Authors Note: Another reminder to refer to the Index for any terms you do not recognize. Please point out any that we have missed.
Chapter 2 - The Paths Narrow
TELUMA - METRU NUI
In an alleyway behind a general store in the Jaga's Stinger, a small Onu-Matoran with a back pouch waited. It had been five minutes since Relus was supposed to arrive, yet he was nowhere in sight. Peering around the corner, Teluma ducked his head back into cover, as another Vahki patrol marched down the street. Keeping his head down was the only way to survive - if any of them took too long of a look at him, they might remember him from the public-enemy list, and he didn't fancy meeting with a shadow-matoran police commissioner, or even worse, Vamprah himself.
There had been rumors floating around the Metru Nui rebels - rumors of members going missing in the night. So far, the group had kept on their toes long enough to avoid capture, but the noose was tightening by the hour.
With a clanking noise, and the sound of dozens of finely crafted gears turning and pistons actuating, the Vahki passed by Teluma's hiding place, and into the night. The dark of the late evening concealed the black-armored Matoran, and he found it funny - shadows, the tool of the enemy, were the only thing keeping him alive. As he dwelled on the irony, a sudden jolt went through him, as a hand grabbed his shoulder. Turning with a fright, he saw his Le-Matoran ally, Relus, panting.
"Relus! Where were you?"
"Vahki patrols. They're changing the routes. Had to hide in a storm drain for the better part of an hour. It's not important though - listen, I have news."
"What is it-" Teluma made to ask, before the sound of an airship passing overhead filled their ears. A spotlight filled the street, and scanned between buildings. The two, seized with fear, backed against the wall, and waited for the sound to die out.
"We need to get out of here," said Relus urgently. Nodding in agreement, the two retreated further into the alleyway, away from prying eyes, until they arrived at an old maintenance hatch leading into the Fikou's web - a series of electrical conduits, maintenance shafts, and plumbing networks hooking up the city's many buildings. Dropping into the tunnel, Teluma propped a flagstone into the door, preventing it from locking behind them, before pulling a lightstone from his bag. As it illuminated the area, the two scurried through the tunnels, their ears filled with the sound of distant water drips and steam vents.
Teluma thought back, as he crawled through miles of tunnel. He remembered most of the Fikou's web from his own experience as an engineer working on them. In those days, Metru Nui was a paradise and a beauty. But that was before the dark times - before the Makuta came from whatever universe they belonged in, and brought death with them. He wished they had never come. A loud hiss of steam suddenly broke Teluma's train of thought, and he decided to focus on the route.
After what felt like a lifetime of crawling, the duo emerged into a culvert near the Le-Metru dockline. Pulling themselves free of their cramped confines, they made their way up to the street level, where the sounds of another Vahki patrol could be heard, at a sprint. The two Matoran looked at each other in concern - had they been caught? As they wondered, frozen in fear, the Vahki ran past them, towards a nearby warehouse. The Nuurakh sergeant shouted in its high-pitched ultrasonic signals, approaching the door. Kneeling, its transmission antenna glowed faintly for a second, before the Vahki stood upright, banging on the door with its staff. After a second of no response, the Nuurakh stepped back, and waved at two Nuurakh, who charged into the door at full force. Within seconds, their assault brought the door down upon its hinges, and several Vahki flooded into the building. Screams, and several harsh sounding impacts could be heard, as the Nuurakh sergeant filled in the doorway, preventing passers-by from seeing into the building.
Teluma grimaced, and for a moment sprang to his feet to run towards the building, before Relus grabbed his arm.
"Don't. You can't help them. You can't."
Looking back towards the building, Teluma nodded grimly. Relus was right; whoever was inside was likely already out of time. A suicidal rescue attempt would just endanger the survival of the resistance. Better to live another day.
Turning, the two moved along the street, with their heads hung down, to prevent Vahki from scanning their Kanohi. Within an hour of walking, the two had arrived at the designated meetup point - a crumbling cantina on Le-Metru's northeastern outskirts. Once, it had been a popular stopover for travelers to and from the harbor and beyond, but now, only those desperate to remain anonymous made a visit to the seedy building. Arriving at the door, the duo knocked on the metal, and a small viewport slid open.
"Password?"
"Little Gukko."
With a clicking noise, a jam was pulled back, and the door opened. The Paxorak (3) guard shuffled to the side, letting the two Matoran enter sheepishly. Despite having used the spot as a meetup several times in the past, there was an ever-present sense of unease when entering; any meeting could be their last.
The cantina itself was almost in ruin. Telescreens, which once showed highlights of Akilini games, local news, and the occasional theatrical piece, were now silent. A hazy, foul-smelling smoke filled the air, from a trio of Memory Crystal-smoking Ko-Matoran in the corner. In a capacity as a drug, Memory Crystals were normally ground up and ingested, as the effects were less permanent than that of a smoked version.
Then again, whatever memories they're reliving are better than what's really around them… better to leave them be, thought the Onu-Matoran, making his way to a booth far away from the bar itself. There sat a Ta-Matoran and a Vo-Matoran; both had their eyes turned down towards their drinks.
Sliding in alongside them, the four Matoran shared a brief nod.
"So. What's new?" Asked the Ta-Matoran, not meeting anyone's eyes.
"Patrols have doubled all along the harbor. Few guards being stationed around as well. They're clearing out anyone in the area, even people who live there. Relocating them to the sculpture fields," murmured the Vo-Matoran (4), quietly. Both were trusted agents, and although their news disturbed Teluma, he couldn't let them know it.
"It gets worse," added Relus. "The Steltians failed. I got reports from Soltal that they were butchered at Lharis. She said the Rahkshi took no prisoners. A Xian fleet - the Persuaders, if I'm not mistaken, are already underway to return here."
"Here?" asked the Ta-Matoran, confused. "There's already four entire fleets here, the Xian Collectors, two native fleets, and that Steltian one - and the Xians came in less than a week ago. What are they planning on doing, blowing up the island?"
"Unlikely. They need Metru Nui intact if they plan to have anything here worth ruling."
"Well it's not a fleet mobilization - there's nowhere they could be going from here," added the Vo-Matoran. Suddenly, Teluma's eyes lit up.
"There is. I know where they're going..." He proclaimed.
KRIKA - METRU NUI
Krika stood on top of a long-since abandoned knowledge tower in Ko-Metru. What had once been a prosperous architecture firm had been shut down and left to rot. Perched upon the edge of the building, Krika looked down over the snow filled streets beneath him. Of all the places in the city, he enjoyed this one most. The peace and quiet almost made him forget the blood on his hands.
But there had always been blood. Ever since the Convocation - since Teridax seized power from Miserix's hands - Krika had been a silent and consenting party in the slaughter of thousands. The first death was a tragedy. By now it had become a statistic.
Krika tried to remember the first person he had personally killed. It was likely during the League of Six Kingdoms' time. Hunting down loyalists and holdouts was a task all the Makuta participated in, and he had been comfortable with sending Rahkshi to do their dark deeds. But the first life he had taken was on the Southern Continent, in the siege of Bogadu. The war had been won at that point - only a handful of stragglers remained loyal to the League as a futile gesture. Many Ihidauri and Matoran no longer knew what they fought for. He remembered storming through the battlefield, flanked by elite Toa teams, sending foes flying into the air with blasts of cyclones and gravity. Waves of fear emanated from him, causing enemies to throw down their weapons.
Somehow, a lone Matoran stood. What he thought was a dead body rose from the ground, and charged towards him, spear in hand. Out of sheer surprise, he simply stood and watched as the suicidal Matoran threw himself at the Makuta. In a split second, Krika's laser vision cleaved the Matoran's head from its body. So quickly did it happen, that Krika had not even the time to register what he had done before it was too late. The Matoran fell to the ground dead instantly, and Krika watched in a silent, stunned horror.
The Brotherhood won the siege of Bogadu, in the end.
Perhaps he had always been an icy spectre; a haunting figure of death in the mists. Krika wondered if things could have been different, if he could have stopped that lone Matoran. But there would be others - there would always be others. A single life could not atone for his sins. There was no good left in the world that he could do to wash away his cold, bloodstained hands. So he sat on the roof, and looked out over the city.
Hours passed, before Krika would be disturbed by another presence. Blowing a huff of breath which instantly fogged in the air, Krika turned to see his silent brother, Vamprah, waiting for him. The narrow eyed Makuta stared at his brother in silence for a few moments.
"What is it, Brother?" Krika finally asked.
"You have not mobilized your forces," came the reply inside his head. To an observer, all that could be seen is Vamprah ever so slightly tilting his head to the side.
"They're slaves. They'll move when I command - and I will command it shortly." Turning, Krika continued to look out onto the city. "It's not as if they have much to pack."
"And yet here you are. Standing on a roof."
"Have you come to question what I do with my time, Brother, or is there a purpose behind your visit?"
"Perhaps I feel concerned for a friend."
"We are not friends, brother." The Makuta spat the word as if it was a slur. "Makuta have no friends."
"Indeed. But we are not enemies. I am the Listener. It does me well to hear what people say."
"You won't be hearing much from me tonight."
"I noticed."
The two Makuta stood in silence for a moment.
"Your slaves will move tomorrow, whether you order it or not. Do not forget your place at Icarax's side."
Makuta Krika sighed, once again filling the air with fog.
"I know my place."
TELUMA - METRU NUI
The assembled group had devolved into argument a dozen times over. The revelation that the Makuta would soon be leaving their universe, along with most of their armies, had caused an uproar amongst the revolutionaries, who had gathered in a dilapidated forge deep within Ta-Metru.
"I say we steal the Olmak from right under their noses!"
"How do you propose we do that? And for what purpose? You'd just be keeping them here longer."
"They'd just kill us if we tried-"
"They already have three fleets here…"
"If we just-"
"Maybe a strike at the slave gate once they leave!"
"We don't know how it works, it could warp half the city into another reality, and that'd kill Mata Nui for sure."
"We can't just sit around and do nothing-"
"Fools! You have no perception!"
Teluma glanced around the assembled group of Matoran. Members of each Metru argued furiously over the fate of their rebel cell. Their ideas, while promising, all shared the same flaw - Teluma wanted the Makuta gone, and out of Metru Nui. Killing them was a means to that end; if they were to go through the portal…
An idea passed through Teluma's mind. A memory of a distant legend, of an ancient warrior who also used the Kanohi Olmak.
"I have an idea," Teluma said calmly. Members fell into silence, and turned towards their leader. "We crack the Olmak."
Uproar once again took hold of the group, before Teluma shouted out. "Wait! Listen to me!" The group once again fell into silence.
"I remember the old stories - how the Mask of Dimensional Gates is fragile, not to be tampered with. I say if we break it, the Makuta might not survive the trip. If we're lucky, they die on the way there. If we're not, they end up stuck on the far side of some portal long enough for us to make a difference."
"What if we're unlucky? What if they make it back some day?" Asked a concerned Ga-Matoran.
"There's not one of us here that wouldn't risk our life to drive out the Brotherhood. As soon as they're gone, we make a move against the Turaga. Get someone loyal to us in charge. We don't let the same mistakes happen twice - if they return, we'll be ready for them."
"Then how do we do it? How do we break the Olmak?" piped a Le-Matoran from the back of the room. Teluma thought for a moment. How and when could a Matoran gain access to the Olmak? All it would take is a few moments, but was it even possible?
Just then, a Ko-Matoran, who had been silent the entire time, raised a hand, and spoke in a quiet voice.
"I know when we'll have a chance."
KRIKA - METRU NUI
Krika patrolled the endless rows of tents and makeshift shelters. Over five hundred thousand different beings were trapped within the confines of the Le Metru test tracks. Where once, vehicles pushed the limits of engineering, and nimbly dodged through obstacles, now only the dirty and the disheveled sat, waiting for their orders, or waiting to die. For many, it made little difference.
Following Krika by a few paces was a Dahkini, by the name of Asmotek. The green and gunmetal High Steltian carried a series of tablets under his arm, which were the only methods that one could hope to identify the legions of slaves with. As the overseer of the indentured worker corps, the unenviable task of managing a million starved and ill-tempered beings fell upon his shoulders. Luckily, he had a great deal of experience in the slaving industry, owing to a successful career on Stelt before the arrival of the Brotherhood. It had been for his success that Krika had assigned Asmotek as his second in command. It was a task, the Makuta was pleased to note, that he had taken in stride.
"The Ihidauri have been making trouble again," murmured Asmotek, as the two marched past a group of ivory-white beings, glaring at them all the way. "Not with the Vahki, mind you, but I hear they've been racketeering the Matoran rations."
"What the prisoners do to each other is hardly my concern," replied Krika, idly.
"Of course, sir." Asmotek replied, quick as a whip. The Dahkini likely knew that staying on Krika's good side was a good way to avoid ending up among the slaves he tormented.
"And the cargo on the docks?"
"On schedule, sir. They're apparently handling the Good Intent as we speak. Quartermaster reports it should be done within the hour."
"Leaving how many slaves to load, still?"
"Twenty thousand here, Fifty thousand currently at work, sir. Most of them are on repair projects in Ta and Ga-Metru. Would you like me to have them pulled?"
Krika considered for a moment, but shook his head.
"No. Better to leave behind something other than ruins. But get these ones moving. There's no reason for them to be sitting idly."
"Yes sir. Right away sir."
Waving towards a nearby Vahki, Astmotek began relaying orders. Vahki by the dozen suddenly perked up, eager to dispense a cruel and swift justice, and stormed through the test track, rousing hundreds of beings, and throwing them into one long line. What little personal belongings the prisoners had were quickly packed up and thrown in rucksacks, while some unfortunate beings were forced to leave their effects behind.
Unconcerned, Krika turned away from the chaos of the rapidly-forming-line, and journeyed towards the nearest exit. Asmotek followed him, ready for subsequent commands, though none came. Summoning the strength of his kraata powers, Krika hovered in place for a brief moment, as a dark aura formed around him. Without a sound, he suddenly vanished, leaving Asmotek alone, and quite confused.
Elsewhere, Krika materialized on the docks of Le-Metru. Massive ships from Xia, Stelt, and Metru Nui all formed a multi-layered ring around the island, as the nearest - a massive, squat black ship waited. Slaves by the hundred loaded cargo containers aboard the landing ship, the Good Intent. Already old by the time of the Brotherhood's invasion, the ship - intended to carry Vahki and Toa en masse from island to island, had been relegated to transporting slaves. Its massive, dark hull welcomed Matoran, Xian, Toa, and other species alike, as if it were a hungering metal maw.
The Good Intent was one of nearly two hundred and fifty ships, intended to carry over two million warriors, citizens, and slaves, to the new universe. Battleships, cargo haulers, support ships, aircraft carriers, and personnel ships from multiple different fleets made the bulk of the naval might of the Brotherhood's forces.
Following the length of the dock, slaves parted to grant Krika a path, and quiet whispers followed him. He paid the opinions of the masses no mind. "They are tools to be used in the pursuit of victory," he reminded himself. At the head of the mole stood the quartermaster, a Manidi (4) by the name of Etadex. Manidi were rarely employed by the Brotherhood, due to Icarax's little trust in the hypnotizing species. Only Vamprah was willing to work with the eerie beings, while the rest were begrudgingly admitted as agents only where no others could be spared. A lack of physical strength in combat prevented them from serving as soldiers, and so what few Manidi were trusted enough to hold positions of authority were often granted low-level managerial roles.
"How much longer will this take?" Krika asked the Manidi, who, unaware of his presence, turned with a start.
"Excuse me, my great master. I did not realize your presence..."
"Must I ask again?"
"No, almighty one. All that remains are a few containers of potable water, for the slaves. The captain has been making the task exceptionally difficult, however."
"Difficult how?" Krika raised a brow. Those who made things "difficult" did not often last long.
"He is worried about the Good Intent's position in this evening's parade. He fears that, laden with cargo such that he is, he will not have enough time to return to his position-"
"This evening's parade?" Krika asked, even more confused.
"Yes, my master. By Icarax's command. Have you not been told?"
Wordlessly, Krika turned, once again activating his teleportation powers. He had to speak with Icarax.
Icarax's throne room, once the office of the Turaga of Metru Nui, was kept dark. The Makuta preferred it that way. A set of braziers were the only light source in the massive chamber, and their flickering light sent shadows dancing across the walls. With a slight distortion in space, Krika emerged into the chamber, immediately stalking towards Icarax, who sat idly upon his throne. The Olmak-masked Makuta sat, perched on one arm, conferring with Vamprah. Behind him were six Rahkshi, each equipped with a Shadow Kraata. The most highly trained and dangerous beings a Makuta could produce, and utterly obedient to Icarax. Seeing Krika enter, the Rahkshi immediately stood at arms, though Icarax dispelled their caution with a wave of his wrist.
"Is there something the matter, brother?" Icarax asked, his voice full of a mocking faux concern.
"The parade. Why was I not informed?" Krika asked, cutting immediately to the heart of the issue. Icarax's eyes flared with anger.
"You dare," he began, "to burst into my chambers, and question my decision?"
Icarax stood, and took a step towards the smaller Makuta.
"I will not have my orders questioned by a brat who fails to follow orders when instructed. You have tried my patience one too many times. Do not make the mistake of assuming yourself my equal, brother." Icarax spat. His voice burned with a cold rage. Krika suddenly became aware that the Rahkshi had again raised their staves.
"My apologies, brother. It was not my intention-" Krika's voice suddenly faltered as he felt himself being lifted into the air. Icarax continued to stare him down, using his control of gravity to levitate the white Makuta.
"You forget your place, Krika. I am the Seneschal of Teridax - my commands are his commands. Would you question our master's will so flagrantly?"
Krika felt his shame burn inside him.
"No, brother."
He suddenly fell to the floor, as Icarax relinquished his control. Anger flared inside Krika, and for a moment, he could feel one arm lengthen into a long, spined blade, like they had in Karda Nui. He immediately covered it with his cloak, and tensed his remaining hand into a fist. Nervously, he glanced towards Vamprah, who was watching him in silence. Beneath his cloak, his arm began to return to its normal form. Icarax, with his back turned, began to speak once more.
"It was a recent decision. Vamprah has convinced me of the strategic value of impressing our might upon the Matoran before we leave. Additionally, presenting ourselves in a public space will lure out any revolutionaries that have not been dealt with… they will be made public examples of."
"You have changed the plans at the last minute... to entrap lingering revolutionaries?" Krika asked, impressed at Icarax's lack of consideration.
"Perhaps you feel my decision was unwise?" Icarax asked cooly. Nonetheless, there was no mistaking the tone of his words - that he would not hesitate to slaughter Krika if he questioned the decision.
"No, my brother. I simply wish to be apprised of future plans as they are made."
Icarax stared in silence for a few moments, before finally speaking.
"You may take your leave, Krika."
It was not a request, but a demand. Krika was more than happy to obey. Kneeling before the Lord of Shadows, Krika quickly bowed before exiting. Massive doors creaked shut behind him, and as soon as he left the turaga's office, he took several strained deep breaths. Looking at the arm which had nearly betrayed him during the meeting, a visible tremor went through it. For a moment, Krika wondered what had caused such a reaction. It was a feeling he was extremely familiar with.
Fear.