Far over, the staff's broken bones
Through plot twists deep, to games unknown
We must away, ere break of day,
To see, what game X holds...
It exists only in legends, fables, and the tales of travelers driven insane by their experiences. It exists as nothing more than a phantom, a training ground for one to prove to the others that they are better, more worthy. It can only – will only – should only – exist as a mere figment of imagination, as the wisp of a dream (or a nightmare) resting there, foreboding, at the edge of a mind never to be forgotten. How it ever came to be within these collective minds is a question that will never – can never – should never – be answered. For it to truly exist would be for everything else to truly exist as well, for all of those countless bloody battles to be real, and not just the figment of some madman’s imagination. Hundreds of feet into the air with smoke always blooming from its peak, its rocky, jagged slopes burning eternally and treacherously alluring, a living death trap designed for only the most curious of subjects.
The sound of darkness had erupted over Metru-Nui, and a plague of shadows had slain the Great Spirit. Those unlucky residents within the formerly great city that survived found themselves picked off one by one at night and hung for crimes that never existed during the day. The first death set off a chain reaction of destruction that could never end, and the ever vengeful spirit of Voltex had driven one being in particular to desperation. So far that when Voltex rejoined the realm of the living to reclaim the Staff of Unlimited Power for himself, disaster had struck – Portalfig, possessed by the spirit of Makuta, did nothing to help as a Mysterious Figure, more powerful than Voltex could have imagined, seized control of the Staff for himself. In the battle that followed, the sound of darkness was muted and Voltex defeated, the Staff stolen by a Mysterious Figure as the robot housing Metru-Nui lay splintered and smoking across the deserts of Bara-Magna.
Then the Sentinels, heralds of the darkened skies arrived. The Mysterious Figure began picking off the allies of Voltex one by one, with a new Mafia growing in power as they eliminated the village at twice the speed, with each player in the twisted game linked together by the Mysterious Figure. And as the village grew more desperate, the Mafia more powerful, the Sentinels weaker, and the Mysterious Figure more confident, Voltex solved the mystery and revealed the Mysterious Figure for who he was in a magnificent coup, taking back the Staff that was rightfully his. With the Mysterious Figure destroyed, the spirit of Makuta struck back with a vengeance, revealing himself to have been controlling Portalfig all along – and as Makuta wreaked havoc upon the planet, something happened. Voltex, in one final act of desperation, broke the Staff of Unlimited Power completely, drawing everyone into one final conflict. It was the blink of an eye, a flash of light – and then everyone was gone. The Staff of Unlimited Power, misused, stolen and abused for too long, and finally broken, had returned to its home intact, forcefully returning to its pedestal within the firey depths of the mountain. And it took everyone else with it.
Now, with the universe on the eve of destruction, it is the darkest dawn. No more Mysterious Figures abusing control, no more Hosts to be stolen from. Just the Desolation of the Staff lying in wait before the assembled players, the fields of ruined structures and memories from games long past awaiting one final entourage of viewers. Beyond the fields lies the true task, the one task that every Host has accomplished in spirit and mind but never in body. It is the one task that, if completed, will truly render one or many most powerful – for better or for worse – and will end it all. To ascend the treacherous peaks, to climb up the avalanches, to contact the chamber – to survive the plunge into a flaming cavern of death, filled with the overpowering radiation of pure energy and power all emanating from one single fractured Staff that repairs itself all the while shaping and re-shaping the path to its pedestal as the ground shifts into traps upon traps around it.
After forty-nine games of different members taking control for their own purposes time and time again, despite the wipes of history and the losses of memory continuing the tradition again and again, what was once begun by the legendary Fighty must now end here. This is the first, the third, the tenth, the fiftieth, the final battleground. Not a town, not some village or city, not a ravaged desert wasteland – all are more hospitable locations than this. It is here that everything ends and everything begins, it is here that everything is lost and restored, it is here that everyone is dies and is eternally brought back to life. Here, in this Desolation of the Staff, here on the slopes of the mountain, here in the cavern of legends.
It exists only in legends, fables, and the tales of travelers driven insane by their experiences. It exists as nothing more than a phantom, a training ground for one to prove to the others that they are better, more worthy. It can – will – must – only exist as a mere figment of imagination, as the wisp of a dream (or a nightmare) resting there, foreboding, at the edge of a mind never to be forgotten. Why it ever came to be within these collective minds is a question that can – will – must – be answered. For it does truly exist, and so everything else truly exists as well, all of those countless bloody battles are real (good and bad), and they are not just the figment of some madman’s imagination. Hundreds of feet into the air with smoke always billowing from its peak, its rocky, jagged slopes burning eternally and treacherously alluring, a living death trap designed for only the most desperate of subjects.
This is the end.
This is the beginning.