"The empire of the Barraki was about to live again."
Arrival of the Kanohi Ignika
In the aftermath of the battle upon the shattered island of Voya Nui, the fabled Mask of Life—Kanohi Ignika—was torn from the sky by unseen forces and cast into the abyssal deep. It descended into the sunless waters, where it came to rest amidst the drowned ruins of Mahri Nui, a ghost-city that clung to existence beneath the sea's crushing weight.
Driven by destiny and desperation, the Toa Inika gave chase, diving into the shadowed throat of the Cord. There, within that black vein of the world, they clashed with the deranged Vezon and the outcast Zyglak, remnants of ancient wrath. The battle ended with Vezon dragged into darkness by the Zyglak, screaming curses swallowed by the sea.
Within the silent, drowned streets of Mahri Nui, the Matoran endured their exile, unaware of the doom that approached. When Onu-Matoran Reysa and others vanished without a trace, Defilak, the grim-hearted Le-Matoran chieftain, turned his gaze to the cursed trench known only as the Black Water. There, Ga-Matoran sentinel Kyrehx beheld a drifting mask, old as the stars, veiled in whispers and ancient dread. She did not know it was the Ignika.
But the sea knew.
A monstrous Sea Squid, unseen watcher of the deep, bore news of the mask to Kalmah, warlord of the abyss. He, in turn, summoned the other Barraki—Pridak, Ehlek, Carapar, Mantax, and Takadox—ancient tyrants reborn as horrors of the sea. They gathered like wolves and resolved to hunt the mask, just as their forefathers had once sought godhood.
Kyrehx, unable to reach the Council, turned instead to her mentor, a forger of Kanohi. But the sea had other plans—sentient flora, ancient and cruel, struck her down. It was Dekar, a hunter among the stone-born, who delivered her from their grasp. She entrusted him with the mask and vanished into the mists.
In the depths, Takadox—master of deceit—bent the brute Nocturn to his will, sending him to seize the Ignika. He spied upon Mantax, solitary and brooding, only to be discovered by Kalmah. With cold malice, they trailed Mantax into the accursed Pit, where the Zyglak struck with vengeful fury. Sealed within, they clawed at stone until Nocturn, maddened by Takadox's whispers, shattered the gate and turned his rage upon the Zyglak. Blood and bone churned in the tide.
Elsewhere, Defilak and his companions—Gar, Sarda, and Idris—descended into the Black Water in a submarine of rust and resolve. But the beast-Pridak awaited, his Takea sharks tearing the vessel to shreds. He interrogated the survivors, then cast Sarda into the dark. As death closed in, he was snatched from the void by Lesovikk, a wandering knight of the drowned age.
Their reprieve was short. Karzahni, lord of madness, emerged from the shadows. With chains of living flame, he bound Lesovikk and hurled Sarda into a waking nightmare, twisting his lungs until he breathed water like air. But Lesovikk, driven by fire in his veins, shattered his bonds and saved the boy, vowing to end Karzahni's blight on the world.
Takadox, ever treacherous, dispatched Carapar to seize Kyrehx. Though she spoke little, he confirmed what they feared—the Ignika still pulsed within Mahri Nui. Dread of its unmaking burned within Takadox, and he ordered Carapar to halt Ehlek's pending assault. He returned Kyrehx to her people as a false olive branch, draped in lies.
But peace found no place in Mahri Nui.
Venom Eels, drawn by the Ignika's breath, surged upon the city. The Matoran stood firm, but their spears met only teeth and venom. Knowing the mask's power, Dekar fled with it into a forgotten cave. Kalmah and Mantax hunted him, arriving as he raised his blade to strike the Ignika. But the mask, sensing death, stirred.
From the coils of the deep rose a nightmare—an eel, touched by the mask, swelled to monstrous form, a titan three hundred feet long. It struck like a god of ruin, casting Dekar and Kalmah into black oblivion.
Gar and Idris, bloodied but unbroken, escaped their shackles and returned to the city. There, Defilak fled Pridak, the serpent-king whose hunger for the Ignika twisted his mind. Mantax and Pridak followed the leviathan, while Ehlek and Carapar crept into the coral-laced caverns of Pridak's lair. There they found Brutaka—once a warrior, now warped by the Pit's curse into a hulking abomination. Upon hearing of the Ignika, Brutaka demanded it be brought before him, lest he rend the sea in fury.
The beast, drawn by Mahri Nui's glow, loomed over the city, ready to consume all. In desperation, Defilak, Gar, and Idris shattered every Lightstone. Darkness fell like a cloak, and the city vanished into the gloom. Takadox tried to ensnare the leviathan's mind, but the beast laughed in silence and cast him into unconsciousness.
Dekar awoke, touched the mask, and was drowned in memory. The Ignika, for the first time in its ageless existence, felt fear.
Meanwhile, the Barraki waged war against the eel, and their strength turned to ash. Pridak, in madness, challenged Brutaka and was struck down by his radiant blade. Then, together, the Barraki stormed Dekar's last refuge. Ehlek, with lightning in his veins, smote Dekar, who fell screaming as the mask slipped from his hands.
As he begged them to reconsider, to see what lay beneath its golden face, Pridak seized the Ignika, and in that moment, the world held its breath, and their fates were sealed in fire and shadow.
Arrival of the Toa Mahri
A blinding conflagration tore asunder the gloom of the Pit—a divine flare born of the Mask of Life, searing through the black waters like the wrath of a forgotten god. It struck the ocean's bed like a thunderbolt from the firmament, and in its sacred blaze, the spawn of the deep shrieked and cowered, blind to the transformation it wrought. None bore witness as flesh and spirit were sundered, reshaped by the Mask's inexorable will. When the radiance faded and the darkness returned to reclaim its throne, the warriors once known as the Toa Inika had vanished—reborn in agony and breathless glory as the Toa Mahri, lords of the drowned realm.
Within that watery tomb, as shadows slithered once more over coral and corpse, Kalmah glimpsed a figure—Dekar, the marked one, fleeing the cavern's womb like prophecy given form. The warlord pursued, and there he found Pridak, his blood-white hands clutching the Ignika with a devotion that reeked of madness. Kalmah spoke, warning him of the doom bound within that cursed relic. But Pridak, consumed by lust for power, turned on his kin in blind wrath, rending nearly through his tentacle with a strike born of obsession.
Then came the beast.
Twisted by the Ignika's malevolence, a Venom Eel of monstrous breadth shattered the Cord that bound Voya Nui to the sea's cradle. The link was severed, and with it, the Order of Mata Nui lost all contact with their agent in the Pit. He was gone—perhaps dead, perhaps worse.
Dekar, cast adrift upon tides far greater than he, drifted toward Mahri Nui, unaware that destiny had branded his soul. The Ignika, ever watchful, ever cruel, sensed his mortal frailty. In its cold mercy, it unmade him. What emerged was not Dekar, but Hydraxon, the jailer eternal, forged anew by divine artifice to guard the shadows.
Below, the Toa Mahri were met by their first trial: the Venom Eel, titan of the depths, whose hatred boiled in every thrash. Kongu, deceived by the arcane workings of his Kanohi Zatth, summoned a swarm of lesser eels, serpentine horrors that devoured the sea with their arrival. Matoro, death-clad and silent, raised a forgotten predator from the tombs of the abyss, setting beast against beast. Ice, bitter and merciless, entombed the creature's wrath, and Hewkii, master of weight and gravestone pressure, cast it into the chasm where light does not reach.
Nuparu, shrouded by the ghost-cloak of his Volitak, crept toward Mahri Nui and beheld its spectral spires. Yet his revelation was met with fire and steel—Matoran, twisted by fear, unleashed death upon him. Only the blazing fury of Jaller saved him from the cold clutch of the sea. Thereafter, Defilak, the deep-born chieftain, pronounced judgment: earn trust through trial. The Toa must cleanse the sacred airfields, now infested with the devouring claws of Keras crabs.
Within the city's drowned sanctum, Matoro unveiled a cruel truth—their lungs, altered beyond redemption, could no longer drink the air of the world above. A new exile was born within them. As his brethren bled and fought, Matoro remained, yet fate had not forgotten him. He was taken, deemed a betrayer, and cast into the cold oubliette known as the Pit.
There, he met the iron sentinel: Maxilos. But the mask was a lie. Beneath that armor burned the cunning soul of Makuta Teridax, veiled in shadow, whispering truths laced in poison.
Elsewhere, the Barraki—the ancient tyrants, cast down from time and sanity—quarreled over the Ignika like wolves over a god's bone. Pridak, Takadox, Ehlek—all hungered, all betrayed. The pact they had forged crumbled, and Pridak, ever the serpent-king, bestowed the mask to the leviathan Nocturn, binding the beast with hollow promises and spectral chains.
Scattered amidst the black tide, the Toa Mahri faced their crucibles.
Hahli, wielding the power of beasts through her Faxon, tracked the echo of the Ignika. But Mantax, cunning and cruel, ensnared her. Though she struck him with fang and fury, the lord of the depths had planned well—a decoy, a trap. His venom found her veins, and the abyss claimed her breath.
Jaller and Kongu, entombed in the Octo Caves, warred against squids whose tendrils drained the very spark of life. Hewkii and Nuparu, threading a trench steeped in bones, found themselves hunted by the silent will of Ehlek, whose eel-servants struck like ghosts.
Matoro, still bound to Makuta's will, bent death to his command. The Tryna called forth a long-fallen Toa of Water, the soul unwilling, the bond forged in desperation. A fragile alliance formed between the living and the dead, and yet the sea groaned louder.
The Ignika's corruption spread like rot.
When the Toa Mahri stood once more within Mahri Nui, the ocean screamed. Hahli, enthralled, led a legion of death-rays toward the city. Maxilos, ever the deceiver, spoke in riddles and threats: once the Mask of Life was claimed, the Cord must be broken, and Voya Nui would rise. But Mahri Nui would drown—its people forsaken, its history swallowed.
Scroll of preparations and the capture of Karzahni
In the blighted lands of the far North, the six champions known as the Toa Nuva made their pilgrimage to the long-forgotten Great Temple of Metru Nui. They came not seeking glory, but revelation—the remnants of a destiny buried beneath centuries of dust and doubt.
Kopaka, ever the sentinel, saw treachery in the eyes of Axonn, while Tahu, flame-bound and unyielding in his conviction, clung to trust. Yet doubt bowed before duty. Cloaked beneath the speed-born veil of the Kakama Nuva, they descended into the hollows of that sanctified ruin.
There, amid vaulted shadows and whispered echoes of faith, Gali and Pohatu uncovered a scroll etched in ancient fire. Its prophecy carved one dreadful truth: to awaken the sleeping Great Spirit, they must unleash the swarms of Bohrok—the world-scouring tide once chained, now beckoned once more.
With iron resolve and hearts burdened by dread, the Toa Nuva returned to Mata Nui. Despite the murmurs of betrayal among their kin, they shattered the bindings of the Bahrag, the queens of the swarm. It was Onua, voice of the deep earth, who urged them forward. And so, the hives trembled, and the Bohrok rose anew—harbingers of a long-denied cleansing.
But prophecy is a cruel architect, and their next path led into the shadow.
They sought the Staff of Artakha, relic of divine design, yet found only void within the Archives—its vaults hollow, its promise stolen. Memory stirred—Whenua, ancient lorekeeper, had once whispered of cloaked thieves, shadows that slithered unseen. With grim hearts, the Toa set their sails for Odina, fortress of assassins.
There, beneath a sky that knew no mercy, they struck down two Dark Hunters, demanding an audience with the dread sovereign known only as the Shadowed One. A pact was forged in venom and necessity: slay the betrayer Roodaka, and the Staff's fate would be unsealed.
Thus they journeyed to Xia, a land of fire and fury, where titans raged—the Kanohi Dragon and the Tahtorak, claw and flame made flesh. While Onua rended stone and soil in pursuit of the relic, Lewa flew swiftly under Tahu's command, his return heralding the arrival of the ancient Rahaga, their bodies twisted by ancient sin.
Roodaka awaited them, queen of deceit. But the Toa pressed her, and at the brink of her unraveling, she reversed her curse, restoring the Rahaga to their noble form—the long-lost Toa Hagah.
Yet fate recoils from balance. Onua emerged bearing truth darker than any wound: Makuta Icarax had claimed the Staff. Roodaka, now forsaken, was left to the Hagah's justice, while the Toa turned their blades to pursuit.
In the blackened trenches of the Pit, another war was waged in silence.
Maxilos, the iron shell of Teridax, stood beside Matoro and a reanimated Tuyet, whose soul flickered between damnation and clarity. Then came Karzahni, mad tyrant of twisted dreams. He shattered Tuyet, cast Matoro into a nightmare, and clawed at Teridax's secrets.
But Makuta is dominion incarnate.
In a tempest of will, Teridax shattered Karzahni's illusions, freeing Matoro, then summoned his swarm—Manas crabs, brutes of thunder and shell. Karzahni answered with a legion of his own, but in one stroke of dark genius, Teridax turned beast upon beast.
Karzahni, raving and ruined, wove a final vision that pierced even the Makuta's mind. But Teridax tore his mind asunder, casting him into the endless dark.
Meanwhile, in the shadowy paths of the abyss, Lesovikk, Sarda, and Idris traced the tyrant's steps. Karzahni struck first, trapping Lesovikk in a vision of salvation, a cruel echo where his fallen comrades lived anew. But false hope breaks fast. The illusion cracked, and Lesovikk awoke in fury.
With Sarda and Idris luring Karzahni into a trap, Lesovikk leapt, hurling them aside as the jaws snapped shut.
Then, from nothingness—Botar. Sentinel of justice, bringer of exile. No word, no plea. He took Karzahni and vanished, as if fate had scrawled its final line.
In the quiet that followed, paths diverged. Idris returned to Mahri Nui. Sarda and Lesovikk walked into the veiled future, purpose burning but undefined.
Elsewhere, the Toa Nuva met Icarax in battle amidst Karzahni's haunted domain. Blades clashed and powers roared, yet the Makuta slipped free, the Staff of Artakha clenched in his grasp.
At the brink of the Pit, they watched in grim defeat as the artifact passed to Teridax, who now stood on the cusp of reshaping fate itself.
He set to work—reconstructing the shattered Nui Stone, its fragments still lodged in Tuyet's broken armor.
Then, Matoro surged forward. A charge born of desperation. But Teridax bound him in stasis, frozen between defiance and failure.
Brutaka, wounded but defiant, struck the Makuta, wrenching free the Staff. With breathless haste, he summoned Botar once more. Justice came, faceless and silent, reclaiming the relic and vanishing into the aether.
Teridax did not rage. He simply withdrew—his designs deeper than the void.
The warriors, broken and scattered, watched his shadow fade.
Then Brutaka turned to Matoro, and in his voice echoed the weight of prophecy.
"This is not the end."
And far beyond the known horizon, the storm awakened.
The last battle
Beneath the crushing black of the abyssal deep, the ocean quakes. There, in the drowned silence where light dares not tread, Nocturn, brute of the depths, clashes with Hydraxon, the eternal jailer. Steel shrieks against sinew, strength contests with mastery. Yet it is Hydraxon who stands triumphant, prying from the ruined seafloor the fabled Mask of Life, its aura a whisper of doom and divinity.
But the victory is tainted.
A phantom voice—his own, and yet not—echoes from the hollow crypt of memory, bidding him destroy the cursed relic. He raises his Cordak blaster to enact the will… but fate, ever cruel, intervenes. A sudden riptide veers the missile astray, and before the weapon can howl again, Hahli Mahri cuts through the gloom, stopping his hand.
Their reprieve is but a breath.
From the umbra rises Mantax, his limbs draped in darkness. With a grasp like death, he steals the mask, and with its profane strength, strikes down those who would defy him. Then, like a shadow swallowed by night, he vanishes into the cold void, and Hydraxon follows—blade drawn, wrath unbound.
Above, far from that watery tomb, the Toa Nuva press ever onward.
Tahu and Kopaka traverse the molten hell of Artidax, while Onua and Pohatu descend into the silken deathtrap that is the Heart of the Visorak. In the canopies of forgotten lands, Lewa heeds the whispers of an unseen guide, seeking the ancient sundial upon Mata Nui. And Gali, sole sentinel of the skies, charts the cursed orbit of the Red Star, unveiling the cryptic beings that dwell within.
Destiny, veiled in crimson, descends.
Botar, herald of greater powers, rends the world's fabric and bears the Nuva to Daxia, where the Staff of Artakha is raised, mending wounds carved by the Cataclysm. Their trials not yet ended, they are cast to Artakha's sanctum, to fulfill a final, sacred charge.
In the depths, Matoro speaks a grim prophecy—the Cord must break. Only thus shall Mata Nui stir from his slumber. Yet the cost shall be dire. The Matoran, innocent and frail, shall suffer the sea's wrath.
The Toa guide their kin toward what hope remains.
But from the drowned ruins rise the Piraka, warped and monstrous, dragged from nightmares. A desperate war ignites beneath the waves. Only Axonn, titan and guardian, halts the slaughter, gifting the Toa a living vessel to brave the Pit once more.
There, Jaller and Matoro hunt the Ignika, while their brothers battle the warlords of the sea—the Barraki, tyrants reborn. Gadunka, grotesque colossus of fang and hunger, meets his end in chains wrought of Hewkii's storming will.
Amid the tumult, Jaller tears the mask from Mantax's grip. Yet Hydraxon reclaims it, and with it, sows chaos anew. Teridax, cloaked in the guise of Maxilos, is momentarily subdued by Matoro's unseen hand.
In the shadows, betrayal stirs.
The Barraki convene. Mantax, harbinger of truth, names the traitor. But retribution is stolen—Maxilos and Hydraxon clash with such fury that the very sea shatters. From the wreckage crawls Takadox, his treachery laid bare. He grovels before the Makuta, and is devoured—not in flesh, but in mind, consumed by a vision of endless dread.
Feigning defeat, the Barraki marshal their armies and strike. Maxilos is unmade. Teridax slips the net, his malice unbound, lost to the deep once more.
The Ignika is in the Toa's grasp.
With hearts gripped by dread, they do what must be done. The Cord is sundered. Voya Nui plummets into the abyss, crashing into Mahri Nui, which is swallowed in oblivion. The mask is pulled into shadow. And Matoro, the last light, pursues.
Yet as he draws near, the Ignika dims—its gold becomes silver. And with it, the truth.
Mata Nui is dead.
But Matoro does not yield.
Behind him, the Toa Mahri stand against the Barraki, ready to burn their lives into legend. Jaller, aflame with sacrifice, prepares his final Nova Blast. Yet the divine intervenes. In a breath, they are torn from battle and cast to Metru Nui.
Alone now, Matoro dons the Ignika.
His body dissolves. His spirit merges with something vast, eternal. A last heartbeat, not for himself, but for the world.
And in the heart of all things, Mata Nui breathes again.
In the shining towers of Metru Nui, bells toll. Fires rise. The city rejoices.
But not all voices sing.
Vakama steps forth and speaks. Matoro is gone. Not vanished—but sacrificed. And in his name, the world bows. His memory is etched in stone and soul.
But deep beneath, the tale is not ended.
The jailer hunts.
Hydraxon, now fury incarnate, stalks the Barraki like a specter from the abyss. In his path rises Pridak, fang, and fury. But his words are a knife: Hydraxon is a lie. He is Dekar, a Matoran reborn in flame and delusion by the Ignika's twisted will. The truth claws at him. But Hydraxon does not waver. He does not yield.