Chapter Text
“I wanted one so bad. I don't think he even thought of me. Can't I have yours? Come on, Krika, can't I have that one?”
The Makuta is scanning him with eyes like he wants to devour him. Kopaka meets his gaze coldly. His hands are full of ice. Just in case. He hates the way he looks at him. He hates him, period.
“It's pretty! I like Ice Toa. I guess a dark one maybe would match me better. But come on. You're not using it, are you? I bet you're not. I bet you hardly get into fights at all on Zakaz.”
Actually, they've squashed two civil wars in the past three months alone. Then again, that mostly just involves showing up in the middle of a battle and sending both sides scattering before they can all kill each other.
“Krika, you're not even listening!”
“No, I'm not,” Kopaka's Makuta responds finally, sipping from his drink on the other side of the table. “I never listen to you when you're whining.”
The yellow and black Makuta sitting across from Kopaka deflates, letting himself sink down over the table.
“Miserix was always giving me presents,” he says. “Miserix said I was one of his favorites. I can't even get Teridax to look at me twice! I should have gotten one. I would have really liked one. Miserix would have given me one.”
“Your brother's death has been hugely inconvenient for you, then,” Krika returns scathingly.
“It really has been,” Bitil mopes. “It's terrible.”
“Can I be excused?” Kopaka interrupts them both irritably.
“Oh, it talks,” gasps Bitil.
“What did you think it did?”
“I thought Ice Toa didn't ever talk.”
“I think I'm starting to see why Teridax doesn't notice you,” snaps Kopaka. “Your head's so full of rocks it's astonishing he even allows you to run this backwater junkyard.”
Bitil gapes openly at him, but he's smiling a fang-toothed smile as he does, rocking back from the table in delight. “It sassed me! Krika, it talks back. That's so funny. Oh, I want one so bad.”
Kopaka gets up, shoving his over-sized chair out from behind him and stalking away from the table. Bitil's cackling laughter follows him as he goes.
“If the rest of your siblings are all like this, I'm going to be cutting this trip very short,” he shouts back at Krika.
“You wanted to come,” his Makuta retorts. “So keep your damn mouth shut.”
But they both know that he never has kept his damn mouth shut when he had something to say, and he probably never will.
“You're a little brat, you know that?” Krika sighs, looking back at his brother. “You still act like you were just pulled out of the pool yesterday.”
Bitil sighs back at him, putting his chin in his hand. “I'm bored, Krika,” he says. “Miserix always asked me to do stuff... Miserix trusted me. And I trusted him. He always brought me good things to eat so I got bigger than the others. Teridax just leaves me here. I feel like I'm rotting. I really do wish I could have a Toa or something to play with. How am I ever going to make any progress in the Brotherhood now?”
“Do your duty quietly and well,” Krika replies. “If you see an opportunity to prove your loyalty to Teridax, take it. That's all you can do. Complaining and begging, however, will not get you anywhere.”
“You'll put in a good word for me with him if he needs something done, won't you, Krika? He likes you. And you know I'm a good fighter.”
“A brutal one,” replies Krika, glancing him over. “But yes, a good fighter. Although I wonder where that bruise down the side of your face is from.”
“Oh, yeah.” Bitil pokes forlornly at his miscolored face, grey in places it's usually yellow. “It's the mask. I just wake up with bruises, cuts, everything. I'm barely tolerating it anymore, honestly. The other day I dropped a specimen and killed it because suddenly my whole arm was broken.”
“You use it too often.”
“Maybe. But like you said, I'm a good warrior. Don't have much else going for me.”
“Your cats are very good, Bitil.”
“Awww. Thank you. Yeah, they're getting better. Working on smaller ones, but equally deadly. You think Teridax would like that?”
Krika takes another drink from his cup. “Don't create for Teridax. Work for Teridax – create for Matoran.”
“Matoran.” Bitil's back to his nasally whine, picking at the table with his claws. “I'm sick of Matoran. I don't even see any anymore. I ship all my Rahi out. You think Matoran are sending me thank you notes back because I took care of their problem with the thigh-sized rats or sent something to eat all the birds with diseases? Not a chance. It would be nice to have a Toa, really. Then the Matoran would want to come see us. And he could take care of some of my battles for me so I don't have to wake up in random pain every week. It's not fair. Antroz got two. That's not fair.”
“Bitil,” warns Krika. “Complaining.”
“I wish Miserix was here,” he sulks. “I hate Teridax.”
Bitil sees Krika's gaze narrow a half-second before he realizes he probably shouldn't have said that.
A flare of repulsion throws him mask over heels from his chair and crashing into the wall hard enough to crack stone. The ceiling shakes above them. As soon as he's blinked his eyes open again, Krika is there, grabbing him by his chest piece and hauling him into the air, red eyes burning. Bitil pants, grabbing his hand, and lets out a flimsy growl.
“Don't,” snaps Krika, cuffing him over the mask. “Don't you ever snarl at me for trying to keep your stupid head on your shoulders. You never say things like that. Do you understand me, Bitil? You never, ever say things like that about Teridax. About any of your leaders. Not to Makuta you trust, not to Makuta you hear saying similar things, not to beings who will never even have the chance to whisper in Teridax's audio receptor. You don't say things like that.”
Okay, so he definitely shouldn't have said that. Krika watches Bitil's expression flash between angry and guilty for a few seconds before he finally settles back into his usual sulking. Krika sets him back on his feet, putting his hands on his hips. “You've always been too self-absorbed, Bitil. If you had any wisdom, you'd have realized that words like those could destroy you.”
“So we're not even pretending anymore,” says Bitil sullenly.
“Pretending what?”
“That Teridax isn't killing those of us who talk back to him.”
“Bitil. Add that to the list of shit you don't say.”
Bitil looks up at him, his mouth slightly twisted. He shrugs his shoulders and crosses his arms over his chest, shrinking in on himself a little. “She says that stuff.”
Krika frowns at Bitil. “What? Who does?”
Bitil rubs at the bruise on his face again, shifting in place.
“Bitil,” warns Krika.
“You know who, okay? She came to visit me, you know. Zarin.”
“No. I didn't know.”
“You didn't? I thought you and her and Antroz were always talking shit about the rest of us. Making all the real decisions since Miserix was never interested in the political side of anything. I used to think if anyone was ever to take over from Miserix, it would be one of the three of you. Well, not you, Krika. Maybe her or Antroz, though. I guess Teridax was just biding his time, letting you four be in charge until he was ready.”
Krika doesn't reply. Bitil moves back towards his chair, picking it up off the ground.
“She isn't the same since the others disappeared, Krika. She won't forgive that. If she truly believes Teridax did it – hypothetically – ”
“What did she say, Bitil?”
Krika wishes that the very asking of the question didn't make his ichor seem cold.
Bitil won't turn to him.
“Bitil.”
“Just one thing,” says Bitil gruffly. “I don't care that much, I just – I don't know. If Teridax comes asking, you can back me up, say that I didn't encourage it. She just said that if I was upset about Mir dying, I shouldn't do anything reckless. Instead, she said I could come talk to her about it, and we would work on it together. She said she understood if I was upset about Mir. That's all.”
Krika runs his hands over his mask, his spines raised at the back of his neck. For the sake of the Spirit, isn't she smarter than this? To speak words like this, no matter how ambiguous, to Bitil of all Makuta? She could have come to him. She always used to. Could she really have been so reckless?
“Have you told anyone else about this?” he asks shortly, dropping his hand from his mask.
“No,” grumbles Bitil. “Not that stupid.”
“Good. Keep it that way. Don't even tell anyone she visited. She was just talking about helping you with your grief. That's all. There was nothing rebellious in that, brother.”
“Right,” mutters Bitil. “That's why we can't talk about it. But don't worry. I'm not going to go see her or anything, either. I just want to forget that it happened. I would forget Mir too if I could. I don't ever want to think about him again.”
Krika stares at the back of his head as Bitil sits back in his chair. Rumor has it he was the one who found Mir's ichor still fresh on the floor of his keep, his body taken up to the Star before any evidence could be found. Bitil, Gorast, and Mir visited each other frequently, so it's perfectly believable, if you ask him. They were always tight as Toa. Now he never wants to think of him again?
“Good,” Krika says finally. “I'll speak with her. Just to double-check. But putting it out of your mind is for the best. Like I said, just do your duty.”
“And prove my loyalty to Teridax if I get a chance.”
“Right. Look, just be good. I need to go. I want to be in Xia by evening.”
“Why?”
“Don't worry about it, Bitil. Just something Antroz called me for.”
Bitil shakes his head at him, smiling. “Have fun talking shit and making decisions. Say hi to Antroz and Zarin. You three... the unholy trio of the Brotherhood.”
Krika gives him a second cuff on the mask, just for good measure, and gathers up his things. Bitil walks him to the door of his keep, stepping out into the sunlight with him. After a minute of squinting against the bright sun, they can make out the tallest ship in the bay of Bitil's island, and a white Toa sitting on the prow, looking out at the morning light.
“Really wanted one of those Toa,” sighs Bitil yet again. “You sure I can't keep it?”
“Bye, Bitil.”
“Hey, hey! Where's my bite?”
Krika scoffs, considering telling him no. Bitil's more than twice the size of a Toa these days, and only a couple feet smaller than Krika himself. He doesn't need to be sneaking energy from his larger siblings. But he supposes it's symbolic. Krika himself used to take a bite from Miserix. It was a sign of deference. A sign of respect for the hierarchy of their Brotherhood. Maybe a tiny sign of some form of affection too. Miserix always offered him his wrist.
Krika never quite has it in him to tell the others no.
“You take more than a nip and I'm going to hit you,” he warns, reaching out his wrist.
Bitil grins devilishly and sinks his fangs into Krika's wrist. Right on schedule, he takes a drain of energy so intense it makes Krika's fingers go slightly numb.
Krika sighs and activates his mask again. Bitil goes flying back into his fortress. Even from the rubble of the nearest wall, Krika hears him laughing loudly. He always takes too much and he's never sorry.
“Greedy jay-cat.”
“Bye, brother!”
Krika leaves the fortress behind, walking down towards the water. Sailors from all over the world stare at him as he goes or duck quickly back into boats or huts. He steadily ignores all of them, heading up the walkway of his ship.
“Finally.” Kopaka is waiting for him, but he looks like he's about to take off all on his own, a waft of impatient chill following him as he approaches. “Can we go now, or do we have more breakfasts to attend?”
Krika ignores him, giving the signal for the Skakdi sailors he employs for short trips to get going. He stands observing the work, watching Kopaka run among the sailors and help release the sails, half as strong but twice as lithe. He knows Kopaka is excited to go to Xia, to see his siblings – knows that the Ice Toa has been circling back to questions about Xia, Vortixx, and Antroz on repeat ever since Krika told him they were taking a trip – but as he stands there watching his Toa Hagah bask in the gold light and the spray off the silver protodermis sea, he thinks that it's probably easier not to have brothers and sisters at all. You don't have to worry about any of the stupid trouble they get themselves into.
And you never have to grieve their loss, either.
Xia's silhouette is not like that of Zakaz. The rocky mountains and hills of Zakaz which were so jarring upon his awakening have since become familiar to him, and now Xia – rising from the ocean in a halo of electrical light, spiked with buildings and trees on every shore – is the new unusual. There's one huge mountain in the distance, and then the city blots all else out.
It's making his heartlight flare. He pulls himself up to the crow's nest and leaps onto its ledge, gripping the flag rope as the ship sways dangerously beneath his feet.
“You would not get me up there,” grumbles a Skakdi already watching from the nest. Kopaka's heard him called Vekk. “You must weigh as much as a bird to perch like this.”
“How long til we're docked?” asks Kopaka, turning to him.
“Patience, natai. What's so exciting about Xia anyway?”
His brother. His sister.
“Nothing.”
“'Nothing' is right.” The Skakdi waggles a finger at him. “The heat is terrible, the city is crowded, and the Vortixx are entitled. The females, they'll grab a fancy little Toa like you as if you belong to them.”
Kopaka rolls his eyes, sitting back on his heels and letting the wind and the sea rock him back and forth as he holds the rope. “I'm sure the Vortixx would have plenty of nasty things to say about the Skakdi too.”
“No doubt,” Vekk replies. “But nothing the Skakdi wouldn't tell you themselves. Vortixx pretend to be nice. Skakdi, no.”
“No,” agrees Kopaka. The Skakdi on the ship make snide comments and jeer at him almost unendingly, but then again, he really doesn't mind. None of them will hurt him with Krika there to punish any injury. Everybody knows where everybody else stands on this ship. It works. “And yet here you are, giving me advice.”
“I like the sound of my own voice, you pretentious dwarf,” replies the Skakdi.
Kopaka just shakes his head at him and looks back out at Xia. His heartlight picks up again, pulsing gold against his armor.
His brother. His sister.
Just a little while longer.