Chapter Seven

“That was too close!” Strakk barked, storming back down through the halls of the fortress. He looked up to see Takadox and Nektann, leaning against the wall and watching his entry.

“You saw how Malum tore through our forces!” he continued, pacing back and forth through the hall. “If the Shadowed One didn’t intervene, I could’ve been dead! He could’ve–”

“That’s enough,” Takadox interjected, swiftly whacking the ex-Glatorian upside the head. “Your ramblings have ceased to be amusing.”

From the corner, Nektann cracked half a smile.

Strakk stammered. “You don’t understand! First the Shadowed One picks a fight with Malum, then who’s next? The other Glatorian? The Skrall? How long until those Toa guys start banging down our door?”

Takadox rolled his eyes. “That is the Shadowed One’s plan, in the long run. Taking down his opponents before they come to us.”

The ex-Glatorian stopped. “What do you mean?”

Slowly, Nektann turned his head. “Yeah, what do you mean? For all this preparation, I still don’t know what the Shadowed One’s been planning. We’ve been capturing random prisoners, refurbishing old vehicles, and for what?”

“Well, it doesn’t surprise me that you two haven’t been let in on the plan yet,” Takadox said with a coy smile. “I, on the other hand, have earned his trust.”

“Oh yeah, with your days of seniority,” Strakk muttered.

Nektann rolled his eyes. If this were Zakaz, he would have ended both of these fools long ago. But for now, he was forced to put up with their nonsense. “Let us in on the plan, then,” the Skakdi said.

Takadox exhaled. “At this moment, our spies are scouring the jungle of Bota Magna, the last known location of the Toa Nuva. Soon enough, they will have been found, and he will lead a charge to attack them. It is his way of waging war.”

Nektann’s eyes slowly widened. The prospect of getting revenge on Tahu was something that had not left his mind once. If the Dark Hunters were planning to attack the Toa Nuva…

“The Shadowed One would be a fool to attack now, of all times,” Takadox continued. “Our forces are strong, but they are scattered and disorganized. Besides, Toa have a knack for overcoming insurmountable odds.”

Nektann snorted. “Who do you think you’re fooling, Barraki? The only problem you have with the plan is that you’re not the one leading the charge.”

Takadox simply shrugged. “Fine, I won’t deny it. Until the Shadowed One has reason to suspect me–”

A boisterous laugh from Nektann interrupted him. “Seriously?!” the Skakdi sputtered. “Your intentions are plain as day, fool. The Shadowed One already knows your intent. The moment you begin to enact your idiotic plan, he’ll kill you.”

A frustrated growl escaped Takadox. “Come, now. Don’t tell me you never thought of backstabbing the Shadowed One?”

“I wouldn’t be the first Piraka to try it,” he replied plainly. “And frankly, I like having limbs.”

“Me too,” Strakk murmured, then paused. “Wait, who doesn’t have limbs?”

Nektann began to speak, but stopped halfway, as his ears became attuned to the strange sound of pulsating energy, slowly growing louder and louder.

From out of thin air, purple wisps of energy began sparking around, swirling in a circle as they grew larger and larger. Like a whirlpool, they coalesced into a center hole, before a single hand emerged from within, its figure slowly coming into full view.

Stepping out of the dimensional portal, Vanisher stood tall, ready to report.

“Well?” asked Takadox, expectantly.

“I’ve found them,” the scout answered plainly. “They are camped out on the southern border of Bota Magna, staying with a local Agori tribe.”

Takadox furrowed his brow. “Well, that was fast. I suppose we’ll start planning our attack then. In a few weeks, our forces should be prepared–”

“You are mistaken,” Vanisher interjected, passing between the two. “The Shadowed One’s orders were clear. Now that I have found the Toa Nuva, we will mobilize at once. Malum’s attack has only advance things.”

Takadox stammered. “What?! I wanted him to accelerate the plan, not dive in headfirst! We’re not ready yet!”

“That’s too bad,” Vanisher shrugged. “The Shadowed One has faith in his forces.”

“But… That’s madness! He’s going to get us all killed!”

Vanisher smirked, looking back over his shoulder. “You, maybe. But some of us actually stand a chance.”

The former Barraki sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. “Nektann, can you–”

He paused, noticing that the Skakdi warlord hadn’t followed him. No, Nektann was still at the back of the hall, gathering his weapons into a bag.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Takadox demanded.

“I know where Tahu is now,” he growled in reply, sharpening his blade with a whetstone. “I’m going to find him, and finish what I started. It will be a fight with honor, something I won’t find here.”

“You’re not going to do anything,” Takadox corrected. “You are a Dark Hunter now. We operate as a group.”

“Shut up, Takadox,” Nektann said, and continued sharpening his blade. The thought of Tahu’s head resting on it was growing more tantalizing by the moment. The Dark Hunters were brutish criminals, not the type of proud warrior that Nektann was. His fight with Tahu would be his alone, he would not allow these misfits to interfere with it. As he reached for the whetstone once more, he paused, feeling a dizziness grip him. It was followed by the irresistible urge to set down his materials. It felt as though a gray veil had fallen upon his vision. Were those his hands sheathing his weapon? His legs that carried him away?

“You forget yourself, Skakdi,” Takadox spat, dragging his hypnotized companion by the collar. He shot a glare at Strakk, who raised up his hands innocently. Looking to the end of the hall, he spotted the last glimpse of Vanisher before he left through the door, making his way to the grand chamber. With a huff, he took off marching, with Nektann following mindlessly behind him.

“Wait!” said Strakk, doing his best to keep up with him. “Where are we going?”

“To see the Shadowed One,” he answered. “Hopefully, he will listen to reason.”

✴        ✴        ✴

I had it handled, a voice rang through Hydraxon’s head.

The jailer ignored it, continuing his march through the fortress. You could’ve let me stay, Dekar’s voice continued. I was doing well.

“You were sloppy,” Hydraxon muttered, “you would’ve gotten yourself killed if I hadn’t stepped in.”

Then teach me to fight. You know this body better than I do.

“I do. That’s why I’m in control.”

Why are you still here, anyway?

The jailer paused once more.

You said to leave. You said they’d end up in a jail cell either way, so it didn’t matter. How come you didn’t leave?

He searched for a moment for the right words. “They can help me capture the Shadowed One,” he at last replied, “they have some use yet.”

The voice in his head chuckled. I’m in your mind, idiot. I can hear your thoughts. We both know that’s not why.

He scoffed. “Then why did you ask?”

I wanted to hear you admit it.

Hydraxon smiled. This Matoran was stubborn, sure, but he showed resolve. He had survived this long, after all. Perhaps he had been too quick to write him off. “I stayed,” the jailer said at last, “because I owe these people my life. Without their help, I would still be in a cell.” He grimaced. “I owe you my life, as well. Thank you.”

The voice was silent, but Hydraxon could tell that this silence wasn’t one of bitterness, but of appreciation.

At the center of the crowd, Roodaka glanced back to Hydraxon, and watched as he muttered to himself.

He’s truly mad, she said to herself, but maybe that insanity can be manipulated. As dozens of machinations turned over in her mind, she grinned maliciously. It had been some time since she had been out of a cage, and there was so much that she had missed. Makuta had risen and fallen, the planet her creators had come from was reunited, and a new threat was on the loose.

So much chaos, she thought to herself. How best to take advantage of it?

Something jabbed her in the back, interrupting her thoughts. Looking over her shoulder, she noticed Tyrant behind her, toting his blaster in one hand.

“What do you want?” she hissed.

“You’re thinking about something,” he grumbled. “The only thing you think about is betrayal. So if you’re planning on stabbing this little team in the back, you’d best leave me out of it. I just want to get out of here, I don’t care about the throne.”

Roodaka’s lip curved upwards. Sometimes, the universe handed her an answer on a silver platter.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of crossing Hydraxon,” she whispered, her voice taking on a false tone of sympathy. “What I was thinking about was, who do you think will do it first?”

Tyrant frowned. “What do you mean?”

He had taken the bait.

“Well, who do we have here?” Roodaka asked. “There’s you, the one who tried to circumvent the Shadowed One at every opportunity when you worked in his employ. There’s the Krahka, a feral Rahi who’s good graces we just so happen to find ourselves in. Hydraxon, Dekar, who knows what either one of his personalities want. And then… there’s Lariska.”

Tyrant cocked an eyebrow. “What about her? She’s the one who freed us in the first place.”

“To what end?” Roodaka asked. “She craves the Shadowed One’s throne, just as you and I do. Do you really think she intends on sharing it?”

He seethed. The last time he had put his faith in Dark Hunters, he was abandoned to the depths of the Silver Sea. But trusting Roodaka wasn’t exactly a step up.

“What, then, are you proposing?”

Roodaka smirked. “That we owe no loyalty to Lariska. So when we see an opening… we take it.”

The voice within his head finally silent, Hydraxon moved to the front of the group, walking beside their leader, Lariska. “By the way,” he began, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Lariska shrugged. “Ask away.”

“I recall a bit about my captors who led me here,” he said. “Tell me, does the name ‘Shadow Stealer’ mean anything to you?”

“It does,” she replied. “He was part of our numbers for some time. Last I heard of him, he was sent to some remote island on a mission, and has been trying to make his way back ever since. Why do you ask?”

Hydraxon looked away. “Let’s just say he’s an old acquaintance.”

“Well, you’d better not let that get in the way,” she said. “I’m not too sure if I should try and recruit him or not. To be honest, I’ve never quite been able to figure out his angle.”

The jailer made a noise in acknowledgement. “What about you? What’s your angle?”

Lariska chuckled. “I don’t have one.”

“Everyone’s out for something,” he replied. “Money, power, I’ve seen it all.”

Her expression faded, and she turned her head to him. “What’s it to you?”

“I don’t care much about the others. The two Dark Hunters will end up in a cell, and I’ll have the Toa Hagah get Krahka to some sort of reserve.” He paused for a moment. “You’re different, though. A Dark Hunter with no loyalty to the Shadowed One. And it’s not your first time working with an Order member, either. I’ve seen your file. You and Brutaka lead a federation of criminals to recruit Makuta Miserix. Then, when Teridax took over, you joined Tahu and Onua in taking down his resources on Daxia. Like it or not, you’ve spent quite a bit of time on the side of good in recent years.”

“What are you saying?”

“That the life of crime doesn’t suit you,” Hydraxon said. “Your talents are wasted here. And I think you know it.”

Lariska raised an eyebrow. “Why do you care what becomes of me?”

Hydraxon smirked. “Believe it or not, I don’t take pleasure in keeping prisoners, it’s a job like any other. I’d much rather someone avoid ending up in a cell altogether. I see potential in you, potential that would be wasted with the Dark Hunters.”

“You two comparing knives up there or something?” asked Tyrant from the back.

Abruptly, Lariska stopped in her tracks, gazing up at the large doorway that lay before the group. “Eyes up,” she announced, drawing the group’s attention, “we’re here.”

As the group made their way through the doorway, the sounds of clattering and roaring became suddenly audible. Cages lined each wall, each violently thrashing from whatever lurked inside.

“Great,” Tyrant remarked, “another prison.”

“Not a prison,” Krahka said, “at least, not for you.” She inhaled sharply, making her way to one of the cells. Inside was a four legged creature, whimpering in pain. It barely fit within the confines of its prison, squeezing by just to move closer to the bars. Krahka shut her eyes, and turned away.

“It’s a Rahi pen,” Lariska said, her voice betraying no pity.

Roodaka looked back at her. “Just who are we here for?”

But Lariska had no reply, only striding forward, ignoring the thrashing and screaming of the imprisoned Rahi.

✴        ✴        ✴

Once they had lost Gatherer, the path forward for Ahkmou, Gavla, and Metus had been fairly simple. There was a trail of destruction leading down the winding halls of the fortress, one that had begun with the body they found upon entering. It seemed to be the natural choice to follow it, if not the safest one.

Now, they found themselves in a hall that was lined wall to wall with weapons. The trio traveled in silence, still shaken by the battle. It was easy to remember just how vulnerable they really were– one attack from a hunter had nearly spelled their doom.

But at least for Ahkmou, he couldn’t help but feel emboldened by his escape.

“Hey,” Gavla muttered, watching the Po-Matoran in the corner of her eye. “That was… that wasn’t like you.”

Ahkmou didn’t look at her, only nodding as he continued his way down the hall.

“What happened to just surviving?” she pressed.

He sighed. “You were in trouble,” he said at last. “I had to do something.”

She balked. “You had to save me?”

“You had my back when we fought the Vorox,” he said. “I returned the favor.”

“Well, thanks, I guess,” she said. “We’re even now.”

Ahkmou paused for a moment. As much as he had hated being stuck with Gavla, she had stuck with him when she could’ve easily left. He didn’t know why, but he felt compelled to do the same.

“Maybe so,” he finally replied. “But I’ll keep watching your back. We’re all each other’s got, after all.”

Gavla didn’t speak for a moment. This type of dedication wasn’t something she had heard from another Matoran before. She wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

“Thanks,” she repeated. “I’ll… I’ll look out for you, too.”

Following behind the pair, Metus silently wondered what it must be like to have something worth fighting for. Normally, he would have chastised the Matoran for acting in anything other than their own self interest, perhaps even giving them some advice. But he had seen how well prioritizing survival had gone for him in the past. Maybe these two had a point, he mused.

“How sweet,” Metus interjected, dismissing the thought. Looking to the wall beside him, he grabbed a powerful looking axe, and hoisted it over his shoulder. “I recommend getting some better weaponry, and fast. There’s not always going to be some mystery brute to help us.”

Gavla chuckled, and fetched a vicious looking dagger from the wall, letting her previous blades clatter to the ground. “Yeah, who was that, anyway?”

“Seemed more like a ‘what’ than a ‘who’,” Ahkmou replied, reloading another zamor sphere into his launcher. “Besides, I think I’ve got enough right here.”

Metus awkwardly eyed the sphere of energized protodermis in the barrel of the launcher, and put some distance between himself and Ahkmou. “Right. Whatever.”

✴        ✴        ✴

“So,” Shadow Stealer breathed, looking down at the mass of broken metal that lay on the ground before him. “This is what remains of Prototype.”

His journey had taken him to Malum’s cavern in the Great Barren, a place that the Vorox called home. But the pack had abandoned it, leaving it little more than a hole of rock and dust in the desert. Here, surrounded by the corpses of Vorox, he had found a fallen hunter.

Kneeling down beside the scorched and battered suit of armor, Shadow Stealer shook his head. The Dark Hunter wasn’t dead. He had been fused together from two beings before, and now, the energized protodermis had partly reversed that effect. Two different sets of armor were clashing with one another, leaving the poor creature in a miserable state of agony. But against the odds, Prototype would survive.

Of course, he couldn’t let that happen. This wasn’t the first Dark Hunter Shadow Stealer would have to kill, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Years ago, the Shadowed One had sent him on his first mission, to a place far from Odina. While he had initially joined the Dark Hunters in search of a sense of purpose, he quickly became exposed to the barbarism and destruction that they wrought, and was disgusted by it. As soon as he had completed his task, he began his warpath back to Odina, with a simple goal in mind.

Killing the Shadowed One.

The fall of the universe had interrupted his plan. With the people of the Matoran Universe scattered across the planet, and rumors flying that the Shadowed One had even died during Makuta’s reign, Shadow Stealer was left clueless as to the whereabouts of the Dark Hunters, or their plans.

After some time wandering this new world, he had found Gatherer while on patrol, and managed to convince him of his loyalty. He joined the Dark Hunter on his mission and followed him back to his fortress. Now, he had a way back into the Shadowed One’s compound, and a method to kill him.

But one thing had given him pause. On his journey back, he had a brush with a figure from his past.

Looking around the floor of the rocky pit he dwelled in, he examined the corpses of the Vorox around him. It brought to mind a distant memory, one he had tried to repress for some time. He had fought these warriors before, back in the early days of his universe’s construction. They had attempted to raid a Matoran village, but he and his fellow warrior fought them off. The siege lasted for hours, but at the end, the Matoran were safe, and the two of them stood victorious.

Hydraxon and Shadow Stealer.

Once more, his thoughts turned to the jailer who had recently been locked within the Shadowed One’s prison. Now, he was left with two missions. The first was killing the Shadowed One, that had stayed the same. But he would also confront Hydraxon, and find out just what his old companion had been up to all this time.

A pained grunt caught his attention. So wrapped up in his thoughts, Shadow Stealer had almost forgotten about the mess of parts lying on the floor. The pair of Toa were pushing away from each other, the metal conjoining their shared legs groaning as they tried to rip each other apart. They had evidently realized that there was not enough of a body for both of them to exist, and their survival instincts had taken over. They wrestled in a puddle of bodily fluids and mechanical scraps, fighting over the few organic components they now shared. Despite everything, they still clung to life.

Looking down with disgust, Shadow Stealer drew his blades, and put the two Toa out of their misery.