Verakion's one-shots

FINALLY! I get to post these. These are quick stories I've written that fall both in and out of normal Canon, and one branches off into Hero Factory. So, without further ado, I give you:

The Cycle

Mr. Makuro coughed loudly, shocking the robots tending to him. They weren’t used to tending after anything even remotely organic, let alone a being that was more than half organic. They didn’t know how to fix him. Oh well. He had lived a good life. He pressed his head weakly against the pillow behind him, and slowly his thoughts turned back to a time before he had created all this. A time when he was a hero, and before that when he was just a villager without a purpose. A time when he didn’t know the meaning of the word responsibility. A time before Hero Factory. A time before time. He smiled as he closed his eyes for the final time.

As soon as the founder was dead, the world faded away around him, changing from a room in a huge robotic city to a calm beach. Palm trees blew in the breeze, their verdant color gleaming against the stark blue of the sky. The ocean below was deep and mysterious, and there was a giant capsule resting gently against the golden sand. He slowly opened his eyes. He realized he didn’t remember a single thing, and then noticed a blue object in front of him. He walked over to it, shielding his eyes from the light shining off his red and yellow armor. Picking up the object, he noticed it had a strange face etched into it, with an elongated mouth, and eyes sunk within deeper holes. There were gashes in the side and top of the object. For some reason, he placed the object on his face, and to his surprise, it stuck. As soon as it was firmly on his face, he felt rejuvenated, and then noticed a small blue figure, similar in stature to himself, waving at him. He picked up the sack lying next to him, slung it over his back, and walked toward the being, adventure rising within his mind. Whatever his past might be, the future was before him. It was time to get started.


So here's the second one


Alive. I am alive.
The armored figure rose slowly to his feet, unsteady at first. He watched as arms formed at his shoulders, each solidifying from a green mist. He watched as red muscles formed and dark grey armor grew. He felt as power suddenly surged through him, and erupted out of his arms, a red as dark as blood. Somehow this being knew its name.
The being smiled as he watched the power flicker in front of him. As he did this, he realized his face was covered by a mask. He removed it to look at it. It was tall and swept back into a second face pointing upwards, doubling as a sort of crown. It has slits on the sides and top, and the mouth was embedded in a deep pit. He smiled as he somehow knew its name.
The Kraahkan.
He donned it once more and looked around. As he did so, other beings, much like himself, formed from green mist, each with a different mask and weapon. Noticing their weapons, he looked down to see his own weapon, a long two-pronged staff. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun around to see a taller figure, with a jagged mask and a dragon-like body. The tip of his tail was still green mist, betraying the fact that he was younger than the being.
“I am Miserix, your leader. Come, we have work to do. The Great Spirit has a task for us.” He said, gesturing to a floating rock, engraved with a strange face. Miserix smiled and turned to leave. A yellow and black armored figure with a huge scythe followed him, glancing back at the being with disdain. The being did not respond, simply following the two leaders. The trio arrived at the floating rock, and almost instantly they knew what they were supposed to do. The two leaders broke off to go instruct the others of their species, and the elder one went to go lead a small group of the creatures, noting the batlike shape of three of them and the insectoid look of the other three. “We are to construct a great fortress. Its name shall be Destral. We shall get to work now.” He said, and the 7 masters of shadow set to work. One day, the name of their species would strike fear into the hearts of Matoran across the universe. One day, the visage of the Kraahkan would be all that is needed to conquer a nation. One day, the first of the Makuta would successfully execute the greatest plan ever devised, a plan that started now, in however small a way, with his name.