#akhmou

[randomwriteronline]

hi sorry i put more bio in your nicle. yeah i dont know how to draw them set accurate so i humanized them. yeah. it will happen again (who's who in alt)

[kanguin]

Black Mask Conspiracy

So I was cataloguing the color and mask changes for Matoran we've seen both in Metru and Mata (Diminished/Rebuilt) forms, and while I did learn a few interesting patterns, I also discovered an interesting trend among the Great Disk Matoran, the six who helped the Toa Metru.

We all know Ahkmou, the devious two-faced bastard who works serves Makuta Teridax's goals. This is what he looked like in Metru Nui:

And this is what he looked like on Mata Nui, after (after being rebuilt, though keeping relatively the same color scheme as when diminished):

He changed his body color like many other diminished matoran, but very interestingly gained a black version of the same mask he wore on Metru Nui. This is notable because out of all known, named Matoran, Ahkmou is only one of two who changed his mask to another color, but kept the shape (other being Mamru, who sometime on Mata Nui swapped his black Mahiki for an orange one, and ignoring Ga-Matoran, who often changed from Metru Blue to Mata Blue when diminished).

And seeing as Akhmou kept his memories, this was likely deliberate. He served Makuta Teridax, and while he kept this secret, he was proud of the fact. I'm personally betting he chose to wear a black Kanohi to honor his master's Kraahkan.

Now, I said this was about ALL of the Great Disk Matoran, and it is. Let's look at Nuhrii next.

Metru vs Mata

And here we have another black mask! Now this isn't too significant at face value, but it sure is interesting that among all Ta-Matoran who have black in their color scheme, Nuhrii is the only one who didn't on Metru Nui, and unlike Ahkmou, now has a different mask entirely. He must have lost or broke his Ruru in some sort of accident or scuffle with a rahi, as many Matoran do.

Moving along, let's look at Tehutti, largely because he's the only other Great Disk Matoran we saw before 2004. He, too, looks different.

Now, Tehutti, being a dirt-dwelling boy as he already was, was already black from mask to foot. But like Nuhrii, his original mask was lost at some point, and replaced with a black Great mask. What's also interesting is we never saw either of them in their diminished, fresh on the island forms. Only years later after they were rebuilt with Bohrok scraps.

This got me thinking. Even though we haven't seen post-Metru forms of Ehrye, Vhisola, and Orkahm, we know they're still around from mentions in the MNOG games and their presence in novels. What if ALL of the GDM have black Great masks by the time of being rebuilt? Akhmou has ample motive to hold a grudge against the others, as their help finding the great disks directly contributed to Teridax's sealing outside of Metru Nui, setting back his plan for domination.

While obviously Akhmou couldn't do anything drastic like off his enemies, as that would send up red flags, but, say, if they all found themselves having little accidents and losing their masks, only for him to "help" by providing a new Black one of another type... Well now that would go completely unnoticed, and even if noticed, would throw off suspicion.

Mask type and color are very important to Matoran, as it's basically their face, and thus part of their identity. Most Matoran either never lose their mask, or at least get an exact replica, and those that do usually only change type or color, rarely both. So by staging accidents for the other GDM, and giving them entirely different black masks, it would basically be the subtlest "fuck you" to the others.

This is a ridiculously long post, but my thoughts on which masks he'd give them will be under the cut.

My rules when choosing masks were:

Their masks must be black

Onky Akhmou keeps his original Noble Mask shape

Their masks must be Great Mata masks

None of their masks can match

None of them can have the same mask as the Toa Mata of their same element

None of them can wear a mask of the same element of their previous mask (Where Huna = Fire = Hau)

Akhmou now wears a Black Noble Rau

Nuhrii now wears a Black Great Kaukau

Tehutti now wears a Black Great Kakama

Ehrye now wears a Black Great Pakari

Vhisola now wears a Black Great Akaku

Orkahm now wears a Black Great Hau

I came to this conclusion by mapping out the previous pattern, and realizing Nuhri and Tehutti just shifted the pattern, rather than breaking it. And yes, this means if Akhmou changed his mask, he'd have a big grinning Black Mahiki. Truly Nightmare fuel.

[randomwriteronline]

"Toa Pohatu!"

He still winces when the hulking figure turns towards him and smiles.

Akhmou struggles to speak for a moment, very aware of how close he is to the armored feet that could effortlessly kick his chest into his lungs: "Thank you," he finally manages to say, trying and failing to meet his gaze. "For believing me."

Pohatu only grins wider, gentler, honest: "No need," he replies, "I know the truth."

He doesn't specify what the truth is, and this confirms to Akhmou that he really does know: that he never doubted for a moment that those kohlii balls were purposefully poisoned, that he didn't fall for his lie when he claimed he had no idea his wares were compromised. That when he said that he believed the Matoran would have had no reason to do ill upon his brothers, and smiled at him, and winked at him so quickly that nobody else could have seen his eyelid move, he knew perfectly well that he was protecting a traitor.

The fact does not ease him.

If anything, it scares him more.

He falters, stalls, fumbles with his own words; he glances left and right anxiously to check, constantly, if there is someone still walking through the Koro who could hear his question.

"There's a place I'd like to show you, actually," Pohatu tells him suddenly, head tilted and an easygoing, affable air about him.

Akhmou feels sick. What can he do? Say no? That's not even an option, likely. He just nods.

The arm that picks him up is kind and strong, and holds him close to a sun-warmed chest so that he does not risk falling. Something in the grip around him is genuinely comforting, safe, caring. When he looks up, the Toa's eyes meet his own with an offering of kindness.

He's jostled for a moment, hands adjusting to grasp him better: "It's a little further away from Po-Koro, so - hold on tight!"

And then there's wind howling against his mask and dunes passing him by as fast as a dream and clouds disappearing as he rushes under them and then for a moment there's a tall wall of rock, glistening from the dew condensing already before the night has even properly come; his feet are laid carefully on a hard surface, and he remains silent, speechless, before the sunset that coats the desert in orange and violet hues from between the confines of a jagged frame of stalactites and stalagmites. His legs give out briefly as he lets himself fall: a seat of stone gently catches him, molding itself beneath him just as softly as fabric would.

It's a beautiful view.

He hears the Toa sit beside him.

"Nice nook, isn't it?" he says sweetly.

Akhmou nods slowly.

Anxiety builds up in him again. He realizes they are alone; not only that, they are alone in a cave, in a stone cave, sorrounded by the Toa's element for him to simply shape to his own desire - for Mata Nui's sake, he is sitting on something Pohatu conjured from nothing. There is nowhere to run, not forward towards the desert nor backward towards the entrails of the island, no village nor outpost that could hear him scream. Would he even have the time to scream? The Kakama brought him here in a manner of seconds; if the Toa decides to wall him in for his misdeeds, there's a chance he won't even catch the light fading around him before he's left in the damp cold dark once more, like in the worst of his nightmares, where he can't breathe or move and only sinks, sinks, sinks, down into an endless abyss, with nobody to hear him, nobody to help him...

A warm hand grazes his shoulder: "What's wrong, little brother?"

"Why?" he squeaks with a broken voice as he jolts away from the contact. "Why did you cover me?"

Pohatu looks at him with an indescribable face - one that reeks of a total lack of anger, of animosity. One that screams of gentleness.

"I told you," he just repeats kindly: "I know the truth."

"And what is the truth?"

"That you did something wrong for the right cause."

Right cause?

What is the right cause?

Is his right cause the same as the Toa's?

The hand on his shoulder is grounding, comforting. Sweet.

Akhmou blinks, and a thought forms suddenly: it's dark.

Inside the cave, where they sit.

It's dark.

Very, very dark.

The tension leaves his body as he raises his baffled eyes to meet Pohatu's. The larger being smiles at him.

"But... You're a Toa." the Matoran babbles lamely.

"Of course I am."

"But the Toa... Shouldn't you... The Great Spirit...?"

"I do serve the Great Spirit, little brother," Pohatu replies so easily, so affably: "And so do you."

"Me?"

The baffled tone makes the Toa laugh a little, amused but not cruel: "Of course!" he says, "It's just not the right time to call him that yet."

Not the...? Akhmou thinks his head has started floating: "So," he blinks twice, thrice, feeling a little drunk, a little confused: "So the Makuta is - so he will be...?"

A hand rests on top of his mask to quell his confusing thoughts: "In time, in time. It's too early for that right now."

"But one day, he will...?"

"Of course. He's the Great Spirit's brother, after all."

"And... Is that why you Toa are here? To... Is he the one who...?"

Pohatu laughs a little harder. It echoes through the cave, but the sound is not intimidating, it's not frightening.

"Oh no, Akhmou, no," he giggles. Akhmou's name is soaked in an eternal fondness when he says it, and the Matoran feels his heartlight lift and shine warmer. "I'm the only one who's here to make sure everything goes how it should - by Artakha, I might as well be the only true Toa on this island. How I pity your fellow Matoran! All those tall tales to fill their heads with falsehoods, and now those five. No, my siblings are completely useless - they don't understand a single thing. They wouldn't even know themselves if they saw their own faces in a mirror."

The harshness in his tone bites into the air like the merciless jaws of a sand Tarakava. It's hard, and angry, and hateful.

But his eyes soften when he looks back upon the black Rau, even as he chastises its owner: "It's not your brothers and sisters you should turn against to help Makuta. It will only make them push you away, and I don't want that."

"You? Why?"

"Because when one is destined to become Turaga it's not quite nice of his brothers to treat him so badly."

The words - and the sly wink that accompanies them - make the poor Matoran sputter: "Turaga?" he coughs. "Me, that's my destiny? Makuta said so?"

"He did."

"But when - and how - and when did he tell you? How do you talk to him? Where is he? How does he-?"

"Easy, easy - I'm afraid these are secrets I can't tell," Pohatu slows him down with a croon. "But I've followed the Makuta diligently for nearly one hundred thousand years, and he has never lied to me. You just need to wait."

One hundred thousand... The awe overtakes Akhmou: "You're ancient," he says without thinking.

"Oof! Way to make me feel old and brittle!" the Toa jokes earnestly.

This feeling of complicity between them is so incomprehensible, dizzying, electrifying, that Akhmou laughs despite himself. It's a nervous sound, almost hysterical, hiccuping out of him as he sinks his head between his shoulders embarrassed about his gaffe, but the emotion behind it is honest and the grin Pohatu gives him in response is twinkling with pure tenderness and the Po-Matoran keeps laughing almost just to see it until his head starts hurting and a gentle hand rubs his nape as he groans a little.

The dying rays are slipping under the dunes, the sky turning colder and darker with each passing minute.

"And the other Toa - are they as old as you?" he dares to ask, genuinely curious.

Their mention dims Pohatu's sunny demeanor, but not by much: "Yes, we were all built at roughly the same time."

"And were you all given your duty back then?"

"We were."

"But then... How can it be that you are the only one fulfilling it?"

The Toa of Stone flicks his eyes away. His fingers tap rhythmically on the rocky ground, causing ripples to expand through the hard surface as though it were a liquid.

It's clear to see that it's not something easy, or immediate, or natural, for any being to be able to do. It's clear to see that it takes a lot of work and practice, just like learning to smooth marble into the faint transparency of fabric.

Such a casual show of power and control over one's domain is not something any of the other Toa could hope to replicate: they had no time in their impossibly long slumber to hone their skill to the point where they could morph their element into a pantomime of their siblings' own putting only such little thought in it.

His silence is pristine, uninterrupted, until he speaks again.

"Do you know who my siblings are?"

Akhmou could list their names, but he can tell the answer to the question is not that simple; so he waits, a little less comfortable.

Pohatu turns to him again.

The levity is gone from his face.

"They are liars, cowards and backstabbers," he spits out in a breath. There is something dark in his gaze while the words leave his mouth. "As soon as they decide the danger might be too great for them, they will leave you all to die."

The Po-Matoran feels all of his fluids freeze solid.

These are the Toa Mata?

Blind to their destiny, deaf to their duty?

Ready to flee in the Matoran's greatest moment of need?

Pohatu's tone drips with a kind of vitriol that Akhmou knows. It's the bitterness of a horrid injustice that has happened before, right before your eyes.

For him it was the damp, cold water, being abandoned to drown.

For the Toa it must have been... It must have been...

His head is cupped between gentle hands, smooth like those of a sanded down statue.

So very sweetly, so very gently, Pohatu leans down to touch the forehead of his mask to that of his little brother, with such immense reverence that it almost doesn't feel real.

"I will not let them do that," he murmurs. "I will not let them desert you again. They don't understand how immesurably precious your lives are, little brother, they never did and they never will, and I won't let them destroy you. Makuta can't allow that, and neither can I."

Akhmou hugs the Toa of Stone tight.

Pohatu hugs him back careful not to squeeze too hard, wrapping his arms around him in such a solid and heartbreakingly loving way.

The shadows grow longer upon them as they nestle into their dark embrace, into the burning embers that make up the moonless night's eyes against the clouded sky.

"I don't want to go back to Po-Koro tonight," Akhmou whispers.

Turaga Onewa's gaze supervising the village makes him feel unsafe all of a sudden.

"Of course, Akhmou," Pohatu murmurs gently, cradling his little brother in his lap to offer him as much comfort as he can, waiting awake until the Matoran stills in his limbs; only then does he lay upon his back in his dark nest of stone, hidden away from the burning sun that shall rise in the morning, and allows himself to sleep.

[randomwriteronline]

Metru Nui inhabitants (in collaboration with Vultraz and a pair of rahi-loving onu-matoran) and Bara Magna lads

[randomwriteronline]

He doesn't even hear them.

He's so preoccupied with frantically dispatching Rahkshi in the hopes that at least one of them will shoot down a few of the far too many flocks of furious flying Rahi that suddenly stormed the other side of the Colosseum out of nowhere before Teridax realizes what his supposed Turaga has allowed to happen and punishes him for it, that by the time he catches the tall figures that have crawled into his room like ants attracted by rotting meat it's too late for him to even have the time to stumble away from them.

The protosteel talons are deathly cold as the hand wielding them clamps around his mouth. He screams and shouts and wails as hard as he can, but the words are muffled, barely recognizable.

"Where did you put it?" Hahli hisses, eyes piercing holes into his head. Behind her Kongu moves quickly, searching. "Where is the Avohkii?"

The mask - they want the Mask of Light, why do they want the Mask of Light? What are they planning? To make another Toa of Light? With whom? The Av-Matoran should all be heavily guarded, they can't possibly have found a candidate in such a short time, they can't have freed them, he would have known, it would have been reported! Her talons are so sharp and he can't tear his eyes away from them, even though he knows she's not supposed to hurt him according to the Code; looking at the bright side, his terror is keeping him from giving away the Avohkii's location in the room that the Toa of Air is now all but quietly turning inside out. Why, why, why hasn't he melted it down already? He should have chucked it into the forges the second he had it! But no, he had to keep it, keep it here of all places (why? He's not sure - maybe out of some sort of curiosity that's better described as envy, maybe out of some kind of stupid hope that it would latch onto him and do something, anything, to make him more than who he is) and now they're going to find it inevitably and, and... And then what? What? He wracks his brain to try and understand the purpose of their search. It's not like they can gain its power anyways, and it's all but completely useless without a Toa to bear it. Unless Takanuva is still -- no, no, he cannot be, they can't have found him, Pohatu said he had taken care of him and he was safe and sound somewhere nobody else would have found him so he probably hid him away in a cave, or somewhere secluded and secret and safe, and - Pohatu! Of course! Of course, of course--

Hahli struggles to contain him as he thrashes and squirms in her grip, howling against her palm and through the mind link he developed between them on the Island for his Toa to fight off these ruthless thieves; she tries to hold him still, to clamp her hands around him tighter without suffocating him, but he is just so loud and her fingers are shaking.

Kongu abandons any semblance of carefulness and starts tearing through anything that can open one way or another, desperate to find the mask so they can leave, so he can stop ignoring him as he screams and cries for their brother to run to his aid, to come save him, save him, save him--

"Stop it!" his sister finally snarls.

Silence follows.

He can't hear her thoughts anymore, but for a second - for a long second - he feels as though the Suletu was back on his face, and instead of having his spine turned to the two of them he was looking right at them.

He can almost feel the way she erupts into the false Turaga's mind with a roar that is more of a sob through a new mental connection.

He can almost feel the stunned emptiness that responds to her for a long, infinite moment.

Akhmou's hands lay shaking on her wrist. She does not fight them when they pull it down, freeing his mouth, allowing him to yell as hard and loud and long as he might want, and yet he only looks at her directly in the eyes, silently, as he cups her palm in his own trembling ones with a gaze that begs her to lie to him.

The question refuses to come out of him: it curls on itself in the deepest recesses of his throat, shaking its head, protesting its own existence, trying to disappear so that the answer can never meet it.

But the door to his mind is still open a sliver, and the response slips through it.

Akhmou stares at her.

He starts shaking.

Harder.

Harder.

Harder.

Pohatu had come to visit him after he'd settled into this room that could be best described as Turaga Dume's office, while he was fighting with his too long shawl like a proper idiot.

He had beamed at him with a smile so bright it could have vaporized a kraata: "By the Great Spirit! Aren't you a fine distinguished sight!"

"Don't make fun of me," Akhmou had mumbled, embarrassed.

"I would never dare to, Turaga," the Toa had laughed good-naturedly. He'd made his way over to him to lift the fabric off of his shoulders before he could get too tangled in it, so they could both better figure out what to do with that blasted piece of cloth and curse whoever had decided to make it mandatory for this position together between quiet chuckles, as though sharing an inside joke; he'd placed it down on the Matoran's shoulders, and watched him adjust it to his liking. "There you go," he'd grinned proudly: "It suits you, doesn't it? Just a little long, but that can be fixed."

"You really think so?"

"There's plenty of scissors large enough in Metru Nui."

"No, I meant..."

"I know, I know! I was messing with you, little brother." then he'd hushed briefly as though he'd bitten his tongue, correcting himself in a sheepish tone: "Turaga. Sorry, force of habit."

Akhmou had hummed thoughtfully, and cleared his throat, and smoothed his shawl with a sudden important air about himself.

"Well now," he'd announced sternly, pushing his chest forward and furrowing his brows in the best parody of Onewa's reprimanding scowl, "Referring to me like that should get you a wack of my staff to the head for your insolence--"

(Pohatu had snorted. Loudly. Between the voice, the pantomime and the choice of words he hadn't been able to resist. He'd pressed his hands to his mouth and shut his eyes hard to stop himself from laughing, trembling as he failed so badly he needed to squat down before he doubled over and fell from holding back his hoarser and hoarser chuckles. Akhmou had started snickering with him after a few moments, telling him to "Quit- quit that, this is a very serious - I am very angry, this is a serious thing that is happening now" while they both struggled to come down from their giggling fits until the Toa had finally managed to suck in a big, big breath, calm down, stand back up, settle himself in a properly formal stance, and gesture at the Matoran to please continue his speech.)

He'd cleared his throat again: "As I was saying! Such an offense should get you a wack. However, as you have always been otherwise very polite to me, and as the only Toa to answer to me with the proper respect, I've decided very magnanimously to give you permission to continue calling me little brother. Only in informal settings, of course."

Pohatu had bowed very, very deeply before him, so deeply that his mask almost touched the ground, and said as obsequiously as he could: "Thank you, little brother."

Akhmou had struggled not to start laughing again and twisted his expression into a comical grimace: "This is a formal setting."

"Oh whoops."

(They'd choked on their chuckles for two good minutes. "You can't keep doing this," Akhmou had tried to steel himself long enough to tell him, "It's not - I can't work well if you keep-" as Pohatu sank back to the floor with a wheezed apology, arms wrapped around his middle like he was having the stomach ache of a lifetime.)

"You're forgiven," the Matoran had eventually conceded, even patting the top of the Toa's head - since it was in reach, for once.

The larger being had leaned into his palm with a grin, sitting up: "And here you were wondering if you'd be a good Turaga," he'd laughed, "You've already shown more patience for a silly Toa like me than anybody else would have bothered."

"Even Teridax?"

"Hm, maybe not yet to that level. He's had me around for a hundred thousand years, after all." then he'd laughed, gently, amused: "Hopefully you won't have to endure me for that long."

(Akhmou had never told him that Teridax terrified him.)

(But so long as Pohatu was there, he did not have to worry.)

(Because Pohatu would have protected him, and he would have never hurt him; because if Pohatu had survived so long at Teridax's side and never become like him, then he would been safe, too; because if Teridax had never hurt Pohatu in one hundred thousand years, then he would have never hurt him, either; because Pohatu cared about him, truly, and he wasn't sure he could say the same for many other beings. Because Pohatu was a Toa, and Toa don't kill.)

Pohatu had cupped his head in his own hands, brushing his thumbs against the cheeks of his mask: "Look at you," he'd said. Their foreheads had met with a soft sound, like they'd met in the dark cave on the island of Mata Nui. "I'm proud of you, little brother."

Akhmou had believed him.

He really had.

And now he...

Now he...

Now he...

Now...

Now...

Now...

"Hahli," Kongu calls.

His voice sounds a little hoarse.

The flying Rahi outside are screaming less and less against the Rahkshi, either chased away or shot out of the skies: their cover, requested by the Zatth's power, won't last for much longer.

A dull sheen disappears from his hand and into a bag.

"We should quickflee. Now."

His sister nods.

Her eyes linger for a moment again to the Matoran curled up on the floor, shaking pitifully, mask cradled in his hands, thin voice sobbing over and over the same few barely discernible murmurs as he drowns in a shawl too big for him.

She wraps her limbs and fins around her brother with her Faxon shining only briefly, to gift her the mimetic coat that allowed their ascension to this room to be mistaken for a slightly too forceful breeze nobody had any reason to worry about at all, and they abandon Akhmou to cry in the complete and total loneliness of an abyss that once again opens beneath him to swallow him whole, between walls of air denser than the water that once almost devoured him and a silence that screams like an unmarked grave.

[cinnabunclown]

I made an even dumber one