*Author's note: Hey all, here comes chapter 11! Just a reminder, I'm not leaving this story, so no worries! School just gets in the way a lot, added with a lot of loss in motivation. But I am not going to abandon this story in any way, I promise. Other than that, I hope you all enjoy!*
As much as Cole enjoyed shopping, he had not prepared for the chaotic experience that came with spending money with Lloyd's mother.
The woman was an avid shopper. She had some self constraint, keeping herself away from the objects that were on the more expensive side. Anything less than a couple hundred dollars, however, was up for grabs.
He spent most of the time following Misako around, acting as if he was her silent shadow. On any other normal day, Cole would have been slightly more interested in the merchandise, possibly even wandering off on his own to do his own shopping of sorts. But today, Cole couldn't do such things. His mind was elsewhere, thinking, pondering, and franticing.
He knew Misako could see the distant look in his eyes. He could easily tell she was worried about him, seeing as how she constantly kept trying to engage him in the present moment. Anything that could stop the glaze from filming over his eyes, anything to stop his gaze from looking around at the town around them.
The town of which had been harmed by the earthquakes the night before.
Some vendors were closed in the market that the pair were currently in, signs on the store fronts indicating they were "out for repairs". There were families, working with sweat on their brows, as they fixed their broken homes. There was garbage piled outside of each wooden house, the remains of loved furniture and precious decorations hastily removed from the house, as if no one wanted to look at the sad rubble of their broken belongings.
Cole could feel eyes linger on his presence. He felt vulnerable, open, and guilty. No one knew it was he, of course, who had brought such an unexpected disaster to their beloved town. But Cole still felt the guilt way down on his shoulders with each and every glance.
The worst of it all, though, was not the destruction the town had experienced. No, it was the woods that brought Cole the most sadness. Trees had been uprooted, bringing down bird nests with them. The sounds of nature itself were gone, leaving a deathly silent to hang in the absence of life. Not a single animal made a noise, as if they were all mourning the earth's agitated groans that it had made the night before. Cole grimaced at this, and how the beautiful nature had been crushed and muted, all by the power of his uncontrollable fit. Life killed by his own dirty hands.
Cole looked nervously down at his shoes, shuffling them in an anxious manner. He wanted to go back to the monastery, back to Zane, back to the boy's cooling arms. Back to the blissful ignorance of dreams, where Zane would get better, where the two of them could be happy together.
His mind was still stuck on the events that had occurred the night before. All hope was lost. There was no way to stop the shutting down of the teen's system, no way to pull him out of his slowly deteriorating state. Cole would never hear Zane's voice again, never see him laugh, and that very fact was killing him.
"What do you think of this one?" Misako asked, snapping Cole out of his depressive thoughts. She was holding up a pale green hat, scanning it's straw weavings as if she was looking for a flaw in them.
"Oh, um, it looks great." Cole muttered, trying to throw in enthusiasm to his sad, uninterested tone. However, being who he was, he could not mask his feelings easily. Misako frowned, concerned for the distressed teen.
"How is Zane?" She asked lightly, putting the hat back in it's place. Cole visibly tensed at this question, the nindroid's condition hitting a nerve.
"He's… Dealing with his condition fairly well, actually. Too well. I don't think he understands what 'not being able to be fixed' actually means." Cole responded, a grim smile on his face. They could always count on Zane to completely under-react.
There was a silence between the two of them. Cole followed Misako out of the hat store, and then into the jewelry vendor next door.
"I think he does understand, Cole. He's a smart boy. It's more that he's not afraid." She told him as she looked at a small, dainty pair of earrings. Cole's brow furrowed at this, confused by what the women said.
"How could he not be afraid? He may never be able to walk ag-" Cole started, getting worked up once more over the state of his crush.
"He isn't afraid, because he has you." Misako exclaimed. She smiled sweetly, and walked further into the shop, leaving Cole to ponder this.
Was he really all that important to Zane? So important that his simple presence was enough to rid all fear that the teen had? Important enough to outweigh the hopeless feelings that come with never being able to talk again?
A small blush creeped up on his dark cheeks, his heart beating slightly faster at the notion he meant something to Zane. Something more than a best friend, maybe even something more than strong platonic feelings…
Cole stopped himself, then and there, his eyes growing wide in shock. He couldn't allow such hopes to cloud his vision, such thoughts to infest his mind. There was no way Zane could return his feelings, there was no way Zane could even have those feelings for another. Zane, he knew for a fact, would only ever be a really close friend. Cole's heart was to be broken, and the elemental master of earth knew it would do him no good to put in any implication that his feelings could be returned. Living in such a fairy-tale world as this would do him no good.
He knew from experience. He knew from experience it would only hurt him to wish or hope.
He always used to do this. He always used to wish and hope for things that were not possible, or would never happen. He would wish for his mother, and her sweet embraces that he barely remembered. He had wished, at one time, that his father would accept him for who he was, instead of pushing for the dancer that Cole knew he did not possess inside him.
These wishes and hopes, with each day they had passed without being fulfilled, felt like lashes at his heart. Every night, as a child, he would go to sleep, knowing there was something he desperately wanted, that seemed impossible, despite his friends possessing exactly what he wanted. And most every night, as a child, he would cry himself to sleep, his wishes and hopes causing aching pains to his weak heart.
Cole could already feel the aching pains, he could already feel the weight that his heart carried, from knowing that his love would never be returned. They were nothing more than brothers, and that was all they were ever going to be. His own imagination had spun images of smiles and kisses, creating stories and scenes that were never to happen, just for the purpose to spite him. And now the thought that Zane could like Cole… The thought that those dreams could become a reality…
It felt like the strongest lash to the heart he had ever felt before. It stung and bled, reminding Cole over and over that the man he was falling for, the man he was willing to give his life for, was experiencing a spiraling depression. The man he loved was to be hooked up to an outlet for the rest of his life.
Sudden rain drops fell onto his cheeks, causing him to jump in shock, thrusting him back into reality. He blinked his eyes rapidly, staring up at the sky to find it a perfect light blue, not a storm cloud in sight. Cole sighed as he realized the raindrops were tears, and he quickly wiped his eyes on his shirt, not wanting anyone to see him cry. Crying warranted attention, and attention was the last thing Cole needed at that time.
All he wanted was to be back at the monastery, to his bed with Zane in his arms. Protecting Zane. Supporting Zane. Doing anything he could to help Zane, to make him happy when happiness wasn't easy to find.
All he needed was Zane.
Cole looked back into the jewelry store, looking for Misako to see if she was watching. She was nowhere in sight, having disappeared into the depths of temptation, not likely to come out for some time. She wouldn't mind if Cole left for the monastery without her, he knew this. She was smart, she would know he had headed back home, not being able to handle being outside, in a world he had destroyed with his rage.
Silently, but swiftly, he jogged away, his feet grinding against the gravel market streets, kicking up dust in his wake. The feeling of running energized him, encouraged him to become one with the earth as he had learned to do. His element coursed through him, his inhuman strength producing longer strides. He began to jog faster and faster, until he was sprinting, running towards the monastery that held the only thing he cared about.
His happiness rose as he sprinted, exerting himself in something he felt confident with. A smile crept onto his face, and he rode with the earth, his feet moving along it's surface in a perfect harmonious accord.
And then, as he approached the gigantic wooden doors of the monastery, slowing to a halt so as to not crash and reduce the doors to splinters, he heard it. A scream most blood curdling, sounding loud from the open balcony of Zane's room.
"HOLY-" Zane shouted, his voice carrying out of the open balcony, reaching it's chilling fingers down Cole's spine, creating a shiver of fear that reverberated through his whole being. The silence that followed was ominous, too quiet for his liking.
Quickly, Cole burst through the monastery doors, the doors flying open in urgency as he barreled in through the front doors. The doors smacked against the walls by the sheer force of the earth elemental, and were left swinging open, as Cole bounded up the stairs, taking two at a time.
The panic was bubbling in him, consuming his every thought, muddling his brain into a sloppy mess. All he was aware of was the beats of his racing heart, the ragged breaths he drew as the fear of something he wasn't quite aware of overcame him.
He could hear quiet voices coming from their room towards the end of the hall. Were they Zane's murderers? He didn't care. He wasn't thinking straight. He wasn't being sneaky or strategic like he had been taught to be. He, instead, was running through the halls, the wood floor rocking violently with his large and heavy steps.
His hand grabbed the handle and threw it open, his heart pounding in his chest with the overwhelming feeling of fear.
And there he found Jay Walker and Cyrus Borg, their mouths open in surprise, and their eyes filled with guilt. Cole was about to ask just what exactly had he caught them in the middle of, when his eyes traveled to Zane's bed.
Zane lay there, a content smile on his face. The hatch on his torso was open wide, showcasing his inner workings to the people present in the room. The cord that had been attached to his neck had fallen to the ground, forgotten and unnecessary.
"We can explain." Jay said immediately, holding up his hands in defense. Cole looked at him in confusion, his green eyes flickering between the three people in the room as he tried to piece together the puzzle before him.
At the sound of Jay's voice, Zane's had turned to the side, his bright icy eyes locking with Cole's. The tall man gasped, staring at Zane's eyes. They were back to their lively, shocking color, the striking icy blue that captured every person that dared to look into them.
Zane watched the surprise form on Cole's face, the man who thought he would never see Zane back to his old self again. He loved watching the man's face transform, watching his eyes grow wider, and his light brown lips falling open into a satisfying "o". He studied Cole's physic, never have looked at it before in such fascination. The long black, windswept hair, that graced his face and tickled at his cheeks and ears. The broad shoulders, that suggested strength, stature, and warming hugs. The dark toned skin, an earthy tone that seemed soft and warm. His calloused fingers, which, for some reason, Zane found just as fascinating as everything else.
Zane smiled sweetly as he realized how long he had felt for Cole, how long he had thought such thoughts without feelings. Such feelings being stored in some compartment, awaiting to be released.
Cole's heart fluttered wildly as the other graced him with such a soft, sweet smile. His face grew hot, his stomach flipping happily at the angelic smile.
"I am okay, Cole. I am okay." Zane said, still smiling brightly at his leader.
Cole's stomach dropped.
He reassessed the situation. Jay and Cyrus staring up at Cole, their expressions filled to the brim with guilt. Zane's hatch open, exposing the buttons and switches that should never be messed with. That should never be used to take advantage of Zane, and create artificial feelings he wasn't supposed to have.
His surprise turned to anger, his green eyes growing dark as the puzzle pieces clicked loudly in his mind.
"What did you do." Cole growled, gritting his teeth at the two inventors before him.
"Cole-" Zane began, sitting up on his elbows, his smile quickly turning into a frown.
"What did you press? What did you do to him?" Cole spat, clenching his fists in frustration. How could they have not talked to him first? They knew he would not have been okay with this.
"It was the only way he could be fixed, Cole!" Jay snapped back, his electric blue eyes crackling with energy, "Aren't you glad he's better?"
Cole glared down at the floor, mentally burning holes through the woodwork in his frustration. There was a reason that Cole was upset. A reason as to why, even though Zane was now fixed, that Cole did not like.
It was his hope. His hope, even though he tried his best to do away with such thoughts, that Zane liked him back. That Zane had the same feelings for Cole, but only that they were blocked by one of his switches. That if his switches were activated, their life would suddenly become some fantasy world, in which Zane and Cole would confess their love and then kiss under the moon.
By turning those switches on, by unblocking Zane's hidden feelings, there was no longer that hope. It was obvious to Cole that Zane had experienced no change in emotion, no shift in his feelings towards Cole. All dreams, all theories that they could have a future together, were gone.
He mentally chastised himself. This was not how a best friend was supposed to react. Zane was back, he was alive and well. He could talk, he could smile; It was a miracle that Cole had thought would never be able to occur after last night's discovery.
"He's not fully fixed," Cyrus said, as if he were trying to calm the leader down, "Zane will still have trouble walking, or physically exerting himself. But for now, he isn't on a power source, and that's better than it was an hour or so ago."
Cole nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to release the tension he was feeling. His reaction was childish, he knew this. His hopes and dreams were built on no foundation of truth. He envied Zane, and how well the man was able to mask his feelings with such perfection.
"May I have some time alone with Cole? I have a feeling we have a lot to talk about." Zane said from the bed. Cole looked up from the floor, and the icy blues immediately clashed with his emerald greens.
Jay and Cyrus left as per Zane's request, moving out of the room with a swiftness only they could posses. Zane watched their backs recede until they closed the door shut behind them, the wheels of Mr. Borg's wheelchair creaking against the wood.
"Zane-" Cole started, before Zane interrupted quickly.
"Come closer please. And if you wouldn't mind, would you also close my abdomen? I am starting to feel quite airy inside." Zane said, his soft rich voice filling the silence in the room. The corners of Cole's lips twitched, as he found amusement in Zane's subtle, dry humor. The black haired man moved forward and did as the robot asked, closing the hatch with a silent click. Cole tried not to linger, he tried not to think of the cool skin under his fingertips. But his body betrayed him, bringing about a hot feeling to his face.
"You're temperature levels are rising. Are you alright?" Zane asked, a smug look playing on his face. Cole's eyes widened slightly. Smug? Had Zane just… Performed the art of innuendos, an art that only Kai could perfect?
His brain yelled at him, a jumping, crazy ruckus occurring in the depths of his thoughts. Was Zane implying he was blushing because of the shirtless figure in front of him? Was he implying that he understood what was going on inside Cole's head?
"Shut up," was the only thing the elemental master of earth could say, his brain hardly capable of muttering anything else.
Zane chuckled at this, knowing he had silenced his leader, throwing him into a jumbled mess of thoughts. He was still not quite sure as to what Cole's feelings were about him, but teasing had never hurt anyone.
But they needed to talk. All humor aside, there were things that needed to be talked about. Tough things, things that brought pain to the heart and tears to the eyes. Zane sighed, as he felt his grin slide off his face. As to how this conversation would go, he did not know. But it had to be had, whether it felt uncomfortable or not.
"In all seriousness," Zane said, sitting up for the first time without the need of help, "We need to talk."
Cole nodded silently, and sat down on the bed with Zane. There was so much left unsaid, so many things that Cole had thought he would never be able to talk about with Zane again. Things he had regretted not talking about before Zane's shutdown, where there was a possibility they could never talk again.
The bed creaked with Cole's weight as he lifted his legs up onto the bed. The two teens were now facing each other, staring right into each other's eyes with an intense sincerity.
"Cole. The day my father died… What you had walked in on.." Zane started, not letting go of the contact they were holding.
"You were about to kill yourself, weren't you?" Cole said, finishing the teen's thought. There was a silence, as both men reflected on that night. Cole could still feel a violent shiver run down his spine, remembering the fear he had experienced when he had seen Zane's hands wrapped around his own wires. When Zane's eyes had been glowing red, as if the emergency lights were going off in his system.
"Yes," Zane responded in a flat tone, "I attempted suicide."
Cole could feel his eyes sting as Zane stated this. It scared him. It scared him that Zane could easily admit what he had been about to do, that he had been about to take his own life. It scared him that Zane kept to himself, and that if Cole had been too late… If Cole had walked in a minute later… He would have been surprised to find Zane's dead body. He would have been surprised by the unknown anguish his teammate was feeling, he would have been surprised to learn about the inner turmoil Zane was experiencing. Cole would have been one of those stereotypical people who talked at their friend's funeral, swearing up and down in their speech that "Zane had been the happiest person he ever knew", and that "no one knew Zane was so sad".
He didn't want to be that person. He didn't want to be in the dark. He didn't want to be a minute late, or be scared of ever being a minute late.
It felt selfish. It felt selfish to want to be there for Zane, to be knowing of all that went on in the boy's mind. It felt as though Zane's eyes should be the ones that were stinging. Zane should be the one crying, not Cole.
"Cole." Zane managed, his voice soft and cracked. Cole looked through his blurring eyes, coming to reality as the teen called for his attention. He tried to blink his eyes, to keep the tears in, to keep them from escaping. He didn't want to cry. He couldn't. He needed to be strong for Zane.
"W-what if I… What if I was too late?" Cole managed, his bottom lip trembling. He bit it, trying to cause pain in order to stop his tears from flowing. It helped nothing, and before he could realize, he was crying in front of Zane, tears streaming down his face, an unstoppable flow of salty tears.
Zane reached forward for Cole, and wrapped his arms tightly around his leader. His leader, who had done so much for him. Who had been there for him for so long, and in the process of doing so, had bottled in more feelings than he already did every day. Cole had done so much, had circled his whole world around Zane without hesitation.
The teen pulled Cole into his lap and held him tight. He burrowed his face in the soft black hair, and his pale hand ran up and down Cole's back, trying to comfort the person that had dedicated so much to Zane.
"It's... It's okay to cry. It's okay to cry." Zane mumbled into Cole's hair, feeling sadness soak into his heart. He had not cried for days. Cole had cried for him, taking on the grief that was not meant to be his. All for Zane. He had brought himself into sadness, all for his friend who had attempted suicide.
And then Zane was crying too. Crying into the soft black hair, no longer stroking Cole's back, but gripping onto the man's shirt for support. They were a mess. A ball of crying and breaking, healing from pain they had kept to themselves for so long. Healing from pain that they hadn't been aware they still harbored.
There was no where else in the world in that moment. The world stopped, and the two boys on the bed were the only things existing. Their tears became the only sounds in the universe, the smells of the other became the only thing they were aware of.
Their universe, on that morning, became meant for two people, not just one. Their tears stained each other's shirts, but even when the tears stopped, they still clung to each other. They needed the other like they needed air, they needed each other in order to ever feel better; to ever feel complete again.
Their distressed breathing fell in sync, matching to the other until their breathing slowly normalized. Before they were aware of what was going on, their intertwined figures fell down onto the bed, until they were in a comfortable mass of tangled limbs. Their eyes began to feel heavy, but they still gripped each other tight, as if to make sure the other didn't fall apart into pieces beside them. It was as if they were holding the pieces of the other together.
That's how Garmadon found them. Asleep and dreaming, dried tracks of tears tracing down their cheeks. The man walked into the room quietly, and pulled the blanket over them, that had been pushed to the end of the bed in all of the uncontrolled emotion. Once they were covered, Garmadon left the room, turning off the lights as he left, and letting alone the two boys to their own universe.
The wood halls creaked under the man's feet. The monastery was quiet, as if it had been listening to the two teens, eavesdropping from the dark wood. The creaky steps sounded loud in such silence, and Garmadon winced with each step he took.
"Garmadon?" A silent voice asked from downstairs in the dining hall. He smiled to himself, as his ears perked to the sound of the soft voice of his wife. He had missed her. And for the longest time, he believed he never deserved her again. After his many attempts to defeat his brother and his pupils, after the many attempts of killing his own son, after the attempts he had made to break his own wife; and yet they were all still here. They were all still accepting of him, caring for him even. It felt unreal, it felt unprecedented, to be still wanted, after all he had done.
"Yeah?" He answered back, walking down the stairs with his hand drifting down the railing.
"It's your brother. Something's going on." Misako said. Garmadon's brow furrowed, and he walked slightly faster down the stairs. His younger brother only called when it was something important, when it was something of concern. Wu didn't like to use phones, and when he did, it was for good reason.
Garmadon reached the bottom of the stairs, and approached his wife, who was holding out the silver flip phone for him to take. He did just this, wrapping his hand around the phone, and bringing it up to his ear.
"Hello?" Garmadon answered, frowning at Misako in confusion.
"Brother, get Jay and Mr. Borg down here at once please. We need them back. Misako told me my pupil is better. You should be able to part with the two inventors, yes?" Wu said, an urgency clear in his voice.
"What's happened? What's going on?" Garmadon asked, his heart and lungs feeling heavy. He knew this feeling well. It was the feeling of fear, the feeling of knowing something was coming. It was the fear of what was to happen next.
"Something happened to the construction site. Overnight, the beams became rusty and broken, as if they have been there for hundreds of years. The city civilians are afraid, and so are Mr. Borg's construction workers…" Wu explained. Garmadon frowned. This was, of course, not normal behavior for a metal. Something was definitely wrong with the situation.
"You are hiding something else from me." Garmadon stated, as he noticed Wu was not following his train of thought. The younger brother sighed from the other end of the phone, and Garmadon braced himself for the news.
"There have been… reports." Wu said, hesitation heavy in his voice.
"Reports of what? Brother, what is going on?" Garmadon asked, fear seeping into his skin.
"The dead… People are reporting the dead coming back to life."
He had forgotten how good it felt to be solid. How good it felt to actually feel what he was touching, to smell the air, to taste delicious food. It was paradise for him, a paradise he had missed for twenty years. The senses were something many took for granted, and only after regaining them did Morro realize how beautiful it all was
But what was even more beautiful than his revived senses, was his new and improved powers. In some way, unknown to Morro, his powers had become stronger with the dark matter that he had consumed at the Overlord's suggestion. He now could do more than just control the wind. He could control life, or more accurately, death. A dark energy that was much more powerful than anything he had ever experienced before. Such energy was coursing heavily in his veins, pumping a higher level of control through every pore of his body. He felt invincible with such power, he felt godlike, as he learned the lengths of his new power.
A new power which, if he used it right, could be used to defeat the green ninja.
With such a strong power as this darkness, he could defeat Lloyd quickly. There would be no stopping him from draining the power from Lloyd, taking it for his own in a quick and easy fashion. Nothing would be able to get in his way, nothing would be able to restrain him from his goal. His goal of taking rightful place as the hero of Ninjago. His goal of becoming the green ninja, a spot of which he was always supposed to take. The spot of which he had been promised by, from the old man Wu. The spot he was made to take.
Morro had already tried to test such powers out, such as sapping power from a regular, non-elemental human in a random dark alley. It had not succeeded, and the newly-solid Morro had had to run away before the human could call for help. Morro knew he needed to be stronger. He needed more dark energy in order to accomplish what he wanted to do. But there was no more Overlord. There was no more Overlord to tell him where more dark remnants resided, where he could soak even more power into himself. Where he could become even more powerful, powerful enough to reach well beyond his original elemental limits.
However, there was someone else. Another person that was aware of where the Overlord had been. Another person other than the Overlord himself, that could find and see where the dark matter lay. A person that Morro just so happened to personally hold a grudge against. After all, this person had once been his role model.
The ghost of the first spinjitzu master, the creator of Ninjago. Only through his guidance could Morro achieve what he wanted. Only through the dead man's wisdom could he find more dark matter.
It was to be a bittersweet moment, if Morro did succeed in raising the dead man from his grave. A man who, instead of granting his powers to Morro as he should have, granted them to his relative; a grandson, many generations between them. A waste of powers, that Morro was certain the first spinjitzu master regretted, now that he had seen who was the more powerful of the two.
Walking to the grave of the old man felt oddly calming for the man with long black hair. It felt almost refreshing, as if his mind and soul had been waiting for this very moment. The sky was an eerie grey, that promised rain and thunder. But this did not bother Morro anymore. Water did not harm him, seeing as he was solid once more. If he had still been a ghost, he would have been destroyed by the liquid. Liquid effected ghosts, seeing as how they were neither solid or gas. Ghosts were a suspension of matter, and liquid was the only thing they were not made out of. Therefore, liquid was the only thing that they could not touch without getting harmed.
But he had no concern about this anymore. In honesty, he wanted it to rain. He wanted to feel the water pour down his head, to feel the rain stick his black shirt to his back. Morro grinned in a somewhat haphazard fashion, and threw off his sandals, flinging them into the grass.
Immediate gratification hit him, and he sighed in relief as the rich dirt dug itself between his toes. He could not get enough of his senses, he could not get enough of every touch he could encounter, every smell he could register, every taste he could feel settle on his tongue.
A thunder clap brought him back to the task at hand, bringing him back from his obsession with his sensory capabilities. His focus turned back to the grave stone in front of him. A gravestone that was greatly weathered by the elements, so much so that it had been run down to a fragile slab of mossy grey. His stomach flipped as he dug his toes into the dirt above the powerful dead master's pile of bones, just as one may bury their toes under the sand at a beach. The gravity of what was about to happen was making him excited, nervous even. His life had lead up to this moment, that much he knew.
He took a deep inhale, and aimed his hand down towards the ground underneath him. He had to concentrate, he had to believe he could do this. He had to believe in himself, because no one ever believed in him. He had to do this on his own, to accomplish this without defeat. He had to overcome. He could bring back the dead.
"I raise you from your rest, old man. Leave your peace and tell me all that you know." Morro announced, before casting his dark power out in a beam of dark purple at the grave, the beam shooting out through his hand.
Suddenly, Morro's arm felt on fire. A blood curdling scream ripped through his throat as a white searing pain gripped his arm, clutching so tightly it felt as though Morro's bone should be broken. The pain dared Morro to stop the beam, dared him to lose his resolve and cease his effort. But Morro couldn't give up. He could not give in.
With another scream in pain, he gripped his arm with his other hand, steadying it so it would not move from it's position. His pain turned to rage, his green eyes literally glowing with the determination and power that was coursing through his veins. He would not succumb to the pain. He would rise to the challenge, and he would prevail.
"Rise old man! Face me!" Morro screamed through clenched teeth and agony, his jaw beginning to protest by how hard he was clenching it, "I order you! YOU ARE AT MY MERCY!"
The ground began to shake in a violent manner, and Morro watched in horror as the white hot clenching grasp on his arm materialized into a green, transparent hand. Morro followed the materialization of the ghost body, watching as an arm began to appear out of what seemed to be thin air. There was no hesitation from Morro, however. No fear graced his face as the figure formed. Morro knew what was occurring at that moment, he knew what was truly happening. His powers were working. This was the ghost of the first spinjitzu master.
The arm formed into a torso, and then a head. And then the piercing, green ghost eyes clashed with Morro's, anger rampant in the dead man's glare. Morro glared back, despite the grip of the ghost's hand clenching tighter around his wrist. Morro wanted to scream out in pain, he wanted to fall to the ground in a writhing mess. But he had to show strength. He could not let fear or pain show.
"Do not do this." The ghost seethed, his voice dark and gravely, and yet far away, as though his essence was barely in tact.
"You will… Listen to me." Morro managed, gasping as the beam from his hand suddenly stopped. The ghost of the first spinjitzu master left go of his firm grip on Morro, and the boy fell to the ground, panting and gasping at the major feat he had just overcame.
The ghost floated back and forth, as if in an agitated pace. Morro took those few seconds to observe the undead master. The eyes were sunken in, and his facial features were shallow and tight, as if his skin was tightly pulled against his skull. His arms were thin and bony like his face, as if the skin was barely holding on, about to snap back from how stretched it was around his bones.
The ghost was bald, and had a thin, unwashed looking beard, striking an uncanny similarity to the beards of wizards Morro had read about when he was younger.
"I am not supposed to be here. This is wrong." The ghost mumbled, before throwing back his head and releasing a painful moan, as if it was hurting him to be among the living once more. Morro grimaced, disgusted by the sound, and pushed himself off of the ground
"Tell me all you know of dark matter." Morro ordered, wincing slightly at how his voice shaked, still uneasy from the pain.
The ghost whipped around to face Morro, a frenzy ablaze in his eyes. Before Morro could react, the ghost was teleported right in front of Morro's face.
"I need-" Morro tried again, but was suddenly interrupted by a high scream, a sound kin to that of a disturbed ghost in a horror film.
"Gah!" Morro exclaimed, throwing his hands up to his ears and wincing, the shrieking loud enough to impair his hearing abilities. The shrieking continued for a couple seconds or so, when it stopped abruptly. Morro lowered his hands from his ears. He watched with confusion, observing as the ghost went to hover above his grave again, floating back and forth in an agitated walk.
"There are consequences to this… The world will experience great death. And great life." The ghost muttered in a broken fashion, his voice drifting in and out in a curious way. Morro wanted to say something, but he feared that if he were to say something again, he would be screamed at. Instead, Morro kept quiet, listening intently to the cryptic words.
"There will be an army. An army with unknown loyalties, if I grant you the knowledge you seek. An army, of which could destroy you or bring you victory. To bring back the dead for knowledge that should not be relevant for today's world… You are invoking imbalance. You are destroying the balance of the world in your haste for power, to be something you were not meant to be. This can only cause chaos. You will be your undoing." The ghost explained, his voice strained as if he did not want to tell Morro this. The agitated figure looked angry, striking fear deep into Morro's bones. But Morro had to prevail. His victory he had fantasized for so long about was finally in his reach.
"Tell me where I can find the dark remnants, dead man." Morro ordered. The ghost groaned a sigh, and stared Morro straight in the eyes, with the same furious anger as the first glare they had shared.
"You were never meant to be the ultimate elemental master. I knew this was bound to occ-"
"TELL ME!" Morro interrupted, anger and desperation beginning to boil over. He needed his answer, no matter what the costs. He didn't want to hear the dead man's reasoning behind his decision. Morro would be fixing it soon enough, with his own agenda this time. It no longer mattered who he was to blame the fault on. He was going to fix it himself, and force destiny to choose him as the all-powerful master of elements.
"The isle of darkness," the ghost gasped, as if it pained him to say it, "That is where you will find your power. Do not summon me again."
The ghost disappeared then, fizzling out into the particles of the air. Morro shivered as a wind howled from far away. There was no elation from the information he had just received. He was not feeling regret, no. He could not feel regret for something that felt so right. No, this was a fear of instinctual levels. There was only dread at the pit of his stomach. A dread that he felt as the wind blew past him. An unruly wind, that conveyed a chaotic happening on the way.
The army of the dead was coming.