Prologue: Captured
ROOAAAAARRRRRKKKK!
He hated them. He hated them. These intruders. These vile vermin!
They were all around him, to his left, to his right, in front, behind, even clinging to the stalactites above. Various numbers of legs, but all speaking in loud tones ringing with malice, with glee at his struggling and thrashing and roaring and rage. Some had torches that they waved to make him rear and which they pressed into his hide to leave a searing brand. Others had braids of leather which hissed and spat as they rushed through the air and bit into him. Others had heavy chunks of wood or metal or stone which they hammered at his hide with, bruising and battering. They were like an endless swarm of mosquitoes, annoying and pestering and paining, and no matter how many he swatted, more simply took their places.
Suddenly his maw was held shut by a rope they had thrown around it. His roars were now even more rage-backed, his thrashing and flapping increasing tenfold. Then he felt another around each of his horns, and another around his neck. He could no longer rear! A huge, white, furry brute of a creature had one of his wings now pinned flat to his side, letting the others bind it to his body. Then his other wing as well! They ducked under him and ran circles around his legs, tying them together. He ended up losing his balance and falling onto his side. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was a green, spidery intruder draping a large tarp over his head.
••••••••
Matoro spluttered as a flyer was blown into his face by the wind. For a brief moment, the Great Spirit swiped at it repeatedly in an effort to remove it from his visage, then finally shook his head and managed to dislodge it. He grabbed it before it was blown away again, reading it out of faint curiosity. He stopped dead in his tracks at what it showed.
A circus.
A. Circus.
... And the Turaga had approved this?!
His hands shook. If there was one business that mistreated Rahi, he knew it was a circus. Chaining and whipping and zapping them... He shuddered with anger and glared down at the flyer. Gripping it tightly, he turned and began marching straight towards the Kini Nui, where he knew the Turaga were having their weekly meeting.
••••••••
Oh, how these vermin would die. And when they did, it would be glorious. He knew this now.
Ever since he had awoken and found himself in a cage several days before, he had been jabbed and prodded and lashed without end, without rest. Then... Then they had sewn his spark-pouch shut.
...why had they tortured him so?
He was not the only creature held captive by these lowly tormentors. There were Muaka (a mother and cubs, separated to force each other to behave), there were Kewa (given only the skinniest of mice), there were Kane-ra (slashed and stabbed into maddened rage), and even a pack of cyber-raptors (given the tiniest scraps of their captors' leftover food and forced to perform petty tricks). And what was his reward for withstanding this endless pain?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. No food, no water, no rest. NOTHING. Now, once more, he felt the tugging of the rope on his neck as they urged him to his feet. He growled low in his throat and lashed his tail towards the side of his cage outside which he knew his tormentors stood, only to receive a lash to the muzzle for his trouble. They thought they could tame him, these quivering, tiny, two-legged cowards. They thought they could snuff out his fire and turn him into their scaly, horned show horse or mule. Oh, how wrong they were! They could never snuff out his true fire, his eternal flame. It would forever burn, locked in his chest, their torment and torture only serving to fuel it and power it, building it up until that moment when he seized his chance, his opportunity to unleash his wrath and might upon them. Oh, they would burn, their cries echoing through the air, pleas for his mercy, so futile and pointless. For when the last flame retreated, leaving his own to blaze bright, he would feast. And the world would bear witness to his revenge.
••••••••
Matoro glared at the brightly pinstriped tent of red and white that rose proudly above the heads of himself, his team, Zephyr and Aurora, and the Turaga. His heartlight flickered erratically, giving voice, however subtle, to his unease. The Turaga, mainly Matau, had insisted that they all go, with Nuju being the only one against the idea. Then his own team joined in in insisting, and he reluctantly agreed, only having brought Zephyr because the Kewa demanded to go with him. Upon nearing the entrance to the circus tent, he saw, just outside it, one of the Agori that ran the circus standing in a small booth just outside it, inviting people in to have their picture taken with a litter of Muaka cubs.
His blood boiled, for he could tell that those cubs were two weeks under the legal age at which they could be temporarily separated from their mother, and obviously terribly hungry. He noticed one cub had spotted him and began toddling towards him, mewling loudly. It knew him, obviously from stories its mother had growled out to it. Rahi knew a winged Toa meant a Great Spirit or his mate, and a Great Spirit or his mate meant safety and help. He knelt down and placed a gentle hand on its head, noting how unsteady it was on its paws and how it seemed terribly weak.
Want Mama. Can't find her. Scary, mean things stop me. Help find Mama! Please! Help! Scared! Hungry! Tired! Lost! it mewled weakly.
I will as soon as I can, young one. You're too young to be separated from her. FAR too young. These Agori are going to be in big trouble. I promise you, I WILL find her somehow and reunite you with her. For now, though, I need you to stay with your siblings just a bit longer. Just for a while. he chuffed back at it.
It nuzzled his hand one last time, then toddled back into the small booth.
••••••••
He could scent many other creatures coming into the area. Many short, seven only slightly taller, then several more MUCH taller. And were those... Feathers on two of the tall ones? Two new Kewas were here, as well... And they were actually well fed!
Now he saw them passing his cage, a huge flood of tall and short and medium alike. He caught a glimpse of the Kewa falcons he'd scented, each on the shoulder of one of the tall winged ones. They didn't see him, however; they were up to something over where the other Kewa falcons were. He growled and curled up in an attempt to sleep, only to be prodded to his feet by the cage attendant again.
...now he at least knew when to schedule his captors' doom: today.
••••••••
Matoro's eyes widened at the sight of three malnourished Kewa sitting on their perches, tethered so tightly their feet couldn't move a millimeter. Time to step in and boost the animals' morale again.
He waited until their area's attendant had gone for a restroom break, then slipped several of the plumpest sugar gliders possible out of the small pouch at his hip, holding them forward. Everyone else was busy looking at something on the opposite side of the walkway, so he tossed three to each Kewa and let them have a proper meal.
Don't worry, you won't be beholden to these neglecters much longer, he chirruped quietly at them. They're going to be in legal trouble with how poorly they're treating you. They all looked at him and nodded, grateful for the help.
••••••••
He heard the Muaka cubs chuffing at each other. Something about a Great Spirit, whatever that meant, that wanted to help them. He snorted quietly to himself. Sounded like rubbish to him. Like a pile of Kane-Ra dung. The one who mentioned it in the first place was probably just lying in a fruitless effort to raise his siblings' morale.
That was strange... He smelled the blood of sugar gliders coming from the Kewa falcons' area. From the falcons THEMSELVES, in fact. They never got more than starved mice to eat, so... Why did they smell like that?
...flaming stars, he was hungry.
••••••••
When they finally reached their seats, Matoro was beginning to debate whether to close down the circus then and there. The animals were all abused and neglected beyond belief. He'd done his best to boost the morale of each one, and hopefully they'd be able to last through the show.
Each of the animals seemed to do fairly well at their acts, despite the poor treatment. The Kewa falcons flew well, the mother Muaka did her best and avoided the flaming edges of the hoops, the Kane-Ra seemed less hindered by the pain, and the cyber-raptors weren't constantly trying to tear off their costumes.
After that, he thought the show was over, but it turned out the ringmaster had one last trick up his sleeve...
••••••••
He felt it. They were moving his cage, rolling it to someplace else. They had covered it with a tarp, but now he knew they had a purpose to that. The tarp was pulled back, and he saw a distant light through the bars, and heard the yelling of one of his captors. Not just any one of them, either - the one who had been his lead tormentor. He heaved against the bars, all rational thought leaving, his only urge being to punish, to kill these vermin. Then the bars were gone somehow, he knew not how, and he found himself free to charge forward, out towards the light and noise.
There. There it was. His torturer, all but offering himself up on a silver platter. Many were watching and would bear witness to his revenge, the bloody retribution that destiny had written out before them. He lunged at the oh-so-finely armored ringleader, yanking away the leather whip and swallowing it whole. His stomach ignored the fact it was covered with chemical varnish, leather was hide, and hide was food.
Meat and blood. He needed it. NOW!
He once more lunged at the ringleader, teeth crunching into his armor and tearing it, crumpling it, almost as if it were tinfoil. He hunched over his prey, instinct kicking in and refusing to let anyone steal his catch. Soon the carnage was done, the ringleader's only remains being armor on the ground and blood on his maw. But one greedy ringleader was no meal, no, he needed more. The many watching would suffice.
His tail lashed out and knocked several off the stands, and he now lunged towards them...
But he abruptly stopped.
One of the tall, winged figures had positioned himself, standing straight and tall, arms crossed, looking unimpressed, between him and his prey. He had not expected one to rebel, not at all. But he was hungry...
He let out a warning growl at the rebel and tensed up to pounce again. In return, it simply gave a warning growl right back, as if warning him that he was going about this the wrong way.
But he wasn't! These vermin deserved this. Then the figure actually uttered his name. "Stop this now, Kardas, for your own good..." He froze. He blinked. Kardas... Only his insane former rider ever uttered that word. And always in reference to him. And very few had even heard that word... Which meant that this rebel must be one of them.
He remembered now. There had been his insane rider, who called him Kardas in the first place, and six slightly taller beings, less hunched over... He remembered them fighting him and his rider, then his rider being so neglectful as to abandon him. But the abandonment didn't matter. What mattered was figuring out who this creature was.
He remembered there had been the leading one, the red and gold one with dual swords. Then the dark blue one with flurries of white. There had been a dark green one tinted silver, too, and a grey and yellow one with an axe, and a pure black one...
And a white one with sky-blue and silver!
His eyes widened, recognition beginning at last. This rebel was that white one. The one he had glimpsed helping a Rahi that was stranded on a cliff. But why did it suddenly have wings...?
Wait... Wings... WINGS! Of COURSE! Those chuffings he'd heard from the cubs of a Great Spirit... Great Spirits had wings! How could he have been so blind?! Now he remembered that one tale his mother had told him, back when he was still a tiny spider, before he became Fenrakk or Kardas, that tale of the deity and his lifemate whom any Rahi could trust to aid them. Those stories found their way to his heart once more, and he tilted his head, seeing the rebel in a new light. His object of focus seemed to notice this, for it - no, he - smiled and lowered his arms to hang at his sides. Then, as if out of nowhere, one of his hands rose again, and - meat.
He was holding meat out to Kardas. Offering it. To him.
Timidly, finally aware of this being's potential power, the immense dragon extended his neck forward, opening his maw a tiny bit and first only lipping the offered steak flank. Then he grabbed it with his front teeth - gently, of course, so as to not injure the Great Spirit's hand - and pulled it away. He felt slightly ready to trust this familiar stranger - slightly, no more than that. Thus, he allowed himself to settle back on his haunches and, this time not mantling over his food, as he would have if he had killed the meat himself, held it between his front claws, tearing chunks out and swallowing them whole.
Oh, this meat was good... It was juicy and yet there was a whispering remnant of flame within it, as if it had been put to the fire like all the pieces of meat that these two- legged ones hunted for themselves. True, he DID have an instinctual fondness for raw meat, dripping with blood and other juices both warm and cold, and an equal one for a nice large bone from his prey, which he could crunch through and suck the goopy marrow out of the center of, and sear the solid parts of to soften them then chew the cartilage and softened bone away. But the meat that the two-leggeds ate was amazing in its own right. He doubted that all of the flavors such meat held were actually from the meat itself, but perhaps from something else flamed alongside it. And all the juices of the more overabundant flavors ended up soaking into the fat, the soft, chewy, wiggly fat, oh so succulent and mouthwatering. He glanced up at the Great Spirit by coincidence as he prepared to crunch into the bone from the steak, and saw him smiling, sitting cross-legged on the dirt floor of the circus ring only a few yards away from his scaly head, posture completely relaxed and unthreatening.
As he now devoured the bone marrow, unable to soften the rest, Kardas noticed a heavy difference in the scenery. All the short figures had left this cloth structure, leaving only seven medium ones, the Great Spirit's lifemate, and four other tall ones sitting in the stands, watching. The silver and white medium one had apparently fainted, he noted with amusement. Perhaps it was afraid? Afraid of him, Kardas? Either way, it seemed to be waking up again.
Suddenly he tensed as he finished off the marrow. The Great Spirit was gone from where he had been sitting in front of him. He heard him by the side of his neck, then... Then the Great Spirit let out a small gasp. Kardas felt his blood run cold, colder than fresh snow, for now it was known that he was unable to flame...