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Fallen Guardian


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A little something I whipped up for the Fortnightly Fanfic Contest. Intended as the story of the Order of Mata Nui member who traveled to the island of Mata Nui...and met an unfortunate fate.




I emerge from my Toa canister into bright sunlight-brighter than even the twin suns of the realm from which I hail. Standing tall, I look out across the alien landscape before me: a long stretch of beach disappearing into a mass of jungle. It seems that the Order's worst fears are confirmed; the universe has been irrevocably changed. But it is not my place to question; it is my place to investigate and report.


Cursing the unbearable heat, I shed my cape-a black, ragged old thing that serves little purpose at any rate. Throwing it inside the canister, I lock the vehicle and drag it to a nearby rock formation. Within minutes, I have it so concealed that only a genius-or a lunatic-could hope to stumble across it. Then, with my mace slung over my shoulder, I head inland.


Thousands of years have passed since I joined the Order of Mata Nui-thousands of years in which things have transpired that do not sit well with me. While I understand the need to conceal ourselves from our enemies, hiding from those who should be our allies seems foolish at best. And I have heard whispers...tales of monstrous deeds committed by some of my own comrades.


As best I can, I turn my attention towards my mission: learning what has become of the Metru Nui Matoran in the six months since their absence from their homeland. An operative in Metru Nui had been lost, and was presumed dead, meaning that there was no one to watch over that vital city. Not wanting to walk into a trap, I had opted to travel up through the sky, rather than through the tunnels beneath this strange new island.


I can hear music faintly in the distance-drums and flutes, from the sound of things. I realize that I must be drawing near the Matoran, and set off in their direction. But before I can get far, I realize something unsettling-the jungle, up to now noisy with the sounds of birds and other Rahi, has grown ominously silent. And the shadows around me seem to deepen...as though some darkness was adding to their own.


It can only be Makuta.


Readying my weapon, I brace for his attack. Facing a member of the Brotherhood is foolhardy, but if he has sensed my arrival I have little choice. Part of me, I must admit, likes the idea of being able to face the ruler of those accursed shadows, and perhaps even to cut him down.

As if in mockery of my desire, a massive form emerges from the trees ahead of me. To the untrained eye, it might have passed for a massive ash bear, its red eyes ablaze with madness. But I know the stench of shadow...and I have heard of this beast.


The Makuta Nui has come for me-and from what the legends say, there is no chance that I can survive its onslaught. For just a moment, I am sad-I will not be able to complete my assignment. But then, as I consider my true mission, I grip my mace more tightly, and with a roar throw myself at the master of shadows.


My mace thuds off his armor, leaving not so much as a mark. In answer his claw sweeps back at my head, nearly ending the fight in a single blow. But I have fought a thousand battles against larger and swifter foes; he will not down me that easily. Dodging, I respond with my own attack: a blast of pure force that launches him through the nearby trees.


Quickly recovering, my foe unleashes a roar, which turns out to be a power scream: I am knocked to the ground, barely keeping a hold on my mace. As the creature looms over me, I realize even more clearly that I cannot win. But determined to make the Makuta Nui earn its meal, I rush at it, readying my mace for another blow.


Certainly, I shall die...but what better way to go?



One thousand and a half years later, the insane Piraka Vezon found himself at the southern tip of the island called Mata Nui. He had no idea that an Order of Mata Nui member had landed here so long ago, nor that the noble warrior’s remains lay buried deep beneath the mud of the Le-Wahi swamp. But as he pulled the last of the rocks away from the concealed canister, he almost felt like thanking its previous owner.


Almost…but not quite. Indeed, he had forgotten the matter by the time he was sealed in the canister, clad in his well-preserved new cape.

Voicing your opinions with tact is the best way to keep a discussion from becoming an argument.
So far as I'm aware, it's pronounced like this: We're ee ah moo.

Check out my Creations:


G1 Battle for Spherus Magna - G2 A Lingering Shadow

Short Stories

G1 Fallen Guardian - G2 Shadows of Past and Future (The Legend Continues Entry) Head of Stone, Heart of Jungle


Mask Hoarder, Desert Scourge

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  • 3 weeks later...

Your story of this nameless member of the Order of Mata Nui is well told. I'm afraid it's not terribly intriguing, as it tells us little more than what we already know about him, but I am willing to take what I can get. I was slightly confused by your use of the term "Makuta Nui." Is this referring to Makuta as the supreme Makuta of all the Brotherhood members? I would suggest that you infuse a few more dashes of humanity, so to speak, into your character. Give us more details about his displeasure with the Order. Why does he feel this way? What specifically does he not like? Did he feel differently in the past?


Add a little more to the character, and your stories could be something amazing. All in all, a nice little tale you have here, if not groundbreaking.


:akaku: X-Ray :akaku:

"Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken."
- Ecclesiastes 4:12

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