Chapter Twelve

It was over.

The Shadowed One slowly opened his eyes, and looked upon the remains of his empire. His airship had been reduced to little more than scrap metal discarded in the desert sands. Sentrakh lay beside him, clearly battered from the crash, but not yet dead. In truth, he wasn’t sure his bodyguard could die. Regardless, it was clear the creature would be no help to him now.

The rest of the Dark Hunters, those who hadn’t perished in the battle, had seemingly fled the scene, some of their vehicles still visible driving away in the distance. What should have been the Shadowed One’s greatest triumph, now ended with his organization scattered to the wind.

As his gaze turned to the foot of the mountain range, it occurred to him just how close he had come to succeeding. The weight of his defeat began to wash over him, leaving him silent and emotionless.

So distraught with his own failure, he almost didn’t notice the dagger pressed against his back.

“Lariska,” he said weakly. “So. You’ve come to put this old man out of his misery.”

Lariska betrayed no emotion. “It’s been a long time coming. Don’t act like you weren’t expecting it.”

The Shadowed One turned his head. Behind Lariska, he could see Metus and Krahka working to bind Sentrakh in chains, while Malum hauled Strakk over his shoulder. Hydraxon towered over them, watching the Shadowed One expectantly. “I was,” he finished. “And I never doubted it would be by your hand.”

“Good,” she said, and extended her hand. “Now, where’s the virus?”

“It’s gone,” he said, procuring a handful of glass shards from between his armor plates. “Shattered upon impact.”

Lariska frowned. She wasn’t sure whether to believe him, but it would be easy enough to search him and determine if he was lying. For all she could tell, the Shadowed One’s trump card was truly gone. He was powerless.

Well, almost. In her right hand, she held a zamor launcher, loaded with a glowing blue sphere that Metus had handed to her. Slowly, she raised the weapon, and stared down the sights at the Shadowed One.

Her former master chuckled, slowly charging beams of energy in his eyes. “You won’t kill me,” he sneered. “You don’t have it in you.”

Lariska stared on blankly. “You’re right. I don’t.”

With that, she fired her weapon, and the Shadowed One was struck with a wave of blue energy.

“What… have you done?” the Shadowed One croaked, feeling weaker already. The energies charging in his eyes slowly dwindled, despite his attempts to summon them once more.

Clenching her fist, Lariska felt a surge of energy rush through her, a symptom of the Shadowed One’s strength growing within her. She reached out, grabbing her former master by the neck and gently tightening her grip. The Shadowed One was powerless. She could kill him here and now, and it would finally be over.

But as she looked down at her former master, she saw only what she feared becoming. Another warlord scrambling for control on Spherus Magna, lurking in the shadows and hiding. She would be the heir to a legacy of betrayal and subterfuge.

And in the end, she would be just as powerless as the Shadowed One now was.

“You have nothing to offer me,” she said at last, releasing her grip. “Your empire is a scattered collection of petty thieves and rejects. I don't want it.” She kicked him down. “You have no power. Not over me, or anyone else.”

She rose to her full height, standing over the Shadowed One. Even beyond the added strength from the zamor sphere, she felt much more powerful.

She felt free.

Turning back, she looked over to Hydraxon, who stared down at her with a pensive expression. “You left him alive,” he noted.

“Yeah,” Lariska replied. “He’s powerless. Is that going to be a problem?”

“Not at all,” the jailer replied. “But I thought you would’ve taken your revenge.”

Lariska chuckled. “Most Dark Hunters have some revenge story. You heard Tyrant’s, you heard Strakk’s… neither of them ended well for them. I think I’m better than that.”

Hydraxon nodded slowly. “I think so too.”

✴        ✴        ✴

Nektann was quick to escape the scene. Hijacking a cycle, he sped as fast as he could in the opposite direction of the caravan, leaving the chaos behind him.

There was no honor in abandoning the battle like he did, but he settled for his freedom over his dignity. The Shadowed One had failed, and he was completely unaffected. Free from Teridax, free from the Shadowed One, and free from prison, the Skakdi was truly independent for the first time in a while.

He would set his sights on Tahu next, and at last get his revenge. But first, he would need to bring an army of his own. He would need to regain the loyalty of his fellow Skakdi.

But if the rumors he had heard of a golden skinned prophet leading his people were true… then reclaiming his position was going to be harder than he thought.

Driving off into the endless wastes, he did what he could to ignore the thought.

✴        ✴        ✴

Before long, the prisoners were successfully bound in chains. Krahka’s strength had proven advantageous in keeping the three contained, but a zamor launcher in Metus’ hands served as additional incentive against any escape attempts.

Lariska had prepared to ignore any vile speech the Shadowed One would give, but to her surprise, her former master remained silent. Whether this was out of sheer shock, or simply because Strakk was complaining too much to get a word in, she chose not to care.

As they prepared to leave, Hydraxon spotted Shadow Stealer in the distance. The former Dark Hunter smiled, bowing in respect, before he disappeared into the shadows that stretched across the land. After all this time, the jailer was grateful to have made peace with his fellow warrior, and even more grateful to Dekar for aiding him in this.

Now, the group found themselves in an interesting predicament. Ahead of them lay the foot of the White Quartz Mountains, paving the way to Bota Magna. Behind them, the rocky flats soon became an endless expanse of desert wastes. Either way, it was still miles away from any civilization, and transporting the prisoners on foot was going to be more than a challenge.

“If only Ahkmou and Gavla hadn’t turned out to be such cowards,” Metus bemoaned. “And coming from me, that’s saying something.”

Malum snorted with laughter as he hoisted Strakk over his shoulder. “I have wandered the wastes for more than a year now. Bota Magna once seemed unreachable, but now? It is a few days’ journey. You’ll be fine.”

“Let’s get going, then,” Hydraxon muttered. “We’re losing daylight.”

It was just as the jailer moved to grab Sentrakh’s chain that the sound of a large vehicle traversing over the rocks caused the group’s heads to turn. Hard as it was to believe, the large, boxlike vehicle that the two Matoran had commandeered now was on its way back to the group, traveling over rocks and sand. As if in confirmation, Ahkmou poked his head out of the cockpit, waving his allies down.

Metus uttered a curse under his breath as the pair of Matoran disembarked, walking up to greet Hydraxon.

“Metus told me you two had abandoned us,” he growled.

“We did,” Gavla reported awkwardly. “But we figured you could use a ride.”

“Plus, avoiding the blast meant that the vehicle made it out unharmed,” Ahkmou added, patting the side of the craft. “There should be plenty of room in here.”

Hydraxon shut his eyes for a moment, before shaking his head. “You’re not off the hook yet. But for now… I’m glad that you chose to return.”

Another string of curses escaped Metus’ mouth, before Hydraxon placed a hand on the Agori’s shoulder.

“Perhaps, in the future, you could learn from Metus here,” the jailer continued. “Without him, the day would have been lost.”

Ahkmou timidly looked down at his feet. “Yes, sir.”

“One last thing,” Lariska interjected. “Did either of you see any sign of Roodaka on your way here? She was riding the Kardas Dragon when it went down.”

Gavla scoffed. “Only her corpse. Her and the dragon were laying in a crater, no sign of any life.”

A hum came from Krahka’s direction. “The dragon’s fate brings me no joy, but that witch’s death has saved the lives of countless Rahi. Too many already have suffered at her hands.”

“That about settles it, then,” Hydraxon grunted. “Let’s pack up the vehicle and head out.”

The Av-Matoran turned to see Malum, still hoisting Strakk over his shoulder. “Will you come with us?” she offered. “I’m sure your aid in this fight could help you to argue for your tribe’s independence.”

Malum deliberated only for a moment. “No, I don’t think I will,” he said at last. “I have long since yearned to see the green of Bota Magna once more, but my place right now is with my tribe. My arrogance cost them many lives, and it is a debt I must repay. Besides, I’ve already been away for too long.”

“I understand. Regardless, I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you,” Hydraxon said.

Malum gave him a rare look of gratitude, before pushing the bound Strakk towards him. “Make sure he’s taken care of. He’s a coward, but I’m sure you could still find some courage in him.” He chuckled softly. “After all, you’ve managed to find it within the rest of them.”

As Hydraxon watched Malum turn back to the desert, he realized that the exile was right. Lariska, Metus, Ahkmou, Gavla, and even the Krahka had all once betrayed the forces of good. But today, under his command, they all fought together for a common goal.

And that much was something worth celebrating.