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randomwriteronline · 28 days

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"Where are we going, brother?"

Pohatu doesn't answer. He keeps walking with his hand on the wall, quicker than all of them; every now and then he knocks gently on it.

There are no Rahkshi down here, no Exo-Toa or Rahi or anything. It's a tunnel that from the colosseum leads into some kind of pipe system different from the sprawling Archives, but equally as labyrinthine. Pohatu walks through it easily, knowing the general direction towards which they're going - that being, towards the Turaga, whom he sent on their own way to safety when Teridax's universe-wide attack unfolded before their powerless eyes. They'll take longer to show up where the Toa will meet them, but he knows they're a crafty lot: they'll have no trouble evading whatever might try to get them.

When asked how he's so familiar with this hidden piece of Metru Nui, he shrugged. He went for a long run all over the city on his first visit, he answered truthfully, and even when he did not add anything after the others were perfectly satisfied and did not insist with questions, because it's only natural for him to want to explore every nook and cranny of a place at maximum speed.

And because he is still on edge.

He hasn't blown up at them since they tried to ask him where he has been for one hundred thousand years, but he still flinches harshly to get their hands off of himself when they try to touch him, and he still looks at them angrily, and sometimes he still growls.

Takanuva hits his head on the ceiling and groans. His mask's silvery light stutters.

"Careful, little brother," Pohatu tells him with his normal, playful, gentle voice that lately he uses only for him, their younger siblings, and the Matoran: "That's the fifth time you try to break a hole through the tunnel."

"It's not like I'm trying," Takanuva mutters back.

"Maybe you should start shortening again?" the Toa of Stone jokes like he refuses to do with his siblings since meeting them at the Codrex. "Can't be too hard - try pulling your limbs real tight to your chest, for a start."

"And how would you suppose I'd walk, then?"

"You'll roll!"

The Av-Toa laughs a little.

He stops when the others don't join in, and his eyes ask them what makes them so uncomfortable. Gali shifts her shoulders.

Silence sits upon them like a vulture.

The color of the viaduct changes at last. Pohatu quickens his steps to build some distance between him and his siblings, awfully focused. He knocks once, then again: a high pitched hum leaves him as he stops dead in his tracks and faces the wall - his tone is indiscernible, incomprehensible, either flat or interested or something else entirely.

"What did you find, Pohatu?" Tahu asks loudly as the rest of them hurry closer.

His brother turns to him with an empty gaze and no answer.

The back of his head hurts.

And his spine, and his arms, and his legs, and his chest, and his hips, and every single minuscule atom of his entire body as it crashes against its brethren until he can barely breathe or think while the anguish lights his nerves like a wild fire raging through the forest on an impossibly dry day with a cruel hot wind that howls too strong.

The sound comes to his audio receptors later - a terrifying impact, as loud as an explosion. He turns his head, what was that? An ambush? Where did it come from? Where are his siblings?

He counts their masks in a dim light, blotches of color in his muddled vision: black, white, blue, green, red with him. He reaches for his Hau and finds his hand unable to move - is it broken? When he tries to look down his chin encounters resistance and he fails to recognize anything. Five out of seven. Five out of seven... His body hurts. Why does it hurt? Five out of seven...

A strangled grunt catches his attention.

Pohatu struggles hoisting Takanuva, who does not move, in his arms while also holding a small lightstone to see anything in this dark.

Frustrated, he lets the stone fall to the ground: "I've got you, little brother," he reassures his unconscious sibling as he plucks the Mask of Light from his face (why does he take the Mask of Light from his face?) and slips his arms around his torso, trying to lift him. "Oof - damn it all, you're so heavy now - see, that's another reason you shouldn't have been allowed to pick that cursed mask up, if you were still a Matoran this whole thing would be much easier..."

"Pohatu!" Lewa cries, panicked. "Pohatu! Are you alright?"

"Of course I am," their brother replies.

"We're trapped! Stuck!"

"I can see that."

Are they trapped? Are they -

His arms groan from the strain of being squeezed too tight and pain shoots into his eyes, burning his field of vision into scalding white. It relents slowly, leaving him winded, and as he collects himself he realizes: the opposite wall, the one Pohatu was inspecting, has lunged towards them and trapped them against its twin.

Ambush. An ambush. His body hurts. It was an ambush. His body hurts. It hurts so much he can't concentrate.

Onua chokes on what would be a shout for a few horrible seconds before heaving hard when the pressure finally eases up on him and spares him from being crushed.

What is doing this? A Rahkshi? Must be a Rahkshi. It must be.

His body hurts so much.

"Stone," he hears Kopaka breathe, "It's stone."

Stone. It's stone... So? A renegade Toa? A mutated kraata? Tahu strains to listen. No, there is no sound here: only his siblings hissing in pain as their frames are pressed and Pohatu grunting as he finally manages to secure at least the upper half of Takanuva on himself and off the ground.

Oh. Oh - oh, it's stone. It's stone! Oh, thank Mata Nui, it's stone.

Destiny decided they can be lucky for once.

"Pohatu!" he cries through gritted teeth while his chest is constricted tightly, "Pohatu - the walls, they're, it's stone - hurry, please, get it off of us!"

The answer he gets is flat, deadpan: "That'd be counterproductive."

"What?" Gali responds immediately, panic stirring around her heartlight like a whirpool - this feels too much like their confrontation, that strange feeling of wrong overwhelming in his neutral tone: "What do you mean? Pohatu-!"

Her voice cuts off with a painful whine as the rock clenches around her tight enough to make her armor creak around her limbs.

Pohatu ignores her.

They call for him multiple times. Over and over. As best as they can through the strain put on their bodies that almost drives them mad with anguish.

In the dim light their brother takes his time.

They watch him will a seat out of a portion of the wall, placing Takanuva down upon it; his masked forehead laid on his little brother's, the Avokhii in his hand (why is the Avokhii in his hand?) disappearing from sight as it is slipped away on his person, he murmurs something to the Toa of Light with a gentle tone, a comforting tone, while he holds his limp hand. His eyes extend none of that gentleness to his siblings when he turns to them.

"So!"

The wall presses hard against their bodies for a single second: pain lances through them like a downpour of spears and rips the voices out of the five of them in a swift cruel move.

Pohatu gingerly walks to stand upon their prison, twisting the lightstone in his hand, casting terrible almost tangible shadows all across the claustrophobic space as the light struggles to escape through the gaps in his fingers.

"If all goes well you'll be rotting here for, oh, roughly the rest of eternity, and I'll never have to see any of you again," he tells them almost casually as he towers over them, though there is a deep poison drooling out of his mouth. His blue visor gleams terribly, his eyes looking just as blue and cold and hard behind it: "So I guess it's as good a time as any for a little story."

He bends to look at them closer, just for a moment. In the dark, it's hard to tell his expression.

He rises again to stretch with a groan: the stone moves as malleable as fabric to meet him when he leans back, sitting himself down comfortably upon it, and he slumps forward to prop his chin in his palms as though he was looking at something so very curious.

The arrows of light from his hand carve deep lines into his mask.

"In the time before time Artakha made six Toa to protect the Great Spirit and the Av-Matoran, but that's the part that you know already," he continues as they can only stare at him, too stunned, too in pain: "You know it all up to the point where the five brave Toa go into their safe ball at the bottom of the swamp and take a nice long nap while everything around them gets destroyed. So the question is, whatever happened to the dirt one?"

His head shifts suddenly.

Tahu feels his eyes slowly digging holes into his own.

"By the way, I'm almost touched you remembered my element this time," Pohatu tells him. His voice is quiet, between a stage whisper and a real one. "Only took four to five near death experiences."

He wants to snap at him.

He wants to thrash and snarl and demand what is wrong with him.

He wants to open his mouth and speak to him.

He wants to ask him what is going on.

He wants to reach out and grab him and hold him still, and beg him to explain, and speak in a calm voice to him until everything is fixed.

He barely manages to breathe.

Pohatu holds his gaze a little longer. He blinks, and cranes his neck away from him with a sighed hum - it's so dark his expression can't be seen but the movement seems almost bored - and taps on the side of his mask with his fingers: the lightstone peeks from between them at strangled intervals.

He observes them struggle to adjust to the changes in lighting uselessly, as they are first offered bursts of brightness and then plunged back into darkness after mere seconds.

He is toying with them.

This is not Pohatu.

This cannot be Pohatu.

"I stayed in Karda Nui. I tried to evacuate the last Matoran before the energy storm swallowed them. I managed a few. I failed most of them. It was a job for six Toa, but I couldn't really hope five of them would materialize out of thin air just because they were needed."

He breaks into a short chuckle. It's a softer version of his usual booming laughter. It sputters poison all over them.

"And it's not like you would have made any difference if you'd stayed - you're barely even Toa to begin with."

This cannot be Pohatu.

This is not Pohatu.

This is a fake.

This has to be a fake.

When did they lose him? When could he have been replaced? They never lost sight of him in these tunnels, it must have been earlier. In the Colosseum? As they were returning to Metru Nui? Before escaping Karda Nui? Before he met them at the Codrex? He had mentioned it briefly, had said he had met a big bugger - a Makuta? A kraata? A shadow leech? Something else? Where is he now? Where is their brother? Where are they keeping him? Is he alive? Is he... He can't be, he can't! They can't have killed him! Unless they trapped him in Karda Nui... With the Makuta... And the storm... No, no, no, Pohatu is smart, Pohatu is quick, he can't have died there, he must have escaped. He must have escaped, and he must have made his way to Metru Nui, or maybe somewhere else safe, and he's looking for them, or planning a way to blow up Teridax while keeping the universe unharmed, or maybe he's been captured again and he's being hurt or tortured or killed and he's worried for them, maybe, maybe, maybe...

"And you'd planned to leave me to die anyways," he shrugs.

"No!" Lewa chokes out. He recoils, he shifts, he tries to twist in his prison, to break out, and treespeak spills out of him faster than he can give any of it sense.

Not like he is given much time to try to.

Halfway along his attempt at something (an appeal? An explanation? A curse? An apology?) a wail cuts him off together with a searing pain. What little light washes over him is enough to see how the rock ensnaring him wraps around his head to shut his mouth in a tight, tight, tight grip, his mask almost crushed within: the rest of his body, likely, is suffering something similar.

Pohatu waits patiently until his whimpering dies down - until he himself decides to relent the pressure a little.

"I thought you were interested in this story," he says as he tilts his head. His brother struggles to breathe through the stone binding his mouth as he gives him a desperate look: the Toa of Stone remains unbothered. "You even made me heartpromise to tell you," and his tone is sneering when he mentions the word, "So why are you interrupting me now? Am I boring you? Are you bored? Should I stop? I can stop. I have other things to do."

Lewa's inarticulate whines sound like sobs, but can't answer.

Pohatu stretches his legs: "Alright then! Saves me time."

"Wait," Onua rasps. He struggles to speak while his lungs are compressed, limiting how much air he's allowed to inhale. "Wait. Please. Where... How... How... The storm... You... Survived..."

"Evidently I did, if I'm here," his brother replies. "Even if you think it's a real shame I didn't get vaporized."

"Don't... We don'... Don'... Please... Please... Breathe... Can't... Please..."

No answer.

Breathing gets harder.

He can't see.

He's going to faint.

He's going to...

Going to...

Going...

To...

Finally the pressure leaves.

He gasps noisily, greedily, exhausted.

Pohatu watches him like he's a disgusting squirming krana, struggling to writhe to safety as it lays on marshy ground.

"But yes," he continues softly. "I am here because I did escape. When I couldn't hope to bring any more little siblings to safety, and I couldn't hear their screams over the crackling of the storm, I followed your example and ran away. Then the Makuta found me, and took pity on me - isn't that funny? The Makuta, taking pity on something? Something as weak and useless as me? - and they kept me in their brotherhood. And the were all so very nice to me, like you've been ever since you couldn't remember how you used to think of me, for a few hundred years or so, before they got bored of such a sad sack of gravel and left me to rot outside of their laboratories."

There are so many things wrong in what he says.

So many, all at once.

The faint light illuminates a smile beneath his mask - a small, honest, deeply fond smile: "Except Teridax, of course."

Fire rises beneath Tahu's armor.

"What did he do to you?"

Pohatu looks at him almost surprised.

"What did he do to you?" the Toa of Fire repeats, louder, more insistent. It's so clear now. The deception, the bitterness, the harshness, all of this - if this is truly their brother, who else but Makuta Teridax could turn him against them in such a cruel way, so thoroughly convince him they hate him?

He can't see her, so much does rage narrow his vision, but he hears Gali's voice: "Pohatu," and it shakes a little with his same anger, even if the only thing she can say is their brother's name, unable even to demand of his what she wants to know, because what else is there for a sister to say when her loved one has been molded into a bitter misshapen shade of himself by as dreadful a thing as her old enemy? "Pohatu - Pohatu--"

In the dim light, a stunned expression widens into a grin.

The Toa of Stone leans forward: "Do you want to know?" he whispers, conspiratorial, "Do you want to know what he did to me? The ghastly, horrible, torturous thing he's subjected me to?"

They must say something in their fury, some kind of affirmation: they need to know, of course they do! To better make him regret it!

Carefully, slowly, Pohatu places the lightstone down before himself.

Its faint light illuminates him better, more clearly, so that they can observe him much better: his armor is completely unmmarred from the rotting color given by a kraata's corruption, its shape is unchanged, his eyes are the same. He lets them watch closely as nothing in his appearence changes or shifts - as every single part of him remains perfectly still, the same as they've always known.

He watches them back; he smiles as he does, looking at them wait for something, anything.

He grins wider, perfectly identical to himself.

"He cared about me."

The look on their faces is just... Comical.

Pohatu laughs.

"Isn't that insane?" he taunts them. "Just absolutely demented? Who would ever think of that, to care for me? About me? To think I'm good, and useful? To find some sort of worth in me? He's always been drawn to revolutionary concepts, but this one might just be too far!"

He laughs.

He laughs so hard.

It's an almost hysterical sound that rattles the tunnel in its entirety and echoes through it, loud, erratic, horrible, stuck somewhere between genuine and mocking, amused and furious. It's so strong that he holds his face in his hand and folds in on himself, and the way his shoulders jump with every wailing chuckle almost makes him look like he is crying his heart out.

"What a stupid idea!" he struggles to shriek out as he laughs, "Devoting time to me! Reassuring me! Praising me! Me!"

He coughs.

Twice, thrice, a few more times.

He knocks on his chest to get all of it out of him until he finally stops, utterly winded, groaning as he tries to catch his breath. A giggle or two still falls from his mouth from time to time. It's getting harder to tell if they are not sobs.

A deep inhale - and his hands are back under his chin, an amused grin is back on his face, a sudden incoherent calm is back over him.

"So to answer the original question, the dirt one spent a hundred thousand years awake helping the only being who ever gave a widget about him with his plan while his brave siblings slept nice and tight in their canisters," he continues, right where he left off, as though he hadn't been caught in a rapturous maddened amusement just seconds earlier. "And he watched everything, from the Barraki's imprisonment to the Metru Nui civil war, to the Dark Hunters setting their sights on the heads of the Brotherhood, to the Toa Metru foiling a perfectly fine plan when they shouldn't have endangering hundreds of Matoran in the process, until a litte Rama told him that the other five had decided to get up for once. And then the rest you should know, if you haven't forgotten it already."

Silence.

Comical.

Absolutely comical.

Look at them stare, struggling to breathe.

Look at the disbelief dripping from their masks as though they just emerged from a pool of it.

Pohatu looks at them, nice and long, and everything in his body aches so terribly that he thinks what he feels might finally be release.

He's finally done it. Finally, finally, now that he has them here at his mercy, accused and tried for their failings, punished but not killed, he's purged every single drop of vitriol boiling within himself upon them and he's free. His guilt and hatred and phantom pains of limbs he never had is theirs now; he is allowed to live unburdened by the person their disgust of him angrily shaped him into.

"You lied to us," Gali speaks softly.

He tilts his head at her: "Hm."

"From the beginning."

"Put a date to this beginning. Mine is waking up with you five to Artakha's voice in that blasted chamber."

"You... You can't be him." her voice is unsteady. "You can't be him."

"Who?"

"Pohatu. My brother. You can't be him. Pohatu is-"

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" he interrupts her. "You'd love for me to be dead."

"Pohatu isn't like this!" she almost roars. He can feel her - how she trembles furiously within the stone, desperate to break through it. "Pohatu isn't a liar! He isn't a being this overwhelmed by hatred!"

"You would know," the other croons, but his eyes sour. "The most trustworthy source is the one that wasn't there, isn't it."

"I know my brother!" Gali shakes; the binds around her creak like a poorly constructed dam against the rush of a raging river. "I've fought with him, joked with him, confided in him! I could recognize him anywhere! I know who he is! I love him!"

"YOU LEFT ME!"

The wall groans horribly with them as it crushes them within itself.

Takanuva, unseen, twitches barely as he remains trapped in a shapeless bad dream.

The being standing before them has his hands balled so tight into his own fists that they can hear the adaptive armor shriek as it dents and scratches itself. He heaves long deep breaths with difficulty, as though the air in the tunnel wasn't enough.

The lightstone is half buried within the rock, almost cracked: lances of its glow make him seem larger than he already is, and his eyes behind the visor burn.

"You LEFT me," he repeats. His breathless voice is a faraway avalanche coming ever closer, dragging the world down upon them with it. "You left us to die. You knew what would happen, and you did not tell me. You did not tell anybody - it was your secret safety exit, not mine, not the Matoran's, just yours. All yours. Just for the five of you. The Order of Mata Nui made it just for you," and here it turns into a whine, a whimper, a plead for help that mauls the fingers reaching out to lend their earnest aid, "Just for you five, nobody else, nobody else - there were only five canisters, weren't there? Weren't there? Not six, only five, because you all planned it together, behind my back, behind our little siblings' backs, because there was never any need for me or them, was there? No need at all, and no need to tell us, no need at all. Nobody wants to know they'll die, nobody does, nobody deserves to know they will die even when death can't be avoided so they can at least make peace with it or fight back against it, and that's why our little brothers and sister aren't little anymore, isn't it? Ah-"

His hands open, the stone clenches; his hands close, the stone clenches. He folds and unfolds his fists maniacally, histerically, as he struggles to breathe, mouth agape beneath his mask, eyes trained onto the agonizing Toa and barely seeing them.

"Ah, you are just like those pests," the words drool out of him like foamy spit, and by how hard he shakes he really does seem to be convulsing, "Those damned rats - ah, ah, Mata Nui truly has a fondness for liars and cowards, doesn't he? Must see himself in them, if he keeps choosing them as his guard - if he keeps favoring them, giving them power, trying to save them - ah, ah..."

"Pohatu," is all that Kopaka manages to choke out.

The being heaving and trembling turns to him with a slow, stunted motion and the empty eyes of a mad Rahi. His mind seems to be elsewhere, but he holds his gaze and waits.

Despite the pain and struggle to inhale, Kopaka's quiet voice fills the silence: "They did not know."

No answer meets him.

The wall softens against them. Their limbs ache so much that focusing on anything else is impossible, but at least breathing comes less hard.

The Toa of Ice hisses as to not crumble.

He needs to speak.

If he speaks, the other will calm.

If he calms, he will be more likely to listen.

If he listens, everything can be cleared, and this will stop.

He needs to speak.

Great Spirit damn him and his abysmal storytelling.

"The storm, and the Codrex," he struggles through the words as he tries to carefully construct his sentence. "I knew. I did not tell you. And I did not plan to. That is true. It seemed like a sound plan. As you said - nobody wants to know... Nobody wants to know they could die. It seemed like a good idea. It was not. It was not. I was... The only one who knew. And I did not tell anybody. When you... Cornered me - you can read me so easily. You always could. When you cornered me - I told you. And I - the way I worded myself, was wrong. I never... Meant... That anybody else knew. I was... It was... My plan."

"Kopaka-"

"My plan," he insists over Tahu's interruption. He knows what he wants to do, but he can take the blame. He wants to. It's his fault this is happening. "Only mine. You... I would have. All of you - I would have kept quiet. And we all would have gone in. You included. That was the plan. It was always the plan. All six of us. Your canister - it was there. For you. But I was the only one, who knew. I was-"

He hushes suddenly. His head cranes, his eyes shut. The sound of the stone that slams a dent into his temple comes with a delay due to how quickly it happens.

Lewa's cry out to him is muffled by the rock muzzling him.

His brother can't respond anyways.

"That's a lie," Pohatu only says hoarsely.

The wall hardens around their bodies again (Kopaka's doesn't even lament his pain at all, completely limp) and Onua lurches forward despite the ache ricocheting through his entire being, Pakari glowing faintly to lend him enough strength to fight back: "No!" he growls, "He's telling the truth! We didn't know! We didn't know! We were just as angry as you - if we'd-!"

His mask dims as his head falls back. Another ghastly bang marks, a bit late, the appearance of the dent that knocks him out.

"That's another lie," Pohatu repeats.

He sounds tired.

His eyes wander over his last three conscious siblings, frozen in a horrified terror: "Who's next," he asks, though there is no questioning inflection to his words - only a horrifying exhausted wrath that gnaws at his tendons even when there is barely anything left for it to eat. "Who else wants to lie to me. Don't be shy. Don't be shy, do it, you've done it a hundred times before. Don't be shy."

Lewa sobs. He wails within the cage that constricts his mask, looks at him with eyes wider than a moon, howls without words.

The muzzle tightens and chokes his scream inside it.

"They're not dead," Pohatu spits. "I am a Toa. I don't kill."

He knows it doesn't make them feel any safer, because he knows they can hear his entire body straining to scream no matter how much I might want to, no matter how much you would deserve it through his mouth.

He knows he doesn't want to. He knows he never wanted. He knows it has to be them - provoking him, poking at him like one does at a dying ember to make it spark some more. They want to break him completely and tear away from him the only thing they can't have: the knowledge that he's in the right. The knowledge that he's the only one out of them who was ever deserving of being called a Toa.

It must be them. It must be them. Because they hate him.

They hate him, and so he hates them.

So it must be them.

At least, his inaction makes them squirm.

Tahu calls out to him. He turns to him, so tired, so heavy.

"Those thousands of years ago," he speaks in a calculated manner, careful, because even though he wants to make him break the code he is still afraid of death (not because he is still trying to reach out to the Pohatu he knows, the brother he loves, that can't be it, because they hate him) "What did Kopaka tell you?"

"The truth," the Toa of Stone replies quietly. "And I know it was the truth, because it would have been easier to rip the words from inside his throat than wait for him to tell me."

"And what was the truth?"

"Your plan. He told me you and him were told what what to do. He told me the five of you would have gone in before the storm would have hit. He told me you would have been safe while it descended on Karda Nui the Matoran. He told me you would have gone into the canisters and waited until duty called you to action again."

"We didn't know," Gali whispers before her brother can stop her. "Lewa, Onua and I, we didn't know."

Her arms creak as they are almost flattened.

She bites back a scream.

"Of course you knew," Pohatu shuts her down with a bitter glance. "You must have known. Nobody else asked Kopaka any questions. Nobody else needed to be told. He said, we'll get to safety. We'll enter the Codrex. The five of you. Not me. Not the Matoran."

"That 'we' always included you, too," Tahu says. He sounds like he's begging him for something. "You're our brother."

His brother's fist tightens: "Then why didn't you come for me," he asks in that flat tone. "Why didn't you track me down. Why didn't you bother to chase after me to explain yourselves. Why didn't you force me into that blasted thing. Why didn't you drag me with you, kicking and screaming as I might have been."

In the dim light, the Toa of Fire falters; he gasps for air for a moment, searching for excuses, before he lowers his eyes and admits, ashamed: "I thought we wouldn't have time."

"You left me." Pohatu translates.

Tahu shakes his head.

"You left me," Pohatu repeats, harsher, voice cracking softly: "I was your brother and you left me to die."

Before any of them can argue otherwise, the wall closes around their bodies to crush them once more with an agonizing tardiness, piercing white hot pain through their brains like a drill; it wanes just as slowly to give them a moment of respite in which they struggle to recognize the echoes of their own groans and wails still traveling through the tunnels.

Pohatu's body obstructs what little light the cracked stone still shines as he collects Takanuva in his arms ever more easily than the first time he tried to do so. He moves his little brother's head to lean on his shoulder, so that he can be at least a bit more comfortable; he nuzzles it gently, comfortingly.

Poor Takua.

He didn't deserve this.

His last look at his siblings still sizzles with poison.

"Scream as loud as you want," is all he tells them, venom dripping from every syllable: "You have all the time in the world, and nobody to hear you."

Then his mask gleams; in the blink of an eye everything goes dark, and the wall clenches its grip around them again.

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