//------------------------------// // Act I: Hunger: Freedom // Story: Six Shadows // by Vicron //------------------------------//  Antroz was blind, but he didn’t need to see to feel the tension in the air, the storm outside raged impotently against the shield his thought deceased brother Krika had erected for them. None of them knew how long it had been, the light from the storm was constant, they didn’t need to sleep, and nothing ever seemed to change. Every passing moment it seemed like nothing ever would. He was supposed to be here sooner, so long ago now.  He took stock of the things he did know, pushing away the dread that he felt creeping through all six of the gathered Makuta.  He knew Krika was to his left, taking his turn holding the storm at bay.  He knew Mutran was to his right, armour still stained by the energy bolt that had nearly fried him.  He knew Gorast sat across from him. If he had to guess, he’d say she was probably still glaring daggers at Krika for his insolence in still being among the living.  He knew to her left was Chirox, shifting and muttering to himself, likely trying to either calculate how long it’d been, or how powerful of an energy burst it would take to make enough of a break in the storm for them to at least tell where the closest wall was.  He knew- or rather he’d been told- that Vamprah sat to her right, silent as always, unmoving. If there was ever a time when Antroz wished he would speak up to enlighten them as to what was going on in his head it was then.  He knew morale had to be at an all-time low. He pressed a hand to Mutran’s arm, a signal he wanted a status update. Antroz had kept this crew away from each other’s throats for this long by a skillful combination of diplomacy, threats, and exertions of pure will. Which as far as Antroz was concerned was like holding together a skyscraper with nothing but spit, Visorak blood, and a heaping helping of hope. He refused to let this feat of incredible political gymnastics go sour before he had a chance to rub it in the faces of everyone who had ever doubted his leadership skills.  “Must I?” Mutran growled back at the tenuous ‘leader’ of this shipwreck.  “You wanted something to do, didn’t you?” Antroz snapped, “I could just have everybody tell me how they think things are going, you’d still be able to speak for Vamprah.” If there’s one thing Antroz could count on, it was that Mutran would speak his mind, no garnering for favour from him.  “Fine,” Mutran huffed, “it’s still very bright, Krika’s keeping most of it at bay, but the amount of light getting in is irritating. That enough?” Antroz put on his most unimpressed grimace and Mutran continued with a huff, “I’ve already told you my stance on the ‘are we ever getting rescued’ front, shall we go around the circle again?”  “I’d appreciate that, yes,” Antroz said.  “How about we don’t,” Gorast snarled back.  “Getting hesitant, are we?” Mutran shot, Gorast only didn’t maul him because Antroz held up his blade, the silent threat meaning considerably more in such an enclosed space. “Oh Mata-Nui, you are,” Mutran’s voice came out quieter this time. Antroz couldn’t help but sit up a little straighter as Chirox swore. Gorast stayed silent.  If even Gorast was starting to doubt that Teridax had any intention of rescuing them, nothing was coming, ever.  They needed a way out.  Krika brushed one of his claws against Antroz’ side. Antroz, without even having to think about it, reached up and took his Kanohi Crast, the Mask of Rejection being the only reason any of them were still alive, channeling power through it to keep it active as he transferred it to his own face. It was difficult, but it had worked this long.  “Brother,” Krika whispered, sounding about as tired as he’d ever sounded, “I have a plan, but I need to gather more energy than one cycle allows me, I won’t be able to take my next turn.” The sound of the storm outside kept the others from hearing him.  “And what is this plan?” Antroz murmured back through grit teeth.  “I cannot tell you just yet, but Gorast won’t like it. Not that she ever likes anything I do.” Great, now they were keeping secrets where their survival was concerned. Just peachy, maybe he really wouldn’t be able to keep them together long enough.  “Fine,” Antroz sighed, “I’ll just grab it from Vamprah.”  “I promise, just two more cycles and I’ll be able to try this.” Normally such a promise would be hollow to him, but right then it was a goal, a measure of time at last. Antroz nodded, just two more cycles.  The first one passed without incident, they had all long since stopped griping about this part of the deal. It wasn’t until Antroz skipped over Krika that questions started being asked.  “How come he gets out of mask duty? It’s his mask.” Gorast snapped, earning herself a glare from Antroz as he forced the mask down onto his head.  “There’s a plan,” he swore he could feel the tension in the air snap, suspicion and hope mingling in the three shouted responses to his statement. “One at a time.”  “What is it?” That was Chirox’ voice, just like him not to enjoy being left out of the scheming process.  “Can’t tell you, it’s not my plan,” Antroz responded, shrugging.  “Is it to ram ourselves into the nearest wall and try to punch a hole through?” Of course Mutran assumed that it was an idea he’d already entertained.  “Probably no-”  “Of sorts,” Krika interrupted him, “but this wall will be considerably easier to find and keep a steady course to.” Which lead to the third question, from Gorast.  “Is it Krika’s plan?”  “Yes,” Antroz turned his head towards Krika, expecting some more explanation from him. It didn’t come. Apparently the wall thing was all they were getting out of him.  “Why can’t someone else do it?” Mutran chimed in again, “if I’m right in assuming the reason you’re not taking your turn is so you can gather more energy for whatever wall we’re going to be ramming into.”  “It’s Krika’s mask, he has more experience with it than the rest of us do, he’ll be able to get more out of it.” Antroz cut him off at the pass, the look he threw making sure Mutran knew there would be no tolerance for showboating right now.  Antroz could tell Gorast was trying to think of what it could be so she could think of a reason not to let him do it, her silence weighed heavy as she considered. Antroz didn't want her getting the opportunity for an outburst though, so he decided to shut that down too. “Gorast, nothing’s coming. Even if we don’t know what it is this is at least a plan. It’s a chance.”  “You don’t know he’s no-”  “You’ve started to doubt Teridax, Gorast. Idealistic, crazy, you.” He paused for a moment to let that really sink in. “He’s not coming, he either lost, can’t, or never had any plan to. Which leaves us to either sit here and maybe, just maybe, we can make it till he dies, if that ever even happens, but more likely someone makes a mistake and we’re all vaporized. Or we take the gamble on Krika’s plan, and maybe we live.”  Gorast shifted, but stayed silent, no doubt throwing Krika the most withering glare she could muster. The rest of this cycle too, went without incident.  When Krika got the mask back he took a deep breath before starting to pour every bit of energy he’d gathered into the mask. The mask began to shine bright enough to make Antroz’ side feel warm. Mutran snapped his fingers as the repulsion shield around them began to buckle and stretch.  “The dimensional wall! He can’t control our trajectory enough to direct us towards a physical wall, so he’s repelling our universe as a whole!” Antroz blinked, he hadn’t even considered that an option.  “What?! No,” Gorast shouted, making to leap for Krika only to be restrained by her other brothers, “we can’t abandon the Plan, stop him! Stop him!” She screamed before the world went wobbly. Everything felt strange and twisty in the space between worlds, like they were being pulled through a keyhole in the wake of a heat great enough to soften their armour.  Though they only experienced it for a split second it was enough to make Antroz and the others release Gorast for fear of somehow phasing into part of her body; and make Gorast stop screaming for the space of time they were there. Krika let out a shout of exertion and they erupted back out into a world with a deafening bang. _________ Canterlot was never a still town, Captain Frigid Wind thought, but it was quieter than usual during those early hours just before the sun rose. Then it was just the severely early risers or those who had worked through the night milling home or to coffee shops. Such as himself, gearing up to inspect how the good ponies of the guard were keeping their posts with a cup of coffee. That sweet, sublime liquid. This morning, however, the calm seemed doomed to fail, and to deny him his morning cuppa. The barista working the counter began to greet him with their usual morning exchange, “ah, Captain, here for your usua-” a sound like thunder magnified a thousand times filled the air as steaks of nearly blinding light danced on the far wall of the cafe. It was considerably too early for this, but Frigid had a job to do and had nearly just jumped out of his skin, not that anyone else saw it as he turned around to face the no doubt powerful spell going on. His horn glowed white as he glared at the source of the brightness. Energy bursts rippled in the air around Canterlot square, charring and shattering the walls of nearby buildings. Frigid swore to himself and raced back out the door, glad he didn’t leave the house without his armour. He managed to reach the square as the power finally stilled. The walkways and ancient statue in the middle were cracked and blackened, looking like a stiff breeze might reveal them to be so much piled up ash. Luckily it didn’t look like anypony had been standing too close, but a few birds and rodents had received a swift flash-cooking and lay strewn across the square. Standing at the charred epicenter of the blast was an opaque bubble, black and white energy swirling on its surface, every now and again arching out to nip at one of the ruined bricks beneath it. Frigid glared at it and ignited his horn to send up the signal flare that would summon the rest of the guard as he got to work making sure no civilians had ended up caught in the blast or were staying in the immediate area. He hardly considered the flare necessary considering the entrance this thing had made, but it was protocol. Each time energy arced off of the orb a bit more of that swirling white left it. The first of the guards had started trickling in when the orb was finally a uniform black. “Captain, any idea what that thing is?” One of the night guards who had answered the call asked him, the slightly sluggish way she moved making it clear to Frigid that she’d been right at the end of her shift and, like him, was being denied something quite well deserved. “With Celestia’s school so close by, it could be anything,” he grunted back, “probably some dumb kid’s experiment got out of hoof,” didn’t hurt to keep an eye on it though, magic was volatile. The bubble seemed to swell for a moment and he raised his voice, “steady!” It popped with a sound like a soda can opening, sending six tall, jagged and metallic beings sprawling out of it. Frigid stared at them, irritated that he was probably about to be caught up in some international incident over this. Five of them stood, clad in armour that gleamed black in the early morning light, two green, one red, one blue and silver, and one black and silver, the white and red one stayed down on the ground, stirring weakly. The red, blue, and silver among them were unsure on their feet, as if they couldn’t see their surroundings, webbed wings flaring as they tried to keep their balance. They were huge, four easily as tall as Celestia, though the blue and one of the green ones stood closer to Luna’s height. They were obviously disoriented, paying no attention to the fallen of their number. One of them barked something at the others in a strange tongue as the last of the civilians were escorted away and the main forces of the guard caught up with the ones who’d been patrolling the area, the sound of hooves and wings seeming to disorient the three blind among them even further. Frigid gave the order and the newly arrived guards surrounded the six figures before they could properly get their bearings and escape. The green ones braced themselves, drawing weapons that crackled with dark energy before the red one held up a hand, letting off a few quick phrases in that unknown tongue that made one of the others stand down. The shorter one seemed to refuse, remaining tense with gleaming claws at the ready, dragonfly like wings buzzing nervously from her elbows. The red one sat and let out another quick bout of its grating language, motioning for the others to do the same. They hesitated, but joined the red and black one, apparently their leader, on the ground. Captain Frigid stepped forwards. “Greetings, care to explain yourselves?” The red one cocked its head towards him, the three jagged facial fins on either side of its face making him feel like he was suddenly staring down the barrel of a cannon. Its eyes were red and dull, unseeing, but he could still tell it knew where he was, even if it didn’t seem to understand him. The enormous, batlike wings on its back seeming to frame the sharp, red points of the armour along its upper arms and thighs. Its legs ended in enormous, grasping talons. Strapped about its waist were a couple of what he thought might be wide bladed axes, and set in its chest, seemingly held in place by thick, silvery claws, was a glowing orange orb. Some shadow within squirmed unpleasantly every few moments. Those dull eyes narrowed a moment and it gestured with wicked red claws from its own head to where Frigid was standing, then towards its mouth, miming speech. Frigid crooked an eyebrow, “I could tell,” he responded, assuming it was referring to the fact that it didn’t speak the language. He let out a surprised shout when he realized he was wrong, the things eyes began to glow brighter red and he felt something rummaging through his head. It felt cold and hard, like somebody had shoved a knife into his thoughts. He summoned all the training he had on resisting telepathic assaults and tried to push it back out but it brushed him aside like a leaf in a maelstrom, pulsing disdain that he would try to refuse it, he volunteered after all. Wait, that wasn’t his thought, he shook himself a little, suddenly understanding what the thing wanted. He started thinking about the equestrian language as hard as he could, eager for this creature to leave him. It got the signal and grasped onto the words he knew, matching them to its own thoughts. It retreated as suddenly as it came, leaving Frigid stumbling and feeling even more exhausted than he had a moment ago. Also very glad for the warmth of his own thoughts. The red one’s eyes flashed again, each of the others’ glowing in turn as they continued to sit. Frigid suddenly noticed that they had arranged themselves in a circle around the fallen white one. One of the main reasons Frigid got up this early began to ripple through the city, the magical aura of Celestia raising the sun filled the air as the bright orb peeked over the horizon. The five beings jolted a little, like they’d received a static shock, the shorter of the green ones began to rise, claws bristling again. Another quick shout in that strange language from the red one forced it still, though it had still regained its feet. If not for the calming aura of the sunrise Frigid got the distinct feeling that someone would have caused an incident over that with how intentionally threatening it had been. “I am Makuta Antroz of Xia,” the red one suddenly spoke, its Equestrian starting slow and careful, like it was testing the knowledge it took but quickly gaining confidence. The taller of the green ones scanned the crowd and murmured something that made a slight smile tug at Antroz’ mouth for a moment. “We aren’t looking for a fight, despite what my sister is attempting to imply, and wish to apologize for our sudden intrusion.  Both in your city,” it gestured towards Frigid, “and otherwise. We have arrived unintentionally and one of our number is injured. Is there anywhere nearby we could rest and care for our own?” Frigid looked them over again for a moment as Antroz gestured for the taller green one to tend to their fallen comrade. It huffed for a moment, obviously displeased to be delegated the task, but obeyed, lifting the spindly white creature onto its back. Antroz didn’t react to its displeasure, its focus still staunchly on Frigid. Or, in the general vicinity of Frigid’s head; he was still pretty sure this thing was blind. He felt like he should offer them somewhere to stay, but between their entrance, the armour they wore and the vibe he got off of Antroz rummaging through his head these things rubbed him the wrong way so badly that he felt like the fur on his haunches might never sit flat again. He thought a moment longer and glanced over at the castle, the Princesses would know better what to do with them than he did, he had no doubt they’d had much more of their fair share with suddenly appearing creatures than he had. If these things did turn out to be dangerous, it’d probably be good to have the big guns on hoof. “If you’ve come in peace,” the taller green one threw him a look that told him he’d looked too far into Antroz’ earlier statement regarding looking for a fight, this was why he’s not a politician. “Then I can show you to the barracks. We’ve got a couple beds that might be big enough for your friend and doctors there for almost every species known to ponykind.” He gave the white one a quick glance, “though I’m not quite sure how much good they’ll be able to do.” Antroz smiled and Frigid felt a chill go up his spine, he was definitely reporting this as urgent the second he gets the chance. ______ As Mutran lowered Krika’s still unconscious form onto a pair of beds pressed together Antroz couldn’t help feeling very proud of himself. Not that he tried to stop himself. He was also glad that the other Makuta had kept him on his toes for as long as they did, he doubted he would have been able to keep that entrance from causing them problems if he hadn’t been sharp. He wouldn’t tell them that, though. “Remind me why we didn’t just kill them,” Gorast growled from somewhere off to his left, luckily in their native tongue as there were pony guards outside the door. Her claws flexed, making something wooden creak in her grip and Antroz knew she’d rather be tearing into Krika than the natives of this place. “I’m wondering why you weren’t more assertive,” Chirox chimed in, pressed at the door, which was still open a crack as he tried to study the physiology of the ponies outside with his hearing alone. “We could have grabbed a couple, fought off the rest and vanished somewhere, observe and experiment while they can’t find us.” Antroz rubbed his eyes, they still ached from time to time, and that burst of Light energy earlier hadn’t helped. “We didn’t have any advantages,” he growled, “they were waiting for us when we arrived. This is their home turf, anything they hit us with would have been a surprise.” He closed the door, leaning against it to make sure the others stayed to listen and started to count off the reasons they should do so. “We don’t know what their numbers are like, we don’t know what they’re capable of- that was a pulse of Light energy that came through, none of them reacted, that’s normal here- we don’t have their trust, we don’t know where we are, three of us are blind and we don’t even know the lay of the land.” He stopped for a moment to let it sink in, “the only advantage we do have now that I think about it is that they’re as ignorant of us as we are of them. For now we play to that strength, lay low, play nice; that means you two, Gorast, Mutran. Once we have the upper hand we’ll press it, but until then we don’t cause trouble.”  And so, folding his hands before his chin, he settled into his favourite part of any plan, scheming.