Chapter Twelve

For Artakha, the fight against the Vorox was not off to a good start.

Under Helryx's tactical supervision, Artakha and the Agori had erected camouflaged traps and defenses far enough outside the jungle tribe's village outskirts to hopefully spare the village damage and surprise the Vorox in ambush where they didn't expect one. Preparations had proceeded well, although the jungle tribe's wariness of the newcomers and their aversion to advanced technology didn't help.

Then disaster struck. As the warriors awaited, Axonn had spotted a tan vehicle with two riders – one red and one black – flying through the trees mere yards from their position and vanish into the overgrowth, in the direction of the Vorox column. Moments later, a signal went up from Kapura: the Vorox had flanked them and attacked the village directly, carrying off Agori in fearsome war machines. With roars, the mighty defenders charged after them.

Artakha had started after them as well, but a blast exploded ahead of him. The whir of a vehicle was sounding through the trees, and in a blur the tan chariot swerved in front of him, blocking the path.

“Be warned, rider,” Artakha growled. “I will not be impeded.”

The red rider said something, but Artakha couldn’t understand him. But then he and his black-armored companion smiled, and the red rider nodded at something behind Artakha.

Artakha whirled. Standing on the path behind him, almost comically small beside the titan, was a Po-Matoran.

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The three Toa, Jovan, Mavrah, and the Canister crafter hastened through the halls of the red star, wasting no time. Along the way, they passed a number of fallen Kestora, and though the Toa heard Shriekers behind them, none were able to catch up. Guardian had insisted on buying them time, and oddly enough, he seemed to find satisfaction in such a noble, if doomed pursuit.

“The airlock is down this corridor,” Jovan explained hurriedly. “An access point to the station’s controls isn’t far, and we will stabilize the station as much as we can as you are ejected. Follow the plan.”

“How will you get to it?” Pohatu asked. “Can you break past the Shriekers if we’re in here?”

“We’ve waited 1,000 years for our deaths to mean something,” Jovan said grimly. “Watch and see.”

“Better to die for this cause than to wither in these rotting bodies,” Mavrah agreed. “And we died once already.”

The Toa Nuva looked at them incredulously, but their faces were set with grim resolve. Even a glance at the canister-builder showed the same certainty.

“Your sacrifice will not be in vain,” Kopaka vowed. “We swear it.”

“Is there anything we can say to anyone on the planet below?” Pohatu asked.

The survivors exchanged glances.

“Nothing to say,” the Av-Matoran mused. “No, nothing to say.”

“There was once a Metru Nui Archivist named Whenua,” Mavrah said. “He was a Toa last I saw him. Tell him… Tell him that I’m sorry. And that he still needs a bath. He’ll understand.”

“We know Whenua,” Pohatu said. “And we know that he forgives you.”

“If you see the Matoran I guided on the southern continent… Well, don’t tell them what happened to me,” Jovan said. “Just see to it that they’re cared for.”

The Toa Nuva nodded.

“Very well,” Kopaka said. He turned slowly to the Toa of Air. “Lesovikk… what you are about to do—”

“Don’t try to stop me,” the Toa of Air said firmly. “You know this is the only way. Velika says it was my team’s destiny to die. But I’m making my own destiny.”

Turaga Jovan looked at Lesovikk. “Brother…”

And then the Toa of Air did something that no one in living memory had ever seen: he smiled.

“I’ve been dead all my life,” he said. “Now in death, I too will live.”

Pohatu started to protest, but Kopaka, stone-faced, placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Jovan nodded. “Then we’re decided. Hurry, Toa Nuva! We haven’t much time.”

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“I didn’t oversee your death before, Artakha,” Velika frowned, running his hands along a Vorox blade. “That was an oversight.”

“You were the one who tried to kill us at the fortress,” scowled Artakha. “I see it in your mind.”

The Po-Matoran turned.

“When swallowing Knowledge Crystals, the Frost Beetle may learn more than he bargained for,” he smiled.

His eyes narrowed as his mind’s eye shot back to specific, recent memories. At first Artakha’s countenance betrayed confusion. Then fear. Then rage.

“My brother!” he roared. “Karzahni was my responsibility!”

“He was my creation,” Velika shrugged, waving. As if stopping a faucet, Artakha’s telepathy ceased. He tried teleporting away, but that power was gone too.

“So was Tren Krom. So also your companions,” Velika continued. “But the engine built so specifically for one machine cannot be repurposed for another. I can take or leave the lives of others, but you in particular must die. Nor could the red star be allowed to hang, for whoever claims it would stand among the powers that be.”

There was only one path, then.

“Karzahni’s life was not yours to take,” the biomechanical titan snarled, his grip tightening on his warhammer. “You yielded that right the day you awakened us.”

“It is mine, just as the Toa Nuva’s are mine,” Velika shrugged. “Or… were, I should say, in the case of Kopaka and Pohatu. And they sent their regards.”

With a roar, Artakha lunged forward. With a grim smile, a Great Being prepared to meet him.

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Three airborne vehicles crested above the forest canopy, the mayhem visible far below.

Their pilots exchanged glances, then shot off in three directions. Gali’s Rockoh bore down, spraying fire at the ground beneath the Vorox’s feet, blasting mud and debris in every direction and disrupting their formation. Tahu leveled the Jetrax’s blasters at the Thornatus, pursuing it into the jungle. Onua’s Axalara, meanwhile, flew low through the branches until he spotted several familiar Kanohi. He glided down and landed.

Several yards away, in a clearing leveled by the fight, Kapura and Hafu were firing slingshots as Axonn and Brutaka fended off two Vorox war machines. Not far away, Velika stumbled out of the forest and into the clearing, his gaze intent on the two mighty warriors.

Onua frowned. He had no clue how the five individuals had arrived here, but he wasn’t going to question it. Nor would he fail to safeguard those he was sworn to protect.

“Hafu! Kapura! Velika! Climb onto the Axalara and stay there! We will take you to safety.”

The three Matoran exchanged glances and climbed aboard the vehicle. Kapura and Hafu didn't know where the third Matoran had come from, but as Onua seemed to know him, it seemed clear to them that the Nuva had brought him. For his part, Onua assumed Brutaka and Axonn had somehow brought him from Voya Nui.

All of this suited Velika quite well. Onua would bring him to Axonn, Brutaka, and the others, and they would be dealt with. But the most important target had been struck down. And as he waited aboard the Axalara to be flown back to civilization, he knew that they wouldn't suspect him until it was too late.

Nobody ever did.

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Lesovikk flew as fast as his mask’s borrowed power would allow, but it wasn’t enough. He thought of the Rahi Nui, and its power to increase weight – then he plummeted, sinking past the red star’s falling hull.

All this time, he had been gathering his energy. His armor glowed green as he struggled to hold it in, waiting for the right position.

Finally, he dropped below the star’s red haze. With a sliver of his stored power, he altered his direction, aiming directly below. Finally, Lesovikk looked up to see the red star squarely above him… and released his nova blast.

The atmosphere warped around him, strengthened by unfurling elemental energy. The sudden cloud of air lashed against the red star, abruptly slowing its descent. Flames erupted from its hull, and the red star shrieked.

Lesovikk hung upside down in the air. The lush, green ground was high above his head. Below was a falling star, slowed but not yet stopped. That would soon be someone else’s problem.

His job was done; his energy spent. Lesovikk leaned his head back, released his mask power, and smiled.

I’ll see you soon, Nikila.

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All across the chaos of Spherus Magna, the villagers were startled by the sound of a loud explosion in the sky above. Thousands of pairs of eyes widened in shock, settling on a blinding crimson fireball rolling into the evening sky.

A concussion ring the size of a continent roared outwards. The Matoran and Agori on the ground clung to whatever they could as they tried to frantically keep their balance. As it met the resistance of the upper atmosphere, the structure of the red star buckled and splintered, fragments breaking free of their fastenings after millennia of cosmic pressure. A furious burst of orange flame ripped the satellite apart, engulfing the entire structure and sending colossal chunks of metal careening off in different directions. The shockwave hit the Bota Magnan hemisphere with such force that it tore forests of trees from their roots and flung them asunder.

The sound of the crash brought to mind disasters of old – the Great Cataclysm, or even the Shattering… The force of the blast sent anyone and anything that wasn’t rooted down flying, and aftershocks tore through the earth for miles around. What wildlife managed to survive fled in abject terror, away from the scene of the devastation.

Eventually, a thick, unnatural silence settled upon the impact site. Though the crater lay still, it was hidden behind walls of smoke and steam.

From the skies above, two warriors glided along its wake, one orange and the other white.

“Let it never be said that Toa Nuva don’t know how to make an entrance,” Pohatu remarked grimly.

Kopaka’s Akaku surveyed the shocked beings below until he saw, as stunned as everyone else, a Matoran wearing a Mask of Mind Control.

“There he is!” he exclaimed. As one, he and Pohatu shot forward.

Velika frowned. The two Toa had found a way to survive, which wasn’t unexpected knowing their programming. They still could be useful, but now was not the time to win them over.

His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar engine noise. And as he turned his head, the Thornatus shot out of the jungle and landed beside the Axalara.

“Hop on!” Perditus shouted.

Without a word, the Po-Matoran leaped to the fire Glatorian’s vehicle. And like a Thornax from a Launcher, the dune chariot zoomed away into the distance.

Pohatu looked around. The explosion had knocked the Jetrax and Rockoh out of the air, and the Axalara was too far away to reach. Activating his Kakama Nuva, he shot off in pursuit. But from his position, Velika spotted the Toa of Stone, and as he pointed in Pohatu’s direction, the Kakama deactivated. By the time the effect faded, Velika and his minions were long-gone.