Mask of Infinity (Story)

=Please do not edit or use any part of this story without the permission of ToaInfinity. = =Mask of Infinity=

Another Day, Another Vahki
Tanuva dashed through a canyon in the Sculpture Fields of Po-Metru, trying to evade the Vahki in pursuit of him. An advanced squad of Vahki, called the Kraahu, was tracking him down, and Tanuva knew he was in trouble. But he had to keep running.

As Tanuva hurdled over stones and twisted past enormous, towering sculptures, a red and black Kraahu looked at another Kraahu and produced a sonic shriek, inaudible to Matoran. The Kraahu squad sped ahead and split up, crawling through gaps in the canyon walls on either side. Puzzled, Tanuva stopped, hoping the Vahki had given up on him. He remembered that he had a small sword hanging from his back, and he reached for it to defend himself if something happened. He shuffled forward, turning his head at every sound.

He swooshed his head left, hearing a rock tumble from the top of the canyon. He looked up, but nothing was there except a plume of dust settling to the ground. Tanuva looked back in front of him and saw an opening in the rocky wall.

“A pathway,” he murmured to himself, cautiously walking forward toward the opening. He turned and saw a dusty trail. The opening wasn’t just a hole in the cliff wall, but it was a gap. It was as if someone cut a chunk out of the wall. He began walking further down into the gap. Nothing else was happening. Everything was quiet. Everything seemed safe. Bewildered from all the chaos, the frightened Po-Matoran began to run again.

As Tanuva huffed and panted, he thought about what would happen if the trail he was running on would lead to a dead end. What if the Kraahu caught up to him and captured him, and he had nowhere to run?

If this happened, he would be captured by the Vahki and be shocked by a stun staff, then dragged to a nearby assembler’s village and wait for a Vahki enforcement cruiser to take him back to his village and be forced to work all day and possibly have his food rations taken from him. Just in case this actually did happen, Tanuva ran a little faster.

“Oh, no,” Tanuva panicked as he approached a steep wall. He thought about what he imagined earlier and was overwhelmed by fear. He needed a plan. Usually, Tanuva was good at coming up with plans quickly, but his mind was clogged with anxiety.

“Think!” he forced himself. He stopped and searched his mind for an idea. Nothing.

“No!” Tanuva whimpered as he heard footsteps somewhere. He spun around, trying to find who—or what—was making the sounds that, at this point, worried the young Po-Matoran so much that the footsteps were as horrible as a sick Rahi in a Knowledge Tower.

Now struck with frustration along with fear, Tanuva threw his sword at the wall of the cliff. But instead of the sword falling to the ground, it got stuck.

The sword could hook into the wall and get stuck.

Bingo.

He ran to the wall, hoping his new plan would work out the way it should. Tanuva ripped out the sword and stuck it into the wall even higher, doing this every time until finally, the top of the cliff wall was eye-level. He stuck his head over the ledge and looked at the flat, barren landscape that ran for miles, interrupted only by a few sculptures, over the years crumbling to an end, conquered by chips, dents, and cracks. But off in the distance, underneath huge rock arches and a ledge sticking out from another cliff wall that formed a rock canopy, a collection of brown tents dotted the ground.

An assembler’s village.

And he could hide there. The Vahki would never suspect it.

Perfect.

He scrambled to his feet and made a beeline for the village. His speeding feet crunched over rocks, and his sword, still in his hand, clanked against the ground. The beaming suns emitted waves of heat across the plain landscape, and Tanuva didn’t think he could make it without collapsing from thirst and heat. But he had to keep moving. The only other option on his list was to get captured by the Kraahu Vahki, and that wasn’t what he had in mind.

Huffing and puffing, Tanuva sprinted even faster, hearing rocks being kicked and rolling across the sizzling desert floor. Shadows flickered against the sun on the flat landscape.

“Hey! Someone! Where’s the nearest building to hide in?” he shouted at a crowd of Po-Matoran standing outside and pounding on stone with hammers and chisels. They all just turned their heads and stared, confused at the frenzy of Tanuva. Someone finally pitched in an answer.

“Go to the CVP building,” a tall, bulky Po-Matoran called.

“What’s CVP?” asked Tanuva, skidding to a stop as he came under the rock shelf and into the village perimeter.

“It means Center of Village Production,” the Matoran explained. Obviously seeing that Tanuva wasn’t understanding, he decided to help him.