I AM SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT. IT'S BEEN FOREVER SINCE I LAST POSTED AND I AM SO SORRY. You all are so patient and I am so lucky to have you all as my readers. College has been a major pain in the butt when it comes to getting motivation to do things that don't have a due date. But I did the thing. You all can thank two of my best friends and my roommate for basically tying me to a chair and making me write this. Again IM SO SORRY AND I LOVE YOU ALL.

And to all of my reviewers: Yes I am still writing this. I promise.

2 Days Before.

As the morning sun crested over the green hills, it found two ghosts, up unusually early, crouched behind an orange tent. They were tense, alert; and yet, there seemed to be excitement in their eyes, the heat of rebellion coiling deep in the pits of their stomachs.

"Are you sure about this?" Bansha hissed under her breath, attempting to be as quiet as she could be.

"I'm hurt, hot stuff," Archer whispered back, fiddling with some odd, clunky device in his hands, "Are you really doubting me?"

"Are you surprised?" She countered, her eyebrows raising in amusement. Archer's hands paused, ceasing their erratic movements on the rusty technology.

"No. I guess not," he responded with a smirk, glancing at her before going back to the device in his hand.

She wasn't going to pretend she knew what Archer was doing. He was quirky, even for a ghost. There was no point in ever questioning him, or trying to figure out what he was doing. Archer was like a hurricane, rushing around at a speed so dangerous that one could lose their sanity in his storm. He worked on a different level than everyone else, plotting and scheming and gambling with your life before you even realized you had spoken to him.

It was no surprise to Bansha that he had become a self-absorbed asshole, having lived in such a different universe his whole life, being the ruler of his own world.

A rustle in a nearby tent caused both of them to freeze in their crouched positions. After a few moments of following silence however, they both let out a breath, adrenaline decreasing just as quickly as it had spiked.

The other ghosts weren't awake yet. The sun had barely even started to rise, and ghosts were known for their tendency to sleep in. But even though the two knew this fact, they still felt jumpy, and every sound made their ghostly hearts pound.

To be caught, doing such a thing as what they were doing, would mean immediate exile to the cursed realm. They had seen it happen before, to previous ghosts who had committed treason against the commander. It was not an enjoyable thing to witness.

And that was why they were hiding behind their faded orange tent, messing with a scrap piece of metal, squatting in the dewy grass while the rest of the ghost army slept on.

Bansha peaked around the tent once more, just to make sure that all ghosts were indeed sleeping. There was no movement, besides the roll of Morro's head on the other end of camp, nodding as if he was reluctantly falling asleep. The poor mortal had been up all night, too uncomfortable and too vulnerable to allow his eyes to close.

"Where do you think he's from?" Archer muttered under his breath, not looking up from the device. She didn't need to ask to know he was talking about Morro. Bansha glared at Archer with narrowed eyes, sensing something deeper than casual conversation. The way in which he asked the question was not his usual light, care-free tone. He sounded skeptical, untrusting, scheming.

"From this world. He said this was his-" Bansha began.

"I could smell it on him," Archer had a dangerous snarl laced in his words, "The cursed realm. It was faint, maybe a couple days old. But he reeked. He's not from around here. There's something he's not telling us."

His tone was concerningly serious, something that never meant happy endings when it was coming from Archer. It usually meant someone was about to be speared in the heart with one of his arrows, or even worse, their soul taken as payment. This was his namesake after all, the "Soul Archer". The business of other's souls was not a laughing manner for him.

"Stop being so dramatic," Bansha scoffed and returned back to her position behind the tent next to Archer, not able to see Morro anymore, "Your conspiracy theories are always so stupid."

Archer pouted at this, bottom lip jutting out as he looked up at her, "I am not dramatic."

"Uh-huh," Bansha snarked, "Not at all."

A smile broke out on his lips, and he shoved Bansha playfully. She fell to the grass, giggling as quietly as she could as Archer went back to the device back in his hands. The thing made a sudden beeping noise, and a blue dot appeared on the dirty, pale green screen.

"Bingo, mi amiga," the ghost whispered excitedly, wide grin spread haphazardly on his face as he quickly glanced at Bansha. She scooted closer to him, looking over his shoulder at the device. It looked like a fuzzy, out of focus radar screen, almost invisible behind the grimy screen. A faint blue dot was blinking in the corner of the screen, only just moving, almost unnoticeable.

"So, are you going to explain what this is now?" Bansha enquired, watching in confusion as Archer's fingers swiftly brushed the dirty buttons and switches.

"Weather." Archer muttered, barely audible as his grin slipped off his face. He was once again in his zone, cutting off the outside world as he concentrated on the radar device. Obviously, in the world he disappeared to when he focused as hard as he was now, saying simply "weather" was enough to communicate everything that was going on in that moment.

"Right. Weather." Bansha repeated, rolling her eyes in frustration, "Everything makes sense now," Archer sighed at her sarcastic tone, and looked at her over his shoulder, pulling his attention reluctantly away from the radar.

"It tracks storms. That blue dot right there? That's a thunderstorm. About…" He paused for a couple of seconds, squinting his eyes as he examined the radar, "Thirty miles north. We've got about an hour until it hits."

Bansha must have been missing something here, because thunderstorms had never struck her as something of much importance, especially when it came to staging a rebellion consisting of two ghosts, and a mortal prisoner.

"And we're tracking thunder because…?"

"Rain, Bansha. Rain."

Bansha's mouth fell into a small "o", everything suddenly making sense. Water was fatal to ghosts. If Morro was able to make an attack during a thunderstorm…

"Brilliant," she breathed, a smile gracing her lips before another question bubbled out of them, "And how did you make such a thing way out here, in the middle of nowhere?"

Archer gave her another shit eating grin.

"Oh, you know. A hope, a prayer, and a little bit of Morro's dark pixie dust. Did you know he's got powers other than the wind ones? He wouldn't tell me how he got these 'dark' powers but..."

Bansha's eyes narrowed as she looked at her friend suspiciously, smile quickly fading.

"Why do have a feeling a gamble was involved in this?" She asked, her chest becoming heavy and full of dread. Archer took a pause before answering.

"Because there's a gamble involved in this." Archer managed, before peeling off in quiet laughter, not able to hold in the hilarity after seeing the complete glare of disappointment on Bansha's face.

"Please don't tell me you bargained for his soul." She groaned, watching the silently shaking figure with growing concern. The last thing she needed was for Morro to be fated with a cursed soul.

"Of course not," Archer whispered, once he was able to control his laughter once more, "I gambled for something much more important."

"Yes? And what was that?" Bansha asked, feeling worry creep slowly up her throat. Of course, she should have know it wasn't something so serious that he had bargained for, in exchange for his help in creating the device. She should have known it would be something so stupid, something like-

"His green hair dye."

His eyes stung, dry and tired from a night with no sleep. He could practically feel the bags under his eyes forming, causing every blink to feel slow and heavy. But he couldn't go to sleep. Hands cuffed behind his back, he was forced into an uncomfortable sitting position, having been left with no room to get comfortable. Morro had some sneaking suspicion the ghost commander had intentionally caused the lack of sleep.

It hadn't helped that Archer had woken Morro up, right before he almost, finally, slipped into sleep. It was not pleasant to be poked awake, only to be asked to conjure "dark magic" in exchange for the green hair dye Morro used.

Someday soon, Morro swore he was going to go mad.

His tired eyes once more flicked over to the tent across the way, Bansha's head peaking out from behind it for the fifth time. As to what they were doing, Morro had not the faintest idea. All Archer had said to do was "get ready for a fight" and "get some good rest". It was frustrating, being in the dark to a plan that he was supposed to be the center of. How were they supposed to be a team if they didn't even communicate? Granted, Morro was being rather sneaky himself, purposefully avoiding many facts that could be considered important. But what Bansha and Archer didn't know couldn't hurt them.

Morro's eyes grew heavier as he thought harder, his body protesting such exertion. If there was to be a battle today as Archer had said, Morro might as well already declare himself dead. Hell, might as well just give up defeating the green ninja. He couldn't even lift his leg.

Morro didn't remember closing his eyes, but next thing he knew, he was being shook by the shoulders.

"Hey! Hey, Morro, wake up!"

His eyes immediately flashed open, malice in their glare as he stared back at Bansha. He knew she probably had good reason to wake him up, but that didn't mean he was happy about it. Bansha quickly took her hands off him, backing up a couple of steps as if to fend off his death stare.

"What." He growled, eyes burning more than they had been before. He was really starting to regret his whole plan, if it meant he would never get a wink of sleep again.

"Sorry. I know you didn't get much sleep, but it's important." Bansha explained, her words urgent.

There was a couple moments of silence as Morro waited for the ghost to tell him what was so very urgent. But she simply stared at him, anxiety in her eyes as if she was afraid of being attacked by the sleep deprived Morro.

"Well? Isn't it urgent?" Morro snarled through his teeth, annoyance starting to seep in.

"Uh, right. Well, Archer made the decision, and really, I had nothing to do with this, I swear, I would have talked to you fir-"

"Bansha. Please." Morro interrupted. The ghost took a deep breath, as if she was about to light a fuse to a bomb that would end badly.

"Archer told the commander that you challenged him to duel?" It sounded more like a question than it did a statement, as if she was reluctant to say it. Her voice squeaked towards the end of her sentence, reminding Morro of a scared mouse.

"What," Morro hissed, Bansha flinching at his response. He instinctively pulled on his restraints, metal biting into his wrists as he tried to reach the ghost in his anger. He wanted to get close, to tower over her and spit his rage like some untamed dragon. But all he could do was tug and thrash helplessly against his prison. This was his plan, this was his victory, and Archer thought it would be okay to plan their escape for him? No, this was certainly not okay. Not in the slightest.

Bansha took a couple bit more steps back, this time raising her hands in somewhat of a surrender, "Archer has a plan to ensure your victory. I'm not defending him, but he wouldn't do something so impulsive unless he was sure he knew the outcome."

"Oh?" Morro snapped, "And what if his ideal outcome is to get me killed? Are you really so thick as to think that betrayal is below your friend?"

Bansha lowered her hands as a stony look settled on her face, determination and confidence arising in her ghostly eyes, "Archer may be a self-centered jerk with no boundaries, but he isn't a backstabber."

Usually, Morro wasn't one to trust on words alone. He took care in not making friends, and rarely did he ever put his life in the hands of another. But there was a pull to trust Bansha, a need to believe that she was right. A need for her to be a friend, free from ulterior motives and hidden agendas.

Maybe this blinded trust would end in his demise. Maybe someday, he would deeply regret ever becoming fond of this ghost. But Morro always got what he wanted, and if that something wasn't good for him; well, he was too impulsive to care.

"Nevermind. There are more pressing matters to worry about right now. Like this duel that I've been roped into. How does Archer plan on getting me out of this alive?" Morro asked, leaning back into his position again, letting the restraints loosen their grip on his wrists. Bansha's shoulders relaxed at Morro's retreat from his anger, coupled with a mischievous glint in her eye that no other would have thought her capable of, at a glance.

"A storm. Archer has tracked and located a storm." The ghost said. Behind these words, Morro could see the need for rebellion flicking like fire in her eyes; a fire that had once been a simple dull flame.

Morro's stomach flipped at the news, at the implication of what a storm could mean for them. Suddenly, any tiredness he felt, any stinging in his eyes, immediately disappeared. It was instead replaced with a desire to win, the promise of a fight boiling his blood in the most pleasurable way imaginable.

"Rain!" Morro exclaimed in excitement, now pulling at the chains with a whole new emotion, "Water is fatal to ghosts!"

All they had to do was wait for the rain. Make sure that Bansha and Archer got into a tent in time, stall long enough for the storm to approach, and they would win! Morro was certain he had never felt so excited as he did now.

All anger was now forgotten, having been replaced with the sweet taste of victory that Morro had missed so dearly. Finally, finally, some cards were in his favor. He finally had the upper-hand, after being dealt failure after failure.

Bansha smiled at him as her new friend got excited. To Morro, the smile seemed completely genuine, not anything short of happiness.

However, in his distraction, he did not see the way her smile was thin and stretched, or how it did not reach her eyes.

"We need to gather more ghosts to aid us when we take over this realm!" Morro exclaimed, fists clenching and unclenching behind his back in excitement, "Bansha, gather whoever you can, whoever you trust! We need as many ghosts as we can!"

"Of course. I'll tell Archer to do the same." Bansha replied, before quickly jogging (floating?) off, presumably to find the male ghost. Morro was left behind to smile at himself foolishly, looking mental to any ghost that passed by.

Morro did not see the way Bansha's strained smile immediately wiped off her face as she turned away from him, a troubled frown gracing her lips instead.

Bansha was not dumb. She could be considered naive by many people; puppy-eyed and happy to help. But she knew when something was fishy, and she knew to never ignore Archer's suspicions about anyone, especially about someone who, apparently, smelled like the cursed realm after all. Someone who not only smelled like the Cursed Realm, but also knew about a ghost's weakness.

Ghosts kept their weaknesses a secret. Water was always too easy for the living to use, too easy to destroy the undead in an instant. For any mortal to know such a secret that they had tried to keep so well hidden… It was blasphemy. There was no innocent explanation as to why Morro had known such a fact. There was no way Morro could have come across that information by happenstance.

There was no denying the smell, either. That unmistakable musk that only came from the cursed realm. And only the worst of the worst went there. Most ghosts went to Asphodel, to live a rather boring afterlife. Not even the commander had been to the cursed realm, and he was one of the most evil creatures Bansha had ever met.

What if they were on the wrong side of this revolution? There was no doubt in Bansha's mind that she wanted to get out of this hell to go and live as she had always wanted... But maybe Morro wasn't the sign they had been looking for. Maybe he wasn't exactly the protagonist of his tale.

Bansha knew Archer wouldn't terribly mind being the bad guy, as long as it meant a little adventure. This was something different though. This felt like they were dealing with god who had fallen from his throne, and was now scrambling to get back on top of it. This felt like the tale of Icarus, a boy with wax wings who got too close to the sun, whose wings melt, and who found his death in the sea below him.

She cursed under her breath and picked up her pace, traveling faster towards Archer's tent. He was right, she was always too trusting, always too willing to see the best out of everyone she met. It would get them into trouble someday. It possibly already had with Morro.

"Archer?" She called from the tent entrance once she arrived, tension clear in her voice. She heard some rustling coming from inside the tent, and she was almost about to enter in concern, when Archer's head poked through the door.

"What?" He snarled angrily, flashing his teeth in frustration. However, upon seeing it was only Bansha, the emotion immediately wiped off his face. "Oh, it's you. I thought you were Ghoultar, asking me for more food. Come in."

Archer's head disappeared back through the tent's flaps, Bansha following behind him.

Let it be known that Archer was not a clean man. There were spare metal parts littering the ground, surely fatal for any living creature who tried to walk into his tent. It didn't bother a ghost of course, they passed through such things as scrap pieces of metal on the floor. There was trash haphazardly thrown into a corner, as if that corner in the tent was his trash can. The only thing that was kept neat in his living space was his arrows, placed carefully in his quiver and hung next to his bow.

"Ghoultar really isn't that bad. He just has a one-track mind, that's all," Bansha said as she sat down in the one small space not covered in rubbish. The other ghost stared incredulously at his friend, obviously questioning her sanity in saying such a thing.

"Well, he needs to take that one-track mind somewhere else before I split his skull open," Archer grumbled, looking away from her as he fiddled with something arbitrary in his hands.

They sat in silence for a couple of seconds looking down at the ground, in their own thoughts, before either of them spoke.

"Morro knew about the water," Bansha started with, anxiety pooling in her stomach just from saying such words. Archer's head snapped up, eyes immediately boring into Bansha.

"What?" he asked.

"He already knew water was fatal to ghosts. And you were right, he doesn't smell like a normal mortal," Bansha said, gritting her teeth at her naivety. Of course he didn't smell right, how had she missed it?

She expected Archer to rub it in her face, to bask in his "I told you so" moment. But the ghost only clenched his fists and looked down at whatever he was tinkering with as if it had personally wronged him.

A silence fell over the two ghosts, an uncomfortable quiet that was heavy with deep thoughts and second guessing. They had been wrong to trust Morro, that much Bansha knew. Were they to risk their lives to stage a rebellion with a man who lied? Was there any way this rebellion could come out in their favor? Any way at all?

Bansha was almost ready to give up, to suggest they do away with the whole plan. She opened her mouth to say as such, when Archer's eyes snapped up to meet Bansha's.

"We've gotten ourselves into the mess," Archer stated, with that determined fire in his eyes that seemed always present, "And we're going to stay in it, no matter how rough it gets. And afterwards, when the rebellion goes exactly as we planned, we'll knock the little lying shit upside the head until he tells us where he really came from."

Ten minutes. Ten minutes until he was to face off with the commander of the ghost army. Ten ghastly minutes to spend in a nervous frenzy before he was to begin a hopefully successful takeover.

Morro shifted in his restraints as cheers roared from inside the commander's tent, across the camp from where he was currently held. It seemed as though almost every ghost was in that tent, performing some odd pre-game ritual involving shouts and clanging. Well, that was, every ghost except Bansha, Archer, and anyone else they had recruited.

As of right now, the little rebellious group was hiding in Archer's tent, hiding from the rain and waiting for Morro to succeed. And he would succeed. He had to. All he had to do was use enough wind to drag the storm faster to the campsite. It was not a hard task to complete, Morro had done much more difficult things before.

But he was nervous. Oh, was he nervous. His future was at the stake, the lives of his allies were on the line as well. Never had another's life been such a burden on him as it was now. He should care less about Bansha and Archer. He knew he was more important than they ever would be in the grand scheme of things. But these ghosts… They were special. Too much like him, too relatable for him to toss in the back of his mind.

Morro was suddenly brought out of his thoughts to the sound of yelling and clanging, the horde of ghosts finally marching out of the tent in a cheerful brigade. Morro swallowed thickly and tried to put on his most afraid face. It was better to fake the commander into thinking he wouldn't have to try as hard to defeat Morro. With his guard down, he wouldn't be able to flee from the rain that would eventually be his undoing. That being said, Morro didn't really need to act scared; it felt too real to be acting.

"Puny little mortal, are you ready to fight? You do realize you are about to die, yes?" The commander snarked as he walked towards the center of the tent circle. His followers traveled on his heels, placing ghostly armor on him as he walked. An impressive image, most likely meant to strike fear into the heart of the opponent. It wasn't necessarily failing.

Morro kept his mouth shut, refusing to respond as two ghost henchman came over to release him from his restraints. As soon as the wretched things were off, he snatched his wrists away from the ghosts, rubbing them as if to sooth the rawness.

The two ghosts nudged him forward once he was on his feet, guiding him towards the center of the camp where the commander stood in wait. Morro's heart was beating in a frenzy of sorts, each step taking him towards his possible doom. Everything hung in the balance for this fight. To win this would be victory towards becoming the true green ninja, to calming his rightful place. And he had left such important plans, such a fragile future, to a ghost named Archer. What the hell was he think-

"Are you going to cry, mortal?" The commander asked with a bitter laugh, a smirk clear on his face, "You look ready to flee in fear. Will you?"

Morro tried to force determination onto his face. He tried to show an air of courage in his stance. But his confidence was crumbling quickly. He had yet to see storm clouds approach, the one thing all of this was banking on. He swore, if Archer's plan didn't work, Morro would come back from the dead again and haunt the ghost for the rest of his eternal life.

"I won't flee. What about you? Are you afraid to get beaten by a mortal?" Morro responded with a sneer. The commander scowled in response and held out his hand towards his crowd of supporters behind him. One of them hastily handed him a sword, which he immediately swung in an act of intimidation.

Morro's heart began to pump faster. He wasn't going to win this. He was going to lose. He was going to die by the hands of a ghost. He would never be known as the savior to his beloved world.

The commander took a couple of steps forward before jabbing at Morro in a quick movement. Morro flinched, jumping back at the obvious taunt. The ghost cackled along with his army, and Morro could feel the fear seeping into his eyes, haunting his every movement.

The commander took another swing, this time meaning to make purchase with Morro's body. Morro jumped out of the way yet again, planning on dodging until he got hit and eventually died.

Just as he was planning his quickest escape route, however, he suddenly felt a thrum in his veins. A sense of upcoming power curling in his gut that he only knew as a storm. The feeling of harsh winds close by, the raw power just waiting to be tamed.

Morro chanced a glance to the sky on the horizon, directing his attention away from the commander with a deadly sword.

Beyond the ghost's figure, dark grey clouds were forming. Ominous, stormy clouds the the commander could not see. Joy leaped in Morro's throat at the sight, threatening to come out as a shout of elation. The storm was coming, and he could feel it within himself. He tugged on the feeling, the storm immediately reacting to his summons. He was going to win this. He was going to be able to defeat the commander. His desire changed from wanting to haunt Archer, to wanting to kiss him for existing.

In his thoughts, however, Morro forgot about the fact that his life was currently in jeopardy due to a sword-wielding ghost leader. A slice of the sword nicked Morro's arm, quickly bringing him back to the present with an unsightly welcome.

"Gah!" Morro shouted in sudden pain, grasping his arm and dodging the next swing the commander took.

"Getting too bored? Let me make things entertaining for you then, shall we?" The commander spat at Morro, before rushing at him with sword pointed at his chest. Morro jumped back yet again, remembering that yes, he had to stay alive in order for this plan to work. He had to avoid the commander as long as he possibly could. Since he didn't have a weapon, or anything to combat the commander with, Morro did the best thing that he could in the situation.

He ran.

"What do you think you are doing, mortal? Do you think running in circles will save you?" The commander shouted in laughter, the crowd of ghosts howling at the scene of the pitiful mortal running in wide circles around the commander. They had no idea what was about to hit them, no idea that Morro had the upper hand, despite how silly he looked.

The tugging sensation grew stronger in his veins. The storm was close now, close enough to force it the rest of the way to the camp, to speed it to an unnatural limit. The rain would be on them any moment, and the ghosts that were jeering would soon be eliminated.

Morro clenched his arm tighter in pain, could feel the crimson blood soaking his hand as he ran. But he had felt much worse than this. This was nothing, nothing compared to the feeling of being betrayed by the only person who you thought loved you.

"Stop playing these foolish games! Fight me, you coward!" The commander shouted in anger before sticking out his foot, tripping Morro to the ground. He reached out to soften his fall, but his weak and bloody arm collapsed beneath him, leaving him to faceplant into the dirt. The ghost army laughed even louder at this, loving the humiliation as if it was a game.

But it did not matter what they found funny, because at that moment, Morro's gut gave the strongest tug yet before completely dissipating from his system. His powers had done their job. The storm was here.

The first rain drop was silent. No ghost noticed their impending doom closing in on them, too focused on their laughing. But the second drop of rain was noticed. A yelp from the crowd, as if one of them had been stung by an especially violent bee, was heard. The crowd still jeered, yet it quieted, as if confusion was quickly setting in.

The third and fourth and fifth rain drop hit, and suddenly, ghosts were wailing from the pain. The knelt to the ground, writhing in the storm as the water pierced through their translucent existence. The commander dropped their sword, the weapon hitting the now muddy ground with a slop. Each rain drop was piercing his green body, creating holes of space, as if the ghost was being shot time and time again.

Morro sat in the mud with a grin on his face as the commander glared down at him in hate. Water streamed down Morro's face, his hair becoming drenched, but the water was worth the satisfaction that came with watching the downfall of the commander. His rise to power was beginning.

And in the storm, sitting in the soggy mud, in the thunder and the rain that was ruining his clothes, Morro had never felt as powerful as he did in that moment.

1 Day Before

After the defeat of the commander, it did not take long for Morro's plan to begin. However, Bansha and Archer cornered him, talking to Morro with angry expressions and frustrated tones.

"You're from the cursed realm, we know you are," Bansha accused.

"You're just a lying little twerp, aren't you? Who are you really, 'Morro'?" Archer had emphasized with air quotations.

Morro hadn't had a choice but to tell them. They refused to move out of camp with the small army that they had collected for Morro until he told them the truth. He didn't want to, of course. Even he could see how maybe he would look like the bad guy to many people. But they understood, he had been wronged, he had been told he was something and then told he was not. And they understood this more than he would have ever thought they would.

The army of ghosts that Bansha and Archer had collected was formidable enough for him to work with. And with each person they killed, of course, the army would evidently grow.

I'll need you to take Jamanakai village," Morro ordered Bansha, talking to the whole group as he pointed to a map of Ninjago he had laid on the commander's table, "You and your troops will kill as many people as you can there. Set up camp, maintain a strong perimeter, the works. Jamanakai village is the hub for all communication. The city is too invested in their technology to know what to do when it's shut off."

Bansha nodded, shooting a small smile at Morro before turning to the troops and ordering them to start grabbing the materials. Morro smiled to himself in response, before turning to Archer and his men.

"There is a small town way out on the outskirts of the Ninjago City limit. It's a peaceful town. There shouldn't be any trouble in taking it over and setting up camp. Same deal there as well, take out as many locals as you can. The more dead, the more to command. As soon as you take over the town, move towards the city. By that point, both of you and your troops will have enough dead to plant another sector in the city on standby until my signal."

Archer nodded, yet he did not turn to his troops as Bansha did. Instead, as ever the Archer they knew and didn't really love, he argued.

"But how will we make this work? We can't just attack as soon as we get there. Two attacks going off at different times could be catastrophic. We could be spread too thin and lose the momentum. How are we going to know when to att-" Archer was in a rant, but Morro stopped him before he could continue to plant doubt in Morro's leadership. Of course Archer did not mean it in this way, and yet the ghost did need to learn how to trust Morro.

"You will know. Just trust me. You will hear my signal and know," Morro ensured.

Archer squinted in question at Morro, but the ghost turned to his troops none the less, accepting his answer even if a little questionable.

Soon the troops were off, Bansha confidently leading her sector and Archer passively leading his. Morro watched them off with pride and glee until they disappeared beyond the horizon towards their destination.

Morro hiked his bag full of materials on his back before heading in his own direction towards his personal goal. The Island of Darkness, the old spinjitzu master had said. That was where Morro had to go in order to ever reach his goal.

And soon, Sensei Wu and all of Ninjago would know who their true savior was.

DUN DUN DUN

Can any of you tell I'm tired of writing full Morro chapters yet XD Man that ending was rushed but it's okay because I want to get back to our cliffhanger and our gay boys. See you next time, hopefully not in 5 months (can you tell how sorry I am *cries* You all are too good for me)