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. )
[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.
Trust broken into shards of fear will take time to rebuild. That will be for the Matoran to decide.
[Right now, though, there is nothing Vakama can do about the multi star GTA rating alertness that the island is under. As Viktor presents his braced leg, Vakama does not move, but instead nods towards the Captain.]
Inspect the jointwork, Jaller. I would like to test as much.
[The Captain returns the request with a squint of confusion, as though to ask what he's looking for. But when Vakama doesn't explain beyond that, Jaller sighs his resignation as he circles back to Viktor's brace, tapping a warning against Viktor's good leg with the back of his spear.]
Stay still, got it? Let's see-- [Eyes trace the jointwork, clearly not recognizing the runes of Viktor's own placing and moving on from them quickly. But the tense look against his brow morphs slightly as he finds the one foreign stamping left behind.]
--Did you mark it with our Principle, Turaga?
[The elder's eyes soften, just slightly.]
That I did. [Finally, finally, Vakama moves to break the distance between them.] You may return to give the all-clear, Captain. This one will be fine for now.
[Jaller's expression thins with an obvious displeasure, directed more at Vakama than anything else. But with a glance up towards Viktor, the Captain relents, slipping away to exchange silent words with the other Matoran while Vakama lets his attention rest fully on his old companion.
His voice drops quiet, though there is a smile in his eyes.]
[Viktor didn't move as the metalwork was inspected, though the tap to his other leg earned a briefly raised eyebrow. Really, now. But as he presumed, the mark was proof enough of his intent; as the situation began to settle, Viktor settled back on both feet and met the others with a polite nod of acknowledgment before focusing on Vakama.]
That's certainly something no one has ever said to me before.
[He chuckles under his breath, the briefest glance made behind him as Jaller retreats back into the forest and leaves the single red-masked guard behind.]
Unprecedeted circumstances make for odd firsts, I would say.
[He is no taller than a child in this form. But his hand still raises to pat against Viktor's forearm - the closest he can get now to those hands he used to lay upon his friend's shoulder so many months ago.]
...It is good to see you. Truly.
Come. The heat of Ta-Koro is unkind to those without resistance. I will bring you somewhere we can talk more freely. [He will start his way back down towards the beach.] I hope you can forgive the people our hesitancies. It is not without reason.
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no subject
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.
no subject
[Right now, though, there is nothing Vakama can do about the multi star GTA rating alertness that the island is under. As Viktor presents his braced leg, Vakama does not move, but instead nods towards the Captain.]
Inspect the jointwork, Jaller. I would like to test as much.
[The Captain returns the request with a squint of confusion, as though to ask what he's looking for. But when Vakama doesn't explain beyond that, Jaller sighs his resignation as he circles back to Viktor's brace, tapping a warning against Viktor's good leg with the back of his spear.]
Stay still, got it? Let's see-- [Eyes trace the jointwork, clearly not recognizing the runes of Viktor's own placing and moving on from them quickly. But the tense look against his brow morphs slightly as he finds the one foreign stamping left behind.]
--Did you mark it with our Principle, Turaga?
[The elder's eyes soften, just slightly.]
That I did. [Finally, finally, Vakama moves to break the distance between them.] You may return to give the all-clear, Captain. This one will be fine for now.
[Jaller's expression thins with an obvious displeasure, directed more at Vakama than anything else. But with a glance up towards Viktor, the Captain relents, slipping away to exchange silent words with the other Matoran while Vakama lets his attention rest fully on his old companion.
His voice drops quiet, though there is a smile in his eyes.]
...You are so much taller than I remember.
no subject
That's certainly something no one has ever said to me before.
no subject
Unprecedeted circumstances make for odd firsts, I would say.
[He is no taller than a child in this form. But his hand still raises to pat against Viktor's forearm - the closest he can get now to those hands he used to lay upon his friend's shoulder so many months ago.]
...It is good to see you. Truly.
Come. The heat of Ta-Koro is unkind to those without resistance. I will bring you somewhere we can talk more freely. [He will start his way back down towards the beach.] I hope you can forgive the people our hesitancies. It is not without reason.
no subject
It was my hope to come and go fairly quietly, but perhaps I should have known better.