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Chapter Text

Samukai glanced up, grinning as he set his sights on the Monastery of Spinjitzu. The proud structure loomed just a few yards away now, the moon lighting it from behind. When he’d started his climb up the stairs of the Mountains of Impossible Height, it had been midday. His legs ached from the long hike, but he powered through the pain without struggle. As much as he wished he could’ve skipped the climb by some means of flight, he possessed no such means, and he was not one to let any task daunt him.

If that was not the case, he would not be approaching the home of the First Spinjitzu Master. Though, the danger had decreased greatly that month. Its owner had just passed away.

His armor clinking with each step, Samukai eventually reached the top of the mountain. Pausing a few feet away from the door, he raised a hand against the glare of the moon, which was quite large from this high vantage. The Monastery had a high white wall with a gabled black roof, the tower of the main structure rising distantly behind it. Banners fluttered in the breeze from flagpoles, and the single tree that grew along the right side of the building creaked as the wind pushed it lightly back and forth.

The Monastery itself looked quiet and lifeless. As though it was mourning the loss of its master.

Samukai mounted the final steps, reaching a small stone platform that gave way to a towering torri gate. The high door was rounded at the top, made of red wood and bound in gold, brass knockers clanking softly as the wind lifted them. Chuckling, Samukai fingered one of the knockers, wondering if he should use them. If the Sons were here, they would impede him whether or not he made his presence known willingly. And if they were not, his knocks would fall on deaf ears.

The knockers were a kind gesture of arrival. But he was not here to make friends.

Stepping back, Samukai fell into a solid martial arts stance before lifting up one leg and turning in a swift, roundhouse kick. Breaking into Spinjitzu, his body was lost inside a whirlwind the color of a stormcloud, and he spun forward with his accelerated strength and speed. The doors crashed open, slamming soundly against the walls inside the Monastery courtyard, the hinges screeching like the Wailing Alps.

Samukai swept through the shuddering doors and into the courtyard, his Spinjitzu dissipating as he neared the center. The courtyard was quite wide, flagstones making up the floor, a golden statue of a dragon perched at the center. A sheltered walkway traveled around the perimeter, granting access to the Monastery itself via various shoji doors. Taking the quiet scene, Samukai scanned the building complex, wondering where he would find his prize, and if anyone remained to guard it.

His second question was answered as the front door of the Monastery slid roughly open, and two young men thundered into the courtyard. Samukai smiled, removing his horned helmet and placing it on the head of the dragon statue. One of the youth had long, messy dark hair, and the other had short blonde hair. Both of them wore dark kimonos marked with glyphs, and both of them wielded a bo staff.

“I wondered if I’d find you here,” Samukai greeted cheerfully, in as pleasant a tone as his scratchy voice could muster. He leaned against the statue with his two right arms, his two left hands straying toward his belt, to his sheathed daggers.

“We live here,” Said the dark-haired Son on the left. Garmadon was a bit stockier than his younger brother, and there was a strange red glint to his dark eyes.

“Yes, I know. But I thought there was a chance you’d both be abroad. A Serpentine war is brewing, and the Alliance must be in considerable disarray. Your Father’s passing has gone unnoticed by no one.”

“You were mistaken to dream you would find this Monastery unguarded,” Said the blonde Son on the right. Wu was taller than Garmadon by a few inches, thinner but just strong, with a stern face. “And if the Alliance is suffering a schism, you are to blame.”

Samukai shrugged, pushing off of the statue and grasping all four of his knives in their sheaths. “I never really felt part of the Alliance. The other Elemental Masters and their powers always seemed so much . . . more. Can Form even be considered an element?”

“If you feel like an outcast, you deceive yourself,” Garmadon replied, his tone a bit lighter than Wu’s. “There was no contention toward you among the Alliance, Samukai. At least, there wasn’t before you turned your back on us. Come to your senses and stand down.”

“Feigning compassion is a feeble strategy. You’ll find I will not heed it. What makes you think I’d even want to remain a part of the Alliance? When have my efforts ever been noteworthy, or desired? If I had not mutated these extra arms, I’d argue people wouldn’t even know I possessed elemental power at all. A Master of Form is born to blend into the crowd, not stand out. I’m afraid I can no longer tolerate that.”

Eyes narrowing, Wu stepped closer and slammed his staff to the ground. Samukai’s eyes followed the movement, noticing the slight golden hue to Wu’s staff, which Garmadon’s staff lacked.

“Might that be the staff your father held?” He inquired before Wu had even opened his mouth to speak. “Curious that the younger brother was bequeathed it, rather than the elder. What say you, Garmadon?”

“Unlike you, traitor, I do not bother envying those that hold what I don’t.”

“Enough talk,” Wu said before Smaukai could make another reply. “Our father left us in command of the Alliance, and we will see that it does not fracture further in light of your betrayal. You have come to claim the Golden Weapons of Spinjitzu, we presume. You cannot have them.”

“Why not?” Samukai mused, unsheathing one knife and balancing it on one of his thick, hairy fingers. “Your father isn’t using them anymore. He’s dead, in case you haven’t noticed. And who better to wield the four greatest weapons in Ninjago than a four-armed man?”

“You’d be surprised how common that trait is across the other realms,” Garmadon mumbled.

Giving his brother a quieting glance, Wu stepped closer, holding his staff out like an extension of his arm. “Begone, Samukai. This season is a time to mourn, and so we will spare you on account of our father’s passing. But if you do not take our offer, we will be forced to vanquish you.”

Samukai laughed, splaying out his arms. “Am I not so dangerous that you’d fear to let me walk free? Do you think so little of me?”

“Your actions in the past can be atoned for later,” Wu said. “You have killed, plundered, and threatened, but those crimes are insignificant next to the atrocities you would commit if you took possession of the Golden Weapons. If you stand down, we will offer you redemption. You will be punished for your actions, but you will retain your life. But we will not give you that mercy if you stand your ground.”

Shaking his head, Samukai glanced between the two brothers, searching for some hesitation or weakness in either of their gazes. He found nothing. Sighing, he stood upright, his four-armed torso allowing him to tower a full head taller than either of the young men. Flexing the muscles on his four arms, he returned his helmet to his head, then he unsheathed the rest of his knives, holding them each out away from his body as he stanced up, grinning as he braced himself for battle.

“Let’s be on with it, then. Which of you will accept my challenge?”

“You fight us together,” Garmadon said, adjusting his grip on his staff and coming to Wu’s side. “Or you don’t fight us at all.”

“Come now, Garmadon. I am a warrior of honor. I abide by the laws of one-on-one combat.”

Garmadon smirked. “I see. I wouldn’t want to force you out of your comfort zone.”

Samukai’s expression soured. “I am not afraid to fight you both. If you insist, I will take you both on. But do not think your combined efforts can contend with me.”

Wu gave a firm nod. “We accept your challenge. At your leisure.”

Samukai no longer gave a quarter. Without further hesitation, he charged forward and threw one dagger forward, before bursting into Spinjitzu. While the dagger sailed toward Garmadon, Samukai spun rapidly toward Wu, slashing out with his remaining daggers. The younger man ducked and leapt out of the way, pursued by Samukai in his whirlwind form, and a moment later, Wu too broke into Spinjitzu. A golden tornado collided with Samukai’s own stormy gray one, and sent the four-armed warrior reeling.

Rearing away, Samukai dissipated his cyclone, then turned his attention to Garmadon. The older brother had deflected his airborne dagger with his staff, and he swung his weapon at Samukai as they neared each other. Ducking and dodging, Samukai made lunges with his daggers between blows, eventually leaping back when Garmadon spun where he stood. In a matter of seconds, he too was lost in a cloud of Spinjitzu, this one blazing purple. Samukai stumbled away, watching carefully as the two brothers circled him in Spinjitzu, slowly closing in.

As the tornados neared him on either side, Samukai turned and grabbed the golden dragon statue, hefting himself up. He jumped back toward the roof of the Monastery, grasping the edge of the roof and pulling himself up, while Garmadon and Wu’s Spinjitzu whirlwinds collided and rebounded, the two brothers reverting to their normal selves, glaring up at him.

“Is that all?” Samukai laughed. He reached out toward the courtyard, calling out mentally to the magic dagger that’d fallen. Shuddering briefly, the golden knife spun and rose into the air, sailing into one of the many hands of its master. “Exhausted already? Please, give me a challenge!”

The brothers gave no response, turning and jumping onto the roof from their own side of the Monastery. Samukai braced himself and charged before they’d even reached him. He spun as they flanked him, blocking one of their staffs with two of his knives, lashing out to the other side with his others. Wu and Garmadon reared, taking turns lunging toward him while the other hung back, allowing Samukai to focus on one at a time.

He caught their attacks on one side, then had to pivot to dodge them from the other side. He caught their staff with his blades, cutting into the wood and keeping them from striking him, pushing the brothers back his superior strength and weight. Samukai found himself laughing, whirling into Spinjitzu again and forcing the brothers to back away. It was as though they weren’t even trying.

Samukai broke out of his Spinjitzu and darted straight for Wu. With a heavy kick, he sent the younger brother reeling and tumbling from the roof, landing with a thud on his side in the courtyard. Garmadon flinched, almost leaping after Wu, and Samukai used the distraction to lunge. Garmadon turned just in time to block, but Samukai got two of his daggers under the staff and jerked upward, sending the staff flying upward. Garmadon dodged the next slashes, and when he ran after his fallen staff, Samukai was on him in seconds, delivering another smooth kick.

Garmadon stumbled, slipping on the edge of the roof but managing to keep his footing. Samukai lunged, but the nimble brother dodged behind the attack and gave a sharp punch to his neck. Grunting, Samukai whirled and threw a dagger, but Garmadon leapt down from the roof and dodged the projectile. Rubbing the bruise on his neck, Samukai summoned the fallen dagger, watching as Wu and Garmadon scrambled to retrieve their fallen staffs.

Grinning, Samukai saw his opportunity and took it. While Garmadon’s back was turned, Samukai ran up to the edge of the roof and jumped, sailing down toward the distracted youth. Daggers pointed downward, Samukai had almost reached his victim when he caught something in the corner of his eye.

A flash of golden light exploded to his right, and then he was caught off guard by a strong punch to his stomach. Launched skyward, Samukai bellowed in pain, spinning as he fell, his daggers falling away from his grasp, and he hit the ground with a soundly thud. Wincing and aching, he stumbled to his feet, retrieving his daggers and glaring up at his opponents, trying to realize what had just happened. A trace of golden light still shone, and it was coming from the open palm of Wu.

“What is this sorcery?” Samukai scoffed, getting to his feet, holding his daggers aloft as Garmadon approached. “You aren’t elemental masters!”

“Our father was the master of all elements,” Garmadon retorted. “Do you think we inherited nothing from him?”

Samukai growled, backing up, on the defensive for the first time. Wu and Garmadon had never revealed any sort of powers during his time in the Alliance. What did that make them, if not elemental masters? They were clearly not gods like their father had been, but they possessed some caliber of his power. That golden light looked like it could have come from the Weapons of Spinjitzu, but the brothers had the weapons nowhere in sight. What did that mean?

“You draw power from the Golden Weapons!” Samukai accused, pointing with two of his daggers.

“Not exactly,” Wu said, following behind Garmadon, the light in his hand fading.

“You sound afraid, Samukai,” Garmadon mocked, smiling as his brother came to his side. “Would you like to revoke your challenge?”

Samukai gritted his teeth and splayed out his four arms again. Regardless of this new power, he would not let the brothers triumph. “Never.”

He rushed forward, blades whirling, and Garmadon charged to meet him, swinging his staff in a downward arc. Samukai ducked and kicked at Garmadon’s legs, but he reared out of the way and swung his staff at his helmet. Samukai jerked one of his daggers upward to intercept the staff, then used two others to stab at Garmadon’s hands, but the younger man spun his staff to deflect the blades, then stepped back.

Wu came at him next, and Samukai surged his daggers upward to catch the fall of his staff. Wu’s staff began to glow gold, and each blow it dealt had greater weight behind it than it had before. Growling, Samukai backed away as Wu leveled his staff at him and blasted another bolt of golden light, and he tried to use his dagger to deflect it. He yelped as the dagger caught the blast, but instantly became hot as magma, and it clattered to the courtyard floor.

He glared at his red, blistered hand, then up at Wu. Whatever this magic was, he wouldn’t let it get the better of his superior skill.

As soon as the light faded, Samukai rushed forward again, throwing one dagger at Wu while spinning the remaining two. As expected, Wu dodged the aerial blade, but was too slow to react to Samukai charging him. A moment of panic flickered across the young man’s face, but Garmadon stepped in front of him, clashing with Samukai. The four-armed man bore down with his blades, which stuck to the staff, and he used his two free hands to grab the staff and jerk it back.

Garmadon’s grip was too firm, so he raised one of the daggers and brought it down. Gasping, Garmadon released the staff and stumbled out of the way, and Samukai was left holding the staff. Chuckling, he held his daggers out to the side, then brought the staff down, snapping it over his knee. The crack echoed through the courtyard, which was now scattered with chips of wood, and Samukai threw the broken halves of the staff to either side, before summoning back his two lost daggers.

He hissed slightly, noticing that the blade Wu had blasted was still hot. Not too searing that he had to release it, but quite warm. Wu was clearly stronger than he let on, and he needed to be dealt with quickly. Without delay, Samukai ran to Wu, and though Garmadon rushed to his aid, Samukai threw one of his daggers at him, forcing him to dodge.

Wu raised his staff, but like with Garmadon, Samukai had a plan to get it away from him. His daggers dug into the wood, and with his free hand he latched onto the staff, using his remaining dagger to force Wu to back off. And that he did, and Samukai broke the second staff, tossing the halves behind him, over the wall of the Monastery.

Garmadon and Wu, both without weapons, met each other’s eyes, their expressions growing grim. Seeing their apprehension, Samukai laughed.

“You are both unarmed. No shame in yielding.”

“Unarmed, but unspent,” Wu answered, his eyes blazing gold. “You should not have come here.”

“You’re forcing our hands, Samukai,” Garmadon agreed, his own eyes glowing crimson. “Greet our father in the Departed Realm for us.”

Wu came at him first in a blur of golden motion. Startled, Samukai broke into Spinjitzu a second too late, and Wu hit him like a battering ram. He hit the wall of the Monastery with a pained shout and slid down to the floor, getting to his feet just in time to dodge Garmadon, who was rushing at him with a fist coated in purple light. Samukai rolled away, and Garmadon’s fist collided with the wall, which cracked and shook the entire Monastery. Horrified, Samukai’s eyes followed the purple mist curling from Garmadon’s hand, which was completely uninjured.

“What are you?” He whispered, his gaze darting between the brothers. “Demons?!”

Neither brother responded. Wu entered a cloud of Spinjitzu again and rushed Samukai, but he reacted accordingly this time, dodging out of the way, then forming a tornado around himself. Whirling and glowing, they clashed, Samukai forcing Wu back, but his cyclone was broken when something else hit him from the side. He stumbled onto the ground, Garmadon chasing him down in Spinjitzu, and before Samukai could react, all four of his daggers were pulled from his grasp and into the tornado. The four blades were launched out of the Spinjitzu cloud a few seconds later, all of them sailing into the air and past the Monastery walls, out of sight.

Unarmed, Samukai scrambled back as Wu rushed him, golden beams shooting from either hand. Samukai was hit in either shoulder, stinging pain shooting through his body, and he slumped against the wall, panting, his clothes steaming. Samukai pushed himself upright and threw a punch at Garmadon. As if in slow motion, Garmadon’s hands burst to life with purple fire, and he used one to grab and hold Samukai’s aloft fist, and the other to deliver a sharp punch to his chest.

Numb with pain, Samukai collapsed with a weak gasp. Blinking, his ears ringing, too injured and sore to lift himself up, he grasped for his helmet and chucked it feebly at Wu. The young man caught the helmet with ease and dropped it behind him, his eyes still gold, Garmadon’s red. Panting, Samukai laid back, the bloodrush ending, his pain growing distant, giving way to anger.

“You cheated,” He snarled.

“We penalized no rules you instated,” Wu retorted. “You lost. Surrender, or we will kill you.”

Samukai shut his eyes, his four fists trembling in fury. “I yield.”

It was as though something vital inside his body had just shattered. A pillar supporting a ceiling inside of him snapped. He had just yielded. He’d just surrendered. He was the greatest warrior in Ninjago- the strongest, fastest, most deadly man alive, and he’d just given up. He had tutored under so many masters, been taught so much, and yet he’d given in to the one philosophy he was to adhere above all others. Ninja never quit.

He’d never considered himself much of a Ninja. He wasn’t an assassin or a spy, he was a barbarian, perhaps one day a tyrant if his dreams were reached. But in Ninjago, Ninja was the proper term for anyone that achieved the highest caliber of martial arts. He was a Ninja, and in becoming one, he had taken a vow to never surrender. A vow he had just broken.

“It’s settled, then,” Wu said. The golden light in his eyes died, as well as the red light in Garmadon’s. “Samukai, Master of Form, you will be sentenced to life in prison. You have turned on your Alliance and betrayed the oath you swore to our father, the First Spinjitzu Master. You have plundered and pillaged, and you have attempted to steal the most dangerous weapons in Ninjago. We will allow you to keep your life, but it will be spent behind bars.”

Samukai glared up at the brothers, tears of anger forming in his eyes. “You can’t do this to me. I am the greatest warrior of our time! You will not reduce me to a rodent in a cage!”

“Your fall came by your own hand,” Garmadon replied. “You insisted on an honorable duel. You got your fight, and you lost. But I guess honor means nothing to you, does it?”

Samukai inhaled sharply, and he did not let the breath go. His heartbeat hammering in his chest, his blood rushing, he fixed his eyes on Wu, who had already turned away, leaving. His hands curled into fists so tight they threatened to bleed. He wasn’t going to sit back and let these foolish sons of a passive god mock him. He wouldn’t let them cut his destiny short.

With a roar of anger, Samukai rushed to his feet, shoving Garmadon aside before he could react, throwing himself at Wu. The young man spun, but he was too slow, and Samukai was on top of him, four hands wrapping around his throat. They fell together, Wu trapped under Samukai’s larger, stronger body, spasming as he was choked. Breathing heavily like a bull, Samukai paid no mind as Wu kicked and pulled at him, increasing the pressure on his windpipe.

“ Enough !”

Samukai was picked up and thrown, and he crashed into the Monastery wall yet again. Bellowing in pain, he slid to the ground, his body throbbing, and he looked up in horror to see Garmadon. His entire body was flickering, covered in purple light, his eyes glowing red like hot coals. Wu gasped on the floor of the courtyard, remaining still as his breath returned to him.

“You have disgraced your honor,” Garmadon shouted. “Your challenge was accepted, you were bested, and you still sought blood. Do you know what happens to oath breakers?”

Samukai’s eyes widened and he shook his head, the gravity of what he’d just done sinking in. “I didn’t . . . no! I meant no . . . I’m sorry . . .”

“Your apology means nothing, Samukai,” Garmadon said, his voice growing cold. “You have made a mockery of every vow you’ve ever sworn. For your crimes, you will not be permitted further shelter in our father’s realm, but you will never see the peace of the Departed Realm.”

Samukai gasped, feeling his body change. He looked down in terror at his own hands, feeling chills erupt all across as his skin. Then, it was as though he couldn’t feel anything at all. His skin was fading until he couldn’t even see it . . . just bones.

“Please, I beg of you!” Samukai cried. “I’ll serve my sentence- I’ll do whatever you want!”

Garmadon’s glowing eyes narrowed, and the glyphs on his kimono began to glow. Samukai had seen it before. The brothers had done it before. Whenever they caught someone who was beyond redemption, they were sent to suffer beyond Ninjago. They had no access to the Cursed Realm without a book of spells, and so criminals were sent to the closest equivalent.

“I want you to pay for your actions,” Garmadon said. “Goodbye, Samukai. Enjoy the Underworld.”

Chapter Text

Pythor stared listlessly up at the distant ceiling from the bumpy, hard floor, trying to ignore the rumbling of his stomach. The lack of light and the musty air of the tomb made it difficult for him to notice a difference in the room when his eyes were open or closed. If he was not armed with such acute senses of smell, sight, and hearing, it would be near impossible for him to detect any sign of life in his dismal new living quarters.

Trying to find some comfort in the warm, dark pit, Pythor’s tongue slipped out from between his fangs, flickering and tasting the air. Though muted by the smell and taste of dust, he caught the odor of a number of his fellow tribesmen and women dispersed throughout the surrounding tunnels. When he focussed, he could hear them too. Some talked in undertones to each other, and some argued in louder voices, while some slumbered.

The tomb had gotten progressively quieter with every day. Many of the Anacondrai had lost hope and fallen into depression, like him. And others had simply died.

Pythor groaned quietly, curling his body tighter around itself, trying to focus on anything but the hunger. He wasn’t sure when he’d last eaten- he hadn’t bothered to count the days, as a number only made the gravity of his imprisonment more tangible. It’d taken everything in him not to complain about it vocally. Though, very soon, it seemed there would be nothing left in him.

Don’t think about it . Pythor’s own mental voice berated his treacherous, wandering mind. Thinking about hunger only made it more intense. It was pointless anyway. He and the other Anacondrai had searched the caverns of the tomb to no avail. There were no roots or tubers burrowing from the ground, no insects or rodents scurrying through the tunnels, and no puddles to drink from. And the General’s finest Serpentine had worked to no avail to find an escape from the tomb.

They were going to starve to death in this awful pit. All of them.

Slithering upright, leaning against the wall of the room, Pythor unfurled his long neck, glancing around as he periodically did. He was not particularly well respected amongst his tribe, and he’d grown accustomed to watching his back as a result. His unusually long neck made him an oddity- a comedic sight when compared to the normally bulky, compact Anacondrai. His amusing appearance had made an outcast of him. Last to be chosen for the Slitherpits, last to be drafted into the war with the surface dwellers, and even the last to be forced into his current residence, the dreadful tomb.

Seeing that he was indeed alone in the cramped niche of the catacombs, Pythor laid back down and closed his eyes, trying to get comfortable. He’d spent countless hours doing just- time he and the others could not keep track of. They had nothing to write with, and even then, what would counting accomplish? The leaders of the surface dwellers, the Sons of the First Spinjitzu Master, had made it clear that no Serpentine would ever see the sun again. Not while they were still considered a threat.

The memory of the Elemental Alliance made Pythor grit his fangs and snarl. Why should an entire race pay for the actions of a few? Pythor hadn’t unleashed the Great Devourer, nor united the five tribes in an effort to take the surface, nor heeded the slippery words of that deceitful Master Chen. What was he doing in this hole, paying for the actions of Arcturus and his council of Generals? He’d done nothing!

Pythor’s eyes found the ceiling of the cave, narrowing. It was a fool’s dream to look forward to freedom, but if he ever did manage to wriggle his way out of the tomb . . . he’d earn his sentence. He’d do exactly what the surface dwellers expected him to. They’d cast him away to die in darkness with a tribe that hated him despite his innocence. He craved to repay the service.

Closing his eyes, Pythor cursed mentally. He shouldn’t bother dreaming of escape. The feeling and sound of his stomach made it clear he was not going to live much longer.

Pythor flinched, his tongue tasting the dusty air as he heard someone approach. The soft scraping of a serpentine body against the dirt and rock of the tomb floor. Slithering upright again, Pythor braced himself for a confrontation. An Anacondrai undulated into view just outside the room, peaking into the crevice Pythor had squeezed into with crimson eyes. Like all Anacondrai, this Serpentine was clad in deep purple scales, stretched tightly against a muscular frame with two hefty arms and a long tail instead of legs.

Unlike Pythor, this Anacondrai had a neck so small it was almost indistinguishable from its shoulders or the back of its head. Pythor’s eyes flickered to a scar on the snake’s right shoulder, shaped vaguely like an X. It helped him identify this particular Anacondrai as Zemeya, a former commander in the army. Pythor relaxed, recalling that Zemeya had been one of the few Anacondrai that hadn’t actively degraded him, though likely out of apathy rather than sympathy.

“Come, Pythor.” The female Anacondrai bade, gesturing with her tail. “The General has called a conclave in the antechamber.”

Another one? Pythor hissed in agitation at being dragged out of his isolation, but offered no rebuttal. He waited for Zemeya to get some headway before slithering out of the niche and after her. She led the way up a twisted passage of rock, sand and dirt, changing routes once or twice as they passed other chambers. A few times, she peaked into those other rooms and called out for other Anacondrai to follow them up to the top.

The Anacondrai Tomb was far more spacious than it appeared from the surface. Up there, there was only a single room, sheltered by an enormous monolith of a fang. But that room granted access to a stairway that led down to the antechamber, which spread off into tens of caverns like this one. The Anacondrai were the smallest of the five Serpentine tribes, but there were still hundreds of them, and they needed a sizable place to reside.

Not that the Elemental Alliance had put that into consideration. With nothing to eat or drink, it was only a matter of time before the entire tribe died out.

After a while, Zemeya passed through the final passage, and they entered the antechamber. A wide, open chamber, the vaguely circular room was large enough to host the entire tribe. Or, at least, it was now. By Pythor’s count, seven Anacondrai had already given in to the hunger. It was possible more had passed away since the last conclave.

Hundreds of Anacondrai had packed into the chamber, lining the walls, leaving the center open.  Though Zemeya and a few of the others pushed their way close to the front, Pythor made no attempt to move further, leaning against the doorway. He kept his neck curled up, lying low, as he always did.

The slight chatter died out as Zemeya reached the center of the room. There, she joined a few of the other commanders, who stood a short distance away from General Viperion. An Anacondrai with sapphire blue eyes and spiked armor on his arms, Viperion had been made leader of the tribe following the banishment of Arcturus. He’d been challenged twice since then by Cobria and Rattler, both of whom had failed to best him in the Slitherpit.

Pythor himself had never understood the point of having a General anymore. What was there to command or manage while they were all buried in a hole?

“Quiet down, now,” Viperion called out to the room, his deep, hoarse voice quickly snuffing out the remaining murmurs. He tapped his golden chieftain staff against the floor once or twice to emphasize his point. “Silence! This conclave will begin.”

Pythor fought back an eyeroll. Though he’d not dared voice his mind, he’d come to expect one thing from these meetings and one thing only. Headaches.

“I won’t waste your time,” Viperion said, beginning to pace, slithering in a slow circle around the center of the room. “We have finally run out of all food. The rations we still had when we were locked in here are gone. And we’ve scoured the caverns for plants, animals or water, but found none. There is nothing in this tomb to sustain us.”

Pythor grunted, deciding firmly that he would slip away from the meeting as soon as he could do so discreetly. Viperion had said the same thing at the last two conclaves as well. Were they expecting to find some untouched food, just lying around on the floor? Who were they fooling but themselves?

They’d obviously been placed in this barren, desolate pit for a reason. Pythor had lent an ear to the rumors as he and his kin were dragged to the tomb. Some of the Anacondrai had heard whispers of the other tribes’ whereabouts. If they were accurate, the Constrictai were contained in the mountains, the Venomari in the swamps, the Fangpyre in the woods, and the Hypnobrai in the tundra. Even if sparse, at least those locations bore more life than the desert.

The decision to place the Anacondrai in the cruelest, least hospitable tomb of the five had clearly been deliberate. It was their tribe that had been at the forefront of the war, and so they received the harshest punishment. It would be a miracle if any of them survived another month.

“The searches for an escape have continued,” Viperion was saying to the tribe, his voice growing colder. “And they have yielded no different results. The entire tomb has been mapped. There is no way out besides the door in which we came.”

The Anacondrai tribe underwent a chorus of whispers, snarls and hisses. The many luminous eyes cutting through the darkness of the tomb narrowed as the serpentine leaned in close to one another, sharing their comments. Pythor made no attempt to join the conversations.

“We cannot escape by any means available to us,” Viperion went on. “The caverns do not grant escape from the tomb, and we lack the strength of the Constrictai to burrow as efficiently from them. And even if we could dig, the Elemental Alliance made it clear we understood that would not get us far. The tombs are coated in Vengestone, a substance we cannot penetrate. And the door that sealed behind us can only be opened by those that closed it- an heir of the First Spinjitzu Master. We are trapped.”

Pythor almost smiled as the murmurings grew louder and angrier. It almost amused him to finally hear the remaining optimism being snuffed out. Almost.

“Have we not already known this?” Spat a serpentine on the opposite side of the antechamber. Many heads turned in that direction. “Would the Elemental Masters have thrown us down here without making certain we could not escape? What did you hope to find?”

“ Hope is precisely what we hoped to find, Anguisi,” Viperion growled, turning his gaze on the speaker. “We understood the gravity of our situation from the start, but we did not wish to dwell on misery. Should we lower ourselves to wallow in our self pity, we have already lost.”

“Of course we already lost!” An Anacondrai woman shouted from another side of the room. “Did you miss the end of the war? We’ve been cast into pits to die! Arcturus and the council of Generals are lost to the cursed realm, and the other tribes are buried the same as us!”

More voices joined her’s and Anguisi’s, and soon the antechamber was filled with a chorus of bickering. Viperion’s voice rang out in anger, trying to stifle the uproar, but his voice was drowned out by the hundreds of others. Pythor watched with some amusement as the commanders tried to hold back the angry crowd, before sighing and turning away.

Using the distraction, he took a deep breath and camouflaged. His skin shimmered, becoming translucent and matching the terrain around him, and in a quick second, he was gone from sight. Casting a furtive glance to ensure no one had spotted him cloak himself, Pythor turned and slithered back down the cavern, away from the shouting.

“What point is there in waiting for revenge?” Anguisi was calling over the chaos. “No one is going to come for us! For what reason would an heir of the First Spinjitzu Master seek an audience with us?”

“We mustn't give up!” Viperion persisted, his voice growing distant as Pythor vanished down the tunnel. “Our reckoning will come! In time, we will breach our tombs and have vengeance! We will reclaim the Silver Fangblades and rouse the Great Devourer! Trust in me!”

Pythor hesitated, glaring back down the passage before slithering on. He could almost sympathize with the de facto General in that regard. If there was any hope to cling onto it, it was to get even with the surface dwellers. He’d never seen the Great Devourer- he’d been too young to join the war effort when the Great Queen of the Serpentine had been released on the surface last time. But he’d heard the legends of her ferocious appetite, sheer mass, and her obedience to the Serpentine of old.

Oh, if there was any chance at getting free and releasing the Devourer, the desire to see that alone would keep Pythor alive.

Pythor stumbled in his stride, a tremendous rumble from his stomach sending shivers down his spine. Clutching the nearest wall, becoming visible in his moment of weakness, Pythor held his breath, trying not to retch as the sensation reached his throat. He didn’t have the scientific education to understand exactly what his body was doing, but it felt as though his innards were eating themselves to compensate for the lack of food.

Swallowing thickly, Pythor abandoned his path back to his crevice, instead ducking into the nearest side chamber, where he leaned against the wall and slid into a lying position. Breathing slowly, deeply, his eyes closed and he tried once again to focus on any other feeling. His tongue tasting the air, he gave a sudden twitch when he realized he wasn’t alone. His neck swung his head to the side, where his eyes fell upon another Anacondrai, curled up in the corner just a few feet away.

It was a younger Anacondrai, a bit smaller than the average warrior, wearing no clothes or armor. Pythor had been so distracted by his hunger before that he hadn’t noticed the smell, but the Anacondrai stank of roadkill. With a sinking feeling, Pythor’s eyes scanned the serpentine, taking in the pale scales, the lack of movement, and the open, lifeless eyes. The Anacondrai had died, probably recently.

Pythor’s stomach growled fiercely, but he fought the feeling down, pounding a fist against his chest. He didn’t want to feel this hungry sitting so near a corpse. What if inhaling the stench somehow killed him faster? He knew Serpentine were more immune to disease and injury than humans- it was part of why he and the other Anacondrai had been able to last weeks without food. But he was beginning to reach the end of the line.

Pythor groaned, throwing his head back against the wall, practically tearing up from the pain. It was as though worms were writhing inside his stomach, threatening to tear it open. This was the end, and he could feel it. He wouldn’t last another day.

Please, not yet . Pythor squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers curling into fists, trembling against the floor of the cave. He didn’t know who he was praying to, or why he expected an answer, but he didn’t care that he was being irrational. If there was anyone in Ninjago that could spare him from this fate, he would do whatever they asked of him. He didn’t want to die. Especially not here, surrounded by those that would not miss him. Especially after he’d done nothing to earn his punishment.

He couldn’t die. Not until he repaid the surface dwellers for this injustice. Not until the Great Devourer swept over Ninjago and swallowed the land, sea and sun whole. Not until he made proud Arcturus and the Serpentine of old, and finally made a name for himself.

Pythor’s eyes rolled open, lazily drifting toward the corpse he was sharing a room with. He’d been told by so many that death was an inevitable stage of life. It was like peacefully resting after a long endeavor. But what did they know? They hadn’t died- how did they know what it was like? In his experience, witnessing savage brutality during the war, death was something to be feared above all else. It wasn’t a stage of life, it was the end of life!

Why should he be shamed for being terrified of the end of his life? He’d done nothing with his life, due to those that had given him no chance to. He wouldn’t be subject to death until he’d done something with his life. He would live forever if he could. He’d never die, and he’d never stay down.

Pythor blinked. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring at the corpse. He glanced away, figuring it was only a matter of time before it began to stink, and he’d have to find a new room. How the surface dwellers would mock if they could see the mighty Anacondrai reduced to feeble beggars starving in holes.

Pythor’s eyes found the body again, narrowing. At the rate the Serpentine were dying out, the bodies would surely spread disease to those that remained, and they’d only perish faster. What was to be done with these bodies? They had to be dealt with before they became a problem. But they had nowhere to get rid of them. They couldn’t burn the bodies or break them down.

Pythor mused that the bodies could've been fed to the Anacondrai Serpent. A strange mutation of the Anacondrai, General Arcturus had owned an enormous purple monster- the only Serpentine that perfectly resembled an ordinary snake besides the Great Devourer herself. They’d used the serpent in the war effort, though Pythor was unsure what became of her after the human victory. It was a shame they didn’t still have it- it would make short work of these bodies as meals.

An idea occurred to Pythor, but he quickly dismissed it. No, that’s ridiculous . An utterly revolting idea. And yet, it had merit.

Pythor shook his head, looking away from the body, hardly believing what he was thinking. Had he really just considered eating a corpse? What had come over him? He chuckled nervously, sliding upright and moving for the doorway, deciding to find somewhere truly empty. But he passed just outside the room, glancing back at the lifeless Anacondrai.

But what if he did? There was nothing else to eat, and he knew he was doomed if he did not eat soon. He could feel his stomach tearing itself apart right now. If it was not satisfied in the next hours, he would be dead. Why shouldn't he put this body to use? It wasn’t doing anything as it was.

“No!” Pythor spat, shaking his head again, shivering. He glanced around at the cavern to see that it was empty- it would appear the General’s conclave was still going. He didn’t want to be seen here, having this pointless argument with himself. He wasn’t going to do it. There was nothing that could make him go that far.

Why wasn’t he moving? Pythor groaned, clutching his stomach. He’d decided he wasn’t going to eat the body, so why wasn’t he leaving? What else was there for him here? Nothing!

Exactly . A sinister part of Pythor’s mind reasoned. There’s nothing for me here but bodies. Bodies that must be discarded. And if I am to survive, sacrifices must be made.

Wanting to scream, Pythor threw himself against the floor of the cave, clenching when the quick motion disturbed his empty stomach. He could feel it squirming, as though it had a mouth of its own and was trying to eat his organs. He had to act fast if he wanted to live. Gritting his fangs, tears of desperation forming at the corners of his eyes, he crept toward the body of the fallen Anacondrai, grabbing its cold, lifeless arm with a trembling hand.

I can’t do this . Pythor pulled away, breathing heavily, withholding a gag at the thought of what he was doing. It’s a person. It’s one of my kind. It’s cannibalism!

I must . That dark, soothing voice in his head replied. This cadaver was never one of my kind. My tribe has turned its back on me, shunned me and mocked me my whole life. I am my own kind, and they are their own kind. They’d do the same to me when I died.

Pythor pulled himself closer to the corpse, unfurling his neck and lowering his head toward the shoulder of the Anacondrai. Pythor made a pained, shaky noise when he found the Serpentine’s motionless face staring up at him. Whether or not he had any sympathy for this snake, or any other snake in this desolate pit was irrelevant. Even if it was already dead, what would it mean if he ate it? Would he do so again when another died? How often was he willing to do this? What would the others think if they found out?

I will survive. Pythor’s eyes narrowed, and for the first time in days, weeks, or however long it had been, the rumbling of his stomach subsided, sensing a meal on its way. Ignoring the senses that screamed at him not to, he lowered his head again and opened his mouth, fangs descending upon the flesh of his fallen kin. I’ll always survive.

Chapter Text

Chen glanced up from his work as more thunder rolled from outside. His eyes wandered to the window of the study, which was being pounded rapidly with relentless raindrops. The sky above the Island was dark and cloudy, as it tended to be most nights. It was one of the many cons of being banished to the tropical outreachings of Ninjago that he had to put up with so many storms. But his palace had been well built, and would stand firm against nature’s best efforts.

There was only one kind of power Chen had allowed himself to fear, and that was any power he wasn’t prepared to defend against. In the end, all power would be his. Only one can remain.

Turning away from the window, he considered his study before continuing on with his work. Besides the thunder, he had a quiet room to ponder in. The study was reasonably large and well furnished, velvet drapery lined the window, a handsome desk before him on the lush carpet, and an elegant armchair beneath him. The dark wooden walls were covered in shelves and tapestries, all bearing markings and artwork depicting the Anacondrai. The study was a dark, ominous mesh of reds, purples, and super dark purples. Just the way he liked it.

Stifling a yawn, Chen rubbed at his eyes, wondering halfheartedly if they were bagged yet. He’d spent many days getting to bed later, deep in his studies. He opened the drawer of his desk and removed a small hand mirror, studying his face. He was developing the beginnings of wrinkles, and his once cherry red hair had darkened, and was slowly but surely becoming black. He was aging faster than he cared to admit. He was running out of time.

Chen stuffed the mirror away and turned back to his work. Across his desk was scattered a number of scrolls, most of them detailed profiles, and the one directly in front of him was alphabetically listing those profiles. Pictures and rough drawings were included with the descriptions, providing him with all of the information he needed on the people his henchmen had stalked and studied. He reread the list yet again, checking to ensure he hadn’t missed anyone.

Earth- Cole Becket. Residence: Ninjago City.

Energy- Lloyd Garmadon. Residence: Darkley’s Boarding School.

Fire- Kai Rayson. Residence: Ignacia.

Form- Chamille Mearing. Residence: Ninjago City.

Gravity- Gavin Talvis. Residence: Holy City of Domu.

Ice- Zane Julien. Residence: Birchwood Forest.

Light- Adam Pale. Residence: Astor City.

Lightning- Jay Walker. Residence: Sea of Sand.

Metal- Karlof Rukavitsy. Residence: Zoloto, Metalonia.

Mind- Nathaniel Neuromyn. Residence: Two Moon Village.

Nature- Terrance Bolobo. Residence: Hiroshi’s Labyrinth.

Poison- Talia Toxikita. Residence: Astor City.

Shadow- Elijah Shanglee. Residence: Ninjago City.

Smoke- Asher Blight. Residence: Mountains of Despair.

Sound- Jacob Pevsner. Residence: Stiix.

Speed- Griffin Turner. Residence: Nom.

Chen nodded to himself, wringing his quill in his hand. At the bottom of the list were the other elements. Wind, Water, Time, and Amber . In the case of the first three, his men had scoured Ninjago up and down and found no one holding those elements. And in the case of the last element, Amber . . . he was currently working on that.

Chen had done a lot of planning for this. If his plan was to succeed, he needed all of the elemental masters gathered at his mercy. Or at least, all of the elemental masters currently in existence. Since there was currently no one wielding the elements of Water, Time and Wind, he wouldn’t need them.

But he couldn’t just gather the elemental masters. The generation he was familiar with- the ones who’d been part of the Alliance during the Serpentine wars- they all knew him. They all knew exactly what he’d done, and so none of them would dare heed his call. So instead, he needed to keep tabs on them, and find out when or if they had children. Everyone on this list was one of those children, born within the past five or so years. And now, he was waiting for his agents to report back to him, to find out which ones had inherited elemental powers.

The parents were too clever to fall for his trap. Their children, on the other hand, would be easy prey.

A knock at the study door interrupted his thoughts. Jumping slightly, Chen adjusted his position on his armchair and cleared his throat. “Enter.”

The golden handle twisted, and the door was pushed open to reveal Zugu and Eyezor. The two were Chen’s highest ranking cultists besides Clouse, Zugu the head of his palace staff, and Eyezor the head of his spies and field agents. Zugu was a heavyset man, bare-chested, revealing intricate Anacondrai tattoos, and wearing bone armor. Eyezor was clad in a black leather jacket, his black hair styled in a spiky mohawk, his right milky white. Both of them wore a crystalline Anacondrai sword sheathed at their belts.

“Master Chen,” Zugu said as the two bowed. “It’s happened.”

Chen snorted. “Happened? I don’t suppose you could grace me with some elaboration?”

Eyezor cleared his own throat, pushing to the front. “Your wife, sir.”

Chen gave a start. “But I thought she wasn’t due until-?”

“Clouse reports that she went into labor early. He delivered the child. You have a daughter.”

Chen blinked, taken aback. He did not speak for several seconds, and luckily for them, neither did Zugu or Eyezor. He pushed his armchair back from the desk and stood, walking over to the window, wringing his hands behind his back. He wasn’t really looking out at the stormy sky, or the courtyard of his palace. His eyes looked that way, but didn’t really see. They were busy, distracted by his thoughts.

I have a daughter . He knew it was coming. How could he not? It had been a deliberate choice, and even if it hadn’t been, he would’ve noticed sooner or later from his wife’s change of behavior and appearance. He was a bit confused with his own feelings. He was glad, relieved, but not exactly excited. He wondered if he should feel more. He’d always been told that his view on life was narrow, that he tended to see people for their potential rather than their personality.

He had a daughter, but he didn’t really see it that way. The child was his, but he didn’t understand what made a child different from any of his servants. Surely, it would obey him just as easily, if not more, and would be twice as loyal to his cause. Indeed, the only major difference between his child and his servants was that his child had come directly from him. And as a result of also coming directly from his wife, the child should have inherited the element. The very reason for the child’s conception.

It wasn’t shameful to already be planning how to use his child, was it? It was his child, afterall. He’d made it, he’d raise it and give it everything it needed to survive. Was he not owed a service in return? Should it not be grateful for the life he’d given it?

This was perfect. He glanced back at his desk, at the list he’d been pondering over. Finally, today he would determine once and for all whether or not the element of Amber would contribute to his plan. His wife had given birth, so there was a chance her dormant element had found itself into new, smaller hands.

“Clouse warned us you might go into shock, sir,” Zugu said uneasily after the pause went on for too long. “Are you quite alright?”

“Very,” Chen answered, his tone at first matching his confusion. He coughed, feigning a smile and raising his voice. “More than alright! I’m a father, can you believe it?”

“Congratulations, sir,” Eyezor said, bowing again. “Will you be wanting to see them?”

Chen nodded. “Yes, that would be appropriate. Clouse is there?”

“He should still be, yes. Would you like us to escort you?”

Chen nodded, returning to desk and retrieving all of the papers. He gathered the profiles of the elemental masters and slid them into a neat stack, which he stored in the drawer. He replaced his quill to its ink bottle and rolled by the scroll prescribing his list and pocketed it. He buttoned up his robes and gave another nod to his lackeys, indication that he was ready.

Zugu led the way out of the study, and as Chen followed, Eyezor closed the doors behind them and trailed them. The corridors of Chen’s palace were brightly lit, furnished and adorned with all manner of potted plants, tapestries and trophies. Flashes of lightning flickered through the curtained windows, and the sound of rainfall had become an everlasting ambience. Along the hall, more of Chen’s servants and guards stood or hung out of doorways, giving their congratulations to him as he passed.

He merely smiled and waved in acknowledgement of the praise, hiding a confused grimace. Even his staff, who had no role in the child’s conception, no connection to it, seemed more excited about its birth than he was.

Chen followed Zugu to the main shaft of the palace, where several tiers of balconies oversaw the throne room below. They descended many stairways until they reached the bottom, where a number of Chen’s kabuki jesters waited, applauding as he reached them. Again, Chen hid his insecurities behind a brittle grin and indulged their cheers. Passing through the throne room, Zugu led the way down one last corridor, at the end of which, two guards opened the doors to the courtyard outside.

Two kabuki servants waited outside, holding aloft umbrellas to shield Chen from the downpour. Chen situated himself at the center of the protecting canopy and bade them to move, neither Zugu or Eyezor attempting to get shelter, walking in front of and behind the umbrella progression. Chen glanced around the courtyard, which was swamped in an inch of water, being rapidly added to by the storm. The trees and shrubbery danced in the wind, their branches heavy and wet, and the guards stationed around the courtyard were shielding their faces with their free hands.

Zugu led the progression to one of the back buildings of the palace. It was a smaller, two-story pagoda house with crimson walls and gabled black roofs lined with purple and gold trim. It was originally built to function as sleeping quarters for some of the servants, but Chen’s wife had requested it be used as their sleeping quarters. She was uncomfortable with the idea of being the sole occupants of a massive palace complex besides the guards and servants, and had instead opted for simpler living conditions.

Though confused with the reasoning, Chen had accepted, figuring he could tolerate sleeping in the small house for a while until his wife came to her senses. He only used the house to sleep, and spend alone time with his wife. His studying, dining, and all other needs and entertainment were satiated inside his palace proper.

Reaching the patio, the umbrella progression stopped, and Chen stepped under the roof, still dry. The servants turned away and closed their umbrellas, then rushed forward to open the doors. Chen made to step through them but paused, looking back. The servants were remaining behind him to provide him shelter on his walk back, and Eyezor and Zugu remained to guard him. He swallowed, trying not to let his anxiety show as he cleared his throat and fixed his gaze on them one by one.

“I will no longer require your services here tonight. Clouse is just inside- I am safer than anywhere on this island with him near, so I do not need further guarding. And a little rain won’t harm me. You are all dismissed.”

The servants bowed and opened their umbrellas again, flittering back into the rain, but Eyezor and Zugu remained where they were, wearing stony, uncertain expressions.

“I do not enjoy repeating myself,” Chen snapped. “Begone. Eyezor, I want you to finish assembling the next outgoing. See that all of the shipments make it to the restaurants, and eliminate the lax behavior of your spies down south. Zugu, have the staff prepare dinner, and alert the nursery matrons. My daughter will be entrusted to their care shortly.”

The two both bowed and hurried after the servants. Turning away, Chen inhaled and exhaled deeply, closing his eyes. He’d known this was coming, and he’d promised himself he’d be ready when it did. Why, then, was he so nervous?

Chen entered the house and closed the doors behind him, looking around at the living room. As requested by his wife, it was a simple room, lacking the elaborate decorations and trophies that lined the walls of the palace. Everything was in perfect working condition, but it was all mostly bare essentials. Chen stepped around the tea table and peered into the kitchen and washroom, finding nothing and mounting the stairs. He listened for talking or crying, but only heard running water.

Confused, Chen reached the top of the stairs and entered the bedroom. His wife, Anastasia, rested soundlessly on the bed, her long red hair blending in with the scarlet covers. Chen scanned the rest of the room and found Clouse just inside the adjourning bathroom, washing his hands at the sink. The younger man looked up at his entry. He was a thin, narrowly built person with a seedy complexion, his black hair tied into a ponytail, the beginnings of a mustache growing on his face.

“It’s done?” Chen asked, growing paranoid when Clouse remained silent. “Isn’t it?”

Clouse gave a small nod, almost smiling, and he turned off the faucet and wiped his hands on a towel. He nodded again, this time toward the corner of the bedroom. Chen looked that way, discovering something he’d missed. A wooden cradle balanced on the desk, a dark purple blanket wrapped up inside it.

His heart rate slowing to a crawl, Chen paced over to the cradle and peered inside. Stored inside the blanket was an infant, pale and small, its eyes and mouth closed, breathing quietly. The child was too young and underdeveloped to possess any traits that resembled him or his wife, but somehow, Chen could tell that the baby was his. Like she held a piece of him, and he hadn’t noticed it was missing until he laid his eyes on her.

Chen reached into the cradle and pried the baby up and out of the cradle. He nervously adjusted his grip a few times, holding the baby with both arms. He’d never held a child, or really anyone, but he had the right idea. He lowered his face, peering intensely at the child. It was unremarkable and chubby, as he supposed all babies were, and it had no hair or any indication that it was female.

“You’re sure it’s a girl?” He asked, glancing up at Clouse, who’d taken a seat on the stool beside the bed.

“More or less. I ran her blood as you instructed. Signs indicate femininity.”

Chen chuckled, his heart warming a little. He felt a stronger connection to the child already, just holding her. What was he worried about?

“Do you want to do it now?” Clouse asked, his voice low.

“Oh quiet down, don’t rush me!” Chen snapped, keeping his voice down, glancing furtively over at his sleeping wife. “Give a father a second to see his child! And may I ask, since when were you a nurse?”

“I began researching child delivery as soon as we learned she was expecting,” Clouse answered. “I don’t trust any hands besides my own to do something right.”

Chen nodded, smirking a bit. “How noble of you. You have my thanks, Clouse. Did she say anything to you about her, before she fell asleep?”

“She said nothing about whether or not she passed on the element, if that’s what you’re asking. Keep in mind, Master, we don’t even know if that is something they are aware of in the moment. But as I said, I tested her blood.”

Chen perked up, and he placed the infant back in her cradle. “And the results?”

“She is healthy and strong. The matrons have been prescribed the proper foods and medication to keep her that way. I wouldn’t expect her to develop motor skills for at least half a year. And the unusual spike of energy in her bloodstream matches that of Anastasia’s, and some of the other elemental masters we tested. Your daughter has inherited the element of Amber.”

Chen could only stare blankly down at his child for a moment. Then he laughed. It was a relieved, lighthearted sound. He’d waited so long for this moment with baited breath, stressing over the what ifs, and what he would have to do if things didn’t go as planned. But they’d done it. His daughter was an elementary master. No- she was the most powerful elemental master.

“When you hand her to the matrons, give them her name,” Chen instructed, leaning against the wall, staring fondly down at the infant. “We argued for so long about it, but we came to a compromise in the end. A name we could give to either a boy or a girl. A name that derives from the sky- beautiful, powerful, and all-encompassing. Skylor.”

Clouse nodded, a smile flickering over his face for a second. “A wonderful name. She’ll be the greatest member of the next generation.”

“Of all generations to come,” Chen corrected. “This generation will mark the end of the elemental masters. She will be the last master of Amber to walk Ninjago, and she’ll be the strongest of them all. And  when the time comes, she’ll shed her powers for new ones.”

They both went silent for a moment. Chen’s heart sank, realizing too late that he’d ruined the pleasant moment in bringing up his plan. The child’s birth was just the next step toward its completion, and now he had to ensure the next step could be taken. His eyes trayed to his wife, fast asleep on the bed, with no idea of the dark things churning in his mind.

“Maybe we don’t have to,” Chen reasoned, wringing his hands in front of him. “Maybe she’ll understand. She’s come this far, hasn’t she?”

“She came here with us thinking your days of scheming are over,” Clouse said firmly, his own eyes on Anastasia. “She’s still under the guise that this Island will remain our home forever, and Skylor will be raised away from your warring past. As soon as she learns your intentions for the child, and for the world, she’ll oppose you. She may take Skylor away, and then the spell will never be complete.”

Chen closed his eyes, swallowing deeply. He knew all of this. He’d weighed his options for months, and before that years. He knew this was coming before he and Anastasia had made the decision to have a child, even before they’d been married, when Chen had sought her out specifically for the purpose of planting a seed in the next generation of elemental masters. This was all part of his plan- for the next Master of Amber to be his servant, completely faithful and loyal to his cause.

Anastasia would never go through with his plan. It was why she’d been kept in the dark about all of it. She would never be part of his spell, and she wouldn’t let Skylor become part of it either. That left Chen with a child he could mold to his will, and a wife that could compromise all of it. And as a warrior and former elemental master, there would be no better time to eliminate that threat then right now, when she was weak and asleep.

Chen blinked suddenly, fighting tears, looking away from Clouse. “Was she awake to see her? Did she meet Skylor?”

“She was. She told me to wash her up before you arrived, and then she passed out.”

Chen nodded, breathing shakily. At least Anastasia had gotten to see her daughter. That, at the very least, would give him some peace.

Clouse cleared his throat quietly, and Chen looked at him. The younger man’s cold expression had dissipated, and he now looked politely somber. “I could do it for you.”

Chen scoffed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I can do it easily.”

“I know you don't want to. You don’t need to be here when it happens. I’ll do it.”

Chen made a fist, wanting to drive it into the wall before thrusting his face in as well. It hurt so much more than he was expecting. He wanted so badly to take Clouse up on his offer. He wanted to get as far away from the house as possible, let Clouse do his thing, and then be done with it. Furthermore, he wanted the body disposed of, and all memory of her existence wiped from his head so that he never had to think about it again.

It would be easy too- Clouse was a sorcerer of immense caliber, capable of matching some elemental masters in their destructive and creative power. It would be a small task for him to do the deed and hide the evidence. He might even be able to do as Chen wanted- rid the memory of her from his mind. And Clouse would do it if he asked. It would be so easy.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t appear weak in front of Clouse. Though Chen was the master, and a far more intelligent man between the two of them, they both knew Clouse was more powerful. Physically, he was more athletic and fit than Chen, and he had sorcery on his side. Chen hadn’t given him a reason to, but if Clouse wanted, he could easily overthrow the criminal empire he was building. It was a delicate process, molding Clouse into his servant without pushing him too hard and evoking his wrath. He wasn't about to spoil the servant he’d cultivated so carefully.

He couldn’t give Clouse any reason to think that he longer needed a master.

“I am quite capable, Clouse,” Chen said, lowering his voice. “I’ve been planning this since before you were born. I’ll do it myself. What are my options?”

“If you want to be discreet, I recommend poison, or suffocation. You don’t want to do anything that would leave a visible mark of injury. Though I’m sure some of the staff will suspect the truth, that is no reason to come clean about it.”

Chen nodded, the fist he’d formed at his side trembling. He shouldn’t have asked for options- now he had to choose one of them. He had to think deliberately about how he was going to end her life. “Which would be quicker? Or less painful?”

Clouse opened up the pocket of his vest, rummaging around in it for two vials, one filled with acid green liquid, the other dark purple sludge. “Poison would be quicker than suffocation. This particular vial was milked from my serpent. The venom would take effect and stop her heart in seconds if ingested and given a quick route through her system. This other poison is a brew of Venomari acid and Tiger Widow Venom. It’s not as quick- it’ll take perhaps a minute or two to take hold, but it will be painless.”

That last word was the deciding factor. Chen walked slowly forward and took the green vial. “Take Skylor to the matrons. I want no one to come near this building, do you understand?”

Clouse bowed and took his leave, grabbing the infant from her cradle and vanishing down the stairs. Chen waited until he heard the front door open and close, then slowly approached his wife. His gaze hardened, his breathing lowering as he came to hover over her, uncapping the vial of green venom. He tried doing it quickly so he had less time to think about it, raising the vial over Anastasia’s face and lowering it, but he pulled back, groaning.

He couldn't do it. How could he? They’d been married for almost a decade. He’d gotten them together for the purpose of fathering the next Master of Amber, yes, but he wasn’t without a heart. He had come to care for Anastasia, looking out for her interests along with his own. She was as important to him as his plans for Ninjago were. Almost more.

She isn’t worth the risk . Chen ignored the pain in his heart and the tears in his eyes, bringing the vial back down to her lips. If his Tournament of Elements was to commence, and Skylor was to be a loyal combatant in it, he needed Anastasia gone. She could ruin everything he’d worked to achieve, and that wasn’t a risk he could afford to take. Everything, even love, was inferior to his masterplan.

But does she have to die? The question kept overlapping in his mind. He could imprison her, maybe enchant her with Clouse’s help, or banish her. He could do a number of things that would be far more merciful. But he knew deep down that her life endangered his plan. There was only one way to eliminate a threat permanently.

Only one can remain . The words of General Arcturus wormed their way into his mind, overriding the rest of his body. Tears leaking from his eyes, Chen used shaking hands to pry open his wife’s mouth and overturn the vial. Only one can remain .

Chapter Text

Morro withheld a furious scream as he realized he’d gone in another circle. He looked wildly around, recognizing the shape of the tunnel, and the way some of the loose rocks were arranged on the hard, bumpy floor. Sinking to his knees, he breathed in a shaky, panicked breath and pounded a bare fist against the ground. He felt it cut and begin to bleed almost immediately as it rocks, but he didn’t care. Trying not to tear up, he looked desperately around again, looking for a neighboring tunnel, but he found no route he hadn’t already checked. He was lost.

He was beginning to understand the name Caves of Despair . He was going to die here.

Trying to keep calm, Morro sat down properly, breathing deeply in and out. The stale, dusty air of the cavern picked up suddenly, reacting to his breath, and a gentle breeze began flowing past him. He’d taken a break multiple times to freshen up the air. The caves he’d explored were humid and dry, and the temperature had only risen the deeper he went. He had a feeling that if he ventured deep enough, it would become difficult for him to produce a wind current.

The problem was, he didn’t know which way would lead deeper, and which way would lead him back out to the surface. He had entered the caves from an abandoned mining tunnel, and he’d explored it for what he estimated to be about a day. When he had decided to turn back, he realized too late that he’d lost track of the way he’d come, and sure enough, hours of backtracking had led nowhere. He’d rounded this corner of the caves perhaps three times already, and he was back again.

Morro coughed harshly, raising a fist to his hand. When the spasm stopped, he glanced worriedly at his hand, which was now covered in dark, syprupy saliva. That probably wasn’t the ideal appearance of spittle. He needed to get out of these caves fast.

Standing again, Morro kept breathing in and out calmly as he began exploring again. He wasn’t an idiot- he knew sitting still would do nothing, and so he would just keep looking, even if he made no progress. He had food rations in his pack that would last him another week or so, but he by no means intended on being down here for that long. Stepping over boulders and maneuvering around stalagmites, he scanned the cavern high and low for any route he hadn’t checked yet. He had to keep looking.

“I should’ve brought breadcrumbs,” Morro mumbled, picking a loose rock across the tunnel as he went, thinking about an old proverb Wu had read to him when he was young. He was being sardonic, but the idea did have some merit. He certainly should’ve marked where he’d been somehow.

Morro began up the path weaving right, checking the narrow crevices as he crept up the wider path. More coughs rose up, prickling at his throat until he had no choice but to indulge them or risk choking. Some of them were short, but others came in long, painful spasms, and left his innards aching. And again, his spit was that ugly black color, as though his respritory system was slowly absorbing the ancient dust and grime of the cave with each breath he took.

Actually, that’s probably exactly what was happening. Regardless if that was the case or not, he knew it wasn’t good, and he needed to get fresh air quickly.

Morro had a lot of time to think, trapped in the labyrinthian caves all alone. Now that he’d determined the Realm Crystal probably wasn’t here, he needed to pick a new location to look. He’d searched here because it was a place his former master, Sensei Wu had seemed interested in. Prior to storming out of the Monastery and leaving his mentor, Morro had poked around in his room for scrolls and maps, anything that would lead him in the right direction. And in doing so, he’d come across a map covered in notes written by Wu’s own hand.

A number of locations had been circled, the Caves of Despair being one of them. Others included the Fire Temple, Hiroshi’s Labyrinth, the Floating Ruins, the Spirit Coves, the Glacial Barrens, the Golden Peaks and various other significant places in NInjago. Above the map were the words Possible Hiding Places . Morro had been certain after reading it that Wu had been theorizing, like himself, where the Realm Crystal was hidden. There was a chance, of course, that Wu had actually been plotting out places to hide something himself, but Morro figured that likely wasn’t the case.

Morro had recorded those locations before setting off on his journey. He’d done some additional training before setting out, honing his skills and collecting gear he’d need to survive on his own in the wilderness. He had already searched some of the other locations on the map, the Fire Temple, the Spirit Coves and the Golden Peaks. After finding nothing in those three places, he’d trekked to the isolated Mountains of Despair. Altogether, his journey around Ninjago had taken him five years. He was now seventeen, five years older than when he’d left Sensei Wu at the age of thirteen.

Five years had passed, and he’d made no progress. But he wouldn't let his lack of success discourage him. He had to prove his Sensei proud. He had to find the Realm Crystal. He had to prove that he was worthy of the Green gi.

Morro moved up the same twisting path he had twice already, throwing long glances down each adjourning tunnel he passed. Then, he paused, frowning as he realized one of the paths to his left forked, going two different directions. Had he already taken the left path, or only the right one? His breath quicked with excitement, and he almost stumbled and tripped as he moved quickly down that path. Could this be it? Was this the tunnel he’d missed? Why was the air here so blurry?

Interrupted regularly by hacking coughs, Morro’s breath turned shallow with anticipation as he passed under a tunnel with a lower roof, and he stooped until he reached an opening into a wide chamber. An open cavern of dark stone, the chamber had a very high ceiling riddled with stalactites, and alongside stalagmites, the floor of the cave was covered in strangely smooth, bubble-like rocks. Running a hand over one of the smooth-textured stones, Morro tried to remember whether or not he’d come this way. All of the caverns were starting to look the same.

Hit by another sudden cough, Morro swept a hand in front of his face, realizing that the air was blurry because it was filled with haze. A faint, green mist hung in the still, musty air of the cavern, and it only made the pain in his throat worse as he inhaled. And as he stared longer, he noticed tiny black flakes in the air, like dark snow. Lowering his gaze, he found the same substance littered all across the floor like a single, fragile blanket. Ash?

Morro looked forward, toward the back of the chamber, squinting as he spotted a wide, circular hole in the ground. Coughing, he approached it slowly and stared over the edge. To his surprise, there was light at the bottom. Very, very distantly, a fiery glow emitted from an otherwise perfectly pitched black shaft. This must’ve been a geyser, but one that wasn’t currently active, since the magma was so low. As he stared, his face stung with heat, and something flickered right in his eyes.

Morro screamed suddenly and scrambled back from the pit, raising his hands to his face. His eyes burned as though on fire, and his vision went red. Stumbling, he fell on his back and remained there, panting and rubbed at his irritated, useless eyes. He could feel his heart rate increasing, his breath becoming quick and shallow, tears streaking down his face in an effort to resuscitate his eyes. He coughed again and again, struggling to breathe and still unable to see a thing.

Desperate, unsure what else to do, Morro trusted his powers. He focussed on his element again and reached out toward the air, pulling it and commanding it to bend to his will. A strong, cold gust blew over the cave, and he heard the rattling of a hundred pebbles as they were sent flying and scattering. Morro breathed in a deep gulp of the chilly breeze, but it was replaced almost immediately by more scalding itching in his throat, and he was unable to breathe again.

As if things couldn’t get worse, he heard a terrible sound. A low, heavy grinding like the mountain above him was groaning in agony. Then, he heard shrill grinding as stones slid against each other, and he felt a shower of dust, joined by a few stray pebbles landing on and around him. The rumbling went on, and he jumped as he heard a heavy crash somewhere behind him. Blinking irritably and forcing his eyes open, Morro rolled onto his side and looked up through the tears and ash in his eyes.

A stone had fallen from the ceiling and landed on the ground, and more were still falling. Rocks ranging in size to his fingernails to his torso were pebbering the ground, dust cascading down as the grinding and rumbling continued. To Morro’s horror, the stones were falling most plentifully around the doorway he’d come through, and the path was slowly being covered.

“No!” Morro shrieked, stumbling to his feet. He was scraped, bruised and bleeding everywhere he’d fallen on. “No, no, no!”

Getting on his feet, Morro limped forward, but a rock the size of his head broke from the ceiling and landed in front of him, and he was moving too fast to stop his momentum. His knee collided firmly with the fallen stone, and he crumbled to the ground with a scream that covered the sound of his cracked, broken leg. On his back, Morro clawed desperately at the ground for a handhold, his vision fading and his throat clogging, and he heard more and more rocks fall as a result of his wind gust.

I’m going to die . Morro’s brain was an absolute mess, trying to sort out the pain in his bruises, cuts, eyes and his now broken leg, but that thought came across loud and clear on top of all the others. He’d thought it multiple times throughout his lost wandering in the Caves of Despair, but this time he truly believed it. He was losing his breath, his sight, his ability to move, and his only way out was being buried in a rockslide. I’m going to die .

Morro tried getting to his feet above, but a rock the size of his fist fell somewhere to his right and skidded across the ground into his shoulder. He howled out again, hardly able to keep track of where the pain was as it spread across his body. His useless cries became fainter as the breath was squeezed out of him, and his vision grew blurrier and darker with every blink. He reached out to the wind again, trying to pull himself up and away from the pain, but he got no response.

His elemental power, his only faithful companion throughout his journey, had abandoned him.

Horrible feelings closed in on Morro as he laid there dying. Not just pain, but anger. He was stupid. Why had he come down here, thinking he would find his destiny amongst all this rock and toxic gas? As his throat closed and his breaths shortened until he could barely hear them, he glared up at the ceiling, wanting to scream if he had the strength. None of this would have happened if Sensei Wu hadn’t turned his back on him. He wouldn’t be here if he’d been made the Green Ninja.

“I can’t die here!” He pleaded. He turned his mind to the First Spinjitzu Master, the father of his mentor and the god of Ninjago, praying for deliverance. “Please! Help me!”

No response. Losing his last breath, Morro’s eyes shut a final time as his body spasmed like a useless puppet, and he begged anyone listening to him in the Departed Realm for mercy.

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Morro awoke to the sound of wind. It was a sound he was used to hearing, but not now. He jerked into an upright position in a panic, instinctively taking in a deep breath and looking around. He remembered the cave-in, the toxins that’d choked him and the rocks that'd fallen over him, but he couldn’t see any sign of that here. In fact, he couldn’t see much at all.

He was surrounded by a deep, greenish fog, and though it resembled the gas that’d almost killed him in the Caves, he felt no pain breathing it here. He was sitting in shallow, murky gray water, only it was so thick he wondered if it was liquid at all, or instead some kind of slime or mud. He was surrounded on all sides by strange white pillars that curved like fangs, and the surrounding horizon and sky were blank, an eerie shade of dark, sullen blue.

Confused, Morro looked down at his own body, gasping. He saw no sign of blood or cuts, or of broken bones. But what he did see was the mud under him. His body, which had taken on a horrific green glow, had become translucent. He could see the curves and lines of his limbs on every side, as though they were made of glass. He could even see through his clothes, the tunic on his torso and the trousers on his legs, and the shoes on his feet.

Panicked, Morro grabbed at his chest, and the hand went straight through, as if he were a mirage. Holding his breath, Morro went completely still, sure he was dreaming or simply going insane. What bothered him most was that he didn’t release the breath he was holding. He wasn’t breathing anymore at all, and yet, he was perfectly fine.

“What in Ninjago . . ?” He whispered, his voice shuddering. His eyes rose to the world around him, trying to find someone or something in the dark, desolate expanse of nothing.

“Not Ninjago, lad,” Another voice answered. A husky drawl of a voice. “Welcome home.”

Morro yelped and looked over his shoulder, spotting a silhouette gradually becoming solid as it appeared beyond the fog. Morro crawled backwards, inching away from the person in the swampy muck. His eyes widened as the person came into view, and Morro saw that he had no legs. Instead, his body came to a gradual, wispy tail that hovered over the slimy ground.

The man wore clothing that seemed to be woven from hundreds of tattered ribbons, and his arms and torso were wrapped in chains. He wore a mask that covered his head and mouth, leaving only his malicious, shiny eyes visible. Morro noticed that the skin visible around the man’s eyes was wrapped in bandages, like a mummy. The man had what looked like a whip holstered at his belt, the chain dragging in the slime behind him.

“Who are you?” Morro snapped, his voice shaking. “Where am I?”

The man laughed raspilly. “The Cursed Realm, of course. Were you sent, or did you beg?”

Morro didn’t answer, too taken aback by the man’s response. The Cursed Realm, to his understanding, was the purgatory where wicked spirits were sent before they could move onto the Departed Realm. What was he doing there? What he had done to deserve this?

Before he could voice any more of the questions buzzing around in his head, he saw three more people moving in the fog and backed up again. Like the first man, they had ghostly tails instead of legs, and they were all translucent and green, like him. Morro began to panic again, realizing he was about to be outnumbered and overwhelmed.

“Stay back!” He demanded, scrambling back, still on the ground. “I’m warning you!”

“My, my,” A feminine voice hissed. It was a hoarse, high whisper, like a long, raspy exhale formed into words. “He’s young. She will be very pleased.”

The figures came into view. The speaker was a woman wearing blood red clothings under rags, wearing armor and a hood like the first man. A pair of sinister, jagged green swords were sheathed on her back, and her eyes were eerily wide and pale. Beside her was an older-looking man with a quiver slung across his back and knives sheathed along a bandolier. The final figure appeared to be a skeleton, bare bones visible beneath his torn clothes, his face a floating skull with a slack jaw. He wore a straw hat atop his skull, and a spiky green scythe was held in limp fingers, dragging in the slime.

“Who are you?” Morro asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking as three newcomers fanned out, circling him. “Answer me or get away!”

The skeletal man laughed bombastically, his deep voice uneven and primal, like a monkey attempting speech. “They all say! You scared. You sad! Ghoultar like you!”

“Don’t tease him,” The archer reprimanded, gesturing at the others to quiet down. His clever, cold eyes regarded Morro calculatingly. “What happened to your eyes, son?”

Morro blinked, unsure what the man meant. He glanced down at the mud in search of a reflection, but it was too thick and dark. He placed a hand on his face, cringing as the two passed right through each other. “I don’t know . . . is this really the Cursed Realm? I’m not supposed to be here!”

“Oh, sorry, we’ve made a mistake, then,” The first man cackled, earning laughter from the woman and the skeleton. “We’ll just send you back to the Caves of Despair to rot in peace.”

“How do you know . . .?” Morro swallowed, trying to make sense of everything happening so quickly. “Answer me, please. One at a time. Who are all of you?”

The archer gave a harumph and folded his arm. “We’re the Preeminent’s emissaries. You can call me the Soul Archer. The Bow Master.”

“Wrayth,” Answered the first man, picking up the chain dangling behind him and wrapping it around one of his arms. “The Chain Master.”

“Bansha, the Blade Master,” Supplied the woman. “And this is Ghoultar, the Scythe Master.”

“Ghoultar want!” The skeleton bellowed, surging toward Morro suddenly. Morro gasped and scrambled back, but the skeleton was stopped by a commanding gesture from the Soul Archer. “Ghoultar hungry! Ghoultar need eat!”

“This one’s not for eating, Ghoultar,” The Soul Archer said. “The Preeminent wants him for herself.”

“Preeminent?” Morro shook his head, trying to focus on one thing at a time. “Why am I here? I thought you had to be cursed by a sorcerer or a spellbook to end up in the Cursed Realm.”

“If that were true, you’d hardly see anyone here,” Wrayth chuckled. “I asked you before if you were sent, or if you begged. Some can be sent here by magical means, but most find their way here because they refuse to accept death. I take it that’s how you got here.”

Morro went silent, the implications of that leaving him speechless. So, he really was dead. Only, instead of ending up in the Departed Realm, his prayers had been answered after all, to some extent, and he’d ended up here. His pleas for escape had landed him in the most infamous realm in the universe.

He was dead. It took a moment for that reality to sink in. He trembled slightly, and though he felt no pain, he felt as though he was slowly being consumed by the crushing darkness around him. He was dead. He would never see Ninjago again. And given what he’d seen of this realm, he’d never see light again. No sun, moon or stars, not even fire. The gravity of being dead made him want to curl up and drown, but he figured that wouldn’t work. He couldn’t die twice.

“How did you know where I was?” Morro asked in a hollow voice. “The Caves of Despair.”

“Our Queen sensed you were coming,” Bansha replied. “She senses when someone in the living realms is about to fall into her domain. It’s why we were sent to collect you.”

Morro gulped, his last question coming out in a shaking voice. “And who is your Queen?”

“The Preeminent,” The four ghosts said in unison, sending chills down his spine.

“The Queen of the Cursed,” The Soul Archer said, gesturing to the world around them. “We are inside her as we speak. She is the physical embodiment of the Cursed Realm.”

“And what does she want from me?”

Bansha answered next. “Your service. It’s not often an Elemental master winds up down here. You and I are the only two in recent memory. I was the Elemental master of Sound while I lived. The Preeminent has big plans for you.”

Morro stared blankly for a few moments, trying to process all of the information. It was difficult enough to try and accept that he was dead, and lost to the Cursed Realm. But now he was being told all of this other stuff, and expected to just go along with it. It was too much for his brain to handle, especially in this vulnerable moment. He’d just failed the mission he’d set himself on, and now he was going to suffer for eternity in purgatory. And these ghosts expected him to go along with this?

Morro scoffed, laying back in the mud. “I’m not in the mood for this. Leave me alone.”

Ghoultar huffed angrily. “See? He not even listen! We eat instead!”

“You’ll come with us, or you will regret it,” Wrayth warned, ignoring Ghoultar. “The Preeminent has been waiting for you to arrive. She sent us here to retrieve you and get you started on your journey.”

Morro let out a mirthless laugh. “My journey is over. I’m dead .”

“Death is not the end, young one,” The Soul Archer said gently, lowering closer to Morro. “The Preeminent has a plan for you, us, and all of the cursed. Soon, we will not be confined to this abominable prison. Soon, we will reap the Sixteen Realms.”

Morro sighed, trying to slide a hand over his face, but it just phased through it. It was all too much happening too quickly. He’d just died, and suddenly the ghosts of the Cursed Realm wanted him to join them in some insane quest? He needed time to think.

“Do not despair,” Bansha said, coming closer as well. “You will have time to gather your thoughts. But right now, you must let us take you to the Preeminent. I am sure your feelings will change once you hear what she has to offer.”

Morro swallowed back all of the furious things he wanted to shout into the ether. “Oh yeah? What could she possibly give me?”

Wrayth let out a slow chuckle. “ Everything .”

The four ghosts moved at the same time, all forming a tighter circle around him and grabbing their weapons. Panicking, Morro shot up to his feet, grasping for the power of wind and preparing for a fight. But instead of attacking, the ghosts knelt, holding their weapons up toward him as though heralding him. Hesitating, Morro spun in a slow circle, absorbing the scene. It was oddly familiar . . .

“The Golden Weapons rejected you,” Bansha said solemnly. “They were wrong.”

“The Writers of Destiny have made an error, and you are paying for their mistakes,” The Soul Archer continued. “We are here now to correct those mistakes.”

“You were told that you were not enough to be the Green Ninja,” Wrayth went on. “But we don’t see it that way. The Preeminent knows the truth, and she wants justice.”

“You are Green Ninja,” Ghoultar said in the calmest, quietest tone yet. “You take destiny.”

“As prophesied, the Green Ninja will be defended by four weapons masters,” The Soul Archer said. “We grant you our service.”

“Destiny has shunned you and let you rot,” Bansha said as the four of them stood and gave Morro a wider berth. “You will prove destiny wrong and claim the Green gi. You will be respected and feared above all others. The Preeminent has a task for you, and if you serve her, and let us serve you, we will all be free from the Cursed Realm, and you will achieve everything you have ever dreamt of. You will be the Green Ninja, and none will deny your destiny. Do you accept our service?”

Morro gulped, overcome by a sudden, confusing mesh of emotions. He was bewildered and nervous, but also warmed. These ghosts that hardly knew him already believed him more than his own master had. Their Queen, this Preeminent, believed in him. He wasn’t sure if he trusted them, but he was willing to go along with whatever they were suggesting, at least until he better understood what was going on.

Whether or not the ghosts were to be trusted, Morro knew he needed their help. He was in the Cursed Realm, and the only way out was with the help of whoever was in charge. His decision made, Morro’s eyes hardened and he nodded.

“I accept. What am I supposed to do?”