Where There's Water, You'll Drown

We made landfall an hour later, and my captors brought us ashore–myself and two Matoran they had taken hostage in order to compel me, a Ga-Matoran and a Ba-Matoran. They had been kept below for most of the trip, despite my protest. I did my best to minister to them while Shuldak spoke with the Caraga. The three Steltaxian bruisers stood over us, waiting obediently until their employer returned. In the end, Eyrsuk stayed on the ship with the crew; some excuse about amending his charts. Shuldak barked laughter and called him a coward and "no true Phynaran", but left him alone. Finally it was time.

The staircase was still there, carved out of the strange metalstone. It brought back many memories; how my brothers of Stone and Iron had marveled at it when we first came there, had tested their powers against it…

We began to climb, and I was reminded that the stairs were not made for beings like us. Each step was a bio deep and almost half a bio tall: a staircase for giants. My joints are not what they used to be, and so the Matoran were obliged to help me up each step. They were both trying to be very brave.

My mind wandered as we climbed, back before the journey, back to my hut in the lower district of Metru Prynak, when all this started.

The clamor of the Great Port was diminishing, and I was retiring for the night. The knock at the door startled me out of a doze, and the crack of the frame splintering inward brought me fully awake. A figure crammed itself arm, head, and shoulders into the room and laid hold of me. I burned through its wrist with my plasma-fire, and it dropped me roughly on the pavement. I prepared to flash-burn my attacker's eyes next, but then I saw the other bruisers, and the two Matoran they held, limbs stretched taut.

"No more violence, Turaga," a voice said. "I have a job for you."

Shuldak had not worn the red markings then.

"Job?" I rubbed my bruised chest. "I'm as old and broken-down a Turaga as you’ll find hereabouts. My job is to ministrate to the Matoran workers and to lead the Amaja on the odd months. I’m fit for no better duty these days." I coughed for emphasis.

"The service I require is navigational in nature. You were a seafarer once, a traveler to far shores, I believe. 'Toa Triox and his brothers', the story goes. I intend to retrace your steps."

I stared at the Phynaran, considered lunging at him, trying to weld his smug smile shut. Maybe I could've done it, got away...but the Matoran would surely not survive. My duty was to them. And anyways, I was weak...

"That journey cost me much, Phynaran," I said after a few moments. "It was the last journey I ever took."

"Not the last, no. You’ll make one more. With me. To the place where you and your brothers ended the Void Storm, all those millennia ago..."

Up we went, and the sloped staircase took us closer to the wall of the world. Shuldak was ahead with two of his guards, and the third Steltaxian brought up the rear. We kept a steady pace, but not too fast, which I was grateful for. Shuldak was a patient Phynaran and very methodical, I had found. Even so, I did not fully understand his plan yet. 

When we came to the first landing, I began to understand more. The stairs ended in a wide platform carved into the slope. At the other end of the platform, the stairs continued. 

In the center of the platform, there stood a Titan. 

Solid as bedrock, clad in a mountain of gleaming gray armor. Two mighty hands rested atop the haft of an immense hammer. Blue eyes gazed upon us out of a strange mask.

I betrayed myself then, foolishly. I stepped forward and called out, "Axoss, it’s me, Triox! You must help me and these Matoran, as you helped me and my brothers before. We–"

A hand smothered me, and the Matoran cowered away from the bruiser as he lifted me into the air, covering my mouth. Strangely, the Titan did not move. I struggled feebly, got free for a moment:

"Axoss, quickly!"

"Hear me," said Shuldak, who I realized had advanced to stand before the figure. The two other guards stood with weapons ready, but the Titan wasn’t looking at them, nor at me. Shuldak was holding something: a round, flat stone.

"I bear this Tablet of Transit, of the Order of the Pridak," he said, speaking in a form of Archaic Matoric, "and I therefore have right of passage, both me and those accompanying me. Stand aside, warden, and let us pass."

No sooner were the words spoken, than the Titan was gone. Vanished into thin air. Shuldak turned to me and smiled very wide.

"Weren’t expecting that, were you, Turaga?" he said. My heart sank.

"How did you…"

"Recovery is my business," he replied. "Someone had to clean up all those wrecks from the Wars of Order, and wouldn’t you know, there’s a lot of treasure to be found. This though…" He turned the tablet over in his hands. "This is on an entirely different level of value."

"What do you intend to do with it?" I asked.

"That’s not important. What is important, however, is that trick you pulled. You didn’t mention a guardian."

A hand signal from the Phynaran, and the Ba-Matoran was lifted yelping into the air by one of the bruisers, arms stretched painfully tight.

"Any more information you’d like to divulge?"

I was beaten. 

"The guardian…" I stammered. "The guardian watches over the Opening, high above. She met us when we first came, and aided us. You have everything now, I swear."

"Hm…" Shuldak rubbed his chin. The Ba-Matoran cried out again, and I heard one of his joints pop.

"On my title as a Turaga, I swear it!" I begged. "There is no more. Please, spare the Matoran."

Shuldak looked at me, then nodded to the bruiser. The Ba-Matoran dropped, and I stumbled over to him. His arm was injured, but nothing worse. I welded the elbow-joint back together with a blast of plasma. It would have to do.

"Turaga," Shuldak said, tapping his clawed foot, "if you betray me again, these two Matoran will be flung from the top of the slope. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good."

We continued up the staircase, one laborious step at a time. The minutes blurred into hours. At long last, the stairs leveled out into a flat mesa which stretched inward, under the curve of the wall. Here and there, the plain was dotted with strange pillar-shapes and great piles of rubble, broken off from the wall above in ages past.

Shuldak waited expectantly. I moved to the head of the group and began to pick my way over the uneven ground. The two Matoran moved with me, to keep me from stumbling. Over my shoulder, I called back:

"A walking stick would be most welcome."

"Your attendants will have to do, Turaga," Shuldak replied. "Last time I gave you your stick, you nearly burned a hole in one of my guards. I haven’t forgotten."

"Yes, yes…"

I picked out the trail slowly, working my way back through my recollections. My muscles complained, and I was out of breath, but I went on. I had to do it, for the Matoran, though I worried still that Shuldak would not release them once it was over. Ah, I was tired…

Why had she not helped us? Many millennia had passed, but surely she would still remember. All throughout our journey here, I had staked my hope on it, and now...

"Turaga? Turaga, are you alright?" The Ga-Matoran was shaking me, her voice a whisper. Some time had passed, and I had dozed on my feet. The Ba-Matoran stood just ahead, stock-still. It was dim here, and the wall was much closer now, looming over us oppressively. We had just rounded the edge of a great heap of stones, I saw, and…

And the Titan was there again, just as before. Motionless between two great pillars she stood, not a stone’s throw away. Her blue eyes shone in the gloom. 

I glanced back. Shuldak and his guards were approaching, but they could not see the Titan yet. I chanced a hoarse whisper:

"Axoss, if you know me, then please…The Matoran and I are under duress. We are innocent. These others seek the Opening of their own accord. Test my words and know them to be true."

"Hush, Turaga!" the Ga-Matoran hissed. Impudent, but entirely deserved. Shuldak and his guards rounded the corner, and he fixed me with a quizzical look. I gestured ahead, and he saw the figure of the Titan. I waited to see what would happen…

Nothing happened. Shuldak stepped forward, drawing forth the tablet again, and spoke the same words. The Titan’s eyes burned in her face, and then she was gone again.

I cursed, inwardly, feeling fully betrayed by now. When my two brothers and I had come here long ago, stumbling beneath the raging wind of the Void Storm, we had encountered her–the Gray Titan Axoss–and she had been our guide. Through the terror of the hurricane, she had led us safely to our goal, to the source of the Storm. And afterward…when it was done…I–

"Well, Turaga," Shuldak said, interrupting my reverie, "that’s more like it. Although do I detect some disappointment in your face?"

"Not at all. I am here to cooperate."

"Much farther, is it?"

"Not far, no."

"That’s good! We have made good time–"

"Shuldak," I said hurriedly, "I must ask you something."

"Mm…I suppose I’m feeling generous. Ask, then."

"Why do you seek the Opening?"

Shuldak grinned slowly.

"Ah," he said, "the ‘Opening’. I heard you call it that. Such a Matoran turn of phrase. In the legends of my kind, it is called the Great Door."

"I have never heard such legends."

"Of course not. They are Phynaran, the secret seer-legends, from the time when our people ruled our lands and sought out every nook and cranny, before the time of the Oppressors." He spat out the last word.

My eyes widened. "You are a revolutionary, then?" I asked.

"Hah! Maybe…" A change came over him, and he began to pace, rubbing his clawed hands together. "I trust you know the history of the Barraki, Turaga?" he continued. "How the Lords of Order were raised up, and then how they betrayed Mata Nui and were destroyed for their arrogance?"

"It is no history to me, Shuldak," I replied. "I am as old as the Wars of Order are young. You must be fresher than I thought."

Shuldak’s eyes narrowed slightly and twitched. He continued:

"Well, that is only the simple Matoran version. Phynaran legends tell it different, and truer: How the Lord Pridak, our firstborn and the greatest of the Barraki, was elevated so far in his authority that he saw the shape of the world." Shuldak stopped pacing, and his voice fell almost to a whisper. "And in perceiving that shape," he continued, "Pridak saw also beyond the world, beyond the great barriers, and the knowledge he found there was so mighty, so terrible, that the Great Spirit himself trembled and was afraid. Then, Mata Nui’s goatdog Makuta, being jealous of Lord Pridak, rose up and slew him."

"Beyond the walls of the world…" I mused. "Shuldak, I assure you, that Opening will not grant you knowledge, and it will not bring back days of old. It is an endless maze of shadows, and…and the...and They–” My voice wavered, as it always did, and I shuddered, "They will not let you pass."

"I know of whom you speak," Shuldak said. "The Zyglak infest the walls of our world, gnawing at it, wallowing in their diseased flesh. But they are no Rahi. I know they listen to reason."

"You’ve had dealings with…with Them?" I blurted out.

"Hah! My business is recovery, as I said, and you will find that the deepest of seas are not uninhabited. How do you think I acquired this trinket?" He spun the Tablet of Transit on his finger. I had no reply.

"Well," he said, "I believe your question is answered. Now it’s time we made the last leg of our journey. Lead the way."

Through the dry ruins of stone, deeper into the dimness we trudged, and my hope was all but gone. Soon, we would reach our destination, and Shuldak would enact whatever insane plan he had in mind, and the Matoran and I would be of no more use. I was too weak and too old to do anything. My limbs ached, and the scars in the metal of my armor were starting to bother me again. Still, I led on, delaying the inevitable. The ground sloped upward slightly for a time, and then down in a wide scoop. There was the wall, as close as ever, with crags rising in layers up and over us, as if carved from stone with giant chisels.

And in that wall, there was an Opening.

Even at a distance, it could be seen now: a hole in the wall of the world. Perfectly round, boring straight back into darkness. I shivered with memories, memories of the last time I had stood there with my brothers, bowed against the terrible winds of the Void Storm which rushed endlessly into the hole, endlessly into nothing... 

Behind us, back in the real world, the skies had been in turmoil. Hurricane had covered the Continent and threatened to drown the islands of the world as the atmosphere was torn and devoured by the Rupture that had been made somewhere beyond that dark portal. That was why we had been sent there, through roiling seas and sheets of lightning, sent to alien shores at the end of the world. Just us three, sent to find and seal the breach…

Shuldak wasted no time in closing the distance. He took the lead now, and his guards jogged us along with him, straight toward the Opening. My muscles burned, and my breath came in gasps. The Matoran did their best to help, but there was little to be done. Finally, Shuldak called a halt. The Opening was straight ahead, across an open area flanked by a few cracked pillars. There was no sign of life here. No sign of the Titan either. I was perplexed. What could have happened? 

As we approached the Opening, my question was soon answered.

What from a distance had seemed to be just another broken pillar was actually the back of a gigantic chair, hewn from the gray metalstone, facing directly into the dark of the Opening. And on that chair there sat a figure. My spirit quailed, and the Matoran covered their faces in terror. 

Skeletal. A mountain of rusted armor, scarred all over, and now crumbling into dust. The immense hammer rested upon emaciated knees, its surface blackened by corrosion; a disease that I recognized…

Shuldak beckoned to his guards, who took up positions on either side of the chair, then he stepped forward carefully, tablet held aloft. 

"Warden!" he called out. "Can you hear me?"

Silence. 

He repeated the litany in Archaic, as he had before. Nothing changed. He peered up into the gigantic face, nudged a gigantic foot. Then, all at once, Shuldak laughed.

"It seems fortune is with us, my friends! Time wears down all wards. Even here, at the end of the world."

"It seems you have achieved all you set out to do," I said, stepping closer.

"Indeed, and you have served your purpose admirably–"

"I have. And now, honorable Phynaran, of the same kind and core as the Pridak himself, I charge you to uphold your promise to me, to release these Matoran, lest wrath seek you out."

Shuldak blinked, surprised, I hoped, at the ancient invocation of his honor. I had lived among the Phynaran peoples long enough to know it.

"It is true that they will be of little use where we are going," he said after a moment. "They may return to the ship, if they can find the way."

Without a moment's pause, I turned to the Ga-Matoran and Ba-Matoran, placed my hands on their shoulders. 

"You have done your duties well, and I thank you. Your valor is deserving of new names, and if I am ever again in Metru Prynak, I shall administer them myself. Until then, remember the path we have taken, and return to the sea."

"Turaga," the Ga-Matoran whispered. "Will you be alright?"

"I’m not sure," I replied. "But you must leave while you can. Go quickly. Do not stop."

They hesitated, glancing between me and the smiling Phynaran, then they turned and ran, disappearing up the path.

"Now, Turaga, I have another job for you."

Fear iced through me as I turned to the Phynaran.

"What more could you possibly require?"

"A guide. Of all creatures, it seems that you are the only one living who has walked upon the hallowed ground beyond the Great Door. You shall lead on as before."

"I can’t…I can’t go back in there."

"The Matoran are close still. My guards can bring them back if you continue to require motivation."

"No, Shuldak, I mean…you don’t know what’s in there. I’ve tried to tell you. If we go in, we won’t return. I barely escaped the...the Z-Zy..." I could not pronounce the name. "And that was only because…because…"

"Nonsense. We are well equipped for the journey, and as I said, I have certain experience with those that you so fear."

He turned away from me, away from the mummified body of the Titan, turned to the darkness of the Opening, and gestured for me to follow. Cold air washed over me as I took a halting step, knowing that I was going to my death. Shuldak took another step forward, then another, into the darkness…

Blue eyes opened in an ancient mask, and a voice rang out over the stones:

"Shol of Old Phynar, hear me," the voice said, and Shuldak whirled, eyes wide. The Titan had not moved. Only the eyes glowed dimly now.

"That name is no more," Shuldak hissed. The tablet was in his hand again. He waved it back and forth, trying to regain his composure. "Ahem, forgive me, warden. As you see, I bear this Tablet of Transit, of the Order of the Pridak–"

"I am bound to guard this gate," the voice boomed, "and to destroy any who cross its threshold, from within or without."

I saw Shuldak’s posture change. No longer magnanimous. "You are bound to follow the Edicts of Transit, from of old," he said. "By the Order of the Pridak, I–"

"I am a bearer of the Mask of Truth, Phynaran Shol. I test the truth of your words, and they are lacking."

Shuldak bared his teeth in an unpleasant smile.

"Why do you not recognize my claim?"

The Titan’s mask pulsed faintly. The tall blade affixed to the mask’s forehead hummed a high-pitched sound, dividing truth from falsehood. "I see your core, Phynaran, and through it. I see the world you have constructed to justify your belief. Old Phynar is no more, and the Pridakian Orders are dispelled. Your claim is null."

"I see." Shuldak stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "Forgive my impertinence, warden, but can you see me? Your eyes glow, but if I’m not mistaken, they are scarred behind your mask."

"I am a bearer of the Mask of Truth, and truth is sight."

"Well, my eyes tell a different story. You are old, warden, and much damaged, and there is rust upon your hammer. The Void Storm was not kind to you, it seems, just like your friend here." He gestured toward me. "Would you not rather rest and leave your burden aside, just this once?"

The mighty head moved slowly, creakingly. The Titan’s blind gaze settled upon Shuldak.

"As I said, I am bound."

"Very well."

The bruisers acted with surprising speed, hurling themselves forward at the stone chair, arrays of weapons sprouting from their arms. I fell back as a mighty sound echoed off the wall above, and the ground shook with the impact. Choking dust filled the air. Then, it was over. The dust settled, and the combatants stepped back. 

The stone seat was pulverized into broken rubble. Empty. A moment of bewilderment passed…

And then the gigantic right fist that swung down from out of nowhere caved in the head of the first Steltaxian, and the backhand which followed sent the second bruiser flying away to smash through a stone pillar in the distance. The Titan Axoss was there–the Axoss I had known. Still as wizened as the apparition that had sat before us, but animated now by the same grim violence I had witnessed when she laid waste to the encroaching Zyglak all those years ago. She was still blind, but it didn’t seem to matter. Her mask glowed with a revealing light.

The third Steltaxian roared and sprang forward across the rubble, and her hammer split the air to–

–I was being dragged by the neck, claws dug into my shoulder, feet skipping helplessly across the ground as Shuldak hauled me away. I could not even cry out. We crossed the space toward the dark opening. It rose up and over us, and cool darkness fell on my face, and all the horrible memories broke loose once more…

The black maze was filled with an avalanche of sound. Wind tore at our bodies like the teeth of an animal. Desperately, my brothers and I had searched down the winding passageways and through empty vaulted corridors, harried always by the rage of the Void Storm…and the hateful eyes of those who had caused it.

Axoss was lost. She had been with us for most of the maze, but then They had finally caught up. Out of the dark They had sprung, and They hated her most of all.

"Flee!" she roared as the Zyglak overran her and blue lightning crackled from her fists and from the head of her hammer. We fled, turn after turn after turn in the mindless dark, until finally, we emerged into a great honeycombed place, vast beyond belief.

And we found it there–

Shuldak had me under his arm now. He was clattering down the passageway, and the light from the outside world was growing smaller. He was taking me back, back into the black maze. I would not go back. My arms hung limp at first, but not anymore. His knee swung past my hand, and when it returned for the next step, it met the plasma-torch of my outstretched fingers.

He screamed and dropped me to the ground, cursing and stumbling. He made as if to grab me again, but stopped as he looked back toward the opening of the tunnel. 

"You’re a coward, Turaga," he hissed. "Too cowardly to face the knowledge behind the Great Door. Well, we shall see how I fare."

He kicked me hard, rolling me over with the force of it, and I was…I was…

They were pouring in from every opening, teeth gnashing, eyes blazing. Their touch was poison, disease. They had already touched me and Ahak, and I felt it in my armor.

I burned them. I seared them. I poured forth plasma-fire upon them in great waves, but the wind hindered me. Relentlessly it howled out of the darkness, into the darkness. The Rupture stood above us in the high wall like a great mouth, and the wind howled into it, devouring the life of the world. It had to be stopped. 

Behind us, Thu had bound himself to the ground with iron chains, holding fast against the gale. His metal seemed the most effective in sealing the breach, and so we defended him while he worked. Ahak worked relentlessly to close off the honeycomb passages with stone, but there were so many, and I could see that he was flagging. They had touched him first, back in the passageway. His armor was already turning gray, flaking off, but he continued nevertheless. By this time, Thu had fashioned a metal lattice and was raising it up into the opening, buffeted by the wind.

"Almost done!" he called out.

A spear whizzed out of the darkness and buried itself in Ahak’s chest. I watched as the light in his eyes died, and his body was battered away into the Rupture.

Thu saw as well. His cry of grief was lost in the cacophony. An iron half-sphere formed around him as more spears descended, splitting the chains that tethered him down. 

"Triox!" he called out as the hurricane wind picked him up and sucked him and the great spreading mass of protodermic iron into the breach. "Seal it!"

And I...I tried to...I fought and...I wanted to...

I did as he asked. I poured rays of plasmatic energy from every fingertip and joint, burning plasma-fire from my heartlight and mouth and from my eyes. To the limit, to the breaking point, until my mask melted away and my eyes were scorched black, and my armor fell in gouts of slag.

And the Rupture was welded shut, a great scar of white-hot metal. 

Then I fell headlong in the sudden, deafening silence, and tears sizzled on the scorched metal of my face–

I awakened on my back, chest throbbing. I sat up and wheezed a bit, but found that nothing was broken. I was not in the tunnel anymore. I was at the entrance, just beyond the darkness. I backed up, feet scraping on the stone, and found that I was not alone. 

Axoss sat cross-legged behind me, over me. Her eyes were closed, hammer laid across her knees. Despite her stillness, I detected the rise and fall of her breathing. The remains of her attackers were…here and there. I didn’t look too close.

"That is the second time you have retrieved me from that hole," I said at length. "Thank you."

She nodded. Moments passed.

"So, what now?" I said, settling myself on the stone beside her. "Shuldak is...he's still in there, right?"

"Yes, he is. Let us wait here for a time, and see what transpires."

"And the Matoran? Are they alright?"

"They are safe, back along the path. It is the truth."

"After everything that has happened in the past few days, waiting patiently here is not my first choice, but you are built for patience, aren't you?"

"Wait with me, please," Axoss said.

We waited together. Moments became minutes, and minutes piled into an hour, maybe more. Axoss meditated, and I half-dozed. It was perhaps the most rest I’d gotten since I had left Metru Prynak. All at once, Axoss broke the silence:

"When I found you the last time," she said slowly, deliberately, as if she had planned the words, "after the Void Storm had subsided and the Zyglak were fled, you asked me a question."

"Yes?" I cleared my throat groggily, rubbed my eyes.

"You could barely speak–your mouth and throat were burned from inside–but still you asked: 'Did I do right?'"

"I think I remember."

"I did not answer. I was dying of the flesh-eating plague, and the only thing in my mind was to remove from that dark place, to die in the open air. So I did not answer, nor care. Even after we emerged and you gave up your power in order to heal me, and became Turaga, still I did not care. There was no right or wrong. Only duty. You had fulfilled your duty."

"At the time, I did not see it that way," I replied. "My brothers were dead...are dead. Was that the fulfillment of their duty?"

"It was, and of your own."

"Well, I confess that I could never balance that equation. The Rupture was sealed, but the...but the Z-Zy--" I stammered, coughed. "but They remained. And my brothers were dead."

There was no reply.

I continued: "We were the only Toa left on the Continent, you know, when the Storm started. I don't think I ever told you...There were already few of us, at the time, and somehow no one foresaw the calamity. For many years I wondered why no one saw it, neither seer nor prophet..."

"The Rupture came from beyond the world, beyond our stars. It could not have been foreseen."

"That makes sense, I suppose. Still, it couldn't have happened at a worse time. If we'd had just one more Toa with us...maybe..."

"These thoughts serve no purpose, not for those who serve as the tools of Mata Nui. All that matters is what is."

"I'm not so sure about that. I think it matters to me--what might have been..."

The titan frowned slightly, and I smiled, having managed to break her usually solemn expression..

I continued: "When I healed you, Axoss, and gave up my power, I did not expect to survive. I was burned, inside and out. I could not see, nor breathe. I only knew that I was ending, and that I needed to leave something behind...something more. There was no clever strategy, no sense of duty in the act."

"Intended or not, that choice saved us both. The transformation revitalized you, and the healing power halted the progression of the plague that afflicted me."

"Well, 'revitalized' is a strong word. My scars can attest to that." I rubbed my sore limbs. "And it could not restore your sight."

"I serve the Mask of Truth. It provides all the sight I need. In the end, by fulfilling your duty, you enabled me to continue mine."

"Duty is not kind, Axoss. Not kind to us."

There was a long pause, and the mountain of armor shifted slightly. A long breath exhaled.

"No, it is not kind."

"So what do you say now, after all these years? Did I do right?"

Axoss did not answer. Footsteps sounded in the dark passage, far away. Their echoes were approaching, overlapping, and other noises followed. Clattering and scraping, the rasp of metal on stone, the murmur of distant voices.

Louder and louder it became, and I felt my muscles tightening with fear. Louder and louder, until all at once, Shuldak stumbled from the Opening and fell to the ground gasping.

His eyes raved in his skull. His mouth moved, but no sound came. His hands opened and closed on nothing–his tablet was gone. There were marks on his armor, from head to toe, and the red paint that had adorned his face was scratched and peeling. Peeled off, in some places, as if by many razors.

Axoss opened her blind eyes and inclined her face to the miserable Phynaran. After a few moments, Shuldak’s gaze met hers, and he grew unnaturally still.

"In an ancient time," she said at last, "I would not have hesitated to destroy you now, Shol of Old Phynar. Could not have hesitated. Such was the strength of the bond of my duty. But now, a change has come, and I may choose, at least, the method of judgment. Do you comprehend this, Phynaran?"

The eyes blinked, the mouth moved. Axoss saw the truth of it. The noises in the passage had continued as she spoke. There was a skittering sound in the dark. Many dragging limbs and spines. Something was crawling along the floor, on the walls, on the ceiling, all around.

Red eyes opened in the blackness, just beyond the reach of the light, a hundred of them at least. I shrank back as a familiar voice issued:

"Give him to us," it said in tones of hatred. "He is a child of the Pridak, that chosen one of Mata Nui, whom we curse. Pridak who slew many of our kind in elder days. This one is a bargainer, a dealmaker, a seeker of amnesty and allegiance in exchange for our knowledge of the beyond." A harsh croaking, which is Their laughter, followed this. "But we do not palter with such. We will rend this one and devour his core. Give him to us, warden."

Axoss reached down and took Shuldak in one great hand, lifting him bodily. She held him toward the darkness, and all his cunning was gone. She spoke:

"Your violence would fulfill my duty to the Great Spirit. Will you send him on the Red Journey for me, this day?"

A hiss and curses poured from the portal. Shuldak hung in the air, staring, mouth agape.

"Keep him then," the voice said at last. "We shall not partake in your duty, which is accursed. We see that your eyes are dim, warden, and your body grows ever frailer. What strength have you left in those limbs, after all these years?"

"Strength enough to slay another ten thousand of your kind, Zyglak, and to clean the rust from my hammer with your bones. I am bound to this duty for eternity. I do not waver."

"Neither we. Neither we…We gnaw at the world even now, though your Toa sealed the breach. One day we shall open it again, and then–"

Axoss laughed suddenly, a terrible peal of laughter, and a flash of white light issued from her mouth, blazed down the tunnel, and in the radiance I looked upon Them once more, and the air was filled with the cries of Their burning. They fled away, away into the dark…

When my sight returned to normal again, I realized that Shuldak was gone as well. His figure careened away across the flat, back toward the horizon. 

Axoss had let him go.

======

The Amaja was in shadow by now. I stood creakily and retrieved the various stones. The Matoran were filtering out, some to their night-tasks in the city above, but most to rest. A few remained to speak with me.

"Your stories are strange, Turaga," the first said, a Fa-Matoran, "different from the legends of the other elders."

"I expect so. I’m afraid I am not a good teller of legends."

"No, no. We look forward to your tellings on the odd months."

"Turaga," another spoke up, this time a Ce-Matoran, "What became of the two Matoran, the Ga and the Ba? Were they accosted by the Phynaran as he fled?"

"They were returned safely to the ship, along with myself. The Phynaran…he did not fare quite as well."

"Is it true that the touch of Zyglak eats away at one’s armor and flesh?"

"It is true, and the Phynaran Shuldak would tell you so, if he could still speak."

"So he lived?"

"Yes, he lived, though the Carexkans boxed him up for the return journey. Axoss accompanied me back to the shore to make sure of it. The sailors seemed to understand what her presence meant. I believe it was not the first time they had encountered her, or one like her. Who can say?"

"And did she ever answer your question?" the Ce-Matoran asked.

"What question?"

"Whether you did right, long ago."

"Ah, no…No, she didn’t."

"Of course he did right," the Fa-Matoran piped up. "He saved the world from the Void Storm. The Fire Turaga told the legend last month. It's not a hard question."

"Well, maybe not for you," I said.

"Did she go back then, to continue her duty?" the Ce-Matoran continued.

"What do you think?"

"Well, I hope so, because the Zyglak frighten me. But at the same time, I think it's...it's a hard thing."

"How so?"

"To be bound to a duty like that, I mean. For all time. To never...to never be able to rest."

I realized that there were tears in my eyes. When had that happened...

"I think so too," I said. "But maybe one day...one day our tasks will all be done, and then we can rest."

The scars hurt, in my armor and flesh. My throat was raw from too much talking, and my eyes were tired from too much seeing.

"I've never thought about it. Do you really think so, Turaga?"

Duty is not kind, Axoss. Not kind to us.

The day wore on, and she made good progress. Nearer to the Epicenter, the metal was layered thicker, obscuring the frozen bodies and turning them into strange, angular pillars, faceless and spotted with rust. Rank upon rank they stood here–obedient to the end. There had been no warning at this range. No time to react.

In the near distance, the rotted out shell that dominated the Epicenter rose into the sky, its outer layers corroded away, revealing the chaotic lattice of protodermic iron within. Wind whistled mournfully through the structure, a thin, tinny sound.

She had not returned to this place since it had happened…since they had escaped. She had been a Toa then. Tall, strong, at the height of her powers, ready to fight Mata’s crusade, ready to obey the commands of Mata’s Barraki and bring order to a disordered world. Now…what was she? A weak Turaga, more used to the daily routines of Koro than the rush of battle. Her powers were a fraction of their former might. Even her Mask of Fate was a diminished Noble Kanohi now. How could she hope to win?

Slumped in the shade of a metal pillar, less than a kio from the place where her brothers had perished in tombs of elemental iron…despair almost overcame her. Her preparations were feeble. Her plans were half-baked. Soon he would be here. Soon she would be dead. Maybe…maybe she deserved it, after all.

Your life is owed me, sister. Unwelcome memories flickered in her mind. Scenes of a village, her village. Her Matoran stood around her. The huts were caved in. The air was heavy with dust and fear.

“I saved you,” he spat, standing at the village entrance, large as life. “I saved you when Ahrak lost control, and how did you repay me?”

“Naj...you’re…you’re alive?” she stammered, still reeling at the revelation. “But you…I don’t–”

“How did you repay me?!” Najak the Stone-Toa shouted, and the rocks trembled. The Matoran huddled closer.

“Why are you here, Naj?”

He advanced into the village. She tightened her grip on the pronged staff. The shock of recognition was starting to wear off, replaced by a dull understanding.

“I’m here to take back what I gave you,” he said.

There were scars on his armor, deep burn marks around his heartlight and across his Mask of Quick-Travel.

“Recognize these?” he said, noting her glance. “You didn’t finish the job, did you, Keersa? All those years ago. It hurt, that’s for sure, but you didn’t put quite enough juice into the current. Or maybe you couldn’t bring yourself to kill a brother?”

“You hunted me down. I defended myself.”

“You abandoned the cause. I gave you your life, saved you from the Iron Wave, and then you abandoned us, forsook your vows. The Lords of Order could not let that stand.”

“The Lords of Order are dead, Naj. Slain by the Makuta.”

“Don’t speak of the Makuta. Even now their hounds are after me.”

“Then you’d better keep running. Leave us be.”

“Not until I get what I'm owed.”

“What’s that? My life? You still want to kill me–that’s it? After all this time…I have nothing to say to you.”

“Words are the last thing I want. I’m disappointed, actually. Look at you now…a Turaga? What a waste. I was hoping you’d at least be able to put up a fight again, like old times.”

“How did you find this place?”

“Oh, the other Stone-Toa told me. Didn’t get his name. He was a fresh one.” Najak laughed coldly, “Could barely lift a boulder. Did you ‘make’ him, Keersa? Did you waste your power on him? As poor an Elder as you were a soldier, it seems.”

A chill went through her.

“What...Naj, what did you do?”

“I asked him to tell me where your village was. He didn’t want to, but eventually I made him. He died badly.”

The crowding Matoran shuddered, their eyes wide with fear.

“I had heard…rumors,” Keersa said numbly. “But the Code…”

Najak advanced further, eyes flashing. The Matoran cowered away on either side.

“--The Code is zyga, Keersa, and you know it. We are older than the Code. We killed long before it was written down by the charlatans who now supplant our Barraki. It was invented to hobble us, to keep us from victory.”

“What victory, Naj? The wars are over! The crusade is–”

A hammer struck into the back of the Stone-Toa’s knee and bounced off. Najak’s eyes flicked downward, and the Matoran holding the hammer looked at once very defiant, and very, very small.

A sharp sound rang out in the air, and Keersa screamed as the earth erupted with small stones, bullet-like, and rent the Matoran’s body to shreds. Screamed with all the force of her lungs as more stones whizzed through the crowd, and she dashed forward suddenly on Calix-borne feet and struck hard with her staff, struck hard with her lightning, and with all the white-hot anger of her grief...

Keersa sat bolt upright, her drowsy mind pinging with alarms and with deep, deep rage. One of the static leylines she’d set down amongst the metal pillars had snapped off to the east. The wind was rising, and the sky was the color of rust. There was a dust storm on the way, by the taste of the static charge in the air. She would take any advantage she could get. 

Ping. Another line discharged, closer now. She slipped into a hollow beneath the frozen limbs of a statue, activated the scope on her mask, and watched. Everything hinged on her spotting him first. The cries of her Matoran echoed in the back of her mind, but she pushed them grimly down. No more distractions. No more doubts.

He appeared off to the left first, about 15 bio away. He was crouched, and she saw that his arm was now slung against his chest. Good–he hadn’t had a chance to repair himself since the village. He hadn’t expected the speed of her attack then, enhanced by her Mask of Fate. She allowed herself a small smile, remembering the sound of the servos in his arm frying as she'd coursed lightning through them. If only she’d been able to reach his heartlight…

Najak vanished from his position abruptly, then reappeared to the right. Less than half the distance now. A wall of dust was approaching in the sky. She saw him turn to glance up at it, shading his eyes. 

His back was turned. Now.

She activated her Mask of Fate, felt the surge of energy and strange potential it granted her. One of the metal-gilded tree leaves was in her hand. She raised herself slightly, all precision and intensity, and hurled it straight at Najak’s head.

The Mask of Fate was sadly no Mask of Accuracy, but by the time the razor-sharp missile buried itself in Najak’s right thigh, she had already nearly closed the distance. Najak roared in pain, dropping to one knee. His good arm craned to reach the puncture wound. She was almost on him. Her mask glowed hot. Her hand crackled with a deadly charge. Straight to the heartlight. Straight to the heartlight as he knelt forward...

His eyes flicked wide. He saw her.

Najak snapped out of existence. Her electrified hand skewered thin air, and she fell headlong on the metal ground, skidding and cursing.

She twisted, flipped. On her feet again, running for shelter, ducking and weaving through the forest of iron.

There was a low rumble like an earthquake, and the protodermic metal of the Glass Plain groaned as something pounded against it from below. Then it ceased. Keersa slid to a stop behind a pillar. She almost laughed.

“Can’t try that here, Naj!” she yelled into the air, now dashing for new cover. “The bedrock is buried under half a kio of Ahrak’s best iron. Didn’t you know?”

A metal figure exploded into shards next to her as a small bullet-stone struck through it. So he had some elemental energy left in him after all.

Before she even knew what she was doing, her Calix-empowered eyes were tracking the source of the stone’s trajectory, body was twisting painfully into a head-first tumble. A second stone tore through the ground where her feet had just been and exploded into needles of rock. The shrapnel bit into her legs and torso, but there was no time for pain.

She glanced off a nearby pillar, landed on her back, and kicked off from the pillar’s base, shoving herself across the smooth ground, across the open space, hoping she could slide far enough. Her mask was fading out.

Shoulders struck against a ripple in the ground and she rolled into a crouch with muscles that felt like jelly. Her limbs were slowing. Mask was inert. Head snapped upward, eyes darted around. There was a familiar noise, very near, and the ozone smell of elemental power. There! 

She slammed a hand against the metal ground and poured her small reserves of Turaga-lightning into it, channeled it with all her strength forward, along the conductive surface, up through the exposed feet of the Stone-Toa that crouched between pillars not two bio away.

Najak gave a choking cry as his muscles seized and contracted, and the stone bullet he had been conjuring dissipated in the air. She pushed with everything she had, until smoke rose from the gaps in Najak’s leg-armor, and then she released. Pain from the shrapnel in her side finally registered to her nerves, and the world reeled as she sagged to the ground.

Najak’s breathing came in a ragged hiss through his locked jaw. He slumped over, supporting himself on his good arm. His eyes were still open, still fixed on her. A moment passed.

“Well…fought,” Najak rasped. “Maybe…you are not such a coward…after all.”

“I’m no coward,” Keersa said, fighting nausea. “You killed my Matoran. You’ve killed your own brothers. You deserve everything I’ve done to you, and more.”

“Very righteous. You sound like Ahrak.”

“He was better than you.”

“He was…a fool.”

“We were all fools, following the orders of our masters.”

“Better to serve a cause…than to run away.”

“Look what that cause has done to us, Naj. Look around! This place is our grave, and the grave of our brothers. Ahrak followed his orders, and he died…drowning in his own element, with iron in his lungs and brain, and he took ten thousand souls with him in the Nova Blast.”

“It was certainly impressive. A testament to our power.”

“It was a waste. We were losing the battle--don't deny it. The Barraki decided it wasn’t worth it, and the mighty Iron-Toa Ahrak obeyed…”

“And then I saved you. Without me, you’d be just as dead as the rest. You’re welcome.”

“Maybe that would have been better…”

“It doesn’t really matter. The way I see it, you’re already dead. You were dead to me the moment you abandoned your duty to the Lords of Order. Right here, you remember?”

“I found a new duty, and I fulfilled my purpose, Naj. Passed on my power. Not like you.”

He ignored her.

“The Iron Wave had passed,” he said, “and I traveled us back. The metal was all fresh and new, shining like glass…and all those voices trapped beneath. We couldn’t even carve them out…But we’d won, Keersa. We were the victors, remember? But you…you balked and ran away. Like a coward.”

Keersa said nothing. The sky darkened as the dust storm blew in over the landscape at last. Heat-lightning flickered on the horizon.

“But I didn’t run,” Najak continued. “I returned to our Lord, and informed him of our victory…and your betrayal. And as a reward, I was sent to deal with you, to balance out the scales.”

“I remember. And I beat you once already, could have killed you... We are even, Najak. The scales are balanced.”

“Almost, but not quite.”

Keersa lifted herself up again, almost faint with exhaustion. She raised her head.

Najak was standing upright. A coating of stone covered his lower torso, keeping him stable. He blinked in the blowing dust and spat grit from his mouth. Then he moved forward, one halting step at a time, as the rock liquified and hardened around his ruined legs. Keersa watched him with dull eyes, resigned.

“Once I kill you,” Najak said, “my duty will be fulfilled. Then...maybe I’ll return to your village. There were still a few weaklings hiding in the rubble. No one will remain to remember you, sister.”

“The Makuta will stop you. Their hounds are already prowling the outskirts of the Plain.”

“I’ve evaded them well enough so far,” he scoffed. Another slow step. “Anyways, the Makuta have bigger things to worry about. Unrest in Metru Nui and the like. One rogue Toa won’t be worth the resources for long.”

“And then what?”

“I’m not sure.” Another step. “I’ve been all about revenge for so long. I’ll have to rethink things, I guess.”

“You look tired.”

“You look like death.” 

Another step. Keersa looked up into the Stone-Toa’s face.

“Well,” she murmured, “it’s like you said…I’m already dead, aren’t I?”

Najak’s mask glowed, and she understood. He grasped her by the throat. She’d seen him do this before, to his enemies, in battle. Her ears popped as the world flashed into rushing light, and for a split second she was inside swirling dust and the rust of ages driven before the wind, and dry static washed over her face. 

Another pop, and they were above the storm, a kio in the air, and the Glass Plain stretched out on all sides from the Epicenter, harsh and horrible. Najak's grip tightened, and she gasped.

One more jump, and now the air was cold, and she felt his fingers relax, ready to drop her and be done with it. 

Rage. Static from the lower air clung to her. She drank it in, deactivated the pain signals that coursed through her body. With the last fraction of her ebbing will, her mask flickered on.

Winds buffeted them as they began to fall, but her grip was suddenly iron on Najak’s forearm, shocking his fingers open. He realized, and tried to hurl her away, but she was twisting, contorting. Her knee connected with the shoulder of his bad arm. Pain. He smashed his head forward into her face, and she saw stars, almost let go, but the fingers of her other hand had found what they sought.

His next blow went wide. She twisted again, and blind fingertips purchased just under his chin, crooked inward with alien dexterity. Her foot caved into his chest and kicked hard, and she was spinning. Spinning free, spinning wildly in open air, spinning around the axis of a madly spinning horizon. And it would have been sickening… 

…But his mask was in her hand, clenched tight. 

And his voice was screaming in her ears, somewhere off in the distance, in the wide air. Drifting further and further away. Screaming death and vengeance and dreadful fear as the Glass Plain hurtled up, up, up toward them like the execution hammers of the Lords of Order.

======

The jungle melted into a green blur as she raced on, straight through the thick of it. She phased through a massive tree-trunk, vaulted a stream on the other side, kept going. It was dim under the canopy, lit by the occasional beam of light from above. She cleared a root-covered boulder and chanced a look back. Nothing. Turned back to her trail.

The Matoran was right in front of her again, arms wide. She swerved in surprise and momentarily lost focus, went spinning through a stand of bushes and crashed into a tree-trunk, solid once more.

“I wasn’t finished, you know,” the Matoran said. He was already standing over her.

“Die!” she yelled as she rose, and blades of pressurized water eviscerated the surrounding jungle. Trees and branches crashed down on all sides, and the blades formed into a liquid shield around her.

The image of the Matoran wavered beyond the barrier for a moment. Then it stepped forward, unphased, right through the rushing water. Her sword was out and ready again, eyes roving around the newly-created clearing.

“Where are you?!” she hissed, ignoring the projection.

“I’m wherever I need to be,” the Matoran said. “Are you ready to talk?”

“Say what you have to say then.”

“I see that you have my stone.”

“What?”

“In your hand. You seem quite attached to it. I think they call it the Nui Stone now. Very unimaginative.”

Tuyet’s eyes narrowed. “How do you…Is that it? You’re here to take the stone?”

“My stone,” the Matoran smiled. “You couldn’t have known, of course. I designed it so long ago…Anyways–”

Tuyet’s blade whizzed through the air, off to the left, and buried itself through the chest of the figure standing half-hidden behind a tree-root nearby. The projection in front of her winked out. She smirked, dissipating the water-sphere, and walked toward the target.

“No one takes what belongs to me,” she said. The Matoran looked up at her with wide eyes, then down at the blade that pinned his body to the tree-trunk.

“I was,” he said haltingly, “I was going to say…Keep the stone…But…” 

His voice quieted. Tuyet leaned in closer. 

“You should know,” he continued, "that I always have...contingencies.”

The Matoran flickered and vanished. Tuyet cursed and tore her blade from the tree, springing away, whirling to attack again–

Intense pain struck her. Pain in her hand, the one holding the stone. Her arm seized up and she stumbled to her knees, dazed. She tried to drop the stone, but her fingers were locked tight. With a shock, she saw that the normally red crystal had darkened to a deep black. 

The Matoran was right in front of her now, solid and real. Desperate, she summoned another blast of water to wipe away her foe…

Nothing happened.

She tried again, shuddering with pain. The Matoran stepped up to her, eye-level. Not a scratch on him. Her blade rose shakily, but he batted it away. Reaching down, he plucked the Nui Stone out of her hand, easy as anything.

“All our works return to us,” the Matoran said quietly, almost to himself. He tossed the stone from one hand to another.

“What…?” she gasped. The pain began to fade, but something was wrong. Something inside of her.

“Oh, it’s just a saying. About consequences. The Great Beings never thought of it that way, of course. If we had, maybe–”

“No…” she interjected, finding her voice. “What did you do…to me? Tell me what you did.”

“Like I said, it’s my stone,” the Matoran said. “Use it against me, and its power turns on you. Neat trick. The stone has drained you of all your power, Toa, and sealed it away. I’m afraid it’s permanent.”

A wave of nausea washed over Tuyet. She was going to pass out.

“No…You can’t. I was going to…to…”

“To conquer the world? I’m aware of your aspirations, Toa Tuyet. That’s why I wanted to speak with you. I think you can help me.”

“Me…help you?” She spat the words out.

“Yes. To bring order to this world.”

“Why should I? You’ve ended me. Without my powers, I’m…” She trailed off.

“You are nothing. That’s true. Power makes us real, makes us matter. Without it, you are of no consequence. But…”

The Matoran leaned in.

“You know…‘Permanent’ is such a strong word after all, and I’m not one to waste good potential.”

Tuyet looked into the eyes of the Matoran that had taken everything from her. He held out the Nui Stone. She understood.

“What must I do?”

======

We stepped out of the Kini, and sound washed over us. The breeze roared. The tools of the other De-Matoran wall-builders clamored. The crunch of my feet in the gravel was a harsh grindstone. I winced, hands going to my ears, but then old habits reasserted. Habits, instincts…at least I still had those. I focused and pushed through the noise as best I could, like everyone else. 

The Turaga was already halfway down the path to the edge of the village, signing for me to hurry. I followed, stumbling on too-long legs, and found that I could walk much faster than before. We reached the unfinished wall in no time. The other Matoran were still hard at work. They did not pause as the elder slipped through a gap in the fortification. I stepped over it, and then we were outside the village, alone.

Fog.

The fog was here.

The thick mutagenic mist loomed above and on every side now, all around the edges of De-Koro, sickly green and twisting with many shapes. It was too soon. Too soon! Just this morning, it had only reached the mouth of the canyon, still a kio away. There had still been time…But no, the fog was here now. Time had run out.

Terror froze me to the spot. I knew that any Matoran touched by the mist became maddened and transformed, heartlight burning with strange fire, eyes bulging, armor buckling, limbs splitting and diverging. I had watched it happen…Now I found that the doors in my mind were not just a web of choices, but of imagination. Every movement and shape in the mist conjured new and terrible images. I could not move, wanted to flee, but there was too much. It would have been easy to run away, back when I...when I was a…

A sharp rap against the armor of my back, and my joints seemed to unlatch. The elder was there, staff in hand. He was not afraid of the fog. I could breathe again. He pointed into the murk ahead, signed for me to look, and I obeyed, straining my eyes. After a moment, something moved in the darkness. Something big. There were eyes, many of them, burning green, stalking closer and closer. They were coming. The wall was not finished…

I expected the fear to flatten me at this thought, but it did not. The other will was there, intervening, keeping the new labyrinth of my mind at bay. My brethren were still hard at work, back behind the wall. They were closing the gaps, shoring up the ramparts.

“They need time,” the Turaga signed. There was no time. The eyes were approaching.

“What am I to do?”

“You are Toa,” the Turaga made the sign slowly, and there was something in his face…something like sadness. “Toa is the terrible protector,” he continued, “the lord of noise.”

I shuddered, looking at my hands, at the thick metal of my gauntlets. Noise.

“They,” he continued, gesturing to the shapes in the fog, “They were once like us, we who desire the peace of silence. They are changed now, but still I think they fear the Noise.”

He raised one hand, and it uttered a sharp report, a sound that burrowed a small tunnel into the thick mist. The eyes moved in agitated patterns, and I flinched away, holding my ears. Fear and disgust were rising in me again.

“What am I to do, Turaga?” I asked again, feeling a dull sense of foreboding.

“My power is not enough," he replied, "but the power of Toa is mightier. The lord of noise must meet them and drive them back. The lord of noise will give us time.”

“But I am not…I cannot…”

“You are Toa. Made by Mata. You shall protect this village.”

“I don’t know how.”

The Turaga nodded, and the look of sadness was in his face again.

“The knowledge is…It is there, within you,” he signed. “Only open your mind, and…and the Great Spirit shall guide you. Mata shall be your guide.”

“Turaga…I am afraid.”

“I know.” The elder stepped closer. The mutant sounds were approaching, and the green eyes.

“But–”

“Open your mind,” he continued, “and soon the fear shall pass away, and you will find the power of Toa.” He pressed his staff into my hand, the hand of a giant.

“I promise.”

For a moment, the staff looked small, no more than a twig. Then, a spark leapt out of me and the staff unfolded, branched, buzzed with vibration. The tool of a Toa, weapon of the lord of noise.

I hoped that I had not flinched as much this time. I looked back into the mist, and there was no hope in me.

So I opened my mind. 

Immediately, the other will was there, stronger now, surrounding and encompassing me, filling the awful labyrinth and seeking out its every twist and turn. I stepped forward suddenly, almost without expecting it, into the cloying darkness of the fog. Was it Mata, reaching down to guide his chosen? 

The small tunnel created by the Turaga was slowly collapsing, but I was numb to this. I felt no fear. I took a few steps forward on the spongy ground, then paused to register the light of too many eyes through the murk. They were circling, circling nearer.

I turned and looked back one last time, through the tunnel of mist. I saw the Turaga, still standing before the wall. He smiled, his Komau glowing...perhaps with the last bit of evening light. His eyes glowed too, and then he closed them.

Cool darkness. Sound.

I opened my eyes, and the fog covered me like a blanket. It hissed and scalded at my armor, but it could not really touch me, not yet. The mutagenic vapor trembled with the vibrations that now emanated from every surface of my body, from my hands and gauntlets, and from the bifurcated tip of my old Resonant Staff.

There was movement, off in the distant dark. Movement of too many limbs and bodies, and the grinding of too many teeth. Clacking and crushing mandible-sounds and thin, reedy proboscis-sounds fell sharply upon my hypersensitive ears, but they did not bother me. I was the master of such sounds.

I was the terrible protector.

I squared my shoulders, shook out the muscles, and took a few short breaths, trying not to ingest too much of the mutagen too quickly.

I was the Lord of Noise now.

The staff spun in my hand as I advanced into the dark, and I hummed for the first time in ages.