Aspect Elemental: By Amanda Flowers

   "Is there a reason why it has to be so cold?" Only yesterday, Raphael had complained about the heat.

   "Hey, chill out!" Michaelangelo began, then realized... "Uh, no pun intended."

   "Yeah, at least we're in the sewers," Donatello reasoned. "It's semi-climate controlled." He gestured to the glaring television, where April was talking about the same.

   "After yesterday's freak heat wave, citizens are complaining about a sudden cold snap..."

   "Bizzarro..." Mike agreed...

   "...fear of environmental disturbance has experts in an uproar."

   "Well, actually..." Donatello began.

   "What do you think about it, Leonardo?" Raphael asked, if only to halt the impending discussion on cold fronts and the O-zone layer.

Leonardo considered it. "It may have something to do with that text Master Splinter found."

   "Which was that?" Don asked, interested.

   "He said it had something to do with natural elements, and the weather."

Raphael sighed, as spiritual mumbo-jumbo was nearly as bad as the technical stuff. "Never mind. Jeez, there must be something better to do than talk about the weather!" he said, reaching for the remote.

   "I don't know," argued Don; "it might be something important."

Leo agreed. "We should ask about it." Michaelangelo obediently followed the others to the meditating room.

Raphael sat.

   "I am glad you asked," Splinter said softly, arranging pages of neatly translated script.

Raphael walked in during this comment, exchanging a sheepish look with the turtles' leader.

   "The verse is written in an ancient language, and has five main parts," Splinter continued. "I have translated the first four, but the fifth is still beyond my comprehension."

   "Verse?" Mike wondered. "Is that like...uh...poetry?"

   "Exactly like."

Raphael started to leave, but was held back.

   "I think it is important that you hear this," the turtles' sensei maintained.

Leonardo nodded, and Splinter began the reading.

   "The first verse is as follows:

A sudden chill entered the room. It touched Leonardo the most, and he shivered. The others took no notice.

   "The second reads:

Raphael put his hand to his head...sweating? Why was it so hot all of the sudden? He looked over to Leo bitterly, and envied him his chattering teeth.

Unheeding, meditating on the words, Splinter continued.

Michaelangelo stumbled over himself. He took a moment and glanced at Raphael, who was groaning, then the room did a double-back-flip. Mike grabbed the wall for support, and nearly missed.

   "Are you all right?" Donatello asked him softly. Mike waved him off.

Relentlessly Splinter read on, his voice gaining intensity:

A stabbing pain hit Donatello's stomach, and he dropped to his knees. He had only enough time to see Raphael do the same before his world became dark.

Leonardo stumbled to his feet. He had blacked out? In the middle of...a poetry reading?

   "Where the heck are we?" someone snapped, behind him.

They were no longer in the Lair; that was clear. This room was like a box--perfectly square, enclosed. From it at each wall ran a hallway. When Michaelangelo stood, it was facing a hall painted a garish orange.

Donatello faced a hall of purple. "Four verses..." he mused.

   "Four of us," Leo confirmed, staring down a long, blue hall.

Raphael glared at the red hall disdainfully.

Leonardo tried to make sense of the situation. "Well, it's a safe bet that we should go down the hall that corresponds to our mask color..." He left what he truly felt left unsaid, but someone did not...

   "I guess destiny awaits here," Donatello stated.

   "We don't have destinies!" Raph sputtered.

Leo said nothing.

Raphael was enraged. "This is stupid!" He backed away. "I'm not going."

   "We're in this together, Raphael," Leo instructed.

   "No, actually--"Donatello took a few ginger steps toward the violet hall--"it looks like we're in this...apart."

   "You mean you're actually going?!?" Raph yelled.

Seeking an ally, he turned to face Michaelangelo, who was already staring down the orange path. He threw up his arms.

   "Well, like...what else do we do?"

   "We--" Raph looked over to the blue hallway, where Leonardo had already disappeared. When he looked for Mike, he was gone, too.

   "Hey! I love you too, guys!!" Raphael screamed at the walls of the central room.

Donatello heard the sharp echo somewhere behind him, but it had no effects on his conscious thoughts. Something down here...something waiting in the purple hallway...something important.

Under his slowly trodding feet the hall began to slope gently. He was going down. It brought to mind a fragment of something he had heard once: "...the dragon to the core of the earth..." He looked at the swift decent before him. "At this rate, that shouldn't be too far off."

He kept his footing secure on the steeper hall. But before he reached the mythical center, he encountered a door. Flat, tall, featureless, and made of solid stone. A sign above the door read:

He shook off the mention of his own name, as startling as it was. There was obviously a logical, scientific explanation...behind the door? "I guess this is my way," he convinced himself. The door pushed open easily.

Behind was a cavern, wide, and filled with darkness. The uncertain source from the long hall before spread the only beam of light into the room. The walls and floor appeared to be rock and mud, but they were unnatural, purple.

Donatello stood at the edge of a muddy, underground lake. "I wouldn't want to hire the decorator of this place," he said, if only to remind himself he was still alive.

Carefully, he reached out with his bo, and stirred the water in the pond.

Silt stirred up from underneath; there was no way to see into its depths, and no telling what kind of things--creatures?--could be hidden in the water.

But now he noticed: deep in the cave, beyond the pool, a tiny, white pinpoint of light.

Mustering his courage, he dove into the murky water and swam towards the source. The swim was slimy and unpleasant, but the flicker of white brought hope. When he reached it, he saw it was nothing more than a glowing button, part of some greater machine, protruding from the strangely colored rock.

Tentatively, he pulled out his bo, and used it to push the button.

There was the sound of suction. Donatello looked around swiftly; the water in the pool was beginning to drain. He sighed in relief. "Convenient, that." The pond got shallower, and shallower; soon, Don was standing on the bottom floor; soon after, he was staring at an empty pit of violet mud. He had only a small amount of time to wonder where exactly the water had drained to, before he felt a tugging sensation at his feet.

The mud below the pond was quicksand.

The blue walls were actually a bit soothing, Leonardo decided. Already, home seemed far away...but duty was near. And some quest, a quest that had to be completed alone. He hoped the others were faring well without his guidance, and wondered what lie down the long blue hall. And, more importantly, why.

He looked up suddenly, his thoughts interrupted by a sign hanging from the ceiling. "What the--?" It read, simply:

   "They know my name," Leo mused. "Could be Shredder." It was the simplest conclusion to voice, and the easiest to believe.

The tunnel beyond the sign sloped downward, and hit a level of water.

Leonardo stepped in. It began very shallow, but the hallway descended into it, until the water level reached the ceiling. Still, it was the only way forward. Leonardo watched his steps as he let the water reach his legs, then his waist. It was behaving unusually; water ought to slow his pace down, but this offered very little resistance. Aside from a slight change in temperature, he could have been walking through empty air. He felt suddenly more confident about the descent. He continued to walk, letting the water rise to his neck, then swallowed air and walked under the surface. Pulling with his arms, he attempted to swim, and could not. The water simply would not support him.

It was then he took an enormous risk. He opened his mouth, and inhaled.

The water, sweeter, more satisfying than air, filled his lungs. He breathed it out, and in again. It was impossible...

But wonderful.

   "Whoa...how did they know my name?" Michaelangelo wondered, staring blankly at a sign that read:

He shrugged it off at last, chalking it up to the things he wouldn't try to understand. No point in getting himself confused over it.

Beyond the sign the hall was long and straight. And orange. Energizing.

He began to walk.

The tunnel continued, straight on ahead. Wherever it was he was heading, he hoped he would hurry up and get there. Still, the walk dragged on.

Michaelangelo quickened his pace in an effort to reach the end sooner; after a few minutes, he was jogging, then running. He still wasn't reaching the end.

The orange walls were so annoying.

Huffing, he stopped, and bent over. "Dude...my legs are crampin' up!" he exclaimed weakly. How far had he gone? He turned around for a glance behind him.

There was a wall no less than five feet away, sealing off what he assumed was the entrance.

He rushed over to feel it. It was absolutely normal--it seemed to have been there the entire time. It had done more than follow him in; it had always been behind him! Only the dull pain in his legs reminded him how long he had been walking. He pushed against the wall. It held fast, sturdy. Maybe he had imagined it, after all. He took a glance back at the stretching hallway...

Only now, it was gone, too. In its place was an expanse of white sky: no walls, no ceiling, no floor.

Raphael stared at the floor, where all four turtle-colors met to a point.

For a while he had been amusing himself by trying to stand on all four colors at once, but this had proved too simple, and he was beginning to get bored. Four wonderful directions to choose from--he looked for a moment down the purple hall, then the orange--maybe the others could use some company.

Wouldn't they be surprised? Still, there was that red hall...

   "I'll show them!" he muttered, stalking into the bright hallway.

Very soon he reached the door--red, glowing slightly--and the sign:

For only a moment he lost composure, and snatched for his sais. Then he swallowed his fear and tightened his mouth. "Trial by fire, huh?" He reached out for the door, expecting to find it burning hot. It was a little warm. It was enough.

Gritting his teeth he pushed against the door, and walked into a room filled with red light: a river of lava. The liquid fire stretched endlessly to both sides, but it was only a short distance across it to another door--the only apparent route an ancient stone bridge.

Raphael disliked the bridge instantly. It looked just like the ones that always crumbled in all those movies. He looked around for another possible escape, but found none save back the way he came. It was still an option, he reminded himself, but... Raph looked off to both sides, at the river fading into eerie red darkness, then up, where the fire played with the shadows on the ceiling. It was hard to say, but maybe... He pulled out his grappling hook, swung it around a few times, and aimed for what seemed to be a notch in the cavern ceiling.

It wasn't. The hook simply tumbled down, smacking uselessly on the decrepit bridge. It shook slightly.

Without a second thought, Raphael ran across the bridge, just as the whole mess began to crumble into the river.

He looked back at the entrance; no way to turn back now. The door in front of him was the same as the last, and was the same to the touch, so he opened it the same way...and found nearly the same thing. An almost identical room, with an almost identical bridge. "What? Did I do it wrong the last time?!"

His exasperation echoed through the cavern. At second glance, he saw that there was one difference between this room and the last: the river was about twice as wide, and the bridge twice as long.

Briefly he looked down at the lava river. This close to lava he should be dying of the fumes, but he was seemingly okay. Maybe there was a reason...

Nah. Getting a track-runner's start he sprinted across the bridge.

Predictably, it tumbled down behind him.

He laughed; this Trial stuff was easy! He opened the next door.

The room was nearly the same.

He blinked. Here again, the river, the bridge, and three times as long as the first, if he wasn't mistaken. This bridge even looked a little nicer than the others: in fact, it was glowing red, like the door. Oh, well. He started his next run.

When his foot hit the bridge he screamed, and jumped back a mile! This one was hot! He cursed, rubbing a burned foot, and glared at the offending architecture. Already, the stone was losing its glow. As he waited and watched, it died down altogether.

Carefully he put his toe onto the stone. It was absolutely safe. "I'm sure someone got a real good laugh with that one," he muttered, starting out across the third bridge. It didn't even collapse.

The more Donatello struggled, the harder he tried to slog back to the lake's shore, the quicker he sank. Of course! Expert advice always said you were supposed to try and float in quicksand, not swim!

Trying that method, he was soon up to his neck.

New plan. Maybe...

His head was covered before he could formulate this spectacular new plan.

Within the ground he had the strange urge to open his eyes. It was almost pleasant, secure, the violet void encased around him. There was, after all, a kind of security in certain doom.