*Whoo-Hoo! Past 100 reviews! That's a huge marker for me, especially because I live and breath off of reviews XD But in all seriousness, thank you all so much for sticking with me through this whole journey. It's been quite a wild ride, and even though we still have a little more to go with this story, I just want to tell you all how grateful I am for all of you sticking with me. This has meant so much to me, and I can't wait to get to the ending of the story, and see this journey out with the rest of you! Thank you ALL for your support (and reviews!)! The next couple of chapters are going to be short and Morro-centric. Mainly short, because I want to get these rolling out to you guys, because you all have been sooooo freaking patient with me (and I am so sorry for that) Please enjoy this guys!*

3 Days Before

The undead army came in hordes, large blurred groups appearing on the horizon. There were ghosts of all sizes, floating on the path towards Morro, who was standing stock-still at a crumbling grave. The ghosts seemed to pulse a neon green, not like the faded, old moldy green that the dead master of spinjitzu had possessed. They seemed to move in a slow, sauntering manner, coming over the eerie grey hills. The army was miles and miles away, emptiness between them and the dilapidated grave. However, Morro could already feel the sticky uncomfortable feeling that seeped into one's bones when a living man met a dead one.

The old man's words echoed loudly in Morro's mind, warning him of the army's unloyalty, warning him that calling upon the army would be his undoing. However, he didn't run, despite the words that the dead old man had relayed to him. He did not cower in fear, and he did not show his fright. He knew that if he ran, if he showed any hesitation to the gigantic horde of undead, their loyalties would be immediately swayed against him. Morro had to stay still, he had to face the intimidating expressions of the army, in order to gain their alliance.

Heading the brigade of undead was a taller ghost, who carried with him rustic guns and a few bottles of gin, all of which were strapped to his belt. He seemed to carry himself differently from the rest, with purpose and honor. Bronze medals hung on his breasts pocket, medals that had been earned in a war many years ago. He had a small, bullet sized hole where his heart was, indicating his death had been that of unnatural causes.

Morro's breath became short and rushed as the horde came close enough to make out his features. In all honesty, he was scared. Scared that he was about to be killed by his own decision.

"You dare sway the balance?" The head ghost asked, a sneer on his face as if he considered Morro a fool. Several ghosts snickered at this, staring down at Morro as though he was a silly mortal, something they had dealt with many times before, "You, a tiny runt? You dare summon us?"

"Yes, I dare. I dare in exchange for unspeakable power." Morro countered, putting in as much dominance as he could into his voice. The transparent figure cocked his head in curiosity, and Morro grinned to himself. He had always been one to entice another, to persuade them to partake in a plan that many would opt out of.

"Unspeakable power? What kind of power?" The commander of the army asked, giving Morro a cautious eye.

"Dark power, my friend. Power fruitful enough to turn you back to the living, if you so wish." He promised, a wide grin gracing his pale pink lips.

Morro was immediately met with laughter, the army chuckling and snickering, as if he was so stupid to suggest such a thing. The commander snorted at Morro's confused expression, who had obviously not expected such a reaction.

"None of us want to be alive again, foolish boy. Being dead has it's perks, and living is a far worse reality. Nothing you can give us will satisfy claiming our loyalty to you." The commander said, a grin sliding onto his face as Morro's slipped.

His mind whirled as he tried to think of something else to offer them, anything he could say or do to sway them. There was nothing. His heart began to race as his gaze fell on the large army, all equipped with weapons of all shapes and sizes. There was no way to get out of this, even if he was the elemental master of speed.

For the first time since he could remember, he was absolutely speechless.

The commander's face split into a bone-chilling grin as he watched the fear slowly surface onto Morro's expression. The silly mortal had no idea what power was, no idea what he was doing when he had stuck his greedy little fingers into the undead cookie jar.

The ghost floated forward, and Morro flinched back, trying to keep the distance between them. But the commander kept floating forward, coming closer to Morro with each step he took back. The army behind the head ghost seemed to grow restless, grins creeping onto their faces as they watched the mortal cower in fear.

"There are two ways we can approach this," the commander said, "We can either fight for the title of this army, or we shall keep you as our prisoner. It is up to you to decide."

Morro's veins were pumping violently, his heart dancing to a frantic beat. He would not be able to win a battle against something he could not touch, that he knew for sure. The odds were stacked against him. And even if he did win the battle, would the army truly follow him? They looked at him like he was some delicious meal. Would they have the ability to treat him as a god?

But a prisoner of an undead army surely wouldn't serve him any justice. He would never be able to accomplish his goal. He would simply be jumping from one cage to a new one. Would he risk his life in a battle he knew he could not win?

Morro was about to ask for the battle he knew he would not win, when he saw a movement in the corner of his eye. He glanced to the movement, and his gaze locked onto one of the ghosts.

It was a girl, covered in tattered rags and a dirty hood. Yes, she was a ghost, just like the rest. But she didn't have the same blood thirsty look in her eyes as the others did. She looked worried, anxious, and… dare he say empathetic?

She shook her head in a very slight head turn, back and forth very, very slowly. She was obviously trying to communicate something to him, to tell him something about what he should do. Her eyes screamed "don't".

Morro quickly looked back to the commander before the ghost could realize who he was looking at.

He had to trust this girl. She was suspicious, yes, but having someone on his side was better than having no one on his side.

"I… Surrender."

It was a rowdy night. The commander decided to make camp there in the green hills, only feet away from the old fool's grave.

If Morro learned anything about ghosts, it was the undeniable fact that they loved to party. They had fires lit every couple of feet, dancing and screeching and cackling around them. Their odd dancing, a sort of frantic bobbing in the air, cast ghastly shadows on the faded orange tents that lined the perimeter.

Morro was chained to one of the tents further away from the fires, leaving him in isolation with his hands tied. His feet were getting unbearably itchy from the grass he was sitting in, and he had never felt so desperate to itch his feet as he did now.

He was being ignored, he knew. None of the ghosts even glanced his way, favoring instead to enjoy the festivities. And judging by how the army's partying had not a single piece of food, they were planning on starving Morro to death.

The mortal cursed himself with harsh words. Why had he let himself be captured? He had done this because he had saw a stupid ghost shake her head minutely. She could have been watching a slow moving butterfly for all he knew, but he had decided to be dumb and take it as a sign.

God, how thick could he be? How scared had he been to do something so idiotic as this? This was not how Morro schemed, this is not how he would win. He was too desperate, and it was going to get him killed.

Maybe it already had.

All because of a stupid little ghost girl. He was an idiot, a big fuc-

"Hey."

Morro flinched in surprise, his head snapping to the side, where a ghost had just appeared.

It was the same girl from earlier, still dressed in rags, head still shrouded in a dirty hood. This ghost was obviously sneaky, seeing as how she had been able to sit down next to Morro without making a sound. She was staring at him intently, her eyes large and sincere. She was leaning in rather close, as if she was watching to see if he was real.

"Uh," Morro cleared his throat before continuing, "Hi."

She leaned in closer, and he scooted away from her as best as he could, with the metal restraints and all. She was really starting to freak Morro out. Why was it that he always trusted the creepy ones?

"You would have died in battle. Trust me, this is much better." She said, again looking at him with large eyes.

"Thank.. You?" How was he supposed to respond to this undead women?

She nodded quickly, a small smile breaking out on her face. Her teeth were straight and clean, not at all what he expected an undead being to look like. In fact, now that he looked at her more closely, she didn't look at all like the typical dead. Minus the floating and the green glow, she actually looked quite alive.

"What's your name?" Morro asked before he could stop himself. He immediately tensed up, as if expecting her to be outraged that he had asked a question. However, she only smiled at him.

"Bansha. Well, that's what they named me." His eyebrows furrowed in confusion at this.

"'They'?"

She sighed, rolling her eyes as if she hated telling this story.

"The commander and his right-hand men. They like naming ghosts, you know, the newly undead. You see, each ghost as their own specific power. It all correlates to how they died. Your name always somehow relates to your power, and therefore, your death." Bansha explained, staring off into the distance as she talked. There was pain in her misty eyes.

There was a strong urge to ask her how she died, how she had gained her name, what power she possessed, but he didn't know how she would take it. The commander had already shown him that they didn't care for the subject of life anymore. They liked death, and they didn't seem too keen on living again.

Morro looked down at the grass, forcing the bubbling questions down. He personally had never liked talking about his life before banishment to the cursed realm. It made him angry and pained, and since angry usually meant someone would lose their head, people avoided making him angry.

"Oh come on," a voice said behind the two, making both of them jump in surprise. Well, Bansha sort of flickered, but it was the same concept, "Just ask her how she died. It's a great story."

Bansha rolled her eyes as a scowl formed on her lips, "Go away Archer. We didn't ask you to join our conversation."

Morro's eyes scanned this "Archer" from head to toe, sizing the apparently disliked ghost. He had to admit, he was mildly impressed. This guy was muscular, tall, confident, and obviously full of himself. Going off his cocky smirk, Morro could only assume this man was, pardon his french, an ass. Not to mention that wicked bow he was holding, along with some deadly looking arrows in his quiver. He was someone that was not to be messed with.

"Aw, Bansha, you know you love me." Archer said, winking at Bansha while sitting down next to them. Bansha's jaw clenched in annoyance, and Morro smirked slightly at the two's antics.

If Morro could guess, they were friends. Little odd balls that the army did not pay attention to. They were most likely wallflowers, observing rather than engaging. But yet, there was a fire in their eyes. They were misfits. But if there was a chance for them to take over, Morro knew they would. A revolution. He could see it deep under their skin. They craved a change of pace.

So why were they talking to a prisoner? Surely they didn't think they could get their freedom from a hostage like him.

"What exactly do I have to offer you? I assume you aren't here to make new friends." Morro said, eyes flickering between the two ghosts.

They looked to each other, both with questioning eyebrows, as if deciding whether to tell him something or not. After a moment or two of this silent conversation, they turned back to Morro.

"We want to help you. We want to rule beside you," Bansha explained, sighing deeply before continuing, "We want to be alive again."

Archer shifted uncomfortably in his seat at this, as if it was something to be ashamed of. His tells, ranging from the chewing of his lip to the twiddiling of his thumbs, was an obvious indicator that this subject was not taken lightly among the undead.

"Why? All the other ghosts seem perfectly okay with being dead, why are you two so different?" Morro asked, curiosity taking over him once again, as it always did. Luckily, with these two, his curiosity did not bring about his death.

"Our deaths were… unjust," Archer mumbled, reaching out towards the grass, as if he was going to pull at it and rip it out of the dirt. However, the blades of green passed straight through his fingers. He clenched his hands into a fist, "I was betrayed. Mob dealings, you see. I liked to make bets. I made exchanges, played a game with it. Sometimes took lives in my gambles. I trusted a friend in one of these bets. He stabbed me in the neck."

Morro's eyes flickered to Archer's neck, and quickly spotted a silvery green scar marring the skin.

Archer looked up from the grass, a forced smirk stretched across his lips as he now looked to Bansha, "Now show us yours, girly."

She sighed and hugged her knees to her chest, guarding herself from her past. Bansha didn't like talking about this, that much was obvious.

"The witch trials. They thought I was a witch. I was tied to a stake, and set on fire. I was screaming. That's my power… screaming." She said, with a slight tone of self loathing in her words. Her eyes began to glaze over, the fire gleaming off of them, as if she was tearing up.

Archer chuckled and shook his head, as if this was an old joke to him, "Commander has a crude sense of humor. He named you something stupid to put you down. You don't even LOOK like a banshee, hot stuff."

"I told you not to call me that." Bansha managed, her voice a whisper escaping past slightly trembling lips. Archer was obviously not good at comforting other people. And the last thing Morro wanted was a crying ghost while he was trying to formulate a plan.

"Screaming is cool," Morro piped up. She looked at him with a frown on her lips, as if she didn't believe him, "No, really. It's empowering to have your voice be a weapon. I got stuck with the power of wind. You're much more exciting."

Her frown twitched into a smile that reached her eyes. Morro mirrored her expression, and wondered, for a second, if he could gain a friend or two in his plan to overtake the green ninja.

Archer, however, was not impressed with the emotional exchange between them.

"You've got powers? Why in the world do you need an army of undead's help then? Couldn't you just do it all by yourself?" Archer asked.

Morro paused at this, biting his lip and glancing at the two ghosts. Could he trust them? They had revealed their most painful stories after all, it would only be fair to let them in on some things.

"I'm not the only one with powers. There are many more out there, who threaten my existence. They do not appreciate my ambition, and wish to crush my dreams. Dreams that they themselves had planted in my brain. They are manipulators, violent mercenaries who believe they are protecting this realm by giving its most powerful weapon to a mere child." Morro said. And this story was absolutely true. He had only left out things. He had not added a single fact to the tale that was made up.

"So this realm is important to you?" Bansha asked, her eyes wide and searching once more. He firmly nodded in response.

"It's my home. I would do anything to protect it."

Archer suddenly snorted, making Morro flinch.

"Obviously not. You just released an army of undead soldiers on your precious realm. You're far from protecting it." Archer said, smirking with an arrogance that caused Morro's anger to spike.

"Archer-!" Bansha began.

"No, no, I'd like to hear what he has to say," Morro said with a gleam in his eyes, "Tell me more, Archer."

The ghost rolled his eyes as Morro rested his chin on his hand, his glare a challenge for Archer to take.

"There's nothing to say, idiot. You obviously tripped up. And there's only one way you can get control of this army and come out on top. The way you tell your pity story, and the way you keep flashing us with those puppy dog eyes that scream innocence, I can tell you think you're the good guy. They're in the wrong, you're in the right, blah blah blah," Archer mocked each blah with the roll of his wrist, "BUT! Sometimes, in order to win, you gotta be the bad guy."

"What is your point, Archer?" Morro snapped, snarling at the ghost.

"My point, windbag, is what are you prepared to do? How far are you willing to go to ensure your spot on the throne?" Archer leaned forward at this, getting up in the human's face with a leering grin on his lips, "Cause I can assure you, this isn't going to be all sunshine and daisies."

Morro shifted slightly away from Archer, uncomfortable by the ghostly figure invading his space. The ghost did not follow his retreat and stayed put. However, his chilling grin did not falter from his lips.

Morro's eyes narrowed as he began to catch on.

"What do you have in mind?" Morro questioned, both Bansha and he looking to the male ghost. A lick of madness flickered in Archer's eyes at the question.

"Oh, I have a couple of arrows up my sleeve."

*God I love Archer and Bansha so far XD their interactions are so fun to write, and Archer is such a butthole XD*