#bionicle fanfic

[legend-as-old-as-time]

One of the drafts (written in one go) I mentioned befre, where Turaga Matau is kidnapped. I haven't come around to rewriting the draft, and feel no interest to do so yet. At the same time it keeps haunting my brain.

So, I'll post it. Please enjoy. (Matau certainly doesn't.)

--

The shaking of the lorry had lulled Matau to sleep. Hurt from the fight and weakened by both the loss of his mask and the disruptor, he had given up fighting his exhaustion soon after the cabin started moving. His dreams blurred and shook and twisted with colors – from blue, to red, brown, white, black, and back to green. They danced in a pattern with no reason, but as they drew Matau in, he felt warm and comfortable.

The world around him jerked and he woke up, softly while, strangely, at once completely aware. The metal grate dug uncomfortably into his side, but he kept still in the ropes. Better to have his kidnappers believe he was still unconscious. Aside from avoiding another blow to the head, he might glean some information they would let slip. He couldn’t move much as he was, anyway.

The mercenaries must have slowed down and were travelling a smoother surface now, maybe a road, because the up-and-down-moving had softened. He couldn’t quite place how the vehicle moved, however, which irritated the test driver in him. The place behind his temple was still throbbing, so fewer disturbances were a plus point, at least.

I hope we haven’t traveled far yet. Matau shoved back the dread that rose in the back of his throat, clawing the relief to shreds. He breathed in slowly, holding it for several seconds, before he released it. They will come. My signal exploded over the whole damn valley, and I did a lot of damage. They know it’s urgent and will do everything to come for me.

Carefully, Matau rotated his head; even though the bag around his head blinded him, it also concealed his expressions. Besides, he had other senses that worked just as well or even better. He bit down a hiss as a lance of pain shot through his skull.

Okay, I need to do that a bit slower… My siblings will be so cheery-happy to hear-learn these guys hit my head when I was already down and without my mask. Especially the latter will blow up Vakama’s temper. I wonder if they found my mahiki.

Even slower than before, he lifted his head just by enough that nobody – hopefully – would notice. The mercenaries had probably detached some of their members to keep guard on him. He tried to hear over the lorry’s rattling if somebody was talking. Or even just breathing, so that he knew how many were there. Unfortunately, smoother the lorry rolled, the noise the wheels made rendered it impossible for him to differentiate between then and other sounds that were quieter.

Matau’s neck started aching soon later and he gave it up, for now at least. Returning to the most relaxed position he could manage, he huffed, the cloth repelling some of his breath back to his face. It seemed like he had to wait.

Well, not long, before a loud, bellowing cry came from a place that was definitely outside. It didn’t sound like a voice and was much too loud for glatorian or a skrall, so what was that?

Yes, I remember! They said something about a rider having calmed down some biosaurs… That explains why I haven’t heard an engine, because there’s none. Of course, drawn carriages are much more common and less suspicious than a mechanical construct that is driving.

A sharp thump jolted through the floor’s constant shuddering, right through his armor into his chest. In the air, it made metal rang somewhere to his right. He swallowed the gasp that wanted to jump out. Nervous, he listened closer again. Who was coming?

 “We’re speeding up! Lookout said she saw some figures following us on the cliffs’ edge and that they’re closing onto us.”

That must be them! Well, I hope. Still, he clung to that hope, grinning under the bag so fiercely he felt his whole face move.

“I already wondered what’s up! So, how many? And where did they appear from?”

Matau recognized both of these voices. And just as the one glatorian said, the lorry’s trembles rose in strength. Inertia took hold, pressing him backwards as they accelerated.

“Five, maybe more. They’re using the foliage as cover, so she couldn’t see prop- GAH!”

The lorry lurched and another cry roared. The two mercenaries cursed. Matau he bit down his own yell. He slid backwards by increments, his armor scraping across the grates. It didn’t hurt, but the pressure and sensations were so uncomfortable he groaned through gritted teeth despite his struggles to play unconscious. Just wonderful. He would look like the Karzahni at the end of the day-

Okay, bad comparison. Very bad comparison. No need to let his imagination run that far, thank you very much! His ro were already worried enough.

“What are those stupid beasts doing now?!” A slapped against a bar of the cell.

“Berinos said there must be predators nearby. The biosaurs smell them and get nervous. This is the other reason we speed up, we don’t want some wild rock steeds or worse attacking us.”

“Sure, that is worse than the potential toa hunting us down.”

“The disruptor shuts down their elemental powers in a wider radius than they can attack us from. Most toa are average, not anywhere as dangerous as those Nuva. Who knows, we might get more than one toa today.” The last sentence carried an air of smugness that barbed in Matau’s ears.

“It’d make the boss happy with us, that’s true. I’ve heard that elemental lord wants to study several of these toa, to find out how their powers work.”

Oh no. No. NO.

Chills ran down his spine and he shivered. The danger and level of trouble he had slid into had occurred to him before. He had worked on uncertainty of why or what they kidnapped him, which was nerve-wrecking on its own, but he had been able to ignore these worries because they would get him nowhere. It created a distance between him and the actual situation.

But now, with specific details on the background of his kidnapping, that distance vanished and slammed him right into the place he had been in since they subdued him. It left him breathless.

And they wanted to try to target more than just him. They wanted more toa, and by circumstances, some were following them.

Selfish as it was, it was the idea they would catch his own ro terrified him to his core, squeezing his heart crystal.

 “If it’s those Toa Metru after us, we also have the best hostage to use as leverage against them.”

He couldn’t see, but Matau knew they were looking at him.

As if I’ll make it easy for you. The growl reverberated through his mind.

He kept perfectly still and lax, every emotion and thought turned inwards with the bag obscuring his view to the outside. They worked rapidly, bashing against each other, running in circles. At their center, however, something else rose: razor-sharp and intent, savage and intelligent, possessive and caring, from somewhere deep within.

He glared into the direction of the voices. Anger had sparked heat that churned, turning round and round with the fear, striking against each other in friction, feeding each other with the sparks that flew.

Behind his back, out of their sight, his fingertips dug into his palms. The surface gave; Matau didn’t care.

Metal creaked, joints squeaked, and steps closed on him.

“I’ll keep an eye on him just in case anyway.”

The cabin shocked the same time as the loudest roar yet boomed on the outside. Matau flew to the side like a ragdoll, and the wall split his head open with a pickle as he smacked against it while his back went agonizingly numb. It was little pieces of metal had pierced his brain and were shaking about, scraping and cutting. He panted, and gasped as the cloth covered his mouth.

Chaos reigned – voices jumbled outside in panic, shots rang, the cabin shook like an earthquake had hit the land. Somebody was shouting orders to secure something and escape. The volume and the echo dumped another cascade of metal scrap into Matau’s brain.

“Get up.”

Somebody clutched at his forearm. Forgetting his pretense, he growled with a jerk of his shoulder to get away. The grasp tightened and he was heaved up to his feet. His whole insides turned with the world swaying around him.

It was instinct that directed his body to tense up and keep his balance still, but the mercenary gave him no chance to even try standing on his bound feet. With a forceful tug they pulled him out of the cell. He staggered blindly along, the manacles clicking together; the tumult continued outside. If not for the grip on his arm, he would have fallen, but he felt that hitting his head again would be the better option than following. He was certain that this one wanted to ‘secure’ him.

“Le’ me go.” Matau slurred, weakness still commanding his body. No matter how much he leant back, he held no chance without his mask to stop them.

“I won’t allow our efforts to be in vain. You’ll come with me or regret it.”

Matau really didn’t like the implications of the first sentence.

“I’ll regret coming with you as well.”

A hard yank nearly threw him to the ground. Stunned, he gasped when cold metal pressed against his throat.

“Don’t make me angry. I’ll only need you alive, not unhurt for the journey.” The mercenary had locked an arm around his chest, shoving from behind. He stumbled but they picked him up easily. The threat cut through the haze in Matau’s mind, making his heartlight thud painfully in his chest.

They wanted to escape with him under the chaos of the fight.

Leaning forward as much as he could, he craned his neck down against the blade. He choked when the mercenary pressed tighter, pressing onto his windpipe, but instinct overruled any discomfort.

Now.

The pressure vanished as he let the tension uncoil.

“What are you doing?! Stop struggling or-”

They cried out in shock as Matau smashed the back of his head into their face. He yelled on his own, stars bursting behind his eyes, as another crack opened in his skull. He fell for an eternity in a second, everything swaying and rocking around him. A hard surface struck his knees before he sprawled forward, awkwardly. Behind Matau, the mercenary thudded against the wall under a mutter of imprecations.

“You- you will pay for that!”

Ignoring the throb in his head, he twisted his upper body up while pulling his legs forward. Just a little more, just a little more, just a little more-

He was yanked around his shoulder onto his back. The impact jarred the pieces behind his temples to tumble around. When he twisted around, the mercenary punched him beneath his heart crystal. He jolted upwards with a gasp of all the air he had. They slammed him downwards with a snarl.

“I’ve got enough of your resistance, toa.” He barely could wheeze as they pressed onto his chest, the other hand around his throat, cutting off his breath in. His legs twitched under the knees that dug into his thighs. Tiny intakes rushed into his nose only to be blocked. His lungs screamed, craving air that they had to expel before. The ringing in Matau’s ears became louder with rising panic and a different kind of darkness began blotting out his sight.

Above him, the mercenary froze. Somehow Matau remained aware enough of his surrounding to notice the sudden tension, although the reason for it eluded him. If only he could breathe – his lungs startled rattling and scraping inside his chest.

When the sound of metal groaning violently rose on the edge from the ringing, slowly swallowing it, Matau wondered distantly what else would happen now. His mind lurched when air flowed down his throat into his lungs. Sucking it greedily in, they expanded explosively that his ribs ached. He rolled onto his side, heaving, unable to feel or think from the lightheadedness.

“What the hell is his thing?! Stay away, you beast!”

The cabin shook from the growl that echoed everywhere. Matau’s head arched towards the source. There was the strange urge to turn towards it.

Metal shrieked down the corridor. A stream of air flowed across his torso, followed by the whistle of wind. They swelled until they whipped about him in a glorious mélange of sound, pressure, and smell, chasing away the stale atmosphere. His element surrounded him; even if he was currently unable to command it, the very rush invigorated Matau and his heartlight.

“Another?!”

He winced as something heavy landed next to him, making the floor shake. It snarled, a guttural sound that traveled both air and metal. The first joint in - something deep inside Matau resonated with the sounds.

“It seems I have to take care of a red and a black pest first.” The mercenary barked. The words clicked in Matau’s mind. Red? Black?

Claws clicked. The heat of a body moved over him.

“Is- is that a weapon? Of course some of the Great Beings’ experiments have to attack us!” Swords scraped against each other.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll kill you, then I can finally haul off and deliver the toa to my boss.”

He sensed his protector crouch over him, shielding his body. Not one, not two, but four distinct roars filled the cabin. Hands and feet slapped across the floor from the far end.

“How many are there?! Blue and brown now, too? You’ve got to be kidding-”

Faster and faster, harder and harder. The mercenary screamed when a body rushed passed Matau and jumped. Metal crunched.

For a while he just lay there. Bodies brushed pass him; the floor shook from feet that thundered around; voice and growls and howls reached him as if he was underwater, watching a fight that was above the surface.

-

“Here. This will help you.”

When he saw what Vakama held up with his hands, Matau tilted his head forward.

Gently he pressed the mahiki against Matau’s face. The magnetic locks engaged, pulling the mask into position, and it was like a circuit that had been knocked off closed again.

He breathed in with the flow of energy washing through him. The feeling of sickness faded wave by wave.

[catsafari25]

A/N: Hello, hello, I am back! This time with an au inspired by @bionicle-ramblings post here, specifically about what might have happened had Matau not been able to talk Vakama down from his Hordika side. This turned into 3K words, so heads up for that. (Apologies in advance for the angst!)

x

Too far above the ground, Matau waits for the killing blow that never comes.

His claws are weak-numb, dug into the ledge of the coliseum balcony, and in the bowels of the area below the battle still rages. From all the way up here, it's almost muted, like the backfiring of a hundred small exhaust pipes.

If he falls, he won't have to worry about the battle. Or anything else. Not for long enough to matter, anyway.

And still, Vakama doesn't come to finish him off.

Matau's grip slips further towards the edge, the ground beckons him a little bolder, and he doesn't have time to play it safe. He swings his fang blade up, and his claws lose their hold but the blade hits true. It slices into the stone, snagging him in place. He slams into the coliseum wall – but it's better than the ground. Still, he mutters a few ungainly curses and doesn't move immediately. He tries not to think about the long fall below. Tries not to think about the crazed brother above. Fails on both counts.

Only one is going to definitely kill him though.

The other... well. He's still working on that.

He hauls himself up the rest of the way. It's an ungainly process, his fang blade is attached to the stone – and he's attached to his fang blade, so...

It's also a quiet affair. There comes no bloodthirsty snarl, no flare of blazer claws going for his face. Nothing – save for his near fall and the scorch marks in the floor – to indicate Matau had been fighting for his life only seconds before.

It's nice, not dying. Matau's not going to deny that.

Odd, though.

The Vakama he had known would never have walked away before he was sure the job (the job being murdering a brother, but Matau tries not to dwell on that) was done. It's something to do with the mask-maker's perfectionism. You can't make mistakes with a mask; even a single crack will render it unusable. (Not like test-driving. If a lone dent could put a vehicle out of commission, none of the drives Matau had taken would have passed.)

He had at least expected some gloat-threat. Some rubbing it in Matau's face that he had lost and Vakama had won. Is that in Vakama's nature? Gloating?

One thing is for sure: taking it as read that a job is done without checking? That certainly isn't in Vakama's nature.

Which leaves Matau wondering...

What has been left in its stead?

x

Missing maniacal brother or not, Matau has his other brothers and sister to also worry about. And they are not winning this battle.

As he descends – no sign of Vakama – he sees the remains of Keetongu. Alive, but in no state to fight. Beside it is the ittier-bittier remains of who Matau can only assume is (or was, he supposes) Sidorak. Fragments of cracked red armour are scattered across the battle field. An arm – still with the blade attached – lies clear of the damage, whole but unmoving.

Matau skirts round that particular scene. Even the Visorak give the shattered ground a wide berth, steering clear of the corpse of their king and his killer.

The cacophony of spinners and blasts settles. There comes a ringing in Matau's ears, like the auditory equivalent of looking from from a bright light and blinking away the negative image. There's still the gnash and skitter of the Visorak, but it is nothing compared to the chaos of before.

And then he sees the cause of the quietening.

In the centre of the arena, the other Toa and Rahaga are surrounded. Their weapons are lowered, their spinners still, and the battle is over. It had been a reckless last-charge anyway. Maybe if they had been Toa, not Hordika... Maybe if they had had more time to plan... Maybe if Vakama had been with them–

Something – no, someone slams into Matau. He hadn't even realise he'd frozen until suddenly he isn't anymore. He slams into the ground, mask-first. There are claws digging into his left shoulder. An unlit blazer claw into his right.

His rhotuka spinner flares into life instinctively. It rises to attack and smacks into his attacker's face. The claws – both kinds – loosen enough for Matau to shake free and spin to face the culprit.

Vakama snarls at him.

There's something different about the once-Toa – he's hunched further, weight distributed evenly between all four limbs, the eyes dulled – but then the blazer claw is coming for Matau again and he has other things to think about. Namely, not getting barbecued. Matau skips back. The attack was clumsy. Unplanned.

"Come on, firespitter, you can do better than that," Matau goads before common sense can intervene. "You really think a swipe like that's gonna get me?"

Vakama growls and leaps at Matau – further than Matau thinks possible, like a muaka – and Matau drops down, kicking with his feet to deflect the blazer claw. Heat skims the side of his mask.

Too close.

He catches sight of his friends, still surrounded, still surrendered, and now with a newcomer – a tall (ridiculously tall, really; who needed that much height?) grey figure parading before them. A leader? Important, surely.

Dangerous, certainly.

He sees Vakama's rhotuka spinner light up, and stumbles back before the blast can hit its mark.

"We don't have time for this, Vakama," Matau stresses, and desperation edges his voice with a growl. "If we don't do something soon – if you don't snap out of this – the other Toa are gonna be history!"

Another spinner flies past. This one close enough to sear the corner of his shoulder. And still that tall figure looms before his friends, paying little heed to the fight ongoing at the far side of the arena.

Vakama takes advantage of Matau's distraction and closes the gap between them. The blazer claw swipes down. Matau only just grabs Vakama's arm in time, and the fused weapon flares, the flames close enough for Matau to feel the heat.

"I'm sorry," he gasps, "for doubting you! We all make mistakes, Vakama; that's what happens when you're brave enough to make decisions! I understand that now."

The only reply Matau receives is the fire inching steadily closer and another wordless growl. His feet scuff in the dust, and he feels himself slide back.

"You're our leader, Vakama! You're my leader! The others are depending on you – dammit, Vakama, say something!"

Vakama roars, and Matau's grip finally gives. He tries to duck out of the way as the flame bears down on him – but is too slow. The blaze brushes past his cheek and red-hot pain blossoms in its wake.

Matau staggers back and presses his hand against the burn. It's not gone deep enough to crack the mask, but he can feel the protodermis is rough, a thin melted mark across his cheek. Nausea rises through him. He blinks, and looks back to Vakama – expecting, hoping to see his horror mirrored back at him – after all, he was a mask-maker, surely he realises, surely he knows what he could have done – and the blazer claw is coming for him again.

A small, pathetic sound struggles in the back of Matau's throat, but he reels back just in time. His hand is still against his mask, while his eyes...

His eyes are trained on Vakama's.

There is something wrong with Vakama's eyes. Something more than just the rage or the adrenaline. Something, even, more than the venom-green colour. The irises are too full, too wide; they eclipse the eye entirely.

Like an ash bear's.

He realises it's been an awfully long time since he heard his brother speak.

Another blow comes slamming towards him, and Matau responds on instinct, releasing an air spinner that strikes into Vakama. The Toa Hordika is torn off his feet and smacks into the wall of the arena. He collapses to the ground. Still conscious but slow to regain his footing.

"Say something, Vakama," Matau says, softer than before. Toa don't beg, but maybe... maybe Hordika do. "Please."

A venom-green eye glares at Matau. There is blind rage and wordless aggression in those depths. But no intelligence. Matau's seen those eyes before, on rahi, on monsters.

They don't belong on a Toa.

Vakama pushes himself back to his feet – all four of them – and Matau braces himself for the fresh slew of attacks. Is this their destiny? To war like this until one brother destroys the other? Can Matau even bring himself to fight – to not only defend, but fight with the aim to win?

He flinches at the sound of a spinner firing, but Vakama's rhotuka spinner is still idle. There comes another whirr, and Matau glances back to the source.

The other Toa have fired on the tall figure. A last-ditch attempt? He hears the stranger's cackle, their form crackling with energy. Four elemental attacks, and they shrug it off with a laugh? The Toa's combined powers had taken down the Makuta; was this being really as powerful as him?

A spinner fires up, closer to home, and he ducks as the blast goes wide over his head. A reckless, probably getting-self-killed plan fits into place – but it's not as if he's swimming in options.

He starts a sprint towards his friends. Vakama is hot on his tail – too hot – and Matau drops onto all four limbs in an attempt to keep ahead. He zig-zags, hoping that's enough to keep him from being fried-burnt.

Le-Matoran are quick thinkers. They aren't necessarily forward-thinkers, but in the spur of the moment they can react in a flash. That's fine. Matau doesn't need to think that far ahead; his lifespan is probably a matter of minutes anyway. He just needs to survive at least those few minutes.

A blast flies a hand's breadth from his head.

Okay, seconds. He just needs to survive the next few seconds. Realistic goals.

He's close enough to hear the stranger's gloating now – Roodaka, that's her name – her voice crackling in a manner that might be her natural voice or the elemental energy racing across her armour. He hears Vakama's spinner powering up again, and he straightens his course.

All the better to aim at.

Le-Matoran are quick-thinkers. That's why they so often take the role of test-drivers. And Matau was one of their best.

He hears the shift in the rhotuka as it releases the spinner – and swerves at the last second. The heat burnishes his arm, but the full force slams into Roodaka. She staggers back. The crackling energy takes on a frantic pace, flooding her eyes and her heartlight, and still she does not fall.

Well, Matau's going to see if he can change that.

Distantly, he hears a shout – one of the Rahaga? – but he's already releasing an air spinner that buckles Roodaka. The light fades from her, and when she hits the ground – already lifeless – that energy bursts free from her like an earthquake. It rises up and forms a hand Matau only remembers in brief flashes of horror, a hand of darkness and shadow that engulfs Roodaka's body and leaves only a hollow heartstone in its place.

Belatedly, Matau recalls his pursuer, but he needn't have worried. Vakama has frozen, his rhotuka spinner still whirring but not firing up. He stands apart from the other Toa, and at this proximity the changes are undeniable. His eyes are lost, confused; how much of what he's just seen even makes sense to him anymore?

Nokama is the first to step forward. Her hands are raised as if trying to calm a wild rahi. Does she even realise she's doing it, Matau wonders. "Vakama," she says, and there's a shake in her voice that betrays maybe she does know. "It's alright, it's over–"

Vakama's gaze snaps to Nokama and she freezes. She sees it now too: the lack of recognition. The senselessness. A sound catches at the back of her throat. It sounds like heartbreak. It's that heartbreak that leaves her too slow to register Vakama's spinner starting up, that leaves her not wanting to comprehend what her own brother means to do, until a black blast slams into Vakama. Its energy crackles over him, paralysing him and the light dulls from those altered, rahi eyes.

"It's only temporary," Bomonga says, when eyes turn to him and his powering-down rhotuka. "Not a long-term solution. But it'll keep him from hurting anyone. For now."

The Visorak around them rumble. And then, with both king and viceroy dead, and their commander nothing more than a beast, they abandon what is left of their crumbling hierarchy.

Norik's saying something, something about the Makuta and released and danger, but Matau can only stare at the paralysed, inanimate form of Vakama. "We defeated the hordes, right?" he says suddenly, cutting off Norik. "We did what Keetongu said we needed our Hordika sides to do, so now it's time to return us to our old selves, isn't it?"

Norik falters. He looks to where Keetongu lies. Onewa and Whenua are already helping the rahi to its feet, and it emits that strange, multi-toned speech in reply.

"Keetongu says that he can turn you back, if you so wish," Norik translates.

"And... Vakama?" Nokama asks.

Even to Matau, Keetongu's reply sounds... stinted.

"Keetongu says," and Norik hesitates. The Rahaga suddenly looks tired. Spent. "He says the Hordika venom runs too deep in Vakama. There is nothing Keetongu can do for him now."

"There must be something!" Matau demands. "He wouldn't give up on us – not if he was still himself – so we can't give up on him!" The other Toa are staring at him – no, not just at him, he realises, at his mask. He claps one hand defensively to the burn streak. "I'm okay!" he snaps. "It's Vakama we should be worried about!"

Nokama reaches out. Her fingers falter, as if afraid of what she might find. "Did... Did Vakama do that to you?" she asks.

Matau recoils back. "It's nothing. I told you, I'm okay. I'm fine. What are we going to do about Vakama?"

The other Toa exchange glances.

"Anyone?" Matau asks.

Onewa and Whenua look away.

"Nokama?" Matau appeals to the Toa who's always preached the virtue of unity, who had been the only one to refuse to believe Vakama could have kidnapped the other Rahaga, even when all the evidence said otherwise.

She doesn't meet his gaze.

If they had seen what Matau had seen, how the conflict had raged in Vakama... but maybe that's the problem. Nokama had seen the shift in Vakama's eyes, the rahi look...

"We can't leave him to run wild," Nuju says, eventually. "Who knows the damage he'll do in this state."

"Maybe one day..." Nokama begins. "Maybe we'll find a way to reverse this."

"And until then?" Nuju asks. "You know things cannot stay as they are."

"Maybe they don't have to," Whenua says. The others look to him, and his face is wretched. "In the Archives, we have a... a way of dealing with rahi without killing them."

Nuju is the first to realise Whenua's meaning. He doesn't flinch, but – if it's somehow possible for the usually immovable Toa – he freezes. "The stasis tubes."

Whenua nods.

"Wait, wait, wait, hold on," Matau says. "Are you suggest-saying we should put him into one of your display cases?"

"It only sends them to sleep," Onewa says. "Right?"

Whenua's mouth thins, like there is a world of distinction between what the stasis tubes do and sleep. "Close enough," he concedes. "His life functions will be slowed down to the point that he won't need either food or air. He won't be conscious enough to know what's happening."

Nokama places a hand on Matau's shoulder. "This will give us time to find a solution," she says softly. Reasonably, as if trapping a fellow Toa – a brother – like a museum exhibit is a natural thing to suggest. Yet, beneath the grip, Matau can feel a tremor in Nokama's fingers.

"Fine," he spits.

No one moves. No one wants to be the one to place Vakama into a stasis chamber.

Then Onewa steps hesitantly forward and slings an arm beneath Vakama's shoulders and hoists him up. Matau knows he should help, but by the time he has found the courage to move, Nokama is already supporting Vakama's other side.

x

Stasis tubes really doesn't do the devices justice. Tubes sounds like something small, compact. Round, now Matau thinks about it. But the machines that Whenua leads them to are more like glass cages. There aren't many intact ones left, not after the cataclysm, but he finds a few unused ones in storage and connects it up to a canister of diluted stun gas. Nokama and Onewa gently deposit Vakama's unconscious form onto the tube's base.

No one says anything.

The double-shell rises up and about its captive specimen resident and there comes the hiss of the stun gas filling the tube.

And Vakama's eyes begin to flicker back to life.

"Can't you speed the process up?" Onewa asks.

"It's gas," Whenua shoots back. "I can't pour it out any quicker. What do you want me to do, change the law of physics?"

Vakama reels. He lurches to his feet, but enough of the stun gas has already entered his system to send him off-kilter. He slams into the inner shell, a growl tearing from his throat, and miniscule hairline fractures scatter across the shell. He raises his right arm, blazer claw flaring into flames, and the Toa wait for the freeing blow that never comes.

Instead, Vakama sways.

The blazer claw dips against the inner shell of the tube, extinguished, and his hand – clawed, jointed in the wrong places – rests beside it. His shoulders hunch, but in the way of one overcome with exhaustion, and his breathing slows. His hand uncurls and, if only in passing, nearly looks like it once had.

And he looks to the Toa.

Really looks.

Before the light fades from his eyes, Matau almost thinks he sees the ghost of a smile, small and sad, flicker across Vakama's face. Almost enough to make Matau believe his brother falls into oblivion with relief.

And then the light – and everything that was once Vakama – vanishes.

"Do rahi in stasis chambers..." Matau falters. He stares at the motionless form of their leader, their brother. Vakama is not like Matau; he wasn't always in motion – not physically, anyway. But his mind had always been racing. Too much, sometimes. Thoughts and visions and fears crowding round in a single head, and now...

It feels almost unnatural that he should be so still.

Matau tries again.

"Are they aware?"

"I think they sometimes dream," Whenua replies.

[toa-kohutti]

It's Just Paint

A drabble about a Le-Matoran and his jar of paint. Also available on Archive of Our Own.

It’s just paint. 

Aylun tried to convince himself that this was ridiculous, a waste of his time. Objectively, it was. There was no reason to be spending his quiet time doing this. If the other Matoran knew, they’d rightfully make fun and criticize him for his wastefulness. Why paint yourself, especially if it’s not even something you’re going to keep on, instead just wiping it away moments later? 

At least he would just wipe it away. There’d be nary a trace on his armor, and nobody would know and judge him. They couldn’t know he was doing such stupid things. They could label him defective and send him off to Karzahni… and Aylun never knew anyone who came back from Karzahni. 

In his little corner of Le-Metru, a small carving out of the city to call a tiny home, with little more than a bed, a few storage containers, and a mirror turned to the other side, nobody else could see him.  He didn’t have anything to be afraid of. So why, when he held the jar of color, were his fingers trembling?

It’s just paint. 

His stomach was tied up into a knot. He was defective for doing this, he had to be. But something deep in him, deeper than the feelings of shame, pushed him forward, and it told him to listen louder than that shame or even the reverence for the Three Virtues. So he did. 

He picked up an old, dry brush in his quivering grip. He took a deep breath, swallowed his fear, pride, and something else entirely, and dipped it into the jar. It was something that terrified him, and yet, as soon as he began, all of the trembling, the pit in his stomach, all the indecisiveness, evaporated. He drew the brush out, now saturated with the sticky color, and began to paint.

He started with his mask - thankfully, the style of Metru Nui masks made it so he only had to paint two-thirds of his mask, with half melting into a silver he had no problem with. Silver was a color anyone could have, but the rest of him was green. He wasn’t sure if he hated green sometimes. Some days, he bristled against the flood of it that is his Metru. Others were… fine. But he knew he hated the green on him. 

It’s just paint. 

His shoulders were next - thankfully, the green on his armor barely wrapped around to where he couldn’t reach. A little stretch and holding the brush at an awkward angle, and the green disappeared. Then his chest, his stomach, the rest of his torso. He wasn’t sure if it was going fast, or if he was just lost in it. But moments later, he was finished. He stood up, and turned the mirror over. 

In the mirror, he saw a Ga-Matoran. A girl wearing a vibrant blue mask and blue armor, not a Le-Matoran in a pallid green. And he was happy. He turned around and around, watching himself in the mirror, a looking glass to another world where he was another Matoran. His heart leapt with joy, and every movement was full of sureness. 

The paint… it made him happy. He reached out to his reflection, red eyes peering back at him behind a beautiful blue mask, and for a moment, it almost spoke to him. Her - no, his arm, was held out, as if it was urging him to step through the mirror and come with her. The girl in the mirror’s eyes were filled with a longing, as if she yearned to be real. But “she” was just Aylun, just him, wearing a color. 

It’s just paint.

“Aylun!” His daydream was cut short as his friend banged on his door. “Come on, it’s now-time for hard-work!!” He panicked. His stomach dropped again, and he rushed for the rag, ready to scrub off all of this paint before it dried. 

“I’m coming!” He called. “I’ll be there in a….” It pained him for a second to use Chutespeak, but he did it anyway. “Quick-second!” It was forced, and if they looked for it, they could tell something was up.  But it was enough, he prayed to the Great Spirit, that it would keep them from finding his secrets. 

He scrubbed the paint away, and soon, there was no trace of it he could find on his body. In the mirror he saw, now, nothing more than Aylun, his boring, defective old self. That same mirror that gave him elation moments before reminded him, painfully, like a Rahi’s claw dug into his gut and twisted, that the happiness moments before…

It’s just paint.

[bioniclecaughtbetweenworlds]

THE NEXT ROW OF CHARACTER DESIGNS ARE DONE!

WWWWOOO also what Is basically the main cast opinions and feelings on each other!!

Also I nearly forgot to show ozi design!

[bionicle-baby]

Hey guys? Should I post my squid game inspired Bionicle fic? It’s not finished yet…

[siren-darkocean]

I'm constantly having to remind myself I'm the only one who writes X Readers of Bionicle characters

Somehow my most popular ones are my Toa Mata Nui X Reader's and my Roodaka X Reader's

With the exception of the one X Reader for Ackar (despite I have like three I think) where the reader is Plus sized (man would not care about a body size you can't tell me otherwise)

I'm a little sad about the fact I'm the only one

But that means I'm the QUEEN of Bionicle X Readers

All of them on Wattpad

[legend-as-old-as-time]

;__;

The short length adds to the punch, because whatever happened, Gali can't say or do more. And it feels like Kiina can't do anything to bring her back.

You poor, sweet thing, said the ocean in her voice. A rogue wave raised itself from the tow to caress Kiina's cheek.

She stood knee deep in the water, heaving as she looked into the endless horizon.

I will still be here, said the ocean in her voice. I will always be here.

"But will you be her?" Kiina cried.

The waves washed ashore all around her.

I will still be here. I will always be here.

"But will you be her?"

"I will be here," whispered Gali gently, just for a moment, before her self was swallowed back by the seas she had melted into: I will always be here.

Kiina stood, tears sinking in the saltwater, and felt no such thing as comfort.

[sapphicslaylist]

Remember: Your Art Is Radical (yes, even that one)

Realizing that this isn’t common knowledge, so I’m here to spread this message as far as I’m able. I’m sitting here, working on my fanfic right now and fretting over the fact I need to properly portray book burnings. Then kind of realized a methodology for rebellion which isn’t often used to its full potential.

Your art is political - yes, even that one. Even your Shrek Fanart and Bionicles meta-analysis. Fanworks are seen as vapid and purely derivative throughout many circles, and therefore aren’t going to be put to the test on world criticism like many other forms of media. Good. Use that!

Remember that fandoms consist of a variety of people from different backgrounds, races, and cultures, all of which can be educated off of one another. No one is going to be aware of all the different elements of Human Justice, and we can learn a lot from each other. Art itself is an act of politic because for many if not most of us alive, our existence itself is political. And, as funny as it is to imagine that the government is going to read through 12,000,000 pages of Erotic Harry Potter Fanfiction, that’s not a likely reality.

Fanart is a much more covert way of examining current events which can and WILL be capable of helping shift tides. Remember: you were drawn to that media for a reason; may be passive enjoyment, may be something deeper. Fanart is a form of creation which is safer, as it won’t be heavily monitored or scrutinized (both because it can’t be and most older folks aren’t super aware of it). It goes under their radar. Help bigoted nerds unlearn what they’ve been taught, because knowledge is the enemy of bigotry. Even one fic or one piece of art will have a ripple effect and encourage others to create their own.

For those with degrees, I encourage you to add elements of scholarly queer studies and disability aid in your worldbuilding. Disabled people, show, not tell how different means of mobility function and the history which has been repeatedly hidden from us. Expound what knowledge you have, and capitalize. Write characters of different racial backgrounds & culture shock when their societies meet. Draw acts of defiant historical violence in your OTPs and add in the source of the event. This is not derivative: it’s using one media source to explain a narrative. Simply adding in elements of your shared experience or coding different parts of literary theory into your work in a more digestible manner is already letting others see your depiction of the world.

I mean this full-heartedly: your creation is an act of defiance no matter what form it takes. Doesn’t matter if you’re “a bad artist” or “not a good writer.” Your experience is unique and not only deserves to but NEEDS to be shared more than ever. So if you’ve always wanted to write that deep feminist She-Ra work or Warrior cats analysis on systematic ableism, the time is now.

[turaga-maxil]

I been writing fanfic

No spoilers. Give it a look.

[bioniclechicken]

Surprise, was doing a comic this whole time

Reached the halfway point of the story so might as well reveal its in-progress existence

Read it here

[ctrl-alt-tahu]

A Great Being's Mind

What kind of Great Being allows himself to be "fixed" by Karzahni?

The descriptions of Velika in the Saga of Ignition are clear: he was an odd, broken, clumsily-rebuilt Po-Matoran, as were all the Matoran of Voya Nui. If Velika had not been like those around him, the great surprise of his unveiling after the reformation of Spherus Magna might not have been so surprising, but a surprise it was. So a broken Matoran rebuilt by Karzahni he must have been--but why?

He was not always this way, we have learned. In all the records salvaged from the Great Spirit Robot there were still traces, for those who went looking, of the original Po-Matoran Velika. There was no longer anyone who remembered him, or any record of his assigned duties in the village where he had lived in the Northern Continent: only a single copper scrap that had survived the destruction of Karzahni's realm: the tag with which he had been sent there, only partially legible:

Velika - Po-Mato-- broken arm, uppe-- return to: East Po-Koro, Inner Po-Wahi, Nor-- Signed: Roc-

A broken arm was a minor repair, compared with most of those sent to Karzahni--at least in the later years. Once Turaga across the isles began to wonder why their Matoran never returned from their repairs, they went to greater efforts to repair their broken Matoran, sending only the most irreparably damaged to Karzahni, the realm of no return. In those later years, a broken arm alone would never have been enough. Were there more damages, unable to be read on what remains of the tag? Or was he sent there so early in Karzahni's history that no one had yet become suspicious that none had returned?

The script used on the tag argues for the possibility of the latter option. The square-printed letters include a ligature that was lost in the great time-skip, an early Artakhan script that fell out of fashion everywhere but the Western Arm. While is possible that Velika was not quite the first Matoran sent to Karzahni, it seems he was an early one.

The discovery that, in early years, Karzahni had, in fact, competently fixed and returned Matoran sent a historiographic shockwave through the Bionicle community. Their Agori neighbours understood well enough that it was a surprising unveiling of mysteries when the earliest records of the Order of Mata Nui were unsealed, but they did not understand the smaller therein that, in the first few hundred years or so, every Matoran sent to Karzahni had returned, in perfect functioning order.

What kind of Great Being would allow himself to be fixed by Karzahni?

Why did Karzahni cease to competently perform the role for which he was made?

The fools, they would never know, Velika thought, nor understand, but just has he had given them thought, so too was he able to break it. His own broken arm had been a trivial wound, but he had become bored with East Po-Koro and had relished the opportunity to travel "by chance" to realm of repair. The Matoran Universe was no longer new, exactly, but the remnants of Spherus Magna were now far enough behind that he was willing to venture about and see what his changes to the Matoran had wrought--and where better to meet Matoran from all over the universe than where they were all repaired?

Karzahni had had him prepped genially, the bound-up arm unwound and laid beside him on the sterile surface, and the gentle titan started to knit him together carefully. Velika had smirked to himself, delighted at the fullness of his deception, when something--some tiny, trivial, unknowable, unpredictable instinct had made the titan pause.

"You're a strange one, aren't you?" he mused. Sedated, Velika didn't think he should answer, and maybe the sedation had even worked on him, a little, and he did not think to stop Karzahni as the titan tapped at his head, and the casing that should have housed a melding of silicate tissues and fine circuitry opened to reveal a wrinkled, grey lump of pulsating matter.

Even if he were a half-second slow under the sedation, that half-second had now passed, and Velika was indignant at being discovered. Even as Karzahni stepped back, baffled and a bit horrified at the un-Matoran brain he had discovered, Velika's eyes lit as he "woke" fully, and his good hand clutched at Karzahni's massive hand, and the titan could not break the grip.

"I look the same, don't I?" asked the apparent Po-Matoran, "but I am not--let me show you." And, with a wrench, his grip on Karzahni linked the titan's nervous system to his own, and Velika's thoughts coursed from his brain, through the apparently-Matoran body he inhabited, and into the Karzahni's nerves, leaping to his brain in less than an instant.

The visions Velika showed him awed the titan: visions of raw elemental power, of a knowledge of energised protodermis behind that of Artakha himself, of all that had come before, and of much that had happened since, and even as Karzahni struggled to comprehend the enormity of what he had just learned, Velika reached in and erased the memory of it--and then some.

Karzahni, now and forever more thereafter the Mad Titan, stumbled about, his eyes blinking furiously, and when he had calmed himself, though the world seemed to stop spinning, he saw the half-assembled Matoran on the operating table.

"Where was I…?"

"You were just about to improve me," said Velika. "To restore me."

And Karzahni did: alone of all the Matoran that had come to him yet, he sent Velika away changed from what he had been, and alone of all the Matoran that would come thereafter, he sent Velika away with no defect, though to the eyes of one accustomed to a standard Matoran, he was no longer that. All the Matoran that Karzahni fixed thereafter would resemble him in some form, but covering defects he could no longer repair. Only, in Velika, there was no defect: this was his chosen form.

[rahiwatching]

Ravenous - Additional Dark Hunter Entry, Dictated by the Shadowed One

On occasion, Toa have fallen from grace and joined the ranks of my Hunters. Sometimes, even a lowly Matoran has proven their worth and become an asset to the organisation, but never before has a Turaga ever come under my employ. Until Ravenous that is. But then again, Ravenous is no mere Turaga.

Energised Protodermis is a coveted substance for the Brotherhood of Makuta, and one that I have endeavoured to keep out of their claws whenever possible in my thousand year long war against them. So when word of the discovery of a new pool reached my chamber, I dispatched my closest Hunter in the field to secure it. Unfortunately, a group of 6 Turaga had also discovered the pool, and objected to my claim upon it.

Knowing their pitiful abilities were no match for my operative, they fused their bodies and minds to form a Turaga Nui, and in the ensuing battle both Turaga Nui and Dark Hunter fell into the pool. The Dark Hunter was destroyed by the Protodermis, but that was not the destiny of the Turaga Nui, who emerged from the pool to find their fusion had become permanent.

The delusional creature actually rejoiced at this, seeing it as a reward from the Great Spirit for their unity, and believing that this new power meant that their shared dream of returning to a life of heroism could now be fulfilled. But, they forgot that Mata Nui sleeps, and in a such a restless sleep as his, a dream can quickly become a nightmare.

Fusions, by their very nature, take a great deal of energy to maintain. It is why they are usually so short lived. This new fusion was about to find out that breaking this norm has its consequences.

Half way to the nearest settlement, the Turaga Nui became hungry.

When it reached the village, that hunger had turned… Ravenous.

By the time a second party of Dark Hunters had been dispatched to investigate the first’s disappearance, they found a village littered with the dead, every Matoran killed and drained dry of their life energies. In the centre of the carnage they found the Turaga Nui, its hunger temporarily satisfied but its mind driven mad with guilt over what it had done. Like so many others before it, the being now known as Ravenous could never return to the life it once knew, and so found its place amongst my Hunters.

Powers:

Ravenous has limited control over the elements of Plasma, Ice, Earth, Iron, Lightning and Psionics, but makes up for their reduced power with the wide range of possibilities that 6 separate elements provide.

When kept well fed, their combined millennia of battle experience makes them a formidable foe to my enemies, and their ability to utilise the powers of the noble Calix, Huna, Kakama, Sanok, Akaku and Kiril separately or in combination makes them an incredibly adaptable operative.

But if starved, Ravenous becomes an unstoppable beast, tearing through enemy ranks and devouring felled opponents with a savagery that even makes some of their fellow Hunters take pause.

Status:

I tend to place Ravenous on missions that keep them engaged with the forces of the Brotherhood rather than against Toa or Matoran, lest what is left of their moral code intervene with a mission that in their former life they may have found unsavoury.

I have just dispatched them to an island south of Odina to prevent the Brotherhood from establishing a foothold there. Finding their force of Rahkshi destroyed and the Kraata within reduced to withered husks should give the Makuta pause for thought in our next engagement…

[wjbs-bonkle-au]

I have a really fun idea for a slightly-silly Bionicle crossover fanfic but I can't write and I don't know much about the other half of the crossover, but basically Brutaka uses the Olmak to travel to Heartlake, the city from Lego Friends, and gets into all kinds of shenanigans.

[toa-kohutti]

A Moment of Eternity (Toa Dysphoria)

The Matoran Aegide becomes a Toa, but immediately finds he's not happy with his form. Is he so different to his brothers and sisters, or is he not alone? And what will the Turaga think when they find out that your destiny feels like a mistake?

A (sort of) Pride Month special - a short little story about the necessity of change, inspired by my dear friend KDNX's work.

Also available on AO3.

This was a moment often overlooked. To others, it was nothing more than the briefest period of time. Only a few seconds between two states of being, it wasn't worthy of the history tablets. But to the Matoran Aegide, it was an eternity. The moment swallowed his world whole, submerging him in it, drawing him in alone and forcing him to feel its totality. It ought to be a moment of honor, yet it was a moment of fear and doubt for Aegide. As it dissipated, permanence ready to catch him, he wished it could be undone. 

A minute before, Aegide stood in the modest, almost cramped, stone temple that stood atop Mount Norik, surrounded by familiar Matoran and his three Turaga. The elders of the small island whispered to one another as the six Matoran around them each held a Toa Stone. To try and calm his nerves, Aegide looked around to each would-be hero, wondering why they were chosen. First he saw Dekani, a Matoran of Sonics, no doubt chosen for her renowned athletics, then Fatala, probably for the raw power of her Magnetism element and not her timidness, and Kohutti, for her leadership skill and, soon, Gravity powers. Next to him on either side were Pomak, the kindest Matoran of Stone he’d ever met, and Fetoki, the Iron crafter who repaired everything on the island with her mechanical skill. Fetoki’s eyes met his, and they shared a silent moment of doubt that they belonged. Turaga Cemaka said she’d chosen him for his bravery, but others saw him as foolhardy. As he turned to the glowing red Toa Stone placed in his hand, he didn’t feel very brave. 

He turned the stone over in his hand, considering it one last time. It was physical proof that he’d been chosen, that he was due to become a hero. Aegide wanted renown, he knew this much about himself, but to take the step of actually accepting what the stone would do to him felt strange. He wasn’t smart like Fetoki, kind like Pomak, or full of potential like Fatala. He was a daredevil, not a protector. But… maybe he could be one. Resolve began to build in his chest, his weak-feeling fingers balling into a braver fist. He didn’t know what he would be like when the transformation was complete, but he knew that he would be greater. So with a deep breath, he accepted the destiny laid out before him.

He reached out with his very being to the Toa Stone within his loose grasp, and it in turn reached back out to him. His entire perception was drawn into a bright light, the crimson from the stone fading to an all-consuming whiteness that surrounded him completely, leaving him all alone inside it. Time seemed to halt for a moment in familiar fashion, like he was mid-dive off a cliff. But the daredevil Matoran was not plummeting towards danger as a show, he was alone, and now at the mercy of the stone in his hand. His eyes shot around, confirming a void of white light around him everywhere. He couldn't move any of his other muscles - his body was frozen in the position of contemplating the stone. Normally, this moment of helplessness was a thrill. But this was something unknown to him, something new and utterly terrifying.

He panicked. He took a breath - or rather, his body tried, but his frozen muscles followed no command. He thought to his Turaga, Cemaka - and his memory of her as a Toa. How did she survive this moment? How did she feel when she was transforming, changing into a Toa? Was she brave? Or was she scared like he was? He felt strange not knowing where he was going. He could take a real danger with ease, but this? He called on the memory of her rescuing him from the explosion at sea, a proud, strong warrior who lifted the wreckage that trapped him with her mind to carry him to a new home, and felt a small comfort. 

As if a reaction to his memory, his imagination, the Toa Stone’s glow shone brighter. He let his eyelids close and flutter open, and he saw the memory of Cemaka’s form as a Toa, and her silhouette around his body, enveloping him. The imagined vision of her was a reprieve for a moment. He could handle it like she did. He breathed out - and this time, his body listened, letting the air out of his lungs.

But when he breathed in again, he was met with a new sensation entirely. His breath was quick, short, and shallow. His lungs weren't filled, as if they were resisting him. The terror began to claw back to the surface, wrapping its wretched talons around his warm heartlight. What was happening to him? It was as if his physical form was barely there at all, and the reflection of Cemaka was what was truly real. He couldn't feel his body, but he could see another's - and it slowly sunk into his mind what was happening. His shallow breath suddenly tasted sour as a strange fear shuddered through him. The image of a Toa... was him now.

It started with his feet. The panels of armor began to painlessly break apart and reshape themselves, the Protodermis reforming into a new shape unlike his old one, more flexible, stronger and broad. He felt his flesh go with it, muscles weaving themselves into new joints that he didn't have before. He saw his hands break apart, fingers separating to meet the fingers of the Toa's silhouette, that imagined form now becoming his reality. The Toa Stone slowly broke him apart and reformed him into a new body, one broader, stronger, more ready to protect.

But in this transitory stasis, a fracture of time that should fill him with pure elation and reverence, he was instead filled with a strange emotion. He silently cursed that it didn't have a name to him. Unfamiliarity? Doubt? Confusion? Fear? It was all of those, but none of them at the same time. He wanted to cry out, to be rescued from this moment, to not change. But it was too late. His muscles had knit themselves into a new form, and there was no going back.

The light began to dissipate. Aegide shut his eyes, hard, and his jaw quivered. His... jaw quivered. He could move his body again! He took a breath again, and felt more air pushing deeper into him than ever before. It felt good in a way, but at the same time, it meant that it was over. Destiny had decided.

He opened his eyes to see a dull stone, now deprived of power. As he looked around, he saw his friends, now teammates and comrades, astonished at themselves. Kohutti, now a Toa of Gravity, marveled at her own hands, while Dekani stretched and Pomak flexed to feel his new strength. Fatala seemed nervous but not regretful, only anxious because she wasn't covered in pink paint like she preferred to be. But one of them was different.

Fetoki locked eyes with Aegide, and an instant understanding passed between the Toa. She was terrified, as terrified as he was. They looked so much the same, like Cemaka did. But neither of them was happy about it. His mind was flooded with questions for her. He wanted to know if he truly wasn't alone, if she felt the same strange doubts and fears he did. Their forms didn't suit them, he knew that. But before he could speak, their Turaga broke the silence.

"You are all Toa now," Turaga Gorrf’s time-carved, creaky voice practically boomed in the small stone-walled room, "and you all must serve the Matoran of Carana. It is an oath you all swore when you took these stones, and the Great Spirit expects great things from you."

"Show us our faith is well placed, heroes." Cemaka's smoother voice calmed him for a moment, but it also filled him with an instant shame. He was like she was. So why did he reject it? He should be proud to be like her, to be a hero. But he wasn't. And from looking at Fetoki, he could tell behind her gruff mask that she wasn't either. The Great Spirit, faith... it all felt like a weight on his conscience.

"Now go, my friends." Turaga Lumuka, the third and youngest Turaga of the island, smiled behind her noble Rau. "Go, and learn what it means to be a Toa."

Aegide swallowed and nodded as a murmur swept across the six of them, before they all began to walk out of the modest, ancient temple that they had transformed within. The sunset's light shimmered across the mountain, and Aegide, a Matoran - no, Toa - of Fire, shivered in the cold atop it. The six stopped before they split off towards their respective Koros, looking to one another, a strange silence underscored by the whistling of the wind. Kohutti finally broke it, fitting as she was the designated leader of their brand-new team.

"So we're all Toa now." She turned her hands over in her own view, cocking her head to look at them like a confused Rahi. "It's... surreal, isn't it?"

"It's incredible, is what it is!" Dekani beamed behind her mask as she swung her arms out in a sudden twirl. "I feel amazing! I'm going to be so fast!"

"Just remember that you're not going to be in any races anymore." Pomak's deep, smooth voice was underscored by a chuckle. "It's not fair to the Matoran now that you're twice their height and can use that mask of yours."

"My mask! I nearly forgot! Gotta go!" Elation filled Dekani's eyes as she whipped around and bolted, activating her Kanohi Kakama - the Mask of Speed - and carving a trail down the mountain in a sudden blur. The snow she kicked up gently fell to the ground in a cloud that obscured her, leaving only the sound of the wind reacting to her and the footprints she left.

"Well, on that note..." Kohutti said, folding her arms in disapproval at her teammate's disappearance. "I suppose we'd better all get to our Koros too."

"Wait, I have a question!" Fatala's hand nervously shot up, waiting for permission to speak.

"And that is?" Pomak said.

"Why do we look different? I thought Toa Teams all looked the same." She asked, before realizing how silly she sounded to herself and shrinking, drawing her shoulders together in anxiety.

"Well, what happened when you became a Toa?" Pomak asked. "I was reminded of Gorrf when he rescued me all those centuries ago. Did you think of Lumuka, since you were brought to Carana later?"

"Well, I did." Kohutti shrugged, looking towards the group. "I can only assume Fatala and Assane did too." Fatala simply nodded, not wanting to speak up again.

"I thought of Cemaka." Aegide finally spoke, but as if it were an admission of guilt. "I know you hadn't met her so... this is what she looked like as a Toa, I guess." He presented himself, looking down at his form without much joy. He saw a barrel chest, broad and thick, with shoulders and arms to match. He was only outmatched in bulk by Pomak, and it felt so wrong to him. He was lithe as a Matoran, and now he felt as if he were a brick with a Kanohi on top.

"Well, I think you look wonderful." Kohutti smiled behind her mask. "You too, Fetoki. Even if you don't want to hear it right now."

"You're right, I don't." The Toa of Iron finally broke her silence with a slight snarl. "You look lanky and vulnerable."

"I agree." Kohutti said, inspecting her own armor and finding it lacking. "If I bring you some scrap, will you help me make it into Toa Tools and armor? I feel almost maskless in this armor alone."

"You'd better bring me something interesting." Fetoki muttered. Kohutti shot a glance at Aegide about her attitude, and he met her with a shrug. "But I'll do it. For all of you, if you like."

"Thank you." Kohutti smiled. "Now, I've got places to be. I'll see you all later." She started down the mountaintop, taking a different path, towards Leba-Koro - a much longer journey than the others, which was probably why she wanted to leave so soon. Pomak wordlessly nodded and started towards his own Wahi, with Fatala nervously scrambling towards hers in tow.

Aegide turned back to see Fetoki, who started to drag herself through the snow towards the entrance of the mountain's innards. He had so many questions for her, he couldn't just let her go back to her Koro alone.

"Wait!" he called out to her, and when she didn't respond, he started to run towards her. He was so much faster than he was used to being that he nearly tripped over his own large, floppy feet, and let out a little noise of astonishment as he made it to her. "I-I want to talk to you!"

"I don't." Fetoki stopped and turned before muttering dryly. "Go away."

"No, I think you actually do, because -"

"Because what?" Fetoki growled at him. "Because I'm tall and thick now like you? Are you sure you didn't get thicker in the head?"

"Because we're both... like this." He said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She immediately threw it off with a jerk of her arm, but he continued to speak even after a quick snap of "don't touch me" escaped her mouth. "Because you feel wrong too." 

"What do you think you're doing?" She barked at him, balling her fists and taking a broad stance. "Are you trying to sweet-talk me into something because you feel bad for me? Or are you just dumb enough to think you're better than me?"

"Fine, I'll say it straight if you want me to." He said, folding his arms and becoming aware of his large chest once again, causing him to shudder. "I... need your help."

"Everybody needs my help. But nobody's ever considering me as a damn Oropi instead of a diligent worker, and now they’re gonna just consider me some kind of hero." She turned away from him with a huff, and started to walk back again.

"Wait! I think we can help each other!" He pleaded with as desperate a voice as he had. "You're not alone! I don't want to be like this!"

"This is our lot." She muttered. "The Great Spirit decided it for us. We don't have any choice but to use what we have. Destiny, and all that."

"I... I don't care." Aegide said. "I don't care what the Great Spirit wants for me right now. I don't want this. And-and you don't either, and maybe we can figure something out! You're smart, maybe you can-"

"Toa aren't masks or pieces of scrap!" Fetoki snapped. "What do you expect me to do? Weld some garbage on to you like I'm going to do to Kohutti and magically fix you?"

"No, I-" He stammered, before being cut off by Fetoki in a rage.

"No, you just want to stop feeling like a poor confused little child, and you're making it my problem!" She jabbed a finger into his broad chest, twisting it to underscore her point. The attention to his body made his heartlight dim and his mouth dry, and all he could do is stammer uselessly. "This is our destiny, like it or not, and we have to deal with it. I'm not happy, you're not happy, and as far as the Great Spirit is concerned, we can both go to Karzahni about it!"

"I..." Aegide's head sunk. "Y-you're... right. I'm sorry." He flopped down onto the ground, his knees' impact cushioned by the soft snow.

"So go to Karzahni for all I care." Fetoki said. "I'm going to swallow this and be a hero like I'm supposed to."

A third voice traveled through the chill air and cut through their argument. "Is that any way you should speak to your brother?" The two looked up to see Cemaka on the hill, spinning her jeweled staff and watching it scatter light across the snow. "Come now."

"T-turaga..." Fetoki also dropped to her knees in shame, looking down at the ground. "I'm sorry you had to hear that."

"You should be apologizing to Aegide," her smooth voice echoed atop the mountain, "and to yourself."

"M-myself?" The Toa asked. "What do you mean?"

"Well..." Cemaka hummed to herself as she waddled over to sit next to the two Toa in the snow. "I think there's something you two ought to know about my past."

Fetoki bristled. She never cared much for stories, Aegide knew, but he hoped she would hear the Turaga out for this one. "What is it we need to know?"

"You two imagined me as a hero when you became Toa, that much I can see." She said, placing a hand on each of the Toa as she flopped into the ground. "But I wasn't always like that."

"What do you mean?" Aegide said, confused. "You were..."

"Yes." Cemaka nodded to him. "I was rebuilt. I was rebuilt by my," She halted on the word, cringing a little as if it were painful for her to mention, "superior, multiple times. I used to look a lot more like Lumuka than I did either of you."

"But..." Fetoki's voice creaked. "This is what the Great Spirit decided for us. Would it not be wrong for us to be rebuilt?"

"Oh, please." Fetoki gave a dismissive wave. "If we can rebuild Matoran, why can't we rebuild Toa?" She leaned in closer to the two Toa, looking between them before she spoke again. "Don't tell the others, but I think we ought not to worry this much about destiny. It's coming for us no matter what, and if it's not meant to be, it won't be. But I don't think destiny says that you need to stay the way you are forever."

"Turaga," Aegide struggled to speak, "I don't understand. Isn't it an insult to you that we'd change away from your image? I wouldn't want to offend my Turaga."

"No." The elder's voice was plain as day. "In fact, I'd be very happy if I never had to see you two looking like that again."

"...Really?" Fetoki broke the silence with a furrowed brow and tilted head. "How can that be?"

"It's simple, my friends." Cemaka placed a hand on each of the Toa’s shoulders. "Seeing that form reminds me of a, well, poor time in my life." She admitted. "My... my superior was not someone to be proud of in many ways. And a reminder of that is a little unwelcome." She gently shook her head.

"Then, what about the others?" Aegide asked. "Are they, too, reminded of a poor time?"

"From what I've spoken to them... those were the glory days." She shrugged. "I think they're proud. Don't get me wrong, I'm proud of you too. But I also can see that you're not happy. You wear it on your armor clearer than air."

"So... neither you nor the Great Spirit will mind us changing?" He said, a kernel of hope starting to grow inside his chest.

"I can't speak for the Great Spirit," the Turaga said, "But for myself, I don't mind at all." She stood up on her rickety legs and turned from them, nodding gently. "Now go on, go. I think you two have some work to do. I'll see you again when you're ready."

Aegide looked to Fetoki, who seemed somehow less nervous after the Turaga’s guidance.. "Well... if I bring you some quality scrap..."

"I'll build you just about anything." She met his gaze with a tiny smile, and a rare sense of sincerity. “I promise.” 

"D-do you think you could make me a jetpack?" He asked, as he shot up to follow her. "I mean, I can fly with my Miru, but what if-"

"I made a mistake making a promise to you, didn't I?" She grumbled. The moment of sincerity passed, her gruffness having returned as the pair started to walk down the snowy hill towards an entrance of the dormant volcano they trod upon.

The Turaga simply smiled to herself as the two started back towards Fetoki's home, hoping that the two would find their happiness - and knowing they'd be some of the strangest Toa she'd ever meet.

[bioniclecaughtbetweenworlds]

Ello there!

My name is borgby and this my bionicle au called bionicle caught between worlds. My official blog is theantivoid-3

Here's some of the characters! I'm currently working on the villains rn

Plus and one of my characters for another characters background!!

I hope yall enjoy the art and writing!!

[bionicle-baby]

A little squid game inspired bionicle fic:

(Though it is incomplete as of Thursday January 30th) It has Chirox as the main villain, a lot of visorak, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, and Mutran is gonna’ show up next chapter!