Chapter Eight

Toa Kopaka raised another wall of ice behind himself and Toa Pohatu, just barely stopping a rotted, clawed hand from grazing his face.

The corridors of the red star were narrow and winding, seeming to endlessly spiral inward no matter how far they'd traveled. It took all of each Toa’s focus to keep a sense of direction in these identical corridors, nevermind avoiding the shambling husks. Fighting the hostile creatures directly was out of the question, even if they no longer held the spark of life inside of them.

As the two warriors sprinted through the dark corridors, the atmosphere around them only got more and more oppressive — the lower they went, the colder it got, and the more technology had entered extreme disrepair. It was impossible to tell whether the dripping sounds were coming from the shattered pipes and tubes littering each hallway, or the rotting husks that were on their heels at every turn.

“How much farther now?” Pohatu exclaimed, rounding a bend.

“According to Jovan’s instructions, there should be a—”

They froze in their tracks. A horde of Shriekers was lying in wait for them.

Almost on instinct, Kopaka sent a blast of frost in their direction. As ice thickened, the undead creatures opened their mouths, and they began to shriek; the sound was like knives on the ears of the Toa, echoing down the halls even as they left the horde behind. Kopaka wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.

Mercifully, Pohatu finally spotted the stairwell door that they’d been searching for, just down the hall. He grabbed Kopaka’s arm, called upon his Kakama Nuva, and within the blink of an eye they were inside, with the Toa of Stone blocking the door behind them.

“Should buy us at least a little time,” he muttered.

They hurried down the dark stairwell, finally arriving on their destination floor. Grasping the heavy handle of the door, Pohatu threw it open.

What lay on the other side was not quite what the pair had expected.

Complete pitch black darkness.

Previous levels had some variety of light source — an overhead light, some consoles humming quietly on the walls with brightly lit screens, and so on. On this floor, there was nothing. There was scarcely even a sound, aside from the natural shifting of the red star itself.

Uncertain, Pohatu took a step forward into the darkness.

All at once, the hallway was lit with a cold, white light, as every overhead lamp flickered to life. Pohatu reflexively pulled his foot back, but after a quick look around, he saw no other forms of life.

“Motion activated,” Kopaka said, looking around the empty hall. “Seems there aren’t any of those Shriekers on this level. Let’s get moving.”

The two Toa began searching through the halls, their steps no less careful despite the seeming lack of life around them – indeed, perhaps moreso.

It wasn’t long before the pair finally spotted a unique door on the right side of the hall, isolated from any others. With a glance at Kopaka, Pohatu pushed the door open, and the two stepped inside.

The pair had found themselves in what appeared to be a junkyard of sorts, where assorted pieces and fragments of beings had been thrown and forgotten. Pohatu grimaced, remembering the broken state his own body had once been in after he’d been awakened on Mata Nui. Grimly, he wondered what use the Kestora would have for such a pile of leftover parts.

The Toa climbed out and started making their way through the room. As they did, Kopaka gestured to one of the junk piles where a complete Matoran body lay, albeit broken and disjointed. Its leg was badly mangled and its mask was covered in rust and soot. The empty eyes, which appeared to stare in the Toa’s direction, held onto a dim glow as if some part of it clung to life. But if by some twisted fate any portion of the Matoran’s brain was still active, Pohatu knew no words that could describe the miserable fate that it had fallen into, doomed to persist, forgotten on some junkheap.

“Is this where we came from?” the Toa of Stone asked softly. “Out of some pile of parts in the Great Beings’ workshop?”

“More importantly,” Kopaka returned, “is this where we will go when our bodies eventually break down?”

“We cannot let it end like this, Kopaka. Mata Nui trusted us. The fate of everyone on Spherus Magna — we have to protect them from this horror…”

“If we can find a way, brother.”

Silently, the two Toa stepped past the decrepit form and continued on their way. Pohatu gave one last somber glance back when what he saw froze him in his tracks.

The Matoran’s eyes had followed them.

It was sitting up to look at them.

Pohatu shouted in surprise, and Kopaka turned and gasped. The two could only stand stock-still as the Matoran tilted his head curiously at the pair.

“Wait… You are newcomers?”

Pohatu nodded.

The Matoran slowly, painfully rose from the pile and started over to them. Kopaka shook his head and cleared his throat. “Who are you?”

The diminutive figure smiled. “It’s been so long since anyone used my name that I have long forgotten it. I was once a builder. A builder of Toa canisters. Then I was an exile and a prisoner in the land of Karzahni. Now… I cannot say.”

“Wait a minute… You built Toa canisters?” Pohatu asked incredulously.

“Pohatu, this must be the Matoran Jaller spoke of,” Kopaka realized. He looked back at the Matoran. “I am Kopaka, and this is Pohatu.”

The Matoran smiled. “I recognize your voices. I prepared the Codrex for you in the world that fed the world. The heart that pumped fire.”

“Hang on, what are you doing up here?” Pohatu asked. “We scoured the universe for survivors. Everyone in Metru Nui was safely escorted out, including the Matoran of Karzahni. How did you not survive?”

The Matoran looked to the ceiling wistfully. “I have no name. Those who still had their names were said to survive. But none came to ask about me. It is just as well, however, as my coming here has allowed me to fulfill my mission.”

The Toa watched speechlessly as the Matoran walked between them, then turned to look at them.

“You seek the murderer of Tren Krom, and I am the one he sent you to meet.”

Pohatu took a step back. “You know who killed Tren Krom?”

Kopaka folded his arms. “Start from the beginning.”

The Matoran nodded. “Very well, but the beginning begins far earlier than you could know. It was long ago. I was at work in the Codrex when the Great Beings sent me to attend to Tren Krom. The Great Spirit;s mind would soon come alive. There was no more need for Tren Krom, and he knew it. He was a being of unparalleled power, yet even he feared death.”

“We believe a Toa of Air killed him,” Kopaka interrupted.

“Impossible,” the Matoran replied. “Only one creature would have both the capacity and the desire to kill him. Tren Krom perceived this Great Being and feared him — particularly when the latter stowed himself away as a biomechanical worker within the universe itself. And on the day of his launch, on the day Tren Krom was extracted from the heart of the world and imprisoned, he ensured that this Great Being could not strike him down without someone knowing. It was a dim telepathic link forged when we met that could span an incalculable distance. Just strong enough that he could sense my death when it came at the hands of Karzahni… and I could sense his when it came.”

“He sensed yours… and guessed you would have been brought here,” Pohatu concluded.

“Yes,” the Matoran nodded. “And thus he could tell people where to find me on the day that the old ruler of the universe was struck down.”

“So,” Kopaka said, “Who killed Tren Krom?”

The Matoran grinned sheepishly. “I… don’t know. His identity has been altered and his name changed. But I do know this—” he said quickly, seeing the Toa’s dismayed expressions. “I met him once. I recognized him from what I had known, for he let himself be processed in the realm of Karzahni.”

Pohatu looked at Kopaka. “One of Karzahni’s Matoran.”

That does narrow it down, Kopaka thought. Assuming this Matoran is to be believed. And he did know of Tren Krom’s death.

“This helps a lot,” Pohatu said, turning back to the Matoran. “And maybe there’s incentive there to kill Karzahni too. It was just Tren Krom’s luck that Gaardus and we came along when we did.”

“Very lucky,” Kopaka mused. He looked at the Matoran. “Travel with us,” he said. “And once we get out of this… place, we will get to the bottom of that mystery.”

✴        ✴        ✴

The Toa and their newfound companion made quick progress, leaving the junkyard behind and hurrying along a sector of Kestora laboratories. They faced no opposition but the oppressive walls that seemed to press in from every side.

“Kopaka?”

“What?”

“Why are there no Kestora in the Kestora sector?”

Jovan had fully prepared them to deal with the Kestora. While they were living, biomechanical creatures, and although Jovan had advised against killing them, he also informed them that they were little more than automatons maintaining a dying spacecraft. They were strange creatures with half-minds, lacking the autonomy or consciousness that those in the Matoran universe had been given. In some ways they were more machine than living.

“Yes, lots of Kestora normally,” the enigmatic Matoran said. “That room you found me in was the only safe place to hide in.”

“Why didn’t you escape and rejoin the other survivors?”

“It’s been so long since I lived with others… I could not bear it.”

Pohatu turned to tease Kopaka, but barely stopped before he slammed into his teammate. The Toa of Ice had frozen in his tracks.

The Toa of Stone followed his gaze. There on the ground, lying in a fetal position and shivering, were two Kestora. Far from the cold, rational, analytical Kestora they had encountered before, these two were babbling incoherently… and sobbing. They had not seen the newcomers, but even if they had, Pohatu suspected they wouldn’t have made any move to stop them.

“What could have happened to them?” Pohatu asked.

Kopaka stepped around a bend in the hall. Just around the corner, there were dozens more Kestora, all in the same pitiful state as the first pair.

“This station is one exercise in madness after another,” Pohatu murmured.

“This is not natural for Kestora,” murmured the Matoran. “Not natural at all.”

“Someone must have done this to them,” Kopaka deduced, “And that someone may still be here.”

Tiptoeing past the prone workers, the travelers made their way down the hall to a large set of double-doors. Inscribed above them in an ancient Matoran script were the words “Great Transporter.”

“We have not encountered the search party yet,” Kopaka breathed, “If they’re in here, there’s no telling what state they’ll be in.”

“Are you ready, brother?”

Kopaka nodded. Placing his palm to the door, he threw it open.

Inside, lying motionless on the floor, was Turaga Lhikan.

Standing directly above him was Lesovikk.