Eyyyyy so I wasn't all too fond of my last attempt at a BIONICLE fanfiction (which was my entry into the contest) so I decided to replace that with this, a much more interesting and emotional insight into the lives of actually interesting and realistic characters. Enjoy! vote4me2pls
My brother and I stumbled off of the ship’s plank. The rough sailors that populated the island docks sneared at us and told us to get out of the way. Makuta, being just a toddler at the time, grasped onto my finger tightly with his miniature hand. I tried to stay calm, to not show any sign of fear in this new place. I would have to be strong for Makuta.
Yesterday the ship’s crew had found us hiding in a relatively small bin carrying wesura fruit due to one of the less than honorable shipmates attempting to swipe a few. They had decided to drop us off on some small island, known only for its arena champions, and even then it was still a dump. I could smell alcohol dripping off of some of the towering creatures that were surrounding me. What had we gotten ourselves into?
A few months ago, before we decided to stow away, pirates came to our home. They demanded that my father handed over his harvest of wesura, but he denied them. My mother grabbed Makuta, but she forgot me. I stood there, behind my father, and watched as he was brutally murdered by the pirates. Before they could grab me my mother snatched me into her arms. She placed me along with my brother in a tiny crate in the basement. When I asked her where she was going to hide, she just looked over me with sadness in her eyes. She gave my sibling and I one last kiss before she shut the trunk. It took me a while to realize what that look and kiss meant. I never saw her again.
A week later, we finally wandered into a harbor, where we managed to sneak onto a ship carrying a legal shipment of wesura. My home island was world-renowned for the deep, rich taste of the stuff. A huil of it easily sold for about 15 melentos, the currency used by the unofficial trading capital of the world, Voto. We stayed in the trunk, eating nothing but the fruit for months on end. Sometimes Makuta would begin to cry, and I would have to hush him before a crewmate heard us. Every few nights, I would notice myself weeping, longing for my home. I knew now that I had no home, I belonged nowhere, with no one. We lasted like this for what seemed to be eternities before the aforementioned sailor found us. They decided to dump us off on some slumhole called ‘Okoto’, which, I later learnt, meant something like ‘Strange’ in another language.
Makuta looked up at me for guidance, but I was lost. Would we decide to board another ship, or see if we could make a living for ourselves in this trash heap of an island. But before I knew it, I had lost my sense of direction. We had been pushed and pulled and thrown so much that I didn’t know which way lead to the port. I began to cry, but when Makuta asked what was wrong I hid my terror inside of me. I could not break in front of my brother, who had seen so much while he was still so little. I found a pub, which, while not being the most welcoming, would shelter us from the slowly building winds. When we entered we were nearly crushed to death when a drunken fight headed our direction. I pushed Makuta out of the way just in time, otherwise I’m sure he wouldn’t have made it due to the size of the brawler. I directed him toward the bar. A tall creature with a scarred face grimaced down at us.
“Whaddaya want, kid,” he growled.
“Um.” I stumbled to find the right way to word what I wanted to say. I didn’t even know what to look for.
“Look kid, I got drinks to sell so ya better make up ya mind quick.” The thing looked like he was getting angry.
“They’ll be having two wesura pies with a side of beruta, Guapede,” said a voice from behind me. The bartender nodded and gave the order to two chefs in back. I turned to see a large creature behind me. He had muscles that could crush a Serva deer. “Hello, little one,” he said, outstretching a hand. I took it. “What is your name?”
“My name is Ekimu, sir.”
“No need to call me sir, Ekimu. Where are your parents?” It was at this point in our conversation that I began to cry. “What’s the matter?”
“My parents are gone,” I sobbed. “And now I’m lost here with my little brother. I don’t know how I’m going to get out of here,” I said. The person placed a loving hand on my shoulder.
“Listen, Ekimu. There’s no need for crying. What’s one good thing that’s happened today?” the stranger asked.
“Well, I did find a place to get away from the wind.”
“See, Ekimu, you’re not the worst brother out there. You did something to help your sibling, that ought to be worth some merit.” He smiled. “Now you’ve given me your name, it’s about time for me to give you mine.”
“What is it?” I asked him.
“My name is Racine, but you may have heard of me before, by another title.” He chuckled. “It’s ridiculous but, um, I’m also called Skull Slicer.” My eyes widened. The person who was sitting next to me, who had just offered me solace and bought me a meal, was one of the best arena fighters ever. But Skull Slicer lived in Voto, with all of the other greats.
“Why are you here?” I questioned rather rudely. He laughed.
“I needed to get away from it all. The cameras, the journalists, the fans...you have no idea how tiring it gets after a while. I think I’m going to lie low for a while here, in Okoto.”
“Are you still going to fight?” I asked.
“They have an arena here with some nice talent. A few of the higher-ups haven’t been challenged by a real opponent yet, though. I thought I’d change that while I’m here.”
“That’s a good idea,” I said. The bartender came with our food. Makuta and I dug in to it, despite the wesura not seeming to be quite the right color. “How long have you been here.”
“Got here yesterday, actually. Surprised none of the papers followed me out here.” He looked at Makuta and I for a few seconds, and then said something that would change my life forever.
“Ekimu, since your parents are gone and you have nowhere to go, I would like to make you an offer. How would you and your brother like to become my sons?” I nearly spat out my food. The answer to all of our problems had just been handed to me by my hero.
“We would be honored to, Mr. Racine!” I shouted without hesitation. The warrior chuckled.
“Now now, don’t get too excited. Some of the people in this bar can be… angered easily.” He glared at one beast sitting at a corner. He appeared to be surrounded by lackeys. “Come now, I’m going to get you and your brother out of this dump before it gets too dark. Your parents had a curfew for you, right?”
“Yes, sir. 9:00 on the dot.”
“Alright then, Ekimu. And don’t call me sir, call me father.” I could see a look in his eye. This man, who was a stranger a few minutes ago, was now my adoptive father. What on Okoto was going on?
12 years later, Makuta and I were finally old enough to get into the arena. For the first time ever my little brother would witness the brutal finesse that our father possessed in the constantly changing hexagonal arena. We gave the cashier our money, she handed us our tickets, and we stepped inside. It was the battle of the year, the two ‘Skulls’ clashing against each other. Since our father had come out about actually being the famed champion, the press had flocked here to cover the matches, and with them came a time of prosperity. We sat down in our front row chairs. The long robes, passed down to us by Racine’s father, draped over the seats. Slowly, two doors on either side of the arena slid open to reveal the opponents. A microphone clicked to life in the speakers surrounding us.
“And, ladies and gentlemen, Torusa and Vulun, I present to you, the battle of the CENTURY!” The crowd cheered as cameras flashed, taking pictures of the opponents as they waved to the masses. “Now now, let’s calm down,” said the speaker, “for we all know the bottled up anger that rests inside of KULTA, THE SKUUUULLLL GRIIIINDERRRRR!” He screamed the last two words, holding out the ‘r’. “And now, in the left corner, we can see hero from the city, longtime legend, fighter extraordinaire and king of the arena, SKULL SLICERRRRR!” The cheers this time were deafening. I looked to see Makuta clapping as hard as he could. Fifteen years old and he was already more invested in the game than I ever was. “And the fight’ll be beginning in five...four…” My father unsheathed his swords. Kulta pulled out his staff. “Three...two...BEGIN!” The crowds came to life, roaring and hollering at their fighter of choice. One of the referees, a large Vulun creature, stood in front of us, so we only saw glimpses of the battle. I let Makuta climb on my shoulders, and he enjoyed it quite a bit. He described to me everything he saw, how our father spun and twirled and leaped with a grace never before seen. But then, all of a sudden...he stopped. The entire crowd stopped cheering. I asked him what was wrong, but he said nothing. Then I noticed the referee, running across the rising and falling podiums, stumbling here and there. “Um, uh, ladies and gentlemen we would like to have you all exit the arena at this time, um, it appears there has been a disturbance which will be sorted out shortly.” An employee tried to get me to move as I looked over the bars to see my father, but I couldn’t catch the slightest glimpse. The employee grabbed my arm, but I shouted at him, asked him what was happening. I demanded to know what had happened to my father. I wanted to know why they were shielding the fight from my eyes. The employee simply said he couldn’t tell me. I ripped away from his grasp and began to climb up the fence that separated the attendees from the battleground, and once I reached the top I dropped down. There was my father, lying on the ground. I told myself it wasn’t possible, but my subconscious knew otherwise. I pushed past the medical crew and knelt over his limp body, cradled his lifeless head in my arms, cried and screamed and felt raw emotion take over my body. The medical personnel tried to tear me away from him, but I fought back hard. It took two bouncers to rip me from him. I passed Kulta in a locker room outside of the building. I tried to yell at him, tell him how much I hated him, how much I wished I could do what he had done to my father. But I couldn’t, for I felt a voice, like that of my father’s, telling me not to. I just looked down at my blood soaked robes and continued on my way, looking for Makuta. When I found him, he was crying. We were in the exact same position we were twelve years ago, when the pirates had taken our biological parents. Though this time I had a plan.
Racine knew how dangerous his career was, so he invested in a building that he said would shelter us should anything bad happen. It sat on top of a hill overlooking the entire island, and as Makuta and I unlocked the front door we saw it in all of its glory. He had outfitted it with beautiful marble floors, a skylight that shone brightly, and a tapestry depicting the both of us. As I looked farther into the house, I saw that there were two forges, one blue and one gold. That was how we were going to make it, how we would rebound from the destruction that had taken so much from us. We would do what we had always wanted to do, make masks for our fellow Torusa. As I inspected the forges, I found a beautiful mask with a note taped to it, which read,
My dear Ekimu,
If you are reading this, then I have passed on to my next life. Know that I will always be with you and your brother, due in no small part to the craftsmaship of an old friend of mine.
It is the same friend, Ekimu, who has made this mask, the Mask of Creation, which he demanded I give to you.
Use it wisely, my son, and know that I will always love you,
I looked over at Makuta, who had found another mask and a note taped to it. We placed them on our faces and felt the power surge through our veins. I found that I could create the perfect plan for creating a material, and Makuta had unnatural power over anything, both living and inorganic. A few years later, the arena had become a run-down hole inhabited by the undesirable inhabitants of the island. Now, our forge is the center of attention, where we captivated crowds of curious children with our work. To this day, Makuta and I amaze crowds with our work, and we both know that we do it for one reason, and only one: to honor our parents, both biological and adoptive, and remember their sacrifices.