lightning was faster than a Kakama anyway.

Orane was flung to the floor as Keidal abandoned Icthilos and rushed out of the cell, uncoiling the pair of barbed whips that served as his tools. Before Orane could even rise, the whips were cracking across his back, sending jolts of electricity through his prone form.

“How could you do this?” Keidal snarled, striking Orane again and again, “Hurt her? Us? Your team!”

“You don’t… ungh… understand,” Orane groaned.

“No, I really don’t,” Keidal’s whips crackled against the floor as he ceased his strikes, “So tell me. Make it make sense. How could you betray us?”

“Savnu was the one who betrayed us. She destroyed something… something important…”

“What did she destroy? What’s that got to do with you siding with the Makuta?”

“I heard what he told Widrek. Pieces… I didn’t understand it… so he showed me. The truth. The truth of us. The truth of this world. The truth of how we can be saved… and then Savnu destroyed it.”

“Destroyed what?”

“A page… with information on it. I don’t- Icthilos knows. Ask him.”

Keidal looked to Icthilos, eyes wide with desperation, wordlessly imploring him for an explanation the Ko-Toa could never give.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” Icthilos replied, with the practiced ease of someone who’d spent a lifetime lying to people for their own good. “Sounds like he doesn’t, either.”

“Keidal?” Savnu murmured, leaning up slightly.

Orane whipped around, bringing his elbow down atop her head.

Keidal reacted instinctively, bringing his whips down for another blow, stopping himself at the last moment from electrifying them so as to not harm Savnu, which seemed to be exactly what Orane was counting on.

The Su-Toa threw up his other hand to intercept the whips, enveloping his forearm in plasma as the whips coiled around his limb. He pulled back and the weapons snapped apart in a spray of molten metal that wouldn’t do much to harm him or Savnu but sent Keidal stumbling back, screaming.

Seizing his moment, Orane surged to his feet and drew one of his swords, bringing it up to strike at Keidal, then cursing as a hasty ice blast from Icthilos enveloped his upraised arm. A brief burst of heat evaporated the ice, and Orane did the same to negate the follow-up blasts Icthilos tried to throw his way.

“On a good day we might be evenly matched,” Orane snapped, unleashing a wave of withering heat towards Icthilos that sent the weakened Ko-Toa sprawling, “But it’s not a good day for you, is it?”

“I was going to say the same of you,” Keidal snapped, striking Orane with a lightning blast that flung him several bio down the corridor.

Smoking pockmarks marred the Vo-Toa’s armour and organics where the molten metal had struck him, and his ruined whips lay on the floor behind him, but he seemed unbothered by both. Rage was drowning out any regard he might have had for pain.

Orane hadn’t even begun picking himself up off the ground before more lightning was cascading down the corridor, though this time it splashed harmlessly against a veil of shimmering energy as Orane used the Suva to switch to a Kanohi Hau.

Icthilos could only watch. His Alaka and Keidal’s Mahiki were of little use in a close-quarters fight of this nature, whereas Orane could draw on whatever Kanohi were in the Suva. Depending on how many of the masks that had been stored in the Archives had been returned to the Suva, Orane could have a wide range of options within reach.

The second Keidal ceased his lightning blasts Orane switched masks again, this time to a Kanohi Crast. An invisible force pummelled Keidal, slamming him against the ceiling, and before he’d even hit the ground Orane had switched back to the Kakama, and was sprinting towards him.

Instead of being able to finish off his fallen Brother, however, Orane ended up skidding right past him, sprawling on a slippery sheen of ice that Icthilos summoned over the floor. The Su-Toa howled in pain as the smooth ice swiftly gave way to raw rock that scraped abrasively at the flesh of his arms and face. Keidal – recovering quickly from his introduction to the ceiling – ran after him, the pair disappearing from sight further down the corridor.

The sounds of their continued battle reverberated through the prison as Icthilos wearily stumbled out of the cell and kneeled next to Savnu, trying to shake her awake.

“Savnu? Come on, wake up!”

When she didn’t respond to words and gentle nudging he took things up a notch, making his hands as cold as possible before placing them on the back of her head where Orane had struck her. 

The sudden cold to her bruised skull had the intended reaction of startling her back into consciousness, though it was accompanied by the very unintended reaction of her swinging her arm out wildly and backhanding him in the face.

“Icthilos?” She groaned, rolling over and sitting up.

“You’re welcome,” he grumbled, probing at his now-aching jaw.

“The other prisoners…” Savnu got fully to her feet, rubbing the back of her head.

“Get to it.”

“What about Keidal?”

As if summoned by the mention of his name, Keidal came tumbling back into view, clinging to Orane’s back as the Su-Toa tried to throw him off. Both Toa were channelling their powers through their armour, electrocuting and burning each other, but despite the obvious pain both were experiencing, neither one seemed willing to give in.

Icthilos snatched up his flail and swung it at Orane. With Orane facing towards him and Keidal holding onto the Su-Toa from behind, Icthilos thought there was no risk of harming his ally.

He realised too late what new mask Orane was wearing.

Orane threw himself forward and activated his Kualsi, causing the flail to strike Keidal in the face instead. Orane reappeared right in front of Icthilos, landing an uppercut to his chin that knocked him on his back.

“Defiance I can understand,” Orane snarled, planting his foot on Icthilos’ chest and pointing one of his swords at Savnu. “But you two destroyed the page. You stole our hope from us, our best chance to save everyone. Why?” His teeth were gritted in pain, and behind the Arthron he’d just switched to, one of his eyes was bloodshot and swollen half-shut. Wisps of smoke were rising from mechanical components that had been fried by Keidal’s electrocution, and his armour was stained with soot and blood.

“It wasn’t hope,” Icthilos coughed, “It was a death sentence for everyone in our universe.”

“This universe is already dead,” Orane said, “Makuta Vhel is keeping it on life support. You two destroyed our best chance to revive it.”

“Orane. I trust Icthilos. The same way I used to trust you,” Savnu said, “If he says whatever was on that page wasn’t our deliverance, then I believe him.”

“The days of blind faith are done!” Orane roared, “All that matters now is the truth. Facts. Reality. Not impulse decisions based on- Keidal, stay down! Icthilos is the only one we need alive.”

Icthilos leaned up as far as he could manage, spotting Keidal stumbling to his feet. His Kanohi was cracked and his face bleeding from where the flail had struck him, but from the look in his eyes, his rage at Orane was as strong as ever.

“Why do you only need him?” Savnu asked, in a transparent effort to distract her fallen Brother.

“He saw the page. Whatever was on it is still inside his head, somewhere, and we’ll do whatever it take to pry it out. But the rest of you…”

Keidal lunged.

Orane sighed.

The Arthron became a Calix and Orane sidestepped Keidal’s attack with effortless ease, sweeping his sword towards the Vo-Toa’s neck as he moved.

Orane’s foot was back on Icthilos’ chest before he even realised it had been removed.

Savnu just shrieked, a wordless sound of hate and pain.

Keidal flopped face-down on the floor, whatever final words he was trying to muster coming out only as a gurgling groan as lifeblood fountained from his torn throat. Within seconds, those sounds had stopped, and he was still.

Icthilos looked to Savnu. Her eyes were red. Tears stained her cheeks. And her Kakama had become a Kualsi.

She disappeared and Orane screamed. The foot on Icthilos’ chest moved away, and he looked up to see Savnu standing behind Orane, twisting her twin sai into his back. And then Orane’s Calix was replaced by a Kanohi that Icthilos recognised, but hadn’t expected to see: Maliss’ Mask Of Shadow Travel.

In the space of an eyeblink Orane had vanished from sight, falling through his own shadow as if it were a hole in the floor, leaving Savnu standing in an empty hallway with pain on her face and bloodied blades in hand.

[Nato G]

Chapter 14 – Investigation

From the notes of Chronicler Crisda.

I’ve heard plenty of stories about bodies disappearing, but I’d never seen it for myself before today. One second, Savnu was cradling her fallen Brother in her arms, and the next her hands were empty.

The phenomenon has long been debated in the medical and theological fields alike. Most Matoran have never seen it happen, only heard about it third or fourth-hand from a friend-of-a-friend. The more conspiratorially-minded believe the phenomenon is a falsehood, a story made up to hide deliberate disappearances. The spiritual claim that the fallen somehow become one with the Great Spirit, while the scientific argue that the nature of the vanishings is consistent with teleportation. Some assert that it’s the nature of a being’s injuries that determine whether they disappear or not, while others argue it’s the virtue of one’s character.

Even after witnessing it for myself, I’m no closer to making any sense of it.

It certainly didn’t seem to bring any comfort to Icthilos or Savnu. 

* * *

Sidra

For the second time in as many days, Sidra and Neryx’s afternoon was interrupted by an insistent knocking on their chamber door.

“What is it this time?” Neryx groaned, not budging from her sunny spot by the window.

“One day I’ll get to finish something I start reading,” Sidra scowled, setting aside her tablet and stalking towards the door.

Instead of finding a frantic messenger, the stern face waiting for Sidra beyond the door was that of Phidras. He was armed, daggers clutched in his clawed hands, and a Rhotuka launcher mounted on his shoulder, his terse expression making it all too clear that this wasn’t a social call.

“What’s wrong?” Neryx had gotten up now.

“Prison break in Po-Wahi.”

“Matoran?” Sidra asked, once again relieved to find that the crisis she was waiting for hadn’t come to pass yet, “Or Toa?”

“Toa. Seems to be the same group who escaped Ga-Metru this morning.”

“I knew that moron Rost couldn’t be relied on to keep his house in order,” Neryx grumbled, picking up her weapons and tossing Sidra’s over to her.

“They’ve hit two prisons in the same day,” Sidra pointed out, holstering her Rhotuka launcher and sheathing her blades, “Is there anywhere else we’re keeping prisoners that they might target?”

“Only the cells below the Coliseum, but they’d be fools to try,” Phidras said firmly, “The transports are being readied below. We’re going to try to intercept them before they leave Po-Metru.”

The trio set off down the corridor, which Sidra noted was strangely devoid of the crowds who’d been summoned last time there’d been a knock on her door.

“No mass deployment?” She asked.

“Quality over quantity,” Phidras said. “Greillash doesn’t want to leave the Coliseum undefended if it does turn out to be the Toa’s target.”

“We’re all he’s sending?” Neryx asked.

“No, you two were just last on my list.”

“Oh, I’m flattered.”

“You should be.”

“Should we expect the Toa Hagah to grace us with their presence?” Sidra interjected.

“Orane already tried and failed, though he claims to have killed one of the escapees. Maliss is on his way to the region, and Rost has retreated to his manor. The others are remaining where they are.”  

“What about Vahki?”

“All of the units we could spare in the region were already deployed. Last we heard from Orane before the healers carted him off was that the Vahki had the Toa pinned down in the canyon, but we shouldn’t count on them still being there by the time we arrive.”

“Good,” Neryx grinned, “It’s been a while since we got to go on a proper hunt.”

Sidra was also smiling, but for very different reasons. This was good. If the Administration was focused on Po-Metru, they wouldn’t be looking to the South… 

* * *

Ilton

“How’d it go?” Was all the greeting Ilton got as he stepped off the boat.

Pira and Pahlil were waiting by the docks when the boat carrying Larone and Ilton came ashore once more, sans Desecrator and their aides. The League leaders had stayed behind on their ship, acknowledging that the Matoran would likely be uncomfortable with them in their presence when evening fell. The members of the League who weren’t already back on the ship were milling about the docks, preparing to board the boat.

“About as well as you’d expect,” he grumbled.

“Awful and evil?” Pahlil asked.

“Awful and evil,” Ilton nodded.

Larone, shuffling away on his own, seemed to overhear this part and let out a derisive laugh in response.

“Come on,” Ilton quickened his pace and started moving towards the stairs, the other two Toa hurrying after him. Once they were far enough ahead of Larone that they were sure he wouldn’t overhear, and confident that no League members were leering around on the stairs, the conversation resumed. “It’s worse than you think. Desecrator’s got all kinds of beings trapped in stasis. Dark Hunters, the Piraka…”

“Doesn’t sound like anyone we’ll miss,” Pahlil muttered.

“The ones who aren’t in stasis aren’t much better. There was-”

“You don’t need to convince me that most of those League folks are terrible people, but let me remind everyone that Larone’s plan was to just bomb the city indiscriminately,” Pira piped up, “You’re not saying their plan is worse than that, surely?”

“No, but it’s not much better,” Ilton said. “They’re planning a full-scale assault on the city, starting with Onu-Metru. They plan to seize the region and take any Matoran or Toa there as hostages.”

“Pragmatic, but I get-” Pira started to say, but Ilton waved her off.

“Stop playing Piraka’s advocate for them,” he growled, whatever composure he’d clung to during his meeting with the League evaporating now that he was out of their earshot, “They’re doing this with or without us. Don’t try to justify something we’re being forced to be part of.”

“Are you angrier that you weren’t given a choice, or that you didn’t have a better plan?” Pira countered, “I’m trying to find some middle ground because someone has to. You just got here, Vhalem and the other Xian Toa won’t come out of their cave, and Larone doesn’t even want any Toa around. Right now I’m the only person here who’s still on speaking terms with everyone involved, so yes, I’m trying to be as impartial as I can. Which is really weird for me and I’m kind of freaking out about it.”

“I respect that, I do,” Ilton said, “But you’re way out of your depth here, kid.”

“You don’t need to be condescending about it,” Pahlil cut in, “She has a point. You said it yourself, we don’t have much of a choice right now. The least we can do is try to avoid being openly oppositional.”

“I hate it every bit as much as you do,” Pira said, “But you took your best shot, and it still wasn’t enough to kill the Makuta, so we need Larone, and this League.”

“But they don’t need us, and I’m worried that once the Makuta is gone they’ll just step right up and take his place.”

“No, Desecrator said they want to share the city-”

“And you believed that thing?”

“Well… yes?” 

“Desecrator’s not the problem,” Pahlil said quietly, “It’s the other one.”

“Which one?” Pira asked.

“Muhlene,” Ilton said, “The big guy with the Shelek.”

“Desecrator’s number two,” Pira frowned, “What did he do?”

“It took me a while to remember, admittedly,” Pahlil said, “His species were rare and little-known long before now. I only know because, well…”

“…because they were right up there with us on the list of beings the Brotherhood Of Makuta wanted to wipe out. His species have the ability to absorb antidermis to make themselves more powerful.”

“Oh Karzahni,” Pira blanched, “All the Rahkshi… and Vhel…”

“It’s even worse than that,” Ilton said, “When I faced Vhel, he was using a staff. I didn’t get a great look at it, but it seemed to be powered by concentrated antidermis. A lot of it. I’ve seen Makuta in action before and the way Vhel took out the Moto-Hub… so much destruction, so quickly… I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“They said they’d been Iden-scouting the city for ages,” Pira said, “There’s no way they don’t know about that thing.”

“Exactly,” Pahlil nodded grimly, “And they didn’t tell us, which means they were counting on us not knowing what Muhlene is capable of. Or worse, none of them know what he’s capable of.”

“Okay… so on top of everything else we need to keep this Muhlene guy away from the Rahkshi and Makuta…” Pira grumbled, “…which is probably going to be hard to do, since he and Desecrator definitely seem like lead-from-the-front sort of guys.”

“No. We play along for now,” Ilton said firmly, “If they don’t know that we know, we have the advantage. We can Toa Seal Muhlene just as easily as we could Vhel.”

“Which is to say, not easily at all?” Pahlil asked.

Ilton didn’t reply. She wasn’t wrong.

No matter what they did, it wasn’t going to be easy.

* * *

Sidra

“You always take me to the nicest places,” Neryx snickered, kicking the sparking remnants of a broken Vahki.

The canyon was strewn with dozens of the mangled machines. Thirty or so of them were still standing, and had been in the midst of hacking away at a dense barrier of plantlife blocking the entrance to the prison when the Odinans had arrived.

Greillash and Phidras had now taken over, their Rhotuka making short work of the plants. The rest of the Mesmer group were fanned out across the canyon, searching for tracks or other signs of the Toa.

“Looks like the Ga-Toa was busy,” Sidra observed, prodding at the still-damp dirt that covered much of the canyon floor. “I see multiple sets of Toa footprints going towards the prison entrance, but none coming back the other way.”

“So they’re still inside?” Neryx made no attempt to conceal her excitement.

“Or they found another way out.”

“We’re through!” Came Phidras’ shout.

Smoke and steam billowed forth from the prison entrance as acid and fire ate away at the last of the vines, clearing the way for the Odinans to make their way inside. Greillash and Phidras took point, with a half-dozen others following closely behind, while Neryx and Sidra brought up the rear.

Everywhere Sidra looked, the walls were marred by the scorches of stun blasts, and the strange craters left by powerful weakness and reconstitution Kanoka. There was a trail of drag marks and blood on the floor, which strangely seemed to lead back towards the entrance instead of deeper into the prison. 

“We’ve found Aadra!” Came a shout from further ahead.

The procession came to a halt and gathered around as Phidras cut away the vines entangling a pale Odinan lying against the wall. Like the rest of the group present, Aadra was a trained warrior, though her talent for torture usually kept her away from the frontlines. Her vision power forced victims to relive their most traumatic memories, and her savagery in melee combat was unmatched.

Sidra could see that the tapered talons of one of Aadra’s hands were stained with blood. But her incapacitated state made it all too evident that even her oft-hyped skills hadn’t been enough to overcome multiple Toa.

Still, if she was in any way humiliated or humbled by her failure, she certainly didn’t let it show. The expression on her face once she was untied was calm and cold, not betraying even the slightest hint of emotion. 

“What happened?” Greillash asked, helping her to her feet and gently removing the clump of foliage gagging her mouth and mandibles. 

“Toa. Four of them,” Aadra’s voice was a cold rasp, “This way.”

“How come she gets a free pass when she screws up?” Neryx whispered to Sidra, “If that was us we’d be getting screamed at.”

“Greillash isn’t sweet on us,” Sidra replied, “Or scared of us.”

“That’s so messed up.”

“Yeah…” Sidra mumbled sheepishly, turning away so Neryx wouldn’t see her expression.

The group pushed on, deeper into the prison, soon coming across what was clearly the site of Orane’s failed attempt to prevent the escape. Scorch marks marred the walls and floor all around, with the earth and rock vitrified in many places. A massive bloodstain on the ground indicated the place where someone had almost certainly breathed their last, though the body had either disappeared or been dragged away.

Of course, the signs of battle were of little consequence compared to the other important detail of note. Every single cell was empty. The Toa captured from the Moto-Hub, Turaga hostages and Matoran dissidents… they were all gone. Their footprints led away down the corridor, towards the maze of service tunnels that connected to the Archives.

“Get those Vahki in here,” Greillash ordered, “We’ll split up into groups and sweep the tunnels.”

Neryx and Sidra exchanged a glance. Neither of them was fool enough to say it out loud, but given how much of a head start the escapees had, they were likely long gone. Searching the tunnels was going to be a massive waste of time.

But Greillash wasn’t one to give up, even when he should… and no one else here was brave or stupid enough to challenge him in a place where there were few witnesses and plenty of places to hide a body. 

[Nato G]

Chapter 15 – Retaliation

From the notes of Chronicler Crisda.

I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t hiding.

Hiding in my home while Rahkshi roamed the streets. Hiding my chronicles for fear of being persecuted for their contents. Hiding my feelings for fear of being punished for them. Hiding behind the hope that Toa would come and save us from the shadows.

And now, hiding in a tunnel with my fellow escapees while armed Mesmers and Vahki march past us.

* * *

Trina

Trina had never concentrated on maintaining a mask power for as long as she was doing it now.

With almost all of their group injured or exhausted in some way, trying to run away or holding their ground to keep fighting were both equally bad options. And with the usual providers of reckless schemes both in no state for strategy, it had fallen to Trina to come up with a plan.

The plan was a fairly simple one. After Erdo had blocked up the entry tunnel with dense branches to delay any pursuers, the most able-bodied members of the group had pushed on into the service tunnels, leaving several false trails before carefully doubling back. Once everyone was together, the group had hunkered down in a side tunnel, with Trina using her Mahiki to project an illusion of a standard section of wall over the entrance. With a clear trail to follow, whoever came looking for them would hopefully continue on into the tunnels and not pay too much attention to the surrounding scenery.

It was a gamble. If the illusion was noticed, if someone made a noise, if there was so much as a stray footprint betraying their position… but mercifully, it worked.

For more than a half-hour the group sat and waited. They heard the distant sounds of the Mesmers breaching the branches, discovering their incapacitated comrade, exploring the empty cells, summoning the remaining Vahki, gathering lightstone lamps and torches to light their way, and finally moving in to explore the service tunnels. Trina waited until she could no longer hear their footsteps and voices before releasing the illusion.

“The way’s clear,” she whispered, fatigue crashing over her like a wave as she finally relaxed. “Come on. We need to move.”

She looked back to the rest of the group as Lhiyla helped her to her feet. Savnu sat far from the rest of the group, eyes still brimming with tears as she stared silently at her bloodied hands. Icthilos looked dazed and distracted, tired eyes staring absently at nothing, as if his mind was somewhere far from his body. Neither one of them had spoken a word to her since she’d arrived to find them cradling Keidal’s corpse. And now his body was gone.

At least Trina had had the time to bury her fallen Sister. Even if that burial had been as ignominious as shoving the body into a crater on the beach and shovelling some sand on top, it had still been something. Savnu hadn’t even had that.

At Trina’s words, the rest of the group began to stir, with Erdo and some of the Turaga taking point as they made their way back out of the prison as quickly and quietly as possible. Only Savnu didn’t move, at least not until Icthilos seized her by the hand and pulled her upright, dragging her along until she found the focus to follow of her own accord.

The dejected pair soon fell into step beside Trina and Lhiyla, though none of them spoke a word.

There was nothing any of them needed to say. Trina knew how happy Icthilos was to see her, but that he felt too guilty to let it show. Trina knew neither one of them was okay, so there was no point in asking. And she knew neither one of them was going to talk about what they’d endured until they were ready.

There would be a time for such things, but now wasn’t it.

* * *

Sidra

“Karzahni!” Sidra swore, stumbling suddenly to a stop.

“Don’t just-” Neryx grumbled as she ran into the back of her, breaking off when she saw the expression on Sidra’s face, “-what is it?”

“Stop!” Sidra called out, “Everyone stop!”

“Why?” Greillash grumbled from the front of the column, raising a hand to halt the group nonetheless. “What’s wrong?”

Scuffing footsteps and muttered scowls rumbled through the corridor as the warriors and Vahki came to a stop. Greillash trained his troops to be single-minded and objective-focused. Any distraction from the task at hand was met with contempt.

But Sidra ignored their grumbles. Where most of those who’d gone out into the world had practiced only in combat, Sidra had trained with trackers, and learned tricks of the trade from some of the universe’s most notorious rogues. And she was now realising that she and her companions were on the receiving end of one such trick.

“This is a false trail,” she set down her lightstone lamp next to the Turaga footprint she was staring at, “Look at this. Right there.”

“It’s a footprint, you fool” Phidras said blankly, as he stooped down to look.

“No, it’s two footprints,” Sidra leaned down to point at the back edge of the track, “There’s the outline of the heel… but there’s another outline just behind it.”

“So they stumbled, lost their footing?” Greillash suggested.

“No, I don’t think so.” Neryx was inspecting another print, “Look at the toes on this one. It’s the same thing. Like a footprint on top of a footprint.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” Sidra snatched up her lamp and straightened to her feet, turning to Greillash, “They walked backwards in their own footprints.”

“To what end?” Phidras scoffed, “Even if we somehow passed them by, they have nowhere to-”

“The transports!” Greillash bellowed, “Back to the canyon, now!”

What had begun as a careful, cautious procession through the tunnels turned into a mad disorganised scramble back the way they’d come. Having been near the back of the original group, Sidra suddenly found herself in front, running to avoid being trampled by her companions.

Within minutes, the light of her shaking lamp illuminated the mouth of a side tunnel she was certain hadn’t been there before, and fresh footprints spilling out of it.

By the time the Odinans made it back outside, their transports were long gone.

* * *

Icthilos

Escape didn’t feel like freedom. It didn’t feel like a victory. If anything, it felt like another defeat. They were running away, broken and bloody, giving ground once again to the insurmountable shadow that still hung heavy over Metru Nui.

When he looked at Savnu, silent and shell-shocked, still staring at her bloodied hands, he felt defeat. When he heard Trina whimper at his side, every rattle of the transport jolting her wound, he felt defeat. Even the sight of his own reflection in a polished panel overhead, haggard and haunted and full of hate, brought that feeling of defeat crashing down upon him.

“So, uh… what’s the plan?” To no one’s surprise, it was Chronicler Crisda whose ever-inquisitive voice broke the silence, “Where do we go now?”

“I say we get out of the city,” it was the Ga-Toa Lhiyla who spoke up.

“Tuxar mentioned something a few times about Matoran rebels out on the Great Barrier,” Erdo added, “Seems like our best chance is to go to them.”

“No,” to Icthilos’ surprise, it was Trina who spoke up.

He gently took her hand in his own, looking at her with a mix of confusion and curiosity.

“No?” Lhiyla sputtered, “Where else can we go? Nowhere is safe.”

“Then we make somewhere safe. We take it,” Trina said firmly, “We take Po-Metru. Right now.”

“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you’re delirious from blood loss,” said Lhiyla, “Most of us are low on power. Some of us are injured, you included. All of us are tired. We’re in no state for a fight.”

“It won’t be much of a fight,” Trina turned to Crisda, “How many Vahki are left active in each region? With the way Vhel’s been hoarding the city’s power he can’t be keeping that many charged, right?”

“Around one hundred in each Metru.” 

“Well, given how that’s roughly how many Vahki we left wrecked back there, let’s assume Po-Metru had more than the other regions,” Trina replied, “There still can’t be that many left around here, and most of them are going to be guarding important sites or out searching for us.”

“What exactly are you suggesting?” Icthilos asked, speaking for the first time since their escape.

“We hit the place that probably has the most Vahki. Rost’s residence. We take out the Vahki, take him hostage if he’s there, then we have a base from which to secure the rest of the Metru.”

“You’re sure about this?” Icthilos asked.

Loathe though he was to admit it, Lhiyla might have actually had a point about Trina being delirious. At first glance, this plan was a level of reckless that put his and Savnu’s schemes to shame.

“I’ve been thinking about this since I spoke with Larone last week. He said Rost is an outsider among the Toa Hagah. They won’t come to his aid. They’ll want to see him fail.”

“You’re still hurt,” Lhiyla interjected. “Don’t be stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, it’s strategy,” Trina said, “If we wait days or weeks for us to all be fully recovered, they’ll have restocked their Vahki and shored up their defences. But they won’t be expecting us to strike now.”

“Because it’s insane,” Erdo said flatly.

“Exactly,” Icthilos grinned, the notion of a plan reinvigorating him, “Besides, Rost has something of mine, and I want it back.”

“What does he have?” Lhiyla snapped, “What could possibly be worth such a risk?”

Icthilos looked to Savnu. She was still silent, but she’d at least torn her gaze away from her hands to focus on the conversation at hand. Icthilos met her eyes as he spoke.

“A bag of Toa Stones.”

Her response was immediate, “I’m in. Let’s do it, right now.”

“No!” Lhiyla’s foot slammed against the floor of the transport, “I’m sorry, but no. I’m beyond grateful for you freeing us, Trina, but I didn’t sign up for a suicidal fight. None of these people did, either.”

“You’re right,” Trina said, calling to the Matoran piloting the vehicle, “Pull us over, and signal the other transport to stop.”

“We’ve got two transports…” Icthilos said, realising what Trina was about to propose.

“We can split up,” Trina nodded, “Anyone who doesn’t want to fight goes on one transport and tries to find somewhere safe. The rest of us will take the other transport straight to Rost’s front door.”

“You’re crazy for coming up with this,” Icthilos whispered, as the transport shuddered to a stop.

“You’re crazy for coming with me,” she replied.

“You’re all the team I have left. I’ve got your back.”

“Good,” she squeezed his hand, “Because I’m going to need all the help I can get for this one.”

[Nato G]

Chapter 16 – Bad Manors

From the records of Turaga Rost.

I’ve always known I would be a target. I knew it from the day I agreed to become regent of Metru Nui, the day I became the public face of the Administration. The day I agreed to become a scapegoat for the mindless masses, a target for their hate and rage, their blame and defiance.

But at the time, I never thought there was a risk of me becoming the target of an actual attack. There were no heroes or vigilantes left in the city. No one I thought brave or foolish enough to make an attempt on my life. But I took precautions nonetheless, and now-

-I should go back. Explain from the beginning. While there’s still time.

I came back from Ga-Metru empty-handed. No escaped prisoners, no failed rescuers, not even Tuxar in chains as I’d intended. And upon my return I learned that my own prisoners had escaped as well, freed by the very same Toa who’d escaped Ga-Metru. More than two thirds of Po-Metru’s Vahki were destroyed, the one Toa I’d convinced to stick around in my region was badly injured, and all of my leverage was gone.

It was a disaster, one wholly of my own making. And one that only got worse after a transport breached my compound, and its occupants began assaulting my manor.

I didn’t see who the attackers were. But I can guess.

One way or another, this may be my last entry.

* * *

Trina

Everything was going to plan, surprisingly enough.

In the end, Erdo and Lhiyla had stayed on the other transport with most of the former prisoners, leaving Trina, Icthilos, Savnu, a Su-Turaga named Selres, and a handful of determined Matoran to assault Rost’s residence.

An assault that was going quite well.

Rost resided in a gaudy manor on a clifftop overlooking the Sculpture Fields. It was surrounded by high stone walls covered in intricate carvings and topped with spools of ragged wire, accessible only by a single large gate out the front, and a chute that stretched high over the canyon, leading back towards the more populated areas of the Metru, though of course it was deactivated like the others in the city were. Beyond the gate, a wide set of steps led up through a statue-filled courtyard and overgrown gardens to the manor house itself. Vahki patrolled throughout the compound, and circled overhead.

On foot, it would have been a gruelling uphill battle across open ground to breach the defences and fight through the ranks of Vahki. But the attackers didn’t make their assault on foot.

With all the brutality of a battering ram, their transport smashed right through the gates and skittered up the steps, slamming into the wall of the manor house itself. The hope had been they’d break through right into the interior of the building, but the walls were thick and reinforced with metal, buckling but not breaking.

And so the battle began in earnest, with Savnu and Selres using their powers to melt a hole through the wall while Icthilos and Trina held off the Vahki, the Matoran hunkering down in the transport until the manor could be breached. Though they were enthusiastic and determined, they were also unarmed, being of little use in the fight against the ranged Vahki.

Icthilos had donned the Mahiki to scatter illusions across the compound, confusing the fire of the Vahki. What shots did come towards the transport were blocked by barriers of ice, leaving Trina free to pick off the robots. Rather than electrocuting them as she had with Lhiyla in the canyon, Trina was ripping the electrical energy from their bodies, shutting down the machines and rejuvenating her own elemental reserves in the process. Already, most of the Vahki that had been patrolling on the ground were disabled, and while a few of the air patrol still lingered overhead, most had already flown off in search of reinforcements.

“We’re through!” Came Savnu’s shout, followed by comical but enthusiastic battle cries as the Matoran charged brazenly into the breach.

By the time Trina made it inside, the Matoran had armed themselves with furniture and other makeshift weapons, brandishing them belligerently despite there apparently being no one around to use them on.

The interior of the home was probably someone’s idea of lavish and luxurious, but decorated in a way so macabre that Trina couldn’t imagine any Matoran furnishing it. The middle of the residence consisted of one large open space, a vaulted chamber that seemed to serve as some kind of display room. The skulls and bones of rahi were arrayed on shelves like trophies, with hides and skins hanging on the walls like tapestries, and furs left on the stone-tiled floor as carpets. Spears, blades, and launchers were proudly displayed next to some of the rahi parts, a different one for each kill.

Doors around the room led off into side chambers, while the far side of the trophy room was adorned with a single vault-like metal door.

“Maybe he’s not home?” Selres suggested, snatching a thin sword off one of the walls.

“Oh, I’m here,” the Turaga stepped out of one of the side doors, moving to stand in the middle of the chamber. His footsteps were slow and measured, his Rahkshi-carapace staff clanging against the stone floor as he moved, “And you shouldn’t be.”

“Neither should you,” Savnu snarled, leaping forward with blades in hand.

Savnu with her Kakama was fast, but the lightning that leapt from Rost’s staff was even faster. The Ta-Toa collapsed, convulsing, her momentum flinging her forward to land in a crumpled heap against the far wall. Whatever determination had possessed the Matoran to volunteer for this mission dissipated at the sight, and they all shrank back, some dropping their makeshift weapons.

“Your reign is over, Regent,” Trina tenderly stepped forward, levelling one of her tonfa at him, “I don’t want to beat up an old man, but-”

“You look even more infirm than I am,” Rost sneered, sparks arcing around his staff, “You don’t want to fight me, Trina. In your condition, you wouldn’t last long with Shadow Sickness.”

“You can’t fight all of us,” Icthilos growled, stepping forward with flail held ready, “Surrender, and tell us where the Toa Stones are.”

“You mean these?” Rost laughed, patting a pouch hanging at his hip, “You’re right, of course. I can’t fight you all. Not alone…”

A bolt of lightning danced from his staff, but instead of flicking towards the group it bent backwards, striking the metal door behind him. The jolt seemed to be sufficient to activate whatever mechanism it operated on, for it swiftly swung aside to allow a pair of oversized, six-legged Vahki to skitter out into the room.

“Karzahni,” Trina muttered, her Kanohi informing her exactly what kind of awful had entered the room. These were Kraahu, an elite Vahki variant designed for crowd control. They were capable of deploying stun gas, or splitting their bodies up into multiple independent components, each piece capable of delivering electric shocks on contact.

And that was exactly what they now did, splitting off into twelve different segments that skipped and skittered across the chamber, scattering in different directions. At the same time, the floor began to shift, what had looked at first glance to be tiles instead revealing themselves to be stone columns, which rose up or sunk down at random at Rost’s elemental command, creating obstacles and pitfalls.

“I never thought this day would come,” Rost’s voice issued from somewhere out of sight as Trina stumbled over an emerging pitfall and ducked the swing of a wayward Vahki leg, “But a hunter is always prepared, and prey is at its most dangerous in its den.”

* * *

Sidra

“Can this day get any more absurd?” though Neryx’s shouted words might have sounded like a complaint, they were spoken with a childish glee that Sidra knew well to be the opposite.

Absurd was certainly an apt descriptor for what they were currently doing.

Deprived of their transports, the Odinans had spent the last hour grumpily meandering through the canyons, trying to follow the tracks the vehicles had left behind. Instead of finding the transports, however, they’d been found by a group of airborne Vahki, who’d been en-route to the canyon to get reinforcements, unaware that most of the units stationed there had already been destroyed.

Though it was difficult to make any sense of what the garbled, sped-up voices of the Vahki were saying, the machines had no difficulty understanding what was said to them, and they’d been quick to agree to Greillash’s request to take his team to whatever trouble was unfolding.

What Sidra hadn’t expected was that the Odinans would end up riding the Vahki into battle.

She’d done a lot of insane, sometimes stupid things in her life, but flying hadn’t been one of them. The experience was equal parts exciting and terrifying. She’d never moved so fast, never been so high up without a window or balcony railing between her and a lethal fall.

She clung to the machine’s back with all of her strength, knuckles white, claws scraping the metal, teeth gritted against the panicked screams threatening to escape her, eyes stinging from the wind rushing in her face.

Neryx, meanwhile, was having the time of her life, eyes wide with excitement, laughing maniacally as the ground rushed by far below.

“You’re insane!” Sidra forced herself to shout, the words coming out in a strained squeal.

“You make that sound like new information!”

“Quiet!” Greillash bellowed, “Look!”

A solitary structure was coming into view, one Sidra recognised to be the manor house where Turaga Rost resided when he wasn’t at the Coliseum. A clear trail of destruction led up from its gate to the house itself, where one of the stolen transports was sprawled.

“No games, no hostages, no prisoners!” Greillash commanded, “This time we kill them all!”

[Nato G]

Chapter 17 – The Cost Of Victory

From the records of Turaga Rost.

My life changed forever when I became a Toa.

But I’ve never forgotten my roots.

* * *

Icthilos

The ease with which they’d dispatched the Vahki guards outside had lulled Icthilos into what he now realised had been a very misplaced sense of confidence. He’d expected Rost to cower and surrender once his defenders were defeated, but the Turaga was proving to be a far more formidable foe than any of the Toa had given him credit for.

Icthilos stumbled and scrambled over the shifting stone pillars, trying to clamber across the room to where the Turaga still stood. He’d left several of the disjointed Vahki parts frozen solid in his wake, but they didn’t remain that way for long, as other components swiftly moved in to shatter the ice.

Finally Icthilos vaulted the last obstacle and leapt at the Turaga, his flail flying towards him. Rost batted the weapon aside with his staff and stepped in to meet Icthilos as he landed, swinging a punch that caught him in the chin.

The blow was more surprising than painful; Rost was far faster and more agile than Icthilos had expected, a fact he further demonstrated by effortlessly ducking under the punch Icthilos swung in response.

The Turaga’s staff swept low, taking one of Icthilos’ legs out from beneath him, and then a lightning blast struck the Ko-Toa in the chest as he stumbled, throwing him back into the chaos of the shifting pillars and scrambling combatants.

“Do you know what I was before all this, Icthilos?” Rost roared, “Before Turaga, before Toa… back when I was just a Matoran?”

Another lightning bolt arced towards the Ko-Toa, weaving around and over the pillars despite Rost no longer having a clear line of sight on Icthilos’ position.

He rolled aside, the blast blackening the floor where he’d been sprawled a second earlier.

“I was a hunter. I provided for my people; that was my Duty! I gave them meat for food, fur for warmth, bones for their weapons and tools…”

Another lightning bolt careened across the room, manoeuvring around several combatants crossing in front of Icthilos to once again strike precisely at the Toa. This time Icthilos intercepted it with a blast of his own powers, sending steaming shards of ice scattering in all directions.

“…and then someone gave me a glowing rock and ruined my life! Suddenly I had a Code to follow, expectations to obey. Suddenly the Duty I’d dedicated my life to was wretched and reprehensible!”

Sidestepping a lashing Kraahu leg, Icthilos shoved his way through one of the side doors, finding himself in a small library. Books, scrolls, and tablets were scattered haphazardly across the floor-to-ceiling shelves against each wall, as well as atop the lounge and table in the room’s centre.

With Rost nowhere in sight, Icthilos called upon the power of the Mahiki he still wore, projecting illusions of himself both inside and outside the room in the hopes of confusing the Turaga’s targeting.

It made no difference.

A lightning bolt flickering through the air in the central chamber veered into a 90-degree turn, flashing through the door to strike Icthilos square in the chest, ignoring the illusions and other combatants. The table buckled and broke as he crashed down upon it, his armour smoking and muscles spasming. He scarcely had the strength to roll aside as a second bolt followed the first, striking the shattered table in a sizzling spray of splinters and cinders.

“You can’t hide from me, Icthilos,” one of the stone walls split apart like a sliding door, the bookshelf attached to it collapsing as its supports were suddenly ripped free. Rost stepped through, one arm raised and pointing at the Kanohi he wore, “I wear the Mask Of Tracking. When I punched you my Kanohi registered your energy signature. Now I always know where you are.”

Icthilos rose unsteadily to his feet.

“Your people’s hypocrisy doesn’t justify anything you’ve done here,” he groaned. “Life is about change, and transformation. You could’ve embraced what you became, but you chose not to.”

“No, I chose to stay true to who I was!” Rost roared, unleashing another lightning blast from his staff that struck Icthilos’ shoulder, spinning him into the bookshelf at his back, “I understood the Truth long before Vhel came along and started shoving it into people’s skulls. I realised way back then that all of these virtues and codes we cling to are meaningless. They’re just arbitrary rules we made up millennia ago so we could justify claiming the moral high ground.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Icthilos coughed, fumbling for his weapon only to find that it had fallen out of reach, “I’ve been in war. I’ve bent and broken the rules. But just because they’re wrong doesn’t mean what you’ve done is right.”

“Spare me the lecture,” Rost snarled, striding forward and aiming his staff directly at Icthilos’ head, “I’m a Turaga. You’re not. I stayed true to myself and still fulfilled my Destiny. You’ve conformed to what others have told you is right, and accomplished nothing.”

“He’s standing up for what’s right!” Savnu’s shout was emphasised by beam of burning brightness that burst across the room and struck Rost in the side, flinging him to the floor in a flailing, wailing heap. “You’re just standing in the way.”

“Thanks,” Icthilos forced himself to his feet, stepping over to snatch up his weapon.

“Go,” she gestured back to the battle still unfolding outside, “Help them. I’ve got Rost.”

As Savnu pounced on the fallen Turaga, Icthilos rushed back outside to find the situation in the main room had worsened. Though most of the Kraahu components had been disabled by Trina and the stones were no longer shifting now that Rost was distracted, a new problem had made itself apparent. A problem that came in the form of nearly a dozen Mesmers warriors and several dozen Vahki units, who were rushing into the manor through the very hole in the wall the Toa had made.

“There you are, Icthilos,” the pale female Mesmer who’d been torturing him in prison was standing at the head of the group, green eyes aglow, “We didn’t get to finish our session.”

“And you never will!” The cry came from Trina, who raised her blades and wrenched the electricity from the batteries of the newly-arrived Vahki, reshaping the energy into lightning that she sent lashing towards the Mesmers.

The Mesmers scattered, many of them ducking or dodging to avoid the lightning. Rhotuka spinners leapt from their launchers, targeting the Toa and Matoran. The pale Mesmer threw herself into a forward roll, sliding under the lightning blast then springing up in front of Trina.

Icthilos rushed to aid her, only to be intercepted by another female Mesmer, this one clad in sand green and metallic black, long blades affixed to her forearms. A spinner leapt from her launcher from near point-blank range, offering Icthilos no chance to evade it. The instant it struck the ice blast he’d been summoning dissipated, as the Rhotuka’s nullifying power took hold, forcing him to fight his more agile foe hand-to-hand.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Trina’s attack suddenly cease, as the pale Mesmer’s power trapped her in a memory trance. He saw the pale Mesmer raise her claws, intent on finishing the job she’d started when she’d stabbed Trina during the prison break. And then he saw a second Mesmer, this one clad in all green, rush in and run Trina through with a strange blade of swirling blue.

The blow seemed to snap Trina out of the trance, for she suddenly struck out with the full fury of her powers, electrocuting both Mesmers so severely that they crumpled, unconscious, to the floor.

The distracted seconds Icthilos had spent watching the encounter would have spelled the end of him in any ordinary fight, but his opponent seemed equally fixated on the bout, and far more dismayed by the outcome. She abandoned her attack on Icthilos and rushed to the green Mesmer’s side, cradling her in her arms and dragging her away from the fight.

“Are you okay?” Icthilos rushed to Trina’s side as she rained more thunderous fury on the remaining Mesmers.

“I… yeah…” her hand rose to her chestplate, probing at the spot where the blade had struck her, “…it passed right through me.”

“Don’t scare me like that again,” Icthilos sent his flail whipping towards a black-and-purple Mesmer, striking him in the head as he loosed a Rhotuka.

Freed from its owner’s mental guidance, the spinner flew wildly, soaring over the heads of the two Toa and striking the ceiling in a cloud of gaseous acid.

“Where’s Savnu?” Trina asked, launching a lightning blast at another Mesmer who was preoccupied fending off furious attacks from several Matoran, only to frown as the electricity dissipated harmlessly against his crimson armour.

“Dealing with Rost.”

As if summoned by the mention of her name, Savnu came flying through the open doorway to sprawl on the floor, armour sparking. A singed and sneering Rost stumbled into view after her, still holding his Rahkshi staff. He took one look at the battle then turned and ran towards the vault door the Kraahu had emerged from.

“Or not.”

“We can’t let him get away!” Trina urged, kneeling down to pull Savnu into cover as more Rhotuka spinners came flying in their direction, “Go! I’ll be right behind you.”

Cursing under his breath, Icthilos nodded and turned away from the battle, following Rost through the door. As the layout of the building had led him to suspect, the door led out into the disused chute that had once connected the building to the residential districts of Po-Metru.

The chute had clearly been inactive for some time, like all the others in the city. Only a few stagnant pools of liquid protodermis remained in the contours of the structure, and the electromagnetic sheath wasn’t active, but railings and mismatched stretches of scaffolding had been welded to the struts and supports, turning the entire structure into a precarious bridge across the canyon. Evidently Rost had intended for this to be his emergency escape route if the manor ever came under attack.

The panting Po-Turaga was already a few dozen bio out onto the bridge by the time Icthilos arrived, but stopped and turned as he emerged. Evidently he could still sense where Icthilos was.

“Never put yourself in a trap you can’t get out of,” the Turaga said, taking aim at him once more with his staff, “One last bit of wisdom for you.”

Knowing he had no room to dodge or manoeuvre, Icthilos instead ran right at the Turaga, taking a direct hit from the lightning blast that came to greet him. He closed his hands tightly around the railings as the bolt struck, ensuring that the electricity was conducted through his body, into the metal walkway, and straight into Rost himself.

The catwalk clanged and clattered as both men collapsed upon it. A harsh pinging sound rang out as the force of the heavy impacts caused something in the haphazard structure to spring loose and tumble down to the canyon floor far below.

“Metal conducts electricity,” Icthilos coughed, wincing as he pulled himself upright, “A little wisdom for you, old man.”

“Lesson learned,” a platform of stone formed under Rost’s feet as he stood up and raised the wretched staff once more.

The next blast struck Icthilos directly in the heartlight and he dropped like a stone. His breaths came in desperate gasps, his limbs refusing to respond. He could barely raise his head enough to see another devastating blast building around the hissing head of the staff. He could only watch on in horror as the beam of near-blinding brilliance blasted down towards him…

…only to arc away, flying past him and towards Trina’s outstretched arm. Her hands closed around the lightning and she pulled upon it as if it were a rope. With a warbling wail the Kraata was forcibly wrenched out of the staff, lacerating its serpentine form on the fangs of the Rahkshi faceplate it was being squeezed through. The Kraata was dragged through the air like a kite on a string, before suddenly dropping as the flow of electricity ceased. It landed on the railing, letting out a plaintive, pitiful wail as its pale, powerless form lost its purchase and plummeted into the abyss below. 

“Trina… no…” Icthilos cried out, unable to do more than watch as his Sister’s eyes rolled back and she slumped against the railing.

He clawed his way towards her, reaching up to grab her dangling hand and exhaling in relief as he still felt a pulse in her wrist. Her hand was incredibly cold to the touch, her fingertips corroded in a manner that reminded him of an infected Kanohi.

He heard something clang on the metal behind him, and looked back to see Rost staring at them both, the now-useless Rahkshi staff abandoned at his feet.

“Surrender,” Icthilos grabbed at the railing and pulled himself upright, his body protesting painfully at every movement. “You’re done.”

“He is,” came a new voice, one Icthilos knew all too well. “But not on your terms.”

Maliss strode past Icthilos to stand between him and Rost.

“Maliss. I didn’t expect to see you here,” Rost’s voice shook with uncertainty, “Thank you, I-”

“I’m not here for you. I came to see my siblings,” Maliss waved his hand, and the catwalk beneath Rost’s feet opened up like a hungry mouth, sending the Turaga plunging towards the canyon floor. He screamed for only a few seconds before the sound came to a very sudden, very certain, stop.

“He was… why?” Icthilos raged, whatever part of him that had hoped there was still something good left in his Brother dying the moment Rost did. “You didn’t have to do that!”

“Yes, I did,” Maliss sighed, “And now I also have to let the poor people know that a dangerous escaped terrorist killed their beloved Regent.”

“You’d kill your own Turaga just to deny us a victory?”

“We all do things that are difficult to understand. Our Brothers and Sisters chose to go to Xia and die for a few worthless Matoran. You chose to come here and start this fight. Trina chose to subject herself to a terrible death to spare you from one.”

“Don’t talk about her!”

Icthilos raised his flail, but by the time its swing had reached the spot where Maliss had been standing the Fe-Toa had disappeared, swallowed by his own shadow. He reappeared behind Icthilos, shoving him forward.

“Contrary to what you might believe, I still care about you, about her, about our team. You can’t save her. But I can.”

By the time Icthilos turned around, both of his siblings were gone. 

[Nato G]

Chapter 18 – Liberation

From the notes of Chronicler Crisda.

We Matoran aren’t heroes.

We’re not meant to be.

We’ve never been expected to be.

That’s the whole point of Toa, after all. They’re supposed to protect us, to keep us safe, to fight the battles that we can’t against the foes we couldn’t hope to overcome. But not all Matoran spend their days waiting around for others to save them.

The group in the transport with me were all heroes, in their own ways. Each of them had given a word of warning to another, or publicly spoken up against the Administration, protested the unjust punishment of another, or taken a stand in some other small way. Each of them had stood alone and been punished for it.

But now they stand together, and understand something none of them could have appreciated alone. We Matoran have a strength greater than that of even our Toa. Strength in numbers. Unity.

I don’t know which of us was the first to change their mind about leaving. I didn’t hear who spoke up first. I didn’t see who whispered words of quiet encouragement to the driver of our transport. But I know it happened. I know where we went, and what we did, despite the protests of the two Toa still with us.

And I know it was the right thing to do.

* * *

Icthilos

Icthilos was barely aware of his surroundings as he staggered back into the manor. Rost was dead, and the bag of Toa Stones was somewhere at the bottom of the canyon with him. Trina was gone, dying or worse. And even Icthilos’ own powers still refused to respond.

The scene that greeted him inside was a grim one. The Kraahu parts and Vahki all appeared to be defeated, but the remaining attackers were more than making up for it. Several Matoran lay slain on the floor, while others were gibbering in corners or fighting among themselves, having fallen prey to the vision powers of the Mesmer warriors.

The pale torturer and the two green Mesmers hadn’t re-joined the battle, but the rest of the group were still standing. Savnu was grappling the one with the strange armour who seemed to be immune to elemental powers, while Turaga Selres and the few remaining Matoran were struggling against the rest.

But then everything changed. Vines rose up to entangle the ankles of the attackers, just as a pressurised blast of water struck their ranks from behind. The Mesmers fell as one to the floor, flailing wildly with their weapons as Erdo, Lhiyla, and a dozen more Matoran and Turaga rushed into the room, brandishing whatever makeshift weapons they could find. Even the Chronicler Crisda was among them, swinging wildly with a dropped Vahki staff. In the chaos one Mesmer took a piece of splintered wood to the chest, and another stumbled and impaled himself on an ally’s blade, while a third broke her neck as she fell badly against one of the upraised columns.

And then the remainder broke ranks altogether, some trying to fight on, others scrambling to escape. Realising the plight of his forces, the one fighting Savnu shouted for them to fall back, loosing a Rhotuka from his back-mounted launcher that detonated in a blinding flash, providing distraction enough for his remaining troops to retreat.

The sound of a Vahki transport skittering away soon issued from outside, and as it receded into the distance realisation steadily dawned on the survivors that the battle was over.

“Icthilos?” Savnu moved to his side, “What happened? Where’s Rost? And Trina?”

“Maliss…” Icthilos slumped down against one of the columns, “…he killed Rost. Took Trina.”

“Icthilos, I’m-”

“Save your sorrys,” Icthilos took her hand, “The Toa Stones are down in the canyon, with Rost’s body. Get them to the Assembler’s Villages.”

“Are you sure? I gave them to you because I didn’t-”

“Transform any Matoran who are willing, as many as you can,” Icthilos said, firmly, “We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

He didn’t want to create more Toa. He didn’t want to send inexperienced children into battle. He didn’t want more innocent blood on his hands. But Keidal was dead. Trina was gone. All of the Toa who were left were tired and injured. Icthilos didn’t know if or when his own powers would return.

The Matoran needed to fight for themselves now.

The Toa who remained couldn’t carry them alone. 

* * *

Sidra

Flames flickered and smoke swirled as Sidra strode purposefully down the stricken street. Airship debris was scattered all around, along with the mangled remains of those who’d been caught up in the impact. Ash and blood mixed into a foul mud around her feet as she reached the epicentre of the devastation.

To her horror, the target she’d pursued still stood amidst the wrack and ruin he’d wrought. His skin sizzled as the flames flared around him, his brutal sword warped and melting. A rhotuka loosed from Sidra’s launcher, the sharpened disk of energy slicing cleanly through his Kanohi Faxon and the face behind it.

For a second afterwards he still stood, silently staring at her, even as the light left his eyes and his face fell apart.

 

Sidra awoke to the sound of shouting.

“…failed so utterly. You’re an embarrassment,” She recognised Talok’s voice, “What do you have to show for your efforts? A handful of fallen Matoran? One dead Toa that you can’t even claim credit for?”

“Orane failed as well,” came Greillash’s protest.

“Orane may have failed, but he accomplished more alone than you managed with ten of your best. Sorry, not ten… how many is it now?”

“We lost three. Two are still unconscious. Several others are injured.”

“But not a scratch on you, this time. Clearly your previous wound didn’t hamper your ability to run away.” 

Sidra cracked open her eyes. She was lying on a stretcher, on the cold metal floor of a Vahki transport. Aadra lay on another stretcher beside her, still unconscious. Through the open side hatch she could see the confines of the Coliseum. If the dwindling daylight was anything to go by, several hours had passed since the battle in Po-Metru.

She could see her surviving companions standing at attention outside, watching on in silence as Talok lectured Greillash. To her relief she could see Neryx among them.

“I didn’t run. We… strategically withdrew. We would’ve lost more if we’d stayed.”

“Sparing the lives of these soldiers is the only sensible decision you’ve made since I appointed you to your position,” Talok growled, “Tend to your wounded, then gather all of your forces. The Toa are transforming the Matoran of Po-Metru. You have your war.”

Sidra tried to sit up, to call out, but her limbs refused to respond and the only sound that escaped her was a hoarse gasp, so soft that no one even noticed.

A tidal wave of pain broke upon her as punishment for trying to move, and though she tried to cling to the driftwood of consciousness, she was swept up in the tide and dragged back into darkness once more.

* * *

Ilton

It felt good to be in front of a forge again.

It was all too easy for him to lose himself in the symphony of sizzling steel and susurrating steam, letting all thoughts of his troubles drift away as he focused solely on the task of transforming Kanoka into Kanohi.

Already, he’d finished converting several of the Toa disks into elemental Kanohi, which had been placed in the Xian Suva for safekeeping. Larone and Ihnes had tinkered with it for a few hours and managed to reverse whatever the Vortixx had done to disable it. All of the Toa and Turaga present had already connected to it, and the other spare Kanohi had already been placed inside as well. When battle was joined, they’d be well-prepared.

“You’ve been doing this for hours,” Pahlil appeared beside him, scratching absently at her bandaged hand. A League member with a Healing Rhotuka had tried their best at tending the injury, and though the damage had been improved, it was still going to take time for the organics to fully grow back. “You’re allowed to take a break, you know?”

“It’s not as exerting as it looks,” Ilton replied.

It wasn’t empty boasting. He didn’t hammer his masks into shape like a traditional forger, instead using his elemental powers to shape the molten metal as he pleased. The first mask he’d made today had been a Mask Of Fire, granting him the heat resistance of a Ta-Toa, and the means to gradually cool his completed Kanohi without risking them cracking like they might if they were quenched in water.

“Besides, it’s therapeutic,” he added, cooling down his latest creation – a Mask Of Air – and setting it aside with the others to be added to the Suva. “There’s a lot going on right now that I’d rather not dwell on. This is a… sufficient distraction.”

“I won’t drag down your mood by asking you how you’re doing, then.”

“You basically just did.”

“Oh, sorry,” Pahlil feigned embarrassment.

“Very subtle,” Ilton sighed, stepping away from the forge and deactivating the Kanohi. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

“Is there something that makes you think I’m not?” 

“I’m not going to pretend I know what you’re going through,” Pahlil said, “I’ve always been… apart, you know? I never had what you have. A team. People that you miss, who you worry about. But I can see how much being separated from them hurts you, because of how hard you’ve been trying to distract yourself from thinking about it.”

“I’m not-” he faltered, remembering that he’d literally just told her he was working the forge to distract himself, “Okay, yes. That’s how I cope. I find something and just focus on it. Keeping you guys safe this last week, getting us out of Metru Nui, negotiating on our behalf in this whole League mess, and now making masks… anything to avoid worrying about Savnu, Keidal… I guess Orane, too.”

“I know there’s nothing I can say or do now to make it feel better. But when we get to Metru Nui, if you want to go looking for them, I’ll go with you. Forget the League, forget the rebels… finding our fellow Toa is what matters most. Unity is a virtue for a reason.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Seriously, though, get some rest,” she said, turning away, “I have a feeling none of us are going to like what tomorrow brings.” 

“Probably not.”

[Nato G]

Chapter 19 – Daybreak

From the notes of Chronicler Crisda.

I’ve heard stories about what it’s like for new Toa. The physical disorientation of suddenly finding oneself in a new body, the psychological weight of new responsibility, the panic of having the power of the elements at one’s command.

I’ll admit I was curious to experience it for myself, but some things simply aren’t meant to be. I took one of the Toa Stones in my hands, torn between equally powerful hopes that something would and wouldn’t happen. Nothing did.

But for more than thirty other Matoran in Po-Metru, Destiny had a different design. 

* * *

Icthilos

“How’re they holding up?” Icthilos asked, spotting Savnu loitering next to a hut.

“About as well as can be expected,” Savnu said, shrugging, “How about you?”

“My powers came back at some point during the night,” he flung an icicle into the sand at his feet to emphasise the point, “Sleep was just one long nightmare, though.”

After the battle, they’d retreated from Rost’s manor and regrouped at a large Assembler’s Village on the western edge of the Sculpture Fields. Word had quickly spread throughout the region of Rost’s defeat and the destruction of most of the Metru’s Vahki, and Matoran had begun flocking to the village to join the fledgling rebellion. More than thirty Matoran had already been successfully transformed into Toa during the evening, and come morning there were more volunteers eagerly waiting for their turn to try handling a Toa Stone.

Most of it had been a blur for Icthilos. His mind had been elsewhere in the afternoon, and embroiled in nightmares throughout the evening. Still, he was rested and refreshed, his wounds tended to. He felt better than he had in days… but that was still a low bar.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Savnu said, falling into step beside him as they made their way towards the village square, where Erdo, Lhiyla, and some of the Turaga were doing their best to give the new Toa a crash course on using their masks and elemental powers.

“I know what you meant,” he replied gruffly, “She’s out there, somewhere, suffering… and there’s nothing I can do for her.”

He thought he’d be used to the helplessness by now, but it never got any easier. He’d lost three members of his team on Xia, along with countless other Toa and Matoran who’d been following his orders. He’d returned too late to save Maliss. The Toa and Turaga at the Moto-Hub… Keidal… now Trina… everyone who got close to him suffered for it.

“I can handle all this,” Savnu said, “If you need to go looking for Trina, no one’s going to stop you.”

“I thought about leaving last night. I almost did. But I don’t know where she is. Even if I did, I don’t know how to help her. But I can help all of you, here, now.”

“I know you think that’s your Duty, that you think it’s what she would’ve wanted, but-”

“Don’t tell me you know what I’m feeling!” He snapped, sand scuffing underfoot as he whirled towards her.

“I do, though,” she stood her ground, unblinking eyes meeting his own, “Keidal’s dead. Orane’s dead to me. Ilton… I don’t even know. You and me… right now, we’re both all that’s left of our teams.”

“I- I’m sorry. Keidal… he was a good man. He didn’t deserve-”

“-none of us deserved this,” she sighed, turning away, “These new Toa don’t deserve what we’re about to put them through. You didn’t deserve to have all of this responsibility dumped on you.”

“What do you actually want, Savnu? Are you trying to persuade me to run away?”

“Yes. Well-” she stopped for a moment, searching for the right words, “-everyone has their breaking point. After everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve carried, I’m worried you’ve reached yours. I want you to step back now so that you don’t snap in the middle of something important.”

“I’m not going to break now, I promise you.”

“How can you be sure?”

“How can you? You’ve lost just as much as me.”

“Because, well…” she trailed off, suddenly sheepish, “…I don’t know…”

“Yes, you do. You’re just afraid to say it.”

“Because we won,” Savnu said, conviction creeping into her voice as she met his gaze once more, “I lost my Brother, you your Sister… those Matoran and Mesmers died… and Rost…”

“…but it wasn’t for nothing,” Icthilos nodded, “Hundreds of Matoran are free right now because of us. New Toa are standing by our side. I’m not going to break, because despite what it cost us, today is the first time in weeks that I’ve felt hope.”

If they could defeat Rost, they could defeat the Hagah. If they could defeat one group of Mesmers, they could defeat another. If they could free one region, they could free others.

If he could save these Matoran, he could save Trina.

* * *

Pira

The mood among the rebels was very different this morning.

The cliffside encampment had always been a dour place, with scarcely a smile to be seen or laugh to be heard. But today was different. Dread and anticipation hung in the air like fog, tension plain to see on the face of every Toa and Matoran. Those who weren’t actively directing stares of loathing towards the League members were silently stewing in stress as they contemplated the thought of attacking Metru Nui.

For her part, Pira was stressing about something else entirely. Though she’d convinced Vhalem and the others to at least come out of the cave for the morning, they weren’t happy about it, giving ridiculously wide berths to any League members they crossed paths with to the point that Pira found herself strangely embarrassed by it. She understood perfectly why her companions hated the League, but they were demonstrating their disdain in the most childish of ways: exaggerated avoidance, angry stares, and muttered insults.

All through breakfast the Xian Toa sat by themselves, far from anyone else, while Ilton, Pahlil, and Behjen sat with Larone and Desecrator, conversing quietly. Pira longed to join them, to be a part of the conversation, but she was fairly sure her insistence was the only thing keeping her friends from slinking off back to their cave.

As Tivni and Ithnen exchanged snide remarks about a passing Steltian, Pira finally snapped, grabbing Vhalem by the arm and dragging him into an empty tent nearby.

“What?” He grumbled.

“You need to get your friends in line,” she hissed, “You can be as mad as you want, but could you at least try to be mature about it?”

“You of all people don’t get to lecture me on maturity.”

Pira winced. “I’m trying.”

“Sorry. I’m just- I don’t know how to deal with this,” Vhalem’s expression softened, “I don’t know how to pretend I’m okay with any of this.”

“Then don’t pretend,” Pira took his hand, “Just be better about being angry.”

“What does it matter? Hurting their feelings isn’t going to sabotage this insane alliance.”

“It’s not about them, it’s about all these Matoran. Until we showed up, the only role model they had was a morally bankrupt Turaga. We need to show them something better, especially if something happens that forces us to stand against Larone.”

“You’re right, okay? I’ll try, but-”

“You need to see this,” Ithnen suddenly poked in through the flaps of the tent, appearing frightened for the first time since Pira had met her, “It’s them.”

It didn’t take much work to figure out who she was referring to. Pira saw them as soon as she stepped back out of the ten. Three towering feminine figures had just summitted the cliffside staircase and entered the camp. Each had dark, scaly skin, over which they wore ornate armour of red, blue, or silver, respectively. They carried themselves with an air of imperious aloofness, their beady reptilian eyes regarding the Matoran with the same degree of indifference one would reserve for foliage or furniture.

Vortixx. And high-ranking ones at that, given they weren’t wearing the standard black armour that most members of their species did.

“Who are they?” Pira asked quietly.

“The leaders of the Vortixx,” Vhalem said, pointing to the red, blue, and silver Vortixx in turn. “Lhuhamaka, Tuvita, and Koudra. The Wives.” 

“The what?”

“Wives. They’re married,” Ithnen said. Seeing Pira’s blank expression, she continued, “It’s a kind of partnership that some species observe, like Vortixx and Steltians.”

“It’s kind of like a Toa team, except it’s normally just between two individuals, usually a male and a female,” Vhalem added, “And rather than Brother and Sister they call each other Husband and Wife, or King and Queen, or whatever other fancy titles they want.”

“But… what’s the point?” Pira asked, “We Toa form teams for Unity. I didn’t think that was a virtue the Vortixx observed.”

“They do, in their own ways,” Vhalem said, “Vortixx marriages are mostly about political power, uniting clans and families. Mostly. Sometimes there’s an emotional aspect to it.”

“Emotional?”

“They call it love,” Tivni piped up, “But it’s not like the love between Sisters and Brothers on a Toa team. It’s like… I don’t know how to describe it. Like a physical attraction. Wantin’ each other. I’ve seen Vortixx just sit around, holding hands. Or puttin’ their mouths together. Or touchin’ each other all over. It’s weird.”

While some of the examples of physical intimacy Tivni was describing did sound bizarre to Pira, the concept as a whole didn’t. It wasn’t so long ago that she’d been alone, craving kin and companionship. Now she couldn’t imagine her life without the comforting presence of a sibling at her side, without the bickering and banter, without being able to look into another’s eyes and connect over a common belief.

Was what she had with these Toa so different from what they were describing? Was it any different to what she felt for-

“Selfish psychopaths,” Ithnen spat.

“I don’t get it…” Pira said quietly, “…we feel love as well, don’t we?”

“Marriage is a small, selfish love,” Ithnen said, with the monotone quality of someone reciting something she’d been told many times but never truly taken to heart, “An obsessive affection for a single partner. We have a greater Unity and higher Duty, a love for all of our Brothers and Sisters, and for the Matoran under our care.”

The three Vortixx had now made their way through the camp and joined Larone and Ilton’s group, though everyone – even many of the other League members – shuffled aside to give them more space than was necessary. Only the Visorak and Steltians seemed unbothered by their arrival.

“Wait, backtracking for a sec, you said this marriage thing is usually between two parties, male and female. I count three, and they’re all female.”

“The Wives eschewed tradition in more ways than one,” Vhalem scowled, sitting back down at the table and gesturing for Pira to join him, “You were new to our shores when this all began. How much do you actually know about Vortixx society?”

“A lot of fancy technology and oppressing anyone smaller than them, in my experience.”

“Screwin’ each other over is so ingrained in Vortixx culture that it’s literally a rite of passage,” Tivni said, “When Vortixx come of age they pair up and climb The Mountain. Survivin’ the climb grants a Vortixx status and station, but Vortixx who come back alone are given greater praise and prestige.”

“It’s a show of independence and selfishness, the opposite of everything we stand for,” Ithnen’s tone was bitter, “Their whole species is trained from creation to be evil.”

“Society on Xia used to be fractured, full of in-fighting,” Vhalem continued, “Powerful families and businesses would constantly be trying to absorb or overthrow each other. Accidents and assassinations were pretty much daily occurrences. At one time Lhuhamaka, Tuvita, and Koudra were heads of some of the city’s most prominent corporations, each dominating a different industry. They fought for years, killed a lot of each other’s friends and family members, and then one day… something changed.”

“What?” Pira asked quietly.

“No one knows for sure. People like them didn’t normally get their hands dirty. Everything was distant and impersonal, using proxies and mercenaries. But the three of them agreed to a face-to-face meeting and afterwards, all hostilities ceased. Some Vortixx like to say all three fell in love at first sight. At the bare minimum they must have realised they could accomplish more working together than fighting each other. They were married within a month, and pretty much became the de-facto rulers of Xia after that. Together their resources were too great for anyone to challenge.”

“They’re the ones who enslaved us,” Tivni spat, “And now they get to waltz in here and play hero.”

“Pick a fight with them and you pick a fight with the whole League,” Pira said quietly, “That’s not a fight we can win.”

“Oh, I know,” Tivni replied, turning and starting to walk back towards the cave, “But didn’t you hear? We’re goin’ to war. Anythin’ can happen on the battlefield.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Vhalem said, cutting off Pira’s attempt to protest. “Stay here with Ithnen. I don’t think any of us should be alone right now.”

“I don’t think any of us should be here right now,” Pira muttered, moving to sit across from Ithnen, putting her back to the Vortixx trio to watch Vhalem and Tivni as they walked away.

“I appreciate that you’re trying to keep the peace. Please don’t think otherwise,” Ithnen said, “I’m certainly not on board with what Tivni was just insinuating, and I doubt Vhalem is either, but when we get to Metru Nui, choices are going to be made. You won’t be able to keep playing both sides.”

“I know,” a sly smile flitted across Pira’s features. “You’re all planning to leave, aren’t you?”

“First chance we get,” Ithnen said, returning the smile.

“I’ll be with you.”

[Nato G]

Chapter 20 – Decisions

From the ravings of The Recorder.

Another city lies before us.

It shines and shimmers just as Xia did.

And soon, its streets too shall run with red.

* * *

Ilton

Ilton was in the midst of breakfast with the League and rebellion leaders when the Ta-Turaga Ihnes came blundering out of his tent, rushing to Larone’s side.

“We need to launch the attack, right now!”

“What happened?” Larone set aside the piece of fruit he’d been absorbing energy from, staring intently at his lieutenant, “Are they coming for us?”

“Not for us,” Ihnes grinned.

“Is there news from our agent?” Desecrator asked, between noisy mouthfuls of their own meal.

“I didn’t see her, no,” Ihnes said, “I don’t know exactly what happened or how, but word is that Rost is dead. Some of the Toa still alive in the city have taken Po-Metru, and are turning more Matoran into Toa. Word is that the Administration are going to begin an assault by midday if the Toa don’t accept terms of surrender.”

“They won’t,” Ilton said, “Not if they’re turning more Matoran.”

He didn’t need to ask to know which Toa were involved. This situation had Savnu’s scorch marks all over it. And considering that Behjen had told him that the Toa Stones had been given to Icthilos a week ago, that almost certainly meant he was there as well.

“We’ll never have a more perfect moment,” Larone glanced at Desecrator, “They’ll throw everything they have at Po-Metru.”

“Leaving us free to make landfall in Onu-Metru,” Desecrator nodded, looking to Ilton, “If all goes well in Onu-Metru we’ll be able to come to the rescue of your fellow Toa.”

“I’ll tell my people,” Ilton didn’t bother protesting. The thought of rushing in without a plan wasn’t exactly an enticing one, but Larone was right: the enemy were never going to be more distracted than they were right now.

* * *

Trina

Trina awoke in a darkened room. Machinery clanked and clattered in the distance, and an uncomfortable warmth filled the chamber, radiating through the metal of the walls and floor. A dense haze of searing steam hung in the air, reducing visible to barely two bio.

She hadn’t expected to wake up.

She wished she hadn’t.

The pain she’d felt in the excruciating seconds before passing out in Po-Metru had intensified tenfold, spreading through her body like poison. It was an intense, cold pain, like ice was flowing throw her veins. But unlike true cold, this pain didn’t give way to numbness. It lingered, lengthened, lit every nerve ending aflame.

She tried to stand, her limbs aching in protest. Every breath and twist of her torso brought a fresh bout of pain from the stab wound at her side. Her hands especially struggled to find purchase; she couldn’t bend most of her fingers, corroded and blackened as they were. She felt a pressure around her ankles and heard metal rattle as she moved. She was shackled to the wall. Any doubt about where she was and who had put her there dissipated in an instant.

“You’re awake,” Maliss leered out of the mist.

“Where am I?” Her voice came out in a breathless gasp, “Why am I chained up?” She could already surmise answers to both questions, but keeping Maliss talking had always been the best way to keep him distracted. 

“You’re in Ta-Metru, in my care.”

“This doesn’t feel very caring,” she retorted, shuffling her feet to rattle the chains that entangled them.

“A necessary precaution. I’m sure you recall that our last one-on-one conversation didn’t end well for me.”

“This one won’t either.”

Trina struck out with her powers, and regretted it immediately. The satisfaction that came from the sight of Maliss tumbling backwards into the mist did nothing to balance out the absolute agony she felt as she unleashed the lightning.

Normally her elemental energies flowed freely, an effortless extension of her will, but now it felt like she was physically ripping out a part of herself and casting it away. The cold coursing through her rushed to fill the void the lightning left behind, seeping ever deeper into her soul.

She must’ve blacked out for a moment from the pain, for when she next opened her eyes Maliss was standing before her again, singed and smoking and smug.

“Do you understand what Shadow Sickness is yet, Sister?” He reached out to take one of her hands, holding it up to his eye level to inspect the damage. The corrosion was somehow even worse now, winding around her wrist and forearm like veins of rust.

He released the hand, and it fell limply to Trina’s side.

“All of us have a balance of light and dark within us. Normally when the Makuta wish to tip that balance and enslave someone, they use one of these,” he held up a glass jar, inside which sat a leering, limbless creature, luminescent blue in colour, “A Shadow Leech. They drain all of the light from a victim, allowing the natural shadow to lengthen.”

Through the misty glass, Trina could feel the diminutive creature staring at her.

“But by taking the powers of that Rahkshi into yourself, you’ve tipped that balance. Your elemental powers are being replaced by Shadow even now, even as the light within you tries to repel it, and every time you use them that darkness will grow. If you’re lucky, that darkness will conquer your inner light and overtake you entirely. If not, the battle between the light and dark will destroy you. And I’m sorry to say, Sister, your body doesn’t look like it can take much more trauma.”

“It was worth it… to save Icthilos.”

“You didn’t save him,” Maliss scoffed, “You just prolonged his suffering. But with my help, you can end your own.”

“How?” The question surprised even Trina. Maliss had given himself completely to the enemy; any help he offered was surely a trap. But she could feel herself slipping away even now. The pain only seemed to intensify with each passing second.

She just wanted it to stop.

It didn’t matter how.

“Before I tell you, could you humour me by answering a personal question?”

“What question?”

“Have you ever killed, Trina? Have you ever taken a life?”

“No.”

She’d come close, more than once. She’d seen others cross that line. But she’d avoided ever having to make that terrible choice.

“Still clinging to the Code,” Maliss sneered.

“At least I stand for something,” she spat, “Now tell me. How do I make it stop?”

“With this,” Maliss placed the jar with the Shadow Leech inside into her hands, forcing her to hold it still while he unscrewed the lid with his one hand. “Let the leech do its work, and the pain stops.”

“This can’t be the only way.”

“It is.” Maliss tossed the lid aside and took back the jar. Inside, the creature was chittering eagerly, its miniscule mouthparts gnashing hungrily. “There’s no such thing as a Light Leech. And you’re already too far gone for any hope of normal healing. This is the only way to guarantee your survival. When all of the Light is gone, the Shadow will have nothing to fight against.”

“No… I’ll be…”

“Free. Alive.”

“Less… less than even you. You chose evil. I won’t even have that. You can’t make me do this.”

“I won’t,” a makeshift glove of thick metal formed around Maliss’ hand as he grasped the jar by its open top and flipped it upside down, letting the Shadow Leech tumble into his palm. He held the creature firmly and let the jar shatter on the floor. “You are free. And you’ll choose now.”

He pressed the leech into her palm, elementally wresting control of her mechanical components to force her to hold the creature. It didn’t attack immediately, still preoccupied with trying to chew through the metal to bite Maliss’ own hand.

“You can let it drain you, or you can crush the life from it with your bare hands. The choice is yours.”

And then he vanished into his shadow, leaving Trina to choose between succumbing to darkness or breaking the Toa Code.

[Nato G]

Chapter 21 – Ultimatum

From the journal of Turaga Marik.

The balance has shifted.

The Makuta is weakened. Turaga Rost is dead. Po-Metru is in the hands of our enemies. New Toa are rising. Everything I warned of has come to pass.

I don’t understand it. Why was I alone punished for transgressing? How can these Toa continue to defy the will of Destiny? Why do Matoran still flock to the fools who’ve brought war to their peaceful city? 

The Makuta has said he’ll make it right.

I hope he speaks true.  

* * *

Vhalem

Yesterday, the idea of an assault on Metru Nui had been a dangerous dream, something to only be discussed and debated.

Today it was real. A fact. Not something that might happen, but something that was happening, unfolding in this very moment.

The only benefit to come from the sudden rush of preparations was that Tivni had become far easier to talk down from her threats to attack the Vortixx once they arrived in Metru Nui. With the reality of that battle now being imminent, her anger had swiftly transformed to anxious anticipation. The same was true of Vhalem’s own rage.

He loathed the Vortixx with all his heart, and nothing was likely to change that. His hatred for them was more pure, more personal, than what he felt for the Makuta that occupied Metru Nui, but he still knew the latter was… perhaps not the greater evil, but certainly the most powerful.

And to their credit, the League seemed all too ready to face that evil. On the waters below their fleet were rearranging themselves, with arms and armour being stripped from the smaller ships to better outfit the largest vessels. Larone’s airships were being similarly readied, furnished with Cordak cannons and Kanoka launchers.  

“Hey. You ready for this?” Pira appeared at his side as he finished helping load a launcher onto one of the airships.

“I haven’t been ready for anything that’s happened to me for months now,” he replied, sighing, “This is no different.”

“It will be,” Pira said, “Because once this fight is over, it’s over.”

“I hope you’re right.”

He wanted it to be over. He wanted to be free. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that their woes were far from finished. Even if the Makuta was defeated, there was still a corrupt Administration to dismantle, and a League of new beings to somehow integrate into the city’s society.

Anything even remotely resembling normal still seemed a long way off.

* * *

Icthilos

“-we mourn the loss of our beloved Regent, but we cannot allow this tragedy to break us!” The voice of Administrator Talok echoed across the Sculpture Fields, issuing from the speakers and telescreens arrayed around Po-Metru.

“I’m getting real sick of hearing this guy,” Savnu muttered, slouching against the newly-made wall surrounding the village.

She and Icthilos had spent the last few hours preparing the village for the inevitable retaliation from the Administration. Under the careful guidance of the Turaga, the new Po and Onu-Toa had managed to form a sturdy wall around the village, and further defensive barricades ahead of its entrance, facing towards the chute station on the opposite end of the Sculpture Fields, which was almost certainly where an attack would come from.

Lhiyla and Erdo had each taken a team of Matoran sculptors-turned-demolition-workers deeper into the Metru to help ensure it, by sabotaging other areas of the chute network to prevent them from being used. The enemy still had other avenues to attack from – the Archives tunnels, via airship, overland on Vahki transports, or even by boat using the canals – but Icthilos didn’t anticipate that the coming attack would be especially strategic. This time, he suspected, Makuta Vhel would throw everything he had at them in an overwhelming show of force.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Icthilos replied, “It’s when he stops talking that we need to worry.”

Talok’s broadcasts had been happening on-and-off since dawn, recycling the same handful of false facts – that the Toa had attempted to assassinate Tuxar, that they’d succeeded in assassinating Turaga Rost, that they’d taken the Matoran of Po-Metru hostage, and were planning more terrorist activities in other Metrus. If his broadcasts were anything to go by, Matoran in other Metrus were being confined to their workplaces, with all reserve Vahki being activated to keep watch over them.

For what was about to happen, there would no witnesses, and no interference.

“I’m already worried,” Savnu answered, “About Trina. About Ilton. About us.”

“I know the odds are against us, but if we scatter and run we’ll be picked off, especially these new Toa. We have to make a stand, and hope someone comes to our aid.”

“Ilton and the missing Toa? Larone and his rebels? I don’t think there’s anyone left who’ll be able to make enough of a difference.”

“Then why are you still standing here?”

“Because I’d rather die facing my enemy.”

“You’ll get your chance,” a flicker of movement through one of the arrow-slits in the wall caught his eye, “Sooner than you might think.”

He broke suddenly into a run, shoving past Toa and Matoran alike as he ran towards the gate, “Get everyone back! Inside the walls, now!”

“We see it,” the Su-Turaga Selres was standing atop the wall over the gate, gesturing to the new Toa patrolling outside, “It’s just one Vahki.”

“That’s no Vahki,” Icthilos’ expression was more than enough to communicate what he meant.   

“Brothers! Back, now!”

As the two Toa ran in, two more Toa stepped out.

Icthilos didn’t question Savnu’s decision to stand at his side, stupid and borderline-suicidal though it was. The last two times he’d faced this monster, he’d been alone. It felt good having someone next to him this time.

“You’ve been busy,” the familiar voice of Makuta Vhel issued from the Vahki’s mouthparts as the mangled machine stopped before them, “You think a few Toa more or less will change anything?”

The Makuta’s machine body looked even more worse for wear than it had before. Oil and fluid was openly dripping from ruptured joints and hydraulics, the Makuta’s Healing and Magnetism failing to hold it fully together. Parts of extremities almost seemed to be melting, warping completely out of their intended shapes. The Makuta’s power was too much for the body to contain.

“The fact that you’re standing out here instead of razing the place like last time says yes,” it was Savnu who spoke first, “Afraid, are you?”

“Cautious. Conscious of my limitations,” the Makuta answered, “You’re ready for a fight, this area is more open, and your numbers are greater. I’m well aware that I could find myself trapped in a Toa Seal before I managed to destroy you all.”

“So what’s this, then?” Frost flickered across Icthilos’ fingers as he readied himself for what would likely be the last fight of his life, “A distraction? A challenge?”

“A chance. For you and yours to see tomorrow.”

“You’ve come to surrender?”

“I’ve come to accept yours,” Vhel replied, “You know your situation is hopeless. Any help that you’re counting on to come to your aid won’t be enough to turn the tide. We’ve long known the numbers and capabilities of Larone’s little rebellion, and at most only six other Toa remain unaccounted for besides those here in Po-Metru.”

Though the comment had likely been meant as a jab, Icthilos found comfort in the confirmation that other Toa still remained free elsewhere in the city. As slim a chance as it was, it meant that there very well could be help coming.

“You started this war. You think we’re going to give up now that we’ve finally gained ground?” Savnu snapped.

“What you’ve done here isn’t a victory, it’s an escalation,” the Makuta’s tone was condescending, “You’ve raised an army, and now I’m forced to reply in kind.”

“We’ve met your Mesmers,” Icthilos replied, “They’re nasty, but they’re no match for us.”

“I wasn’t talking about them,” Vhel’s vahki head shook from side to side, “I was talking about my Sons and Daughters, who dwell in the tunnels beneath our feet. I was talking about the irritating little Av-Matoran who I rounded up and fed to my Shadow Leeches months ago. I was talking about the multitudes of other Matoran who follow me willingly, or who my dutiful Odinans have bent to their will. You think the Toa under my command couldn’t also provide me with Toa Stones? I’m sure there are plenty of chosen ones among the Matoran who serve me, willingly or otherwise.”

Icthilos exchanged a glance with Savnu. The Rahkshi they’d taken into the consideration… but the rest were possibilities they hadn’t considered.

“If you fight, dozens of innocent beings on both sides will die. And so will you, in the end. But if you accept my terms, everyone gets to live.”

“What terms?”

“Rost’s role and region is yours. Run Po-Metru as you see fit. As long as the Matoran meet their work quotas you’ll face no retaliation or interference from me and mine.”

“Leaving the rest of the city to suffer under your iron fist?”

“You can’t save everyone,” Icthilos felt a pressure in his skull as the Makuta again probed his mind, “You know that. You’ve always known that. But here, now, you can save everyone in Po-Metru. And you won’t even need to fight for them.”

“That’s-”

“-all you know,” the Makuta finished, “I’m sorry for that, truly. This isn’t how the universe was meant to be, and my Brotherhood are largely to blame for that. But I will sacrifice whatever I must to ensure this universe’s Destiny is fulfilled.”

The pain in Icthilos’ head receded as the Makuta’s psionic probe withdrew, stymied by the mental block still concealing the memories the Makuta sought.  

“We’ve come too far to stop now,” Savnu said, “Our Sisters and Brothers didn’t die fighting to save Matoran from slavery in one city just to subject them to it in another.”

“Then make your peace with the Great Spirit,” the Makuta replied, “You’ll be seeing him soon.”

He teleported away before either Toa could offer a retort.

“You don’t think… those things he said…?” Savnu glanced at Icthilos.

“Assume the worst. We need to be ready for anything.”

[Nato G]

Chapter 22 – Hidden Truths

From the ravings of the Recorder.

Secrets are the lifeblood of this universe.

Most denizens don’t realise this. But they don’t know what I know. I’ve been privy to more secrets than I could ever count, forgotten more than most beings will ever know.

So much has been hidden from so many. The location of Artakha. The existence of the Order Of Mata Nui. The origin of life, and the true nature of our universe and the Great Beings who made it.

But now the whole universe is dark. There is no place left for deceit to dwell. The lies have nowhere to hide. When the war for Metru Nui is over, only truth will remain. 

* * *

Pira

It had only been a few minutes since the fleet had set out, but it felt like a lifetime for Pira. Gone were the quiet shores of Larone’s cramped little camp. Gone was the nervous uncertainty, replaced by a far more grim kind of trepidation.

Pira had spent the last week wanting desperately to return the city, and now it suddenly felt like she was returning too soon. She felt unprepared, like she’d wasted the time she had without even realising it. She was more estranged from Vhalem and his team than ever, further sidelined by Larone than when she’d first arrived at his camp, and she still hadn’t made any progress whatsoever in figuring out the Nuva Symbols.

And now here she was on the League flagship, sailing towards what was likely to be the bloodiest battle the city had endured since the Matoran Civil War.

All of the Toa had been assigned to the vanguard ship, along with Larone and most of the League leaders. Desecrator believed in leading from the front, and they’d been quite insistent about everyone else doing the same. At least one representative of each League race was milling about the main deck, and though introductions had been made when they’d first boarded Pira had already lost track of who and what most of them were. There was Gharkelos of the Steltians, Narkhek of the Skakdi, Karturuhk of the Visorak, and a slew of others whose races she didn’t know: Muhlene, Urkungon, Sahnor, Tustesh, Ohrik… the rest had jumbled together into syllable soup she couldn’t decipher.

But most perplexing of the bunch by far was the Rahkshi of Magnetism standing alone by the railing near the prow of the ship, away from everyone else. Pira had been moving around for a while, but every time she glanced the Rahkshi’s way it was in the exact same spot, still as a statue.

“We all used to stare,” the lithe figure of the being Pira now knew to be called Lariska dropped suddenly from the rigging to land at the Toa’s side, “She doesn’t like it.”

“She?” Pira was too startled by both Lariska’s sudden appearance and the intriguing detail she’d offered to capitalise on the opportunity to attempt another ‘dropping in’ joke. “It – sorry, she – has a gender?” 

“She chose it. Along with her name.”

“A name?”

“Gorast. She named herself after her maker.”

“So… she’s one of those intelligent Rahkshi?” Pira asked, “The ones that can talk?”

“A Shadow Kraata. I hear you’ve had a run-in with one before,” Lariska’s mouth formed an unsettling smile as she stepped uncomfortably close, “In fact, Larone’s told us quite a bit about you.”

“Why the sudden curiosity?” Pira’s hand inched instinctively towards the staff on her back, “You didn’t seem as interested in me yesterday.”

“At a glance, I didn’t realise you were the one he was talking about,” Lariska’s movement was so swift that Pira never saw it. Her position and expression never changed, but suddenly there was a dagger in her hand, its tip pressed into Pira’s armpit. “Such a small, unassuming thing… but with such secrets.”

Lariska’s other hand shifted to the pack on Pira’s back. “I’ve asked around. Apparently, no one’s ever seen you take this thing off. Makes me wonder what’s inside.”

“Back off,” Pira breathed, the touch of the cold steel against her side practically paralysing her. Their bodies were blocking anyone else from noticing the weapon; Lariska could run her through and be gone before anyone even knew she was in trouble, “We’re on the same team, remember?”

“Are we?” Lariska cocked her head to the side, “The way I’ve heard it, you fell into Rahkshi-filled tunnels, and not only did one of the Rahkshi lead you safely to the surface, but you walked out of there with your friend and a pile of valuable Kanoka in tow. You sound like an enemy plant to me.”

She undid the bag’s clasp and started to lift up the flap.

“It’s not what you think,” Pira said. “Please-”

Lariska didn’t say a word as she looked at the Nuva Symbols inside, though her expression betrayed both surprise and recognition.

“You’re right,” she closed the bag and stepped back, her dagger disappearing back into its sheath, “Not what I expected. If you worked for the Makuta you would’ve given those to his Hagah. But you haven’t told Larone about it, or I would know about it.”

“What are you going to do?” Pira stepped back, wisps of wind coiling like serpents around her hand, ready to fling Lariska overboard. 

“That was going to be my question for you,” Lariska countered, “All of that power in your back pocket and you’re hiding it from everyone.”

“They don’t work. I’ve been trying to figure them out for a week and haven’t been able to access their powers.” That wasn’t completely true, but it was close enough.

“But you’re afraid someone else could,” Lariska’s smile inverted into a menacing frown, “You need to try harder, child. If you can’t handle this power, someone else will take it from you.”

“You can’t-”

“Oh, I have no use for such things. And I won’t tell Larone, or Desecrator. I know your secret, so in the interest of earning a little trust, here’s one of mine: I don’t trust Desecrator any more than you trust Larone.”

“This League isn’t as united as it looks, is it?”

“Not even close, little hero,” there was a strangely sad look in the Huntress’ eyes as she said it, “We have a common enemy now, but if we win this battle, it won’t be the last.”

“And you’re warning me, why?”

“Because the Dark Hunters were on the losing side of a war against Toa once, and we learn from our mistakes. I think your people and mine would have much to gain from combining our power.”

“Combining power…” Pira sputtered. Could it really be that simple? “You’re- you might have a point. You’ve given me a lot of think about.”

She hurried away before the Dark Huntress could ask what she meant.

* * *

Sidra

“That was your first time, wasn’t it?” a comforting hand settled on Sidra’s shoulder as she stared down at the bloodied blade clutched in her own hands.

Her mentor’s mechanical hand was cold, but there was warmth and reassurance in her voice.

“It gets easier.”

It was a lie.

 

Sidra was back in her room, in her bed, blankets bundled around her.

“Hey!” Neryx all but pounced on her the second her eyes opened, crouching at her bedside and taking one of her hands, “Are you alright? Can you hear me? Can you see okay?”

“I hear you. Visions a little blurry, but… what happened?” Sidra groaned, trying to shuffle upwards into a sitting position, “The last thing I remember…” as she moved the blanket fell away, and she saw the raw, branching scars winding up her side, “…the Vo-Toa.”

“You and Aadra were hit. It was bad. Like, real bad,” Nerux stammered, “She was worse off than you. They don’t know when she’ll wake up… or if.”

“Guess I’ve built up a bit of a resistance to being electrocuted,” Sidra muttered, recalling the many occasions she’d accidentally zapped herself with her own weapons. “How long was I out?”

“A few hours,” Neryx said, helping prop a pillow up behind Sidra as she sat up, “We missed the mobilisation. Greillash ordered me to stay back with you.”

“Mobilisation?”

“The Toa took Po-Metru yesterday, started transforming more Matoran. Vhel’s throwing most of our top fighters into the attack. Just the reserves left behind.”

“But not you? I can’t imagine Greillash caring that much about my wellbeing.”

“He doesn’t. I think it was more about him not trusting me. I kind of… deserted, I guess?”

“You what?”

“When I saw you I just… dropped everything. Grabbed you, dragged you out. I think the only reason Greillash didn’t have me court-martialled for abandoning the battle is because he ordered a retreat and pulled Aadra out himself soon after.”

“Sounds like you’re no more guilty than he is.”

“It’s different for them, though. He and Aadra are… you know… together.”

“I do,” Sidra nodded, gently squeezing Neryx’s hand, “Aren’t we?”

It took the sudden look of surprise on Neryx’s face for Sidra to realise just how impactful those two simple words were.

The two of them had first met after Sidra had returned from her pilgrimage overseas. For decades, they’d fought and trained side-by-side. Their friendship had formed slowly and steadily, building up from a firm bedrock of trust and rapport to a bond as close as siblings… or spouses. What they had meant more to Sidra than Neryx knew. And she’d been too afraid of jeopardising that to admit what she’d realised many long years ago: Neryx was far more to her than just a friend.

Sidra had nearly died. She’d risked her life for a stupid favour that might never be reciprocated, if it had even been noticed. With what was coming, she knew this might be her only chance to tell Neryx how she truly felt. She couldn’t waste it.

“No…” Neryx pulled away, looking at the floor, “…we’re just… we’re friends.”

“That word means a lot more when we’re pretty much each other’s only friends,” Sidra countered, trying to sound confident despite how savagely Neryx’s reluctance stung.

“That just means we both have poor social skills.”

“You just said you dropped everything to save me. I would’ve done the same for you, without hesitation. I told you before that making the best life for both of us is the only thing I care about.”

“Why are you trying so hard to convince me?” Neryx snapped, glaring at her.

“Why are you trying so hard to… unconvince yourself?”

“Because I don’t know if what you’re feeling is real, or if I’m making you feel it!” Neryx’s suddenly looked away, realising she’d been holding eye contact, “It’s subconscious. Second nature. I make people feel what I want them to. When I was young I made my carers calm so they’d stop fighting, made others like me so I wouldn’t be lonely… made my crushes feel what I felt. When I realised what I’d done, when they realised what I’d done to them… it always ended badly.” 

Sidra sat in silence, conflicted by the admission. Neryx had always been so careful with her powers, barely even looking at her for the first few months they’d known each other. And even after she’d become more open she’d only ever used her powers to calm Sidra, soothe her anger or anxiety. At least, as far as she knew.

But she didn’t always notice it when Neryx was using her powers. How could she be sure Neryx hadn’t influenced her – even unknowingly – during their time together? Did it matter? Just knowing that Neryx had feelings for her…

“This is real,” she finally said, “I know how it feels when you mess with my emotions. I don’t notice it every time, but I do notice. I’ve felt this way for a long time. If you were making me feel something I don’t really feel, making me want something I didn’t really want… I’d have realised it. I would’ve had doubts, at least once. But I haven’t.”

“You mean that?” Neryx crouched by her bedside, taking her hand once more.

“I’ve doubted a lot of things in my life. But never you.”

[Nato G]

Chapter 23 – Discoveries

From the notes of Chronicler Crisda.

I’ve long fantasised about what I would do if I became a Toa. There isn’t a Matoran alive who hasn’t daydreamed about wielding that kind of power and prestige.

But now I’ve seen the struggles newly-transformed Toa must deal with, the foes they must face, and I understand the burden Toa bear.

What was once a dream to me I now know is a nightmare.

* * *

Ilton

“Hello, little one,” Ilton sat down beside the yellow-and-grey-clad Matoran sitting alone in the ship’s mess, “I’ve been trying to find you for a while now.”

Finding one specific Matoran in Larone’s camp with everything else that was going on had proven surprisingly difficult, especially since this Matoran had apparently been intent on not being found. But she was the only Matoran that Larone had brought aboard the League flagship; all the rest were up in the airships.

“Unless you’re here to give me a Toa Stone, I don’t want to talk to you,” the Av-Matoran huffed.

“Why would you want that?” Ilton asked gently.

“Why would I not?”

He did his best to hide his alarm. The attitude and answers were not at all what he’d been expecting. From what Vhalem and the others had told him, Chavara had been in hiding since Vhel’s occupation had begun. She’d avoided conflict for months… and now she was eager to embrace it?

“I’m sorry. I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m-”

“-Ilton. The last friendly Fe-Toa,” she cut him off, “Larone told me who you are. You of all people should understand why I want this power. Why I need it.”

“I understand why we need it. But the way this conversation is going, I’m not convinced you want it for the right reasons.”

“I’ve been in hiding all my life and didn’t even know it. The person I used to be… she was kidnapped and killed in the name of the ‘greater good’. And when I finally found out about my heritage, I also learned that my people had been invaded, enslaved, forced to flee and live in the caves and swamp like animals. Then when we all came here, it all happened again. My people were dragged away while I hid. But I’m not going to hide anymore. With the power of a Toa in my hands I can burn away the Makuta and Rahkshi and avenge my people.”

“Revenge is not the Toa way.”

“To Karzahni with your Code,” she snapped, “All it does is get the wrong people killed. If you all just destroyed your enemies when you had the chance-”

“-then we’d be no better than them,” Ilton said, shaking his head, “Is this what Larone has been telling you? That Toa should be free to kill without compunction? That one Toa of light can vanquish a Makuta?”

“The last Toa of Light did.”

“Makuta Teridax allowed himself to be defeated, as part of a larger plan that succeeded despite the best efforts of heroes far more powerful than the average Toa,” Ilton growled, “If Teridax wanted to, he could’ve destroyed the previous Toa of Light as easily as Makuta Vhel could destroy you.”

“No! Light vanquishes Shadow. That’s why Vhel rounded up my people.”

“Vhel was eliminating threats. A free population of Av-Matoran could’ve led to the creation of dozens of Av-Toa. But you alone… I’m sorry, but you don’t stand a chance. Even if there was time, even if there was someone who could train you, Light and Shadow are both equally vulnerable to each other, and Makuta have greater energy reserves than Toa. I know Makuta, and Vhel is stronger than any I’ve seen before. He’ll match everything you throw at him, then use one of his other powers to cut you down when you’re exhausted.”

“No… Larone said…”

“Larone is desperate for any advantage. Look around you. He made an alliance with a League of monsters who’ve spent centuries tormenting the Matoran. He told you whatever he could to convince you to fight for him.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Ilton rose to his feet, “There’s probably nothing I can say or do to change your mind at this point, so all I can do is refuse to make you a Toa Stone.”

“Coward!”

“Stay safe, little one,” Ilton sighed, shoulders slumping as he walked away. 

* * *

Sidra

“These look painful,” Neryx murmured, tracing a clawed fingertip over the fresh scars on Sidra’s abdomen.

“I’m very aware,” Sidra winced, “Please stop poking them.”

After their heart-to-heart, the two Mesmers had curled up together on the bunk, just holding each other. Sidra was far too sore and exhausted to even consider anything more intimate. At least, that was the excuse she gave. In truth, confessing her feelings for Neryx hadn’t been the liberating experience she’d expected it to be. Instead, all she felt was guilt for all the things she was still holding back.

“Sorry,” Neryx’s hand fell to her side, interlacing with Sidra’s own, “I mean it. Not just- I’m sorry for everything. If I’d been covering you instead of fighting that Ko-Toa-”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Sidra rolled over to look Neryx in the eyes, “I’ve never asked you protect me. Not like that. We both know the risks. This… us… it doesn’t change that. If something ever did happen to me – something worse than this, I mean – I don’t want you to blame yourself.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have- let’s just think about something else, yeah?”

“Alright. I… I guess now’s as good a time as any,” Neryx’s expression turned to one of dour reluctance as she let go of Sidra’s hand and clambered out of the bed, “When I was waiting for you to wake up, I didn’t really know what to do with myself. I kind of… tidied up… and maybe snooped around in your stuff.”

“What’s wrong?” Sidra felt a sinking feeling in her already-sore stomach.

“Why do you have this?” Neryx reached under the bed and pulled out a battered Kanohi Iden.

Unlike the Toa and Matoran, the Odinans didn’t require Kanohi to function, but they were still capable of wearing and using them. Kanohi were uncomfortable for them to wear due to the shape of their mouths and mandibles, and it was harder for them to use their vision powers while wearing a mask, so most Odinans didn’t bother with them. The few who did used masks that were relevant to their duties. A soldier of Sidra’s station certainly had no obvious need for an Iden.

“You know I don’t talk much about my time out in the domes with Greillash and the others,” Sidra said, propping a pillow behind her head as she sat up, “I did a lot of things I’m not proud of. Things that haunt me.”

“I remember the nightmares you used to have back home. I didn’t want to push you.”

“That mask is the reason the nightmares stopped. I took it from the Suva when we first occupied the city. Now my mind can wander while my body rests.”

It was the truth. It wasn’t the only truth, but it was one of them. The best lies weren’t lies at all.

“So you spend every night in ghost form just… watching people sleep? Watching me sleep?”

“I don’t need to be a disembodied spirit to watch you sleep. Anyway, I’m not a creep. I mostly go outside and watch the Rahkshi.”

“How have I never noticed you using this thing before?”

“Because you’re the laziest person I know,” Sidra laughed, “You’re snoring away before I head to bed, and you’re still asleep long after I wake up. I wasn’t exactly trying to keep it hidden from you, but I didn’t really want to make a big deal about it either.”

“Wait,” Neryx expression turned suddenly sorrowful, “So you don’t dream anymore, either?”

“Oh, no, I still dream. And today you made one of those dreams come true.” 

* * *

Pira

Combining our power…

Lariska’s words had been echoing in her head like a mantra since Pira had parted ways with the Dark Huntress. She’d found an empty cabin and shut herself inside so she could focus on the implications of the words without fear of interruption. After all the hours Pira had spent trying everything she could think of to get the Nuva Symbols to work, had Lariska just given her the answer? Had it quite literally been staring her in the face this entire time?

Her Mask Of Combination only worked on inorganic objects. That was what set it apart from the Mask Of Fusion, which only worked on living beings. That was what Pira had always believed, but now that she thought on it, the distinction between the two wasn’t as clear as she’d first thought.

Almost all living beings in the universe were at least partially inorganic. They had mechanical components, metallic internal structures, and integrated armour. Some scholars even went so far as to claim that organic protodermis wasn’t true flesh, but an artificial facsimile. Following that line of logic, what was the real difference between an object she was holding in her hands, and a mechanical part that was connected to her organic tissue? If she could use her Kanohi to combine one, why not the other? She’d already done it, to an extent, grafting new parts and patches onto her existing armour.

She shrugged off her backpack and removed the Air Nuva Symbol from within. The stone felt more active than it ever had, as if it were brimming with an anticipation that matched her own. Touching it was like pressing her palm to a pane of glass while a hurricane raged on the other side. The energy was so enormous, and the stone holding it felt so fragile, that she half-expected it to explode free at any moment.

It didn’t, of course, and she was instead left staring at the simple lines carved into the stone as doubts twisted within her. She didn’t know how the Nuva Symbols really worked. She didn’t know if her body could take this level of power. Would she survive this? Did she deserve to have it?

No was a very possible answer to both questions.

But she was the only one who could even try.

She seized the stone in both hands and hugged it tightly against her chest. The winds within roiled in rhythm with her heartbeat, swelled in sync with her breaths. It was like the power wanted to be part of her.

Steeling herself, she closed her eyes and activated her Kanohi.

The most painful case of pins and needles she’d ever experienced blossomed in her chest, searing her from within as if she’d just inhaled an entire swarm of fireflyers. She gasped, breathing in and in yet feeling no relief, as if a vacuum had formed in her throat. She sputtered, suddenly finding herself on the floor as her legs gave out. But she fought past the pain, focused solely on maintaining concentration on her mask power. Abandoning the fusion halfway through would almost certainly be even worse than actually completing it.

And then the pain was gone. It didn’t fade or abate, it simply ceased, as swiftly as it had started.

Her breaths steadied. Her frantic heartbeat slowed. She looked down at her hands and found them empty. There was nothing left to suggest the Nuva Symbol had ever existed.

But she could feel its power. It was a calm, cool sensation that cascaded across her skin, a comforting rush that washed over her like a gentle breeze. She felt more connected to her element than she ever had, even the air of the cramped cabin feeling aloof and alive.

She’d done it.

And not a moment too soon.

The sound of a horn reverberated from somewhere above her, on the ship’s deck. It was the signal that Metru Nui’s shoreline was in sight. It was the order for the battle to begin.

[Nato G]

Chapter 24 – The Battle Of The Sculpture Fields

From the notes of Chronicler Crisda.

It feels like a lifetime ago that I begged the Toa to let me journey with them to Xia, to chronicle their campaign to free our people. They told me a warzone was no place for a Matoran.

Today I came to realise just how right they were.

* * *

Icthilos

As Icthilos had expected, the enemy force arrived from the direction of the chute station.

That was the only expectation he had that was met.

The rest was far worse than he’d imagined.

The force that shuffled into view across the sea of sand and sculptures wasn’t composed of Vahki, or Rahkshi, or Mesmers. They were Matoran, hundreds of them, marching in mindless unison with empty gazes and blank expressions. They were a surreal sight, looking like sleepwalkers who’d dozed off in the middle of their shifts and wandered away from their workplaces. Hammers, firestaffs, wrenches, pickaxes, and other simple tools were clutched in their hands, dragging in the sand as they shambled forward. Worse than the psionically enslaved were the few who appeared awake and aware, their willing support for the Administration clear in their determined expressions and upraised weapons.

All of Icthilos’ plans for the battle evaporated the second the enemy force came into view.

The Toa and Matoran were scattered across the Sculpture Fields, sheltering around alcoves and behind barricades, prepared to spring an ambush on the advancing enemy from all sides. They were just waiting on Icthilos to signal the attack.

A signal he couldn’t give, now that he saw what they were up against.

He and Savnu were sheltered behind the statue of some long-dead scholar, the limited light and vast scale of the statue ensuring that its shadow was deep and dark. A battered firework was clutched in Savnu’s hand, waiting to be lit and launched at Icthilos’ order.

The two Toa exchanged a grim glance.

They both knew he wasn’t going to give that order now.

“What do we do?” Savnu asked softly.

Icthilos didn’t have an answer. They had plenty of Toa now, but those Toa had nowhere near enough training for Icthilos to be confident in their ability to non-lethally restrain or disable the enthralled Matoran.

“We have to fall back,” Icthilos sighed, “We can hold out behind the village walls until…” He searched for a way to continue the sentence and came up empty. There was no way to know if any help was coming, but it was a certainty that the enemy had far more forces than this.

“Nah,” Savnu said, shaking her head, “The enemy know that the first thing we always do is fortify our position, and these Matoran certainly aren’t going to breach the village walls.”

“They want us to fall back without putting up a fight, to bottle us all up in one place.”

“Or, it’s a distraction. To keep us all looking this way.”

“But distracting us from what? It’s open desert. There’s nowhere for them to come from that we wouldn’t-”

He broke off as a vast shadow suddenly passed by overhead. He looked up and saw nothing but clear skies, but he knew from the size of the shadow alone exactly what it was.

“-get back to the village! Grab anyone you can along the way! Go!”

Savnu knew better than to ask for an explanation. She disappeared in the blink of an eye, and in the same moment something else appeared in the air above the village. An airship, hidden from sight behind an illusion of empty air. Evidently Makuta Vhel shared Teridax’s famed ability to cast illusions over vast distances. By his own admission that morning, there was no way Vhel would be anywhere close to the battlefield with this many Toa around.

Vahki and Mesmers descended from the airship, dropping by flight and rope down into the village. They made straight for the gates, and the explosion of flame that greeted them heralded Savnu’s own arrival. On the opposite end of the battlefield, the Matoran had taken the airship’s arrival as a signal to break into a charge, and already some of the new Toa were panicking, striking out with their powers.

The enemy’s plan was all too clear now. The Mesmers were trying to secure the village gates and lock the Toa out, pinning them between their own walls and the horde of mind-controlled Matoran.

With battle now joined, Icthilos broke from cover and ran to meet the charging Matoran.

“Physical elements, on me! Block their path! Everyone else, to the village! Support Savnu!”

His expression was one of grim resolve. His eyes were forward, ignoring the torn expressions of the Toa he passed. He couldn’t hesitate, couldn’t falter, no matter how much he wanted to. To be forced to fight the very Matoran they were meant to protect was the worst nightmare of every Toa.

But the nightmare would become something far worse if they didn’t fight.

* * *

Ilton

There was no rousing rally or inspiring speech from Desecrator as battle was joined. They weren’t that kind of leader, and this wasn’t that kind of war.

The second the barest outlines of Onu-Metru were visible through the fog clinging to the sea, Desecrator gave the signal, a single sharp gesture to the Steltian Gharkelos. The tan-clad titan raised an ornate signal horn and blew into it, a haunting, mournful note that echoed over the waves like the wailing of some vengeful spirit.

And then the sound was drowned out by the far louder cacophony of crackling cannons and roaring rockets. The flash of firearms flitted through the fog as projectiles of every hue erupted forth from the sea vessels, the airships, and the occupants of both, peppering the buildings on the shores of Onu-Metru. Rubble rained onto the beach as structures that had stood for centuries were rent asunder in seconds.

In response to the League’s first opening salvo, a much smaller volley was unleashed in return, issuing from scattered weapon emplacements on rooftops, and the weapons of the Vahki that were rising from amidst the remaining buildings and flying towards the fleet.

For a moment, Ilton thought it strange that the Vahki were only attacking now. From what he’d heard about the battle that had occurred when the Toa had first arrived in the city, the Vahki had struck first. Perhaps the fog had obscured their view of the approaching fleet? Or maybe their orders had changed now that the Administration believed the Sea Gates to be sealed.

It didn’t matter.

Ilton joined Pahlil at the front of the ship, combining their fearsome powers over metal with those of the fleet’s handful of Fe and Fa Skakdi to shred the Vahki as they approached the fleet, sewing the seas with their scattered remnants.

There was no concentrated volley from the rest of the fleet. Boats and airships alike broke formation, following their orders to spread out and eliminate targets at their discretion. The larger weapons targeted the structures where fire was continuing to issue from, while small-arms and power blasts targeted the Vahki. The warriors on the decks stood in close formations, each group protected by at least one being wearing a Kanohi Hau.

The Kanohi shields didn’t extend to the structures of the ships themselves, however. Already one smaller vessel was taking on water, Weakness Disks chewing through its hull. Overhead, a badly Reconstituted airship was spiralling seawards, forcing Pahlil and Ilton to stop targeting the Vahki for a moment to help the ship land gently on the waters.

The Vahki didn’t capitalise on the brief reprieve. Already, their numbers were badly thinned, and those that remained were turning back towards the shore. Ilton cursed, striking down those still in range as swiftly as he could. They’d been hoping to neutralise the Vahki entirely before they made landfall. They were easy to pick off out in the open, but it would be harder to sense or strike them in the confines of the city streets.

As the last of the Vahki vanished into the smoke and dust, the fleet ceased fire.

“Onwards!” Desecrator roared, “Get us to the shore!”

* * *

Icthilos

Icthilos had seen some harrowing things in his time, but nothing compared to the scene unfolding before him.

Even the most lucky or adept of the new Toa were still chaotic and uncoordinated in the use of their powers. Their barriers of earth, rock, ice, and foliage were misshapen and uneven, interlocking and overlapping at random, leaving gaps and crevasses that the Matoran were forcing their way over or through, clambering and clawing at each other in a frenzied, ferocious advance. The first to make it over the top held picks and axes glistening with the ichor of their own comrades, a sight made all the more horrifying when the wounded Matoran climbed over next, ignorant of their injuries.

Already, small skirmishes were breaking out at several points along the wall, too far off for Icthilos to aid. His focus was on the section of wall before him, freezing the limbs of the Matoran trying to clamber over its top. But every time he trapped one Matoran, another climbed right over them, using their flailing fellows as handholds.

One Matoran in particular caught Icthilos’ attention. He was moving more purposefully than the others, more coordinated and careful. When he looked in Icthilos’ direction, the Toa could see this Matoran’s eyes were keen and focused. He was cognisant. Complicit.

An unexpected rage rose within the Toa, and he directed his next ice blast directly at the Matoran… only to see it pass harmlessly through him as if he wasn’t there. And then he heard the whirring of a buzzsaw behind him and realised who was responsible for both the illusion, and his unnatural rage.

He flung himself forward, but reacted too late to avoid Bihriis’ blade. The Skakdi buzzsaw raked a ragged gash across his back before striking his shoulder pauldron, tugging at him as its teeth got caught in the bulkier piece of armour. Bihriis’ foot collided with Icthilos’ side, flinging him free of the weapon to sprawl in the sand.

The mesmerised Matoran were spilling over the wall by the time he found his feet, but they gave him and Bihriis a wide berth.

“You did something to me,” the face behind Bihriis’ Faxon wore an expression of pained rage, “You made me do something to me.”

“Maybe you’ll think twice before you mess with someone else’s head.”

“Maybe others will think twice after they see what I do to yours.”

Icthilos raised his hand to unleash another ice blast, but Bihriis was already reading his mind, effortlessly sidestepping the blast and retaliating with an elemental attack of her own. A brutal blow of telekinesis flung Icthilos against the very wall he’d helped make, rock and ice splintering from the force of the impact.

“What did you do to me?” Bihriis snarled, striding towards him. “There’s something hidden… in my own head, and I can’t get through it!” A pressure in Icthilos’ skull accompanied her ways, a psionic battering ram hammering at his mind.

“I don’t remember,” he growled through gritted teeth, “Even Makuta Vhel and his torturer couldn’t get through whatever mental shield you put in place.”

“I made it. I can break it. Even if I have to break the rest of your mind in the process.”

[Nato G]

Chapter 25 – Silence

From the notes of Chronicler Crisda.

Toa are meant to be heroes. They have laws, lines they aren’t meant to cross.

I used to think the code was clear, the stipulations simple. But the more I observe, the more I realise that the rules the Toa follow are arbitrary and contradictory. Toa must be honourable… except when that honour is a hindrance. Killing is wrong… except when it’s necessary. Certain powers and tactics are immoral… except when they’re the only things that work.

Does the method matter if good triumphs in the end?

Is good still good if it fights the same way evil does?

* * *

Icthilos

The pain in Icthilos’ skull increased, far exceeding the worst headaches he’d ever endured. Between his torture at the hands of Vhel and the pale Mesmer, his stress over what had happened to Trina and the battle now, and his fatigue in general, his mind offered little resistance to Bihriis’ brutal assault.

“I can feel it. A connection. The way in. You made me hide the key to my own mind inside yours.”

The only thing she had to contend with was her own powers, and the battle was a bitter one. Again and again she hammered wildly at the mental block. Icthilos’ thoughts and feelings were swept around like debris in a whirlpool. He laughed, cried, scratched at the sand, flailed wildly at nothing, while his consciousness was jostled from one random memory to the next. The only constant was Bihriis’ voice, rising in octaves of anger.

“A shared moment… with pieces missing… that’s why I couldn’t break it… why they couldn’t break you… but I can make us remember, together…”

And then it stopped, as suddenly as it began.

He blinked through bleary eyes to find himself back on the battlefield, Bihriis still standing before him. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, a faraway look in her eyes. This time, her approach was more subtle, a tentative probe brushing gently across the mental barrier. She moved gently through his maze of memories, brushing past the paths that were blocked, until she at last found the centre she sought, hidden in the most obscure corner of his consciousness. Icthilos felt her mental probe catch on something, and then slide suddenly into place like a key in a lock.

It all came back in an instant.

He was donning the Kanohi Komau and stepping into Bihriis’ cell. A few quick tests confirmed that her powers were completely depleted, her mind utterly undefended. And so he gave his instructions, each word carefully chosen, each command clear and concise, without room for creative circumvention. Instructions on what to do when he handed her mask back to her. Instructions on what to do when her powers returned. Instructions to take him prisoner and bring him to the Coliseum to prove she could still be trusted. Instructions to block both of their memories so that even interrogation by a Kanohi Rode couldn’t reveal Icthilos’ plan.

And the plan itself…

Bihriis cried out as her own powers attacked her mind, a final implanted Komau command triggering as her memories of it returned. Icthilos felt revulsion roil within him as the recollection of what he’d done abruptly returned. We needed an edge. What choice did we have?

“Icthilos?” Bihriis’ face contorted in concern as she leaned down to help him upright, “What happened? Where are we?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” He asked quietly, hope and dread competing within him as he waited for her answer. It was the only way to get her back. I had to do it.

“The Coliseum? Widrek just came back from seeing the Makuta. I went over to read his mind… and I, uh, there’s something… blocking my memories… let me just-”

“No!” He seized her hand, looking into her eyes, “The Mesmers planted something in Widrek’s head. Something that took control of your mind, turned you against us.”

“What? No, that can’t- how am I- I don’t understand.”

“I- I’m sorry. I crossed a line. We took you prisoner, wore out your elemental reserves, and then I used a Kanohi Komau to order you to block your own memories when the time was right. You have to leave the block alone. If you remember what the Mesmers did to you, we could lose you again.”

The confusion, the concern… the Bihriis he’d known was back.

Vindication and guilt grappled for dominance within his heart. It had been a desperate plan, to let himself be taken prisoner and coerce Bihriis into turning herself into a double agent. His hope, he now recalled, was that once the Mesmers failed to get through the mental barrier they’d call in Bihriis to try, and that she’d inadvertently unlock their memories and trigger the command to block off everything that had happened since she learned the Truth from Widrek.

And the plan had worked, albeit not when or where he’d expected. But they’d never needed Bihriis more than they needed her right now. Her return couldn’t have happened at a better time.

It was like Destiny was approving of Icthilos’ plan.

“How long was I gone? What did I do?”

“There’s a lot to catch you up on, and now isn’t the time,” Icthilos said, gesturing to the Matoran still shambling past them, duelling the scattered ranks of untested Toa, “All of these Matoran have been enthralled by the Mesmers. They’re attacking our fellow Toa. Please tell me you can help them.”

“Of course,” she nodded, turning towards the crowd of combatants.

Whatever she did, it seemed almost effortless. She made a simple gesture with her hand, and every single enslaved Matoran suddenly stopped in the middle of whatever they were doing. A sudden silence swept across the sand as the Matoran froze mid-step, mid-swing, still as statues. And then they dropped their weapons and stared at each other in confusion, some crumpling to the ground as they suddenly became aware of their injuries. Only a meagre handful – those few who’d been marching willingly for the Administration – still fought on, and they were swiftly overpowered by the Toa.

“That easy?” Icthilos groaned, probing gingerly at his bloodied back.

“Like brushing away cobwebs,” she answered, “Now… what in Karzahni has been going on?”

“We’re not done yet,” Icthilos raised his hand to point back towards the village, where Savnu’s forces were continuing to combat the Mesmers, “Come on!”

* * *

Vhalem

The initial cacophony of ranged combat had faded to an unsettling silence as the landing party advanced into the rubble-strewn streets of Onu-Metru. Dust hung over the detritus like a heavy fog, a choking curtain darkening the drab architecture.

The bulk of the League forces were establishing a beachhead, bringing supplies and equipment ashore while the airships fished survivors from the damaged ships out of the sea. But three heavily-armed parties had set off into the city to seek out the surviving Vahki and any other remaining defences, led by Desecrator, Muhlene, and Gharkelos. Vhalem had been assigned to Desecrator’s group, which also included Pira, the Magnetism Rahkshi – which he’d been startled to learn was named Gorast – the Vortixx Lhuhamaka, Turaga Larone, the Dark Huntress Lariska, and an assortment of other League troops of varying species. Ilton and Pahlil had been assigned to the other parties, ensuring each group had at least one Fe or Fa elemental member who could easily deal with the Vahki.

Vhalem knew he should’ve felt confident. He was in capable company. His new companions were all accomplished fighters, some of them far more powerful than the average Toa. But aside from Pira, he didn’t know or trust any of these beings. He was worried for himself, for Pira, and for Ithnen and Tivni, who were split up in the other two teams. Common cause or not, this League was almost entirely made up of beings who were historically enemies of the Toa, and of each other. It wouldn’t take much of a push for old divides to open.

And at least one of his companions seemed actively intent on doing exactly that.

“Such diminutive domiciles,” Lhuhamaka sneered, stooping to peer through the doorway of an abandoned residence, “Even you Toa would have to bend down to get into these.”

“It’s a Matoran home,” Vhalem grumbled, “Obviously.”

“Say what you will about our former homeland, but buildings on Xia were big enough to accommodate beings of all heights.”

“Accommodate is a great choice of words,” Pira spoke up, “Since on Xia no one had their own homes. Everyone was forced to live and sleep at their workplaces. And the ones who didn’t have jobs slept on the streets.”

“Enough!” Desecrator stopped walking and slammed their monstrous hand against a nearby wall, rattling the rubble strewn in the streets, “Everyone here knows how it feels to be without a home. This city is all that remains, and we will learn to share it.”

“Why share when we can take?” Lhuhamaka retorted, “We’re already doing it, right now.”

“We’re liberating the city,” Desecrator growled, “Not conquering it.”

“And when we’re done spilling our blood and losing our lives to take this city, do you honestly expect us to just hand it back? To surrender our futures to a race too weak to protect themselves?”

“Shut up!” Vhalem snapped, reaching for his weapon.

He’d seen that sneer of hers so many times, on so many faces. The belittling leer of Vortixx who thought themselves the Matoran’s betters. He’d wished more times than he could count that he had the power to wipe that smile from the faces of his tormentors, and now he did.

Pira grabbed at his arm, but he shrugged it off.

He didn’t know what he was about to do.

Fortunately, he never got the chance to find out. 

“Stop!” To the surprise of everyone, it was Lariska who sprung between Vhalem and the Vortixx, though her attention wasn’t on either of them, “Listen! Something’s coming.”

“What?” Vhalem finished drawing his bow, though he didn’t aim it at Lhuhamaka now.

“I don’t hear anything,” Pira said, readying her staff.

As if her words were a wish to be granted, total silence suddenly swallowed the street. Vhalem couldn’t hear anyone… or anything… not even his own breaths. He had only a split second to realise what that meant before the Vahki descended on the group, dropping down from the buildings above like ambushing muaka.

Until this very moment, Vhalem had never really appreciated just how much he relied on hearing in a fight. The scraping of footsteps, the whoosh of a weapon, all cues to help him keep aware of his surroundings. All gone.

He sidestepped a scything staff, only to back right into another Vahki, which shoved him from behind and sent him sprawling. Bow and arrow were flung from his grasp as he hit the ground, groaning inaudibly. Fountains of flame and flickers of energy crackled all around him as the rest of the group engaged the Vahki. Frantic feet stamped over his back as the battle broke into chaos, the Vahki attacking with a level of savagery Vhalem had never seen from them before, using their bladed staves to tear at their victims like ravenous rahi. Disoriented through they were, the League forces were fighting back just as brutally, unleashing blasts and beams with no heed for who was nearby.

Clawing his way forward, Vhalem pulled himself upright and stumbled through the melee, pushing towards the bright green figure who’d been by his side moments ago. The Vahki he saw coming were sent floating away with antigravity blasts, but for every one he saw there were three more he didn’t, stabbing and slashing from beside and behind.

His armour scored and his organics bleeding from a dozen wounds, he finally reached Pira’s side. She and Gorast had backed up against a wall, limiting the Vahki’s ability to take them by surprise. Devastating airblasts from Pira were keeping most of the machines at bay, and those that got close were rent to shreds by the Rahkshi’s magnetism. Pira saw Vhalem coming and summoned a brisk wind at his back, buffeting him closer. As he slumped against the wall between the duo, Vhalem felt a frown form on his face as he watched Pira batter the Vahki away.

It hadn’t been so long ago that the two of them had been in a similar situation, fighting Widrek and his Vahki in the streets of Ta-Metru. Back then, Pira’s powers had only momentarily inconvenienced the machines. They’d sprung right back up, or dug in their staves and withstood her attacks. Now Pira’s airblasts seemed far more powerful and precise, the Vahki’s bodies buckling and breaking from the sheer force of the wind hitting them.

He didn’t have time to wonder or worry about it. A hulking shape lurched through the melee, swatting aside combatants with effortless ease. Gorast pointed her staff in its direction, and the figure vanished, collapsing into a tidal wave of sand that was unaffected by the Rahkshi’s powers. The sand reformed back into its massive, Vahki-like physical form right in front of the trio, swatting Gorast aside before jabbing its other blade towards Vhalem. He twisted out of its path, striking out with his powers in an attempt to replicate the same antigravity tactic he’d used against the regular Vahki.

The figure – which he now realised was a Kranua, the same type of elite Vahki variant that Ilton had mentioned attacking his group on their voyage to the camp – switched to its sand form once more, scattering its particles beyond the reach of his gravity well. A scattered handful of sand floated upwards, but it didn’t make any visible difference to the Vahki’s functionality when the rest of it reformed.

Vhalem activated his Kanohi and readied his powers for another blast. His mask was the Kanohi Arkahna, the Mask of Tension, which allowed him to sense areas of stress or compression. From detecting footsteps in a pitch darkness to identifying weak points in a structure, the Kanohi had served him well in his time on the battlefields of Xia… but it offered him nothing now. The Kranua’s form was constantly in flux, reforming from any damage, and shifting back-and-forth from sand form to more flexibly evade attacks.

In desperation, Vhalem released another antigravity blast, but this time when the Kranua collapsed into sand form it reappeared at Vhalem’s feet, one of its blades catching him in the chest and pinning him to the wall, the other drawing back for a killing blow aimed at his head.

Pira, realising his plight, summoned a miniature cyclone inside the machine, violently ripping at its internal components. As the Kranua did in response to any attack, it instinctively tried to switch to its sand form, which appeared to be exactly what Pira was counting on. Vhalem dropped to the ground as the Kranua was ripped away. The vortex grew wider and rose high above the battlefield before drifting away from the fight and bursting like an explosion, scattering the sand widely across the rooftops of several city blocks. Hopefully it couldn’t reform from that.

With the greatest threat neutralised, more beings were flocking to the two Toa, putting their backs to the wall. On the other side of the street, Larone, Lariska, and a few others were doing the same. But where was-

Sound returned suddenly as a corpse dropped down into the middle of the street. It was a Toa, clad in silver and grey, with a raw, ragged hole in their chestplate. Vhalem recognised him immediately, having fought him barely a week ago in this very Metru.

Dhozoh.

The Vahki took one look at their fallen commander and scattered, those who were too slow to retreat being reduced to scrap metal by the now-recovered Gorast. The sound of crackling flames and agonised groans filled the air as the League survivors turned their gazes in the direction the Dhozoh had fallen from.

Desecrator stood on a rooftop above, hand and mouth stained with blood.

“Onu-Metru is ours!” the Skakdi boomed, their voice amplified by their newly-stolen sonic powers. 

What strength Vhalem had left abandoned him, and he slid down the wall to the ground, leaving blood smeared on the brickwork at his back. His gaze drifted from Desecrator down to the fallen form of Dhozoh. It felt like the De-Toa’s empty eyes were staring right at him.

“You still with me?” Pira crouched at his side, jostling him, “Vhalem?”

“I’ll live.”

His view of Dhozoh disappeared as Desecrator dropped down into the street, stopping to snatch up a shard of rubble from the ground. The massive Skakdi closed their hands around the piece of rock for a moment, brow furrowed in concentration. When they opened their palms again the rock was glowing slightly, alight with new power.

Desecrator turned and unceremoniously tossed the new Toa Stone into Larone’s waiting hands.

To Vhalem’s dismay, there wasn’t the slightest sign of surprise on the Turaga’s face. 

[Nato G]

Chapter 26 – Illumination

From the ravings of The Recorder.

Toa have been enemies for so many of us, for so many centuries. A year ago, the idea that any of us would welcome the creation of a new Toa would have been absurd.

But today, one new Toa could make all the difference, for all of us.

* * *

Pira

With Dhozoh defeated, Desecrator’s party had promptly returned to the fleet, and sent out runners to bring the other parties back as well. What Vahki had escaped had undoubtedly gone straight to the Coliseum, and a counterattack was surely imminent.

While the League’s healers tended to Vhalem, Pira had resorted to angrily pacing on the edge of the League camp, waiting for Ilton and the other Toa to return.

She couldn’t find the words to express how she felt right now. Dhozoh had tried to kill her once before, and committed untold acts of oppression against the Matoran of Metru Nui, so she didn’t feel much in the way of sorrow at his passing. But the way he’d been killed, what had been done to him… that didn’t sit right with her. It was abundantly clear that Larone and Desecrator had planned to steal Dhozoh’s power all along, with no consideration given to taking him captive.

Given how long Larone had been in contact with the League for, he’d probably been planning this since the moment Vhalem and Pira’s group had refused to make Toa Stones for him.

She’d tried to given Larone the benefit of the doubt, to be considerate of his circumstances and the trauma he’d endured, to afford him the respect due to a Turaga… but that ended now. He’d gone past bluster and blunt remarks to planning and executing the cold-blooded murder and mutilation of a Toa.

She snapped out of her introspection as Muhlene and his party – Ilton among them – came marching into view down a side street. A few of them appeared injured, but their group had clearly fared much better than Pira’s own.

Ilton spotted her and stepped away from the column, the two Toa quickly finding themselves alone as the rest of the group continued on past them.

“I know that face,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“Dhozoh’s dead. Desecrator stole his powers and made a Toa Stone for-”

“-for Chavara,” Ilton nodded, grimacing, “I spoke with her on the boat ride over. That girl’s not ready for this.” 

“Did you know this was going to happen?”

“How could I have possibly-”

“-you were part of the League’s little meetings, weren’t you?” Pira snapped, “The look on Larone’s face when Desecrator gave him the Stone… he was expecting it. The whole thing was planned.”

“I wouldn’t have approved of it any more than you,” Ilton said firmly, “I had no idea, I swear.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“Has it happened yet?”

“No. Larone wanted to talk to her first. There’s still time for us to do something about it.”

“No…” Ilton sighed, looking past her, “…there’s not.”

Pira turned in the direction he was looking, and her heart sank. A brilliant, golden glow was emanating from the direction of the beach, where the League ships were moored. There was no doubt in her mind what it meant.

A Toa Of Light had just been born.

* * *

Icthilos

Icthilos sat slouched against the inner wall of the village, staring down at his bloodstained hands. Most of it wasn’t his own. He’d spent the last half-hour helping carry injured Toa and Matoran from the battlefield. At Icthilos’ insistence, the bodies of the slain had been left where they lay, despite the protests of many.

There was no sense tiring themselves out carrying the corpses around. They had nowhere to store them, and no time to bury them. The Mesmers had retreated to their airship once the tide had turned against them, leaving the Vahki to cover their retreat. But another attack was almost certainly on its way. And another after that. The Administration was just going to keep throwing bodies at them, tiring them out until night fell and the army of Rahkshi could emerge.

Icthilos didn’t have a plan for that.

He didn’t have much of a plan for anything.

“We need to talk.”

The four words were all the warning Savnu offered before whisking him away at nauseating speed, all but flinging him into an empty hut. He stumbled, catching a wall to steady himself as the door slammed shut and Savnu stormed towards him. Acid burns and plasma scorches marred her armour, but if there had been any damage to her organics, it looked like the healers had already tended to it.

“What the Karz is Bihriis doing here? Why is she being all… friendly? And confused?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Last time I crossed paths with that woman she practically cleaved me open,” Savnu gestured to the ragged scar that still marred the organics and armour of her chest, “So please, give me a reason not to reply in kind.”

“Okay,” he sat down on a bench, patting the spot beside him in a gesture for her to sit as well, “Just… promise you won’t get angry.”

“That sentence has never been followed with something that wouldn’t make me angry.”

Despite her obvious scepticism, Savnu sat down at his side.

“Fine. Bihriis doesn’t remember anything from before she read Widrek’s mind. Not the Truth, not hurting you, none of it. I forced her to block her own memories.”

“How did you manage that?”

To Icthilos’ surprise, Savnu sounded almost impressed.

He wasn’t sure whether to respond with relief or worry.

“When we had her prisoner, I got a group of Toa to use Suletus to assault her mind, wear down her mental defences,” he explained, “Once she was powerless, I used a Komau to leave instructions in her mind. Instructions to take me prisoner, to block our memories of the conversation and my knowledge of what was on that page you burned.”

“To what end?”

“From what I remember now, my plan was to get myself and her inside the Coliseum. I hoped their interrogators would fail to get through the block she put in my head, and she’d be asked to try. Once our memories were restored it would trigger a final command for her to block everything from reading Widrek’s mind, onwards.”

“You made her your sleeper agent.”

“I think that was the idea.”

“You think so?”

“It’s weird. I remember what I did. But it’s hard to remember exactly what I thought and felt in the moment when I was doing it. Everything I’ve done and everything that’s been done to me in the past week happened without me remembering those moments. I’m not trying to shirk responsibility, but… it feels like all of that was a different person.”

“That’s a Toa’s life, I think,” Savnu said, a sad smile on her face, “You go to sleep every night not knowing who or what you’ll be in the morning.”

“I was desperate then,” Icthilos said, “Even more desperate now. It didn’t work how I’d planned, but it did work.”

“But she knows there’s a block in her mind, right? I reckon a Ce-Toa would notice that sort of thing. How long before she becomes a problem again?”

“I told her not to look,” Icthilos said, sighing, “We’ll find out pretty quickly if she ignores my warning.”

“So we’re relying on her self-control?”

“We’re relying on her friendship. Treat her with hostility and suspicion, and she’ll wonder what she did to deserve it. The best thing we can do is be honest with her. Tell her what she did, but not why. Tell her we understand. Trust her. Like we used to.”

“The middle of a war isn’t the time for trust exercises.”

“We need all the help we can get. And when this thing is over, if we survive, we’ll have to try to find a way to make peace with the Toa and Matoran who stood against us.”

“That’s a problem for a day we might not live to see.”

“So is Bihriis, if you’re tactful in the way you treat her.”

“Fine, I’ll play nice. But if something goes wrong it’s on your head.”

“It always is.”

* * *

Ilton

She was beautiful.

The newborn Toa of Light stood upon the shores of Onu-Metru, the mouth of her Mask Of Fire aligned in a gleeful grin as she basked in the adoration of the League. 

Chavara’s Toa form was lithe and lean, clad in warm white and gleaming gold. An aura of amber shone on every surface of her armour, dancing on the lapping waves at her back. A sturdy staff was held in one hand, ornate blades at each end. A ceremonial cloak of white cloth hung over her shoulders, a garment that Ilton realised he’d seen some of Larone’s Matoran working on last night.

Once upon a time, the sight of a Toa of Light would have filled his heart with joy beyond words. After so many centuries spent fighting and hiding from the shadows, she was the liberation and life that had long been denied to him. On the verge of battle against the last, most desperate, most powerful Makuta in the universe, a Toa of Light was what they so desperately needed.

But… she was terrifying.

Her smile was a triumphant one, and her eyes were full of spite and pride.

She was a perversion of everything a Toa of Light was supposed to stand for. Her heart was filled with rage and vengeance. The power that had created her had been stolen through murder and mutilation. She was here to bring war, not peace.

This can’t be Destiny’s design.

And yet, here she stood. Proud and powerful, aglow and almighty.

This can’t be how we’re supposed to win.

Had the fate of the universe truly become so dire that this was what it would take to claim victory? To ally with an army of monsters? To rain fire on the very city they’d come to save? To commit atrocities to create a Toa of Light?

He realised Pira was looking at him. Normally so quick to speak her mind, she hadn’t said a word since they’d arrived on the beach.

She didn’t need to say anything. The look in her eyes said it all.

“I’m sorry,” was all Ilton could manage in response.

[Nato G]

Chapter 27 – Darkness Falls

From the journal of Turaga Marik.

The Makuta remade my mask.

I begged him not to. But now that it is done, I’m glad of it. I finally understand the part I have to play, the path that lies before me. I know what Destiny intends.

I know what fate will befall me.

And I accept it willingly.

* * *

Sidra

As she so often did when she was stressed, Sidra paced.

True to form, Neryx was napping in her favourite spot by the windowsill, leaving Sidra alone with her pain and her thoughts. The Iden was clutched in her hands, her knuckles pale from gripping the Kanohi. It was strange, how powerful a single, simple piece of protodermis could be. The mask had dominated her life for months, demanded so many lies of her.

Soon, one way or another, it’s hold over her would be gone.

But would she have anything or anyone left to hold onto when it was over?

She looked to Neryx, speaking so softly she could scarcely hear herself, “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, so many times. I wish… I hope…”

Why did I choose today of all days to tell her that truth?

A hammering at the door tore Sidra from her thoughts.

“What?” She snapped, ripping open the door with enough force that it struck the wall with a loud bang. If the initial knock hadn’t been enough to wake Neryx, the slamming did, as Sidra heard her stirring behind her.

It was Phidras again, looking a little worse for wear than when Sidra had last seen him. If he was here, then things had either gone really well, or really badly, in Po-Metru.

“You’re recovered,” he said.

“I wouldn’t say-”

“I don’t care. We need everyone for this. Reserves, injured, Greillash doesn’t give a karz. If you can stand up and hold a weapon, he wants you.”

“I can do that. What are we up against? I thought you guys were going to Po-Metru.”

“The Ce-Toa turned on us, freed the Matoran from our control. We pulled out, and got new orders when we got back here. A fleet of… we don’t even know what has just attacked Onu-Metru. Dhozoh’s dead.”

“Larone’s rebels?”

“Maybe. But the reports we got from the Vahki made it sound like more than that. Survivors of multiple species, from beyond the sea gates.” He suddenly noticed the mask in Sidra’s hands. “Good thinking. We could use a scout. Let’s move.”

And then he was gone, hurrying down the hall to the wing where the reserve troops were quartered.

Sidra turned to Neryx, who was already arming herself.

“Déjà vu, my dear,” Sidra said, sighing.

“Try not to get fried this time.”

“I’ll do my best.”

* * *

Ilton

Light gave way to dark so swiftly Ilton didn’t even see it happen.

Toa Chavara screamed, her light smothered by brutal blasts of shadow that flung her, flailing, into the sea. Winged figures descended from above, beams of blackness blasting forth from clawed hands and wicked blades. The earth underfoot roiled and rumbled with force that hadn’t been seen since the Great Cataclysm, scattering the League forces like leaves in the wind.

Pira disappeared in the chaos, tackled away by one of the flying figures. Another landed on Ilton from behind, shoving him face-first into the sand. He struck out blindly with his powers, repelling the metallic components of his attacker and forcing the creature away.

It was only when he rolled over that he finally got his first good look at what was attacking them.

The Toa of Iron had already seen and endured a great number of terrible things in his time, but nothing compared to what stood before him now. The figure had the proportions of a Matoran, but warped and wicked, with wings sprouting from its back, claws on its hands and feet, and what looked to be fangs on its Kanohi. Almost all colour had been leeched from its form, leaving only the barest hints of faded white and gold to indicate what it had once been.

This was what had become of the Av-Matoran.

A blast of air swatted the Shadow Matoran aside as Pira sprung back into view, looking as horrified as Ilton felt.

“What do we do?” She looked to him, shouting to be heard over the din of battle.

“Desecrator!” Ilton grimaced, forming a shield in his hands to block an incoming shadow blast, “A powerful sonic blast can break the mental barrier of a Shadow Matoran. Find him!”

That was what the Av-Matoran who’d survived Karda Nui had reported, at least. But they’d used a rahi called a Klakk to free their friends. There was no telling if the stolen power of a De-Toa could have the same effect, or if it would even work this time. During his reign, Teridax had improved his Rahkshi to be more resistant to Light. Makuta Vhel could have improved his Shadow Leeches to eliminate their weaknesses as well.

But Pira didn’t need doubts.

She needed hope.

As the Le-Toa hurried away into the fray, Shadow struck Ilton from behind, flinging him forward. He stumbled and spun, a shield forming against his arm to block a second blast, adrenaline propelling him past the pain of the first strike. His injury felt… strangely cold. Not the sharp, stinging cold of Ice, but a necrotic, numbing cold. Rather than the stabbing agony of a normal wound, it was like the dull, persistent ache of deep bruise, gnawing at him from within.

But the pain in his body was nothing compared to what he felt in his heart when he saw who was attacking him this time. This figure had the same ragged, bat-like wings as the rest, but he stood taller, and there were hints of dark blue-green in his armour. A crooked staff was clutched in his clawed hands, and the Shadows that lashed from the weapon weren’t the precise bolts of the other attackers. These Shadows rose and flowed like oil-slicked water, cascading towards Ilton in a black, blanketing wave. The torrent broke upon his upraised shield, leaving the metal cold and corroded as the blast abated.

As he lowered his arm, his eyes met the sickly green gaze of his attacker, leering out from behind a Mask Of Clairvoyance that was immediately recognisable to Ilton, despite the fact that it had been badly cracked the last time he’d seen it.

“Turaga Marik?” Ilton gaped, as the figure landed before him, “I… we were trapped in Le-Metru. I wanted to look for you… for everyone… I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

“I’m not,” the Turaga chuckled, “I got exactly what I asked for.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t.”

Ilton summoned fresh metal to reinforce his shield as another wave of Shadow assailed him. With the shield raised before him, he didn’t see the follow-up blast coming, which swept his legs out from under him.

Marik pounced on him like an animal as he fell, swatting the Toa’s shield aside with his staff and clawing at his chest with the talons of his free hand. Crying out at the sudden pain around his heartlight, Ilton pushed back with his powers, repelling the metals of Marik’s hand with such force that his entire lower arm was torn apart, the rent mechanical components peeling back like the skin of a fruit, leaving mangled organics dangling uselessly, dripping gore onto the ground. 

Marik didn’t even blink.

Not until Ilton punched him in the face.

The Toa scrambled away from the stunned Shadow Turaga, rising unsteadily to his feet and summoning another shield in his hands. The battle still raged all around them, but the Shadow Matoran were showing no interest in him now, giving the duo a wide berth. The air was alight with dozens of different energies, as weapons and powers of innumerable origins were brought to bear against the forces of Shadow.

The League troops had recovered quickly from the initial surprise of the assault, but smaller earthquakes kept striking other areas of the battlefield, keeping the combatants off-balance and leaving them vulnerable to the airborne Matoran. In the back of his mind, Ilton realised the quakes were too targeted to be natural. It could only mean that Widrek was on the field somewhere as well.

“Please, Marik, what happened to you?” He asked, forcing himself to focus on his current problem, “When the Makuta attacked the Moto-Hub, I lost track of everyone.”

“I left hours before that happened,” Marik scoffed, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes, “I went to the Coliseum. I chose this, willingly.”

“Why?”

“I alone was punished for breaking the Code. Destiny decreed that I needed to atone for my transgressions, by punishing all of you for yours.”

“You killed one person to save dozens of lives. You have nothing to atone for! And even if you did, killing more people isn’t the way to redeem yourself.”

“You’re the one getting people killed. Prolonging a war that’s already over, aiding enemies of the Matoran in an attack on the very city you’re supposed to protect.”

“Unity is a virtue, Marik. Even for these beings. The Makuta is an enemy to us all.”

“The Makuta is the closest thing to a Great Spirit that this universe has left!”

“But his way isn’t our way. He has no Code.”

“I can’t go back to being a Toa,” Marik’s expression was suddenly solemn, “The Code has no hold over me now.”

Another withering wave of Shadow struck forth from the Turaga’s staff. This time Ilton dived to the side, summoning a spear and flinging it at Marik. The Turaga effortlessly sidestepped the weapon. Even more impressively, he dodged it again without so much as a backward glance when Ilton used his powers to pull it back to his hand.

“I saw that coming,” Marik started to raise his mangled arm, then frowned and instead used his staff to tap his mask, “I know how this plays out, Ilton. I know how this all ends.”

“Then let’s get this over with.” Ilton reached out with his powers, seizing Marik’s mechanical components and taking control of them. But the wings his transformation had granted him appeared to be wholly organic, for they flapped furiously in defiance of Ilton’s efforts to control them, raising the Turaga out of range of Ilton’s powers.

“Oh, it’s not over!” Marik grinned like the madman he’d become as he moved lower again and loosed another Shadow bolt at Ilton, “You still have a part to play. But you won’t enjoy it.”

“What are you talking about?” Ilton asked, dodging the blast, “Please, tell me how to help you.”

“You’ve already done it. Or rather, you will.” Marik swooped down towards him, “Let me show you!”

Ilton caught the Turaga’s tackle, seizing him by the shoulders and flinging him to the ground.

But the brief moment of contact was all Marik needed. As he watched the Turaga slam into the sand, Ilton suddenly found himself… elsewhere.

He was somewhere dark, alone, the hulking figure of Makuta Vhel standing before him. Cyclonic winds raged around them, separating them from what Ilton somehow knew was a battle much like the one he was already fighting. Ilton struck out with his powers just as he had before, tearing the Makuta’s shell apart. Only this time, what came screaming and spilling out was something visceral and vile and crimson in colour. Something glowed in the meaty mass, a flashing lash of yellow that reduced Ilton to less than dust in the space of an eyeblink.

He hit the ground, flailing and floundering. The battle still raged around him, the vision having lasted only seconds. But Marik was gone, only bloodstains in the sand remaining to mark his presence.

What… what was that?

The Mask Of Clairvoyance didn’t normally allow the wearer to share visions, so far as he knew. It had to have been some kind of trick. Perhaps Marik’s mask was actually an Olisi carved in another shape? Or had it been an illusion, sent by the Makuta?

He didn’t get the chance to worry or wonder further. With Marik gone, the Shadow Matoran began to assail him once more, forcing him back into the fray.

[Nato G]

Chapter 28 – Desperation

From the notes of Chronicler Crisda.

I thought I’d feel better now that the battle is over.

I don’t. No one does. There’s no sense of relief or safety. Just an endless, awful anticipation. We tend our wounded, we repair our defences, we watch the carrion circle our dead… and we wait for the next wave.

* * *

Pira

Pira didn’t come anywhere close to finding Desecrator.

For several minutes, she fought and floundered across the battlefield, lost in the chaos of the melee. The League forces had spread out down streets and into structures, and finding one Skakdi among the masses proved impossible, especially with random quakes knocking everyone off their feet and shadow blasts peppering the combatants like an acrid black rain.

And then the ground opened up beneath her feet, dropping her down into the Archives. The ground waiting below was liquid lava, and only a desperate airblast to fling herself backwards saved Pira from a swift, sizzling demise. She hit solid ground further down the tunnel, catching a momentary glimpse of the earth she’d fallen through reforming in its solid state, cutting off from the battlefield above.

“I wasn’t sure I’d have the chance to get you alone.”

Even if she hadn’t been able to recognise the hazy shape standing on the other side of the lava, Pira knew Widrek’s voice all too well.

“I’m not in the mood for this,” she snapped, “You need to put the past behind you and focus on what really matters.”

“The past is important, Pira,” Widrek tutted, “Tradition. History. Memories. Like the memory of watching my Brother being butchered by the very monsters you’re fighting alongside.”

The lava dimmed and dwindled, transforming back into solid earth and abruptly plunging the tunnel into dense darkness.

“You’re in no position to lecture me on fighting beside monsters.”

“This isn’t a lecture. It’s a verdict. And the sentence is death.”

The tunnel rumbled as the earth rose up around Pira, misshapen fists of dirt that pummelled her from every direction. Blow after brutal blow barrelled out of the darkness, battering her one way, then the other, buckling her armour and bruising her body. Her staff flew from her grasp, skittering away somewhere in the dark. Only her hands raised, clinging to her face, kept her Kanohi from being knocked away.

She couldn’t see, could barely breathe.

All she could hear was Widrek’s laughter.

She latched onto the sound like a lifeline, fixating on it with what little focus she could find. He was close. Close enough to be heard. Close enough for her to strike.

A wall of wailing wind exploded out of her like a shockwave, shaking the tunnel almost as severely as Widrek’s own quakes. The disorientation of the assault and the acoustics of the tunnel made it impossible for Pira to tell what direction Widrek was in, but she didn’t need to. The tunnel naturally funnelled her attack down the corridor in both directions, rewarding her with the sound of a guttural groan and the rain-like patter of earth cascading to the floor, freed from Widrek’s control.

The sounds were dim, though, barely audible over the ringing in her ears. She could feel blood dripping from one of them, tracking down the side of her neck. She tried to stand and found she couldn’t, one of her knees refusing to function.

“You’ve gotten stronger,” Widrek sneered, rasping the words out between ragged gasps, “Or maybe desperation has finally made y-”

A concussive blast of air aimed right at his head cut him off.

This time, Pira had known where she was. Not by sound, but by sense. It was something she’d never done before, never even thought about before, but down here in the dark, deprived of almost every other sense, it was like something new had suddenly been switched on. She could feel the subtle shifts and stirring in the air, the push and pull caused by his strained breathing. 

She fired again, but this time she felt the air shifting again as something – likely a wall of earth – swiftly rose up between her and Widrek. The mass began to move, pushing against the air as it surged towards Pira. She struck out again, this time summoning a focused blast that weakened the wall as it drew near, causing it to break apart as it struck her. 

Too late, she realised the wall hadn’t been the true threat. Widrek’s breathing was back, this time directly in front of her. Her darkened vision suddenly flashed visceral red as his claws raked across her face. She screamed, the sound being stifled a second later as he seized her by the throat, picking her up as if she were weightless. His other hand raked at her chestplate, clawing at her heartlight.

“Please-” the rest of her plea went unheard as his grip on her throat tightened.

Please don’t make me do this.

Pain blossomed in her chest as the claws dug in, puncturing the plating and lacerating her organics.

But beyond the physical pain came something else. The same cool, calming rush she’d felt when she’d first fused the Nuva Symbol into herself.

Boundless eddies of elemental energy formed around Pira’s hands as she raised them up, then clapped them together… directly around the arm holding her throat.

Pira felt the limb snap like a twig, felt her own fingerbones break.

If Widrek screamed, it wasn’t audible over the shrieking wind.

* * *

Trina

“How are you feeling, sister?”

Trina didn’t bother opening her eyes.

She didn’t need another dose of Maliss’ smug smile.

“I see you denied our little friend a meal,” a grotesque squelching sound emanated from the floor before Trina as Maliss nudged the Shadow Leech’s corpse with his foot, “Disappointing.”

“The only disappointment here is you,” she retorted.

“Then it’ll please you to know that I won’t be here for long,” Maliss crouched down before her, “I’m leaving to face Icthilos in Po-Metru. Whatever happens, you won’t be seeing one of your Brothers ever again.”

She felt his cold metal fingertips brush her chin, tilting her head up towards his.

“Won’t you at least look at me. It might be the last time you see my face.”

“It will be.”

When Trina opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was fear in his.

She’d killed the Shadow Leech. But not straight away. Not soon enough. Not before it had whittled away her will. Not until she’d become so cold and cruel that she’d felt nothing when she killed it.

Just as she felt nothing now, as she ripped every last spark of electrical energy from her Brother’s body, his heartlight ceasing its beats in an instant.

He said nothing in his last second of life. He simply stared at her, eyes wide with surprise and sorrow, before slumping to the floor.

Trina’s aching, emaciated fingers reached out to grasp her fallen brother’s mechanical arm, laboriously pulling his prone form closer, until his buzzsaw was in contact with the shackles binding her feet. Then she activated it, channelling electrical energy into the tool to bring its whirring blade to life.

The pain she’d felt when using her powers before was gone. As what little elemental energy remained to her drained away, all she felt was a hollow ache inside. An ache that was swiftly replaced by the cold calm of her newfound inner darkness.

[Nato G]

Chapter 29 – Allegiance

From the notes of Chronicler Crisda.

It’s been hours since the attack.

We thought we’d have seen some new sign of the enemy by now. With each passing minute, Icthilos and Savnu seem to grow more tense. It’s strange to witness. It’s like the absence of the enemy is somehow more frightening than their presence.

It doesn’t matter much to me. I know what’s coming. Even if the enemy doesn’t send anything new our way, in a few hours more it’ll be nightfall.

Then the Rahkshi will come.

And this time, I don’t think closed doors will stop them.

* * *

Pira

“Hey. Welcome back.”

Pira was overjoyed beyond words to see light again. Even more-so to see Vhalem silhouetted in that light, looking down on her. Her vision was blurry, her eyes aching, but there was no mistaking him.

“Did I go somewhere?” She asked, groaning. Her whole body felt like one giant bruise. 

She felt Vhalem’s arm around her shoulders, helping her sit up. Sounds were still muffled, her ears still ringing dimly, but she felt better than she had in the midst of her battle with Widrek. She was lying on damp sand, a threadbare supply sack for a pillow, waves lapping gently somewhere off to her left. She could hear the moaning and murmuring of other wounded combatants all around her, and the soft conversation of other Leaguers further away to her right. The air hung heavy with dust and smoke, making it even harder for her to see.

“You tell me. The healers said…  well... you were dead. For a minute or so. It took a pair of Vo-Skakdi to get your heart going again.”

“I don’t remember…” she closed her eyes again, rubbing her aching head. Her fingers felt stiff and sore as she moved them, “…I was fighting Widrek, and then I was here. No… sense of time passing. What happened?”

Once upon a time, being told that she’d died would probably have given her a mental breakdown. Now it was just another awful thing that had happened. One among so many that she’d lost count. She felt numb. She was more powerful than she’d ever been, had more friends and allies than she had at any other time in her life, and it hadn’t meant a thing when it most mattered.

A tiny, twisted part of her wished she’d stayed dead. At least then it would be over. No more pain, no more punishment, no more powerlessness.

“I saw you fall,” Vhalem said, “Earlier, in the battle. I knew it had to be Widrek, but I couldn’t find a way down to you. Eventually I found Ithnen, got her to open the way so I could lift you out.”

“I’ve seen better-lookin’ corpses,” the voice was Tivni’s. She sounded like she was only a few feet away, but all Pira saw when she looked that way was a hazy silhouette.

“Sorry, can you come a little closer? I don’t… I can’t see you very well.”

“I’m sorry, airhead. The healers said they’d take another look at you tonight… or tomorrow…” it was Ithnen now, crouching at her other side, “A lot of people were hurt. The healers are doing their best just to deal with life-threatening injuries. Everything else is a problem for later.”

“I’m guessing we won, though?” Pira asked, “We wouldn’t have our masks if we were prisoners.”

Even as she said it, she was reaching up to touch her own Kanohi. Given how sore the rest of her face felt, she expected to find it in fragments. But it was smooth and seamless, devoid of damage. Her hand drifted lower, settling over her heartlight. She remembered Widrek’s claws gouging into her chestplate, but now she couldn’t feel anything to indicate her armour had been damaged.

“Ilton fixed you up with his Kiril,” Vhalem said, “Us too.”

“What happened?”

“A few things, more or less at once,” Tivni said, sitting down close enough for Pira to make out some of the details of her face, “Startin’ with you being Widrek’s favourite.”

“With him focusing on you, he wasn’t causing tremors for everyone else,” Ithnen said, “It gave everyone a chance to regroup. Chavara recovered, got back into the battle. And Desecrator figured out that sonic attacks help free the Shadow Matoran. Eventually the ones that were left flew off.”

“The ones that were left?”

“Most of them,” Vhalem said, “Easily over a hundred. Some were freed by Desecrator, but the Leaguers- in the middle of battle- they didn’t understand. There weren’t any survivors.”

“What about Widrek?” Pira asked, “Did he get away?”

The sudden silence that followed the question was all the answer Pira needed.

Vhalem gently took her hand, “Widrek’s dead.”

“You’re sure?” Her voice had suddenly become so hoarse she could scarcely hear herself.

“We’re sure. His body disappeared, but we saw it.”

“And he was splattered all over you when we pulled you up,” Tivni blurted out.

“Not helping,” Ithnen hissed.

“You-” Vhalem hesitated for a moment, searching for a word and swiftly giving up, “-there’s no nice way to put it. One of his arms was almost completely gone. Just little pieces everywhere.”

“The medics were takin’ bets earlier on whether it was the blood loss or trauma that-”

“Tivni!” Vhalem snapped.

“I didn’t want to…” Pira stammered, “…he didn’t… I couldn’t.”

“When I lifted you out of there, I-” Vhalem’s voice cracked, his hand abruptly tightening its grip on Pira’s own. Despite the pain in her fingers, she didn’t pull away.

“-we all saw what he’d done to you,” Ithnen finished, “No one’s judging you.”

The muffled conversation of the League troops took on a new cadence, and Pira could now hear hurried footsteps moving further away.

“What’s going on?” She asked.

“Not sure. We’ll check it out,” Tivni said, nudging Ithnen with her foot, “Come on.”

As the other Toa walked away, Vhalem released Pira’s hand and shuffled closer to her.

“I know this isn’t the best time, so you can absolutely tell me to shut up if you don’t want to talk about it right now, but I’ve been meaning to ask you about this.”

“About what?” She turned to Vhalem, straining her aching eyes as she tried to decipher his expression.

“About you. What’s going on with you? A week ago you could barely blow over a group of Vahki. Today you were blowing them to pieces. And what you did to Widrek-”

“Oh. That.”

The question wasn’t what she’d expected. It wasn’t what she’d hoped for. It certainly wasn’t something she felt like unpacking right now. She almost considered taking Vhalem up on his offer to tell him to shut up, but stopped herself short.

It wasn’t fair. She owed him the truth.

“It’s complicated. I-” she reached for the straps of her pack and gasped as she suddenly realised that they were no longer there, “-where’s my pack?”

* * *

Sidra

“-shouldn’t be doing this,” Phidras said, whispering despite Greillash and Sidra being the only people present, “If Widrek is dead and the Shadow Matoran have fallen back, then we have no support.”

Sidra had already returned to her body some thirty seconds ago, but had continued the pretence of being unconscious to listen in to a conversation that wouldn’t have been happening if Greillash and Phidras knew she could hear them. The two of them were sitting on either side of the transport, while she was slumped in a central seat, her back to the driver’s compartment, facing towards her two companions.

“Their cowardice changes nothing,” Greillash growled, “The castaways are wounded, demoralised, and have no idea we’re coming. Once we get the cannons up onto the rooftops we’ll raze their camp and get back to the real fight.”

“You were right,” Sidra chose that moment to feign her reawakening, “Their boats are beached and their airships are all grounded. They won’t be firing back.”

“And our path?” Phidras asked.

“All clear,” Sidra said, removing her mask.

“Get us moving again!” Greillash barked to Neryx, in the driver’s seat, “The way is clear.”

The four of them were the only occupants of Greillash’s transport, most of the space inside being devoted to crates containing an assortment of Plasma Cannons, Cordak Blasters, and other heavy weapons. Three other transports full of troops were just behind them. The plan had been to move the artillery onto rooftops and bombard the newly-arrived enemy while they were still fighting the Shadow Matoran, then send in the ground troops to pick off any survivors. But the Shadow Matoran had begun their attack before the Odinans had even left the Coliseum, and had now retreated, leaving Greillash’s group without the cover they’d been counting on.

But as Sidra had hoped, Greillash was stubbornly pressing forward anyway.

The convoy of transports scuttled through the streets, rendered inaudible by Silence disks – Kanoka forged using the same components as a Kanohi Shelek – which had been integrated into the transport’s mechanisms alongside the usual Speed Kanoka that powered them. The shadowy shells of abandoned buildings flitted by on either side, barely visible through the narrow firing slits that served as the transport’s windows.

Wailing wind echoed through the desolate streets, accompanied by the occasional clatter or rattle of discarded belongings being struck by the transports. And then a new sound issued from somewhere up ahead, the warbling wail of some unseen creature. It was a sound Sidra recognised well, the hunting cry of a Cliff Screecher… a rahi species that had never been seen on Metru Nui.

“You were right,” she spoke up, “We should’ve attacked Larone’s rebels before.”

Greillash just glowered at her.

“There was no way we could’ve known their forces would be bolstered by these refugees,” Phidras interjected, ever eager to defend his commander, “Just as the refugees couldn’t have known there’d be a budding rebellion waiting to aid them.”

“Oh, they knew,” Sidra said, allowing herself a small smile, “What do you think Larone’s been waiting for all this time?”

The Cliff Screecher cry rang out again, almost directly overhead now.

“How could they have possibly-”

Sidra held up her Kanohi Iden, “I told them.”

Neryx cried out in that moment, but Sidra’s words weren’t the reason. The transport started slowing, drifting listlessly, then rocked suddenly as something heavy dropped down on top of it. The doors were wrenched open on both sides and rhotuka spinners came flying in, striking Phidras and Greillash and paralysing them where they stood.

The transport slowly stumbled into the wall of a nearby building and came to a complete stop, jostling with just enough force to send the immobile forms of Phidras and Greillash flopping to the floor. Sidra ignored their hateful glares and stepped past them, dropping out into the street. She could see Neryx similarly immobilised in the driver’s seat, eyes wide with confusion.

“Sorry,” Sidra said to her, “I promise I’ll explain everything.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” the familiar voice of Sidra’s mentor issued from behind her, and she turned to see Lariska standing in the street, “Your plan worked perfectly, Skirmisher.”

[Nato G]

Chapter 30 – Returning To The Fold

From the notes of Chronicler Crisda.

I thought I knew our enemy, but the depths of their depravity continues to surprise me.

I thought I’d seen their worst when the Rahkshi were set loose in our streets.

I thought I’d seen their worst when the Makuta turned our Toa against us.

I thought I’d seen their worst when Vhel used his Felnas on Yayle.

I thought I’d seen their worst when Icthilos was tortured.

But today I saw the Shadow Matoran. Figures I could have once considered kin, now rent and reshaped into merciless monsters. They descended from the sky like a baleful blight, raining brutality and blackness upon the village.

We’d already fought Matoran once today.

But nothing could have prepared us for this.

* * *

Vhalem

“Your pack? I don’t remember seeing it. I was more focused on-”

Vhalem couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Pira was right in front of him, but he could barely see her. All he saw was the battered, brutalised body he’d pulled out of the tunnel, broken and bleeding and barely breathing.

He’d seen people die before. He’d lost friends before. But this had felt different.

Pira was part of his team. A friend. His Sister. She’d had no one to count on for so much of her lonely life, and he’d promised in every way except words that he would be there for her. She’d saved his life once before, after Widrek had wounded him. And he hadn’t been there to return the favour. She’d been alone, again, the one time she shouldn’t have been.

But the problem was bigger than Pira.

The war had ended. No one else was meant to die. But now here he was, fighting a new war against some of the Toa he’d once fought alongside. And fighting at his side this time were some of the same beings he’d been fighting against less than a month ago.

“You need to find it,” Pira seized his hand in both of hers, “Nothing else matters.”

“What’s in there that could possibly-”

“Do you know what the Nuva Symbols are?”

“I’m guessing something to do with the Toa Nuva.”

“The sources of their power. Far stronger than an ordinary Toa. I used my mask to fuse the Air Nuva Symbol with myself. That’s how I fought off the Vahki so easily. How I… dealt with Widrek.”

“You did that without telling us?” A strange sense of betrayal wracked Vhalem, stopping just short of becoming anger, “You’ve had these things with you all week and never mentioned them?”

“I didn’t want Larone to find out. Especially after he admitted he’s had Ihnes spy on us in the past.”

“Okay, I get it. But that kind of power… you could’ve been hurt. Or worse.”

“Worse already happened, even with the power,” Pira snapped, withdrawing her hands, “But the other five Symbols were in my pack. If the Toa Hagah get their hands on that kind of power, this fight is going to get a lot harder.”

“Okay,” he nodded, “If you lost it in the tunnel it’s probably still down there somewhere. I’ll search there first. If I don’t find it there, I guess I’ll have to check with the Vortixx. They’ve been looting since the Shadow Matoran retreated.”

“Don’t tell anyone what you’re looking for,” Pira whispered, “Not even the rest of the team. Not yet. I’m the one who chose to keep it a secret. I need to be the one to explain it.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Vhalem said, rising to his feet, “The odds are already against us enough without you keeping game-changing weapons from the rest of us.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he sighed, “But no more secrets. I was just starting to trust you.”

He’d meant it as a joke, the look of remorse on her face ripped all of the mirth from the moment.

* * *

Sidra

“When you said you had a plan in place to ambush the convoy, I didn’t expect this,” Sidra said to Lariska, as they watched the seven Visorak drag paralysed Mesmers into the street. “Last time we were around Visorak, they were trying to kill us.”

It had taken less than a minute for the spiders to disable the convoy, first by paralysing the drivers, then ripping the doors from the transports and peppering their occupants with paralysis spinners.

“That was a long time ago,” Lariska lamented, “A lot’s changed since then. Akrokan there is a great mimic,” she pointed to the black Visorak, “He did the Cliff Screecher callout to signal that we were in position.”

“That was a nice touch. Reminded me of simpler times.”

Those ‘simpler times’ were the years Sidra had spent on Odina, training with the Dark Hunters.

Most of the old guard like Talok and Greillash hated the Dark Hunters with a burning passion. The thought of willingly engaging with the organisation that had driven their people from the homeland would have been viewed as borderline-sacrilege or outright treason by most of them. Which was one of many reasons Sidra had kept quiet about who she’d trained with while the others had exchanged tales about their time working with warlords and mercenary bands.

The fall of the League and exodus from Odina had occurred dozens of millennia before Sidra had even existed. To pass up an opportunity to train with the best bounty hunters in the universe over some long-forgotten feud was the height of stupidity, as far as she was concerned. In return for training and membership, Sidra had promised to serve as a spy for the Dark Hunters when she returned to her homeland, though at the time no one involved could have imagined the circumstances under which she’d end up fulfilling that duty.

“Thank you for keeping your word,” Sidra said, looking at the prone form of Neryx, lying with the other prisoners, “I know this League of yours probably wants to kill anyone who gets in their way.”

“They do. As do I,” Lariska said, “But the Dark Hunters didn’t last this long by breaking their word. A deal is a deal. No harm will come to these prisoners.”

“Nor any others of my people who surrender,” Sidra reminded her, “And you’re to take them alive where you-”

“I remember. But I can’t promise a bloodless conquest.”

“I never asked you for one. I know the reality of war.”

“Everyone thinks that until they find themselves on the frontline.”

“I already was,” Sidra locked eyes with her former mentor, “Spending hours at a time trapped in a room with a Makuta, lying to everyone in my life for months… honestly, it’s a relief to finally be done with it.”

“You never were good at subterfuge,” Lariska scoffed.

“Nor were you. I know that look. You’re worked up about something.”

Lariska glanced at the Visorak, which were now in the process of binding the prisoners in webbing. Further down the street a group of Vortixx – clearly members of the League – were approaching, likely eager to scavenge weapons and tech from the prisoners.

“Walk with me,” Lariska said, turning in the opposite direction.

Sidra’s concerns deepened as she watched Lariska walk away, without any sign of the spring she normally had in her step. Though it had been decades since they’d last met in person, and circumstances for both of them had changed significantly in the time since, it was obvious that something was troubling Lariska.

Realising she’d just been standing there watching, she hurried to catch up to her mentor, falling into step beside her.

“He didn’t see it coming,” Lariska said quietly.

“Who? What?”

“The Shadowed One. Desecrator attacked him from behind, killed him before any of us even realised what was happening.”

“Why does that matter?”

“Because I always told him that when I killed him, he would see it coming.”

“I know patience is one of the skills you try to train us in, but maybe you waited a little too long-”

“-it wasn’t time. I was afraid of him, everyone was, but I also respected him. He was vain, but honourable. Cruel, but fair…” her hand reached up to brush the shoulder of her mechanical arm, “…he deserved to die, but only when he was ready for it. When his work was done, and it was time for him to pass the torch.”

“To you?”

“Who else? I was the only being aside from Ancient that he trusted to lead in his stead.”

It was certainly no secret that many among the Dark Hunters regarded Lariska as the organisation’s unofficial second-in-command. She was one of the few members of the organisation permitted to operate under her true name. She was powerless, yet possessed a physical prowess that put most other Dark Hunters to shame. And to female recruits in particular, Lariska had been a staunch and supportive mentor.

“I’m sure this is a really dumb question, but I’ll ask anyway. Why don’t you just kill Desecrator? They took what you wanted. Why not take it back?”

“The Skakdi are loyal to them. If I kill Desecrator, we go straight back to being at war with their people. You’re not alone in wanting to avoid further bloodshed. We’ve all lost too much.”

“I never took you for the compassionate type,” Sidra teased, “Or are you going to tell me you’re just being practical?”

“Call it what you will. Only the Matoran still have the means to manufacture more of their kind, and there’s only a few species who can reproduce biologically. For most of us, even one battle could easily result in the extinction of our entire species.”

“I get it.”

“I know. That’s why I’m telling you.”

Sidra could only nod in response. Lariska had been a great mentor, but she’d never been the warm and welcoming type. Though she trusted her, she would have never considered Lariska a friend before today. Seeing this side of her, though, realising how alike they’d become and how quietly desperate Lariska was for someone to confide in… it changed things.

“So, Desecrator,” Sidra finally said, not wanting to stew in awkward silence any longer, “How’re they running things?”

“They’ve kept me on the outside. But they made the mistake of putting Immolator on their council, clearly not realising she’s still loyal to me.”

Immolator was a Dark Hunter Sidra knew well, with both of them joining the organisation at around the same time, training together under Lariska’s shrewd tutelage. Sidra knew enough of the Dark Hunters to not want to cross blades with any of them, but Immolator was an especially frightening foe. Her species possessed the ability to transform their bodies into a cloud of crystalline shards, which made her an ideal infiltrator, but Immolator had somehow found a way to exert her power with explosive force, acting as a living bomb that used her own crystal shards as shrapnel.

“From what she’s told me, Desecrator’s intentions seem to be earnest, but they’re definitely keeping secrets from the rest of us. They want peace, but a being like them isn’t going to be content with taking orders from a bunch of Turaga.”

“You think they intend to seize power?”

“That’s literally all they do.”

“Okay. Who else can we count on?”

“We’re not fighting Desecrator.”

“Maybe not yet. Maybe not ever. But half the League are probably going to distrust me. It’d be good to know who my friends are.”

“Immolator will be happy to see you. Twins, Mender, and Hoarder as well. Spiderling might-”

“Hey! You, drop your weapons!” The demand came courtesy of a gold-armoured Su-Toa who’d just rounded the corner ahead of them, and was now brandishing a hooked blade in their direction. A step behind her was an Onu-Toa clad in black and yellow, who took up a defensive stance as soon as she saw Sidra.

“Skirmisher is with me,” Lariska said calmly, hands inching towards the daggers at her belt, “Where do you think the League have been getting their information about what’s going on in the city?”

“From Larone?” The Onu-Toa replied, hesitantly.

“Larone doesn’t spend his days in the same room as the Makuta,” Sidra said, holding up her Iden for the two Toa to see, “You want proof of my commitment? Keep going to the end of the street and you’ll see dozens of my own people that I just led into an ambush.”

She tried to make it sound like a boast, but her heart wasn’t in it. She wasn’t proud of what she’d done. It didn’t feel like a triumph. It had been a necessity, to save her people from themselves… and all it had cost her was the trust of the love of her life.

“Sorry,” the Su-Toa lowered her blade, “Impulse. Your lot have been huntin’ us for the past week.”

“You’re the ones who escaped Le-Metru,” Sidra realised.

“Barely.”

“You don’t know what’s happening in Po-Metru, then.”

“We’re aware,” Lariska was the one who answered, “That’s why we launched our attack now.”

“And now that we’re wrapped up here, we’d really like to get out of here and help our friends in Po-Metru,” the Onu-Toa added.

The four of them started moving again, swiftly crossing paths with another Toa – this one clad in black and purple – coming the other way. He paused for a moment, frowning at the sight of Sidra and Lariska, before turning his attention to the Onu-Toa.

“Have you seen that red Vortixx around?” He asked, “Pira lost something in the tunnel during the fight with Widrek, and the Vortixx were seen scavenging there afterwards.”

“There were some Vortixx back that way,” Sidra spoke up, indicating the direction she’d just come from, “Probably looting.”

“Thanks,” the Toa said gruffly, pushing past the four of them without a further word.

“What happened with Widrek?” Sidra asked.

The last she’d heard him mentioned before today had been during Vhel’s chastisement of Maliss two days past. It was surreal to realise how much had changed in such a short time.

“He’s dead,” the Su-Toa said, “Hurt a friend of ours real bad. So she hurt him back.”

“I didn’t think your lot had it in you to kill one of your own.”

“She didn’t have a choice.”

“What about the rest of our friends?” the Onu-Toa asked, “Who made it to Po-Metru?”

“I don’t know much, but I’ll tell you what I can.”

[Nato G]

Chapter 31 – True Colours

From the ramblings of The Recorder

This League of ours is a flimsy alliance. We’re united now in the face of death, against a common enemy, in pursuit of mutual survival.

But many of our members were once enemies. Many of them still are. Many of them will be again.

Promises made were the necessity of yesterday.

Promises broken are the necessity of today.

* * *

Vhalem

As the apparent Mesmer turncoat had predicted, Vhalem found the Vortixx group in the midst of looting a quartet of Vahki transports.

The League’s seven Visorak were departing from the area as Vhalem arrived, crates and cannons balanced precariously on their backs, or perched between their pincers. Several dozen Mesmers – bound in Visorak webbing and still shaking off the effects of paralysis spinners – were sprawled on the side of the street, propped up in a long row against the side of a building. Their tools and equipment were piled next to the transports, haphazardly stacked alongside other weapons and items the Vortixx had pulled out of the vehicles.

“Hey!” Vhalem called, stopping in the middle of the street, “Where’s your boss?”

“Boss sounds so… domineering,” Lhuhamaka replied, leaning out of one of the transports, “I prefer to think of myself as an employer, a provider for my people.”

“Then maybe you can provide me with some information,” Vhalem snapped.

“Of course. How can I help?”

Her words were warm, but her smile was cold. She was looking at him the same way a rahi serpent would regard a rodent it was about to devour.

As a Matoran, Vhalem would’ve been terrified of that stare. In fact, he wouldn’t have even seen it, being too afraid to raise his gaze from the ground. But today, as a Toa, he met that stare without trepidation. He had the power to send her floating away forever. She had no power at all.

“My friend lost something in the fight. A pack, containing five stone tablets. Have you seen it?”

“The Nuva Symbols, you mean?” Lhuhamaka’s smile grew wider, “There’s no need to be coy, Toa. We know more than you give us credit for.”

“Then you know the Symbols are useless to you.”

“I know they should be useless to everyone except the Toa Nuva,” Lhuhamaka reached behind her back and held out Pira’s backpack for Vhalem to see, “And yet, I noticed that the Air Symbol is missing from the set, and your little Le-Toa friend was punching well above her weight today. If she can make that power work for her, I’m sure we can do the same.”

“That power doesn’t belong to you,” Vhalem snapped, drawing his bow and stepping forward.

Some of the other Vortixx tensed, reaching for weapons of their own, but Lhahamaka waved them off. “The people it belongs to are dead and gone,” she replied calmly, “Your friend stole it. Then we did. That’s how power changes hands: it’s taken.”

“Why are you still acting like we’re the enemy?” Vhalem groaned, anger giving way to exasperation, “We’re all on the same side, remember? Give the Symbols back to me so the Toa can use them to help us win this war.”

“You are still the enemy,” She dropped out of the transport and strode forwards, stopping a bio before Vhalem, “Even now, you look down on us, judge us and our ways. I see what awaits us when our alliance against the Makuta ends.”

“And whose fault do you think that is?”

“Yours. Every society and species has different traditions, different values. Yet your kind alone think you can dictate what’s right and wrong for the whole universe?”

“I can’t speak for what other Toa did, elsewhere. Maybe they overstepped, or maybe some of the so-called traditions you speak of needed to be stepped on. But Metru Nui is our city.”

“It was. Now it’s the Makuta’s. And next… well, it’s like I said. Power is taken.”

“So that’s your genius plan? Let the Toa take out the Makuta, then seize power?”

“Typical Toa, thinking you’re the centre of the universe,” she scoffed, “We don’t need you to defeat the Makuta. We don’t need you at all.”

Something changed in her expression, something that sparked a primal sense of panic within Vhalem. But the instinct came too late. The Vortixx’s fist swept into the side of his face swifter than he could react, sending his Kanohi flying to the side, and him stumbling backwards.

“Your leaders are liars!” Lhuhamaka roared, stalking towards Vhalem as he tried to scramble backwards. “Your god is gone!” He fumbled for an arrow and raised his bow to fire, but she swatted his weapon aside with a swipe of her hand. “Your Destinies are done!”

“At least we had Destinies,” Vhalem spat, even as the Vortixx drew her strange sword and raised it high to strike, “What did you have?”

The question seemed to give the Lhuhamaka pause, though it became clear when she replied that her hesitation wasn’t for the reason Vhalem had hoped.

“Destiny is a prison, not a purpose,” she said, a note of what sounded like genuine sorrow in her voice, “Your kind are prisoners of your preaching and prophecies. We had freedom. Freedom to invent, and innovate. Freedom to decide for ourselves. I won’t let your kind take that from us.”

The sword was still raised, the device it was attached to humming with energy. But before Lhuhamaka could bring the blade down an arrow buried itself in her side, wringing an enraged roar from her.

Toa and Vortixx alike looked in the direction the shot had come from. A Mesmer stood, freed of their bonds, Vhalem’s bow grasped in their clawed hands. They’d used the blade to cut themselves and several of their companions free, who in turn were untying more of their companions. Already, some were rushing towards their confiscated weapons, and the other Vortixx were moving to stop them.

Seeing his chance, Vhalem dived for his fallen Kanohi, even as all Karzahni broke loose around him. 

* * *

Sidra

“-freed the mind-controlled Matoran and repelled our – their – forces,” Sidra faltered mid-explanation, “Sorry. I’m still- it’s confusing.”

“It’s fine,” the Su-Toa’s tone was dismissive, “What happened after that?”

“I don’t know,” Sidra shrugged, “We were sent straight here. If Talok wants to keep up the pressure, he might have redirected the Shadow Matoran to Po-Metru, but I can’t be-”

She broke off as the roar of a distant detonation rumbled through the city. She whirled towards the sound, seeing a structure several streets away sinking out of sight, replaced by a plume of dust.

“That’s where-” the Onu-Toa gasped.

“-where we left the prisoners,” Lariska finished, already sprinting back down the street.

The four beings hurried back the way they came, rounding the first corner to find the Visorak scattered in the street, some struggling to pick up the crates they’d dropped in the chaos of the explosion, others scuttling off in its direction.

The sight that greeted the group when they finally reached the scene of the battle was one of chaos. Debris was scattered across the street, dust hanging heavy in the air. On one side of the street, the broken bodies of Vortixx and Odinans alike were strewn in the rubble of a collapsed structure. On the other several more Odinans lay dead, one with a now-empty Cordak cannon clutched in his grasp. Their bodies were brutally broken, their torsos folded and squished inwards by what Sidra could only assume was the power of the Ba-Toa.

The Ba-Toa himself was sprawled in the middle of the street, staring sightlessly at the sky through the eyeholes of his Kanohi. Ichor was puddled beneath his prone form, still flooding forth from the ragged stab wound where his heartlight had once been. At his side lay his killer, another crushed Odinan, a bloodied blade lying next to her outstretched hand.

The two Toa with Sidra let out horrified cries and ran to their companion’s side, but Sidra barely noticed. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the surviving Vortixx, who were in the midst of taking their blades to the prisoners who were still tied up on the side of the street.

Relief flooded Sidra’s thoughts as she spotted Neryx’s terrified expression among those who were still alive. Relief that was promptly replaced by panic as a Vortixx raised their blade over her head.

“Stop!” She snarled, raising her launcher and loosing a spinner towards the Vortixx.

Many of the Odinan warriors had manifested deadly abilities for their Rhotuka, and Sidra was no different. Her Rhotuka power was simple, but horrifically effective. Once loosed from their launcher, her spinners became razor-thin, and incredibly sharp.

The Vortixx didn’t even realise his arm had been sliced off until it fell on his foot.

The wounded Vortixx recoiled, howling in pain. The others abandoned their butchery and ran forward, weapons raised and aimed at Sidra. Lhuhamaka was among them, one hand pressed to a wound at her side, the other raised to point accusingly at Sidra.

“Traitor!” She snarled, “We never should’ve put our trust in a coward who sold out her own.”

“I’m standing up to you, aren’t I?”

“A fool, then.”

“You’re the fool,” Sidra spat, another Rhotuka already formed at the end of her launcher, “We had a deal. The prisoners weren’t to be harmed.”

“What does it matter? You got your absolution.”

“Does this lunatic even know the deal?” Sidra glanced at Lariska, who shrugged in response, “I didn’t do this for me. I did this to keep my people from being killed. Especially the people I… care about.”

“They broke free and attacked us,” Lhuhamaka protested, her free hand now gesturing at the crushed corpses, “They blew up a building, buried four of my friends. The Toa stopped those he could, but they cut him down.”

“None of that justified killing the prisoners who were still bound.”

“…are still bound…” Lhuhamaka grimaced, realising what she was going to see before she even turned around.

Sidra had seen it. The moment the Vortixx had turned their attention to Sidra, Neryx had rolled herself onto the dropped sword and used it to cut herself free, then helped the other survivors. She’d spotted the faces of Phidras and Greillash among those still drawing breath. Faces full of rage and hate, all directed at her.

Lhuhamaka turned around just in time to see the survivors slamming shut the doors of one of the transports and putting the vehicle into reverse. Remorse wracked Sidra as she watched Neryx vanish from sight down the street. The only solace she could find was that no one – not the Toa, not the Visorak, not even Lariska – had warned the Vortixx or tried to stop the survivors from escaping.

“Look what you’ve done,” the Vortixx snarled, “Desecrator will hear of this.”

“Why wait?” Lariska spoke up, “Let’s go tell them right now."

* * *

Trina

Howling in anger, Trina tore and twisted at the chain still binding her. Maliss’ body had disappeared. Gone from her grasp. Stolen from her sight. As if he’d never been there to begin with. Not even his prosthetic arm remained.

His buzzsaw had done its work, though. She’d almost completely cut through the chain before he’d vanished. She’d already lost track of how long she’d spent trying to break the chain since then. But she was close. She could see it. She just needed to-

There!

-with a harsh scrape of rent metal, the chain finally snapped.

With ankles aching and fingers stinging, Trina stood upright at last.

She’d been gone too long. Missed out on too much. She needed to find Icthilos.

[Nato G]

Chapter 32 – Last Chances

From the notes of Chronicler Crisda.

It’s strange how swiftly things can change. Mere minutes ago, we were walking openly around the village, enjoying the desert breeze and soft sunlight as we waited for the next attack, confident in the power of our Toa and the strength of our walls.

And now we hunker and hide, the skies above black with beating wings and beams of shadow. The wind has given way to shrieks and screams, and the twisted taunts of what were once Matoran. If the Toa are still fighting, we can’t see them. If there’s anyone coming to help, they can’t get here soon enough.

I’m alone now, scribbling these words as I cower beneath an overturned cart. They’re barely legible, I’m sure, but if this is to be my final chronicle, I intend to have the last word…

* * *

Icthilos

Icthilos had spent months on Xia fighting in near-total darkness, but it was nothing compared to what he was facing now.

This darkness was cold and cruel, writhing and alive. The mutated Matoran swam through the shadows like Razorfish in the depths, fading from view as swiftly as they appeared. Their elemental blasts were near-invisible in the darkness, striking down Toa and Matoran alike as they ran.

They’d tried hiding at first, but the attackers had targeted the huts and structures, tearing apart their rooves or bringing them crashing down upon those cowering inside. Some of the Toa were still trying to summon shields and shelters to protect the villagers, but their efforts only managed to get more Shadow Matoran focusing fire on them. Blasts of fire and plasma lit up the shadows here and there, acting like flashes of lightning in the dense darkness.

Other Toa, like Icthilos, had resorted to moving out in the open, firing elemental blasts wildly into the darkness, hoping to draw the Shadow Matoran away from their innocent counterparts. It wasn’t a good plan. It barely even qualified as a plan. But it was all he could do.

The dense dome of darkness hanging over the village like a cloud wasn’t of the Shadow Matoran’s making, Icthilos was certain. This was Makuta Vhel reaching out from afar again, just as he had with the illusions earlier. Even now, the Makuta wasn’t brave enough to engage this many Toa directly, but his attention and ire was still firmly on them.

Icthilos stumbled through the dimness, scarcely able to see more than a few steps ahead. He swung his flail madly at the sound of flapping wings above, his only reward being an irritated shriek and a Shadow blast that sliced across his shoulder armour. He heard a terrified cry from high overhead, growing closer and louder until it was silenced by a meaty impact somewhere off to his left.

Every scream he heard, every prone form he stumbled on, was like a hammer blow to Icthilos’ heart. He was the one who’d asked Savnu to transform more Toa. He was the one who’d encouraged the Matoran to stand their ground. He was the one who’d manipulated Bihriis. He was to blame for every life lost this day.

“If you’re considering surrender, I’m afraid it’s far too late for that now,” the familiar voice of Makuta Vhel forced its way into Icthilos’ mind. “I gave you so many chances.”

“Chances to what? Remain your slave?” Icthilos scoffed. He kept his weapon raised; he could still hear Shadow Matoran moving around him, but none flew or fired at him now.

“Slavery is the Destiny of all Matoran, all Toa, all Turaga,” Vhel responded. “To serve the will of our makers is your Duty, but you seem to have lost sight of that.”

“Our Duty is to the Matoran.”

“Your Duty is to keep the Matoran down!” There was rage in Vhel’s voice now, “Toa exist so that Matoran won’t stand up for themselves. So that they won’t question their place or purpose. So that they perform the work that keeps this universe alive. Work that you are disrupting!”

“The Matoran can’t work if you kill them all!” Icthilos protested, “Tell your Shadow Matoran to focus on us and leave the villagers alone!”

“No. We’re past the point of mercy.”

“But you need the Matoran. You can’t-”

“-but I can,” Vhel cut him off, “I could slaughter every last one of you today and put my spawn and servants to work in your place. And then, I could recycle your remains into the Matoran-making machines and rebuild your species as the mindless automatons you were always meant to be.”

“You wouldn’t- you can’t-”

“…or I can just kill everyone in this village and let your rebellion die with you. That is the only compromise I can accept now.”

The presence in Icthilos’ mind withdrew.

And then Shadow Matoran swarmed him.

* * *

Sidra

The brief meeting with Desecrator had proven disappointing for both sides. The strange Skakdi had offered plenty of platitudes and apologies, but stopped short of doling out any consequences. 

As far as they were concerned, the injuries of the Vortixx, and Sidra losing some of the people she’d tried to save, was punishment enough for the transgressions of both parties. The war was far from over, they’d said, and punishments would serve only to weaken their warriors.

Sidra hadn’t stuck around to make small talk after that. Parting ways with Lariska, she’d made her way back to the street where the battle had taken place. The League had already finished their looting, and left the bodies where they lay. A few of the corpses had disappeared in the interim, the slain Ba-Toa among them. Only the Onu-Toa was still at the scene, kneeling by the bloodstain that had once been her friend.

Sidra was better-acquainted with death than most beings, certainly more than she would’ve liked, but she still didn’t understand the phenomena of vanishing remains. She knew from her training with the Dark Hunters that bodies only disappeared after certain kinds of deaths, and she’d been taught extensively on the best way to stage an assassination to ensure the evidence removed itself.

Some in the Dark Hunters who’d witnessed vanishings firsthand insisted the effect resembled teleportation powers. The more spiritual suggested the bodies were becoming one with the stars or spirits. All Sidra knew for sure was that she’d find the answer someday, just like every other living being still in existence. In her line of work, death was the only thing anyone could be sure of.

The Onu-Toa briefly glanced her way as she approached, though said nothing. For a few moments, the two women stood in stilted silence, until Sidra forced herself to speak.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” she said quickly, doubting her words before she’d even finished speaking them, “I won’t hold it against you if you take your anger out on me.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” the Toa said flatly, “This… all of it… it’s wrong.”

“I know. Your friend didn’t deserve-”

“No, I mean this whole thing was staged. Somehow. I know it.”

“I- uh…” Sidra’s mouthparts flapped uselessly.

How was she supposed to respond to that? Here she was trying to express her remorse, to take responsibility for the actions of her own, offering herself up as an emotional punching bag… and she was being let off the hook?

“I’m sorry,” she repeated numbly, “I don’t know you. I didn’t know your friend. But this all seems pretty definitive.”

“I know. But Vhalem’s not a killer.”

“A lot of Toa say that before they go to war.”

“No, you don’t understand,” the Onu-Toa stood upright, staring defiantly up at Sidra, “Vhalem’s my best friend. We knew each other even before we transformed. I know what he’s capable of.”

“No one knows what they’re capable of when they’re facing death, until it happens.”

“No, I mean he literally wasn’t capable of doing what was done to those bodies. When Vhalem fights – fought – one-on-one, he weighed his opponents down or made them float away. But those bodies weren’t crushed to the ground. They were folded in on themselves, like they’d been caught in a gravity well.”

“I don’t follow. That sounds like something a Ba-Toa could do.”

“It is. But Vhalem’s only done it once before, to destroy a group of flying Vahki. It was big, barely controlled, covering a wide area. If he’d summoned a gravity well to defend himself on that street all everything would’ve been crushed together. But they were crushed individually, with no damage to their extremities or weapons. There was no damage to any of the buildings aside from the one that got hit by the Cordak. Vhalem wouldn’t have tried to do something that precise for the first time during a fight for his life.”

“Listen, I know the pain of losing someone. I know what it’s like to hope there’s still a chance that-”

“This isn’t grief or denial talking, okay?” The Onu-Toa snapped, “He’s gone. I saw him. I held him until he vanished. It was him. That wasn’t fake. But the story the Vortixx told is. I’m sure of it.”

“Is that why you allowed my surviving kin to flee?”

“In the moment, I wasn’t really thinking about them, sorry.”

“So, are you going to confront the Vortixx?”

“I would, but I’ve got no proof, and the one Kanohi Rode we had on this island just disappeared. As much as I hate to admit it, we still need the Vortixx to win this war. Their numbers, their weapons… even Vhalem saw that.”

“So you’re going to work with them?”

“No. I’m leaving for Po-Metru, along with anyone who I can convince to come with me. There’re Toa out there who need help.”

“Helping this army defeat Talok’s forces is the best way to help your friends.”

“This army isn’t in a state to fight anyone right now. And when it gets dark the Rahkshi are going to come. I don’t know if they’ll come here, to Po-Metru, or both, but in an hour or two none of us are going to be in a position to go anywhere.”

“Then I wish you luck,” Sidra said, shrugging.

A few Toa more or less weren’t going to make a difference here. She doubted they’d make much difference in Po-Metru, either. It wasn’t worth the effort to try to stop them. 

“You should come with us,” the Toa implored, “You played your part, and the Vortixx messed up your big moment. There’s nothing more you can do to help here.”

“My loyalty is to the Dark Hunters. I’ll stand with them.”

“This is bigger than factions, isn’t it? That’s the whole point of your League, isn’t it? They already know everything you do, but the Toa in Po-Metru don’t. Giving your inside information to two groups doubles the chance of victory.”

“I-” Sidra couldn’t argue with that logic.

“It might be your last chance to make a real difference in this fight.” 

Sidra’s mandibles clacked together as she weighed the woman’s words. Mere days ago, the thought of allying herself with Toa would’ve been preposterous. She didn’t care about them or their cause. She hadn’t betrayed her own people to spare the Matoran from suffering, it had been about trying to ensure a transfer of power for the League with as little bloodshed as possible.

But the Toa’s math spoke for itself. Two groups armed with Sidra’s inside knowledge was better than one. And an army of Toa probably still stood a better chance against the Makuta than most of the League did.

“You make a compelling argument,” she admitted, “I’ll go with you.”

[Nato G]

Chapter 33 – Scattering Shadows

From the journal of Turaga Marik.

We’re nearing the end, now.

Today’s sunset is the last I will ever endure.

Tomorrow’s sunrise is one I will never get to see.

But I find solace in the fact that many others in this city also won’t live to see it. 

* * *

Pira

“Today was a dark day for our city, and the night that follows will be darker still,” the voice of Administrator Talok echoed eerily up from below as the airship soared over the sands of Po-Metru. It was a small, battered vessel, its hatches long since gone, letting the sound flow freely into the vehicle’s interior.

Every screen and speaker in the city was broadcasting the speech at full volume, ensuring the Mesmer’s words were audible to all, whether they wanted it or not. And with none of her companions aboard the airship feeling especially conversational, Pira had little choice but to listen.

“We mourn the losses of Turaga Rost, Toa Dhozoh, and Toa Widrek, and the many other innocents whose names we do not yet know. But even as we remember those who are gone, we must also brace ourselves for the losses that are yet to come.”

Vhalem was dead.

She’d sent him away, and now he was dead.

She hadn’t even gotten to see his body. There was nothing for her to mourn. There was no closure. There were no answers. There was no reconciliation. And there was no absolving herself of the guilt growing within her like a weed.

She couldn’t tell the others why Vhalem had confronted the Vortixx. Not without admitting that she’d kept the Nuva Symbols a secret, that she’d asked Vhalem to keep that secret. Not without admitting that she was the reason he was dead. The blood of two Toa was on her hands today.

“Our loyal forces are divided by darkness,” Talok’s distant speech continued, “In Po-Metru, they seek to liberate the Matoran taken hostage by rogue Toa, while in Onu-Metru they fend off the advances of foul invaders from beyond our shores.”

The Vortixx claimed that the Mesmers had killed Vhalem. Ithnen was insisting that the Vortixx had to be responsible. The truth didn’t much matter to Pira at this point. Both species had slain Toa and enslaved Matoran. Both were the enemy, no matter how much anyone wanted to pretend otherwise. Still, given the choice between the hundreds of Vortixx with the League and the one Mesmer on the airship, the airship was easily the better option.

In addition to the Mesmer, Tivni, Ithnen, and Behjen had joined the expedition to Po-Metru, with Ilton and Pahlil choosing to stay behind and protect Chavara as best they could against the Rahkshi that would certainly be coming for her within the next few hours.

Talok wasn’t even trying to keep it a secret.

“Tonight, the children of our benefactor will roam this city in numbers never before witnessed,” his speech continued, “Tonight of all nights, you break the curfew at your peril.”

“Hey airhead. How’re your eyes?” Ithnen’s voice stirred Pira from her introspection, as she felt the Onu-Toa sit down beside her.

“Everything’s still blurry. If there’s a battle happening in Po-Metru, I’m not going to be much help.”

Whatever she’d done down in the tunnel when she’d faced Widrek to help herself sense her surroundings wasn’t working now. She could barely summon a soft wind, the breeze refusing to bend to her will. It almost felt like her own powers were mad at her, angry and ashamed of how they’d been used.

“Let us worry about that,” Ithnen said, “You just stay safe. I don’t want to lose anyone else today.”

“You… knew him longer than me,” Pira said softly, “What did he want to do after this? I never got the chance to ask.”

“We never really talked about it. I don’t think we ever really believed there would be an after to all this. The whole journey here, it felt like too much to hope for. I hate that we were right.”

“I know how you feel.” 

From the speakers down below, Talok concluded his speech with a grim warning.

“To the traitors and trespassers who sully our streets and shores with their steps, hear this. Lay down your weapons, surrender now, or you won’t live to see daybreak.”

* * *

Ilton

“It’s a good plan,” Larone insisted.

“It’s a terrible plan,” Ilton replied.

Even if Talok hadn’t been openly talking about it during his speech, the League were under no illusions about who and what they’d be facing next. Day was almost done. The Rahkshi were coming.

Unfortunately, knowing what was coming brought them no closer to a consensus on how to deal with it. The League had planned to have fully entrenched themselves in Onu-Metru by now; they hadn’t anticipated having this many wounded so soon in their campaign.

“Ilton is right. We cannot abandon our position,” Desecrator growled.

Ilton exchanged a glance with Pahlil, then looked at the faces of the other beings gathered in Desecrator’s tent. It was hard to tell which of them was more surprised to hear Desecrator agree with Ilton.

“We’re sitting on a beach,” Larone snapped, “We have no fortifications, our wounded are scattered on the sand without any kind of cover. If we head back out in the fleet-”

“-we’ll make it even easier for the Rahkshi to pick us off,” Ilton cut him off, “Out on the open water the Rahkshi can hit us from any direction. We need to choose our ground.”

“We have superior firepower, and the airships.”

“Rahkshi can fly, brittle bones,” Lariska said, yawning, “You’ll be target practice for them, and your airships will be the clay Kewa.”

“We have Chavara. The Rahkshi-”

“-will kill her. A lot,” Lariska scoffed.

“Have you got anything more constructive to add?” Pahlil asked, “Not that I disagree with any of what you’re saying, but some actual suggestions would be helpful.”

“My suggestion? If you want to guarantee seeing tomorrow, steal the fastest boat we have and go straight back out the Sea Gate.”

To her credit, the way Lariska said it made clear she had no intention of doing so herself. The way she said it also made it clear she was being sarcastic… but Ilton could see some sense in her suggestion.

“That may not be the worst plan,” he said, “If we pulled the fleet back all the way to the Sea Gate, the Rahkshi might not follow us that far. And if they did, we could bottle-neck them in the tunnel.”

“The Rahkshi could also do the same to us,” Desecrator pointed out, “And we don’t know who or what may be in the tunnel.” There was genuine concern in the Skakdi’s voice, but there was no time for Ilton to ask what they thought might be in the tunnels.

“Then we raise barriers on both sides,” he suggested. “Box ourselves in until daybreak.”

“It’s too risky,” Desecrator insisted.

“Everything’s risky at this point,” Pahlil countered.

“Risks are a necessity of war, but retreating won’t help us win,” Larone grumbled.

“Nothing is going to help us win,” Lariska leaned forward, “This isn’t one of your legends, Turaga. Good isn’t going to triumph over evil with minimal effort and a morality lesson. Two groups of beings are going to spend all night killing each other, and if we’re lucky some of them might still be alive in the morning.”

Ilton sighed. The Dark Huntress wasn’t wrong, but her belligerence and bluntness wasn’t helping the situation. At a time like this, people needed some kind of hope, no matter how small it was.

“The point is, there’s no easy answer,” he said, “If we wait out to sea, we’ll be sunk. If we take to the air, we’ll be shot down. If we shelter in the structures, the Rahkshi will collapse them on top of us. We can’t hide in the Archives, because the Rahkshi know them better than we do. So if we’re not going to retreat, our best bet is to meet them in the open and hit them with everything we have.”

It wasn’t much of a strategy, but it was all they had. Whatever they were going to do, they had barely an hour to put it into action, and every second they wasted debating now put more lives at risk. Ilton had faced Rahkshi on more than a few occasions over the centuries the Brotherhood had spent hunting him, but only in isolated skirmishes against small groups. If the other Toa had spoken true about the number of the monsters massed in this city, this was going to be a fight unlike anything he’d endured before.

“You know Rahkshi better than most of us,” Pahlil said, gently nudging Ilton’s arm, “Is there anything we can do to improve our chances?”

“Light,” he said firmly, “Lots of light. We need to set fires, power up lightstones, and set up as many reflective surfaces as we can. It might be enough to keep back some of the weaker Rahkshi, and hurt or hamper some of the stronger ones.”

“What about the Darkness Rahkshi?” Desecrator asked, “They’ll smother the lights.”

“Which is why we need to be as spread out as possible, to make things harder for the Rahkshi with area-of-effect powers like Darkness.”

“If we light everything up, we’ll be easy targets,” Larone protested.

“We already are. Rahkshi are creatures of Shadow, perfectly at home in the dark. They have excellent night vision. They’ll see us just fine anyway.”

“Get to it,” Desecrator said, “Spread the word. Every being who still has hands to hold a weapon needs to be armed and ready.”

* * *

Icthilos

Icthilos had honestly never thought he’d see light again.

As swiftly as it had appeared, the Makuta’s Darkness dissipated, wafting away like a stormcloud as an airship soared in from the direction of Onu-Metru, plasma blasts and projectiles flying from the open hatches at its sides into the withdrawing cloud, inside which the Shadow Matoran were still sheltering. A powerful searchlight on the airship’s underside sliced at the Darkness like a blade, exposing the Shadow Matoran for brief moments before they scattered into the dark again.

Within a few minutes, the column of shifting shadows was completely gone from sight, disappearing off in the direction of the Coliseum. The airship, meanwhile, circled overhead a few times, before picking a spot outside the village gates and descending to land.

Icthilos staggered towards the airship as it came down to land, one leg dragging awkwardly, one arm hanging near-useless at his side, his torso aching from innumerable injuries. He’d long since lost count of his wounds. Just as he was losing count of the bodies he could see strewn all around. Dozens of Toa… dozens more Matoran… and only a mere handful of Shadow Matoran.

A few hours ago, the names of all those he’d ever lost in battle had been etched upon a single stone. Now there were enough names to fill several tablets. All his fault. All because he’d refused to back down. They’d looked to him to lead, and he’d led them to the slaughter.

“Hey!” Savnu appeared suddenly at his side, looking almost as haggard as Icthilos himself. Her expression was one of relief, and for a moment it looked like she was going to embrace him, before she took in the full extent of his injuries and decided better of it. “It’s over. You need to rest.”

All across the village, he could see other lone figures emerging from amongst the death and debris, some stopping to tend the wounded or check the bodies, others moving towards the airship as well. There were far fewer of them now than there had been before the attack.

“It’s not over,” Icthilos replied, grimacing, “It’s just getting started.”

Already, the village was in twilight, the canyons and sculptures all around limiting the little light still coming in through the Sun Holes in the distance. It hadn’t really been the airship that had made the Shadow Matoran retreat. They’d withdrawn because it was almost time for the Rahkshi to emerge.

The airship shuddered to a stop on the windswept sands, and Icthilos couldn’t muster the energy to conceal his disappointment when only five beings emerged. Behjen was out in front, followed by Tivni, Ithnen, and Pira – the former helping guide the latter. But it was fifth being who was the most surprising, a green-hued Mesmer Icthilos recognised immediately.

Today had been filled with more horrible moments than he cared to count, but the memory of seeing Trina being run through was still raw and enraging.

“What is this?” He snarled, stepping forward and raising his flail with his good arm.

“A fight you’re in no condition to win,” Savnu said quickly, grabbing his arm and forcing it down.

“This is Sidra,” Ithnen said, “She’s with us.”

“She was with them this morning,” Icthilos retorted, “She attacked Trina.”

“No, I saved her,” the Mesmer replied quietly.

Her demeanour was meek, her eyes downcast. But there was something more… the dejected look on her face, the way her shoulders were slumped under an unseen weight… Icthilos suddenly saw a lot of himself in this enemy.

“What are you talking about?” Ithnen glanced back at the Mesmer, “You hurt Trina?”

“No, but she sure hurt me,” Sidra turned slightly and raised her arm, showing off the fresh, branching scars stretching across her side.

“I watched you stab her.”

“To snap her out of the illusion,” Sidra protested, “Aadra’s eyebeams trap you in your worst memory. I figured an electrical jolt might be enough to snap her out of it.”

She suddenly drew one of her shimmering blades, slashing it across the side of the airship. Sparks arced into the air as the blade seemingly passed right through the metal.

“Electro-Chute blade,” she said, returning the weapon to her side. “Not something I’d use on a Toa Of Electricity if I wanted them dead.”

Icthilos gritted his teeth, but couldn’t summon a response. He’d only seen the blade for a brief moment during the battle earlier, but now that this Sidra had mentioned it by name, Icthilos recognised it. It was a Xian weapon, with a blade capable of phasing through physical matter to impart an incredibly painful but non-lethal electric shock. The Vortixx had used far more deadly weaponry when fighting in the field, but many of the rescued Matoran had mentioned Electro-Chute blades being used on them in captivity.

“Okay, I’m willing to believe that,” Savnu stepped forward, placing herself between Icthilos and the newcomers, “I still don’t understand why she’s here.”

“She was a spy for the League,” Ithnen said, “Things went bad, so I suggested she come with us.”

“League?” Icthilos asked.

“We’ve got a lot to catch you up on,” Behjen said, looking back at the dwindling daylight, “And not much time to do it.”

[Nato G]

Chapter 34 – Deal With A Devil

From the notes of Chronicler Crisda.

I wasn’t harmed in the battle. At least not physically. But Toa and Matoran beyond count lie dead all around me, so many that with almost every step I risk stepping on a body part or bloodstain.

These were people I knew. Innocent beings. And now they were meat and metal, pieces scattered in the sand, reluctantly left to the rahi as we braced ourselves for the next battle.

I understand now the horrors the Toa tried to shield me from by stopping me from joining them on Xia. The slaughter and suffering aren’t the worst part. It’s that it never stops. There’s no time to rest or mourn or give the dead the respect they’re due. There’s just the next battle, and the one after that, and the one after that.

Where does it end?

Does it end?

* * *

Pira

“How’s that?”

The hands that had been placed over Pira’s closed eyes withdrew, and light shifted beyond her eyelids as the Ga-Toa healer, Lhiyla, stepped away from her.

Pira slowly opened her eyes, blinking blearily against the glaring brightness of the airship’s searchlight, the only thing illuminating the ruined village. To her immense relief, Pira could see Lhiyla. She could see, in detail, the Mask Of Healing she was wearing, and the concerned expression behind it. Her eyes still felt a little sore and sensitive, but the blurriness was gone.

“Thank you,” Pira exhaled in relief, “I was worried it was going to be permanent.”

“The healers from that League you mentioned did a decent job,” Lhiyla said, as she switched back to her Hau, “I’m guessing they just didn’t know enough about Toa anatomy to finish fixing you up properly.”

“I wouldn’t know. I was unconscious for that part.”

“Assuming we’re both still alive by tomorrow, I’ll check up on your again then. I’ve got other patients to see to.”

As Lhiyla stepped away, Pira saw Icthilos approaching. He was still hobbling slightly, and his armour was battered and broken, but most of the injuries to his organics had been tended to.

“Your friends caught me up on what happened with Larone and this League,” he said, sitting down atop a piece of rubble across from her. “Widrek and Vhalem, too. I’m sorry.”

“I should be saying that to you,” she replied bitterly, “With what we’re up against, how are we supposed to win this?”

“I was hoping you could help with that. Trina told about what you found in the Archives last week,” he lowered his voice, “The Nuva Symbols.”

“They’re gone. All but one.” She sighed, her newly-restored eyes fixating on the ground at her feet, “I lost them in the fight with Widrek. The Vortixx were scavenging the battlefield, and Vhalem though they might have found them, so he- he’s dead because of me.”

“The others don’t know?”

“Larone had ears everywhere. I was worried what he might do if he found out about them, so I kept quiet. And after Vhalem- how can I tell the others that I kept this from them, that our friend died to keep my secret?”

Icthilos nodded along with her.

“You get it now, don’t you?” He asked softly, “Why I was so reluctant to lead us into another war? Why I first refused when you asked me to lead us against the Makuta?”

“I understand enough to know that what I feel doesn’t compare to what you do.”

How could it? She had the blood of only two Toa on her hands. One, whose life she’d taken, and another who had died for her lies. But Icthilos carried the burden of all those who’d lost their lives on Xia, and now here in Metru Nui.

“I’m sorry I pushed you into this,” she said.

“I’m not, and you didn’t,” he replied firmly, “If Duty was easy, it wouldn’t be a virtue. I lost sight of that, but if all of this bloodshed has taught me anything it’s that Vhel must fall.”

“How?” Pira raised her eyes to look at him once more.

“I don’t know,” he said, looking out towards the distant, dwindling daylight, “And unfortunately, I don’t have much time to figure it out.”

He looked back to her, “You said you still have one of the Symbols?”

“In a manner of speaking,” she said, tapping her Kanohi, “I managed to fuse the Air Symbol into myself. I can access its power. If I still had the others I could probably do the same to other Toa.”

“A problem for another time, if we survive tonight,” he said, sighing, “But I’m afraid we’re going to need that newfound power of yours to help us do that.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“Good, I-” he broke off as Behjen came running towards them.

“The Rahkshi are here,” he said breathlessly, stumbling to a stop before Icthilos, “Savnu spotted them in the Sculpture Fields.”

“Has she engaged them?” Icthilos asked.

Pira could hear the wind whistling over the canyons, the moans of the injured and the murmurs of the other Toa and Matoran, but nothing that sounded like combat.

“No. They’re carrying a white banner. The leader says it wants to talk.”

“What does it look like?” Pira blurted out. 

“Black and purple.”

“I’ll go,” she said, “I’ll talk to it.”

* * *

Ilton

“How’re you holding up?”

After all the time they’d spent together over the past week, Ilton thought he would’ve gotten used to Pahlil sneaking up on him.

He was sitting in a meditative stance near the mouth of a street. A faltering fire flickered at his back, fighting feebly against the shadows that grew with the waning daylight. The Toa Disks they’d retrieved from Le-Metru that hadn’t already been forged into Kanohi were arrayed around him, ready to be put to use. Ilton’s hope was that the Rahkshi would prioritise him and Pahlil over the rest of the League, and that by positioning themselves away from everyone else they’d draw at least some of the Rahkshi away from the others.

“I’m afraid,” he replied simply, “Like I often am before a battle.”

“It’s hard not to be when we’re about to face an entire army that wants to kill us, specifically,” she said, sitting down beside him, “How long do you think we have?”

“They’re already here,” he said, pointing out into the dark. “Their armour is mostly metal. I can sense them moving out there, massing in the tunnels.”

“How many?”

“Too many.”

“To think I spent so long running from the forces of the Makuta, and now here I am letting them come to me.”

“We both did. And we both knew it might end this way.”

“If this is to be the end,” she reached across with her uninjured hand to take one of his, “It’s been an honour to call you Brother.”

“Same to you, Sister.”

Something shifted in the shadows, and the two Toa rose to face it.

* * *

Pira

“Perception,” Pira recognised the Rahkshi as soon as she saw it.

As she’s suspected based on Behjen’s description, this was the same Rahkshi that had rescued her and Vhalem from the tunnels in Onu-Metru. It was strange, looking at the face of the enemy and seeing a being that had saved her life. 

“You know my name,” the Rahkshi observed.

There was no surprise in the voice. Or any other kind of emotion or inflection. Each word was slow and deliberate, the Rahkshi faceplates and Kraata mouthparts both aligning carefully to enunciate each word.

“Well, I’m sure you already know all of ours,” Pira replied, stopping before the Rahkshi.

Perception alone stood in the circle of light the airship was now casting towards the centre of the Sculpture Fields, its enhanced armour and natural resistance as a Shadow Kraata leaving it unfazed by the light. But Pira could hear others lurking nearby, sheltering in the shadows at the feet of the statues. Icthilos, Savnu, and Sidra had accompanied Pira to the negotiation, though all of them looked more ready for a fight than anything else.

Behjen, Tivni, and Ithnen were back with the rest of the survivors, rushing to organise the remaining Toa to fend off the attack everyone was expecting.

“That is correct,” the Rahkshi said, “I know who you are, and what you expect the outcome of this meeting to be. I thank you for agreeing to speak with me, despite your scepticism.”

“I’ve lost a lot today,” Pira replied, “But not my hope. What do you want?”

“To negotiate surrender.”

“Ours, I assume?” Icthilos scoffed.

“No. Ours.”

Pira blinked blankly at the being before her. After what this Rahkshi had already done for her, she’d been hoping for something from Perception, but she’d never expected this.

“So, this is a trap, right?” Savnu scoffed, “I reckon Vhel ordered you to bait us out here so you and your pals could jump us.”

“Why would Vhel need to lure us into a trap?” Sidra interjected, “We’re already exposed and outnumbered. He has us.”

“No one asked your opinion, new girl,” Savnu grumbled.

“She has a point, though,” Icthilos admitted.

“Vhel is not my maker,” Perception stated, “I choose to follow his orders when it suits me. Now is not such a time.”

“And if you were following his orders?” Pira’s morbid curiosity compelled her to ask.

“You would already be dead.”

“If you’re not one of Vhel’s Rahkshi, where did you come from?” Icthilos asked.

“I was sent here centuries ago by my Mother to watch over this city, and I continue to do so. Other Makuta sent their spawn to conduct similar surveillance, and Makuta Teridax left many of his own children here as well. We submitted to Makuta Vhel’s will when he and his brood arrived, but we are not bound to blindly obey him the way his own Rahkshi are.”

“So these other Rahkshi follow you?” Pira asked.

“Me. Patience. And Precision. We three are the oldest and most powerful Rahkshi in the city.”

At the first name, another Rahkshi Pira recognised stepped into the circle of light. Blue and yellow, with a piece of silver armour mounted on its chest. It was the Rahkshi she’d seen outside the Moto-Hub during her second night in the city. A third Rahkshi followed it as Perception spoke the final name, this one the red and orange of the Laser Vision variation. This Rahkshi had also taken some creative liberties with their armour, most notably by mounting the claw of a Visorak on their chestplate like a trophy of war.

“So your Rahkshi are going to surrender to us?” Pira asked, “To what end?”

“For the same reason your companion betrayed her own people,” Perception pointed at Sidra, “To spare lives, and end this war. Even as we speak, Rahkshi are fighting and dying in Onu-Metru.”

“What are you offering us, exactly?” Icthilos asked, “I doubt Vhel’s going to care if we took you prisoner or hostage.”

“I will provide you safe passage through our tunnels, directly into the Coliseum,” Precision was the one who spoke this time, “There, you will defeat Makuta Vhel, and end this war.”

“Patience and I will travel to Onu-Metru to end the attack on the League,” Perception continued, “If Vhel is not directly commanding his spawn, they can be convinced to withdraw.”

“And what do you want in return for such generous assistance?” Savnu asked, her tone still doubtful.

“You must not destroy Makuta Vhel,” Perception said, “Trap him with a Toa Seal. It’s the only way to contain him without killing him.”

“Nah, no way!” Savnu snapped, “After everything that monster has done, we’re not going to let him just get away with it. We can’t. I won’t.”

“Why?” Pira cut in, “You said he’s not your Makuta.”

“But he is the Maker of many of the Rahkshi in this city. If he is destroyed, they’ll become wild and territorial. If he lives, they should continue to obey his standing orders.”

“The nightly curfew,” Sidra realised, “If we keep the Makuta alive, we keep the peace.”

“Karzahni,” Savnu muttered, “Fine.”

“There is another reason. Something I do not yet understand,” Perception said, “I’ve seen into the Makuta’s mind. His thoughts are scattered and strange, full of actions and ambitions with no source or sensibility behind them. It’s as if he’s forgotten why he’s doing what he’s doing… or never knew why in the first place.”

“That’s bec-” Sidra started to speak up, but Icthilos cut her off.

“That’s a problem for another time. I’ll round up the experienced Toa,” he said, starting to turn away, “I trust that those we leave behind will be safe tonight?”

“The Makuta’s intent is to wipe out the League first,” Perception answered, “He wants you to be without help or hope when he finally comes for you. Your people here have nothing to fear tonight.”

“And nothing to fear tomorrow, if we succeed.”

[Nato G]

Chapter 35 – Into The Dark

From the notes of Chronicler Crisda.

I know our situation is dire.

I know our heroes are desperate.

But to willingly accept the word of Rahkshi, to ally ourselves with the very flesh and blood of our enemy, is too much to accept.

My role as Chronicler is to record. I know I’m meant to be impartial, to write facts, not opinions. I’m not supposed to be part of the story. I’m not meant to face the threats our Toa do. But I’m part of the story now, as is every Matoran who has been caught up in this conflict. I’ve been imprisoned and attacked, and seen innocents slaughtered before my eyes.

Worse, I’ve seen the Toa compromise themselves, their beliefs, everything they stand for. They’ve taken lives. They’d made alliances with enemies. And now their mightiest are abandoning us in the night without shelter, with only the word of a Rahkshi that we will be safe.

Is this war truly more extreme than anything that has come before, or is this how Toa always act in conflict? If all the Chroniclers that came before learned their stories second-hand, as I once did, does that mean the Toa have always deceived us about the demands of their duties?

Are the legends lies?

* * *

Ilton

The air itself felt alive, shining and shimmering with energies of all kinds. An oppressive heat radiated from all around, as the brutality of the battle left stone sizzling and steel seared.

Ilton’s eyes ached, every flash and flicker of power being near-blinding in the bleak blackness. The scent of smoke clogged his nostrils, punctuated occasionally by the putrid reek of pulverised kraata. He felt rock and rubble underfoot, and the occasional bump or jostle of Pahlil moving behind him.

That he wasn’t facing this fight alone was the only comfort left to him.

The two Toa stood back-to-back, using their powers over metal to tear apart the armour of the Rahkshi assailing their position, which they then rearranged and raised before them to serve as both shields and shrapnel, blocking incoming attacks and being flung back out into the dark to strike at the Rahkshi. The Toa had felled dozens of the monsters already, but not all of the Rahkshi that were destroyed were completely defeated. In the chaos and shadows, it was difficult to spot intact kraata slithering across the ground, beneath their barriers, until they were close enough to strike.

Already, both Toa bore burns and blasts to their legs, and were continually contending with writhing vines snagging at their ankles.

“We can’t keep this up,” Pahlil panted, stumbling back against him as a Fragmentation blast struck her barrier, “We need to regroup!”

“We need a distraction!” He winced as a volley of laser beams slipped through the mangled metal and singed his arms, “If we try to run we’ll be cut apart.”

“These buildings have metal supports,” Pahlil said, as she sent sharpened slivers of steel slicing off into the dark, “We can drop them and block the street. It might buy us some time.”

“It’ll have to be enough,” Ilton agreed, scowling as he felt the tug of a Rahkshi’s magnetism trying to wrest control of the metal he was manipulating. “Get ready to run!”

He released his control, letting the metal whip away into the night, and focused his powers instead on the metal frames of the building across from him. The metal bent to his will, every rend and imperfection buckling abruptly and sending the structure tumbling down into the street ahead of him. He felt Pahlil add her own powers to the mix, utilising her honed ability to manipulate trace metals in other materials to guide the rubble in exactly the direction she desired.

“Now!”

The two Toa broke into a stumbling sprint as a plume of dust and detritus billowed in their wake, battering the rampaging Rahkshi. Blasts of immoral energies struck wildly down the street in pursuit of the Toa, but though the Rahkshi had night vision, the cloud of dust was still blinding to them.

It was a reprieve, but a brief one.

Already Ilton could hear some of the Rahkshi taking to the air.

* * *

Icthilos

In the end, a party of ten beings set off into the Rahkshi tunnels. The Rahkshi Precision was to be the group’s guide through the Archives, and Sidra would be their guide through the Coliseum itself. The rest of the group were Toa, consisting of Icthilos, Savnu, Pira, Behjen, Ithnen, Erdo, Tivni, and Bihriis. Though only six Toa were needed to form a Seal, there were ample reasons to bring more… though no one wanted to acknowledge most of those reasons aloud.

The Ga-Toa Lhiyla had also volunteered to come, but with many still injured from the battle with the Shadow Matoran, she’d been convinced to stay back and put her healing skills to use.

The tunnels were entirely without illumination, the lightstones having died long ago. Only the vibrant glow emanating from the Rahkshi’s eyes lit the way forward. Icthilos always found it curious that Rahkshi – and the Makuta who created them – could use the power of Light (albeit to a limited degree), despite it also being their weakness. Maybe it meant there truly was the capacity for good within even their kind… or maybe it just showed that no power, no matter how pure, was beyond their ability to corrupt.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Savnu nudged his shoulder.

Her words were a whisper, and Icthilos was trailing at the very back of the group, but in the confines of the tunnels, the question was probably still audible to everyone.

The honest answer was no. He still had a limp, and aches and pains all over from the injuries he’d picked up during his days in captivity and the battles since. Guilt and loss weighed at him like anchors, burdening his every breath. And he was exhausted, physically and mentally.

He wanted to stop.

But if he stopped now, it was all over.

“I’m tired,” he finally replied, “Tired of fighting. Tired of losing. Tired of… just tired in general, really. But one way or another, this ends tonight.”

“I’m not so sure,” she replied, “Even if we take down Vhel, what about the Mesmers? The Matoran who’ve bought into his lies? And the League?”

“Problems for someone else, on some other day,” he said, “If we don’t end this threat tonight, there’ll be no one left to worry about tomorrow.”

“He’s right,” it was Sidra who spoke up, from a few steps ahead of them. “Without the threat of a Makuta at his back to enforce his will, Talok is just a man. His rule will be challenged, and his hold over both my people and yours will be broken. It might take time to topple him, but-”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Savnu said, “Once Vhel is gone, there’ll be a power vacuum, and everyone is going to make a grab for control – Talok, others of your people, Larone and his lot, the surviving members of the Turaga council, the League, and who knows who else. We’ll be at war all over again.”

“Not we,” Icthilos said, “After this, I’m done.”

No one was more surprised by the words than he was. He’d been a Toa for so long that he’d never really thought about what came after. He’d always believed in the words of the Turaga, that his Destiny would decide when he was done. But with everything that had happened, how much longer was he supposed to wait? When was it enough?

“But you can’t just-”

In all the time he’d known Savnu, he’d never seen her as shaken as she looked in that moment. He’d seen her wracked by sorrow, seen enemies take her by surprise, seen her startled by unexpected outbursts, but the expression on her face now was one of utter shock.

“Why not?” He demanded.

The Great Spirit was gone. The concept of Destiny itself was very much in doubt. He’d been through too many fights, watched too many die under his command. His whole life had been spent making hard choices – as the leader of a team, then as the leader of an army, and now as the leader of a rebellion – so surely he’d earned the right to choose when to step away as well?

“Please,” her hands found his, grasping them tightly as her imploring eyes met his own. “We still have a Duty. We have to-”

“After everything we’ve lived through, everything we’ve lost, we’ve all earned the right to decide when we’re done,” he said, gently but firmly pulling his hands away. “I’ll see this war through to its end, but after that I- I don’t even know.”

“We’re close,” the Rahkshi called from the head of the group, “Be silent. There may be patrols.”

* * *

Ilton

To Ilton’s surprise and relief, the League were actually holding their ground.

Hundreds of beings from dozens of species stood strong along the length of the shoreline. The thousands of years of histories and hatreds that had once divided them had been forgotten in the face of their common foe. Beams and blasts of uncountable colours and kinds streaked into the night sky, raining Rahkshi rubble onto the sand as Ilton and Pahlil sprinted into the open.

The Rahkshi were replying in kind, bombarding the beach with multihued horrors of their own.

“Is this what it was like on the first night?” Ilton asked, as the two Toa flung themselves behind one of the many barricades that had been established on the beach, League fighters shifting to make room for them.

“This is a lot worse,” Pahlil said, levitating the staff of a fallen Rahkshi and flinging it into the torso of another Rahkshi charging towards them. The blow barely fazed the creature, which stumbled forward another few steps before the Pahlil brought the weapon back the other way, this time managing to pierce its kraata case and skewer the serpent inside.

Ilton felt little relief as he watched the Rahkshi fall.

For each Kraata that was destroyed, a misty wisp of green smoke rose up from the corpse, whisking away into the darkness of the night. From what Ilton had heard from the others, he understood it to be the work of Makuta Vhel’s staff, absorbing the antidermis of the slain Kraata.

Worrying though it was to realise that they were giving the Makuta even more power with every enemy they felled, Ilton didn’t see much choice.

There were no negotiations to be made, no surrenders being offered or accepted.

All any of them could do was keep fighting.    

[Nato G]

Chapter 36 – Where Light Has Yet To Reach

From the journal of Turaga Marik.  

The Toa have breached the Coliseum, just as the Makuta predicted. The moment that my mask showed me is almost upon us. Everything is happening as Destiny demands it must.

I wish things could be different.

I wish they could understand.

But I have faith. I accept my fate, and the necessity of it. I will fight and die for a better world, while these Toa fight for a world that is already dead. A death they shall soon embrace themselves.

* * *

Pira

“You ready for this?” Tivni asked quietly, nudging Pira’s arm.

They’d just entered the Coliseum proper, ascending a crudely-carved stairwell leading up out of the Archives tunnels into the lowermost level of the Coliseum. It was a wide, vaulted chamber, with six ornate gates, one for each Metru. All of them were currently sealed, and if there were any guards at all, they were evidently stationed outside. A warmth could be felt through the floor, and the air tingled with static electricity; the city’s generator was somewhere directly below their feet.

“I haven’t been ready for anything that’s happened to me in the last year,” Pira replied.

“You and me both, Sister.” 

She wasn’t ready. How could anyone be ready to fight a Makuta? The idea of even being in the same room as such a being would’ve been laughable to her only a few months ago. And now she was about to try to fight one?

It was insane.

It was suicidal.

But she owed it to Vhalem to try.

Their path unimpeded, the party worked their way up a central staircase into the transit station, where chutes from all across the city converged on the Coliseum. Now the chutes stood dusty and disused, the entire room appearing to have been untouched for quite some time given the layer of dirt that had accumulated on the floor and walls. Another Rahkshi was waiting there for them – blue and green in colour, with a staff broken off at one end – and began quietly conversing with Precision in soft screeches.

“Worst-case scenario, we’ll be seein’ Vhalem again soon,” Tivni said softly.

“Imagine me dying twice in one day,” Pira replied, “That’s got to be some kind of record.”

“Do you know a Toa named Trina?” Pira perked up to see that Precision had rejoined the group, and was addressing Icthilos.

“Yes. She was taken from Po-Metru earlier today by a servant of the Makuta. Why?”

“She was found in the tunnels beneath Ta-Metru by another sympathetic Rahkshi,” Precision said, “She’s being guided here now.”

For the first time since she’d met him, Pira saw a smile on Icthilos’ face. “How far away is she?”

“A half-hour. Perhaps more,” Precision said, indicating the other Rahkshi. “This one teleported here to inform me.”

“Should we wait for her?” Pira asked.

“There’s no time,” Icthilos said, his smile slipping away as swiftly as it had arrived, “The longer we wait, the more lives are lost.”

“If everything goes to plan, I reckon this’ll all be over by the time she gets here,” Savnu said, nodding her agreement, “And if not, she’ll hopefully get here in time to save us.”

“This way,” Sidra stepped up, pointing towards a pair of silvery doors ahead, “The elevator shaft is the quickest way up the tower.”

Pira hadn’t been certain what to expect of the interior of the Coliseum, but it reminded her far too much of Xia for her liking. The ceilings were lower, the space a little more cramped, the surfaces shiny silver-white rather than grey, but the architecture was the same, uniform and utilitarian on the inside, gaudy and grandiose on the outside, with vast windows even on this lower level, beyond which the rest of the city was dimly visible.

The high-rise offices of Xia’s ruling class had been much the same. It was like being inside a pet enclosure. Except somehow, it was those outside the glass who were made to fall small and trapped.

“Taking the elevator is too obvious,” Icthilos protested, “Unless you’re trying to walk us into a trap?”

“I said the elevator shaft,” Sidra reiterated, “There are Levitation disks stored on every floor so that maintenance can be carried out on the inside of the shafts. We can use those to float up to the Makuta’s chambers without using the actual elevator.”

“It beats using the stairs,” Savnu pointed out, “Climbing floor by floor would take us forever.”

“Sidra’s right,” Ithnen spoke up, “Like you said, frosty, the longer we wait-”

“Yes, okay,” Icthilos waved her off, “Up the elevator shaft it is.”

“Good luck, Toa,” Precision said, beginning to move back towards the tunnel entrance with its companion in tow, “We will head to Onu-Metru to assist Perception.”

The nine remaining beings proceeded to the elevator shaft, with Behjen and Erdo working to haul open the doors while Sidra retrieved the promised Levitation Kanoka from a nearby storage compartment.

“Our only problem is going to be that the floor numbers won’t be visible from inside the shaft,” Sidra said, passing out a Kanoka to each member of the group, “We’ll have to count as we go. We’re on the ground floor right now. The chamber where the Makuta has been recuperating is on level 179.”

“And if he’s not there?” Pira asked.

“Then he’ll be in the throne room, on level 200.”

And so, up they went. Striking themselves with the Levitation disks, the group began carefully making their way up the elevator shaft, using the struts and ladders inside to pull and propel themselves along. Up and up they went, passing the level of the arena and rising into the highest spire of the structure. Pira was the last in line, positioned to provide a potentially life-saving updraft if anyone suddenly fell.

She prayed that it wouldn’t be needed. Her powers still felt frustratingly uncooperative, and she was hoping desperately that when she truly needed them – as she had when she’d saved Vhalem from his fall, as she had when she’d killed Widrek, as she would when she faced the Makuta – that they would work.

“This one,” Savnu hissed from up above.

She was clinging to the edge of a doorway, Icthilos by her side, both reaching out a hand to help Bihriis. The Ce-Toa had been quiet for most of the trip, clearly noticing the suspicion and uncertainty from everyone else, but apparently choosing not to comment on it.

Now, however, her silence seemed to be for another reason, as her face was contorted in an expression of concentration.

“I don’t sense anyone on the other side. We’re clear.”

The Toa set to work opening the door and stepping out into the corridor, grabbing onto railings and objects to hold themselves down while they waited for the Levitation energy to wear off. Pira was the last up, waiting until everyone else was through before drifting out the doorway.

“Can you sense the Makuta? Any guards?” Icthilos was asking Bihriis, when Pira finally emerged.

The Coliseum was tapered in shape, this floor being far smaller in circumference than the one the group had entered through far below. The windows here offered a far greater view of the city, glimmering dimly in the dark.

It was dark here, too, Pira realised. Given how disused the chute station had been, it hadn’t been a surprise to see that the lights were off there. But there were supposed to be hundreds of Mesmers living in this tower, and the generator had to be providing plenty of power to keep lightstones lit. Why weren’t there any on?

“There’s something… a powerful presence, but strange. Spread out,” Bihriis pointed down a hallway to their left, “A mind like that… it could only be a Makuta, in his antidermis form.”

“His armour’s still being repaired, last I heard,” Sidra said, “You’re pointing the right way, too. That’s where his chamber is.”

“Any guards, though?” Icthilos asked again.

“His mental presence is like a fog. I can’t see through it.” Bihriis said, “Sorry.”

“There were normally only two guards,” Sidra said.

“Let’s assume he’s feeling more paranoid than that tonight,” Icthilos said, jumping up and down a few times to test how floaty he still was.

Pira could feel herself becoming heavier, and the others seemed to be feeling the same way, most of them now standing firmly on the floor. After a few minutes more of anxious anticipation, the group were fully grounded, and set off down the corridor Bihriis had indicated.

Icthilos and Savnu took point as the group moved forward. Protosteel scraped as weapons were drawn, elemental energies crackling as each Toa prepared to bring their powers to bear.

There were no guards in sight as the group approached the door. Nothing stirred as they pushed it open and cautiously filed inside, each being squinting as their eyes adjusted to the deeper darkness within. In this room the windows were covered by thick, black blankets, and the lightstones had been ripped from their sockets completely, ensuring no light could enter save through the doorway.

And what little light was entering through that doorway served to illuminate a cube-shaped chamber of crystal in the centre of the room. A chamber that – if Sidra’s surprised expression was anything to go by – wasn’t meant to be empty.

“Bihriis?” Icthilos hissed.

“The fog is gone. I sense-” she wavered dazedly, stumbling suddenly as if she’d been struck.

“I don’t like this,” Pira raised her staff, “Why are all the lights off?”  

“Because shadow waits, little Toa” the voice of Makuta Vhel issued forth from everywhere and nowhere, spoken as a whisper, but with the volume of a rahi’s roar. “Where light has yet to reach.”

The blankets blacking out the windows fell away, aflame, as lightning lashed the outside of the building and sent shattered glass spraying inwards. Pira tried to summon a wave of wind to deflect the shrapnel, but her powers once again failed to follow her commands, and it was only hasty Kanohi use by Behjen and Ithnen that spared the rest of the group from injury.

But a couple of Kanohi weren’t going to be nearly enough to protect them from what awaited beyond the broken window. A black-and-silver behemoth that could only be Makuta Vhel floated in the air outside the window, Shadow Matoran and Rahkshi circling behind him like a swarm of rahi insects.

“You said his armour was still broken!” Icthilos raged, raising his hand to unleash an ice blast towards the Makuta.

The other Toa – all save Bihriis and Pira – all followed suit, loosing bursts of their own abilities, only for their attacks to be blocked by several Rahkshi who came swooping in. Ice and Fire Resistance respectively blunted the blasts from Icthilos and Savnu, while a Magnetism Rahkshi redirected Behjen’s stone, and Plasma and Plantlife Rahkshi did the same for the attacks from Tivni and Erdo.

Only Ithnen’s attack alone came close to the Makuta, the arc of airborne soil stopping a few bio short of him as the same Gravity power keeping him aloft snagged the blast out of the air and sent it falling to the ground far below.

“My armour was repaired days ago,” the Makuta sneered, unleashing a Power Scream that sent the group sprawling, even Behjen’s Hau shield proving useless against the withering wail. “I knew my enemies would be more brazen if they believed me vulnerable.”

Pira could barely focus on the Makuta’s words, her concentration crippled by the disorienting effects of the Power Scream. Her ears were ringing, her head aching. She felt like she was going to throw up, and the other Toa sprawled around looked like they hadn’t fared any better.

“And now the traitors in our ranks have revealed themselves, and unwittingly led the last thorns in my side to their demise.”

“Then finish it!” The voice was that of Icthilos, defiant as ever. He’d managed to rise to one knee, one hand outstretched to unleash another ice blast at the Makuta.

“As you wish.”

The Makuta raised his staff, unleashing a crackling cone of carnage that stopped just short of reaching Icthilos, instead splashing against Behjen’s Hau shield as the Po-Toa managed to pull together enough focus to activate his Kanohi. In response, the Makuta simply angled the beam downwards, disintegrating the floor beneath Behjen’s feet and sending him plummeting from sight.

Laughing, Vhel took aim again and loosed another Disintegration blast into the room, but this time Erdo shoved Icthilos out of the way, using his Kualsi to evade the blast himself, while Ithnen brought her own Kanohi to bear to improve their chances.

Pira forced herself to stand, using her staff to support her unsteady legs. There was nothing she could do to help, no way she could turn the tide… but if she was about to die, the least she could do was die on her feet.

The other Toa were all standing as well now, summoning their elemental energies for another strike. Only Bihriis still lay prone, whatever psychic assault she’d endured leaving her stunned.

Vines, ice, plasma, earth, and flames flashed towards the Makuta once more, only for the Rahkshi to again intervene, ensuring the attacks never reached their master.

“Unity,” Vhel scoffed, “Let’s see how you fare without it.”

Another wave of energy exploded from the Heart Of Antidermis, filling the chamber with blinding brightness. Pira’s stomach lurched, air rushed around her, and when the light abated she found herself outside the Coliseum… plummeting towards the ground far below.

[Nato G]

Chapter 37 – Scattered

From the notes of Chronicler Crisda.

We lit a fire in the ruins of the village. Tonight, more than most nights, we need the warmth, and the light. We need to hold each other close, and hope.

Strangely, the thought that occupies my mind the most is that it’s been so long since any of us spent a night under the stars. It’s something most of us would have avoided in the past. Then an opportunity that was denied us. And now, an act of necessity.

When all of this is over, will we be free to roam freely in the night again? Will we even want to?

Or will the fear of the dark hang over the Matoran for the rest of our days?

* * *

Ilton

The battle had slowly broken down into a brutal stalemate. Countless beings of all species lay dead and dying across the bloodied beach, but hundreds more still fought on, neither side making any significant gains.

Though the first hour or so of the battle had been chaotic and uncontrolled, the Rahkshi had since settled into a more strategic pattern of attacks, some laying down cover fire from the safety of darkened buildings while others did fly-bys or charges on the League positions. With so many powers at their command, each attack was different, combining different abilities each time in increasingly-creative attempts to overcome the League’s defences.

In one attack, Anger, Confusion, and Fear Rahkshi loosed their powers in unison to disrupt and demoralise the defenders. In their next, Power Scream, Sonics, and Silence Rahkshi struck together in a disorientating auditory assault. In another, Poison and Plasma Rahkshi flew overhead together, raining attacks down on the defenders to distract from the Molecular Disruption Rahkshi burrowing up from beneath the ground. Later, Rahi and Insect Control Rahkshi sent their minions to assail the League, covering an ambush from Chameleon and Illusion Rahkshi. Now, Teleportation Rahkshi were appearing and disappearing at random all across the beach, lingering only long enough to take a wild swing at their nearest foe, dividing the League’s focus as other Rahkshi charged from the streets.

The League had been holding their ground so far, but with each successive strike their warriors grew weaker, their defences more desperate. The position of the League’s leadership was perpetually shrouded in darkness and fog as the Rahkshi tried to keep Desecrator’s devastating disintegration beams out of play. Tired, weakening, without leadership, it was only a matter of time before the League were overrun, and everyone knew it. Already a few beings had broken ranks and run off into the dark, but the screams that had swiftly followed had served to dissuade anyone else from trying.

Pahlil and Ilton had fallen back to where Larone and his surviving rebels were holding position, gathered around Toa Chavara as if she was a comforting campfire. The Toa Of Light was clearly a target for the Rahkshi, with far more bodies of both attackers and defenders strewn around her than anywhere else on the battlefield. It was perhaps the very worst place on the entire battlefield for the Matoran to be, but blind belief that a Toa Of Light could save them kept them at her side despite the dangers. It was a decision that had already cost more than a dozen of them their lives.

Ilton felt guilt and rage fill him in equal measure as he watched Chavara fight. Larone was at her side, pointing out targets and shouting guidance. Her attacks were wild and uncontrolled, many of them missing their targets entirely. At least twice, Ilton saw Larone shove nearby Matoran into the path of an incoming Rahkshi’s attack to spare Chavara from injury.

Chavara had been a Matoran mere hours ago. Now she was fighting and killing. People were depending on her. People were dying for her.

It wasn’t right.

None of this was-

A thunderous boom and flash of lightning suddenly lit up the beach as if it were day, disorienting attackers and defenders alike. A billowing wind buffeted the battlefield, and the air filled with the familiar sound of flapping wings and taunting screeches: the Shadow Matoran had returned.

But they weren’t alone.

The titanic figure of Makuta Vhel towered over the battlefield, crimson eyes aglow, his armour fully restored from the damage Ilton had inflicted during their previous encounter. A wall of cyclonic wind swirled around the Makuta like a shield, extending to engulf the Matoran group and cut them all off from the rest of the battlefield.

The Makuta’s staff flashed, and Ilton felt his Kanohi suddenly fall from his face as the magnetic force that normally held it in place was cancelled out by the Makuta’s own Magnetism power. The same thing happened to Pahlil, and several of the Matoran who’d been close-by to the two Toa.

As Ilton scrambled to snatch his mask up from the sand – bumping heads with a Matoran trying to do the same – he heard Vhel’s voice address the group.

“So, this is your champion? Let’s see what she’s made of.”

Ilton looked back up in time to see Chavara unleashing a lethal lance of laser light from her staff. Vhel simply raised his hand, summoning a swirling sphere of Shadow in his hand that cancelled out the Light as soon as it struck.

The Matoran gasped in collective horror, all of the legends and lies about the unstoppable power of Light exposed in that single moment.

“Your Turaga have long led you to believe that Light will always triumph over Shadow,” Vhel sneered, summoning another shield of Shadow to deflect Chavara’s next attack. “But Light and Shadow are equals.”

Chavara kept attacking, cries of rage wringing themselves from her throat as her every blast was effortlessly countered by the Makuta. The cry became a scream an instant later as the Makuta replied in kind, battering the Av-Toa aside with a beam of brutal blackness beyond anything she could hope to counter.

“A Toa and Makuta, however, are not.”

* * *

Pira

Pira couldn’t find the breath to even scream.

There was no reflection or remembrance, no poignant moment of peaceful acceptance. All she felt was pure panic. Her arms flailed wildly. Her legs kicked at nothing. Her heart kicked at her ribcage like a bucking Kane-Ra.

And then a spray of glass struck her from the side and she was violently whipped towards the building by something unseen. Still falling, she slammed into the structure’s side hard enough to crack another pane of glass. Her panic was replaced by pain, so sudden and all-encompassing that she must have blacked out, for when she next opened her eyes she was in a corridor, the Bo-Toa Erdo crouched at her side.

“What happened?” She groaned weakly.

She could feel lacerations and bruises all over her organics from where the glass had hit her, or where she’d hit the floor. The worst of the pain was in her lower left leg, where the armour and mechanical parts looked partially crushed in addition to significant bruising to her flesh and muscle.

“The Makuta hit us with Teleportation,” he said, tapping his Kualsi, “I know the feeling. He scattered us all around the building, I think.”

“I was falling,” Pira muttered, leaning forward and reaching out to prod at her leg. She could see what looked to be a leaf caught on the ragged edge of a damaged piece of her armour.

“I saw. I ended up right next to a window,” Erdo said, “I managed to grab you with vines.”

“Next time, save me more softly,” Pira braced herself against the wall and pushed herself upright, the pain in her leg worsening the instant she put weight on it.

“Sorry, I-”

“No, I’m sorry,” she quickly cut him off, “I should be thanking you that I’m still alive to complain.”

“Well, get your complaints out while you can. The way things are going, I’m not sure how much longer we’re going to be alive.”

“Any sign of the others?” Pira took a tentative step forward, only for her leg to give out beneath her with a grinding scrape, as some damaged component popped completely out of place under her body weight. She cried out, instinctively trying to brace herself with her staff only to realise she was no longer holding the weapon, likely having lost it during the teleport or the fall.

Erdo caught her before she hit the floor, helping lower her back into a sitting position while she gritted her teeth and tried her best not to cry out again.

“You’re the only one I’ve seen, sorry. What do you think we should do?”

“You should get out of here,” she said, answering almost on autopilot. “Save yourself, and live to fight another day.”

It was what she would have done, not so long ago. Even now, her instincts screamed at her that it was the best bet. There was no telling who was left alive at this point. Even if there were enough of them left to form a Toa Seal, even if they could find each other, even if they could track down the Makuta again, the odds weren’t in their favour.

“I’m not just going to leave you,” Erdo protested, crouching at her side again. He pressed his hands to her injured limb, growing a branch alongside her lower leg and binding it to her thigh with vines to serve as a makeshift splint.

“I had a feeling you were going to say that,” she groaned, offering him a solemn smile. “So, I guess we’re walking upstairs to certain death?”

“Something like that,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders and helping her stand.

“Something very much like that,” a new, female voice issued from further down the corridor, accompanied by the sound of claws clicking against the protodermis floor.

Two Mesmers stood in a doorway a few dozen bio away, one clad in crimson and metallic grey, the other in pale white. The former Pira recognised from Tivni’s description of the Mesmers that had pursued Ilton’s group during their retreat from Le-Metru. The latter she didn’t know, but there was something about those eyes…

In the split-second it took her to realise her mistake, Pira was falling once more, this time into the memory of the moment her life had changed forever.

* * *

Sidra

“-talk about this!” Sidra stammered, ducking as Phidras loosed another rhotuka spinner at her.

A puff of purple exploded into existence against the wall where the spinner struck, raining sizzling droplets onto the stairs as Sidra retreated down them. She was stumbling unsteadily, one knee busted and bleeding. Makuta Vhel’s teleport had flung her into the open air in the centre of a spiral stairwell; she’d fallen several floors before managing to catch a railing and swing herself onto the steps. Phidras had found her shortly after, and he clearly wasn’t in the mood for taking prisoners.

“All you do is talk!” Phidras snarled, springing a few steps down to kick her in the chest, sending her tumbling down the next flight of stairs. “And we were fools to listen.”

“No disagreement there,” she groaned, grabbing at the railing.

“If it weren’t for you, we would rule supreme in this city!” Phidras stormed down towards her. A curved dagger was clasped in each of his hands, and a new rhotuka was already spinning to life in his shoulder-mounted launcher.

“I can’t take all of the credit,” she replied, standing upright once more, “It was Talok who ordered that we not wipe our Larone’s rebellion. And I had nothing to do with all the times you and Greillash failed to take out the Toa.”

“Enough!”

The acidic spinner rushed towards her, and she flung herself into a low dive that carried her beneath the spinner and directly into Phidras’ legs, tripping him and breaking his concentration before he could redirect the rhotuka. He fell face-first onto the landing and Sidra whipped around to grab his rhotuka launcher and rip it from his armour.

He swung his arm wildly behind him and Sidra was forced to roll off of him to avoid his blade. She flung the damaged launcher at his face as he tried to swing at her again, buying herself a moment to scramble back and get to her feet.

She reached for one of the blades sheathed at her side, only for a pair of hands to seize her arms from behind, trying to restrain her. Phidras lunged at her, and she raised both legs to kick him away, sending him sprawling back onto the landing, and herself and her unseen assailant down the next flight of stairs.

In the flailing flurry of jabbing limbs and aching pain that followed, Sidra caught a glimpse of familiar black-and-green armour, and the very angry face of its owner: Neryx.

Neryx dug her arm blades into the stairs to slow her fall, bringing herself to a stop while Sidra tumbled the rest of the way down to the next landing.

“Go, deal with the Toa!” Neryx called to Phidras, “She’s mine.”

By the time Sidra hit the bottom, Phidras was already sprinting up out of sight in search of a new foe.

“This isn’t the kind of rescue I’m going to thank you for, is it?” Sidra sighed.

“No, it isn’t.”

* * *

Trina

Even before she reached the top of the stairs, Trina knew things were very wrong.

Generally speaking, things had been very wrong with the city since before the Toa had returned. Things had been very wrong with Trina herself since she’d stolen the Kraata’s lightning. But in this specific situation, she knew things were very wrong because everything around her was on fire.

From what little remained of the infrastructure, this floor had once been the chute station hub for Matoran coming and going from the Coliseum. Where it wasn’t scorched the machinery was grimy and disused, and there was still visible dust on the surfaces that weren’t currently aflame.

The Rahkshi that had guided her through the tunnels had scurried from sight the moment it saw the flames, leaving Trina alone to climb up into the haze and heat.

She pushed on through the smoke and sparks, moving towards the sound of clashing blades. The thought of turning back never occurred to her, not even as the flames licked at her skin and the smoke stung at her eyes. She only knew one being who was this careless with fire. She knew that being could lead her to Icthilos. She knew she needed to find Icthilos.

Two figures came into view, heedless of the heat, streams of sizzling energy shooting wildly from their blades as they struck at each other again and again.

Both were Toa.

Both, she knew.

Savnu and Orane.

She raised her hands, sending bolts of brilliant blue blasting towards them both.

* * *

Icthilos

Level 198.

As he came onto the landing, Icthilos paused. He could dimly hear the sounds of fighting, somewhere far below him. For a moment, he thought about going back down, trying to find whoever it was. But he could hear footsteps much closer, clawed feet clacking loudly against the stairs as someone ran up after him.

No doubt the four Mesmers he’d left frozen up to their necks in the stairwell had been discovered.

He kept climbing, starting to hobble at the climb took its toll on his recently-healed leg.

He didn’t have anything even remotely resembling a plan. He didn’t know how many of his fellow Toa were still alive, or where they were, or what their own plans were. The only thought occupying his mind was dogged determination to reach the throne room, and keep Makuta Vhel occupied for as long as he could. He hoped the Makuta would come for him. He hoped he could buy whoever was left time enough to escape.

The footsteps behind him were getting closer.

He looked back to see a lone, breathless Mesmer storming up the stairs behind him. His armour was black and purple, and he clutched a curved dagger in each hand.

“You’re the ringleader, right?” He panted, slowing down and trying to steady himself, “Talok will be pleased when I drag you to him on your-”

Whatever else he was going to say was smothered by the two-feet-thick layer of ice that Icthilos blasted into existence around his body, leaving only his nostrils and eyes uncovered.

Icthilos turned away and kept climbing.

Level 199.

He hadn’t felt this drained since the last day on Xia, when he and many Toa had pushed themselves to breaking point, throwing everything they had at the enemy to cover the final retreat.

After a week being without his mask and the better part of two days spent fighting, the act of freezing five beings so thoroughly had left his already-strained elemental reserves almost spent. But it didn’t matter. Even at full strength, there was nothing he could do that would bother a being of Makuta Vhel’s power level. Nothing, unless five others Toa were standing at his side.

This wasn’t going to be that kind of fight.

It wasn’t going to be a fight at all.

Level 200.

He stopped at the landing, finding himself at a nexus of near-identical corridors. Unlike the rest of the building, there were lights on here, but just in one specific corridor, leading clearly to one specific door.

It was obvious where he needed to go.

It was obvious that he was expected.

It was obvious that it was a trap.

He didn’t care. Flail in hand, he made his way down the hall and shoved the door open. The room beyond wasn’t especially ornate or extravagant, as mundane in design and layout as any other room in the building. Only its furnishings hinted at a grander purpose, with a large sundial on one side wall, and a massive mirror on the opposite one.

At the end of the room, its back to the windows, was a Mesmer-sized throne that had only been moved into place in the last few weeks, if the visible drag marks on the floor were any indication.

Disappointingly, there was no sign of Vhel, the room’s only occupant being the Makuta’s minion, Administrator Talok. He was standing before the throne, hands clasped in front of him, looking expectantly towards the door.

“I had a feeling it would be you,” he said calmly. “And I had a feeling you’d be alone.”

“So, this is the throne room?” Icthilos scoffed, “Looks a little small for Vhel.”

The Mesmer smiled, then stepped back and sat down in the throne.

“That’s because it wasn’t made for him.”

[Nato G]

Chapter 38 – Puppet Master

From the journal of Turaga Marik.

This will be my final entry.

Whether it’s friend or foe who finds this journal, I know I’ll be long gone by the time anyone reads it. I’ve already foreseen the fate that will befall me. My only regret is that I will never know what comes after.

Whichever side emerges triumphant, I hope that you see, that you understand, that you know the necessity of all I’ve done. This is so much bigger than our world and our war. We are servants to a greater purpose, granted unto us by Greater Beings. All of our Destinies exist only to ensure the success of their design.

My Destiny is now fulfilled.

My Duty is done.

Goodbye.  

* * *

Ilton

As Chavara was flung into one part of the crowd, Ilton and Pahlil pushed through another. Even now, neither Toa wanted to risk unleashing their full power until they had a clear shot. Unlike Larone, they weren’t willing to sacrifice innocent Matoran to claim victory.

“Should I cut you down next, Turaga?” Vhel asked, aiming his staff at Larone, “Or should I take away the last of your Toa first?”

A wave of gravity emanated from the staff, sending the Matoran still between Vhel and the two Toa suddenly soaring skywards. Suspended in the air, the Matoran began to scream as the Shadow Matoran circling above opened fire at them, being very deliberate in hurting but not killing them. Ilton stumbled to a stop; he didn’t need to be a mind-reader to understand the thoughts behind the cold smile that now adorned the Makuta’s face.

“Now’s your chance!” Larone’s voice took on a pathetic, plaintive tone, “Destroy him!”

“Attack me, and these Matoran fall to their deaths,” Vhel taunted, “Attack me, and you know what your future holds.”

Ilton’s breath caught in his throat. For a moment, it felt like his heart stopped entirely, fear paralysing him in place. He’d dismissed the vision from Marik’s mask as an illusion. It had to have been. This was a trick. Vhel was just recreating the circumstances of the illusion now, making him think it was real.

But it had felt so real.

And Marik had seemed so sure.

“Don’t listen to him!” Pahlil shouted, shaking his shoulder, “I’ll catch the Matoran!”

A shadow fell over Ilton as one of the winged figures descended towards him.

This was bigger than him, or the hostages. He couldn’t save them. Perhaps he couldn’t even save himself. But he could do something that could save so many others.

The beam of elemental energy that emanated from his outstretched hand was invisible to the naked eye, but its effects certainly weren’t. Every morsel of metal the beam passed over – dropped weapons, destroyed Rahkshi, even the bodies of the slain Matoran – rent and ruptured at random, shredded to slivers of scrap. It was destruction made manifest, the abhorrent opposite to everything Ilton had dedicated his life to.

But the lethal beam never reached Makuta Vhel.

The winged figure that Ilton had thought was aiming at him dropped suddenly into the blast’s path. For a split second before he was unmade, Turaga Marik met Ilton’s eyes, his gaze full of grim acceptance. He looked content. He looked triumphant.

And then he didn’t look like anything at all.

Ilton sunk to his knees, sorrow and shame hitting his heart like a warhammer.

He expected to die.

A part of him wished for it.

But when he found the strength to look up, he saw that Makuta Vhel had teleported away.

* * *

Pira

Pira felt… wrong.

She was in a street she knew. A street she’d never wanted to see again. She was standing upright, but she was far too low to the ground. Her strides felt far too short. She felt far too small.

Water sloshed at her feet, and she looked down to see herself reflected in the grimy puddle on the cracked cobblestones. Herself as she hadn’t been in many months. Herself when she’d been fragile and afraid and forgotten. Herself when she’d been a mere Matoran. Herself when she’d found-

“No.”

This was a street she knew.

“Please.”

This was a moment she knew.

“Not this.”

This was a Destiny she knew.

“Anything but this.”

Her legs carried her forward to the destination she dreaded. Down the dark street. Through the debris and death. To the shattered shell of a structure where a fallen Toa was sprawled.

A shattered sword lay at his side. Sightless eyes stared out from either side of the dagger that had been thrust through his face. Pira’s greedy gaze was numb to the gory details. All her thief’s instincts noticed was the leather pouch clutched in one of his hands. A pouch that past Pira had hoped might hold rations or valuables. A pouch that present Pira knew contained something far more meaningful.

Her remembered hands reached down to pluck the pouch from the dead man’s grasp. The body was cold, but the bag was warm, a detail that hadn’t really registered to her in the moment but stood in stark significance now that she was reliving it.

She stared at the pouch as her numb, grimy fingers worked to untie its weathered leather drawstring.

Inside it, she knew, was power she’d never earned. A blessing she’d stolen from the body of a hero who’d fought and died for her freedom. The first of two powerful pieces of stone she would steal to give herself strength that would have better served others.

She’d tried to use it, tried to become a better version of herself, tried to live up to the legend. But what had she actually done with her power? What had she accomplished? If she’d shared the power when Larone had asked for it then Dhozoh might not have had to die. The entire alliance with the League might not have been necessary. And if she’d never taken this power at all, then Widrek would still be alive… Vhalem would still be alive.

Or would they?

If she hadn’t been in the Archives that day, Widrek would have killed Vhalem. Without her, without Vhalem, Widrek would have found and killed Chavara in Ta-Metru, and countless more rebels and League members during the battle on the beach. She’d saved lives simply by being hated. But Widrek was gone now… and she was still a Toa… so what more was she Destined for?

Only one way to find out.

She finished untying the bag, tipping a misshapen lump of stone into her palm. It stung to the touch, sizzling against her skin, filling her form with pain and power.

This time, she wasn’t afraid of it.

She opened her eyes to see Erdo embroiled in battle with the two Mesmers. He was on the defensive, eyes down, shields raised, Kanohi activated, blocking or evading the blade blows and spinner shots being aimed his way. Blasts of blazing brightness erupted where the crimson Mesmer’s rhotuka were striking, and Pira smiled at the sight as she felt eager winds weaving around her fingertips once more.

“Erdo, behind me!” She shouted, raising her hands.

The Bo-Toa vanished, and the two Mesmers whirled back to face Pira. A fiery red rhotuka roared forth from the launcher, and Pira replied in kind, unleashing a wall of wind so forceful that the Rhotuka reacted as if it had struck a physical object, detonating instantly. The two Mesmers were lost from sight as air and fire combined, forming a scorching storm that flowed down the entire length of the corridor, leaving every surface seared, the air black and acrid.

Screaming shapes shifted in the smoke, and Erdo struck out with his own powers. Vines sprouted forth from a damaged section of ceiling, widening the gaps and weakening the structure until it collapsed entirely, cutting off the corridor in a cacophonous crash.

“If I never see one of those guys again, it’ll still be too soon,” Pira sighed, leaning against a wall to keep weight off her injured leg. “You okay?”

“A little singed,’ Erdo said, “But I’ll live. What happened to you?”

“Some kind of mental attack. Like, an illusion or something. I’m fine now.”

It wasn’t a great answer, and she could see the curiosity clear on his face. But he knew better than to push, and just nodded.

“There you two are!” Tivni’s voice suddenly issued from the hole in the ceiling. A moment later she’d teleported down in front of them. “I was worried Ithnen and I were the only ones left.”

“Ithnen’s okay?”

“More okay than you two look.”

“That makes four of us,” Pira said softly, “If any of the others are still alive as well-”

“-then we can all die together trying to trap the Makuta?” Tivni finished, “We were thinkin’ the same thing.”

* * *

Sidra

Under ordinary circumstances, Sidra considered herself a far better fighter than Neryx.

Neryx was lazy. She slept in. She slacked off. Her vision power wasn’t as useful in combat. She over-relied on her Rhotuka power. She didn’t have the same level of training Sidra herself did. Most of the time she didn’t even have much motivation to fight.

But she had that now.

Rage and betrayal bore her into battle with a brashness and brutality Sidra had never seen in her before. Her arm blades slashed and stabbed with serpentine speed, leaving scratches across Sidra’s arms and torso as she struggled to fend off the blows. Not wanting to get thrown down another flight of stairs, Sidra had backed herself up against the railing of the landing, limiting her ability to retreat.

Finally, Sidra found an opening to buy herself some space. She managed to block both of Neryx’s blades with one of her own, dialling down the density of the other as she slashed it across Neryx’s abdomen, dealing an electrical shock that sent her scrambling backwards. The cry she let out was equal parts agony and anger, and the look in her eyes was so full of hate that Sidra felt like she’d been stabbed straight through the heartlight.

“Please-”

“Don’t!” Neryx snarled, “You’ve had… what? Months, years to talk to me. You don’t get to do it now!”

She lunged forward again, but this time Sidra swatted at the incoming weapon with her intangible blade, giving Neryx another zap. With her weapons mounted onto her forearms, Neryx didn’t even have the option to drop them to make the pain stop.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me now!” Neryx spat, springing back a few steps to stay out of Sidra’s range.

“Because you’re trying to stab me!”

“Like you stabbed me – stabbed all of us – in the back?”

“I was trying to save us! Talok’s obsessed. He’s going to keep throwing bodies at threats to his power until they’re all dead, or we all are.”

“And leaving us at the mercy of these invaders is better?”

“What happened with the Vortixx… that wasn’t the deal. That wasn’t how it was meant to be.”

“But that’s how it happened.”

“I saved you!”

“I wouldn’t have needed saving if you hadn’t sold us out!”

Neryx lunged at her again, recoiling with a yelp as Sidra jabbed her with the electrified blade again.

“Can you please stop doing that,” Sidra pleaded, “Just… calm down. I don’t want to fight you.”

“You don’t get to tell me to be calm after everything you’ve done,” Neryx hissed, “I opened up to you. I thought you were my friend, my-” she searched for the word for a moment, before giving up, “-was that all a lie, too?”

“No! I told you. All I’ve ever cared about was making the best life for us.”

“And how does betraying us all to those invaders make a better life for us?”

“Because every surviving species in the universe is out there, trying to find a way to coexist. By standing in the way of that, we’re putting ourselves on the wrong side of history.”

“Not us,” Neryx reached suddenly for her rhotuka launcher, “Just you.”

A spinner lashed from the launcher at the same time as Neryx flung herself at Sidra. The spinner hit Sidra’s blade, nullifying its powers, and Neryx swatted the now-solid weapon aside. She tried to bring her other blade around to defend herself, but in the time it took for her to react Neryx had already closed the distance and slammed into her.

Sidra felt twin impacts on the front and back of her torso, as Neryx hit her, and she hit the railing. She lost her grip on her other sword, started to raise both hands to shove Neryx away, then stopped when she saw Neryx’s face. Where there had moments ago been anger and anguish, there was now disbelief and despair.

Neryx stepped back, and the ache in Sidra’s abdomen gave wave to piercing pain as warm wetness started to trickle down her torso. She looked down, and immediately wished she hadn’t, the mere sight of her injury bringing on an abrupt bout of shock and nausea. She tried to apply pressure to the wound with her hands, but the prodding just made the pain all the worse.

“I’m sorry,” Neryx muttered, eyes frantically flicking back and forth between Sidra’s body and her own bloodied blade, “I’m sorry.”

Sidra felt her mouth open, but nothing came out. She couldn’t even remember what she’d been going to say. Her crimson-slicked hands reached out towards Neryx, then fell slack as she flopped to the floor.

* * *

Trina

“Ow,” Savnu sat up with a slow groan, one hand clutching her chest, “What’d you do that for?”

“You were fighting,” Trina said, slamming her foot down atop Orane’s outstretched hand as he crawled towards one of his swords. Her blade lowering to his throat dissuaded him from struggling further.

“So why’d you electrocute both of us?”

“If I’d only attacked him, you would have seized your opportunity and continued fighting. I needed you to stop. I need to talk to you.”

“You didn’t have to-” Savnu stopped, finally raising her eyes to properly look at Trina. “Trina? What happened to you? Are you-”

“Where is Icthilos?” Trina demanded.

“Dead, if he’s lucky,” Orane was the one who answered. “Vhel teleported the Toa throughout the tower. It must’ve been Destiny’s will that Savnu was the one who ended up before me.”

“I don’t care about Destiny, just about finding my Brother.”

Trina started to turn away, but Savnu scrambled over to grab her arm. “I don’t know what happened to you, but you need to stop. You don’t look-”

“There’s no time.”

“For either of you,” Orane said, his Kanohi exchanging for a Kualsi a second before he vanished.

Trina had been a Toa for a long time. Long enough to fight a few foes who could teleport. Long enough to speak with many other Toa who’d done the same. Long enough to understand the one and only trick that all teleporters favoured.

Her blade swept back behind her, skewering Orane through the abdomen as he materialised. She ripped it free and spun around, the elbow of her other arm colliding with the side of his head and knocking the Kanohi from his face.

He crumpled to the floor with a groan, and she brought up her blade for a finishing blow.

“Whoa, that’s enough!” Savnu grabbed her upraised arm, “He’s done. It’s over.”

“But he killed your Brother.”

“And he deserves to die for that, but-”

“Agreed.”

A bolt of blazing brilliance leapt from Trina’s other hand, searing towards Orane’s face.

He didn’t even have time to scream.

But Savnu did.

“No! Why?”

“You said-”

“I didn’t mean that! Why would you ever think I meant- what happened to you?” Savnu suddenly snatched up one of her blades, pointing it towards Trina, “What is wrong with you?”

“The only thing that’s wrong is how much of my time you’re wasting,” Trina snapped, “I need to find Icthilos. I need to help him.”

“He-” Savnu’s voice cracked, “-he wouldn’t want to see you right now.”

“Don’t tell me what he would-”

Something changed.

The floor shuddered as a great weight suddenly pressed down upon it. The smoke shifted as a new presence displaced it. The light of the flames dimmed as something obscured them.

“I’m so glad I decided to start from the bottom,” the voice of Makuta Vhel rumbled from amidst the swirling smoke. “I didn’t expect to find two Toa on the very first floor I checked.”

A catastrophic cone of cyclonic force struck the Toa two, flinging them across the flaming chamber.

* * *

Icthilos

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Icthilos said, moving further into the room. “So, what? The Makuta lets you have a comfy chair?”

“Makuta this, Makuta that,” Talok scoffed, leaning back in his seat, “You’ve spent so long looking for enemies in the shadows that you don’t see what’s standing plainly in the light before you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They’ll carve those words on your tombstone,” Talok’s one remaining eye winked at him.

“Vhel said that to me once. It sounds a lot less scary coming from you.”

“Perhaps. But that’s what a loudspeaker is for. To amplify one’s words, make them more powerful.”

“What?”

“You disappoint me, Toa. Do I really need to spell it out for you?” Talok shook his head and sighed. “Vhel doesn’t let me do anything. He does what I tell him to do.”

“That’s impossible,” Icthilos laughed. “No being can control a Makuta.”

“That’s what he thought, too, when he first came to our homeland. But look at me. Do I look like a follower to you?”

Icthilos stared at the Mesmer. This, he realised, was only his second time ever meeting Talok in person, and the first time he’d really paid him any true attention. He stood head and shoulders above most of the Mesmers Icthilos had met in recent days, with a burlier build as well. Angular armour of metallic grey adorned his body, its scrapes and scratches speaking to the number of battles it had seen.

And the scars… now that Icthilos looked closely he could see them all over Talok’s body. His blinded eye was the most obvious, but it was far from the only one. Burns and blades and abrasions had all left their mark on his ancient organics.

“No. You look like a veteran. But your people haven’t fought any wars since…”

“…since the days of the Barraki, yes.” Talok sprung to his feet, striding towards the Toa, “I fought under Takadox, won countless victories in his name. I’ll admit, learning that he was the one who betrayed us nearly broke me.”

That was news to Icthilos.

But it was also ancient history.

“What’s that got to do with… anything?”

“Because I want you to understand what I’ve done!” Talok stopped mid-stride and stomped his foot like a child having a tantrum, “You don’t know what it’s been like… it all went so perfectly… I haven’t had anyone to do this with.”

“No one to gloat to, you mean?”

“Exactly!” His clawed hands clapped together. “This triumph has been millennia in the making. You’re the closest thing to a worthy opponent we’ve had in all that time.”

“I really don’t care,” Icthilos started to raise his flail to swipe the smirk from the mad Mesmer’s face.

“Stop. Just listen.” Talok said, his tone suddenly pleading, “Please.”

Against his better instincts, Icthilos lowered his weapon. “Spit it out.”

“Like you, Vhel was arrogant and overconfident. He came to our new island shortly after the Dark Hunters drove us from Odina. Between the fall of the League and the loss of our homeland, our numbers were few and our morale was low. We didn’t protest when he named himself our ruler.”

“From where I’ve been standing, it looks like he’s still ruling you even now.”

“By design,” Talok chuckled, “We’re not a proud people. We’re patient. Persistent. You’re right that no one being can control a Makuta. An ego like that can never be dominated. But it can be tricked, twisted. Most beings might call such a thing impossible. But we had hundreds of hypnotists and close to nine hundred centuries to weaken his will and wear down his mental defences, until his mind was ours to mould and manipulate. He told his truths, shared his secrets, believing all the while that every design and idea we provided him was of his own imagining.”

There was a glee in his voice now, “Do you see it, Toa? Do you understand what we’ve done? Our conquest of this universe was undone when one of our people betrayed us to the Makuta. It’s only fitting that we were the ones to take away their triumph the same way.”  

Icthilos understood, and that understanding filled him with a rage beyond words.

Makuta were evil by their very nature, twisted by the shadows corrupting their souls. But Talok’s evil was somehow something worse. It wasn’t born from divine design or the existential necessity of evil. It was born from selfish, senseless, stupid revenge.

“Tell me you understand!”

“You did all of this… puppeteered a Makuta… killed most of the universe… took over what was left… just to get revenge for the defeat of the Barraki?”

“Not revenge. Restoration of the ordained order. It’s what we were chosen for.”

“What would you know about being chosen?”

“We know more of it than you do,” Talok snarled. “You Matoran, calling yourselves the Great Spirit’s chosen people when we were the chosen ones! One of the Prime Species!”

“I’m tired of hearing-”

“Think on it, Toa. Look past your faith and focus on the facts. When in all of history did Mata Nui actually choose the Matoran for anything?” Talok’s smile was a triumphant one, but there was a sadness to it as well. “Your entire religion is a self-aggrandising lie that your Turaga created long ago. A lie to erase the atrocities of the Barraki and Brotherhood from your history, and elevate yourselves in the process.”

“No. If the teachings of the Turaga were lies people would remember.”

“Would they? Do you remember what you had for breakfast two weeks ago? Two centuries ago? Memories fade. Leaders lie. Chronicles are easily altered. And people will believe anything when they hear it every day for tens of thousands of years.”

He was lying. He had to be. He was trying to break his faith, shatter his conviction. But what Icthilos knew of history was clear enough. Even Matoran scholars agreed that Mata Nui had personally created the Prime Species and ordained a member of each to become the Barraki. Icthilos could recall no such story about how or when the Matoran had become Mata Nui’s chosen people. It was just… a thing that all of the Turaga said. And Turaga had a long history of keeping secrets and telling tall tales to protect their people from harsh truths…

“I’m tired of hearing you twist history to justify your mad grab for power,” Icthilos forced the words out through gritted teeth, ashamed of even considering Talok’s words.

 “It’s not madness. To rule is our Duty.”

“You know nothing of Duty!” Icthilos roared.

“And you do?” Talok scoffed, “Fight me, Toa. Since you’re so certain you know better, prove it.”

[Nato G]

Chapter 39 – Severed Strings

From the notes of Chronicler Crisda.

As we sit here, huddled by the firelight, I find myself reflecting on the events that led us to this moment. How far back do the decisions go that set us on this path, I wonder? What was the first domino to fall?

It’s easy to blame the invaders, but my time reading the histories have taught me that there’s never a single reason, never a simple explanation. This universe has been filled with injustice, mistakes, and failures since well before most of us came into being.

This universe was broken long before the lights went out.

Perhaps the question I should be asking is if there was more we could have done to fix it.

* * *

Icthilos

Talok was toying with him.

That fact had become apparent within seconds of the fight beginning. Icthilos was drained, physically and mentally, and his attacks were wild and weak. Talok was rested and ready, effortlessly evading Icthilos’ blows but rarely retaliating.

When Talok did draw close, the daggers he grasped in each hand left nicks and scratches on Icthilos’ armour and organics. He was restraining himself, holding back from dealing debilitating damage despite several opportunities to do so.

“I told you when we first met who was running this city,” Talok taunted, “I told you our Duty wouldn’t be denied to us any longer. But you didn’t listen, did you?”

“And like I told you then-” Icthilos’ flail kicked up sparks as it skittered across the floor, sweeping towards Talok’s legs, “-you dishonoured that Duty by becoming conquerors!”

“Who are you to decide that?” Talok bounded over the clattering chain, “Did Mata Nui reach down from the sky and smite the Barraki where they stood? Did he speak out and beseech them to change their ways?”

He swept one of his blades towards Icthilos’ face, forcing the Toa back. Talok stepped with him, jabbing the other blade at his head again. This time, Icthilos turned his shoulder into the attack, letting his bulky pauldron take the blunt of the blow while his other arm flicked forward to swing the flail back around the other way.

With Talok this close, the spiked head of the weapon flew harmlessly by behind the Mesmer, but the chain tangled the back of his legs. Icthilos slammed his turned shoulder into Talok, tripping him up in the chain and sending him falling to the floor.

Icthilos stomped his foot at his fallen foe, who rolled to the side, kicking free of the chains as he did so. He scrambled back and sprung to his feet, smiling.

“Your Great Spirit didn’t intervene because he didn’t care. As long as the meaningless little machines inside him fulfilled their functions, it didn’t matter who kept them in line or how they did it.”

Icthilos would never admit it out loud, least of all to Talok, but he couldn’t argue with that logic. Mata Nui hadn’t stopped the League, hadn’t stopped the Makuta, hadn’t done anything to intervene in any of the cataclysms and calamities that had plagued the universe. Not even the one that had resulted in his own slumber.  

“If you’re so convinced it doesn’t matter to Mata Nui, then who are you trying to impress?” He snapped back, starting to spin his flail to build momentum for another strike.

“The Great Beings,” Talok said, “The ones who made Mata Nui, body and soul. The ones whose world we’re Destined to repair. The ones who will reward us when we perform the Duty that everyone else fell short of.”

“That’s assuming they won’t just destroy you,” Icthilos said, whipping his weapon towards the Mesmer’s mandibled mouth.

Talok ducked under the blow then sprung forward into a leap, jabbing both blades towards Icthilos’ chest. The flail went flying as Icthilos released it, using his arms to deflect the incoming blades away from his body. Talok’s head snapped forward as he drew close, jagged mouthparts slashing at Icthilos’ neck, leaving ragged lacerations in his organics as the Toa clumsily shoved his assailant away.

“This machine we reside in has the power to rend planets apart just as easily as it can repair them,” Talok sneered, spitting out blood, “If the Great Beings threaten my people, I’ll destroy them with their own creation.”

“That’s your plan?” Icthilos groaned, clutching a hand to his neck. “You want to become the next Great Spirit?”

“Why not me?” Talok lunged at him again, slashing at his chest, “Someone has to.”

This time Icthilos caught the weapon at the handle, his fist closing around Talok’s spindly talons so tightly that the would-be warlord let out a yelp. But what little triumph Icthilos felt in that moment evaporated almost instantly as Talok’s other blade bisected his forearm.

“Destiny never should have been a virtue,” Talok whispered as he twisted the blade. A harsh crack rang out as something in Icthilos’ arm snapped, his fingers suddenly going slack. “It deceived so many beings into believing they were meant for more.”

Talok ripped his blade free, spattering warm wetness onto the floor.

“But our Destinies were ordained long ago. I was meant to conquer and control, and you were meant to suffer and sacrifice. Now, get on your knees.”

Icthilos felt his legs buckle beneath him. For the first second or so, he thought it was fatigue or blood loss that had caused him to fall, that it was just coincidence that he’d fallen in time with Talok’s words. But then Talok dropped the bloodied blade on the floor before him.

“Pick it up.”

Icthilos’ one functioning hand reached out to take the weapon.

“You thought you had a chance. But you lost the moment you first laid eyes on me.”

Look at me.

Just listen.

Tell me.

Fight me, Toa.

They hadn’t been pleas or taunts. They’d been commands.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t find a way to coexist,” Talok sighed, “But even the most righteous of good must bow before a necessary evil.”

Icthilos had no words left. He was helpless. Hopeless. The only victory he could claim was not giving Talok the satisfaction of hearing him beg.

Talok’s triangular teeth shifted into a sneer, and he opened his mouth to give his final command… but the words never came.

Instead an unseen force flung him across the room to crash into the throne, striking it so hard that the whole chair shifted backwards, then toppled entirely as Talok tumbled over it and onto the floor.

“Talok!” The voice was that of Makuta Vhel. The titan stalked across the chamber, body blazing with energy, the floor beneath his feet fragmenting with each step. He raised his hand and Talok was levitated up off the floor and held against the window with such force that the metal frame buckled and the glass started to crack.

“I’m sorry,” Bihriis was suddenly at Icthilos’ side, prying Talok’s blade from his hands and flinging it away, “He was gone. I couldn’t find him. I had to wait until he teleported back to the tower.”

“What-” he groaned, barely able to force out the words.

“I got here soon after you did. I was outside, listening. I heard everything Talok said to you, and when I sensed Vhel I used telepathy to tell him. He knows what happened to him.”

“What have you done?” Vhel bellowed, “To this universe? To me?”

Bihriis placed her hand on Icthilos’ head, and whatever compulsion had been keeping him on the floor abruptly abated.

“I took a prideful profligate and made him useful,” Talok snarled, straining against the power holding him in place, “You had no ambition until I gave you mine.”

“This Talok… he’s old, powerful,” Bihriis said softly, “I could sense it even from outside. Was he the one who messed with my mind?”

“One of them,” Icthilos mumbled, remembering the lie he’d told her earlier, and realising it was the reason she hadn’t intervened sooner here. He cradled his injured arm to his chest as Bihriis helped pull him to his feet.

“I… I am a Makuta!” Vhel roared, voice quavering, “I’m not… yours. I’m my own master!”

“Oh, Vhel. You’ve always been a pawn,” Talok’s tone was solemn, almost pitying, “All I did was move you to my side of the board.”  

“What do we do now?” Icthilos said, speaking in a whisper for fear of drawing the Makuta’s ire. His focus was on Talok for now, but there was no telling what Vhel would do next in his current state of mind.

“We wait,” Bihriis whispered, “Vhel wasn’t the only one I was waiting for.”

Before Icthilos could inquire further, the sound of shattering glass pulled his attention back to Talok’s plight. Vhel was standing just a few bio away from him now, his hand was still upraised, unseen energies holding Talok aloft. Several panes of glass had broken away from the window now, and Talok’s expression was becoming pained despite his attempt at appearing confident.

“You… you took our triumph from us… made me betray the Brotherhood,” Vhel muttered. He was staring at the floor, shaking his head as if trying to shake off a daze. “They’re all gone now.” 

“The Brotherhood betrayed you,” Talok corrected, his expression disturbingly serene considering his circumstances. “Teridax slaughtered the other Makuta, and I made you kill him. If anything, you should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?”

“Without me, you’d be dead with all the rest. I gave you life. I gave you revenge.”

“No. You didn’t give me that,” Vhel stared up at Talok, “But I’m about to take it.”

“No, you’re not,” Talok stared right back, “Now put me down.”

Tens of thousands of years ago, Vhel likely would have laughed in the face of such a brazen attempt to control him. His mighty mind could have effortlessly deflected such clear coercion. But after centuries of conditioning and millennia of manipulation, this was a battle of wills he was woefully unprepared for.

Talok dropped to the ground, grinning wickedly.

“Good pawn. Now-”

His smile evaporated as he looked past Vhel and saw the Toa.

All six of them.

Icthilos and Bihriis had been joined by Erdo, Tivni, Pira, and Ithnen. Their hands and tools were raised towards the Makuta, elemental energies flowing together. Icthilos had little power left to offer, but he was giving everything he could. It had to be enough. This was their best chance. Their only chance. He refused to be the reason they failed.

“No!” Talok howled.

A chaotic spray of coalescing colours cascaded across the room, crusting into crystal as they crashed together around the form of the maddened Makuta. Talok scrambled to avoid being trapped in the Toa Seal himself, diving wildly out of the way with an ungainly yelp of profound panic.

And that was the last Icthilos saw or heard, as unconsciousness claimed him.

[Nato G]

Chapter 40 – A New Dawn

From the notes of Chronicler Crisda.

Daybreak brought with it news none of us had expected to hear, of the triumph of the Toa. In Onu-Metru, the Rahkshi retreated back to the shadows below, and the remaining Shadow Matoran were killed or captured. In the Coliseum, the Makuta was vanquished, and Administrator Talok surrendered.

But new armies stalk our shores. Old enemies still walk free.

This doesn’t feel like victory.

It doesn’t feel like the end.

* * *

Ilton

It was strange just how much things could change in just one day.

Less than 24 hours ago, he’d been fighting what he’d believed to be his last battle against an army of Rahkshi. Now he walked the streets of a city that was far from won, despite the multitudes of Matoran openly celebrating all around him.

Dominating the skyline was the Coliseum, serpents of smoke coiling around it in a charcoal cloud, originating from the smouldering remnants of the chute station below. The battle had resulted in significant damage to the building’s supports, forcing the entire tower to be evacuated. Making the structure safe to enter again was one of many issues that needed to be dealt with.

The peoples of the League were already demanding representation and settlement rights. Tuxar and his demented devotees still held Ga-Metru, and most of the city’s water and food with it. Worse still, they’d been joined by hundreds of Mesmers who’d chosen not to join Talok in surrender. With most of the Matoran no longer working, there were power disruptions occurring throughout the city, the reserve supply and generators struggling to keep up with the many chutes and recreational spaces being suddenly switched back on. And despite assurances from the one called Perception, no one was quite sure what the Rahkshi were actually going to do when nightfall next came.

No one in the city wanted another war, but everyone was ready for one.

Ilton continued on down the road from Onu-Metru to Po-Metru, towards an empty Protodermis Warehouse that was serving as a temporary hospital for injured Toa and Matoran.

There were more Toa around than he’d expected. And if what Tivni had told him was to be believed, more were being made all the time. The new Toa that Icthilos and Savnu had given Toa Stones to had spread out through the city, creating Toa Stones of their own and transforming more Matoran in turn. It was yet another problem that was swiftly spiralling out of control. The League were already – understandably – defensive and suspicious, and the implication that a new Toa army was being formed would surely make them even more distrustful.

Ilton was suddenly slammed to the ground, struck so swiftly he hadn’t even seen it coming. Instinct kicked in, and he started to summon his element… only to break off as he felt arms encircle him, and head a familiar voice in his ear.

“You made it!” Savnu sounded close to sobbing. “I was- I thought I was the only one left.”

“I’m glad to see you too, Sister,” he managed to groan, gently disentangling himself from her arms and pushing her away so he could stand up. “I… take it our Brothers didn’t survive?”

Her solemn expression as she got to her feet was all the answer he needed.

Even after months of losses and failures, he felt like he’d just been punched in the gut. It never got any easier. It never felt any less like his fault. He hadn’t been here for Savnu, for Keidal, for Orane, or for the Brother and Sister they’d lost on Xia.

Every time his team needed him the most, circumstances conspired to keep him away.

What kind of leader did that make him?

“How?” He asked gently.

“Orane killed Keidal, a few days past while we were trying to free Icthilos from prison. Then, at the Coliseum, Trina killed Orane.”

“Trina?”

“Something’s wrong with her. Infection, or Shadow Sickness, or something worse. I made a stupid comment about Orane deserving to die and she just… did it. Didn’t even hesitate. Because she thought it was what I wanted.”

“That’s not your fault,” he placed his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes, “Not what Orane did. Not what Trina did. None of it. You did what you had to do to get yourself through this.”

“This is my fault, though,” she gestured to the groups of new Toa milling about. “We were desperate, and Icthilos said I should do it, but now everything’s completely out of control-”

“-and if you hadn’t things might have been a lot worse. You didn’t know help was coming. You couldn’t have known about the League, and especially not about the Rahkshi Tivni told me of. You made the only choice you could under the circumstances.”

“But-”

“But nothing,” he pressed his forehead to hers, “You know my history, Sister. I’ll never hate or blame you for the choices made to ensure your own survival. And to Karzahni with anyone else who does.”

“Thank you,” the words came out in a whisper.   

“Now,” he leaned back, releasing her shoulders, “Show me to the wounded. I can help with any inorganic damage.”

The two Toa continued on to the warehouse, where Matoran and Toa were milling about in greater numbers, bringing water, bandages, and other essential supplies inside. As he stepped inside, Ilton immediately spotted a face he recognised, the Hau-clad visage of Behjen, propped up on a pile of pillows in the corner with his broken legs splayed before him as he waited his turn to be healed.

“I’m told you missed out on the big moment, Brother,” Ilton chuckled, leaning down beside the Po-Toa.

“You and me both,” Behjen retorted, “Turns out a Hau can’t protect you from falling four floors straight down onto solid protodermis.”

“Sounds like the kids picked up the slack for us.”

“That they did,” Behjen said, looking past Ilton, to Savnu, “I owe you an apology, Sister. I – well, a lot of us – judged you harshly for what you did on Xia. But we all owe our lives to the Toa you created. So, thank you.”

“Thank me when this is over,” she replied, looking through the window to the new Toa outside.

“You think it isn’t?”

“I fear not,” Ilton said. “Rest up, Brother. We’ll talk again later.”

Ilton and Savnu continued onwards, passing Bihriis and Lhiyla in the midst of a conversation, past the unconscious form of Sidra on one of the beds, before stopping at a makeshift cot where Pira was resting. The young Le-Toa’s body was covered in cuts and bruises, particularly her lower legs, though nothing that looked life-threatening.

“I hear we have you to thank for us all being here to have this conversation,” Ilton said.

“Hardly,” Pira shook her head, “Icthilos and Bihriis were the ones who provided the distraction. The rest of us were… just there.”

“Now isn’t a time for modesty,” Ilton chided, “The last time I saw you, you were barely alive. You endured a lot to make it to this moment. You’re allowed to take pride in that.”

“I haven’t been proud of anything I’ve done in a long time,” Pira sighed, “Today doesn’t change that. The ones we should be celebrating are those who… aren’t here to be part of this conversation.”

“We’ll remember them, I promise,” Ilton said firmly. “Icthilos had a list of all those we lost on Xia. He kept- wait, where is Icthilos?”

He looked around the room, realising now that there was no sign of the gruff Ko-Toa. Tivni had mentioned that he’d been badly wounded in the battle, meaning he would’ve been among the first to be prioritised by the healers, but surely he was in no condition to just wander off?

Savnu sighed.

“I think I know where to look.”

* * *

Icthilos

While turmoil had wracked most of Metru-Nui in the time since Icthilos had last been to Ko-Metru, Keetongu’s long-abandoned cave was utterly untouched. The same was true of most of the region, the slow melting of the snow and ice being the only change to the landscape. He’d borrowed a Vahki transport to get himself here; he couldn’t have managed the trip on foot with his wounded leg.

Idly, Icthilos wondered how things may have gone if Savnu hadn’t convinced him to leave this cave the last time he’d been here. If he hadn’t rejoined the others, if he hadn’t agreed to lead again, if he hadn’t provoked Vhel and Talok at every turn-

-it didn’t matter now.

Now, he sat alone in the ancient cavern, a lifeless lightstone lantern clutched in his hands. His only companion was his blurry reflection in the frozen pool at his feet. The only sounds to be heard were his own shallow breaths, and the random, uneven dripping of icy stalactites on the ceiling. And then a new sound punctuated the silence, the soft, sloshing footsteps of another being entering the cave.

“I had a feeling I’d find you here,” the voice was Trina’s. “I was worried I wouldn’t find you at all.”

Icthilos didn’t raise his head to look in her direction. Savnu had told him what she’d seen, what Trina had done. He understood what had happened. But understanding was different to seeing. If he saw it there was no denying it.

No denying the Trina he’d known was gone.

No denying that he’d lost his entire team.

“You could’ve come to me in Po-Metru when I was being tended to by the healers,” he replied.

He glanced at his arms, resting in his lap. A ragged scar marred the flesh and metal of his left arm, where Talok had wounded him. Despite the best efforts of the healers to repair the internal damage, the limb still felt stiff and weak, the fingers numb and barely responsive, struggling with even the simple task of holding onto the lantern.

“I didn’t want to… impose. The others wouldn’t understand.”

“I don’t understand!” He snapped, finally raising his head to look at her, “What happened to you?”

Once, many years ago, Icthilos had investigated the remains of a village that had been destroyed in some long-forgotten disaster. The other Matoran on the continent hadn’t gone near it in centuries, claiming it was cursed, or haunted. In that village Icthilos found the remains of a Toa wearing a Mask Of Reanimation. The Toa had likely been dead for as long as the village had been destroyed, but still they stood, desiccated and decayed, a silent sentinel among the blackened bones of what had once been the homes they’d protected.

The figure he saw before him now reminded him far too much of the undead Toa. Trina was a husk of the woman he’d known, gaunt and pale and emaciated. Her movements were stiff and unsteady, her organics withered and her armour stiff with rust. Her hands – shaking involuntarily – were pursed before her, bent into crooked claws.

“Mal. He gave me a Shadow Leech,” her hands closed into fists, curling so tightly that blood began to drip from between her clenched fingers, “He wanted to make me more like him.”

“And he succeeded,” Icthilos sighed. “Come back with me, please. There has to be some way we can help you.”

“No. I’m here to help you,” Trina shot forward suddenly, her bloodied hands seizing Icthilos’ arm, “I know I’m… different, now. But I’m not like Mal. I still believe in you, in us, in the Toa Code. But I’m not bound by it anymore.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying the battle for this city isn’t over. Not yet. Not really. And after everything that’s happened, people are going to want to talk, to negotiate.”

“No one wants another war.”

“But not everyone wants to compromise, either,” Trina whispered, “That’s what I can do for you. While you and the other Toa keep the peace, I’ll deal with those who refuse to cooperate. The ones who can’t coexist.”

“Deal with… like you did Orane?”

“And Maliss.”

The way she said it was what cut Icthilos the deepest. Not that Maliss was dead. Not that Trina had been the one to do it. But that it meant nothing to her. There was no empathy, no regret. No heart.

“I can’t-”

“-afford to say no to this. You need me. You know you do.”

“What I need is you by my side,” Icthilos shot to his feet, shoving her away, “Not like this. How you used to be. The person I could talk to, turn to. My friend. My Sister.”

“That’s not who I am!” The chamber lit up for a moment as a halo of sparks exploded into existence behind Trina, her words reverberating like thunder. “I haven’t been her for a long time now. This war ripped away my hope, left me hollow and hateful. But I saw the way everyone looked to you, and the way you looked to me. So I pretended to be who I used to be because that was what you needed, what everyone needed.”

“Don’t say that. That’s not you. That’s the Shadow Sickness talking.”

“It’s not. I lost my hope the same day you lost your heart, Brother. The day Ordas and Hirk were blown to pieces right in front of us. The day I buried Ruhlan on that beach.”

“She wouldn’t have wanted you to become this,” Icthilos protested. “None of them would have.”

“Maliss did. But the truth is, the Shadow didn’t really change me. It just made me stop pretending. Ironic, that it takes darkness to shine a light on who I truly am. Helping you, holding you up, is all I am. All that’s left.”

“I don’t believe that,” Icthilos held up the lantern, “You kept this light alive for me through my darkest days. I want to do the same for you. So please, come back to the light with me.”

“Have you looked up at the sky lately?” Trina snarled, swatting the lantern away, “There’s no light left! But the darkness isn’t something to fear. We can use it. I can use it.”

“We didn’t fight this long just to become the thing we were fighting against! My Trina knew that.”

“I was never-”

“Icthilos!”

A wall of flame rose up between Icthilos and Trina, evaporating the icy floor in an explosion of scalding steam that sent both Toa stumbling away. Savnu appeared in front of Icthilos, brandishing her blade in Trina’s direction.

“I told Ilton you’d be here,” she said over her shoulder, “He’s on his way with backup.”

“Looks like you don’t need me by your side anymore,” Trina sneered, “Maybe once she’s led you into another disaster you’ll be more open to what I’m offering.”

“We need to hold her here until Ilton arrives,” Savnu said softly, expanding the flames into a ring that encircled Trina, “He can bring her in safely before she gets any worse.”

“Just don’t hurt her,” Icthilos pleaded.

“She won’t,” Trina hissed.

Lightning leapt from her hand and struck Savnu in the chest, flinging her into Icthilos and knocking both of them to the ground. Her focus broken, Savnu’s flames dissipated, and Trina dashed through the curtain of cinders, out of the cave.

“Savnu? Savnu!”

Icthilos shook the Ta-Toa’s shoulder, feeling despair welling within him when she didn’t respond.

Not now. Not like this.

He let out a sigh of relief as Savnu coughed, and groaned, her heartlight flickering weakly as she tried to sit up, then fell back to the floor. He put his arms around her, pulling her into an awkward embrace that was as much an expression of affection as it was an effort to help her sit up.

“-have to stop-” Savnu muttered, “-can’t let her-”

“If we go after her now she’ll hit us even harder,” Icthilos sat her up against the cave wall, “Neither of us are up for another fight.”

“She’s dangerous- we have to-”

“I know,” he let her go and leaned back, looking her in the eyes, “That’s why I’m saying no.”

“No one says no to me,” Savnu scoffed, starting to stand up.

“She will kill you,” he pleaded, grabbing her hand, “I can’t lose you both in one day.”

Savnu looked ready to retort with another flippant remark, but reconsidered after taking in his expression. She sat back down, slumping against the wall.

“We have to help her,” she said firmly. “Or… stop her if she can’t be helped.”

“I’m not giving up on her. I promise.”

[Nato G]

Epilogue – Hereafter

From the ballads of the Unbroken.

Be at rest, brutal brother.

Sleep well, savage sister.

Let your blades fall still.

Let us sing you to the stars.

We will see you again, when we stand together in the Crimson City.

* * *

Vhalem

Vhalem awoke with a ragged gasp, hands clutching at his chest.

The pain he’d expected was gone.

The last thing he remembered was the feeling of Lhuhamaka’s blade in his back, the sight of the sword sprouting from the centre of his chest, the sound of his own gurgling scream. But the weapon was gone. The wound was gone. His hands were clean of the blood that had covered them when he’d last closed his eyes.

He hadn’t expected to ever open them again.

He wasn’t on the street anymore. He was somewhere dark, permeated by a cold so powerful that it physically pained him. Liquid protodermis clung to his armour like condensation, pooling beneath his back. The air tasted stale, and carried the coppery scent of ichor. The only sounds he could make out was the occasional dripping of liquid, and the creak of settling metal.

He rose unsteadily to his feet, feeling fatigued despite being certain that he’d been asleep for quite some time. A lightstone was set into the ceiling overhead, ancient and cracked, painting the chamber in dim, haunting hues. The floor underfoot was textured metal, stained with streaks of something he didn’t dare try to identify. The room around him looked like it was some kind of laboratory or operating theatre, with machinery he didn’t recognise lining the walls, and strange tools stowed on tables nearby. The object he’d been lying on appeared to be an operating table of some kind, glistening wetly from where it and him had recently been hosed off.

A hexagonal indentation in the wall not dissimilar to the doors of the Archives chambers in Onu-Metru appeared to be the only exit, so Vhalem staggered towards it, surprised to find his bow-blade and arrows lying on another table right beside the door.

The door split open at the middle and the halves softly slid away as Vhalem’s hand made contact. The instant the doors parted, a wave of warmer air rushed over Vhalem, carrying with it the rancid reek of rot.

There were no lightstones in the corridor outside, but dim illumination seemed to issue from within the walls themselves. Whereas the chamber Vhalem had awoken in had been all metal, the corridor beyond looked more like the inside of some rahi beast, all flesh and sinew held together with bands of metallic protodermis, the “floor” being a catwalk that was secured to the bands. Vague, visceral red light filtered through the flesh, brightening and dimming at regular intervals like a beating heartlight.

As if the idea of being trapped inside something alive wasn’t bad enough, parts of the fleshy walls were decaying, dripping foul-smelling fluid onto the floor. In other places, the walls looked to have been torn open with claws or blades, with strange bulges shifting within the wounds.

Vhalem stepped out into the corridor, and the door snapped suddenly shut behind him, far more loudly than when it had opened.

The sound was like a thunderclap in the silence, cascading down the corridor in both directions.

And something heard it.

A shrieking, sallow shape clawed its way out of one of the wounds in the wall. It looked like it may have once been a Skakdi, but its organic components were long gone, leaving only a steely skull trapped in a raw, ragged rictus.

Another figure emerged nearby, this one a skeletal Steltian. The next was a Vortixx. The fourth a Toa. All of them looked like they should have been dead. And all of them looked at Vhalem like they wanted him to be dead.

He stumbled back against the door, but this time it didn’t open at his touch. The Skakdi scuttled towards him on splintered limbs, leaping forth with jagged jaws splayed wide. Vhalem dived to the side, hearing bones break as the Skakdi struck the door at full force.

Whatever injuries it had just endured didn’t seem to bother it in the slightest, though, as it whirled about and came for him again. The other figures were moving too, now, all rushing at Vhalem.

Vhalem ran, and regretted it almost immediately.

His footfalls rumbled through the hall like detonations, causing more and more of the twisted figures to come crawling out of the walls. Some of the beings still had scraps of organics clinging to their forms, and they were promptly pounced upon by their fleshless counterparts.

Drawing upon what power he could muster, Vhalem encircled himself in antigravity, sending any creatures that got too close floating for a few seconds. It wasn’t much, but with these newfound enemies coming at him from all directions he didn’t have the time or the focus to come up with anything flashier. He ducked between jutting jaws and curled claws, dodging blasts of energy and elements, desperately searching for somewhere to hide.

Doors like the one he’d emerged from lined the corridor, spaced at regular intervals, but all of them remained closed no matter how he pushed or pounded on them.

There was nowhere to go.

Nothing he could-

One of the doors ahead of him suddenly opened of its own accord, and a hand reached through, catching him by the shoulder and pulling him inside, flinging him with such force that he fell to the floor. The door slammed shut behind him, and he immediately heard bodies and blades and bones slamming against it.

“Oh… it’s you.”

Vhalem looked up at his rescuer, surprised to recognise the face of the Vo-Toa Keidal.

“You sound disappointed to see me,” Vhalem groaned, getting up again.

“Truth be told, I was hoping not to see anyone else I knew. How’d you get here?”

“I’m not even sure where here is,” Vhalem said, shrugging. “Last thing I remember I got stabbed in the back by a Vortixx. Don’t know how I survived.”

“You didn’t.” Keidal’s eyes were downcast. “That Vortixx killed you. Just like Orane killed me.”

“What? No. I’m not- you’re not-”

“I’m afraid you are,” a new voice issued from somewhere off to Vhalem’s side.

He looked over, recognising the chamber as an operating theatre much like the one he’d just emerged from. A smaller being was hunched in the corner, shrouded in shadows. But their size and voice was enough for Vhalem to recognise who it was, even before they stepped out into the light.

“Scholars have long asserted that the phenomenon of the fallen vanishing resembles teleportation,” Turaga Rost said, “This place, wherever we are, is where the dead go.”

Edited December 20, 2025 by Nato G

[Nato G]

Prologue – The New Order

From the notes of Chronicler Crisda.

Change in our universe is a strange process.

Some civilisations stagnated in the same patterns for centuries at a time. Millenia could pass in some corners of the universe without any meaningful change occurring. Yet in the space of a month, life in Metru Nui has changed dramatically.

Gone is the oppression of the Makuta. On clear days, his crystalline prison can be glimpsed, glinting against the broken window of the Coliseum’s uppermost floor. True to their word, the Rahkshi continue to emerge only after dark, honouring the restrictions they previously abided by. Talok and many of his aides are imprisoned below the Coliseum, doomed to live out their remaining days in darkness.

But we have not returned to how things were before the invasion.

The Last League has dissolved and a new Council rules Metru Nui, composed of representatives from every species that now walks among us. The main condition of the Council’s formation was that all past transgressions be forgiven, a measure that was undoubtedly necessary to preserve peace, but has left grudges unresolved and old enemies holding onto power that their former victims would rather not see them possess. Nowhere is this truer than in Ga-Metru, which remains under the control of Tuxar and his fanatics, supported by the many Odinans who managed to avoid capture. Ga-Metru is separated from the rest of the city by a Vahki-patrolled demarcation line; in exchange for being left alone, the occupiers provide regular deliveries of fresh food and water.

Ta-Metru is now in the hands of the Vortixx, though inspectors closely monitor their practices to ensure they aren’t returning to their old ways of abusing their workers. The Skakdi, Steltians, and several other races have settled in Le-Metru, and have already constructed an arena atop the ruins of the Moto-Hub in which to hold their brutal entertainment events. Perhaps most strange is the decision by both the Toa and Dark Hunters to base their respective operations out of the Coliseum. Some see the sight of two groups who once warred over the city co-existing as a sign of progress and peace. The more pragmatic view it as a “keep your friends close, and your enemies closer” arrangement.

The idealists and cynics agree on one thing, however: peace is a fragile thing, this one more so than most. Many fear it is only a matter of time before old resentments resurface, or new enemies emerge.

[Nato G]

Chapter 1 – The Demarcation Line

Incident Report

Disturbance detected in Ta-Metru.

Unknown malfunction at Vahki assembly plant. Facility offline. Worker casualties likely. Vahki units dispatched to the location have been disabled.

Multiple Toa witnessed approaching the scene.

Toa presence was not requested or authorised.

* * *

Pira

“This looks like the place,” Erdo remarked grimly, as the group rounded a corner.

“What gave it away?” Tivni retorted.

The scene that greeted Pira and her companions was one of devastation. It was the sound of an explosion that had drawn them to this part of Ta-Metru during their patrol of the region, and a column of smoke spiralling skywards that had guided them to their destination. But the extent of the damage was far worse than they’d feared.

The structure had once been four storeys tall, with towering smokestacks rising several storeys higher, its interior filled with assembly lines and storage areas dedicated to the mass manufacture of Vahki components. Now it was a cratered ruin standing less than half its original height, its toppled chimneys having caved in the rooftops of several other nearby buildings. Flickering flames cast twisted shadows through the rubble, entwining with the tendrils of smoke seeping out through the smashed stones.

Worse than the sight of the destruction was its sound. Pira could hear the crack and clatter of settling rubble, the sizzle and spit of flames… but nothing more. There were no screams of pain, no cries for help. No sign of survivors.

“What could have done this?” Ithnen’s voice was soft, choked with sorrow.

Pira knew how she felt.

The war for Xia was long over. Talok and Vhel were imprisoned. This kind of violence was meant to have been relegated to grim history and bitter memories.

“Not what,” Pira replied, spotting an answer in the street. “Who.”

The four Toa hadn’t been the first ones to arrive on the scene. Two Vahki transports were parked in the street, tracks left in the dust and ash making it clear they’d arrived after the initial explosion. The occupants of those transports were strewn around the street, burned and broken. And melted.

Pira picked up a half-dissolved limb and held it up for the others to see. There was no sign of scorch marks on the piece, despite its semi-molten state.

“I only know two beings in this city with acid powers. And last I checked, only one of them leaves prints like that,” she pointed at a series of faint clawed prints in the dust, leading towards the indentations of what looked to have once been the location of a third Vahki transport.

The being she was referring to was Phidras, second-in-command of Makuta Vhel’s Odinan army. The only other being she knew of with acid powers was the Keelerak that had arrived with the Last League. From what Pira had heard, the spider had thrown in with the Dark Hunters after the League had dissolved – taking up the menacing codename of Buzzasaw – and despite their reputation, that group had no cause to carry out an attack of this nature. More importantly, Visorak didn’t have toes with which to leave footprints.

Which left Phidras as the only likely culprit.

Though Pira had never had the displeasure of crossing paths with him personally, she and the others had done plenty of research over the past few weeks on the enemies who were still at large. He’d been frozen by Icthilos during the battle, but when Toa had come back to retrieve him from the tower after Talok’s arrest, there’d been no sign of him. And with the Council later granting blanket amnesty to all beings in the city for any past crimes, the Toa had been barred from trying to apprehend him or any of the other Odinans who’d fled to Ga-Metru.

“Looks like they ‘jacked one of the transports to make their escape,” Tivni said, already jumping up into the pilot’s section of one of the others, “Let’s get after ‘em.”

“The Council has a truce with Ga-Metru,” Ithnen reminded Pira, catching her arm as she was about to join Tivni, “We can’t go in there and start a fight.”

“They’re the ones who violated the truce, not us,” Pira snapped back, pulling her arm away, “He can’t be too far ahead of us. If we can catch up with him before he makes it back to Ga-Metru, we’ll be in the clear.”

She clambered onto the transport. Erdo was already on board, and Tivni had the vehicle powered up and ready to go.

“What will that accomplish?” Ithnen urged, reluctantly climbing in after her, “We have processes in place for this sort of thing now. Let the Council-”

“-the Council are the reason this lunatic was still roaming around free in the first place,” Pira snapped, “I don’t know how many bodies are under that rubble, but their blood is as much on the Council’s hands as it is on Phidras’.”

“Maybe, but we should still-”

“We’re Toa. We shouldn’t have to stand around and wait to be told who we’re allowed to help.”

The transport lurched into motion, scuttling unsteadily over the rubble-strewn street, following the tracks the missing transport had left behind.

“I guess-” Ithnen muttered, her gaze dropping to the floor.

“Once we’re clear of the ash I’m goin’ to lose the trail,” Tivni called from up front. “What do you want me to do?”

“Forget trying to follow them. Take the most direct path to the border with Ga-Metru. If he’s trying to avoid attention he’ll take a more discreet route, and we can beat him there.”

Ithnen directed an uncertain look Pira’s way, but said nothing.

She didn’t need to say it. Pira knew she was being brash. And she knew herself well enough to realise that wasn’t likely to stop any time soon.  

She was angry. She’d been angry for weeks. Angry at Icthilos, at Savnu, at Ilton, at herself most of all. She’d accepted herself, embraced her power, helped defeat the deadliest evil since Teridax, but things hadn’t gotten better. Her best friend was still dead. The Matoran were still beholden to the rule of an occupying power, with Talok’s tyranny being replaced by a broken bureaucracy. For those still stuck in Ga-Metru, nothing had changed at all. And Pira couldn’t do anything about it because every species that had ever had cause to hate the Toa suddenly had the power to limit them, and had voted in all manner of mediation measures and approval processes to stop them from taking action. Even more crushing, the heroes who’d led the Toa through two wars had let it happen, even helped make it happen.

It was maddening.

Vhalem hadn’t died for Vortixx and Skakdi to tell Toa not to save lives or stop evil.

After several minutes more of travel, it was Erdo’s shout that shattered the silence.

“Over there!” he pointed out the open side door of the transport, gesturing towards a second vehicle moving along a parallel course a block over, visible every few seconds through alleyways and side streets.

“Cutting it close,” Tivni warned, “We’re almost at the border!”  

“Can you make that distance with your Kualsi?” Pira asked, readying her staff.

“Should be able to. I just need line of sight for a second,” Erdo said, equipping his forearm-mounted shields and summoning vines around his hands.

“Good. Hop over and try to trip up the transport.”

“We’ll cut across in the next street that’s wide enough,” Tivni said. “Should only be a few seconds behind you.”

“Got it,” Erdo said, then disappeared as they passed the next alleyway.

“Up ahead! Hold onto something!” Tivni shouted, swinging the transport into a tight turn as it approached a connecting street up ahead. Matoran walking along the new route scattered in panic, throwing themselves to the ground or through doorways as the transport rushed by.

As she leaned out the open door, Pira spotted the transport they were pursuing flash by in the street ahead, vines entangling its forelimbs. A skittering, scraping sound rang out a few seconds after the vehicle was lost from sight, and as soon as the Toa’s transport emerged in the road Pira saw their target sprawled in the street, crashed down atop its bound legs. Just a few dozen bio down the street was the bridge that led across into Ga-Metru. Vahki patrolled the border, but made no move to interfere. These units had been reprogrammed by the occupiers of Ga-Metru; their instructions extended only to ensuring no one came into the region who wasn’t supposed to.

The success was soured a second later by the sight of Erdo being suddenly flung out of the side of the transport. What emerged in pursuit of him wasn’t one, but three Odinans. The purple one Pira knew from descriptions to be Phidras. The other two she recognised from personal experience. The one clad in crimson hides she now knew to be the commander Greillash. The one in white, whose body was covered in burn scars that Pira herself had helped inflict, was known as Aadra.

Tivni brought the transport skidding to a stop, the three Toa jumping out and brandishing their weapons towards the insectoid trio.

“Nice to see you again,” Pira quipped, being careful not to lift her gaze any higher than the chests of her enemies. She’d been on the receiving end of Aadra’s vision power once, and she was in no rush to repeat the experience. Just as she had no desire to find out what the other two were capable of. “We didn’t get to make introductions last time. I’m Pira. That’s Erdo. This is Tivni and Ithnen.”

“Your reputations precede you, Toa,” Greillash growled, brandishing a blade of black-red bone in each hand, “As I’m sure ours do for you.”

“Enough talk!” Phidras loosed an acid Rhotuka from his launcher, which splashed harmlessly against a barrier of earth Ithnen summoned to block it. Pira retaliated with a blast of air, but Greillash stepped into its path, the Zyglak hide he wore as armour negating her elemental powers.

“Go!” Greillash ordered, “Back home.”

“Cut them off!” Pira ordered, summoning a brief but powerful wave of air from the opposite direction in the hopes of buffeting the fleeing Odinans back the other way.

Erdo teleported in front of the pair as they were knocked off-balance, trying to summon more vines to snare them, while the remaining Toa charged at Greillash.

If he was the slightest bit concerned at the prospect of fighting three Toa at once, he certainly didn’t show it. Tivni’s plasma blasts dissipated harmlessly against his blades and armour, and the blindingly-bright fireball Rhotuka he launched from his back-mounted launcher sent Ithnen reeling. He didn’t get the chance to loose a second shot, as Tivni and Pira closed the distance and struck out with their blades.

Greillash ducked low under their simultaneous swings, sweeping out a leg to trip Tivni before springing upright and swiping one of his blades towards Pira. She parried with one end of her staff and slashed the other towards him. He caught it on his other blade, pushing her back, and in that moment Pira made the mistake of meeting his gaze. Agony abruptly enveloped her entire body as his vision powers sent the pain centre of her brain into overdrive.

She hit the ground, her vision flashing red before fading to black.

And then she was lying on her back, Tivni leaning over her.

“Hey! You still with me?”

Pira blinked blearily up at the Su-Toa, mumbling something to the affirmative. She rolled onto her side and looked for the others. It seemed that only a few moments had passed, but those moments had made all the difference. Ithnen was standing nearby, rubbing at fresh burns to her shoulder. Erdo was on his knees a little further away, muttering to himself, likely having fallen prey to Aadra’s vision power. And the three Odinans were safely over their side of the border, waving and jeering mockingly as they calmly sauntered away across the bridge. As catalogued citizens of Ga-Metru, the Vahki had allowed them to pass unimpeded.

The same courtesy wouldn’t be extended to the four Toa.

“Karzahni,” Pira muttered.

“Should we go after them?” Tivni asked.

“You know we can’t,” Pira scowled, sitting up, “Not without running the risk of dragging the entire city into another war.”

“What do we do, then?”

“Head home and give Larone the good news.”

[Nato G]

Chapter 2 – Mysteries

From the ravings of The Recorder.

Though the Last League was named in acknowledgement of the original League Of Six Kingdoms, little remains of that old empire. Of the six races who made up the original League, only two remain in any meaningful numbers.

Kalmah’s people endured a most certain and unfair fate, though it remained a mystery until only a few weeks ago, when the transcripts of Makuta Vhel’s interrogations of captured Order Of Mata Nui members were recovered and made public. It’s now known that Kalmah’s people resided on the island that neighboured Artakha, and that they and their homeland were destroyed by the Order Of Mata Nui to ensure that they could never reveal the island’s location to potential enemies. Members of that race who weren’t on the island at the time were assassinated, along with everyone else who knew the location of Artakha.

Ehlek’s people, being allies of the Order, were in turn targeted by Teridax during his short-lived rule, most of their population eradicated by an earthquake that struck their underwater colony. Pridak’s people suffered a similar fate eons earlier; originating from the island now known as Visorak, most of them met with a grim end when the spiders were unleashed upon them. Mantax’s people also owe their end to the Makuta, their population being rendered near-extinct when their homeland – the Southern Continent – shattered during the Great Cataclysm.

Only Takadox’s people, the original denizens of Odina, remain.

Them, and Carapar’s people.

Their name for themselves is beyond the capability of most beings to pronounce. In the common tongue, they are known as the Unbroken, owing to their near-indestructible natural armour. Originating from somewhere in the Southern Isles, they travelled further than any other race to reach Metru Nui. And though they served loyally with the League, they have since shown their true colours, joining the Odinans in Ga-Metru without warning or explanation.

One Barraki race alone was enough to bend a Makuta to their will and bring the entire universe to its knees. Many fear what two might accomplish together.

* * *

Tustesh

“The Great Temple,” he scoffed, as he strode through the archway.

The Matoran truly were a worthless race if this was what they considered “great.” The temple of Tustesh’s people had been carved into the highest peak on their homeland, expanded over generations and centuries to encompass the entire mountain. It had been a monument to their faith and fervour, and now it was lost to the dark like so much of their heritage.

The Matoran’s temple was little more than a streetside shrine by comparison. The structure was cracked and crumbling in some places, scorched and seared in others. The way the building was overgrown with foliage only added to the ambiance of neglect – though that, at least, wasn’t the fault of the Matoran.

Though this was Tustesh’s first time visiting the temple’s interior, the layout was simple and his directions were clear. He followed a winding corridor into the library deep within the structure. Whatever fire had occurred in the temple a month past hadn’t reached this far inside, and even the vines and plants were more sparse here, allowing easy access to the expansive shelves of tablets, parchments, etchings, drawings and Knowledge Crystals.

Hunched over a desk near one of the shelves was the being Tustesh had come to see. The priestess Lyrami, protector of his people’s secrets and stories, and keeper of his own heart. Her armour was hued in crimson and yellow, and a long red robe hung from her bulky shoulders.

“My love,” he said, in way of greeting. “Your message said you had news.”

Beady blue eyes rose to meet his own as she looked up from the papers piled before her.

“Tustesh!” She beamed, reaching out to take his hand and guide him to the table. “Come, sit. I’ve found something that may be of interest.”

“The Crimson City?” He asked, pulling out the too-small chair on the other side of the desk and squatting awkwardly upon it.

“No mention of it by name,” she shook her head, before gesturing to some of the pages before her. “But these are among the oldest records I can find, older by far than anything we’ve seen elsewhere. And they share similarities to our own legends.”

“Similarities? What do the pages say?”

Though the so-called ‘Matoran language’ was the common tongue of the universe, it wasn’t one used by Tustesh and most of his people. By necessity he’d learned to speak it well enough to be understood, but reading or writing in it was beyond him. He relied on Lyrami for such things, along with many others.

“These records speak of a place where injured Matoran from this city were sent to be repaired,” she said, gesturing to the pages.

“The island of Karzahni. We’ve seen mention of it in other Matoran settlements. It’s common enough knowledge that the name is used as a curse by some of the Toa.”

“Yes, but the records of this city have something I haven’t seen in the other Matoran settlements we’ve investigated. They speak of Matoran who perished in their duties returning to life, restored as if no harm had ever befallen them.”

“Like the ballads of old?”

“Yes.”

“Where did they go? Is it the city we seek?”

“I don’t know. There are only metaphorical musings about floating in a sea of stars. But it may be prudent for you to speak with a Turaga or Toa, to find out firsthand what they know. You’re leaving for the Council meeting soon, are you not?”

“I am,” he grunted, folding his arms across his chest. “Though any Toa there may not be forthcoming.”

“Good luck. Hopefully you’ll learn something of use.”

“I’ll-” he started to rise, but hesitated, “-be honest with me. Do you believe we can do it? Find the Crimson City? Bring our people home?”

“You alone ended the reign of our Makuta and ushered in our second age of freedom. You led us from our homeland to here without losing a single one of us,” Lyrami reached across to place her hand on his own, her claws caressing his palm, “If anyone can lead us into legend, I believe it will be you.”

“Thank you,” he said, standing up and slowly drawing his hand away, “I hope your faith in me is rewarded.”

“Faith is its own reward.”

* * *

Pira

“Can I have a word, Pira?” Ithnen asked quietly, nudging the Le-Toa’s shoulder.

The four Toa were halfway back to Onu-Metru to give their report to Larone, avoiding main streets just in case the Council had sent anyone out to find them.

Pira nodded numbly, taken by surprise by the use of her name. Ithnen used nicknames for pretty much everyone, and Pira couldn’t recall a time that she hadn’t been addressed as ‘airhead’. This was obviously serious.

“Keep going,” Pira said to the others, stepping aside with Ithnen. “What’s wrong?”

“You,” Ithnen grumbled.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Vhalem’s gone, Savnu is off playing house, Ilton’s wrapped up in Council business all the time. I know you didn’t ask for it, but for better or worse, you’ve become the one that us and a lot of the new Toa look up to.”

“And you think you can do better?” Pira snapped. “Is that what this is?”

“No. I don’t think I can do better. But I know you can.”

“What’s wrong with the way I’m doing things?”

“You’re letting anger cloud your judgement. I remember when I first saw the real you, when you spoke out against Icthilos back at-”

“I was angry then,” Pira interjected.

“There’s a difference between rage and revenge,” Ithnen said gently. “Back then you wanted to change things for the better. Now you’re just lashing out over the people we lost.”

“So? Revenge is the same reason Icthilos brought an army to Xia’s shores to begin with,” Pira pointed out, recalling the argument she’d once overheard between Icthilos and Savnu, what felt like forever ago.

“And he regrets it,” Ithnen retorted. “You will as well, if you steer us down the same path.”

“Don’t lecture me about regret,” Pira snapped, “You have no idea-”

“I do.” Ithnen said. “Vhalem went looking for the Vortixx because he thought they had something you lost. It’s the last thing he ever said to me.”

“I-” Pira couldn’t formulate a response.

She’d spent so long terrified of what the others would say or do if they found out Vhalem’s death was her fault. But now… Ithnen had known all along? And had said nothing in all that time?

“Did he… tell you what he was looking for?”

“No, but does it matter?” Ithnen asked. “It’s obvious to everyone that you blame yourself. But you’re not the only one. You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about that conversation and wished I’d gone with him to face the Vortixx. I’m sure Tivni feels the same way.”

“That’s different. You didn’t-”

“Circumstances. Logic. Excuses. None of it matters. It doesn’t change how I feel. You can’t convince me not to blame myself any more than I could convince you.”

“Fair enough,” Pira nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just… be better. So that none of us have to feel that way for anyone else.”

“I’ll try.”

* * *

Sidra

The more things change, the more they stay the same, Sidra reflected, as she strode down the familiar corridors of the Coliseum.

With nowhere else to go, and having well and truly proven herself in the eyes of both the Toa and the League, she’d been permitted to remain in her old quarters in the Coliseum. But with most of her people regrouping in Ga-Metru or languishing in cells, Sidra was left feeling like an outsider, meeting with dismissal or suspicion from most beings she crossed paths with. She did her best to just ignore them, and keep making herself useful.

The person she’d mostly been making herself useful for was behind the door before her, located near the outer edge of one of the floors below the arena. She didn’t bother knocking, just pushed the door open and stepped inside. She was expected, after all.

The room was well-illuminated by the sunlight streaming in through the open floor-to-ceiling windows that covered one wall. A threadbare carpet blanketed the floor, with a bed propped up against one wall, and a workbench against the other. Kanohi and Kanoka of all kinds and colours were stacked around the chamber, some works-in-progress, others trophies or reminders.

The room’s owner was standing on the balcony beyond the window. Ilton, a tall Toa clad in dark yellow and metallic grey, a Kiril on his face. He clutched a Kanohi in his hand, a Mask Of Clairvoyance stained with the rusty lustre of Infection.

 “Friend of yours?” She quipped, assuming the Mask to be a trophy of some past triumph.

“Not a friend,” he said, turning to face her, “Just… someone I failed to save.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Sidra sighed, “I’ve got one of those, too.”

“I know. Have you spoken with Neryx recently?”

“She’s in Ga-Metru. You know I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“What I know is that you’re resourceful. A long border patrolled by a handful Vahki wouldn’t be able to stop you if you wanted to get in. Or to get her out.”

“Even if I were capable of… something like that, I believe that would fall under the category of things you’re better off not knowing about.”

Ilton chuckled, then nodded.

Such was the nature of their arrangement. Ilton wasn’t a political animal. He wasn’t cunning or cutthroat. But of all the Toa, he was the wisest and least rash, and had thus been chosen to represent their interests at the Council. But upon finding himself operating in the orbit of Vortixx, Dark Hunters, and other schemers, he’d swiftly found himself in need of an agent willing to cross lines Toa couldn’t. An agent who wouldn’t ask questions. An agent who wouldn’t tell him more than he needed to know. An agent who already proven herself capable of balancing her allegiances and making difficult choices.

Sidra hadn’t taken much convincing. At least this way she was doing something to help someone, and keeping herself close enough to the Council to be aware of its decisions. Keeping herself busy also kept her mind occupied, distracting her from… other concerns.

“But you didn’t ask me here to quiz me on my love life,” she said, “Or rather, lack thereof.”

“No. How goes your investigation? Last we spoke you said you might have been onto something?”

The investigation in question was in regards to incidents of violence and crime around the city. In the month since Makuta Vhel’s defeat, dozens of beings of all species had vanished or turned up dead, and multitudes more had been injured in fights or riots. Though attempts had been made to estimate the various populations and identify all of the city’s new citizens, there was nothing close to a complete count, which likely meant there were many more incidents and disappearances than were being officially reported. There were plenty of ways to get rid of a body in a city of this size, with so many canals and rivers. Assuming the body didn’t just disappear on its own.

Sidra’s task wasn’t to solve the individual crimes, but to look for patterns linking multiple murders or disappearances. One-off fights or killings were unfortunately to be expected. But repeated incidents committed the same way, or against the same kind of victim, suggested something more. Sidra’s job was to recognise the patterns that might indicate the rise of a coordinated hate group or criminal syndicate. Her past investigations had already led to the arrests of a rogue Dark Hunter with a grudge against Vortixx, a Skakdi serial killer, and a Turaga angel of mercy. Her latest lead, however, had left her stumped.

“Nothing definitive,” she said. “But still strange. Just a gut feeling.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“There’s been a fair few disappearances in the past month, but there are four I think might be linked somehow. There’s nothing connecting the victims, aside from the fact that they were all Ba-Toa, and the disappearances were all about a week apart, give or take a day. The first was last seen patrolling the Ga-Metru border; his disappearance is part of the reason the Council allowed Tuxar to assign Vahki to manage the border instead. Another was last seen in west Ta-Metru, and the other two went missing from north Le-Metru.”

“All near Ga-Metru. You think your people might be responsible?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them. I suspect them of a few other incidents. But this… I can’t make it make sense. Why Ba-Toa? Why so regularly-timed?”

“How long ago was the last disappearance?” Ilton asked.

“Two days.”

“That gives you five to figure this out before someone else is targeted.”

“I’ll try my best.”

[Nato G]

Chapter 3 – The Council 

From the notes of Chronicler Crisda.

Politics is still a relatively new experience for me. The village I hailed from only had one Turaga. The same was true of Metru Nui itself during Turaga Dume’s despotic rule. All that I’ve read indicates that decisions were swift and authoritative, that orders were carried out without debate or delay.

But things are different now.

Since arriving in this city I’ve seen three different councils control it. The first was a collection of seven Turaga, whose uneven number ensured that there would always be a majority decision regardless of disagreements. The second was a parade of puppets whose pleas went ignored by the city’s true power. The third is a showcase of every species and society, offering intriguing insights into new perspectives and beliefs I’d never even wondered about before.

But what I’ve learned more than anything is that there is more dividing us than uniting us. Coexistence is a daily struggle. But it’s a struggle worth having.

* * *

Ilton

Though he’d attended more than a dozen of these Council meetings over the past month, Ilton still felt out of place every time he stepped into the chamber.

The Council’s chosen meeting place was a large, round room in one of the Coliseum’s lower levels. Once a simple storage space, it had been remodelled and redecorated, with a circular table as its centrepiece, surrounded by eleven chairs of varying sizes. A banner was mounted on the wall behind each chair, representing each of the Council’s current eleven factions. Additional seating was arrayed around the room for the notetakers, and other guest speakers.

Sitting in the centre of the table was a complex piece of machinery with a Kanohi Rau affixed to it. The device was a Kanohi Cradle, a piece of Vortixx technology that allowed a Kanohi’s power to be utilised without a wearer. During the war on Xia, the Vortixx had primarily used them to set up Hau shields around areas they wanted to defend, though they’d occasionally found creative ways to use other Kanohi for offensive purposes. The use of a Kanohi Rau in this particular cradle ensured that all members of the Council could speak freely in whatever language they were most comfortable with, without fear of being misunderstood.

Most of the Council’s members were already inside by the time Ilton arrived. He sat down in his chair, his back to a simple white banner depicting the outline of a Kanohi Hau in black. The use of that design had been Ilton’s idea; Toa were supposed to be protectors, after all.

To Ilton’s left sat Turaga Nadrua, representing the interests of the Turaga and Matoran, with a similar white banner at her back, bearing the Matoran’s linked circle symbol for Unity. Though there had been some pushback, particularly from the Vortixx contingent, the Council had weeks ago agreed that it would be appropriate for the Toa and Matoran to have separate representation. Matoran were civilians. Toa were decidedly not. And the frequent disagreements between the two parties had proven to all that both had very different agendas.

To Ilton’s right sat Lariska, speaking for the Dark Hunters, the organisation’s coin-and-crossed-blades symbol embossed in gold on the black banner behind her. After the League’s dissolution, Desecrator had designated themself leader of the Skakdi, leaving Lariska unopposed to retake control of the Dark Hunters.

Most of the other representatives were the same beings who’d led their respective peoples before the Council’s formation: Imperator Gharkelos for the Steltians, Commander Lhuhamaka for the Vortixx, Perception for the Rahkshi, and Desecrator commanding the Skakdi. Their banners bore an arena, a three-peaked mountain, the Rahkshi symbol, and a grinning Skakdi skull, respectively.

Desecrator’s former second-in-command Muhlene sat before a banner of mismatched patches, representing what little remained of the Last League, a loose union of unaffiliated beings whose races were too few in number to warrant their own representation. It had seemed a reasonable arrangement when the council had first approved it, but tellingly, Muhlene had thus far always voted in line with Desecrator.

The only representative in the room not sitting at a chair was Karturuhk, the blue-and-gold Kahgarak who spoke for the Visorak species. Though only seven of them had journeyed with the Last League to Metru Nui, and two of those had since joined the Dark Hunters, their numbers had been bolstered by a few dozen more Visorak of varying varieties who’d been discovered stored in stasis in the Archives – some were captured survivors from the original invasion of Metru Nui, others were newly-created, engineered by Teridax during his short-lived rule and promptly imprisoned by Vhel. Their banner was green in hue, emblazed with silver embroidery in the shape of a rhotuka spinner.

Perhaps the most unexpected group to be present at the Council were the Order Of Mata Nui, their dark blue banner bearing the symbol of the Three Virtues in gold. Though the group had been thought wiped out in the early days of Vhel’s takeover, several survivors had been discovered imprisoned in the cells beneath the Coliseum in the days after the Makuta’s defeat. Though their numbers were few, and the revelations of their historic crimes had turned much of the public against them, their knowledge and power had bought them a place on the Council nonetheless. Their representative was Nomar, a blue-and-silver female member of Ehlek’s species, one of the few who remained of that once-great race.

The door creaked open again as the final member of the group arrived. Though he bore no title or honorific, it was well known that Tustesh was leader of the Unbroken. As the only member of the Council hailing from Ga-Metru, he occasionally delivered demands on behalf of Tuxar and the Odinans as well, but generally he seemed as disinterested with their agendas as he did with the whole political process in general.

The burly being stalked silently across the chamber. His plate-like natural armour was black edged with silver, and he bore a streak of white warpaint across his broad brow. His eyes were a sickly green in colour, staring off into the distance as if he were seeing something no one else could. The banner behind his chair was pitch black in hue, bearing a symbol in bloody red that resembled the outline of a city. He’d never explained its meaning, and no one had dared ask.

“Now that we’re all here,” it was Nomar who spoke, her words guttural and gurgling due to the breathing tube connected to her mouth. “Let’s begin.” Having taken no part in the war on Xia or the liberation of Metru Nui, the Order were the closest thing there was to an impartial party among the Council’s members, so Nomar often acted as speaker and arbitrator.

“Our first order of business is implementing new regulations for power usage,” she said. “Most of you have submitted complaints at some point in the last two weeks regarding outages in your respective areas of the city, and they’re happening more and more frequently.”

Power had been an ongoing issue since the Makuta’s defeat. Although Talok’s administration had been storing significant amounts of energy for their intended scheme of somehow, someday, reawakening the universe, those reserves had quickly dried up once the city’s citizens had started turning chutes and lights and machinery back on all across the city. And with no one forcing the Matoran to labour anymore, many were choosing not to, leaving nowhere near enough workers to keep everything running properly. With the Makuta’s staff trapped with him in the Toa Seal, its power couldn’t be used to support the city’s supply either.

“I imagine I speak for everyone when I say we all appreciate the convenience of chute travel,” it was Lhuhamaka who spoke up first, “But the chutes are also the biggest drain on the city’s power, especially with so many damaged and disused chutes around the city wasting energy.”

“Convenience isn’t the only purpose the chutes serve,” Gharkelos pointed out, “They’re essential for ensuring a quick response to criminal activities and medical incidents.”

“You wouldn’t have so many medical emergencies in Le-Metru if you didn’t spend so much time beating each other up for fun,” Lariska sneered. “You want to talk about wastes of energy? All of the floodlights and loudspeakers in that gaudy arena of yours can’t be helping.”

“I don’t recall you complaining when you were fighting in the arena last week,” Desecrator remarked.  

“Everyone’s entitled to a little stress relief,” Lariska said, shrugging, “I didn’t say I don’t like the arena, just that it doesn’t need to be lit up like a Naming Day tree at all hours.”

“Unnecessary lighting is an issue in many areas of the city,” Perception was the next to add their voice to the conversation, “My people are no longer comfortable roaming some parts of the city at night due to the amount of lights that are on.”

“That’s the point,” Nadrua muttered quietly.

“There’s a compromise to be found here,” Ilton chose that moment to interject, trying to pre-empt any retorts to Nadrua’s words. “On both fronts. We could shut off all of the chutes except the main six leading from the Coliseum into each Metru, and restrict their use to essential workers and services so they’re not overcrowded when we need them. We can also set a cut-off time for most lights in the city to be shut off at night.”

“That chute runs by the arena,” Gharkelos said, nodding. “We can implement some flaming torches instead of lightstones as well.”

“And if it’s not enough?” Lhuhamaka asked.

“Then we can revisit the topic at the next meeting and come up with more restrictions,” Ilton suggested. “Reducing our power consumption now isn’t going to make things worse.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Nomar said. “Shall we take a vote?”

“Not without me!” The door burst open as a new figure shoved his way inside. It was a figure that Ilton – and indeed, everyone else – knew well, but not one he’d expected to see.

Turaga Larone sneered at Nadrua and Ilton as he stepped up to the empty space between them at the table, slamming one of his axes down into the tabletop as if he thought his entrance hadn’t already gotten everyone’s attention.

“What is the meaning of this?” Nomar snarled, her steely fangs snapping together like the tines of a rahi trap.

“I demand representation!” Larone already sounded hoarse, the act of shouting straining his voice.

“Two Matoran representatives is already two too many,” Lhuhamaka scoffed. “We won’t allow another.”

“These fools don’t represent the best interests of the Matoran people,” Larone gestured to Ilton and Nadrua. “Nadrua here only represents the mindless masses too afraid to stand up for themselves and demand real change. And the Toa have forsaken their duty to serve the Matoran.” 

“Who do you stand for, then?” Gharkelos asked.  

“I speak for all of the Matoran who have suffered and died at the hands of the beings in this room. Matoran who won’t allow their futures to be decided for them by oppressors and traitors. What right do you have to come into our city and tell us how to live our lives?”

“How can you of all beings ask that question?” Desecrator’s multilayered voice seethed with rage, “Hundreds of our people bled on the beaches of Onu-Metru fighting the enemy you could not. We negotiated with you for settlement rights in this city.”

“You’re the one who let the League in to begin with,” Gharkelos agreed.

“What choice did I have?” Larone spat. “We were facing a war we could not win. Our Toa refused to do what needed to be done to help us.”

“We did everything we could!” Ilton protested. “More than you ever did.”

He wasn’t one for anger. Fury was a fire, and a lifetime spent being hated and hunted by the Brotherhood Of Makuta had long ago burned up his reserves of rage. But this absurd outburst from Larone was rekindling embers he’d thought long extinguished. He’d tried to be tolerant of Larone’s actions in the past, even during the battle on the beach when he’d been sacrificing Matoran lives to further his goals. But coming in here like this, antagonising the Council, insulting the efforts of everyone who’d actually tried to save lives during the war-

“Is this a joke?” Lariska suddenly blurted out.

“Do I sound like I’m joking?” Larone’s tone turned cold.

“Yes. Badly. You come in here, insult the memory of the hundreds of beings on both sides who died in the war, openly admit that your word means nothing, and still expect us to give you a seat on the Council?”

“You’re refusing me?”

Karturuhk let out a screech that the Rau translated to a particularly vigorous yes.

“I don’t think a vote is necessary,” Nomar jabbed a claw in the direction of the door. “Get out.”

“You’ll regret this,” Larone ripped his axe from the table and stormed back out the way he’d come.

Everything the Turaga had said since arriving in the room had been laughable; contradictory claims, brazen boasts, and ridiculous demands. But there was a menace in the way those last three words were spoken that made the threat feel very real.

“Now that he’s gone, let’s follow up on the power vote,” Ilton suggested to the group.

He hoped Sidra was listening, and understood his message.

[Nato G]

Chapter 4 – Precarious Plans

From the records of Turaga Rost (archived after his death).

The Makuta insists we allow Larone to live.

There will always be rebels and dissidents, he says. It’s better that we allow them to follow the ringleader we’re already aware of, rather than eliminating him and having future dissenters turn to someone else.

I disagree. He doesn’t know Larone like I do. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s been bitter and brash, burdened and broken. The traumas that he and so many others endured in Karzahni have left him helpless and hollow, full of hate and a lust for revenge that can never be sated.

The only peace Larone will ever know is the grave.

And he’ll lead as many as he can into that oblivion with him.

* * *

Pira

An eddy of air swirled slowly around Pira, waxing and waning in time with her breaths.

She was sitting on the floor of the small hut that served as her temporary home in Onu-Metru, awaiting Larone’s return from the Coliseum. She’d taken up breathing exercises a few weeks ago as a way to distract herself from her thoughts, and keep her frustration at bay.

All she thought about, all she felt, was the flow of elemental energy moving around and through her. One of the first lessons she’d been taught as a Le-Toa was that she couldn’t bend the wind to her will. It wasn’t something to be conquered or controlled. It was something she needed to take in stride, to gently guide, to move with, not against. It was a lesson she followed now, letting the wind waft in through the window and weave around her, carrying with it the scents and sounds of the street outside.

Even above ground, the air in Onu-Metru always felt stale and stifling. It had a musty scent to it, like a library. Almost everything in this part of the city was stuck, from the beasts in stasis below to the archivists with their heads in the past, to Pira herself, unable to let go of her remorse or rage.

A knock on the door stirred her from her contemplation.

“Yes?” She asked, standing up.

“He’s back,” came Erdo’s voice.

Pira stepped outside and joined the Bo-Toa in heading down the street towards the larger hut where Larone had made his home. It was a squat, squarish structure situated at the junction of several intersecting streets, ensuring it could easily be found by all those living nearby, which was almost exclusively Larone’s followers.

Larone was sitting on the steps outside his home when Pira and Erdo arrived, already in conversation with his aides: the clawed Po-Matoran Ridhus, the Ta-Turaga Ihnes, a Fa-Toa named Sazun, and of course, the Av-Toa Chavara. Though Pira wasn’t yet close enough to hear Larone’s words, the Onu-Turaga’s dour expression spoke volumes.

“I take it things didn’t go well?” She asked, in way of greeting.

“I begged them to hear reason, but they refused,” Larone said, shaking his head, “They’re too afraid to take action. They’ll bend over backwards to protect a broken peace but won’t raise a hand against the enemies who still roam free in this city.”

“I’m afraid we were unable to capture them,” Pira stared at the ground, unable to bring herself to meet the old Turaga’s eyes. “We tried, but-”

“That burden never should have been yours to shoulder,” Larone cut her off. “The armies should have stormed Ga-Metru the day the Administration fell. Instead, they stood by and celebrated their half-victory, allowing the enemy to regroup and consolidate their power.”

“Did the Council consider any of your requests?” Erdo asked.

“Not one. I humbly requested for Matoran to be able to have their concerns heard directly before the Council instead of being filtered through that fool Nadrua. I pleaded with them to take action on the threat from Ga-Metru, especially in the wake of this morning’s attack. I even implored them to remove Tustesh from the Council, given how obvious a security threat he is. All to no avail.”

“To Karzahni with the Council,” it was Chavara who spoke, eyes aglow behind her Mask Of Fire. “If they won’t deal with this problem, we should do it ourselves.”

“Careful,” Pira said, “What exactly are you proposing?”

“You saw the culprits of this morning’s attack, didn’t you?” Larone asked.

“We saw three Odinans leaving the Metru in a stolen transport. We didn’t see them commit the crime, and at best we only have circumstantial evidence that one of them was at-”

“-are you seriously defending them?” Erdo nudged her shoulder.

“No. But there’s this thing called due process, and as much as I hate it, we don’t have enough proof.”

“Forget about the attack for a moment,” Larone cut in. “You just said you encountered three Odinans in Ta-Metru. They crossed the demarcation line. That’s crime enough to warrant a citizen’s arrest.”

“Which we tried and failed to do,” Pira pointed out.

“So we march into Ga-Metru and drag them out,” Larone rose to his feet, continuing before Pira could protest, “They broke the agreement first. If there’s any blowback from the Council I’ll take full responsibility for it. But if they won’t listen to our words, we need to show them with actions.”

“We can’t just-” Pira started to protest.

“-you’re not afraid, are you?” Chavara challenged.

“Of course I am! You should be, too. Our dead are still fresh in the ground from the last war, and you want to risk provoking another?”

“Pira,” Erdo reached out to grasp her shoulder, “You saw what happened this morning. People are already dead. The war has already started.”

Pira sighed, and nodded.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

* * *

Sidra

Sidra was waiting for Ilton when he returned to his room.

Though their arrangement wasn’t exactly a secret one, and it was common knowledge that pretty much everyone who sat on the Council had spies of some kind, Sidra still did her best to stay out of sight and not wait around in public parts of the tower. Having betrayed her own people, then walked out on the Dark Hunters and the League to help the Toa, she’d burned more bridges than she’d built.

“You got my message?” Ilton asked, closing the door behind him.

“Of course,” she tapped the Kanohi Iden hanging at her hip.

Spying on the Council meetings was one of the many duties she performed on Ilton’s behalf. She was far from the only being in the city doing it, either. In the weeks she’d spent spying on meetings, Sidra had discovered an audio recorder hidden inside the Kanohi cradle, and a small camera concealed within the lightstone fixture on the ceiling. She’d also seen Larone’s aide Ihnes using his own Iden to monitor the council’s discussions numerous times, and on at least two occasions unknown beings using Kanohi Hunas had sat in on the meetings, Sidra having only noticed them due to their shadows. With no Eldas lying around in the city, the security issues seemed likely to persist until the Council took more proactive measures to protect their secrecy.

“What news?” Ilton asked, opening the window to stand by the windowsill again.

“Nothing good, I’m afraid. He told his people a whole lot of insane stuff and now they’re getting ready to march on Ga-Metru.”

“He what?” Ilton snapped back towards her. “What did he tell them?”

“That the Council knocked back his requests for Matoran to be able to present their concerns at meetings, to take action in Ga-Metru in response to this morning’s attack, and to have Tustesh removed from the Council.”

“But… he didn’t ask for any of those things,” Ilton frowned.

“I know.”

“We didn’t even get word of the attack in Ta-Metru until after he left.”

“From what I heard, he already knew about it. Apparently, your friend Pira and her comrades tried to apprehend the culprits before they could cross back into Ga-Metru.”

“So it was definitely your people who did it?”

“Sounds like it.”

Ilton rubbed his temples. “None of this makes sense. Why now? What do they get out of it?”

“Halting Vahki production gives them a better chance at retaking the city if they attacked?” Sidra guessed. Greillash wasn’t much more imaginative than that.

“There has to be more to it, though. There’s still-”

“What does it matter?” Sidra cut in, “The bigger picture can wait until after we’ve stopped another war from breaking out.”

[Nato G]

Chapter 5 – Corruption

From the notes of Chronicler Crisda.

The Great Temple was one of the most sacred sites in the city. It was a religious centre for the native Matoran, a place of culture and belief. The library, the Toa Suva, the protodermis purification plant… it was so many things, to so many people.

And now it’s a place of malice and murder, where a madman rules and monsters roam free. Our history and heritage held hostage by cruel, clawed hands.

We can only wonder what has been done to the temple, and if we’ll ever be able to reclaim it.

* * *

Tustesh

“Ah, there you are!” Tuxar perked up as Tustesh entered the vaulted chamber within the Great Temple that served as his throne room. Like the rest of the structure it was overgrown with foliage, obscuring whatever architecture or decoration it had once had. The only feature of note was the ornate wooden chair upon which Tuxar sat, shrouded in dappled shadows.

This was only Tustesh’s second time meeting Tuxar, and his first time being summoned to the throne room to meet with him. It was also the first time the twisted Toa had taken any kind of interest in the conversations of the Council.

“I here,” was the only response Tustesh gave. There was no Rau in the room, forcing him to rely on his limited skills in speaking the Matoran language.

He didn’t know if he was expected to bow.

He just knew he wouldn’t.

“Yes,” Tuxar’s mouth curled up in an irritated grimace, “Tell me, what did the self-proclaimed rulers of this city say today?”

“The chutes be-” he searched for a moment for the translation for the word ‘deactivated’ and came up empty, settling instead for “-off. They talk power, transpor-”

“That’s not what we want to know,” the voice was that of Greillash, who had just entered the room. “What did the Council say about us?”

“Attack. Ta-Metru. They blame us.” Tustesh turned towards the crimson-clad Odinan, meeting his gaze without fear. “Should… blame us?”  

“You’ve never taken an interest in my military operations in the past,” Greillash replied.

“You never blow up building before,” Tustesh countered, trying to inject as much of an accusatory tone into his broken Matoran as he could.  

“It’s the first part of a bigger plan,” Tuxar spoke up, “That’s all you need to know for now.”

“You haven’t addressed our question,” Greillash interjected. “How did the Council respond to the attack?”

“Tabled. More talk later. Investigate now.” Tustesh said. “Suspect you. But no proof.”

“That’s all we need to know,” Tuxar waved dismissively towards the door. “You’re free to go.”

“I have question,” Tustesh turned back to fully face the Toa.

“What question?”

“You leader. You know Matoran legends. Do you know place where… broken Matoran fixed?”

“You mean Karzahni?”

“My… understand… that Karzahni for hurt, broken Matoran. And that fixed Matoran still came back broken. I ask of place where dead Matoran were… fixed perfect.”

“Sounds like a Turaga’s tall tale to me, though not one I’m familiar with. Try the Chronicler next time you’re out. He’s the only one in this city who still cares about that sort of thing.”

“Will… do,” Tustesh turned away, “My thanks.”

* * *

Ilton

“Who told you all of this?” Lariska asked, once Ilton had finished his story.

“An agent,” he said, “Someone I trust.”

“I never could have imagined a day where a Toa would trust Skirmisher,” Lariska laughed.

For his part, Ilton never could have imagined a day where the leader of the Dark Hunters would turn out to be his closest ally in the Coliseum. He didn’t doubt for a moment that Lariska still harboured some hidden agenda of her own, but for the most part her votes and proposals during Council meetings had aligned closely with his own. She seemed just as determined to avoid another war as Ilton himself. For now, that was enough to make them allies. That they both respected Sidra helped as well.

“Her name is Sidra,” he replied.

“Yes,” Lariska said, a wistful look flitting across her face for a moment. “Sorry, old habits.”  

“What is she to you?” Ilton asked, curiosity momentarily overcoming the urgency of their current situation, “She won’t talk about it.”

“I’m not surprised,” Lariska leaned back in her chair, propping her feet up on her desk. “She was a student. One of many recruits I’ve taken on over the years. But she was a promising pupil, one of the good ones.”

“Good ones? Forgive the judgement, but is there such a thing as a good Dark Hunter?”

“Not in the way you would use the word, perhaps,” Lariska conceded, “The Dark Hunters accept members of all creeds and species, but despite all the diversity, you can break down our members into two clear categories. There are those who join us because they want to – because they need money, or they enjoy killing, or they just want to live an adventurous life – and those who join us because they don’t fit in anywhere else – the outsiders and outcasts, the misfits and the monsters.”

“And Sidra was the second kind?”

“Exactly. She felt she wasn’t good enough for her people. She wanted to learn, and improve. So we gave her the training she wanted, and in return she agreed to spy for us. But when the universe fell apart and her people were teleported to this city, she could have kept her head down and done nothing. Instead, she scoured the universe in spirit form for weeks, sought us out, and eventually helped us take this city. She chose to save us, and it came with great risk and at great cost. In my view, that makes her some kind of good.”

“I suppose so,” Ilton replied thoughtfully. “She’s already rounding up a few friends of mine to head to Ga-Metru and hopefully stop Larone’s people from starting something they can’t finish.”

“She volunteered?”

“She insisted.”

“I’m not surprised, given she’s got someone in Ga-Metru worth saving.”

“You know about that?”

“There’s not much that goes on in this city that I don’t know,” Lariska replied, twirling a dagger in her mechanical hand, “Like I know that you didn’t just come here to bring me up to speed on Larone’s stupidity. You want my Dark Hunters to help your Toa stop Larone and his rabble.”

“I suppose this is the part where you demand payment?”

“Not this time,” Lariska sprung to her feet, “Larone made this personal the second he started lying about what the Council said. I may be a lot of things, most of them terrible, but I’m not a liar. In my line of work, our word is everything.”

The two made their way out into the corridor, Lariska issuing a shrill whistle as she stepped out into the hall that brought a half-dozen nearby Dark Hunters running. A curt order from her sent four of them scrambling to round up anyone else they could find. The other two fell in line behind her and Ilton.

“I still can’t get my head around what Larone’s trying to get out of this,” Ilton said quietly, as the growing group headed for the elevator. “Why come in here and insult the Council, then lie to his own people about what was discussed?”

“The demands he really made were too ridiculous for the Council to ever say yes to. He knew he’d be rejected. He wanted it, so that he could turn around and tell his followers that the Council don’t care about their needs, get them angry enough to agree to his plan to storm Ga-Metru.” 

“But there were witnesses.”

“All his people saw was him going into the Coliseum and leaving shortly afterwards. If any followed him upstairs all they would have heard through the door was muffled shouting. And if anyone from the Council contradicts his story it’s just evidence of a conspiracy against him.”

“To what end, though?”

“Division,” Lariska replied, as their group piled into the elevator. “He wants to turn people against each other, and he’s going to get it. If we don’t stop him, lives will be lost and it will prove the Council can’t protect the Matoran.”

“And if we do stop him, it proves we value the enemy’s lives more than we do the concerns of the Matoran,” Ilton realised.

“We’re playing into his hands, either way,” Lariska nodded. “He did tell us we’d regret denying him.”

“To what end, though? It’s like he wants another war.”

“He probably does,” Lariska said. “I know this city’s history well. The Matoran Civil War started out with disputes between Po-Metru and Ta-Metru. It could have resolved there, if calmer heads had prevailed. The Onu-Matoran were the ones who escalated the conflict by taking a side and forcing other Metrus to do the same.”

“And Larone was already a Turaga at the time,” Ilton recalled. “He would’ve had a hand in that decision… he might well have been the one who made it.”

“He fought a four-hundred year war that no one won, then got shipped off to Karzahni for his efforts,” Lariska said. “The Metru Nui he returned to probably isn’t one he recognised.”

“So he wants to tear it down?”

“Or die trying.”  

* * *

Trina

Time had lost all meaning to the tormented Vo-Toa.

This deep down in the Archives, there was no sun, no clocks, nothing to indicate how much time had passed since Icthilos had rejected her. It had to have been weeks, at least. She felt sure of that.

Just as she felt sure she was needed.

She was powerful. She was important. She was necessary. The Toa couldn’t survive the coming conflict without her. Icthilos couldn’t survive without her. He had no idea what was lurking beneath this city. He had no idea the danger everyone was in.

And he wasn’t going to believe anything she said.

Their last meeting had proven that.

She scratched absently at the ragged bandage binding her side. It was damp and sticky to the touch, her wound still festering even after all this time. But it didn’t hurt anymore. Or perhaps the pain was so constant she no longer felt it. She wasn’t sure how much longer her body could hold out.

Her head snapped to the left as she heard footsteps approaching from that direction. She reached for her weapon, then relaxed when she recognised the figure coming her way. Improved night vision was one of the more beneficial changes that her transformation had brought about.

A metallic hiss issued from Gorast’s faceplates as the she stopped before Trina. The Rahkshi could talk, but she rarely did. She didn’t need to.

Trina didn’t need a clock to know that it was time to hunt.

[Nato G]

Chapter 6 – Standoff

Incident Report

Disturbance detected in Ta-Metru.

Unauthorised gathering near northern border crossing. High numbers of Matoran citizens have abandoned their duties. Many are armed. Conflict likely.

Ga-Metru border area under jurisdiction of reprogrammed Bordakh units.

Nuurakh units unable to intervene.

* * *

Pira

The closer Pira got to Ga-Metru, the deeper she was dragged into doubt.

Ithnen had been giving her wayward glares since Larone and his hundred-or-so followers had set out, and Pira didn’t need a Suletu to know what was on the other woman’s mind. Here she was, leading their friends into danger again. The only reason Ithnen was even here was to try to keep Erdo and Tivni safe, not because she in any way supported Larone’s plan.

To even call it a plan was giving Larone too much credit. He had rage and determination, the Matoran and Toa at his back had passion and confidence, but the denizens of Ga-Metru had better weapons, greater numbers, and no qualms about killing. The more she thought about it, the more Pira was forced to admit that there was no way this was going to end well.

There has to be another way.

She pushed her way through to the front of the crowd, where Larone and Chavara marched at the head of the procession.

“Hey, can we talk about this?” She asked quietly, shouldering her way into a position at the Turaga’s side.

“We’re almost there,” Larone pointed to the corner up ahead, around which was the nearest bridge crossing into Ga-Metru. “It’s too late now to be having second thoughts.”

“It’s really not!” Pira hissed. “Look, I’m totally on board with bringing the Odinans to justice, but marching these Matoran into a meat grinder isn’t the way to go about it.”

“You underestimate our strength,” Larone scoffed. “Entire legions of Matoran once served in the armies of the Barraki. They fought for centuries in this very city. They can hold their own.”

“We don’t have enough Toa alone to storm Ga-Metru,” Chavara added. “We need the Matoran. Unity is a virtue for a reason.”

“Exactly,” Pira pleaded, “So shouldn’t we focus on winning over more people? Go public with our complaints? Reach out to the Council for support?”

“The Council wouldn’t listen to me.”

“But they would listen to a hundred Matoran protesting on their front steps.”

“They’ll listen when we drag the Odinans into the Coliseum in chains,” Chavara sneered, “Seeing us triumph will be what wins us support. Actions make allies, not words.”

“Protesting is an action.”

“So is what we are about to do,” Larone said firmly. “If you’re too afraid to stand with us, then turn back now. But decide quickly.”

They’d reached the corner.

Pira didn’t turn back.

Not because Larone’s words had changed her mind, but because she could still make a difference if she stayed. If she couldn’t stop the Matoran from following through with Larone’s plan, she still needed to stay and try to save as many of them as she could when everything went to Karzahni. If she ran away, she was indirectly responsible for every casualty. Just as she had been for what had happened to Vhalem.

The column rounded the corner, but the sight that greeted the group wasn’t one any of them had expected. Chavara let out an irritated hiss, Larone an angered growl, and Pira a barely-audible sigh of relief.

Two airships hovered over the street, Kanoka launchers protruding from their hulls and shifting to aim down towards the street mouth from which Larone’s group had just emerged. Gathered in the street below, standing between the Matoran and the demarcation line, were dozens of Toa and Dark Hunters. Pira recognised plenty of faces among the group – Ilton, Pahlil, Bihriis, Behjen, Lariska, and Sidra. The sight of the Kanohi Iden hanging at Sidra’s hip offered an obvious answer to the question of how the group had known what Larone was planning.

Pira felt her face redden in sudden humiliation as she saw the disapproving look on Ilton’s face. Pira was standing at the front of the group, right next to Larone and Chavara. To the group blocking the path, it surely looked like she was standing here in support of the march.

“Turn back now, and we’ll pretend this didn’t happen!” Ilton ordered. “No one needs to be punished, and Ga-Metru doesn’t need to know.”

“Maybe we should-” Pira grabbed at Larone’s arm, trying to turn him around.

“Not a chance!” The Turaga growled through gritted teeth, pulling away from her and storming towards the group barring his path. “We came here to bring criminals to justice, and you would stand in our way?”

“We stand in the way of the senseless bloodshed you seek to bring about,” Ilton replied. “You’re not the only one who uses Idens to spy on others. We know you deceived these beings into following you here.”

“What lies have I told? Toa in my service identified those involved in this morning’s attack as Odinans. Your Council allowed them to cross freely into the city and cause chaos without consequence.”

Pira looked past Larone, to Ilton, wishing she wore a Suletu so she could know what was going on in his head. What lies was he talking about? Larone had kept plenty of secrets in the past, deceived her on more than one occasion, but she’d seen the Odinans with her own eyes. There was no doubting who was responsible for the attack.   

“Because we rely on trade with Ga-Metru for the food and water that every citizen of this city needs,” Ilton retorted. “You know this. Just as you know that this meagre force you’re mustered will be butchered if you end up battling the beings beyond this bridge.”

“Then help us, instead of hindering us!” Larone snarled, “Let us free this city from these outsiders!”

“You let the League in,” Ilton shook his head, “And they’re here to stay. We need to learn to coexist. And you need to leave before the Odinans notice this commotion.”

“It’s too late,” Pira said quietly, pointing past Ilton towards the hunched, multihued beings crossing the bridge behind him.

* * *

Sidra

“Oh my, what do we have here?”

Sidra didn’t need to turn around and see the speaker to know who it was. The voice was that of Greillash, and his tone was one she hadn’t heard from him in some time. Under the constraints of Talok’s command he’d been reactionary and frustrated, but now he was free to taunt and gloat to his heartlight’s content.

What Sidra saw when she turned around was worse than she’d imagined. Dozens of Odinans stood at Greillash’s back, a slew of familiar faces among them. Aadra and Phidras stood on either side of him, and further back… Neryx. She seemingly hadn’t noticed Sidra yet, and Sidra quickly shifted her focus back to Greillash, not wanting to catch Neryx’s eye. With the Odinans still standing at a distance, Sidra was beyond the range of Neryx’s vision ability… but that wasn’t the only power Neryx held over her. 

“What a coincidence, that all of you would be conducting a training exercise by my borders at the same time I was,” Greillash chuckled, his mandibles clacking together. “It might be best that we all disperse before someone gets the wrong idea.”

“That sounds wise,” it was Ilton, standing at Sidra’s side, who replied. “You can return to your homes, and we’ll ensure these citizens return to theirs.”

“For security reasons, we’d feel much more comfortable if you departed first,” Greillash grinned, “I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course.”

“Coward!” Larone suddenly pushed between Ilton and Sidra, having made his way forward while everyone’s attention was on Greillash’s arrival. “We know you attacked the assembly plant in Ta-Metru. We’re here to bring you to justice.”

“An attack?” Greillash feigned shock. “That’s a grave accusation. Even if my people were responsible for such a transgression, let me remind you that Ga-Metru is a sovereign territory, and does not recognise the assumed authority or justice of your Council.”

“I’m not here representing the Council,” Larone said. “The justice you’ll face will be at the hands of the Matoran whose families and friends you’ve slain.”

“I’ve killed a lot of Matoran. You’re going to need to be more specific.”

“You wretch!” Larone roared, drawing one of his axes and stomping towards the bridge. He stopped short of crossing the line upon realising that none of his followers were with him. Most of them hadn’t moved from where the procession had stopped, and the few that had were being held back by the Toa and Dark Hunters.

Exchanging a momentary glance with Ilton, Sidra moved forward to pull Larone back. As she did, she saw Greillash tense, the fingers of one hand opening as if he were preparing to reach out and grab the Turaga himself.

Sidra’s rhotuka launcher was drawn and aimed before the crimson Odinan had a chance to try.

“Put one hand over the line and you’ll lose it,” she warned, doing her best not to panic at the sound of a dozen other launchers charging up spinners of their own, undoubtedly all aimed at her. “Put a foot over the line and you’ll be joining Talok in a cell under the Coliseum.”

“Behold, our traitorous sister Sidra,” Greillash scoffed, lowering his hands and taking a measured step backwards, “How are the Toa treating you?”

“Better than Talok treated any of us.”

Seizing the opportunity, the Fa-Toa Pahlil reached out with her element and seized Larone, dragging the mad Turaga back towards the group, where he was swiftly restrained by several other Toa.

If Greillash noticed or was bothered by it, he didn’t show it. He’d found a more entertaining target.

“Ah, yes. You claim you did all of this to save us,” he sneered, “Except you didn’t, did you? Dozens of our people are dead because of your betrayal!”

“And how many lives did Talok’s mad ambitions cost us? How many hundreds did we leave behind to die when we came here? Whatever blood I have on my hands is nothing compared to what’s on his… or yours, for continuing to prolong his war when you know you can’t win it.”

To Sidra’s astonishment, her remark earned a soft murmur from the other Odinans. Some of them even lowered their weapons. Some, she realised, hadn’t raised them at all. For a split-second she searched the crowd for Neryx, hoping to see how she’d reacted, but there was no sign of her now.

“Mad ambitions,” Greillash repeated, his tone mocking, “You speak of our Destiny, a divine purpose granted unto us in the time before time.”

“So we should fight and die to fulfil 100,000 year old orders from a dead god?” Sidra shook her head, “Most of us here didn’t even exist until tens of thousands of years after all of that happened. It doesn’t need to be our Destiny.”

She glanced back towards her allies. Ilton gave her an encouraging nod, and even Lariska flashed a thumbs-up, but neither gesture made Sidra feel any more confident. This hadn’t been the plan. They’d been so focused on stopping Larone that there hadn’t even been a plan for if the Odinans showed up. Sidra wanted nothing more than to step back and let someone else do the talking, but she stood the best chance of talking Greillash down, and she could see that she was reaching some of the others.

Now or never.

She holstered her launcher, and extended her hand towards Greillash. “There’s another way. You could cross that line as an ally. All of you could. Every species left in the universe is standing together behind me. You could stand with them, instead of against them.”

A triumphant smile lit up Greillash’s features as he pointed a crooked claw past Sidra, towards Larone’s followers. “Not every species. Your alliance is already splintering at the seams. And when it all falls apart, we’ll rise up to retake this city.”

With that, he turned away and started back across the bridge, the rest of his group trailing after him. Some looked reluctant… but all still followed.

Sidra walked slowly back to Ilton.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I tried.”

* * *

Ilton

“You did well,” he assured her, “Better than any of the rest of us could.”

She nodded, flashed a weak smile, then walked away with her head down.

Ilton took a half-step to follow her, then faltered. What more could he say? The wisdom he’d normally offer his fellow Toa held little worth to her. No words would change what she felt right now… what she’d been feeling ever since she’d decided to betray her own people. It still felt strange to him, offering condolences and support to a being whose entire race had been his enemy just a few weeks ago. But Sidra had proven herself a valuable ally, and a trusted friend.

He just wished there was more he could do to be better friend in return.

“Should I-?” Pahlil asked.

“Let her go. She needs time, and we don’t need her right now,” he turned his attention to Larone, struggling silently in the grasp of Behjen and Bihriis. “We’ve got this under control.”

Gesturing for the others to release Larone, he seized the Turaga by the bicep and dragged him over to his crowd of followers, all but shoving him towards Chavara.

“Take him home, and make sure he stays there,” his tone left no room for argument. “If he pulls another stunt like this, he’ll be joining Talok in the cells below the Coliseum.”

The Av-Toa blinked blankly at him.

“Go! Now!”

The shout and sudden shift in his demeanour startled the Matoran into movement. They scampered back the way they’d come, the handful of Toa who’d been with them lingering only a few moments longer before shirking away as well.

Pira was the last to leave, mouthing what looked to be an apology as she rounded the corner.

“That’s not going to be the end of it,” Pahlil said, as Ilton returned to the group.

“I know.”

“We need to do something about it.”

“I know.”

“Someone needs to talk to those Toa.”

“I know.”

“Then you know what I’m going to say next,” Pahlil smiled, “You need to talk to Savnu. Those are her brood who’ve fallen in with Larone. She’s the only one who’s going to be able to talk some sense into them.”

“I’m not dragging her into this. She went through so much while we were separated, watched both of our Brothers die, and now she’s finally… happy, or something close to it. I won’t be the one to ruin that for her.”