Chapter Two

CRASH!

The metal pounded as Ahkmou struck it once more with his weapon. Taking a heavy breath, he examined the now marginally bigger dent in the wall of the van, and collapsed to his knees.

“This is hopeless,” Gavla chided, “we’ve been at this for the past hour, meanwhile Hydraxon’s been taken to Mata Nui knows where. Surely, there’s a better approach.”

“Well we can’t just sit here!” the Po-Matoran shot back, striking the hull once more. “It's getting hotter by the minute. We’ll either starve, or melt. Which do you prefer?”

Suddenly, the argument was halted, as the sound of claws scraping against metal echoed throughout the cabin. The two Matoran suddenly darted to the wall opposite of the sound, and watched intently. At first, nothing seemed to move, only the horrid sound echoing through the room to remind them of their imminent danger.

“What… what is it?” asked Gavla.

“I’m not sure. But I doubt it’s anything good.” He inhaled deeply. “They’ve probably come to scavenge the wreckage.”

“Worse,” replied Gavla, drawing her twin blades. “They’ve come to hunt us.”

As she said her last word, the pair jumped back as a dagger finally pierced through the metal wall and began cutting through, creating a bigger opening. The first glimpses of light began to make their way into the collapsed vehicle, only to be obstructed by the crimson eye of a feral beast. The creature hissed, and the blade once again dug into the metal, tearing the hole further until a clawed hand could reach in.

Ahkmou loaded a zamor sphere of energized protodermis into his launcher. “Be ready.”

Gavla scoffed. “As always.”

At last, the metal wall crumpled as the dagger tore it apart, and the Matoran found themselves faced with three bipedal creatures, with sharp fangs and stinger tails. Each carried a simple dagger, but none had attacked yet. For just a moment, the two groups stared at each other, unsure of who was going to make the first move.

In an instant, the lead beast pounced forward, and war was waged. The Matoran immediately scattered to either side of the leader, flanking as they struck at it with their weapons. The other two moved in, quick to defend their leader.

Gavla swiped at one of the beasts, attempting to warn it to stay back. The creature snarled, and shot forward its stinger tail, only for the sharp tip to be blocked by her sword.

“Back, beast,” the Av-Matoran growled, “or I’ll end it here.”

“They’re no Nui-Jaga,” said Ahkmou as he ducked out of the way of the leader’s blade, “that’s for sure.”

Another of the creatures groaned in pain as Gavla struck it in the back with one of her daggers. “Enough chatter,” she spat, exhaustion in her voice. She whirled around the creature and dug the blade in deeper, dodging its flailing limbs.

Taking aim, Ahkmou pulled back on his launcher, and a blast of energized protodermis struck the beast, sending it flying out of the vehicle. The creature writhed in the sand, before collapsing, lifeless.

From out of nowhere, a deep voice erupted, echoing through the vehicle’s cabin. The Matoran did not know the language, but whatever was said, the remaining creatures immediately halted their attack, and retreated back through the hole from which they came.

The pair of Matoran slowly rose back to their feet, each hand still tightly gripping a weapon. Before long, they raised their weapons once more, as another figure entered the fallen vehicle. This one was much larger than the others, clad in crimson armor and bearing massive claws. He stood only a few feet away from the group, and uttered something in an alien language.

“I thought Mata Nui used his powers to make us understand the language of the Agori,” whispered Gavla.

Ahkmou nodded. “He did. So… what is that?”

The hulking red figure turned his gaze to the Po-Matoran, seemingly having understood his whispered concern. He chuckled to himself, and took another step forward. When the Matoran raised their weapons higher in response, he did not back down.

“I apologize if I frightened you,” the figure said, this time in a language they could understand. “My Vorox were never going to end your lives, only capture you. I can see you would not have afforded them the same mercy.”

“They didn’t leave us much choice,” Gavla spat, raising her blade. “Explain why we should do anything different for you.”

He smiled, seemingly impressed by her bravery. “I would not blame you. But I had been told your kind frowns on taking life. I have no such restriction, so the fact that you still breathe is evidence of my grace.” With that, he whistled sharply. From out of nowhere, no less than six more of the strange creatures scampered behind him, lining up with weapons drawn. “But even my grace… has limits.”

Ahkmou quivered in silence, watching the two stand off.

“Who are you?” Gavla demanded. “What do you want from us?”

The figure grimaced. “I am Malum,” he announced to the pair, “and I want your kind out of my desert.”

Reaching his breaking point, Ahkmou fired another zamor sphere at the hulking Malum. The warrior thought quickly, catching the sphere in his claw, but skidding back a few feet from the impact.

“Idiot!” Gavla chided, and smacked the Po-Matoran in the gut.

Malum admired the orb of energized protodermis resting upon the clawed tips of his weapon. “Fascinating,” he muttered. “We fought for this substance for so long. Destroyed our planet in the process. And here you are, firing it off as though it grew on trees.” With a roar, he chucked it back, not striking either of the Matoran, but colliding with the metal wall behind them. It began to groan and shake, and the ruined vehicle began to crumble.

Now, Malum stood between the two Matoran, and a collapsing hunk of metal. “You have tested my patience, and I am once again extending mercy. Now, I offer two options. Come with me, or face your grave in the desert.”

The Matoran looked to each other quickly, haunted by the groaning of the metal wreckage. The collapsing vehicle forced their decision quickly, and the two darted out into the desert, straight into the captivity of half a dozen hunters. The creatures were quickly able to restrain them, and forced the weapons out of their hands.

Ahkmou squirmed in the grip of the scorpion-like creature. “What are you going to do with us?”

Malum grimaced. “You’ll see soon enough.”

✴        ✴        ✴

For many millennia, the people of Bara Magna struggled to survive in an unforgiving desert. The sun was hot, the air was dry, and the wildlife was deadly. Vorox, Skopios, Sand Stalkers, and countless other creatures stalked the dunes, hunting for the next meal. It was a desert of danger, and those who wandered too far from their village without preparation would be risking their life.

If, somehow, one did survive a trek into the desert, they would find a parched wasteland of heat and sand. Venturing off the beaten path was asking for trouble, risking an ambush from Vorox in a place where no help would ever arrive.

And if one survived that long, they would enter the home of the Vorox. A massive cavern in the center of the desert, swarming with ferocious beasts. A place where one’s strength in combat is all that matters, with no mercy for the weak.

This place was the domain of Malum, champion of the Sand Tribe, chief of the Vorox.

As the crimson armored warrior made his way through the desert, approaching his homeland, he frowned. Since the two metal giants fought in the sky, the planet he had a hand in destroying all those years ago was restored. Maybe at some point, this would have been something he would celebrate. His old home, finally reunited. A wellspring of resources, the need to fight for survival no longer existing. What’s more, the creations of the Great Beings had come to live among the Agori, coexisting in one happy society.

But for Malum, all he saw was that his desert was smaller. His people were pushed into a cramped space where they were no longer able to rule by right of strength. He was a conqueror in a world that no longer wanted conquest.

And these machines, he thought as he marched forward, they’ve almost entirely-

“Hey!” one of the machines spoke up, being marched along by one of Malum's Vorox scouts.

At once, Malum turned around, meeting the blue armored being eye to eye. The other Vorox stopped marching, forcing the others to watch. “Yes?” Malum asked, with a false mask of patience.

“Where are you taking us? We’ve been walking through the desert for hours.” The being squirmed in the grip of the Vorox.

Malum closed his eyes, and chuckled. Saying nothing, he turned back, and continued marching. The Vorox were quick to follow, dragging the infernal creations of the Great Beings along with them.

✴        ✴        ✴

No matter how much he tried to forget it, Metus couldn’t get the image out of his mind. A bright light, a creature beyond imagination. Nightmarish entities manifesting from out of nowhere, descending like a storm upon a fortress of vicious warlords from another world. A wave of sea creatures crashing onto the shore in a wave of crimson fury.

Ever since his most recent brush with death, one fact was undeniable. The tales of the dreaming plague were true, and he couldn’t stop worrying about what other legends would turn out the same way.

He never could run from the fear that lurked in his own mind.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps echoing from above, followed by several more scampering by. It was a sound he recognized all too well. Shortly after he had retreated into the desert, he had been dragged away by a swarm of Vorox, and brought into the captivity of Vulacnus’ former Glatorian, Malum.

As the crimson armored figure marched forward, he paid little mind to Metus, watching over the pit the Agori rested in with little care. Close behind him, the Vorox marched along, only moving close to the pit to deposit the spoils of the most recent hunt.

From above, two figures fell. One clad in tan and black, the other in gray and blue, the two hit the sandy floor with a grunt.

It didn’t take long for Metus to recognize the newcomers. He didn’t know them personally, but they were clearly not Agori. No, these were the creations of the Great Beings that had made their way onto the planet.

“Hey, welcome in,” the Agori said nonchalantly. “More the merrier. I’m Metus.”

The blue figure slowly looked up, and met the eyes of the Iconox Agori. “Great,” she sighed, “we’re stuck with the traitor.”

Metus sighed, lying back down on his back. It seemed the word of his betrayal had traveled fast to the newcomers.

The one in the black mask squinted at him. “Right,” he said, “one of the Ice Glatorian told me about you. Said that you sold out your people for a profit.”

Metus rose to a sitting position with a huff. “Not that you care, but I’ll have you know I’m not just a traitor, I-”

“You’re right,” said the blue armored figure, “we don’t care. All I need to know is what we’re doing in this cave.”

“I’d be happy to tell you all.”

From up above, Malum grinned. “You’re hostages. Your precious Toa will come to save you, and I will give you back to them. In return, my desert, and my people, will remain independent of your pitiful new society. Until then, you will stay here.” His mouth curled into a wicked smile. “As my guests.”