So a while back I posted a prologue to a Bionicle fanfic that I had abandoned in 2016. Well, after digging through my old stuff, I found the last few drafts I’d written and I’ve decided to finish writing it. Here’s the prologue and the first 3 chapters:
[details=Prologue]Whakerewa waddled along the overgrown jungle path, relying on the patches of silver moonlight shining through the thick canopy to see in the darkness. As he walked, the Fe-Matoran tried not to think about the horrifying creatures that called this place home. It was why he carried a knife. Whakerewa never had to use it before, and the hoped to Mata-Nui that he never would.
A wet, sucking noise from ahead startled the Fe-Matoran and brought him out of his thoughts. Recognizing the awful sound, he darted behind a nearby bush. Pearing through the leaves, Whakerewa saw an orange, slug-like creature inching across the path. He clapped his hand over his mouth and suppressed a squeal of terror. His other hand gripped the hilt of his knife so tightly that the grooves began to dig into the organic tissue in his fingers. The creature- a Kraata- was not moving. Had it heard him? Could it smell him? Whakerewa closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see what came next. The creature would open it’s hideous jaws, let out it’s high-pitched scream, and the monsters would come and drag him away into the darkness. They’d wrap him up in their sickly green webs and shoot a poison into his veins that would send him into an eternal sleep. He would never reach his destination, and the other Matoran would live in darkness and fear for the rest of their days.
Whakerewa heard the sucking noise again. Cracking open his eyes, he saw that the Kraata was moving off the path and into the dark jungle. He let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and mumbled a quick prayer, thanking Mata-Nui for his good fortune. He crawled out from behind the bush, straightened the bag on his right shoulder, and continued walking. His destination couldn’t be far off, if his memory was correct.
The path grew more and more unkempt as Whakerewa continued. Large bushes and saplings had grown between the stone, and he had to cut through them with his knife. The well-sharpened blade cut through the foliage with barely a whisper.
Slicing through a thick bush, Whakerewa took a step forward, unaware that the cobblestone path had given way to a set of stairs leading into a shallow ravine. He let out a yelp and tumbled down the ancient steps, coming to rest at another path at the bottom. Whakerewa sprang to his feet, eyes wide and alert. Surely, something must have heard all the noise he had just made. The Fe-Matoran whipped out his dagger, glancing around at the trees and anything else not cloaked in shadow.
Nothing. There was no movement save the rustling of the ferns in the slight breeze; not a sound except for the chirping of insects that Whakerewa had heard every night of his life. No monsters jumped out of the trees, or grabbed him from behind, or sank it’s fangs into him and poisoned him.
Whakerewa resisted the urge to laugh. He couldn’t believe his luck! Whispering another prayer to Mata-Nui, he turned to continue his journey.
In the center of the ravine, a cone of weathered and moss-covered stone- about double his height- stood. The top of the cone was flat, and shallow grooves divided the circle into sixths. In the center of each section, a large pillar jutted directly towards the sky, each carved with a symbol representing the six main elements: Fire, Water, Earth, Stone, Ice, and Air. Smaller obelisks lay between the pillars, standing for the many secondary elements in the universe. Whakerewa spotted the emblem of his patron element, Iron, to the right of the Stone pillar.
In the center of the circle stood a dome, mysteriously untouched by creepers, it’s surface flawlessly smooth in contrast to the worn corners and cracks of the rest of the temple. Six deep holes were carved into the Suva, for that was what the dome was, each one lining up with the six main pillars. Whakerewa had not seen the temple in a thousand years, yet he faintly remembered a mask being carved into the top of the dome: the Kanohi Hau, the symbol of Mata-Nui.
Whakerewa gazed upon the aged temple for many seconds, then shook his head and started up its steps. He didn’t want to push his luck, however bountiful it might seem, and he couldn’t afford to waste any more time. Stopping in front of the Suva, Whakerewa reached into his bag and pulled out a cylindrical red crystal about the size of his fist. Almost immediately after doing so, a crimson light shone from the slot facing the Fire pillar. He stumbled over to it, and placed the stone inside.
The stone almost seemed to fly out of Whakerewa’s hand, and hovered inside the slot. He looked up as a beam of red light shot up out of the top of the Suva and into the star-dotted sky. Whakerewa gasped, then reached for his bag and pulled out another stone, this one a deep blue. The niche in front of the Water pillar instantly lit up. Inserting the stone, a blue beam of light shown next to the red; touching, yet not overlapping.
Whakerewa repeated the task with four more stones, and soon white, brown, silver, and green light beams joined the red and blue ones in the Suva, surrounding the Hau and bathing the ravine in multicolored radiance. Whakerewa looked at the lights with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. He hadn’t been told much about this process; and, in hindsight, he probably should have asked. Was something supposed to happen next?
All this light is sure to attract the monsters, the Fe-Matoran thought worriedly, perhaps I should get going-
Then the lights in the Suva began to spin around the Hau carving; slowly at first, then gradually they rotated faster, until Whakerewa could barely make out the individual colors. He stood transfixed as the six beams swirled together and, with a bright flash, merged into a brilliant grey-blue light that lanced into the night sky. It was brighter than day, brighter than any light Whakerewa had ever seen in his life, and he instinctively thrust his hands to his eyes to protect them, but it did little to help. Peering through his fingers, the Fe-Matoran watched in awe as the light left the Suva and rose into the night, focusing into a tiny dot almost indistinguishable among the thousands of stars, then exploded outward with a resounding CRACK that Whakerewa was sure could be heard across the island. He shut his eyes, but he was not nearly fast enough, and spots bloomed across his vision.
Whakerewa stood with his mouth agape as his sight cleared. Then he looked down and readjusted his bag, any sense of wonder and awe replaced with stark terror. The monsters would definitely be coming now. No amount of luck could have kept them noticing that! If he hurried, he would be long gone before they got to the ravine.
Whakerewa turned to leave, and started to sprint down the temple steps when a wheel of sickly green energy slammed into his chest with the force of a Kane-Ra bull. He let out a strangled cry as every muscle in his body froze and he slid down to the bottom of the ravine. He struggled to rise, but to his horror, he could not move! All he could do was watch as a green, four-legged, sharp-eyed creature with hideous pincers eagerly crawled toward him, mucus-colored webbing dripping from it’s jagged fangs. It came to a halt at his feet, then raised it’s body upward and let loose a terrible shriek. As the creature looked hungrily upon Whakerewa, another scream tore through the night. Then another. And then two more. And then what seemed like hundreds of horrible cries that threatened to deafen the Fe-Matoran as scores of the monsters poured into the ravine from all sides.[/details]
[details=Chapter 1] Life began for him by falling into the sea. Seconds after breaking the surface and slipping into the cold depths, he felt something large hit his back. He cried out in pain, then realized his mistake as the air left his lungs in a flurry of bubbles. Pushing whatever had hit him aside- it felt smooth and round- he swam for the surface. Propelling himself upward, his chest shot out of the waves and he coughed, gasping for breath and spitting out salty seawater.
It was night, the darkness amplified by a layer of thick storm clouds which smothered the moon and stars. Lightning flashed, thunder threatened to deafen him, and the rain pounded him in thick sheets. Looking out towards the sea, he saw a massive wave barreling toward him. It rammed into him, and he felt himself being lifted and carried away. He rolled over and over, sucking in large gulps of air as he was plunged in and out of the water. He felt himself kicking up clouds of sand and uprooting seaweed. He scraped against sharp rocks that made shallow cuts in his organic tissue, until he finally came to a stop on a beach.
He rolled over onto his side, wincing as the salt and sand made his cuts burn, and gulped down air to refill his empty lungs. Lightning flashed again, and he saw another wave surging towards the shore. Weak and disoriented, he extended his bronze-armored hand, wishing for something to shield him from the onslaught of water. It was his last thought before he dropped his hand and succumbed to his fatigue.
…
He awoke sometime later. The storm had passed, and now a blanket of thin grey clouds obscured the light of the morning sun. The sea had calmed, it’s waves lapping gently against the shoreline, and a fog hung low over the golden sand.
He realized that the sand was all he could see. Sucking in a breath off crisp air, he rose shakily to his feet. The small of his back ached, no doubt from whatever hit him the night before. All around him was a barrier of sand reaching up to his ankles. It hadn’t been there last night, and he remembered wishing for something to shield him from the waves.
No, that can’t be it. After all it’s impossible to move things with your mind, isn’t it?
But he didn’t know for sure. Actually, he didn’t know anything, really. He racked his brain for answers but found nothing. Not even his name. He was both frustrated and worried. Why couldn’t he remember? Who was he, and how did he come here?
He looked down at himself. He was tall- at least, he thought so- with wide hips and an even wider chest and shoulders. His limbs were massive, and the muscles between his brown armor were thick and sinewed. He thought he must have looked rather intimidating, though that didn’t exactly bring him comfort.
He looked up and turned to survey his surroundings.The strip of sand went on as far as he could see through the fog. To his left; it gave way to a lush, dense jungle, and he could see the faint outline of a mountain further inland. The high-pitched calls of Gukko birds and the chirping of insects could be heard in the trees, and it frustrated him that he could recall the name of a Rahi before his own.
Something in the shallows reflected a ray of sunlight into his eye. He winced, and saw that it was a large, silver canister; just large enough for him to probably fit inside. He deduced that this was what hit him in the back during the storm. Roughly a bio away was a long stick-almost as tall as he was- jutting out of the water. As he walked towards it however, he saw that it was not actually a stick, but rather the helve to a huge war hammer. He hefted it out of the wet sand with ease and slung it over his back. He knew that the hammer must have been heavy, but then again he was also a strong being.
He stood in the ankle-deep water, wondering where to go and what to do next. He thought about staying by the shore and waiting for rescue. After all, he couldn’t have just appeared above the ocean’s surface. He had to have come from somewhere, and people would have to be looking for him. But he’d need a shelter if it stormed again. With a sigh, he stepped out of the shallows and pushed his way into the jungle. For now, survival had taken precedent over his forgotten past.
The knowing will come, he assured himself, at least… I hope it will.[/details]
[details=Chapter 2]Chapter 2
A flock of Kewa birds darted between the trees. Far below on the soft, muddy ground, a lanky figure with fluorescent green armor watched them with envy. How he longed to soar in the skies rather than trudge through the slimy muck. The soles of his feet were caked with mud, and there were dried splashes of it all over his calves. He looked longingly at the last of the flock disappearing further into the jungle, and wished he had wings like theirs.
All of a sudden, his mask emitted soft, quiet hum. It grew warm on his face, and he felt a tingling sensation along his back. He panicked, rushing to tear the thing off his face. What the mask doing to him- and how? It was just a piece of metal, wasn’t it?
He threw the serpentine mask into the muck, then instantly regretted it. A wave of nausea and fatigue washed over him, and his knees buckled and he dropped onto his knees. He felt the bones in his back shifting, and he winced from the discomfort. Fighting to remain conscious, he reached for the mask and pulled it from the muck, jamming it onto his face. His strength returned and the pain subsided. He sank his hands into the mud and let his wings droop.
Wait, wings?!
Jumping to his feet, he looked over his shoulder and saw that, yes, a pair of long, slender wings had sprouted between his shoulder blades. He flexed them tentatively, giddy with excitement. He’d wished for wings and now here they were!
The mask did this, he realized, it must give me what I want the most.
“I want to know my name!” He yelled, his youthful voice reverberating through the trees. He waited for the mask to hum again, to somehow project his identity into his mind, but it did not.
Maybe it just needs to recharge or something, he told himself, suppressing his disappointment.
Turning his attention back to his newly-gained wings, he folded them against his back. Then he crouched, inhaled, and leapt upward, spreading the wings as he did so. He flapped them wildly, and he thought he might have flown upward slightly, but ultimately he lost control and fell onto his back. He sighed and wallowed in his failure for a few seconds before standing and shaking off as much of the muck as he could. Those Kewa made it look so easy, he thought.
He tried to fly a few more times, each attempt ending in various degrees of failure. He had to admit that he was growing frustrated.
Hey, practice makes perfect, he said to himself. Besides, I’ve got nothing else to do. I don’t remember-think so, anyway.[/details]
[details=Chapter 3]Chapter 3
Amidst the rich brown trunks of tropical trees, the bright green of their leaves, vines, and the other flora crowding the space between them, as well as their multicolored flowers and fruits, something was out of place. This something stood at double the height of an average Matoran, carried a sword, and wore stark white armor and a wide, grey mask.
He was not some aberrant Brakas monkey, thankfully, but that was just about all he knew about himself. That and he hated the jungle. For one thing it was unbearably hot and humid. The air seemed to cling to him, the tropical heat smothered him, and he stopped every few steps to take long, deep breaths and cool down in the shade. But the worst part was the unrelenting assault the insects waged on his pale flesh. One of them landed on his shoulder, and he batted it off with an annoyed grunt, resisting the urge to scratch where its’ brethren had feasted. He wished to be out of this accursed place and at the top of the mountain he had seen from the beach as soon as possible. It would be nice and cold on the mountain, too cold for any of these bugs to pester him there.
“Tūrama!” cried a feminine voice from somewhere ahead. The white-armored being slunk into denser foliage, moving in the direction of the voice. He was not alone on this island after all. Still, he couldn’t assume that whoever the voice belonged to would welcome him with open arms.
“Tūrama!” the voice called again. He followed it to a small clearing cut by a clear, meandering stream. A squat Ga-Matoran was wandering about, scanning the trees.
“Come on, Tūrama, I know you can hear me!” she exclaimed in an irritated tone.
Well, unless she plans to shout at me ‘til my ears give out, I’d say she’s not dangerous. He was about to reveal himself to the Ga-Matoran, when what he thought was a flowered bush showed itself to be another Matoran of water hiding among the flora. She jumped out behind the other and screamed “Boo!” The other Ga-Matoran jumped and whirled around, glaring furiously at her.
“Oh, that never gets old!” the ambusher-Tūrama, most likely- said between fits of laughter. Unlike the other Ga-Matoran, who wore the customary shades of blue all over her body, Tūrama’s wedge-shaped mask was red, as well as her hands and feet.
“You fall for it every time, Kāri!”
“Tūrama, you know that it’s too dangerous to go this far from the village!” Kāri whined. “You do know what Turaga Ihomatua will say, don’t you?”
Tūrama looked up and put her hand on her chin. “Well, I’m not a mind-reader like she is,” she said in mock-thoughtfulness, “but I’ll bet the word 'irresponsible’ will come up at least once.”
“Exactly!” Kāri sighed, “Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”
“Come on, it’s so boring in the village! And the Visorak only come out at night,” Tūrama reasoned, “Besides, the Toa oughta be here any day now, so I figure they won’t be a problem for much longer.”
“Well, until they do, it’s not safe to go wandering into the jungle and practically ask to get eaten,” Kari chastised.
“Aporo says the Visorak don’t eat Matoran, they just take 'em away and-”
“Whatever they do, they’re still dangerous! Now come on, if we’re out here any longer they’ll send out the guard.”
With an annoyed sigh, Tūrama yielded to Kāri’s pleas and followed her out of the clearing. The one in white crept silently behind them. He figured that the two Ga-Matoran wouldn’t attack him if they saw him (in fact, judging by their conversation, they were enduring attacks themselves), but he wanted to observe them for just a little while longer. Kāri walked briskly while Tūrama lagged far behind. Unlike Kāri, she took slow, relaxed steps, and constantly turned her head to observe the jungle around her. Three times she paid the price for her inattentiveness and tripped over a small rock or a root jutting out from a tree and stumbled. Kāri looked over her shoulder each time, but, after seeing that her friend was not hurt, simply rolled her eyes and faced forward. Tūrama didn’t seem to mind, and continued her gazing.
“What do you suppose the Toa will be like?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“I dunno,” Kāri replied in a monotone.
“Y’think any of ‘em will be like Ihomatua? Y’know, reading minds and stuff?” mused Tūrama.
“It’s possible,” said Kāri.
“Mata-Nui, I hope not! I can barely stand it when- agh!”
Tūrama was cut off as a spinning wheel of energy flew out from the trees and hit her in the side. It flashed and spread over her body, and the force of the impact sent her sprawling. Kari whipped around, and the being in white instinctively leapt up and sprinted towards the two Ga-Matoran.
Tūrama was almost completely still. Only her eyes moved, darting about wildly, the rest of her face was frozen in a fearful expression. Kāri was staring at him, awestruck. He heard buzzing noise to his right, and he turned to see another energy wheel speeding towards him. He didn’t have time to dodge the attack, and he realized he had nothing to shield himself.
At the moment of his realization, his mask lit up with an ethereal white light. He was then surrounded in a force field that caught the energy wheel before it could hit him. There was a flash, and both the force field and the wheel vanished.
“Toa! Behind you!”
He didn’t have time to turn around before something jumped onto his back. He fell face first into the soft earth. Whatever was attacking him now had four spider-like legs, each one ending in a sharp, blade-like point. Each one was planted firmly into the dirt, and the creature was pressing it’s oval-shaped body onto his, pinning him to the ground. He jerked and thrashed, trying to through his assailant off him, but to no avail.
He heard Kāri scream, and he turned his head left to see her backing away from a monstrous green creature with red eyes and a set of massive pincers. His captor slammed one of its’ “feet” into the ground in front of his face, and he instinctively jerked his neck backwards. He grabbed at the leg with his arm, trying to throw the creature off-balance. Instead, it let out a long, high-pitched squeal of pain. A layer of frost was forming on the creature’s armor, and the flesh was turning pale and swollen. It practically leapt off of him and scuttled away into the trees.
He rose, facing the monster menacing Kāri and drawing his sword. The creature looked at him with fear in it’s thin, crimson eyes and scampered away to join its’ companion. He stood in front of the two Ga-Matoran, trying to make sense of what had happened. Somehow, he had given that creature’s leg frostbite.
“What… what were those?” he asked.
“Those were Visorak,” Kāri said, her voice trembling.
So that’s what a Visorak is. No wonder the Matoran are scared of them, he thought.
“I thought they only attacked at night.”
“How do you… never mind,” Kāri said quickly, “We have to get back to the village before more show up. They’re smart- they know that two of them don’t stand a chance against a Toa, so they’ll send a bunch of them to overwhelm you.”
“I’m a Toa?” he asked. Tūrama had been talking about Toa earlier, how a group of them were coming to defeat the Visorak. If he was one of these Toa, why didn’t he remember any of it? Why had he forgotten his identity, his abilities, and his mission?
“Of course you are! What else could you be?” Kāri sounded shocked, maybe worried, even.
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about myself.”
“Oh my… I can’t explain here, it’s not safe,” Kāri said, “pick up Tūrama and let’s go.”
He knelt down and scooped the red-masked Ga-Matoran into his arms, her body stiff and motionless. Then he followed Kāri deeper into the jungle.[/details]
Please leave feedback of any kind! I’m going through and rewriting each chapter, so I’m open to suggestions on how I can improve!