Zaktan woke up from a deep and horrible slumber. The first thing he noticed was that he was shaking, shaking all over. Spasms of fear and shock ran through his body like volts of electricity, and a foul taste lingered in his mind and mouth. Zaktan had a brief reminiscence on years past, when he had dark dreams of death and destruction - a lot of times containing him as the subject of said destruction - but could not remember them for months, to years, to come. But today, he remembered his dream all too clearly. The truth about the body of the Great Spirit Mata Nui - a planet-sized, gigantic bipedal body made purely out of protodermis, now in possession of the soul and energy of Makuta. And inside that massive body... the chaos that churned.
The emerald skakdi turned over on his side and retched, the sour smell of fish and rank water drifting into his face. He licked his teeth and lips and spat out the remains, before climbing to his feet. Where am I? he thought urgently. If anything in that dream was true, then he had vital moments to wager an attempt to stop it. How? He had no idea.
The chamber he was inside was small and dome-like. The walls were carved out of a type of protodermis that looked like a cross between stone and wood, and it was completely bare and clean - no cracks, crevices, fungus, or even dust was apparent. On one end of the room was a perfect mirror, made out of purified crystal protodermis. The skakdi ran towards the mirror, heavy with worry, hoping that it - being the only outstanding thing in the room – had something to do with escaping this cell. He stopped dead when his brain came to pace with his eyes, and he realized what he was seeing. It was himself... over seven thousand years ago. He was taller and slimmer than he remembered being; he'd lost his hunch and his face was visibly younger looking. Muscles rippled in his arms, and he bore the physique earned by a lifetime of rock-climbing, heavy lifting, and helping his father in his constant mining business - as opposed to his recent build resulted off of the work of sneaking in and out of Matoran islands, outrunning Toa and tearing apart those elemental warriors limb by limb.
The skakdi thief reached up and touched his face, tracing his claws against his metallic skin. "Impossible..."
"Not quite," said a deep voice from behind, one that Zaktan instantly recognized. His hand flew to the handle of his scissors and he spun around. Within the blink of an eye three golden scissor blades were under the chin of a burly, gold-armored being.
Ancient smiled. "Be realistic, skakdi; we both know that I could kill you right now if I wanted to."
Zaktan gulped. Ancient was right. He lowered his weapon, and then willed it to dissolve into protodites. Surprisingly, though, the cloud of tiny, flying particles didn't come.
Frustrated, Zaktan tried again. "What is going on?" he grumbled, more to himself than to Ancient. The former Dark Hunter boss grinned. "Don't you understand?" he said.
"You are no longer the same being you were a week ago. You are Zaktan... seven thousand four hundred and two years ago."
Zaktan scowled. "Impossible. I am a champion. I am a Piraka."
A dark scowl took Ancient's features, and then his arm disappeared in a flash of dark blue armor. Zaktan felt a colossal blow to his chest, and he flew back, slamming into the wall of the room. He fell onto his hands and knees, and blood started to run from his nose.
There were three footsteps, and Ancient stopped in front of him, snorting. "You're also going to have to get that idea out of your head if you are to do what you're needed to do."
Zaktan reached up, despite the pain that coursed through his shoulder blade, and wiped off some of the dripping blood. "And what..." he asked in a whispery voice, "is that?" Without waiting for an answer, the green skakdi lunged up and whipped out a powerful blow at Ancient. The other caught the strike easily in a clawed hand and sighed. Exerting a minimum of mental power, he forced Zaktan back into the wall against his will. Then he reached into his breastplate and retrieved a crystal. He held it up in front of Zaktan and tapped it three times. A half-sphere of light burst to life, and then columns of masks and faces appeared. Zaktan's eyes widened. He saw himself on there. And Vezok, and Hakann, all the other Piraka and a number of Dark Hunters he'd known, including Ancient himself. There were also other beings he didn't even recognize.
"Do you know what this is?" Ancient asked. "Of course you don't; you have no idea. This is a resurrection capsule. You, skakdi, as far as the definition of the word goes, are dead. You were killed by Makuta and his newfound powers of the Great Spirit. However, we implanted you with a conveyance shard, allowing us to transfer you to a different, inanimate body. The body you are currently in is a clone model of Artakha's. Make sense?"
Zaktan blinked, obviously stupefied.
"Of course, I am dead too. This resurrection capsule lists all of the beings who have been implanted with conveyance shards, just in case they meet an... Untimely demise."
Zaktan had to say it. "That's sick," he snarled in disgust.
"Maybe. But it works."
Zaktan clenched his teeth. He was still trying to make sense of this all. "Who are you anyway? What is this place? You said I have to leave the thought of being a Piraka alone... are we no longer Dark Hunters?"
"You gave up being a Dark Hunter a while ago," Ancient said, "and I have never been one. I am an agent of the Order of Mata Nui, an organization dedicated to carrying out the will of the Great Spirit. As for being a Piraka... you must transcend far past that. Currently, the universe is being run by a sadistic madman... we need you to stop that."
Zaktan groaned. "Why do I have to be your hero?"
"There is one reason, skakdi," Ancient said. Leaning close, his voice began no more than a murmur, "out of all the beings I have met, you are by far the most dangerous, ruthless, cunning one of them all."
Zaktan rolled his eyes. "I do not desire godhood like the Makuta," he said.
Ancient smiled. "And that is exactly why."