Five years ago …
Mazeka forced himself to keep his eyes open as Vultraz brought the blade down toward his head. He wouldn’t give his enemy the satisfaction of seeing he was afraid.
The razor-sharp steel came closer, closer … Mazeka accepted that it would be his last sight in life …
And then the sword stopped, less than a quarter of an inch from Mazeka’s mask. When he looked beyond the blade, Mazeka could see that Vultraz was smiling.
“No, I don’t need to kill you now,” said the Ta-Matoran. “I’ve beaten you. Every breath you take from now on is only because I allow it. No matter where you go, who you fight, how many battles you win – you’ll know you’re only walking, talking, living because of me.” Vultraz laughed. “I just saved your life, Mazeka … I think that rates a thank you, don’t you?”
Mazeka said nothing, just glared with hate-filled eyes at his enemy.
“Of course, it’s a shame that I lost the little De-Matoran, but no worries – I’ll catch up to him later, and give him what I didn’t give you,” Vultraz continued. “As for you … live a long life, Mazeka. I want you around to remember this day.”
With that, the Ta-Matoran withdrew his sword and vanished into the jungle. Mazeka got to his feet, ready to pursue him and settle things once and for all. But an invisible hand restrained him.
“That’s not what we’re here for,” said Jerbraz. Mazeka could hear him clearly, though he could not see him. “We got what we came to get. Be satisfied with that.”
“But --” Mazeka began, angry and frustrated. Then he stopped. Jerbraz was right. If this Krakua was so important, getting him before Vultraz did was what mattered most … wasn’t it?
“Krakua is someplace safe,” said Jerbraz. “Now he can be trained. There’s a reason you don’t see a lot of Toa of Sonics around – they are vulnerable to their own power. One of the Great Beings’ little jokes, I guess. We’ll make sure he can use his power – all of it – when he becomes a Toa someday … because we’re going to need it.”
Mazeka was only half listening. His mind was on his fight with Vultraz – a fight he vowed wasn’t over. “Listen,” he said. “I did what you asked. Now I want a favor in return. I want training.”
“What kind?” asked Jerbraz.
“I want to learn how to fight,” said Mazeka, his tone grim. “I want to learn how to win clean … and win dirty. When I’m done, I want to be a master with a blade, with my fists, with any kind of weapon – and then I want you to get out of my way.”
“You’re going after that Ta-Matoran, I’m guessing?” said Jerbraz.
Mazeka walked away from the voice, deeper into the jungle. “We’re wasting time. You have a Matoran to deliver … and I have a hunt to get ready for.”
Now …Mazeka walked into an inn in one of the nastier parts of Stelt. The whole island was in an uproar – something about a monstrous, reptilian thing tearing the roof off a building. He didn’t see any sign of any giant creatures, so he dismissed it as just another wild Steltian story.
He was here to see a Fe-Matoran whose name changed every few months. A rogue Nynrah crafter, the Matoran had a bad right arm, the result of an accident in a forge. Of course, any Nynrah worth his tools could have made a new mechanical part to replace the damaged one, but he hadn’t – story was he kept it as is as a reminder that even the best can make a mistake.
Two big, blue warriors stood at the bottom of the stairs leading to the second floor. They made it clear that no visitors were allowed. Mazeka nodded, turned as if to leave, then spun and delivered a devastating kick to the knee joint of the nearest. When the second went for his blade, Mazeka’s own dagger flashed. His disarmed the brute in one swift motion. The guard charged and Mazeka evaded, winding up behind his larger opponent. Before the guard could turn, Mazeka did a leap from a standing start, got one hand onto the big warrior’s shoulder, and then slammed both knees into his face. It didn’t do much more than daze the bruiser, but that was all Mazeka needed to do. He took advantage of the situation to race up the stairs.
The door to the Fe-Matoran’s workshop was locked. Mazeka brought it down with a kick. The Matoran of Iron grabbed for a weapon, but Mazeka’s dagger was already primed to throw. “I just want to talk,” said Mazeka.
“You’ve got a noisy way of saying hello,” the Fe-Matoran answered. “I’m open for business – all you had to do was knock.”
“I know all about your business,” said Mazeka. “Someone will be talking to you about it another day. Right now, I just have one question – where’s Vultraz?”
The Fe-Matoran did his best to look confused. “I don’t know any Vultraz.”
“You helped him modify his vehicle,” Mazeka replied. “And he used it to raid a village on an island not far from here. Two Matoran were killed, 12 more were hurt. You’re responsible for that.”
“Why me?” said the Fe-Matoran. “I didn’t do that! He did that!”
Mazeka twirled his dagger, then hurled it at the Nynrah crafter. It struck his mask, knocking it off. The Fe-Matoran staggered and reached for his lost mask, but Mazeka was there first and kicked it away. “Vultraz. Now.”
“I don’t know anything!” the Matoran sputtered. “Give me my mask back!”
Mazeka held his foot poised over the fallen mask. “Tell me what I want to know or I’ll shatter it. And then you and I can have a nice long chat until you pass out. So what’s it going to be?”
“He said … he said he was going to get in good with a Makuta,” the Fe-Matoran said. “Said he was heading to the core …that’s all he said, I swear, the core … to bring something to somebody named Icarax.”
Mazeka nodded. That fit with other scraps of information he had picked up.
“Okay, thanks for the information,” he said. Almost casually, he brought his foot down and broke the mask to pieces. “Next time, don’t take so long to answer.”
Mazeka left the room, so lost in thought he almost didn’t notice the two guards waiting for him outside. He was distracted enough that it took him all of ten minutes to get away from them. On his way back to his swamp strider, he wondered -- what was Vultraz up to now? And how could he stop him?