Postscript

“Where is he?” Miserix roared.

The trader staggered back towards his harbor shop. “I don’t know! He’s out! I… I can send you to his office for complaints–”

Miserix raised his bladed staff. Then he raked the weapon through the trader’s shop, activating his power of molecular disruption. When the dust settled, the trader was clinging desperately to the doorframe – all that remained of the two-story building.

Miserix reached out a single talon and crushed the doorframe. The trader dropped to his knees and whimpered.

“I will not ask again,” said Miserix.

Vaguely, Miserix noticed several Exo-Toa rockets strike his armor from behind. He made short work of the machines, but they had drawn his eye to something in the distance: a platoon of Rahkshi, rising from a certain point on the island and flying in his direction. And where there are Rahkshi, Miserix thought, there are Makuta.

Leaving the trader to crawl through the rubble, Miserix took flight and met the Rahkshi in mid-air. Their remains were still settling inside him when he landed at the base of the laboratory. Standing there was a tall Makuta, wearing white and blue armor and a Mask of Aging.

The Makuta of Stelt fluttered his wings, folding them behind him like a cape, and walked curtly down the stairs. “Makuta Miserix!” he cried, in glowing tones. “What a pleasant surprise to see you alive and well.”

Miserix scowled. “Vydak,” he snarled. “I am not here to play nice. I am here to kill Teridax… or, failing that, to see how long it takes to level every building on this island.”

Vydak laughed, but Miserix heard the quaver in his voice. “Kill Teridax? I thought no one would ever ask. Do you need weapons? Information? Whatever it is, Stelt can provide.”

Miserix leaned in close, smoke curling from his maw. “Since you have such a penchant for deals, I will strike one with you now. Tell me where Teridax is… and in return, I will not tear you limb from limb.”

“Knowing where Teridax is won’t be enough,” said Vydak, pausing. “He’s made preparations. However, I have a pl–”

Miserix slammed his staff into the stairs, burying it up to its hilt. The blade passed only inches from Vydak’s mask. “I only need one answer from you, rat. Where… is… Teridax?”

Vydak winced. ”Beneath the Coliseum, in Metru Nui.”

“You have supplied your end of the bargain,” Miserix said. “And as I am a Makuta of my word, I shall uphold mine.”

Vydak nodded, and offered a handshake. “A pleasure doing business with you.”

Miserix glared at Vydak’s outstretched hand with disdain. He remembered Vydak’s choice at the Convocation. The Makuta had waited as the room was split between Miserix and Teridax – no doubt calculating his potential profit from choosing either leader. As Miserix watched, Vydak moved along the room and made his choice.

“Of course,” Miserix sneered. “I must have forgotten my manners.”

Miserix unleashed his shadow hand. Shadow tendrils grabbed Vydak by the hand, pulling the Makuta off his feet and into Miserix’s waiting jaws. He was gone in an instant, leaving nothing in his wake, not even dust.

Around the laboratory, Rahkshi lowered their staffs and began to disperse, left to their own destructive instincts. Miserix paid them no heed. He felt a strange thought cross his mind – something about a mask?

As he beat his wings and flew north, he had already forgotten all about the matter.