Chapter Text
Vamprah doesn’t recognize her immediately.
The last time he had been in her presence, his eyes were freshly lost, his telepathy still clumsy and unskilled. The mind he brushed against as he scanned the Matoran villages felt different than it had all those millennia ago, and it feels even stranger with a Shadow Leech’s shackle around it.
The mind he was familiar with brimmed with Light, Light she had freely given to save his life, at what he believed was the cost of her own.
So he does not recognize her as she moves through the villages, he does not flinch at her flash of panic, he feels nothing when her mind is leashed to a Makuta’s will.
It isn’t until he hears her voice that he recognizes who Antroz has ensnared, and it’s only Antroz’ own ignorance of her importance that keeps him from attacking their leader right then and there. He still feels a spike of alarm from Antroz at the feeling of Vamprah’s attention so heavy upon him.
She sounds different, hollow in a way she is never meant to.
“I am Gavla, my Lords Makuta, I serve at your discretion.”
The Gavla in Vamprah’s memory is a defiant little spitfire, sharp-tongued and viciously cruel to anyone who has ever tried to shackle her. This is a defilement of everything she is.
Something stirs in the cold hollow of his chest, and for the first time since he lost her, he welcomes it. This will not stand.
He leaves the cavern before she gets the opportunity to spot him, his touch against her mind light, for now.
He probes the Leech’s shackle, searching for weak points. It’s excellently sealed from the inside, but the outside has flaws, unprepared for anything but brute force telepathic assaults simply because its hooks sink so deep that any real attempt at outside removal risks shredding the victim’s mind altogether. Vamprah runs through two weeks and six Matoran before he can safely remove it.
The test subject’s freedom is short-lived, it won’t do for someone to know he can do this. For her safety, the rest must continue to believe she is still under the Leech’s influence. It makes Antroz think him wasteful, and thus, unreliable; but that’s a sacrifice Vamprah is willing to make to know Gavla again.
She has not seen him, but that cunning edge to her thoughts is still intact enough that she’s begun dominating the other Shadow Matoran, despite how the Leech’s shackle crushes it to nothing in the Makuta’s direct presence. More feeling stirs in his stillness, but he clamps down on it hard; his regard for her must not be known until he is ready. Chirox and Mutran both would sense an opportunity to bend him to their own ends, Gorast would begin to suspect disloyalty, and Bitil might hurt her just to posture against him.
When he appears before her, there is only a vague sense of recognition from her, the rest of it bound tight to keep her loyal to Antroz. But she knows his Kanohi, a face to match her own.
Silently, he asks her where she knows it.
“I made two like it. Back on Odina, My Lord.” She offers, unsurprised by the feeling of his mind as he probes the edges of the shackle. She’s going to laugh at him for letting her call him that once she’s free. “I’m wearing one of them, now.” Her voice is wondering, a little lost, like she can’t quite grasp the importance of that, but knows she should. And he strikes, keeping his own mind silent and still so he can break the shackle without hurting her.
Her freedom returns to her with a sharp gasp, suppressed anger and fear suddenly spiking up to the surface. She stumbles back away from him, roaring as she lashes out with one of her blades.
He keeps his touch light, just heavy enough for her to feel him there; not a threat, a blanket of calm holding her together while her mind settles and she collapses to her knees, clutching at her head.
“Shattered steel, what the-” she gasps, another spike of fear lancing through her as she notices the claws on her fingertips. He feels her recognize the presence draped across her thoughts and jerk up to look at him. “Vamprah?”
It is. He takes a careful step forward, head held low in apology.
“You-” she grits her teeth, forcing herself back up onto her feet and stomping forward towards him, “have you been here the whole time!?” She smacks him upside the mask and he takes it, he deserves it, and she’s not looking to really hurt him, the thoughts radiating off of her a tangle of relief, happiness, and a deep, frustrated irritation and betrayal. “And you’ve just been letting me walk around like that?”
Another feeling stirs in his core, a nostalgic relief. That’s her alright, and he has to stop a giddy shudder from working its way through his body.
She catches it, grabbing onto his shoulders to shake him a little, “don’t laugh! I swear to Mata-Nui, if you haven’t been working on this the whole time I’ve been here, I’m taking my slagging mask back.”
He radiates contrition to her, though he can’t help the way he goes limp in her grip, leaning against her and bringing up a wing to pull her in close.
She wraps her arms around him instantly, pushing back against his weight and burying her face in his shoulder. “You idiot, where have you been?” He presses his mind against hers a little more, opening himself to her. “...You feel different,” she murmurs, “colder, quieter.”
So does she, even without the shackle and beneath the loss of her Light, edges worn down, more tired.
“They gang-pressed me away from my forge,” she growls against his armour to explain, her wings bristling, “they barely even let me start fires down there. Just work me until I’m too tired to get ideas and act like they’re doing me favours because of it.”
He growls with her, the first sound he thinks he’s made in almost a hundred years.
He’s been hunting, trying not to think too much or for too long. Because she was gone, because he hasn’t had her there to keep him awake.
“Yeah, well, not dead,” she bats at his mask with the back of her hand. “So you owe me for not rescuing me sooner.”
She knows he’d do anything for her. He feels her consider cashing that in by making him free the other Shadow Matoran, but something draws her up short. A low, disgusted sound comes out of her as she pushes herself up out of his grip, flashes of disdainful or pitying looks and words breaching the thin veil between their minds. Of nights spent cold and alone, awake and huddled beneath the shelves in her home long past her head pounding at her because it was the only time and place she didn’t feel their judgment on her back.
A flicker of a bright green passes between them and Vamprah can’t help the snarl that settles on his face, claws itching and wings twitching at his sides. Wrath fully blossoming in his chest.
Him.
“Yeah,” Gavla grunts back, “him.” She considers for a moment longer before pushing against his mind, signaling for Vamprah to pull away from hers. He obeys. “Come on. I need to see something.”
Vamprah follows dutifully behind her, listening to her footsteps. They’re different now, with the wide claws of her mutation, but she still moves with purpose, like she always knows exactly where she’s going, and he straightens himself a little in her wake. He can feel another mind getting closer, one whose name he never bothered to learn, but Gavla stops when they turn the corner into her view.
“Radiak,” she snaps, all authority and daring, pushing an image of his spider-like mutated form to Vamprah.
“Gavl-” Radiak starts to sneer, radiating contempt and bitter envy for a moment before he spots Vamprah and the shackle snaps shut around his mind, rendering him meek and pliant. “Oh, y-yes, Gavla?”
“Go…” she trails off, voice considering, surface thoughts sweet with a vindictive satisfaction, “get Antroz, bring him to the Drop, I have news for him.” There’s a flash of surprise from Radiak at the lack of title, but he scuttles off to obey.
Gavla lets out a low laugh, “I think I can work with that.” She beckons Vamprah forward and he steps up next to her, letting her run a hand along the curve of his mask. “Let’s see if I can pull off one more thing.” She turns on her heel, starting off down another hall.
Vamprah pushes against her mind a little, unsure if getting Antroz involved is smart.
“I’ve been following him around like an Energy Hound, all ‘yes, My Lord,’ ‘of course, Lord Makuta,’ eck,” she spits. “If I don’t put my foot down, he’s gonna keep expecting that kind of treatment, worse, he’s gonna expect me to keep sticking to him. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but being linked to his thoughts is boring. He’s all straight lines and hierarchies- though,” she pauses, passing a feeling of mild exasperation towards him, “you probably have. He know you’ve been in there?”
Vamprah shrugs, not until he’d brought her in and Vamprah realized who she was.
“Shame,” she huffs, “he’ll be watching for you, now.” He can feel her mind running lightning quick, trying to think her way around Antroz and the other Makuta.
Antroz isn’t quite as boring as she’d assume, he has his own complexities, it’s just that they have nothing to do with this mission or anyone else here.
“Huh, well that makes it more likely he’ll go for this.”
The air shifts as they enter the Drop, the open hole in the floor letting in the restless winds outside. “Roof,” she snaps, and he obeys, launching himself off the ground to clasp onto one of the thick stalactites hanging from the ceiling.
They only have to wait a little longer for Vamprah to feel Antroz approaching, passing a quick signal along to Gavla, who’s settled on the lip of the Drop, feet kicking in the breeze. She stands fast, patting one of her blades.
Vamprah feels Antroz notice something’s different right away. Gavla’s not looking at him the way he’s grown accustomed to. His thoughts immediately go to Mutran, but Vamprah feels him file it away for another time.
“You have news?” He says mildly, “important enough to send for me instead of just finding me yourself.” He’s probing her, trying to figure out what’s changed.
“Introducing you to your new assistant, Makuta Antroz.” Gavla returns just as mildly, though Vamprah can feel the defiance radiating off of her. “Radiak will be accompanying you from now on.”
“Me?” Radiak gasps, his skittering sounding louder.
Antroz clocks the change in address and begins sizing Gavla up. Vamprah’s claws brace against the stone, ready to drop down at a moment’s notice.
“And who decided that?” He challenges. Gavla does not waver.
“Me,” she steps forward, “you have bigger things to worry about than directing all the Shadow Matoran, most of them can barely bang two rocks together on their own. I’ll handle them, you stick to whatever your actual mission here is.” The ring of one of Antroz’ blades being pulled sounds, the threat pulsing out from his mind. Gavla pushes a thought to Vamprah to keep him still.
“That’s for me to decide, Matoran.”
“My name is Gavla, Makuta Antroz,” she presses on the title, respectful, but not the slightest bit fawning. “And wouldn’t you rather have someone you don’t have to give specific instructions to handling the growing mass of people that need them?”
She gives Vamprah the go-ahead. He drops down behind her, baring his teeth up at Antroz and flaring his wings, darkness snapping along their edges.
He catches a flash of surprise from Antroz before he shuts away his mind, careful barriers in place to keep Vamprah out. Gavla lets Vamprah feel the smile spread across her face, clearly pleased by Antroz’ outer reaction. “So, no problems, then?”