Author's Note: Unfortunately, Sigma has decided to end his involvement in this project. Fortunately, HahliNuva has volunteered to proofread chapters, and there is a buffer of several pre-written, so there should be no impact to release schedule.

Chapter 7 - Blood and Salt

THE MONARCH - UNKNOWN

The Monarch turned towards the still-open door that led further into the bowels of the cargo-ship-turned-slave-transport. Somewhere beyond the door lay an entire hold's worth of slaves, rioting throughout the ship. If they were smart, they were going to make their way straight to the bridge, where they could hijack the ship and steer it as far from the fleet as possible. If they were lucky, nobody would notice their exodus, and they would kill each other for what resources were on board while they escaped to the southern islands. If they were unlucky, they would be caught, and targeted with two hundred ships' worth of guns. Either way, it spelled death for the Monarch and his crew.

Now in the possession of a Vahki that was solely loyal to him, however, he was more optimistic about his chances of survival - still slim, but there was hope. It would just require a great deal of luck. Turning back to his crew, he addressed them.

"Matoran. Stay here. Guard our equipment. Guard it with your lives - I refuse to return only to find everything we own looted. The same goes for treason or betrayal: there will be no mercy for the disloyal. Understood?"

The Matoran nodded their heads somberly, and although they looked sincere, the Monarch hoped none of them were simply acting. He was not in the mood to risk his life for the benefit of traitors.

"Good. The rest of you, we're going to the bridge. Ship security will be split between there and the engine room, but the bridge is the more important of the two."

"What are we gonna do there?" asked Mirmulla, one of the Monarch's Ihidauri sentinel guards.

"We're going to help the guards."

Outrage flared in every member of the team assembled, and the Monarch recognized the idea of helping their enslavers and captors was not a popular one. A murmur started which he struggled to speak over.

"Listen, listen to me, you gafna."

The Monarch was a gifted orator - or had been in the past. It was a skill that he rarely got the opportunity to use since the Makuta had destroyed his life, but his prodigious ability was no less sharp for the lack of practice.

"Before the Makuta came to my universe, I was like any one of you. I was a muaka. Powerful. Imperial. I held my head to the sky, and captained my way through my life. I had a duty, a destiny. I was a warrior and a conqueror. The Makuta destroyed that forever. They made me - they made us all - into mere gafna."

The Monarch paused for effect. He knew that silence was a powerful tool.

"Picture the gafna. Small. Insignificant. Easily frightened. A gafna is vermin; it deserves no respect, and holds no authority. For a year now we have scurried about in the dark, scuttling for what resources we could steal or salvage, pretending ourselves to be living, rather than surviving."

A murmur again broke out among the group, though the Monarch silenced them all as he continued.

"I have fought alongside you all for one year. Every day of that year, my hatred of the Makuta has grown. I would gladly suffer a thousand deaths just to see one of those monsters scratch their armor. I think…no, I know that you all feel the same. We are one and the same. But the Makuta do not share our animosity - to them, we do not exist. We are the gafna; they do not concern themselves with us. But therein lies the advantage. When a village knows of a muaka in the forest, they form a hunting party, they sharpen spears, they light fires, and they drive the beast back."

He again paused.

"A village, however, does not concern itself with the gafna. This is our strength. The Makuta's eyes are not upon us, they are upon their enemies. The muaka. We must use this to our advantage. For a year I struggled under the same back-breaking labor as you, was forced to endure the same whips and demands I once made of lesser beings. Every day we awoke in squalor unparalleled by even the worst day of our previous lives."

The Monarch paused once more, sensing that the crowd was finally listening.

"But not tomorrow. Tomorrow we will awake under the open sky, as free beings."

The group's eyes went wide with awe at their master's statement.

"The Makuta want this ship. They want the slaves. They want the supplies. We're not near Metru Nui - meaning they have no warehouses or shipping routes to plunder. The material wealth they so freely gave us during the Great Journey is now worth its weight in protosteel. I want you all to imagine what they would do if some group were to steal those supplies, and this ship. The fire and destruction they would bring upon the unfortunate thieves when they find them. And then… I want you to imagine what they would do if we helped them take it back."

The group slowly began to nod along with his statements. The Monarch sensed he was winning them over - he just needed a finishing blow.

"I would give my life to spite the Makuta - and one day we may have that opportunity. With the sky over our heads, and the wind in our favor, we may drive a knife into their backs. But the first step toward doing that is gaining our freedom. And our freedom starts here: aboard this ship, at the bridge, with a hundred starving and bloodthirsty slaves between us and our goal. I'm cutting my way through every last one of them. Are you?"

His voice grew in intensity with every word, until his speech had become a roar by its conclusion. A cheer rose through his team, as they shook their fists and their weapons in the air. A grin broke out over the Monarch's face.

"Then let's spill some blood!" he hollered, turning towards the black maw of the doorway. He had his crew - now he needed to survive.

The clang of footsteps on metal corridors echoed throughout the ship. Although the Monarch and his crew were travelling as quietly as they could while still maintaining speed, they could hear the sounds of chaos in far-off hallways. More than once, the group had ducked into a doorway or storage room as they watched some unfortunate Matoran flee from a crowd of ill-tempered slaves.

There was a foul smell in the air. The Monarch could almost taste it - it wasn't just the scent of death. He had spent most of his life around that smell. It was something worse. The scent of pain, and hatred. It chilled his spine, and with every step he made through the underbelly of the ship, he could feel a hot heaviness to the air. It was like wading through amana gel.

He could see that hatred in his crew's eyes. The only one of them that didn't have some reservations about helping the Makuta was Point Three, who followed in diligent silence.

The Monarch had, in a very short amount of time, become somewhat accustomed to the presence of a Vahki behind him. For the first few minutes, it had been an entirely unnerving experience. As time went on, however, he began to appreciate the obedience of the machine. It was a tool like any other, and it had, for some reason, elected to follow his commands. A few times he worried about it running off to chase down a rampaging slave, like a starved Kinloka - but it never did. It kept a cautious eye on him, waiting for his command.

The interior of the ship was extremely cramped. Unlike the slave pen, which had been a massive room piled with crates, the bowels of the ship beyond were a maze of service corridors, crew cabins, storage lockers, and all sorts of other rooms. The simple act of finding a ladderway pleased the Monarch immensely.

"Up. This way," he said, climbing up to the next level. As he extended a hand to help his followers up to the second floor, the sound of a shout in the distance pulled his attention.

"Quiet. All of you!" he whispered, as the group instantly froze. For a few seconds they waited - then another shout. The sound of metal on metal.

"Alright, let's go, that's what we're looking for!" the Monarch called, immediately getting to his feet and rushing down the hallway towards the noise. His crew followed him one at a time, each refreshing their grip on their refurbished Rahkshi staves, and throwing their cloaks over their shoulders so as to not hinder their movement. The Monarch himself carried no weapon, though he was one of the best hand-to-hand fighters he knew, and was confident that he could beat any untrained rout with a broken piece of pipe any day. Hopefully, he thought. It would be a short-lived scheme otherwise.

Rounding a corner, the sight of a battle revealed itself. A Paxorak grappled with a Su-Skakdi (23), while an Akiamu (24) swung his massive fists wildly, two Layamat just barely dodging his blows. A duo of Matoran nearby were engaged with an Ihidauri, though they seemed somewhat unsuccessful in their fight. The Monarch took quick stock of the group.

The Akiamu will be the big problem. The Matoran are part of the crew. Skakdi's probably a guard.

Within seconds, the Monarch identified each member of the brawl - crew, or rioting slave - and leapt into action. The Vahki behind him, seeing the Monarch join the fray, suddenly entered a combat stance, and charged in after him.

The first blow came in the form of a fist to the side of the skull. The Monarch sent the Paxorak sprawling to the floor - she had clearly not been expecting an ambush from behind. The Skakdi, who had been in the middle of a grapple with the Paxorak, nearly fell to the ground with him. Barely managing to stay upright, he exchanged a brief glance with the Monarch before kicking the Paxorak in the gut.

"Thanks," the Skakdi said gruffly, before looking towards the Matoran duo. One was beating on the leg of the Ihidauri, who was clutching the other by the throat.

"I don't have time for you - are you a problem?" the Skakdi asked, raising his fists.

"Far from it," replied the Monarch confidently, as the Vahki stormed past him towards the Akiamu. It jumped through the air, smashing one of its stun staves into the back of the hulking being's head. The Akiamu turned in response, kicking one of his Layamat enemies away, and lunged for the robot.

As the fight escalated, the Monarch's sentinels finally arrived.

"Chaaaaarge!" they yelled, rushing into the room.

It was like watching a blur of motion. Each spun their staves with clarity and grace, switching effortlessly between spear, quarterstaff, and halberd maneuvers. The Akiamu was almost instantly overwhelmed, and although he was able to take one of the Monarch's guards in his fist and dash them against a nearby wall, the sheer number of foes that he was facing was too many.

The Skakdi, recognizing the aid, rushed for the Ihidauri, who threw the unconscious Matoran in his grip to the floor. The other Matoran continued to slice at his leg before he was suddenly stopped by the presence of a six-inch long shiv buried in his brain crystal. The Matoran slumped over as the Ihidauri let go of the makeshift knife.

"Oh, you wanna play dirty, let's go!" hollered the Skakdi, who rushed towards the unaware Ihidauri. Before he had the opportunity to reach him, however, the Akiamu stumbled back across his path, a guard pressing their staff against his throat.

The Monarch felt a sudden movement beneath him as the Paxorak below him stirred. Grabbing hold of his leg, the Paxorak pulled, and the Monarch, caught unaware, fell to the ground.

"Aigh!" he yelled, as the Paxorak rose to her feet.

"Sneaky trick, you bastard," chimed the Paxorak, placing a foot on the Monarch's chest. "Hope it was worth it!" she continued, raising a fist in the air. The Monarch's eyes widened, and with all the force he could muster, grabbed the ankle currently crushing his torso, and twisted it askance. For a moment, the joint stood firm like a rock, before slowly giving way. The Paxorak cried in pain, falling to the floor, and the Monarch scrambled back, now free. As the two returned upright, they raised their fists in front of their faces. The Monarch noted his opponent's technique.

Hmm. Sloppy. Exploitable.

The Paxorak threw a wild left hook towards the Monarch's face, and the Ihidauri watched it sail towards him. At the last possible second, he dodged right, and thrust his fist upwards into the Paxorak's elbow. He could hear something crack within.

Kane-Ra's eye.

The Paxorak, unfazed despite the grievous blow, countered with a right uppercut. Not expecting the move, the Monarch took it squarely on the chin, as his face was thrust up to the ceiling. For a moment, he saw stars before regaining his place in the fight. The Paxorak made another swing towards the Monarch's face, but this time he was ready. Sidestepping, the Monarch dug his heel into the Paxorak's foot, and with his opponent distracted, he thrust his fist towards her throat.

His knuckles impacted hard against her armored carapace, and he could feel the shock reverberate through his hand and wrist. She gasped for breath; with his opponent winded, the Monarch took the opportunity to daze the Paxorak further. Clapping both fists against the side of her head, he could see her grimace with pain.

Elbow to chest. Fist up. Block wild swing right - no, left. Kick out her knee.

With each move, the Monarch's fight became more like a dance, as he started to play with his injured foe. What fun, he thought, reminiscing on the days where he could watch his opponents' victory slip from their fingers on a daily basis. The Paxorak was a heaving mess by this point, throwing wild, blind hits with no chance of hitting her target. In the process, however, the Monarch had not kept an eye on the rest of the fight as it unfolded. The Skakdi, along with Point Three and half of the Monarch's guards, were still attempting to bring down the behemoth of the Akiamu, while the rest of the Monarch's guards fought the other Ihidauri. The two Layamat who had been fighting the Akiamu were gravely wounded. One clutched a broken leg, and the other was passed out against a wall.

The Monarch watched out of the corner of his eye as his guards fought with the Ihidauri.

Swing left. Parry. Spin, switch stance. Try for a pierce - let Volto Rojo have a turn, there we go.

The Monarch then felt a soft blow against his shoulder - a grazing blow from the Paxorak's fist. Despite her facial armor being covered in dents and cracks, she had a sick smile, and kept her fists raised.

"Whassa madteh… haddanuff?" she growled out, several of her teeth cracked or missing. The Monarch sighed before tilting his head back and thrusting it into hers with a headbutt. She fell over, stunned, onto the floor.

With no time to celebrate his victory, a bellow shook the room. He turned to see the Akiamu, a Rahkshi staff piercing his neck. He continued swinging wildly at his assailants, knocking one of the Monarch's guards into a wall. The sentinel landed with a harsh sound, and the Monarch could see him clutching a likely-broken arm. With a massive impact, the Akiamu fell to the ground, clutching at his bleeding throat. The guard whose staff was still embedded in the goliath's throat - Kuatrinas - pulled the weapon out from their foe with a disdainful look, and wiped the blood off of the tip. Point Three, knocked onto its back at some point, rolled upright on all fours.

And that just leaves the Ihidauri… the Monarch thought, looking towards the two guards that remained in combat with the stubborn, ivory-armored opponent. Both the Monarch and the Ihidauri knew the fight was over, but he was surprised to see the Ihidauri continuing anyway.

Hmm. Surrender is not in our blood, the Monarch considered, as he saw Volto Rojo drive the tip of their staff into their foe's thigh. The Ihidauri faltered, falling to the ground, still attempting to defend himself with his small makeshift knife. Stepping forward, the Monarch extended an arm, and one of his guards wordlessly offered up their staff. The two sentinels fighting the Ihidauri watched the Monarch approach, and stepped back.

"You fought well. I am not predisposed to letting my enemies live," said the Monarch idly, levelling the staff on his opponent. The Ihidauri spit blood onto the deck.

"You old relic, you - you always gave us a bad name. And now you throw in with the Makuta. I should have expect-"

The Monarch raised the staff in one arm and struck the Ihidauri across the face. The being's entire head tilted back at an unnatural angle, and the Monarch could hear something crack. Throwing the staff to the ground, he strode over the prostrated form of the Ihidauri and kicked him several times in a fit of rage.

Taking deep breaths to calm himself, the Monarch turned, facing his team, along with the surviving members of the ship's crew: the Skakdi, along with a Matoran clutching a scratched throat. The Skakdi stared daggers at the Monarch.

"So…now what?" the orange-armored Skakdi said, realizing how outnumbered he was.

"Relax. I'm not here to kill you. I would have thought that obvious by now."

"Then what's the game here?"

"We want to help you."

"Help me?"

"There are hundreds of angry slaves running around this ship right now, looking for the bridge. If they get there first, they'll hijack the ship, and start sailing it away from the fleet. If that happens, the battleships open fire and we all end up at the bottom of the sea,"

The Monarch looked out a nearby porthole at the storm raging outside.

"Which is a place I'd rather not be."

He turned, facing the Skakdi, who fixed him with an uneasy eye.

"Either I can kill you, make my way to the bridge myself, and seal it off, or we can all go as a happy team. The Kolhii ball is in your court."

The Skakdi stayed silent for a second, thinking.

"Now, I swear to Teridax, if you shoot me in the back, and you don't kill me, I've got a microkanoka for each of you," the Skakdi said, distributing holdout launchers to each of the beings present. Five Ihidauri plus the Monarch, a Matoran member of the crew, a now-conscious Layamat, and himself, totalling to nine beings - plus one Vahki.

"You can relax. We've got the same goal."

"Being around armed slaves doesn't do much to relax me," the Skakdi said, gritting his teeth. Despite his lack of trust in the group, he had agreed to lead them to the bridge in the hopes of fortifying it against attack. The group had wandered around the upper levels until the Skakdi had led them to a weapons locker.

"You don't have anything bigger?" inquired Mirmulla, and the Skakdi shot him a glare.

"Try not to upset him, we need his help," shot back the Monarch, setting the spined being's mind at ease.

"Alright. Follow me. It's only a short way now," the Skakdi said, moving down the corridor. With each member finally equipped with proper armament, spirits were highly lifted.

Inside the Monarch's head, however, plans were still brewing. It was hard to be two steps ahead of everyone else in a situation like this.

In silence, the group marched upwards through ladderways and around hallways. Every once in a while, they'd see spatters of blood or an unconscious figure, though they all quietly agreed that their objective was too important to stop along the way. After what felt like a lifetime, the group arrived at the bridge door - or rather, what had once been the door. A large amount of blood pooled on the floor outside it, along with several bodies of various species, both inside and outside the bridge. The doorway itself still smoldered, with a glowing red-hot hole approximately the size of a Toa cut out of it.

"Someone with laser vision, probably," the Monarch said, looking for Skakdi or Layamat among the dead. Poking his head inside the hole, the Monarch immediately ducked out as a microkanoka nearly went clean through it.

"I think there's a survivor," he murmured to the assembled team.

"Stay back!" came a shaky voice from within. It sounded both young and scared.

"Who do you think you are, shooting at me?!" asked the Monarch, as the Skakdi muscled his way to the front of the group.

"Helmsman Vehle. We're under s-security protocols. Nobody is t-to enter the bridge."

"Oy, let us in you idiot, I'm part of the crew!" hollered the Skakdi, banging on the door.

"S-sorry sir, orders are orders. Nobody is to enter."

"Whose orders?! Is the captain there with you?"

The Monarch peered through the hole and into the darkness, careful not to expose his head. He couldn't see anyone alive.

"Negative. The captain was r-responding to an emergency call when-"

"How about the first mate?" called out the Skakdi.

"N-negative. He's dead. But it was his standing orders-"

"If he's dead then you're in charge of the ship, you idiot! Let us in!" shouted one of the Monarch's sentinels.

"Look, we want to fortify the bridge against attack so that the ship isn't hijacked by the slaves. Does that sound like a good plan?" asked the Monarch, hoping that the being within would see the logic.

"Y-yeah, I guess."

"And we can't really fortify the bridge unless you let us in, right?" the Monarch continued.

"I… I guess not."

"Here's what we're gonna do. We're going to come in there with our hands up. We're six Ihidauri, a Skakdi, a Matoran, a Layamat, and a Vahki. If you don't shoot us, we won't shoot you. We help you get a proper door here, and keep the ship safe. Does that sound acceptable?"

"Hands up?"

"Hands up."

The monarch held his breath, waiting for a response.

"Fine. Quickly now."

The Monarch waved the Skakdi and the members of the crew onto the ship ahead of him. As he got to his guards, he murmured a quiet phrase to them.

"Menota (25) is not a place."

His guards looked him in the eye and nodded with resolve before entering the bridge.

"Point Three… come here."

POINT THREE - UNKNOWN

Seek: Log - 01:21:47

Viscon capture start.

.Designate: Follow/Guard.

..Hostile count = unknown.

...Advise? Follow command.

Command - Maintain sector.

.Command ID: err . newsubj . noREF . loc

Mobile. New area logged.

.Write - New Area

..Areas

...bridge . obj

Viscon. 1 new subject identified. Target status = nonhostile. Condition, light damage.

.Log as LVT

..Report position clear.

Err

New Command received

.Command - Engage/Pacify.

..Command ID: err . newsubj . noREF . loc

Disengage safety

…

Safety Disengaged

Spikes outgoing.

THE MONARCH

With a bang, the Microkanoka holdout pistol fired into the Skakdi's back, as the Ihidauri sentinels thrust their weaponry at their various foes. Within seconds, the Layamat, Matoran, and the Helmsman all went down. The Skakdi hollered in pain as he slumped over the control console.

"Bastard!" he shouted, whirling to face the Monarch. Suddenly, his eyes went dark as Point Three fired an unpowered Kanoka straight into his skull. The solid chunk of metal tore into his brain crystal, and he slumped over dead.

The Monarch reached down, prying the Skakdi's microkanoka holdout from his hand, and tossing it towards his guards.

"Here. He's got a Microkanoka for each of you."

A laugh went around his crew, as the Monarch smiled cruelly. His plan had gone off perfectly. Turning, he looked through the dead bodies on the bridge, until he found the one he was looking for.

"Kuatrinas. You can use Great Kanohi, yes?"

"Of course, my lord."

"Put on that Oroha."

BITIL - UNKNOWN

Bitil was having a terrible evening.

Although he and his ship, the Tyrant King, had made it through the Great Journey relatively unharmed (barring some light flooding), it was the general chaos that had struck the rest of the fleet that bothered him. He was so looking forward to taking control of the situation and demonstrating his potential for leadership that the fact that Gorast had been put in charge by simple virtue of being lucky and arriving before him felt like a robbery. It was criminal to him.

He had been looking for such an opportunity for quite a while. In recent months, he had advertised a campaign on Odina to Icarax as Matoran's play, and a simple task. Taking with him the 16th Panrahk legion, he had attempted to destroy the island via sustained barrage by both Rahkshi and shipboard artillery. He had estimated the campaign to last a matter of days. Instead, the remaining Dark Hunters dug into the very foundations of the island, settling in a network of catacombs and tunnels, sheltered from his guns. Left with no other option, he was forced to take the battle to land, where he sent ten thousand Panrahk into a maze of dark and cramped tunnels against a desperate and extremely skilled foe.

It had been a one-sided slaughter, and with almost half the legion dead or missing, Bitil was almost forced to concede defeat. It was by a last-minute stroke of genius that he was inspired to flood the tunnels. The canal leading into the center of the island was one of the largest and most costly endeavors the Brotherhood had been forced to endure in that universe, and day by day, new tunnel entrances appeared on the surface, letting the Dark Hunters ambush the workers, then vanish beneath the ground. His new plan was ultimately successful, however, to his great pleasure. A torrential storm of seawater rushed through the caves and tunnels beneath the island, and for the next week, corpses of once-skilled fighters drifted to the surface, bloated and waterlogged.

Returning to Icarax, Bitil expected to be lauded for his achievements. Instead, he had received the most severe verbal lashing of his entire lifetime for wasting thousands of lives in the effort of killing less than a hundred holdout mercenaries in a cave. Though he had tried to argue the necessity of such drastic measures, Icarax took great exception to his solution of turning the entire island into a waterlogged wreck, unsuitable for colonization or rebuilding. In Icarax's eyes, Bitil had taken the perfect location for a fortress with which to control an entire dome, and turned it into an unlivable swamp.

Thus, Bitil was desperate for an opportunity to redeem himself. Emerging into the storm, witnessing the carnage of hundreds of ships either languishing without power, sinking or listing into the sea, or crushed by the wreckage of further ships falling from the sky, he was elated. Finally, he thought, a chance to prove myself.

Then Gorast took command of the psionic network, and began to override his every order. The thought of her smug and infuriating tone made him want to fly over to her ship and cleave her head from her neck, though he dared not confront the madwoman himself. Instead, he had buried his rage for the moment, and followed her plans to the letter. Even now, marching to the ruined observation tower of the Indomitable - Icarax's preferred meeting location for the time being - he refused to look at his acid-green sister walking alongside him. He was, however, prepared to make snide remarks.

"How goes the evening for you, sister? I hope managing the fleets hasn't been too difficult," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Well enough. I have faith that the servants of our master will act according to my instructions, or die trying."

Bitil scoffed.

"Speak for yourself. Icarax's servants-"

Gorast hissed, and glared at the yellow Makuta.

"Teridax's servants. Do not forget that we are his instruments."

"Indeed, as you are so fond of reminding us. I see Teridax has not cleared the storm above, or retrieved our sunken ships from the seabed, or provided us the clairvoyance to avoid this mess altogether."

"Take care, brother. Teridax has had some reason to not crush you like a bug, so I suggest you display more gratitude for his mercy."

"It is an observance of fact, sister. If Teridax had come through the portal with us, I may share your point of view, but he hasn't. We are on our own for the time being."

Gorast seemed about to retort, though her words faltered. Bitil felt a flare of pride in his gut at having bested his sister. Maybe she'll shut up about our "master" for a little while, he hoped in silence. It was then that a cloud of shadow coalesced ahead; Chirox appeared at its center, having teleported from his ship.

"I hope you two are having a better evening," he said, with a sour tone in his voice. The two Makuta stared back in silence. Entirely unprompted, Chirox continued.

"Gallons - hundreds, mind you - of energized protodermis, spilling right into the water, and not a bit of assistance. Do you know how valuable that substance is?" he demanded of Gorast.

"Our ships are more valuable than your science supplies. Our assets are dying as we speak."

"Don't be a fool, Gorast, you've never cared about anyone dying in your entire life. What are you playing at? Have I made some grievous mistake to spite you? Or are you simply trying to express control in whatever way you can?"

"Maybe one of your Rahi made a nest in her cabin," Bitil added. Gorast did not seem amused.

"Chirox, you seem to be laboring under a delusion that I have the slightest concern for your equipment. It is your responsibility to support the Brotherhood in its endeavors, not the other way around. If you cannot find a way to make yourself useful with Rahi, or lack the energized protodermis to craft new ones, then find another method. But please, for once in your miserable existence, do your job."

Chirox's eyelights twitched. "I do not appreciate the lecture, sister. That material is priceless. Without a reliable source, the amount we have carried with us is all that we have, and you're letting it spill into the sea in gallons by the second-"

"No, I'm letting your energized protodermis spill. Other ships have safely guarded their supply and have no such issues."

Chirox wordlessly drew one of his hooked blades and thrust the tip near Gorast's throat.

"The experiments that I conduct have saved you each dozens of times over from the schemes of marauding "heroes", and you have jeopardized the fulfillment of my responsibilities for no reason. If you intended to teach me some sort of inane "lesson", then I find you to be a poor teacher."

Gorast did not flinch, instead opting to return Chirox's steely gaze. She let the sword rest under her chin for a moment, then finally spoke.

"Are you finished?"

Bitil could see Chirox's eyes flare, and he seemed as if he was ready to push the blade into her neck before the sound of a door opening distracted the two. Antroz stepped through the opened portal, Krika behind him.

"Icarax does not idly summon the Council. Put your weapons down before you embarrass yourselves further."

Angrily, Chirox stashed his blades under his cloak, and the three Makuta strode into the room. A thin layer of water puddled on the floor, and the group could see above them sections of the massive glass dome that once housed the observation deck now open to the air. Shards of glass hung like icicles, and the rain buffeted the ship. Despite the torrential downpour, Icarax stood facing the open sea, his back turned to the other Makuta. Bitil could see the edges of the Kanohi Aiykha, mask of Scavenging, poking from the sides of his head.

What happened to the Olmak? Bitil began to wonder, as a sudden nervousness gripped him. He did not dare to ask, however. If his fears were realized, it would mean catastrophe. He, along with the rest of the Makuta, knelt wordlessly, waiting for Icarax to speak. The Lord of Shadows waited in eerie silence.

"This is not Metru Nui," Icarax began. "Something appears to have gone wrong with the Olmak gate. I, for one, do not know where we are, or how far we may be from civilization. This is an unprecedentedly poor result."

None of the other Makuta spoke, waiting for him to continue.

"Thanks to Gorast's swift thinking, our fleet has remained relatively organized, and is making landfall on a nearby island. The damaged or the sunken will have to wait. This is the first solution to a long line of problems."

Icarax turned, finally meeting his subordinates' gaze.

"As you all may know, I had decreed early in our campaign that any who knew the secrets of forging an Olmak were to be slain, and any copies found were to be melted down and scrapped, leaving only mine remaining. This has served us quite well in preventing the spread of information throughout the multiverse - no universe yet has been prepared for our arrival. However… my own Olmak has been broken."

Icarax did not give them time to question him.

"The impact of the observation deck against the sea must have stressed an already-existing fracture, and half of the mask sunk into the depths. I have already begun retrieval efforts. Until such time as the missing section is found, however, we are stranded here. The survival of the Brotherhood is at stake. I expect solutions. Present them."

Sitting upon a large metal throne, Icarax propped a wrist under his chin and waited for his companions to rise and speak. So it's true, Bitil thought, thinking of the broken Olmak. Trapped…stranded…and with no idea where we are. Bitil's musings were interrupted by stirrings among the other Makuta. He could see Chirox about to spring forward, and immediately decided to cut him off. Now was not the time for complaints - now was the time for a plan.

"Brother, our main priority at the moment should be ascertaining our position, and the presence of any significant hostile forces in the area. The island closest to us appears to be populated - I recommend we launch an immediate assault, lead by myself, to blockade the locals and interrogate them."

A murmur went through the group, though he ignored it and continued.

"They represent both a valuable source of knowledge, and a great risk if they should reveal our presence to the rest of the universe before we are ready to begin waging war."

A cold glint in Vamprah's eye told Bitil that his brother would likely agree.

"I propose the opposite," came a voice. Bitil turned to see Antroz rising steadily.

"Until the fleet is back up to working condition, we cannot be sure that a blockade will be effective. If so much as one ship escapes, the entire universe will know where we are, and that we're not prepared for a fight."

"There are over two hundred ships-" Bitil began, but Antroz cut him off.

"In damaged conditions. Dozens are sunk, and even more will require drydock time to repair. Without one nearby, they are struggling already. While you certainly could blockade an island with the ships we have available, I would not advise it, especially due to our lack of knowledge about the area. This could be the Zakaz of this universe, and announcing our presence to all the islands of the Great Dome would be suicidal."

"This does not look like Zakaz, brother. It looks like one of the scum of the Southern islands."

"This is not a dome," came a psionic whisper from Vamprah. The entire congregation turned to face him, waiting for an elaboration. What in Karzahni, Bitil thought, confused.

"I have begun taking Arthron and Vothron readings of the surrounding ocean. Either we have arrived at the deepest point of the great dome, in which case we should be near Zakaz - which we are likely not, based on the lack of air pollution - or we have arrived somewhere without domes."

The Maktuta all stared, dwelling on the implications of such a revelation. They had never known a world without domes. Bitil struggled to visualize such a thing.

"Regardless, the storm has not passed, and Vamprah suggests we are in unknown territory," said Icarax, attempting to draw focus of the conversation back to critical topics.

"I've been meaning to mention that-" interjected Gorast. "The 42nd Rahkshi legion - I believe our personnel call them the Weather Report - are standing by. The entire storm can be cleared in a moment if needed."

"Negative," came a psionic whisper from Vamprah. "The storm conceals our fleets. Airships would be foolish to fly through this area until it has passed, and the rough waters will dissuade enemy ships. I advise we use the 42nd Weather Report to keep the storm in place."

Krika objected instantly.

"There are beings out there in those waters right now, trying not to drown."

"We have dispatched life rafts."

Krika glared at Vamprah.

"Needlessly dense, as always. Even with all the rafts we've launched, there are too many beings out there, and the rafts will have a difficult time getting to them until the water settles."

"We will not compromise our position to save a few drowning Oropi, no matter the number. I agree with Vamprah - the storm should stay overhead," said Bitil.

Krika seemed ready to continue the discussion, though he held his tongue, and quietly acquiesced to Vamprah.

"The storm stays. But what of the island?" said Icarax, after a moment of silence.

"Invasion is the only reasonable choice, brother. I recommend Rahkshi of Camouflage sweep the area while it is still dark, and disable any enemy vessels they can. We then move in with the fleet at first light," advised Gorast.

"Agreed."

"Aye."

"Aye."

Consensus was reached throughout the room, to varying degrees of faith. Bitil could see Antroz seemed wary of the plan. However, he did not much care, as he was personally far more angry that Gorast had surpassed him yet again.

"On the topic of the ships," began Antroz. "We should likely be prepared to use as many as possible for this operation, so that there can be no chance of failure. On that note - there are several ships that cannot participate."

"Why?" asked Icarax.

"Overloading. These ships are not designed to carry the entire Brotherhood on their backs - there are hundreds of thousands of slaves on board dozens of ships right now-"

"And many of them are undergoing mutinies as we speak. Even the ones securely loyal to us, however, are carrying thousands of Oropi," said Krika.

"Precisely. They are our workers, and our citizens. They cannot be carried into combat-" Antroz continued, before being cut off by Chirox.

"There is no room in this mission for soft-willed-"

"This isn't a matter of sympathy, brother; our ships cannot function at this level of overburdening. It is not a simple task to load ammunition into a gun when there are forty Matoran standing behind it. And the ships only carry so many supplies - rations and the like, of which they quickly will run out if we do not seek supplies. We were hoping to unload these beings within hours - not days - of the Great Journey. They must be disembarked."

"To the island? What, are we to simply throw them onto the beach?" questioned Bitil. Krika sighed.

"Do you see a better option? I will oversee the construction of emergency shelters as soon as possible, and conscript the slave corps."

"Perhaps I may help in some sort of farming, if your claim about rations holds true," murmured Chirox.

"Rahi will take too long to mature. The fleet needs food urgently," replied Antroz.

"I have a proposed solution to that, actually…" said Krika, taking another deep breath. Bitil narrowed his eyes - whatever suggestion he was about to hear was likely going to be quite irregular. "We have a substantial quantity of Ursare and Gawalai slaves at our disposal, and we are currently amidst a rather large body of water. I propose we offer them freedom in exchange for fishing quotas."

"Freedom? Are you insane? They're the property of Teridax, and they are-" started Gorast.

"Going to escape, unless they are incentivized not to. The Aquamarines cannot be compelled to fish, not with an invasion so soon, nor can they serve as guards under the surface. The slaves must be willingly and voluntarily retrieving fish for us."

Icarax silenced the brewing interjections of the other Makuta with a hand wave.

"There will be escape attempts. And there will be successes if we cannot properly keep watch of them below the waves."

"Yes, my brother. I estimate, conservatively…three in every ten," replied Krika.

"Do you find this number acceptable?" Icarax asked, seeming somewhat bored.

"Yes, brother."

"Fine. It is done. I leave the management of the slaves to you, though know that if your numbers are wrong, or if the Ursare become a problem…" Icarax did not finish his sentence, though the meaning was clear, and Krika nodded immediately.

"Brother…on the topic of freeing slaves. You mentioned mutinies?"

Krika drew a sharp breath, and Bitil was happy to see his brother squirm.

"Yes, a few ships are reported as undamaged, but have lost contact nonetheless. We suspect slaves took advantage of the chaos to escape and take over the ships they were on. A few have begun sailing away at high speeds, one of which was shot and scuttled by a nearby cruiser in order to prevent escape. The others are presumed lost."

"Not exactly true," came another psionic whisper. "A few of my Necrofinches are working undercover already."

"You have spies within my ranks?" barked Krika, surprised and outraged.

"It should not surprise you, brother. Regardless, I expect at least half of the rebel ships will be reclaimed by my agents. Additionally, there is one…the Good Intent. I have received a communique just this hour that a group of slaves single-handedly assaulted another group of prisoners who had taken over and sealed the bridge. They claim to have taken control of the ship, and are volunteering to return it to us in good condition in exchange for their personal freedom."

"Hmm. How many?"

"A handful. Maybe a dozen."

"Why should we not simply cut into the ship and kill any who stand in our way? I see no reason to negotiate with scum like them," said Icarax.

"With all due respect, brother, I see a valuable opportunity here. Rewarding slaves for their loyalty will undoubtedly improve the morale of those still in captivity - and morale is one of the things we desperately lack at the moment."

Icarax stroked his chin, and after a moment of silence, nodded.

"Get a team aboard the ship, and have them link up with whoever's on the bridge. Loyalty to the Brotherhood will be rewarded," announced Icarax. Bitil's eyes lit up.

"Brother! I formally request command of the acquisition team."