After eight long, difficult weeks of fighting, you've finally done it. You've put an end to Neo Metal Sonic's dreams of conquest and with it, you've saved not only this world, but all worlds. Perhaps not everything is wrapped up as neatly as some of you would like, but you've done what you set out to do, and now you can breathe a sigh of relief.
In the hours that follow the immediate aftermath of Neo Metal Sonic's defeat, Tails sets about figuring out how to control the Egg Fleet and recall them to where Neo Metal Sonic had them stationed. Sonic heads out into the city - and then even further beyond - to ensure that the people are starting to regain their senses without anyone to suppress their free will anymore. Knuckles escorts you back to the base, then takes a ring to hop into the Void to let Shadow and Infinite know what's going on.
As for you all? You aren't expected to do any work, because you've done so much today. Take a load off and take the time to rest - you deserve it.
For those of you who can't wait to get home, you're welcome to grab a ring from one of your colorful friends and head straight back, but for those of you willing to take the night off and regroup in the morning, you'll find that said colorful friends have put together a party for you - or, well, they tried their best. The decorations are store-bought (or not) and simple, Sonic seems to have thought confetti is the best way to throw a party and there is so much of it getting showered on all of you the moment you walk into the room, and someone obtained a sheet cake that did not have any sort of message on it, so an awkwardly scrawled message of "THANKS FOR HELP" is written in bright green icing that clashes with the cake's soft pink and red color scheme. An attempt was made.
You're welcome to hang out here - both in the new base and in this world as a whole - for as long as you'd like. Permanently, even, if you don't have any intention of going home. After all, you've more than earned it. Sonic and friends will gladly help you figure out a way to get settled here.
If you do choose to stay for any length of time and head out into the city, you'll find that people are indeed starting to return to their daily lives. They don't really understand - or remember - what happened, but they do recognize you as someone they have some innate fondness for, regardless of how startling your appearance may be to them. The city itself has seen better days thanks to the spread of Eggman's chroma, but thankfully the natural elements are recovering from that just fine. The buildings, streets, and the like will not naturally recover, so it seems Chicago's going to require some pretty intensive rebuilding...
But for the time being, everything is going smoothly, and you've done everything that was asked of you. You're free to return home. If you do, your shard may eventually come loose and simply fall off, ridding you of both the shard and its powers. Or maybe it won't, and you'll have that memory of your time in this world forever, along with the power innate to you and the ones you can activate from your fellow shardbearers whenever you're near each other.
Congratulations, shardbearers. You've done the impossible, and maybe even formed some new bonds along the way.
( Welcome to the final log of Shardbond! With this, you have successfully navigated your way through the Sonic friendship game and no one died! Hooray!!! For this final log, you may do whatever you'd like - if you want to use this to do an immediate aftermath top level, go for it! Party top level? Sure? Post-game top level? Have fun! You want to bring a castmate in and NPC them or have someone else play them? Also cool! Generally speaking, you are now free to do what you will with the setting as a whole - your fuzzy little friends will be hard at work making sure that you all are able to get home and/or get settled just fine, and they'll also be keeping an eye out for one (1) Neo Metal Sonic. And also Infinite, I guess, unless someone wants to take that stray jackal with them but like, no one needs that. )
[Janna's fucking mercy. Ah well, hindsight was what it was, and it was a little late to ask for directions now. Given the options...he flickered briefly out of existence with the flash of wild anomalous magic before reappearing at ground level, starting to make his way south.]
[A volcano seemed a good place to find a blacksmith, after all.]
The air starts to grow thick with the smell of ash and charcoal. Steam and smoke both rise from inland. The treeline slowly dots with black, the sand and rocks morphed into blackened mounds, into obsidian and pumice and crystals - signs of the travelling of fire and magma long since past.
Against the coastline lie signs of more boats. Fishing equipment. Spears and shields at rest. Planted torches made of wood and stone dot the rocky terrain, marking out the edges of a cliffside that plummets very rapidly in a chasm filled with magma far below, splitting the land open like a wound. Wildlife with metallic adornments across their limbs scatter through the fire-tinged brush at his approach.
Along the edges of the ashen treeline walks a small robot. All in red, a spear in hand, attention extremely focused as they step, one foot after the other, in a slow and deliberate line across the base of the trees.]
[Well, at least the island wasn't as empty as it had started to feel--honestly, the relative quiet had started to make him more than a little uncomfortable. But the smell of fire was a comfort in its own way, almost as much as the obvious evidence of habitation.]
[Viktor pulled his hood down, a low chestnut ponytail streaked with gold spilling over his shoulder as he did. Better not to look like a threat, probably. If there was a misstep somewhere, it would be easy enough to escape whether by portal or under his own power.]
Excuse me--I seem to be somewhat lost. I do not suppose I could ask your help?
[ He's just a little guy - a Matoran, even shorter than Vakama had been in his dreams. Just trotting along like a sloth, not even looking up at first when Viktor talks.]
If you are lost, think of where you want to be, and you will someday be there. If you do not know where you want to be, then maybe you will be lost forever. Or maybe you will not.
[Step. Step.]
You came from the sea. I saw. While I was practicing.
To come from further than the sea must mean you come from very far away. The sea stretches forever.
[Step. Step.]
Others came from the sea. One was dangerous. Like the Makuta. Like you from the sea. Tall like you, and taller. It was here, and then it wasn't. It moved fast by moving slow. There were many guards in chains.
Allow me to apologize on their behalf. Some of our number can be...ah, tactless? Not very well suited for polite conversation, I am afraid.
[you're getting your ass kicked next time he catches you, cube.]
Ah; forgive me, I am only passably familiar with naming conventions here. I am looking for Vakama--Turaga Vakama, I believe is his full designation? Do you know where I might find him?
[The sound is definitely noticed, the little robot finally looking up with an almost mirrored echo of metal and piston. He blinks and stares, as though thinking.]
You are different.
But you are still of the sea.
I have orders for those who come from the sea. You can follow. Or you can leave.
Or you can go to the gates. The guards will not be happy if you go to the gates.
'Different'...you could say that, yes. [Despite wearing actual clothes like he hadn't as the Herald, the faintly glowing cybernetics were still obvious in his uncovered forearms and neck. Which truthfully, didn't remotely bother him as it used to.]
You do not have to be concerned. I will follow without incident, I give you my word on that.
[He breaks from his straight line to slowly pivot and trod down the sand. Still slowly.]
We are here. We must be somewhere we are not. We must be down the beach.
[He takes a few more steps, just as slow. Eyes forward.
Within the time it takes to blink, the Matoran suddenly vanishes, appearing several yards down the coast. He slowly turns and lifts his arm over his head.]
[The look of 'how the fuck did you do that' was very evident, but Viktor chose not to voice that particular thought. It was difficult to make out even for his eyes, but there was something not quite magical and not quite not that to the motion.]
[So, Viktor followed in kind--flickering in and out of existence in the myriad colors of wild magic, returning to solid reality a few steps behind.]
I am practicing. Where I am is where I am. Where I am not is where we must go. I am close, but I am not. I felt it. But now I cannot feel it. I must keep practicing.
[Back to slow walking, but at least it seems they do not have to go far - right beyond the dock to a small outlet of rock broken up with sands. He doesn't seem to be clueless in his actions, but instead incredibly methodical.]
You are also practicing. It is a different practice. You practice like the light of the sun against the dancing flames of the Takara.
[The Matoran shrugs lightly as he sticks his tiny little metal hand into a crevice in the rock and starts to dig around.]
Maybe you are like the Turaga. He speaks through the Sacred Fire. He shares the stories it tells. I cannot hear the fire. Maybe the Turaga also practices.
[A pause. He nods once more, hand emerging from the stone with a small metal pouch filled with brightly colored pellets. A handful are poured out into the strangely-shaped hands and held up towards Viktor to take.]
It is fire you must make now. The smoke will speak to him. It will let him know.
There are many such unseen and unheard forces, I think. Yet few with the ability to perceive, and fewer who can learn to allow those forces to speak through them.
[Viktor tilted his head in curiosity at the pellets, turning them over in a delicate metal hand. For an island this size and with this technological level, smoke signals made sense enough-]
[is he just gonna light these up with a laser or is there an obvious intended method here-]
[Given that he is not given anything else, Viktor may do whatever he likes from here! The pellets seem to be only thin plant-like mesh containing powders and other plant matter, so Viktor can probably deduce it's meant to cause a chemical reaction of some sorts if combusted.
His weird companion is busy putting the pouch back in its hiding spot and turning back to retuen to his post.]
Do not send the flames of your Great Takara into the jungles, friend of Vakama from the sea. It will be sad, and it will be beautiful.
No, that would be quite unfortunate. We would not want to damage such a beautiful island, after all.
Thank you for your help. I will try to make sure none of the others cause you too much trouble.
[Much easier said than done. But that aside, easy enough; finding an open space and dragging his boot through the sand for a shallow trench just to be sure nothing spread. Then it was just a matter of setting down the pellets, taking a few steps back just in case, and unfolding the Hexclaw to ignite in a quick burst.]
[...He was not totally sure wild magic could put out fires, but it was probably fine.]
[the pellets explode sending rocks flying and we all know what happens when rocks are involved-- no I'm kidding
On meeting the heat of the laser, the first of the pellets instantly erupts into a thin but vibrant plume of red smoke, followed by more as the remaining pellets follow suit. The trail of red drifts up into the wind like the dripping of blood.
Nothing happens for quite some time. But once the smoke rises high enough, Viktor will hear distant sounds start to echo, the bellowing of various different tribal horns in different directions - from the volcano, from the jungle, even from farther up the coast.
Torches start to be extinguished in the far distance. White smoke starts to rise into the air in bursts in response from various points, even from a couple points to the far north beyond the sea of trees.
All goes quiet, quieter. But his strange red companion hasn't budged from his original spot, standing still back at the ashen treeline with his eyes off towards the volcano. Waiting.
After a good length of time, his eyes carefully lift towards Viktor as he raises a hand and slowly motions the man back over in silence.
[If he was still capable of having a chill run up his spine, that might just have done it. The kneejerk panic response told him to just teleport, but that was irrational. Whatever Vakama had set in place wasn't a threat to Viktor, he trusted that much.]
[Still, the Hexclaw retracted and folded itself away in what he hoped was a gesture of nonaggression as he uneasily pulled his hood back up, walking over in careful steps.]
[The burnt treeline dips deeply into sloped, ashen pathways that lay heavy with soot. But even with the air obscured and the light diffused, Viktor will be able to see two figures approach.
One is another Matoran with a mask of an oddly familiar golden yellow, spear in hand, pace and posture far more rigid and professional than his slow red counterpart at Viktor's side. His eyes are sharp and cautious towards Viktor through the dissipating clouds of ash, his mouth thinning into a frown.
The other, behind him, stands slightly taller but only just so - armor in shades of orange, the mask of a complete stranger with an elongated chin and no visible mouthpiece, steps steady but weak and posture stooped as though aged. One hand stays tucked behind the noticable curve of his form, while the other supports his weight acainst a wooden staff with a familiar fiery fixture embedded into the top - that of a firestaff tool which has been rendered unusable in Chicago.
Where the Matoran's gaze stays harsh, the elder's eyes are familiarly warm in contrast, too similar as they trace the figure in front of him with a rapid recognition.
The red-masked Matoran gives a delayed salute to the one in yellow.] One from the sea, Captain. He listens.
[The Matoran in yellow blows out a breath dryly as he picks up his pace to start to circle Viktor, getting a better look.] Yeah, well, don't forget that's what the last one said, too. Aki still hasn't gotten over the headaches from hitting that wall. [Viktor will get a few choice squints as he's circled, especially at the claw, before The Captain guestures back to the elder, who still remains completely silent.] You have our Turaga's ear. So. Out with it, traveler. What does the sea want with Ta-Koro this time?
Allow me to apologize for my acquaintance's behavior--that must have been Void, who is a little...hm, difficult at the best of times. I will be sure to speak with them next our paths cross.
[The unspoken implication was that he would be catching a metal hand upside the head.]
I did not expect to draw so much attention and I certainly do not mean to hold it for long. [He pulled his hood back again in an attempt at sincerity; longer dark hair streaked with arcane-corrupted gold, pulled back into a low ponytail. Iridescent eyes glanced over the surroundings before briefly flicking to Vakama, and then refocusing back on the yellow Matoran in a nonthreatening blue-green color.]
My name is Viktor. I came only to visit an old friend, nothing more.
Edited (it's early gimme a break) 2025-04-11 11:33 (UTC)
And let me guess... [The Captain's eyes trace to the elder, slightly unamused as he crosses his arms.] That would be for you again, Turaga.
[The red-masked Matoran nods slowly.
The Turaga merely chuckles. But when he speaks, though slower and rougher in its tones as though worn by age, the cadence alone will immediately pin him as Vakama.]
It is precaution for our safety. Nothing more. [The tone is still formal, withdrawn and held back - a putting on of airs not unlike the tones the Toa would use in speaking of more serious matters. Where his mouth would normally be, instead, dances a series of warm lights behind the vented metal of his mask.] Your "acquaintance" acted with the heart of the Makuta, an act we do not take lightly. For he is a creature of illusion, of fear and mistrust.
[...
He sighs, straightening up slightly with his staff planted firmly in the soil.]
Viktor of the sea.
I believe I left a mark on something important of yours.
Mm, well, I can no more speak for Void Archives as they can for me. But so too does that mean the idiotic actions of one need not tarnish the rest.
[But he shifted his stance when prompted, leaning more on his own staff and good leg to put his right forward slightly; the runes engraved in his brace put in plain sight.]
You did, in fact. Crafted by the pair of us and marked as such.
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no subject
[A volcano seemed a good place to find a blacksmith, after all.]
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The air starts to grow thick with the smell of ash and charcoal. Steam and smoke both rise from inland. The treeline slowly dots with black, the sand and rocks morphed into blackened mounds, into obsidian and pumice and crystals - signs of the travelling of fire and magma long since past.
Against the coastline lie signs of more boats. Fishing equipment. Spears and shields at rest. Planted torches made of wood and stone dot the rocky terrain, marking out the edges of a cliffside that plummets very rapidly in a chasm filled with magma far below, splitting the land open like a wound. Wildlife with metallic adornments across their limbs scatter through the fire-tinged brush at his approach.
Along the edges of the ashen treeline walks a small robot. All in red, a spear in hand, attention extremely focused as they step, one foot after the other, in a slow and deliberate line across the base of the trees.]
no subject
[Viktor pulled his hood down, a low chestnut ponytail streaked with gold spilling over his shoulder as he did. Better not to look like a threat, probably. If there was a misstep somewhere, it would be easy enough to escape whether by portal or under his own power.]
Excuse me--I seem to be somewhat lost. I do not suppose I could ask your help?
no subject
If you are lost, think of where you want to be, and you will someday be there. If you do not know where you want to be, then maybe you will be lost forever. Or maybe you will not.
[Step. Step.]
You came from the sea. I saw. While I was practicing.
[Step. Step.]
Are you the Makuta?
no subject
No--my name is Viktor, and I am not a threat to you. I originally come from much further than the sea, and I am in search of an old friend.
no subject
[Step. Step.]
Others came from the sea. One was dangerous. Like the Makuta. Like you from the sea. Tall like you, and taller. It was here, and then it wasn't. It moved fast by moving slow. There were many guards in chains.
[Step. Step.]
Where is your friend? What is your friend?
no subject
Allow me to apologize on their behalf. Some of our number can be...ah, tactless? Not very well suited for polite conversation, I am afraid.
[you're getting your ass kicked next time he catches you, cube.]
Ah; forgive me, I am only passably familiar with naming conventions here. I am looking for Vakama--Turaga Vakama, I believe is his full designation? Do you know where I might find him?
no subject
[Said as though this somehow explains everything.]
We all know Turaga Vakama. He is helping us build. He is the one who told me to practice.
[Step. Step.]
Vakama is in Ta-Koro. It is a village of fire. It sits on the lava. You can follow the torches.
[Step.
Halt.]
No one from the sea can go past the gates. The guards will not let you. The Turaga will not let you.
He is the one who told me to stop the ones who have ears to listen.
no subject
Well, I am certainly listening. And I do not intend to cause the kind of trouble it seems that my acquaintance has.
no subject
You are different.
But you are still of the sea.
I have orders for those who come from the sea. You can follow. Or you can leave.
Or you can go to the gates. The guards will not be happy if you go to the gates.
no subject
You do not have to be concerned. I will follow without incident, I give you my word on that.
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Follow.
[He breaks from his straight line to slowly pivot and trod down the sand. Still slowly.]
We are here. We must be somewhere we are not. We must be down the beach.
[He takes a few more steps, just as slow. Eyes forward.
Within the time it takes to blink, the Matoran suddenly vanishes, appearing several yards down the coast. He slowly turns and lifts his arm over his head.]
Follow, one from the sea.
no subject
[So, Viktor followed in kind--flickering in and out of existence in the myriad colors of wild magic, returning to solid reality a few steps behind.]
That is quite the impressive skill.
no subject
[Back to slow walking, but at least it seems they do not have to go far - right beyond the dock to a small outlet of rock broken up with sands. He doesn't seem to be clueless in his actions, but instead incredibly methodical.]
You are also practicing. It is a different practice. You practice like the light of the sun against the dancing flames of the Takara.
no subject
[Strangely, Viktor found he understood that almost completely.]
My own power is...unfamiliar, yet instinctual. A matter of learning to hear the whispers between realities, and to let them speak through oneself.
no subject
Maybe you are like the Turaga. He speaks through the Sacred Fire. He shares the stories it tells. I cannot hear the fire. Maybe the Turaga also practices.
[A pause. He nods once more, hand emerging from the stone with a small metal pouch filled with brightly colored pellets. A handful are poured out into the strangely-shaped hands and held up towards Viktor to take.]
It is fire you must make now. The smoke will speak to him. It will let him know.
no subject
[Viktor tilted his head in curiosity at the pellets, turning them over in a delicate metal hand. For an island this size and with this technological level, smoke signals made sense enough-]
[is he just gonna light these up with a laser or is there an obvious intended method here-]
no subject
His weird companion is busy putting the pouch back in its hiding spot and turning back to retuen to his post.]
Do not send the flames of your Great Takara into the jungles, friend of Vakama from the sea. It will be sad, and it will be beautiful.
no subject
Thank you for your help. I will try to make sure none of the others cause you too much trouble.
[Much easier said than done. But that aside, easy enough; finding an open space and dragging his boot through the sand for a shallow trench just to be sure nothing spread. Then it was just a matter of setting down the pellets, taking a few steps back just in case, and unfolding the Hexclaw to ignite in a quick burst.]
[...He was not totally sure wild magic could put out fires, but it was probably fine.]
no subject
On meeting the heat of the laser, the first of the pellets instantly erupts into a thin but vibrant plume of red smoke, followed by more as the remaining pellets follow suit. The trail of red drifts up into the wind like the dripping of blood.
Nothing happens for quite some time. But once the smoke rises high enough, Viktor will hear distant sounds start to echo, the bellowing of various different tribal horns in different directions - from the volcano, from the jungle, even from farther up the coast.
Torches start to be extinguished in the far distance. White smoke starts to rise into the air in bursts in response from various points, even from a couple points to the far north beyond the sea of trees.
All goes quiet, quieter. But his strange red companion hasn't budged from his original spot, standing still back at the ashen treeline with his eyes off towards the volcano. Waiting.
After a good length of time, his eyes carefully lift towards Viktor as he raises a hand and slowly motions the man back over in silence.
They have company.]
no subject
[Still, the Hexclaw retracted and folded itself away in what he hoped was a gesture of nonaggression as he uneasily pulled his hood back up, walking over in careful steps.]
no subject
One is another Matoran with a mask of an oddly familiar golden yellow, spear in hand, pace and posture far more rigid and professional than his slow red counterpart at Viktor's side. His eyes are sharp and cautious towards Viktor through the dissipating clouds of ash, his mouth thinning into a frown.
The other, behind him, stands slightly taller but only just so - armor in shades of orange, the mask of a complete stranger with an elongated chin and no visible mouthpiece, steps steady but weak and posture stooped as though aged. One hand stays tucked behind the noticable curve of his form, while the other supports his weight acainst a wooden staff with a familiar fiery fixture embedded into the top - that of a firestaff tool which has been rendered unusable in Chicago.
Where the Matoran's gaze stays harsh, the elder's eyes are familiarly warm in contrast, too similar as they trace the figure in front of him with a rapid recognition.
The red-masked Matoran gives a delayed salute to the one in yellow.] One from the sea, Captain. He listens.
[The Matoran in yellow blows out a breath dryly as he picks up his pace to start to circle Viktor, getting a better look.] Yeah, well, don't forget that's what the last one said, too. Aki still hasn't gotten over the headaches from hitting that wall. [Viktor will get a few choice squints as he's circled, especially at the claw, before The Captain guestures back to the elder, who still remains completely silent.] You have our Turaga's ear. So. Out with it, traveler. What does the sea want with Ta-Koro this time?
no subject
[The unspoken implication was that he would be catching a metal hand upside the head.]
I did not expect to draw so much attention and I certainly do not mean to hold it for long. [He pulled his hood back again in an attempt at sincerity; longer dark hair streaked with arcane-corrupted gold, pulled back into a low ponytail. Iridescent eyes glanced over the surroundings before briefly flicking to Vakama, and then refocusing back on the yellow Matoran in a nonthreatening blue-green color.]
My name is Viktor. I came only to visit an old friend, nothing more.
hewoo
[The red-masked Matoran nods slowly.
The Turaga merely chuckles. But when he speaks, though slower and rougher in its tones as though worn by age, the cadence alone will immediately pin him as Vakama.]
It is precaution for our safety. Nothing more. [The tone is still formal, withdrawn and held back - a putting on of airs not unlike the tones the Toa would use in speaking of more serious matters. Where his mouth would normally be, instead, dances a series of warm lights behind the vented metal of his mask.] Your "acquaintance" acted with the heart of the Makuta, an act we do not take lightly. For he is a creature of illusion, of fear and mistrust.
[...
He sighs, straightening up slightly with his staff planted firmly in the soil.]
Viktor of the sea.
I believe I left a mark on something important of yours.
no subject
[But he shifted his stance when prompted, leaning more on his own staff and good leg to put his right forward slightly; the runes engraved in his brace put in plain sight.]
You did, in fact. Crafted by the pair of us and marked as such.
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