CHAPTER THREE
Krika had made sure to disable or remove all of the traps he had set up to prevent anyone who visited Artidax from finding Miserix, as well as to prevent Miserix himself from escaping. As such, the trek from the shore of the island into the volcano that contained Miserix was uneventful. Still, he could sense that Spiriah was at unease, as if he suspected Krika of leading him into a trap. After all, most of the Brotherhood wanted him dead. This would have been the perfect opportunity to kill him.
But Krika was in no mood to kill a fellow Makuta. If he was, neither of them would be here now, doing what they were about to do.
The pathway Krika had created thousands of years ago led them deep underground through a winding maze of caverns. After bypassing the dormant traps, they soon reached the vast chamber that contained Makuta Miserix, former leader of the Brotherhood of Makuta.
Yet all they found instead was a massive red dragon.
Krika froze in his steps, Spiriah stopping right behind him. The latter Makuta looked over his brother’s shoulder to regard the reptilian monstrosity. Standing forty feet tall and surrounded by small Klakk bats, it wore the red and silver armor that he associated with Miserix, but he certainly didn’t recall their former leader being this large. If that had been the case 78,000 years ago, then Teridax never would have dared attempt dethroning him.
“I can see why you were afraid to kill him,” he said wryly.
Krika ignored the remark, staring in astonishment at the sight before him. He watched as a shadow hand shot out from the dragon’s chest and grabbed a Klakk circling above its head, absorbing the small Rahi into its body. That was all the proof Krika needed that this was indeed Miserix... after thousands of years’ worth of body augmentation.
“At this point, Teridax doesn’t stand a chance,” Krika said quietly to himself.
Suddenly, the dragon shifted and the two Makuta were soon recipient to its baleful gaze. Its eyes flashed red as they landed on Krika.
“You....” The ground seemed to tremble when Miserix spoke, like an avalanche waiting to happen.
Krika cleared his throat, bowing his head slightly. “Makuta Miserix. It’s... it’s been too long.”
Miserix snarled in disgust. “You are a bold one for showing your face here after so long.”
“My liege, please understand. What I did was for the sake of protecting you from the wrath of Teridax—”
“I would have rather died than suffer the fate you subjected me to!” Miserix bellowed, causing Krika and Spiriah to shrink away. “Give me an honorable death, not this mockery of a life!”
“I told you he wouldn’t be happy to see us,” Spiriah muttered.
Krika stepped closer to the dragon, flinching only slightly when the larger Makuta growled. “We need your help,” he began.
“Oh, isn’t that rich,” Miserix said. “Only now, when it best suits your needs, do you realize the error of your ways.”
“Teridax’s plan is accelerating faster than anticipated,” Krika went on. “The Brotherhood has seized control of Metru Nui and already has nearly half the universe under its rule. Teridax has grown mad with power.”
“And it’s only taken you this long to realize this?”
“At the very least, it’s taken me this long to realize that his plan will do more bad than good. That’s why we need you. The Toa have failed and the Matoran are helpless; you are the last resort.”
“Oh, I am so honored,” Miserix said snidely. “And just how do I know that this isn’t some kind of ploy to kill me?”
“Search our minds,” Krika said. “You will find no deception.”
“Also, have you looked in a mirror recently?” Spiriah asked. “You’ve become a bit harder to kill in the last several centuries.”
Miserix stared intently at the two Makuta and Krika could feel the larger Makuta’s mind probing his. After a few minutes, the dragon let out a snort.
“You may still be naive and foolish,” the former Brotherhood leader said. “But at least you are honest about it.”
Satisfied with this response, Krika raised an arm and fired a bolt of energy at the dragon’s chains, shattering them. Miserix let out a triumphant roar as he burst free from his constraints, flexing his limbs after nearly 80,000 years of disuse. He then cast his gaze back down at the other two Makuta, a wicked grin displaying itself across his monstrous visage.
“Now then... where is Teridax?”
But Krika was in no mood to kill a fellow Makuta. If he was, neither of them would be here now, doing what they were about to do.
The pathway Krika had created thousands of years ago led them deep underground through a winding maze of caverns. After bypassing the dormant traps, they soon reached the vast chamber that contained Makuta Miserix, former leader of the Brotherhood of Makuta.
Yet all they found instead was a massive red dragon.
Krika froze in his steps, Spiriah stopping right behind him. The latter Makuta looked over his brother’s shoulder to regard the reptilian monstrosity. Standing forty feet tall and surrounded by small Klakk bats, it wore the red and silver armor that he associated with Miserix, but he certainly didn’t recall their former leader being this large. If that had been the case 78,000 years ago, then Teridax never would have dared attempt dethroning him.
“I can see why you were afraid to kill him,” he said wryly.
Krika ignored the remark, staring in astonishment at the sight before him. He watched as a shadow hand shot out from the dragon’s chest and grabbed a Klakk circling above its head, absorbing the small Rahi into its body. That was all the proof Krika needed that this was indeed Miserix... after thousands of years’ worth of body augmentation.
“At this point, Teridax doesn’t stand a chance,” Krika said quietly to himself.
Suddenly, the dragon shifted and the two Makuta were soon recipient to its baleful gaze. Its eyes flashed red as they landed on Krika.
“You....” The ground seemed to tremble when Miserix spoke, like an avalanche waiting to happen.
Krika cleared his throat, bowing his head slightly. “Makuta Miserix. It’s... it’s been too long.”
Miserix snarled in disgust. “You are a bold one for showing your face here after so long.”
“My liege, please understand. What I did was for the sake of protecting you from the wrath of Teridax—”
“I would have rather died than suffer the fate you subjected me to!” Miserix bellowed, causing Krika and Spiriah to shrink away. “Give me an honorable death, not this mockery of a life!”
“I told you he wouldn’t be happy to see us,” Spiriah muttered.
Krika stepped closer to the dragon, flinching only slightly when the larger Makuta growled. “We need your help,” he began.
“Oh, isn’t that rich,” Miserix said. “Only now, when it best suits your needs, do you realize the error of your ways.”
“Teridax’s plan is accelerating faster than anticipated,” Krika went on. “The Brotherhood has seized control of Metru Nui and already has nearly half the universe under its rule. Teridax has grown mad with power.”
“And it’s only taken you this long to realize this?”
“At the very least, it’s taken me this long to realize that his plan will do more bad than good. That’s why we need you. The Toa have failed and the Matoran are helpless; you are the last resort.”
“Oh, I am so honored,” Miserix said snidely. “And just how do I know that this isn’t some kind of ploy to kill me?”
“Search our minds,” Krika said. “You will find no deception.”
“Also, have you looked in a mirror recently?” Spiriah asked. “You’ve become a bit harder to kill in the last several centuries.”
Miserix stared intently at the two Makuta and Krika could feel the larger Makuta’s mind probing his. After a few minutes, the dragon let out a snort.
“You may still be naive and foolish,” the former Brotherhood leader said. “But at least you are honest about it.”
Satisfied with this response, Krika raised an arm and fired a bolt of energy at the dragon’s chains, shattering them. Miserix let out a triumphant roar as he burst free from his constraints, flexing his limbs after nearly 80,000 years of disuse. He then cast his gaze back down at the other two Makuta, a wicked grin displaying itself across his monstrous visage.
“Now then... where is Teridax?”
* * *
Vakama stood nervously before the doors to the Coliseum’s throne room, feeling the cold glares of the two Vahki Nuurakh standing behind him. Next to him stood his fellow Ta-Matoran Jaller, the newly appointed Captain of the Metru Nui Guard. Even under the Makuta’s rule Jaller remained in the position Turaga Dume had given him weeks ago, though Vakama could tell from the dour expression on his mask that he was not particularly happy about that fact. Still, neither of them could say a word on the subject while in the presence of the Vahki, let alone being so close to the Makuta himself.
Behind the doors, Vakama could hear voices. One of them sounded like Turaga Lhikan’s while the other spoke with a terrifying voice. It sounded like they were debating over some sort of matter; whatever it was, Lhikan’s desperate tone indicated that he was not a fan of the subject at hand.
Vakama had lost track of how long he had been standing here. He was too afraid to ask Jaller for fear of the Vahki reacting negatively. He spared a glance at his fellow Ta-Matoran and the Captain briefly met his gaze. An undetectable shrug was all he could convey to the mask maker.
At that moment, the voices beyond the doors went silent as they swung open without warning. Before Vakama had a chance to react, the Vahki Nuurakh began ushering him into the chamber.
“Thank you for your service, Captain,” rumbled the terrifying voice he had heard earlier, coming from a dark figure sitting upon the throne of Metru Nui. “That will be all.”
With that, the doors slammed shut, sealing Jaller outside. As the two Vahki took up flanking positions on either side of Vakama, the mask maker took a moment to take in the scene before him. To either side of the throne, he saw Turaga Dume and Lhikan standing there, no longer carrying the Firestaffs that had been their badges of office. Both of them wore fearful expressions behind their masks though neither spoke a word.
On the throne itself was a large figure clad in black and gold armor, with red energy seeping through its cracks. Adorning his face was an ornate Kanohi mask of a design that even Vakama did not recognize; it had a long crest extending from its top while two ridges flayed out on either side. Red eyes glowed from behind the ebony shape and Vakama was instantly filled with a feeling of fear.
“It is an honor to be in your presence, mask maker,” said the Makuta of Metru Nui.
Vakama swallowed hard, frozen in place and unable to divert his eyes from the Dark Lord’s intense gaze. “I... I beg your pardon?”
A sinister grin stretched itself across Makuta’s horrible visage. “Are you not the most proficient mask maker in all of Metru Nui?”
Vakama did not have an answer for that, nor was he sure if answering either way would incite Makuta’s wrath. Not waiting for a response, Makuta gestured with a clawed hand and Vakama found himself stepping closer to the throne, against his will.
“I would like to make a humble request.”
Vakama gulped, his heartbeat quickening. “A... a request?”
“I am sure you are familiar with the legend of the Mask of Time,” said Makuta.
Vakama’s eyes widened. In his peripheral vision he noticed the two Turaga shift uncomfortably but still he could not move his eyes to them. Somehow Makuta was forcing the mask maker to look at him and only him.
“I have heard of the legends, yes,” he said quietly.
Makuta chuckled, a sound that made Vakama sick to his stomach. “Then I am sure you can guess what it is I desire from you.”
“Makuta, with... with all due respect, no mask maker has ever successfully crafted such a powerful mask. Even mask makers better than me.”
“But you are the best mask maker left in Metru Nui. Your dear friend Nuhrii is no longer with us, and the other Ta-Matoran... their skills simply do not compare to yours.”
Such compliments coming from a being as horrible as Makuta served only to make Vakama feel dirty inside. Still, Makuta’s request was clear and it would be suicidal of him to decline it.
“I... I will see to it that it is done, my liege,” Vakama murmured, his head dropping to his chest as if weighed a ton.
“Most excellent,” rumbled Makuta. “And fortunately for you, I have all the materials you will need.”
Vakama’s head snapped up as a group of six Vahki entered the room and marched up to him. In their hands was a Kanoka disk, each representing one of the six Metru. To Vakama’s surprise, all the disks had a power level of nine; the highest he had ever seen on a Kanoka.
“These are the Great Disks,” said Makuta. “The most powerful Kanoka in all of existence. I am sure you will find them to be most useful in crafting the Mask of Time.”
As the Vahki handed the disks to Vakama, Turaga Lhikan spoke up. “Vakama... you don’t have to do this.”
“Oh, but he does,” Makuta said. “If he values his life, of course.”
“You won’t get what you want,” growled Turaga Dume. “The Mask of Time is a myth, nothing more.”
“I suppose we will all find out for ourselves in due time.” Makuta kept his gaze on Vakama as he spoke, filling the Ta-Matoran with the unshakable sense of fear once more. “And if it is... you will all suffer the price of failure.”
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