Chapter 3 - Pieces Come Into Play
THE MONARCH - METRU NUI
The one known as the Monarch was patient. He had been alive far longer than any of the foolish vagabonds around him - that much he knew for sure. And covered in dirt, grime, scars, and a shadow of his former self, he was still a specimen to behold.
It was because of this patience that, despite being relocated several times already, he was more than content to stand in the titanic line of slaves. Surrounded by his Ihidauri gang, the Monarch was one of the many capos of the Le-Metru test tracks. For now, he thought, considering that in the next universe the slaves may be thrown into the Po-Metru sculpture fields, or the Archives, or any other number of places. The thought did not concern him - he would make the best of wherever he and his gang were stationed.
The Monarch took another look ahead of him, at the rusted black ship. In Matoric writing, a faded white title on the side read Good Intent. It was obviously a cargo vessel, likely for long-distance trading, which, despite the diminished quality of the lodgings, thrilled the Monarch immensely. The Brotherhood's abundance of resources, and their decision to start each invasion with Metru Nui, meant that they virtually never ran out of supplies - even when their slaves were given free reign to loot. Additionally, with the slaves divvying up food, water, and materials among themselves, it lessened the need for the Makuta to form supply chains for them.
Of course, supplies were rarely ever divided fairly. The Monarch squinted his ocean-blue eyes through the veil that hung off his brow, and looked around him. At attention, even when laden with supplies, stood his personal guard. The Ihidauri sentinels all were draped in filthy and frayed cloaks, bearing a triangular pattern along their edge. Tucked within the folds of their capes, each carried with them a length of pipe, girder, or other similarly weighty tool of violence. They were all exceptionally trained, especially for the scum of the slave tracks, and they would ensure that the Monarch got an excellent cut out of the Good Intent's cargo holds. A few of them had even been bladeweavers before their unlucky incarceration.
At a slow shuffle's pace, the Monarch and his men stepped onto the cargo ramp, and entered the hold. The group passed by a set of Steltian guards, each surrounded by a squad of Bordakh. Over a painful minute, the Monarch's eyes adjusted to the dark of the cargo hold, and the chaos within.
Although present, the guards and the Vahki only served to prevent escape - not to police the area. As such, beings had already begun to ransack whatever containers they could. The Ihidauri capo could see scattered mountains of crates, haphazardly tied down. Augafi by the dozen were nimbly climbing up the pile, and throwing down loose boxes to their eagerly awaiting comrades below. In one box, air-dried rations were found, and a group of Matoran had begun hoarding them. In another, blankets and tarps, which several Manidi were claiming as their own. In a third, a massive haul of Rahkshi staves (the closest thing to weapons that the Makuta allowed near the slaves), which an Onu-Matoran with an orange mask was attempting to sell in exchange for food and water.
The Monarch looked towards the air, where an Atureas (5) was flying towards the top of a massive stack of cargo. An Augafi (6) at the top swatted at the avian being, but the Atureas was faster. Dodging the strike, she countered with a jab to the gut, and a swing to the face. The Augafi's balance was completely thrown off, and he remained suspended in air for a moment, before tumbling down to the ground with a loud thud. The Monarch did not see the Augafi get back up after the fall - and did not care either way. The Monarch pointed a finger at the Onu-Matoran salesman. Priorities, he thought.
"You all," he said to his guards, "I'm tired of seeing you use pipes and scrap. You're professionals, damn you." Wordlessly, they muscled through the crowd, looking for new armament. In the meantime, the Ihidauri marched deeper into the hold. He had his own mission. Making his way towards the rear wall, he could see Matoran camps built against the stacks of crates. It was a sign that meant two things.
First - that there was shelter here, already constructed, sparing the Monarch time and energy of his own. It was easier to steal a camp than build your own. And second - these Matoran held no loyalty to another capo, or else they would have set up near them. It was these sort of unaligned beings that the Monarch thrived upon. Clearing his throat, he turned his chin upwards, and stepped into the center of a clearing of tents. The Matoran glanced upwards with surprise, a few warming their hands around a looted heatstone.
"Is there anyone among your rout that may treat with me?" The Monarch demanded.
The Matoran remained silent, either out of fear or rebellion. Eventually, a Ce-Matoran (7) stepped forward, nodding.
"I'll speak for us." She said, confidently. The Monarch strode over to them, and stared down his nose at her.
"Do you know who I am?"
She nodded.
"Then you know what I've done."
She nodded again.
"And you know what I will do to you if I am displeased."
She again nodded.
"Then this negotiation will be short. You work for me now. All of you." He pointed an accusing finger around the group.
"Your resources are my resources. Your living space is mine. In exchange for your loyalty, I will offer you complete protection. There will not be a being alive on this ship that dares rob you. This protection is not offered lightly."
"Suppose we don't have the goods to share? What then?" The Ce-Matoran probed.
"Do not take that tone with me. I will take what I please. But I offer to do so as a friend - rather than an enemy."
"There's eleven of us and one of you." The Matoran countered. As they did so, the first of the Ihidauri's guards returned from their errand, carrying the staff of a Gurrahk. While powerless without its designated user, it was still both quite heavy and quite sharp, and of better craftsmanship than most weapons on the ship. The Ce-Matoran made a worried glance towards the Monarch, and their guard.
"I warn you not to test my patience, girl."
The Ce-Matoran deliberated for an instant, glancing towards other members of the group. A scared looking Ko-Matoran nodded, and the Ce-Matoran nodded back.
"Welcome to our camp, sir. Such as it is."
The Monarch grinned, and extended a hand to shake. His sharp fingers dug into the Ce-Matoran's palm.
"It is good to be here."
Over the course of the next few hours, the Monarch consolidated his grip upon a small back corner of the cargo bay. By the time the sun had set outside, and the loading process had ended, his personal tent had been set up, with a series of exotic protosilks within - undoubtedly the most luxurious thing in the cargo bay - if not on board the ship. His new Matoran crew had continued to scavenge for him, returning with a number of curiosities, as well as legitimately useful materials. He was sure to reward those who brought back the best equipment with a portion of rations, though he did not add that he was reserving a greater amount for him and his men.
Among the supplies retrieved were a series of Kraahkan banners, heatstones, a small box of whisperstones, a crate of rations, several universal batteries, a few packets of amana salve, and a massive steel crate which had an electrical port on it. The Matoran duo who had retrieved it had been unable to pry it open, but were convinced by virtue of its weight that it was valuable. The Monarch was tempted to agree.
With his underlings now settling in for the evening, and chowing down on ill-gotten rations, they were satisfied with a day of looting. The Monarch was thrilled at the gusto with which they took to the task - he had long commanded pirates and thieves, but rarely did they find such luck as they had tonight. Off to one side, through the smallest of portholes, one of the Matoran reported that they were moving. The Monarch shrugged - movement or not, the guards surely wouldn't let him or his gang carry a series of massive crates with them once they disembarked. Calling to one of his Ihidauri servants, by the name of Volto Rojo, the Monarch gestured towards the largest crate, bearing the electrical plug.
Wedging his Rahkshi staff into a gap between the lid and the sides of the container, the Ihidauri threw his entire weight behind it, attempting to lever the box open. After a great deal of grunting and effort, he was finally able to pop the lid off, and with a loud clank, both the lid and the front panel slid off. The Monarch eagerly looked inside, along with several curious Matoran, excited to identify their new loot.
Inside, a familiar sight awaited them all; one that had terrified many Matoran before. They all knew the bright green colored crest, the faded red armor, and the long, pincer-like staves. It was a Vahki - and not just any Vahki, but a Nuurakh.
"How'd a Vahki end up down here?" one of the Matoran asked.
"Don't know - maybe they messed up?"
"I mean, there are a lot of them. Hard to keep track of them all," another replied.
The Monarch extended a single finger and pressed it against the head of the Vahki. It did not react. Peering into the box, at the large crystal around its head crest, the Monarch was pleased to see no glow emitting from it.
"I think it's shut down." A third matoran commented, pointing towards a switch mounted on the inside of the box.
"Let me see!" A fourth exclaimed, jostling towards the front of the group. Another Matoran protested, and a momentary scuffle occurred, before The Monarch could only watch in silence as the Matoran - eagerly heading towards the front of the group - stumbled straight into the switch. Grabbing the Matoran by the neck, the Monarch prepared to deliver a beating so severe that he would never forget his footing again. Immediately, he paused, as the Vahki's joints unlocked, and the robot sagged in place. Dropping the Matoran, the Monarch immediately retreated a step - if the Vahki was coming back to life, he didn't want the first thing it saw to be him in the process of a crime.
The entire group went dead silent, watching the machine slowly return to an upright position. Its eyes began to glow the same green as a Lerahk's shell. Breathlessly, they waited for it to burst free of the crate, and assault one of their number.
Instead, the machine just stood in place. After a few moments, Volto Rojo stepped forwards, waving a hand before the Vahki's face. It made no indication that it had even seen the gesture. The group watched in a collective curiosity.
"What's go-" A Matoran began, before the group could suddenly feel the entire ship tilt underfoot. A scream rang out, and the tilt grew more and more severe, as both slaves and crates began to tumble towards the nose of the ship. The Monarch watched in a stunned horror - before he too began to join the ranks of beings falling or sliding across the floor. He hollered in both confusion and fear, as a massive crate began to slide toward him, missing him by only a hair. He could hear it crash against another container, and the sound of screaming escalated.
What in Karzahni is going on? he thought, seconds before crashing at full speed into the rapidly forming pile at the nose of the ship.
KABEI - METRU NUI
Kabei was, most likely, one of the most skilled structural engineers and architects within the Brotherhood's forces. Unfortunately, he was also a Po Matoran - and not one from the universe of elementally empowered Matoran. As such, he had figured his lot in life would be following the Makuta through the multiverse, cleaning up after them, and rebuilding cities destroyed in wars.
It wasn't a terrible existence. In fact, it was something that Kabei relished - the opportunity to recreate the twisting, turning streets of cities, and right their wrongs - it was exhilarating. And although it cost many lives, Kabei was at least confident that the Brotherhood brought with them order, improvement, and structure. He thought back fondly on one of the southern islands he had visited in the last universe, where he joined a crew of a hundred matoran in fortifying a local village. Ramshackle wood huts were the only thing between the locals and the Rahi of the island; Rahi that would cut through a matoran like a sharktooth blade through a madu fruit. And so their homes were torn down, and in their place, buildings of stone and iron were erected. Where once, Matoran scraped by with a meager and harsh existence in fear of the Rahi, they stood proudly beneath the flag of the Kraahkan. Modernizing and taming the world was an opportunity he was glad to be involved in.
Unfortunately, this was one of the few bad moments between rebuilding the universe that Kabei could not abide.
Stretching before him was a line of beings massive beyond comprehension. It seemed to him like every single person in Metru Nui was boarding the ships, though in reality, he knew that most were remaining home. He was part of the civilian crew, who, while afforded better accommodations than the slaves on account of their loyalty, would have to be content with living on the backs of the brotherhood's armies. There were no civilian ships making the jump to the next universe, only military ones. Each vessel sailed as part of a Xian, Steltian, or Metruan fleet, commandeered from various universes. Shipbuilding yards on Stelt and Xia prospered greatly in the wake of the Makuta takeover, with Brotherhood-instated commanders at the helm.
Kabei wondered briefly, as he marched at a spine-slug's pace towards the ship before him, if he shouldn't have entered the shipwrights business. Although he'd likely be forced into the same long hours, and the same grueling work, he thought that perhaps his pocketbook might be heavier.
Then again, it was unlike the Brotherhood to pay for their assets; many of the ships and weapons came from the coffers of conquered nations, or were built under the threat of death if not delivered in a timely manner. And ships were tools of destruction, bristling with Cordak turrets, Kanoka repeaters, plasmatic turbobatteries, sonic mines, energized warblasters, and other items meant only to inflict harm and devastation. Kabei was glad that, at the very least, he could be proud of his work without it ending lives.
Alongside Kabei, on the opposite side of the road, an army of slaves marched in a similar pattern. Although they were all headed to the Le-Metru harbor, the slaves were all bound for their own ships, where they would be haphazardly thrown into empty (or full) cargo bays. For Kabei, a cramped bunk within the belly of a Xian warship, intended for one being yet forced to be shared by two, was his fate.
The slaves were a discouraging sight to behold. Many wore dented, scratched, or rusted armor, and some were being dragged by their comrades. A small island's worth of Vahki and Skakdi guards managed the population, urging them to continue moving, and keep their heads down. A few particularly eager Skakdi stepped out of formation to deliver a sporadic beating, but Kabei tried not to watch the situation unfold.
"We all play our part." He thought, keeping his mind on the future. Before him, the commandeered Metruan ship could be seen - a bulbous and curved vessel, aesthetically akin to the Vahki Crawlers which policed the city streets, or the Airships that once flew through the air, though much larger in size. A large green band ran along the side of the ship, joined by a thinner, brighter, lime-green band. A large title was stenciled on the side of the hull, above the stripe; the Lucky Le-Matoran. Seeing it reminded Kabei of the grass, and he smiled at it briefly.
"Perhaps we need more plant features in the next project." He thought. "Better bring that up with the boss."
Kabei's boss, in this case, was an aged Turaga of Plasma by the name of Vimira, who had no love of the Toa Code. He had jumped on the Brotherhood bandwagon as soon as they entered the universe, but his stature and position as an ex-Toa prevented him from serving on the front lines. Instead, he was relegated to construction detail, managing builder teams in repairing destroyed islands' infrastructure. Kabei suspected the boss didn't know a great deal about architecture or engineering, but he didn't mind. That's what his team was for.
Lost in thought, Kabei nearly tripped as he arrived at the ramp onboard the Lucky Le-Matoran. Although the momentum of the line carried him ever-onwards, he stopped for a moment to look back at the city, and smiled.
"I'll see you soon," he whispered, before boarding the ship.
TELUMA - METRU NUI
As had become the routine over the past few days, Teluma ducked through alleyways with his fellow conspirators. From nearby, he could hear the sound of marching footsteps. The military parade was working its way through the central causeway from the Coliseum to the Le-Metru harbor. Despite the occasion, Teluma could not hear any cheering or support whatsoever - merely the quiet murmurs of whatever Matoran were willing to leave their homes to attend.
Travelling in tow with Teluma was another Matoran, whose name he did not know. He was, however, told of the Ta-Matoran's dedication, and his frightening willingness to achieve total liberation of Metru Nui. Teluma wasn't sure where his band of rebels had acquired such an extremist, though he was more than happy he was on their side.
Tucked under his arm, Teluma carried a short staff. To the casual observer, it could be mistaken for a cane, or a piston built into his arm. Teluma, on the other hand, knew the truth - a twist of a button would extend a series of blades, turning it into a razor sharp javelin. Acquiring the weapon had been both difficult and dangerous, but he was willing to gamble it all on this next move. He and his revolutionaries would die for their cause; that much he was sure of.
Rounding a corner, the two approached the street. In front of them, several Matoran blocked their view, though they could see lines upon lines of Skakdi spines marching. The Onu-Matoran grew nervous, as he glanced up and down the street.
"Do you think they already passed by?" He asked the Ta-Matoran, fearful their plan had been foiled by sheer bad luck. The Ta-Matoran shook his head.
"They're bringing up the rear. I know it."
The conviction in the Ta-Matoran's voice steeled Teluma's nerves. Soon he would do what had to be done, to tell the citizens of Metru Nui that the Makuta were mortal, that they could be beaten - and to spare any further universes from pain.
"Are you ready, then? There's no going back from this - they'll kill us both," he said, ice in his voice. Nearby, he could feel the air grow cold, and the crowd go silent, as the Makuta neared.
The Ta-Matoran looked at himself, took a deep breath, and nodded.
"Then we will die a hero's death."
Silently, the two stepped out of the alley, and took their places in the crowd.