There was a reason he retired from his old job.
Really, Nuju had no right to assume he could act like a Toa; he may have been one before, but that was thirteen years ago and he had long since hung up the mantle. Wincing as he struggled back to his feet after being bounced off a wall by a perturbed rahkshi, the turaga once more found himself questioning the decision to try and act like a decoy to buy his villagers more time to evacuate safely. He was smarter than to assume he could actually defeat a rahkshi on his own - not without a lot of luck and careful thought at the very least -, let alone the pair that had shown up. Not that one of them had stuck around for long; as soon as it had figured out the Avohkii wasn't in town anymore it had set off to try and find it. The second one had nearly followed suit, and likely would have done if Nuju hadn't embedded an ice pick in its knee. That sort of thing tended to merit attention.
Unfortunately, Nuju was reminded rather quickly that he couldn't handle attention like that as well as he used to, and was now struggling to stay out of his opponent's range as much as possible; many more golf swings like the one he'd just been hit by and he might not even be a viable turaga for long. He'd been a lot more durable as a Toa, and some days he even missed it. Parts of it anyway; Nuju had never really wanted to be a Toa in the first place, and even after being one for a couple years he had wished someone else took his place. Even now part of him wondered what it would have been like if someone else was chosen. Someone like Navak, who always seemed to have good advice. Would he have fared better? Could he have helped Vakama and the others succeed where they had otherwise fallen short? Where would Nuju have ended up if he never became a Toa? Would he have escaped, or would he been like so many others, trapped in a memory-erasing stasis pod? Would he have ever been married and had a son? Perhaps he would never know. Perhaps it was simply better that way.
Perhaps if he was paying more attention he wouldn't have been hit by the rahkshi again and sent careening halfway across the village square.
The Ice Turaga gasped as the air was forced out of his lungs by the impact, body aching as he rolled several feet and slammed into the stone dais in the center of the plaza. Really, this was a terrible retirement plan and he needed to reevaluate it at his earliest convenience. Arms shaking as he struggled to pick himself up, all Nuju could do was watch as his adversary closed in, limping due to the ice pick lodged in its knee joint. In a few moments it would be in striking range and it all would be over.
The forty-one year old wasn't about to give it that chance. Pale blue eyes glowed as Nuju focused, his kanohi kicking in and allowing him to wrench the pick free – dealing even further damage to the accursed construct before him – and sending it whirling 'round to gouge into the other leg. The rahkshi staggered and fell, struggling to stand on limbs that could no longer function as they should. Even without a means of translating, the turaga knew full well that the kraata within the armor was more than likely cursing at him, or at the very least would have been if it was capable of such an elevated thought capacity. He, for one, had no desire to find out, especially when the filthy thing had elected to make its armored 'suit' start crawling toward him, determined as ever to finish what it had started trying to accomplish. Struggling back to his feet and gripping his pick-staff for support, Nuju took a moment to regard his adversary with nothing short of loathing. "Vile wretch." He grumbled stiffly, eyeing the rahkshi's pitiful advance with disdain. "Terrorize my village, threaten our lives… Now look at you. Beaten by a washed up retiree that's out of shape and practice. Truly your master has sunk to a new low for even his pathetic standards." He shifted his weight and gripped his staff with both hands, glancing at it briefly before hefting it up over his head and swinging with all the strength he had. The spike-like end pierced and tore through the rahkshi's armor as though it were little more than a tin can, the kraata within writhing and screeching as it was skewered before lying still and melting into a hazy shadow that swiftly faded away.
Chest heaving, Nuju let go of his staff and let it stay embedded where it was, choosing instead to sit on the dais behind him and rub his face with his hand. Even through the adrenaline his whole body was aching, his head throbbing and ribs feeling as though one or two had cracked. "I'm getting too old for this…"
He knew it wasn't really his age. Lhikan was well into his fifties before he ever became a turaga and it hadn't slowed him down in the slightest. There simply was no power left to keep Nuju going now that he had reached his Destiny. There was no need for him to be a Toa now. So he'd thought, at least, before the rahkshi attack. In some ways the island needed more Toa so this sort of thing didn't happen; none of the turaga were really equipped to fight anymore, nor were they durable enough to take the same punishment a Toa could. If they had more guardians everyone would be safer.
'Things are better here, Nuju; the matoran aren't afraid to protect themselves. The Toa on Mata Nui have more support than you ever did, and that is something too precious for words to describe. Truly, living here encourages Unity.'
Nuju sighed quietly as he recalled Navak's words, spoken during the early years of living on their current island. Blue eyes roamed the still-smoking ruins of the forge. He knew Navak was right; the matoran had no spine before when compared to how they were today. Instead of throwing every problem on the Toa, they outright challenged and fought off hazards themselves, only calling for help when the danger was blatantly too great for them to handle. They were more independent, and in turn more united than ever. Some days the matoran were a better example of Unity than the Toa were. Perhaps if the matoran of the past were more like their current selves, they would all still be on Metru Nui. Perhaps Lhikan and his team would have been able to all become turaga and enjoy peaceful lives rather than being slaughtered one by one. His thoughts strayed to Vakama, wondering how different he would be if he had been raised by Lhikan and Tuyet rather than a complete stranger. What would the Toa Metru as a whole have been like because of it? Would they have been more organized? More unified? Would they even have been formed?
He sighed again and shook his head, drawing his thoughts back to the present and chuckling hollowly at his own reminiscence. Dwelling on the past had never been his style before; he used to call it a waste of precious time that could be used for other, more important things. As a matoran he had scorned such things and as a Toa he'd had disputes with Whenua about it, but now that he was a turaga it had become something he frequently partook in. If Whenua ever got wind of it, Nuju would never live it down. He could already almost hear the teasing remarks that the younger turaga would throw his way, heckling little jabs and pokes to point out the already painfully blatant irony of it all. No, nobody would be hearing about this. The rahkshi yes, but certainly not the trailing, far-flung reflection that came after. He had an image to uphold, after all.
Nuju wasn't sure how long he sat there with not but a rahkshi's remains as his company, but after a while the sound of footsteps could be heard breaking the silence between them. The turaga didn't bother looking up from the powerless shell at his feet; he already knew by the sound who had come to visit. "Hello Onua."
The Earth Toa blinked as he was greeted so passively, his gaze taking in the scene around them. "I see you had some unwanted company too. Is everyone alright?" Emerald eyes lingered on the rahkshi as well as the massive pick jutting out of its back. "… Did you do that?"
Nuju rolled his eyes. "No, the wretched thing just up and decided to kill itself while I sat back and watched." He gave Onua a rather annoyed look. "Of course I did that. Don't ask such a stupid question when the answer is obvious." He winced as he stood up, reflexively holding his ribs in a subconscious attempt to ease the pain. "I take it you are looking for Jaller, and that Kopaka is otherwise indisposed?"
Onua nodded slightly, not seeming to fazed by the forty-one year old's tone. "I am, yeah. Onu-Koro got attacked and Kopaka was injured, but Gali will probably have him back on his feet in no time. You're not looking to great yourself, though; you sure you should be standing?"
The turaga ignored his concern, idly waving it aside as he started to walk toward the edge of town. "I sent Jaller away when the village evacuated." He remarked, sounding as though the Earth Toa hadn't even asked about his health. "I gave Matoro specific instructions to take him as far from Ko-Koro as possible; the rahkshi are pursuing the Avohkii and I would prefer if it didn't stay in one place for too long if it can be avoided. Now come; I need to call Lewa and I'm not energetic enough hit the drum hard enough for the sound to carry."
"Meaning you really shouldn't be moving around at all right now."
"Silence."
Nuju refused to admit that he was hurt that badly, not while there were other things that needed to be done; he could rest once the signals were sent. The fact that he could hear Onewa struggling not to chuckle didn't help the matter either. He knew it wasn't an expression of amusement at his suffering, of course, but by Mata Nui he did not need another reminder of the fact he had been involved in tomfoolery he had no right to. He could call himself out on that well enough on his own.
"So, drum signals." Onua said, deciding a topic change was in order. "Lewa is definitely getting called, but are there other messages you wanted sent?"
The turaga nodded, shoving open the door to the drum platform and leaning against the wall as he picked up a set of earmuffs. "I want you to call the Ko-Matoran back. With the rahkshi gone I would rather they were back here and safe than hiding all over the mountain."
The Earth Toa hummed an acknowledgement as he retrieved his own set of muffs and picked up the drum hammer, idly twirling it once as he took a moment to recall the correct patterns for the job. Nuju put his muffs on; the drums were always loud, especially on the platform – it had been designed to amplify the sound after all -, but no-one on the island could make them sing the way Onua could. Between his sheer strength and incredible control, the thirty-two year old Toa could make the drums resonate loud enough that they could be heard anywhere on the surface of the island, as well as some areas of Onu-Wahi. Even with the sound-dampening earmuffs, Nuju knew it would be nearly deafening.
The first strike landed so firmly that the whole platform shook, tiny particles of dust and frost flying off the walls and ceiling as Onua continued to pound out the first message. Nuju had his hands firmly planted over his muffs, ribs protesting angrily over the vibrations that now tremored through him. It was everything he could do not to scream; he hadn't accounted for this and now he had to fight to stay focused. Numbers raced through his mind as he counted, teeth gritted against the pain he refused to outwardly show. He could cry later but he would not show weakness now! … Okay, maybe he would sit down; dizziness was not something to tempt. From his spot on the floor, the turaga watched as Onua finished the first signal and prepared to start the next, pausing several seconds before winding back and swinging again. Once more the drum resounded with a bang that could make a thunderstorm appear meek, Nuju swaying dangerously where he sat as the stabbing in his torso intensified. He closed his eyes as the room spun; perhaps he could lessen the problem if he wasn't swamping every sense he had. Surely the drumming would be over soon…
"Nuju are you alright?"
The turaga groaned faintly as consciousness started to return. Everything was quiet now save for the pounding in his head. He wasn't sure if he was numb or in agony, but if it was possible to be both at once he was certain he'd pulled it off. "Nhg…" He mumbled, his eyes refusing to open lest any light make his migraine worse. "No…"
Onua's grimace was clear through his voice. "At least you're being honest about it now. Scared me spitless when I turned around and you were passed out on the floor. You've been out cold for an hour now at least."
Nuju wasn't exactly thrilled with that information; a lot could happen in an hour, especially when his villagers were scattered to the winds. "Did everyone come back safely?" He asked, pushing the concern for him aside again. "Did Lewa show up? Where is-"
"Hey, stop worrying." The Earth Toa cut in, sighing in mild exasperation at the barrage of questions. "Everyone came back safe and sound, Navak is being taken care of by Matoro and the healers, and Lewa is tracking down Jaller. He's probably even found him already." He made a tutting sound when Nuju tried to speak again. "Matoro said that Pewku showed up and Jaller went with her so any other possible threats would follow him instead of your son. He also said Jaller was healthy enough to make that call and that no amount of reason could dissuade him."
Nuju warbled something unpleasant under his breath. "That boy is as bad as his father, and someday it will get him killed."
"Maybe." Onua agreed. "But would you really have him any other way? He's what we all imagined Mihkoro would have been like if he got to grow up with Lhikan where he belonged. You would miss his antics if he suddenly changed and decided to be normal."
"Be that as it may," the turaga grumbled sourly. "he is still concerningly unconcerned about his own survival. If he dies-"
"Mihkoro won't let that happen."
Nuju opened his eyes to glare briefly at his current company – and note that he was back in his house and lying on his bed – before closing his eyes again. "Mihkoro is exactly why it would happen. Even if he actively tries to keep Jaller alive, that out-of-control fiend might kill him by accident, especially with the Makuta gripping his mind so tight. Mark my words, Onua; if Mihkoro cannot be stopped soon, he will kill his son whether he wants to or not."
Onua rumbled an uncertain 'hmm'. "What makes you so sure of that?"
There was a moment's pause before Nuju spoke again, and when he did his voice held the sort of grave assurance that could not be ignored.
"It is written in the stars."
