A/N: Similar to "Beyond Lost Merit is Love", this story is a quasi-crossover with Paw Patrol but does not include any Paw Patrol characters. That being said, there is a passing reference made to OCs from my Ninjago/Paw Patrol crossovers, but as they do not take part in the immediate crisis, this cannot be said to be a true crossover. Alternatively, this can be read as an AU in which Morro is mortal and has joined the team as the Wind Ninja during the events of Crystallized. There is slight canon divergence concerning those events, as well as the events of Season 5, but it shouldn't take away from the excitement of the story.
TW: canon character death depicted (not gruesome, just difficult to discuss)
Cole bit back a shriek of fright as he hung unsteadily between the heavens and the black cloud of Oni power shrouding the city like a fog of eternal darkness. Chills shuddered up his spine as he struggled not to fall—for to fall would mean that he would be frozen like all the others not quick enough to escape the deadly mist's influence. All those who had been grabbed by the mist's tendrils or swallowed up by its dark fume-like clouds had frozen in their tracks, falling into a deep mental sleep, a sleep from which no one could awaken.
Cole himself had tasted of the mist's power. Shivers rattled through his entire frame as he recalled the currents of frigid darkness that had ebbed through his veins from a mere touch of one of the tendrils latching like a leech onto his leg…the panic that shot painfully through his spine as his well-trained ninja body reflexively lashed out and writhed and seethed violently in that horrible grip, not willing to let him slip under the Oni's influence…the faint whispers in his mind urging him to let go, to give in and let himself fall into the deep, uninterrupted, deceptively peaceful slumber the darkness promised…
Oh, how he hated being upside-down. He couldn't focus—his whole world felt unbalanced. His mind was spinning with panic and dizziness and disorientation combined, and he could feel his heart pounding like a gong from sheer, raw fright as he fought to thrust himself upright again—to no avail. He could feel the blood rushing to his head, and his ears were ringing from the frightened cries of his friends calling down at him to hang on. He wanted to shout back that he was trying, but his words were swallowed up by the blustery wind gusts battering him mercilessly as he dangled helplessly like a spider hanging from one strand of its web. Talk about hanging on by a thread, he thought frantically to himself, eyes widening with fright that spiked more and more by the minute. He risked a glance down and gulped. That was a long way to fall, and if the fall didn't kill him, the mist would.
Then the Bounty jerked violently backward, and he didn't even have time to scream before his foot slipped out of the ladder rungs entirely, and he tumbled downward like a rock, arms and legs flailing uncontrollably as he struggled to grab onto something—anything—to break his fall. But his fists clutched nothing but air. He tried to summon his Earth Dragon—but he was too scared to call upon it properly. He heard Jay's frantic, sorrowful voice screaming his name in horror and disbelief…and then the darkness swallowed him.
The first sensation that struck him was cold. Brutal, bitter, biting cold that ravaged his body mercilessly, even as he continued to fall. His partial immunity to dark forces (given to him by the Rift of Return, no less) struggled against it, pushing back against the seductive suggestions of the Oni cloud's power to lay bare his will and let the darkness tap into it. His forehead burned with heat and chills combined, as his scar involuntarily lit up with a fiery-orange light. But the cold continued to push against him, swirling through every fiber in his frame, surging uncontrollably through his veins even as he fought and thrashed against the blackness surrounding him. A hazy numbness started to seep into his bones and still his frantic nerves, as the whispers of the monstrous Oni power drifted back into his mind, tempting him, urging him to sleep—to sleep and let the darkness bind him fast, to trap him within himself, so deep and dark within that he would never come back out.
And even as he wrestled and struggled against the whispers, he started to feel dizzy and lightheaded and half-asleep as the numbness steadily grew stronger. The cold was stronger now too, but for some strange reason, he didn't mind. The whispers—raspy and sharp and screechy like nails on a chalkboard before—were steadily growing softer, gentler, mesmerizing him and soothing him with their hypnotic influence—almost as if his mother were tucking him tenderly into bed underneath his warm, fuzzy orange tiger-pattern blanket, as she gently sang a lullaby underneath her breath, calming his every fear…
Tendrils of the darkness were rising to meet him. They curled tightly around his frame, pulling him steadily downward toward the ground. One wrapped itself around his neck, placing him in a chokehold not designed to kill, but to render unconscious, submissive, docile. But he didn't struggle—he didn't fight—he didn't make any move to resist.
Only a fragment of his mind still protested, screeching loudly at him to wake up, to fight the Oni's influence. He pushed it away, silently begging it to leave him alone so he could sleep. But it instead grew louder and louder, until he let out a frustrated groan and curled in on himself, willing it to go away—and then the darkness pounced. The whole world suddenly went black, and his consciousness was snuffed out so fast that he wasn't alert for when the glass window shattered underneath his weight.
"NO!" Cole screamed as he bolted upright, his hands clutched tightly around his neck. His whole body was drenched in a frigidly cold sweat, and his breathing was shaky and shallow as his lungs spasmed uncontrollably with fright—his heart pounding like a stampede of skittish wild horses. In a desperate attempt to ensure he was still in one piece, he slowly eased his trembling hands off from around his neck and began moving them over his legs, his arms, his chest, and as much of his back as he could reach before he gently stroked his shoulders—first one and then the other—and ran his sweaty, clammy palms through his raven-black hair. His touch lingered on the scar streaking down the left side of his face before his hands dropped limply into his lap and he let out a shuddery sigh of relief. He was okay—he was safe.
Safe in his own bed.
Safe in the Dojo of Spinjitzu.
Safe.
There were no dark tentacles looking to grab him. There was no tendrils of Oni power seeking to wrap him in their deadly influence.
He was safe.
Safe.
Safe.
Yet—why did he still feel so freakishly cold?
His head spun with confusion. It shouldn't be this cold, even in the dead of the night. And the longer he sat there, the worse the cold got. He wondered if perhaps Zane had accidentally flash-frozen the Dojo again. (Don't ask—you don't want to know.) And then he remembered Zane couldn't—because he didn't have his elemental powers.
None of them did—save Lloyd. But that was only because he'd turned into a dragon. After turning into an Oni—something that still sent shivers shuddering up Cole's spine just to think about. He'd seen enough of the Oni when he fell into that stupid cloud. But the fact that one of the team's own could literally turn into one of those nightmarish monsters was enough to make the Earth Ninja's skin absolutely crawl with a horrendous case of the willies.
Not that he'd admit that in a hundred years—especially not to Lloyd's face. The kid had already been through so much—he didn't need the fears of the other Ninja clamping down on his shoulders right now. That poor energy-wielder had already gone through being captured, tazed multiple times, nearly drowned in quicksand, Crystallized, having his Oni powers used to bring back the Overlord (yikes!), breaking his arm (twice), and probably a whole list of other atrocities that Cole wasn't even aware of—and that he didn't have the nerve to ask about.
But that was trivial compared to the cold shuddering through his body right now. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself, struggling to find even a smidgen of warmth. But it didn't work. The frigid chills continued to rattle through his spine, piercing and swirling and ebbing through his veins, trickling through his nerves, sweeping through every fiber in his freezing, shivering, shaking frame until he was absolutely overwhelmed with numbness and cold. He laid back down on the bed and curled into a tight ball, gritting his chattering teeth furiously, seeking fervently for warmth of any kind—even just a flicker or a spark of heat. Then he risked a glance up at the thermostat. It read 70 degrees.
70 degrees? But why did it feel like 30? Even as he lay there, he felt like the chills were starting to penetrate into the very depths of his being, piercing deep into his core before twisting there and freezing his nerves into little prickling shards of ice as he shuddered and shook like a leaf battered about by a hurricane. And the feeling of it absolutely terrified him.
Trembling, he lowered his wobbly legs to the floor and staggered over to his dresser. He was frightened to stop hugging himself so tightly, but he somehow screwed up the courage to let go and reach out with one hand to softly pull open the middle dresser drawer and draw out an orange and black sweater that Nya's mom had made for him earlier that week. Continuing to shiver, he slowly drew the sweater over his PJ shirt, hoping that it would help him stop feeling so frigid. It helped warm him up a little, but he still felt very, very cold.
As if that weren't bad enough, he was beginning to feel very dizzy and lightheaded, like he'd been underwater for way too long. His eyelashes fluttered uncontrollably as he struggled to stay awake and alert. He leaned himself heavily against the adjacent wall, squeezing his eyes shut, sucking in shaky breaths until he was certain he wasn't going to pass out on the floor unexpectedly. Then he slumped down to the wooden boards of the floor beneath him, hugging his knees tightly to his chest, focusing on doing nothing but pulling in one shaky, tremoring breath at a time.
His cheeks were so frigidly numb…his hands had almost no feeling in them at all…and when he breathed out, he thought he could see a white mist forming in the air in front of him. That couldn't be good—could it? He stirred and twitched and shuffled his legs, trying to get comfortable as he huddled desperately against the wall in a miserable little ball on the hard oak floor.
He really hoped this was just a trick his mind was playing on him—because if it was someone's (and by someone, he meant Jay) idea of a joke, he was definitely going to have a few choice words for the bluebell about how the prank wasn't even slightly hilarious. Though why Jay would ever get in his mind the inkling to mess with the thermostat and make it read a false temperature was beyond him. All the same, this wasn't funny—not even a little bit.
The numbness was even stronger now, and he was starting to feel a little dazed and exhausted—yet when he closed his eyes, he found that sleep would not come to him. At least if he were dream-bound, snoozing away against the wall, the cold wouldn't be so tough to deal with. But his mind was refusing to settle down, and the shadows of slumber simply wouldn't come to his weary frame.
What did come to him, though, was pain. As he sat there, battered by chills that made him shiver and shake uncontrollably, he could feel a dull ache creeping into his veins. Before long, it had spread to his entire body, radiating furiously through his shoulder blades, his neck, his collarbone, his ribs, his hands and feet—everything. His ears burned. His forehead pounded lightly in his ears. And his fingertips were frigidly sore as he curled and uncurled his hands into tight fists semiconsciously.
Over and over again he cycled through currents of numbness followed by the pins-and-needles feeling of pain that trickled through his spine and oozed into his joints. He closed his eyes again and tried to let the channels of deep, peaceful sleep swallow him up in unconsciousness. But when he did so, his breath caught in his throat as he realized he couldn't feel anything.
His hands were blue. His muscles were still and lifeless. His nerves were completely numb. He had no way of knowing where his body was in space. He felt as if he was fading again—just as he had on that fateful Day of the Departed. Worse yet, he could feel his mind reeling with panic at the shock of not being able to feel a single, solitary thing.
And then there came a dull ache in his left shoulder—an ache that suddenly spiked into a sheer, mind-numbing, nail-biting pain that sucked away any coherent thought within him—save for one horrendous, heart-stilling memory that surged through his mind unbidden. No, no, please, no! he thought to himself. But before he could make a move, his body stiffened and his vision was drowned out by darkness as he fell headlong into another nightmare.
"I got it!" Cole shouted victoriously at the top of his lungs as he scrambled and scampered eagerly towards the door of the Dojo of Airjitzu. "Guys, I got the scroll!" In his hurry, he tripped on the top stair, tumbling down and landing in a hilarious heap on the ground, holding the Scroll of Airjitzu aloft in triumph.
But his celebration was cut short when he realized that no one was saying a word. Just standing there, staring at him. In a flurry of panic, he scrabbled to his feet and asked, "What's wrong? Why—why are you looking at me like that?" And then he realized something. When he tripped, he should have felt the wood of the stairs underneath him as he tumbled. When he crashed in a heap, he should have been able to feel the pebbles pressing into his skin and the wind blowing on his face. But he hadn't felt any of those things. The only sensation he felt was a minor ache in his arm that, under normal circumstances, would mean that he was going to wind up having a bruise there later.
But for some strange reason, it was barely noticeable—he could barely feel it at all. And already the pain was starting to fade.
That couldn't be natural—could it?
His head began to spin in confusion, as he struggled to comprehend what was happening to him. His vision became gradually blurrier and fuzzier by the moment and his breathing shallower and shallower by the second as he hovered just a few heartthrobs away from a full-out panic attack. It wasn't at all helpful that the sun was so horribly bright—so bright that he had to squint his eyes to keep from being blinded by its rays.
And then he realized something even more terrible. The sun was bright, but he felt strangely…cold. Chills were swirling through his body like a raging storm, almost as if he'd taken way too long of a dip in a frigid lake or river—except that he was perfectly dry.
More than that—he felt not just cold, but empty—like his core deep within him had been drained away, leaving only a deep and dismal void in its place…not unlike the void that the Dojo of Airjitzu had been trapped in just moments before.
How could this be? Why did he feel so empty, so lifeless, so broken inside himself—like he was missing something?
Missing…what?
And that's when he realized the truth. No! No, it can't be! No, please, no! Not that! Anything but that!
Swallowing back a lump in his throat, he stammered, "Tell me—why are you guys looking at me like that?!" His voice was on the verge of sheer panic. His hands trembled convulsively. And the chills seemed to get even stronger as he just stood there, not wanting to believe what might be.
And then the world seemed to darken all around him as, like through a fog, he heard someone saying to him, "Um, Cole, you—you didn't—you didn't make…" The voice died away for a second and then finished in an almost inaudible whisper, "You didn't make it out in time."
A pang of sorrow struck a chord deep within Cole's heart and mind as the proclamation of his fate clanged heavily in his ears. His lip suddenly quivered in disbelief, and he struggled to not look down in front of him, afraid to gaze down at the puddle in front of him and see the ghostly green aura and transparency of his hands, his arms, to see everything that made him human replaced by a shadow—a shadeling.
Then something deep within him forced him to look down anyway—to take in the full weight of the ghastly transformation he'd gone through. And when he saw the reflection in the puddle, he almost fainted. Was that him? Was that really him? How could this be true? HOW WAS IT POSSIBLE?!
And then, in a shaky, trembling whimper, he cried out, "I'm…I'm a…GHOST!" And then his legs buckled underneath him, and he crumpled to the ground, missing the puddle by mere inches. His body shook with dry, tearless sobs as he curled up into a little miserable heap on the sand, longing for what had been taken from him to come back. But he knew deep within himself that it was hopeless. The tour guide had said a transformation like his was permanent. He'd be a ghost for all eternity.
Eternity. To some it seemed like a wonderful state to be in. But when it meant that you had to live your life—nay, afterlife—trapped in the form you feared the most, eternity wasn't a blessing. It was a curse. And the worst of it was that there was no cure. He'd be like this for however long he survived. The only escape was to get wet, and he wasn't willing to go that way.
A hand tried to touch his shoulder in a gesture of comfort, but it just phased through him—only solidifying the fact that he was stuck like this forever. And the mere thought of spending the remainder of time trapped in a half-life of longing for what had once been shook him to whatever core he might have left.
A sudden, abrupt thud shook Cole out of his unconsciousness. He jolted forward in surprise, toppling into a heap on the floor, still shaking and shivering even underneath his sweater. Then his ears caught a murmured, breezy whisper of, "Stupid mortal body!" Even pressed against the hard wooden boards of the floor, Cole recognized instantly whom the voice—currently lined with annoyance and smothered anger—belonged to.
It was Morro—though why he'd be up at this hour was beyond Cole's comprehension. Night owl that he was, he wasn't dumb enough to be up in the middle of the night—unless it was for a good reason.
With shaky hands, Cole pulled himself up off the floor, teetering unsteadily for a few minutes before managing to stay upright without his legs threatening to buckle underneath him. A wheezy hiss escaped him as he took one shaky step forward and stumbled headlong into the closed door. Now his shoulder hurt even worse than before as he crumpled helplessly to the ground. As he struggled to his feet again, hugging himself tightly in the hopes that he'd have some sort of way to feel himself in space, the doorknob slowly turned and the door's hinges creaked noisily as a hand reached around the doorway. Then a head poked in, and Cole instantly recognized Morro's shaggy mop of obsidian-black hair and the very distinctive emerald-green hair streak that seemed to glow in the dim semidarkness. The wind-master's left cheek had a quite poignantly red indentation vaguely shaped like a doorknob, and Cole realized that the thud he'd heard was actually Morro tripping on something in the dark and more-or-less faceplanting the bedroom door as he fell.
"Morro?" Cole whispered, his voice strangely hoarse and ragged as he struggled to hide how cold and weak he felt. "What are…you doing up?"
"Cole?" Morro whispered back, his cheeks reddening a bit in embarrassment over…well, something. "I…I need your h-" He blushed an even brighter red—almost the same color as a beet—and stammered, "Ineedyourhelp." Then he clamped his mouth shut, as if it had taken all the courage and willpower he could muster just to admit that.
He fidgeted a little, leaning back on the balls of his feet before rolling them so that he was standing on tiptoe. Then he breathed in and out, in and out, several times in succession, as if gathering his wits about him—before taking a quick glance around the room, grabbing Cole's collar in one lightning-fast movement, and half-dragging, half-jerking the earth-wielder into the hallway, slamming the door behind him. If Cole hadn't been feeling so cold and sluggish, he would've decked the wind-master right then and there.
Cole squirmed and tussled frantically in Morro's grasp, demanding under his breath, "What'd you do that for?"
"I was too afraid that one of the others might wake up." the wind-wielder whispered in a trembling, half-whimpering voice. "I need your help, Cole. It's Lloyd." he continued, letting go of Cole's collar as he did so. "He's having a…a really bad nightmare…and I don't know what to do. You're better at this than I am." As he finished, his gaze lowered to the floor and he shuffled his feet in nervousness, staring at his shoes, not meeting Cole's gaze. If Cole hadn't known beforehand that Morro had difficulty admitting when he actually needed help, he would've assumed that the wind-wielder was just trying to rope him into some sort of trap.
It had taken a long time, but after getting to know Morro a little better, the Earth Ninja was starting to recognize that Morro was a lot like himself in some ways and like Lloyd in others. Like Lloyd, the wind-wielder had been abandoned by his mother at a young age and spent many years of his life fending for himself. He'd lost the only family he'd ever had in an attack by the former Master of Amber—including his sister Sylph, the Master of Teleportation—who'd been sucked into the Ethereal Divide and lay trapped in there ever since.
Like Lloyd, he had difficulty admitting when he couldn't handle matters on his own—when he needed the others' help to accomplish a mission or task.
And like Lloyd, he struggled with memories of a not-so-pleasant past, as well as a whole barrage of trust issues that still had yet to be fully resolved.
However, he was like Cole in several ways too. He was quiet, preferring to keep to himself. He liked music (believe it or not), and though he suffered from a continual case of stage fright around the others, he would still sing for them from time to time when he worked up the nerve to do so—and it was clear that he was very skilled in musicality.
He struggled to express himself, like Cole did, and he preferred to work his troubles out with a punching bag as opposed to talking them out with others.
Some avid Ninja fans had even said that Morro and Cole sounded alike when they spoke. And while several years ago Cole would have protested that the rumor was far-fetched at best, now that Cole's voice was finally changing from a shaky teenage tenor to a steady mature baritone, the idea wasn't as far-fetched as he'd thought before. The voices and speech patterns of the two definitely sounded similar, if not the same.
The Earth Ninja's thoughts were interrupted by a small cough. He blinked in surprise at the sound, peering at Morro intently, wondering if perhaps the wind-wielder was coming down with some sort of cold. But Morro was too engrossed in swaying side to side with his eyes closed, humming to himself faintly, clasping the brown-and-blond big-cat plushie he held tightly to his chest and stroking it with his cheek—a gesture Cole immediately recognized as Morro's instinctive coping mechanism for when his mind was being battered by fatigue and stress intertwining with each other.
But then there came another cough—this time even louder and so intense that Cole's head bobbed downward for a second before shooting back up again. That definitely couldn't have come from Morro. Then the loudest cough of all came, and as Cole's elbow came up reflexively to cover it, that's when he realized that he had been the one coughing. To make matters worse, he was starting to feel imbalanced and dazed. Waves of dizziness flooded his senses, and black spots danced in front of his eyes. He swayed and stumbled backwards, smacking his head painfully on the back wall. The blow managed to ward off the dizziness, and he groaned inwardly to himself as he realized he'd lost track of his body in space again.
What in all of Ninjago is happening to me? he wondered. But he had no time to fish for an answer before Morro broke out of his gentle reverie and fixed the earth-wielder with a pointed, imploring gaze, pleading, "Can you—will you help me—please?"
Cole knew that when Morro said the word please, he was downright serious about the matter he was speaking of. But the earth-wielder felt so fatigued and lethargic that he wasn't sure whether he could help at all. If he weren't fully present, how could he help out a tired, weeping Green Ninja suffering from a horrid night-terror without botching things up even more? For several moments, he did nothing but blink his eyelashes rapidly, partly to keep himself awake, partly to fish for a suitable answer. Finally, he sucked in a shaky breath and murmured, "Are you sure…no one else can help you on this one?" He hated how whiny and whimpering his voice sounded, but his exhaustion was so intense that he could barely form the words at all.
"Zane and P.I.X.A.L. are shut down for the night, and Harumi, Nya, and Jay are down with sore throats." Morro began, ticking off the other members of the team on his fingers. "Matthew, Bark, Gracie, and Pip are zonked out on the floor, and you know what heavy sleepers they are." His voice grew softer and softer as he teetered dangerously near the edge of falling asleep while still on his feet. "And I don't want to…pester…Master Wu…or Misako…and I doubt that consulting Garmadon…won't make things ten times worse than…they already are."
Cole couldn't argue there. Lloyd was still healing from his father faking his death to get the Green Ninja to unleash his Oni Form. Roping Garmadon into this nightmarish mess was a sure way to drive the kid's already-unstable mental state to the breaking point. But he noted that Morro hadn't mentioned Kai yet. However, when he proceeded to point this out, Morro gave him a look and muttered, "And risk inciting his fiery wrath? Thanks, but no thanks!"
The wind-wielder was clearly making an effort to not appear babyish and despondent—and failing miserably. But Cole refrained from teasing him about it, seeing as provoking him while he was half-asleep on his feet was a sure way to trigger a full-blown hurricane of emotion. And neither being blown into the wall nor dealing with a sobbing, whimpering wind-child was Cole's idea of fun. (Again, not that he'd admit that in a hundred years.)
"Okay." he mumbled sleepily, begging silently for a nice cup of cappuccino in the process. In his fatigued state, he forgot that Morro had inherited his father Yang's knack for telling what others were thinking—and was reminded of it a moment later when Morro murmured, "Gotcha. Cappuccino for both of us. I think we're gonna need it." He then turned and half-trod, half-shuffled down the hallway—with a dazed Cole trailing sluggishly behind, feeling colder and sleepier by the moment.
The dizzy spells were starting to become worse, and his aching head was beginning to pound in his ears. His heartbeat seemed to be skipping a beat (or was he just too tired to be keeping track of it?), and a warm wave of drowsiness and oblivion was pressing in on him as he struggled to keep putting one foot in front of the other. He was so exhausted—he just wanted to turn right around, trot back to his room, snuggle underneath his covers, forget the world existed, and snooze peacefully for an entire week. But somehow a hidden strength within him kept him going, and soon he could think of nothing except putting one foot in front of the other…one foot…the other foot…one foot…the other foot…
He could feel his sleepiness catching up to him, and he wrapped his arms tightly around himself, feeling an overwhelming numbness continue to trickle through his veins. It seeped into his joints, urging him to lay down and sleep…to forget why he was even up in the middle of the night in the first place. But his mission to help Lloyd kept him from giving in and letting go of his consciousness.
To keep himself awake, he strove to catch up with Morro and approached him with, "Nice mountain lion you've got there. Jay give that to you?"
"It was Lloyd." Morro snappishly exclaimed. "And it's not a mountain lion—" he added, his voice rising rapidly in pitch as he spoke. "It's—a—catamount!" he finished, emphasizing every word. He was shrieking shrilly now, as he huffed, "A catamount! Why do people keep calling it a mountain lion?!"
To be honest, Cole couldn't tell the difference between the two in the daytime, much less in the dark of night. "It looks like one?" he offered weakly—and knew he'd made a serious mistake when Morro stopped in his tracks, groaned loudly, and facepalmed in sheer frustration, made even worse by his overwhelming sleepiness.
"What mountain lion has eyes like those ones?" he said, whirling around violently, gesturing wildly to the plushie's amber-yellow eyes with their distinctive brown pupils. Cole could see his face beginning to turn bright red with exhaustion and exasperation at the same time—and knew that he had to patch this up quick before it spiraled into a brouhaha that neither one of them had the time or energy for.
"Why do you even sleep with that thing anyway?" he stammered, hating how frail and hoarse and raspy his voice sounded. His throat was beginning to feel strangely parched, and his mouth was oddly dry. He licked his cracked, slightly bleeding lips, trying to moisturize them—but to no avail.
"Jay sleeps with stuffed animals. What's wrong with that?" Morro protested, mighty wind-power beginning to curl around his palms defensively.
Fed up with the argument, Cole pinched the bridge of his nose and hastily blurted, "Jay is childish."
"I'm gonna tell him you said that!" an indignant, pointedly sleep-deprived Morro all but screamed in the earth-wielder's ear, clutching his mountain lion—no, catamount—protectively, as if to let go was to lose the argument. But before Cole could quip back at him, another wave of weakness washed over the earth-wielder, and his eyelashes fluttered uncontrollably as he staggered backwards a step.
"You…wouldn't…dare!" he croaked, before losing his balance and crumpling abruptly to the floor. His vision suddenly blurred, and he let out a wheezy yelp as a sharp ache stemming from his left arm shot through his shoulder blades, radiating through his nerves with white-hot pain as the darkness swallowed him up again. He faintly heard Morro scream his name, and then the terrible visions of his wretched, traumatized past pulled him under once again.
Cole's hands trembled convulsively as he paced back and forth impatiently in front of the door to his mother's hospital room. A thunderstorm swirled around violently outside, and he glanced backward to see yet another streak of bluish-white lightning split the sky in two—before a rolling clap of thunder heard its howling, wolfish cry and answered with its own deafening roar. He let out a yelp as his childish panic spiked even more than it had before. The doctors and nurses had whispered frantically that the poison trapped in his mother's bloodstream was slowly taking its toll and that she wouldn't live much longer. The stupid bully on the playground had rubbed it in poor Cole's face the other day, adding yet another jibe to the list of insults and taunts he had hurled at the other kids just that week. Needless to say, Cole had lashed out at that, calling the bully cruel and unjust to his face and proceeding to beat the tar out of him. The principal had called both kids out on that one—thankfully saving the horribly incompetent Cole from having the stuffing thrashed out of him as well.
Cole was still angry though—angry at the monster who'd had the gall to poison his mother—angry at his father for not telling him sooner—even angry at the medics who'd tried to shield him from their whisperings and the sad looks on their faces as they did whatever they could to make his mother comfortable. As if she could be comfortable when she was so sick and in so much pain!
Cole wanted all of it to stop! He wanted his mom back, safe and healthy and healed. But even now he wondered if the promise he'd made to his mother the other day (after the principal had caught him beating up the bully on the playground) would be the last thing he ever said to her. Even now the heartfelt words of his mother that she had breathlessly spoken to him even as she sucked in breath after breath to try and hold on a little longer echoed in his mind—as did his response to her.
I want you to promise me, Cole, that you will always stand up to those that are cruel and unjust.
I will, Mom. he'd promised. Always.
But how could he do that when he couldn't even save his mom from dying? Suddenly, the door creaked open, and he looked up sharply to see his dad peering sadly at him. Cole's breath hitched in his throat, and his voice was choked up with sobs as he stammered and whimpered, "She's not…she can't be…"
"Not yet, son." Lou whispered, his own voice on the verge of breaking. "But…" he added, wiping away tears with a loud sniffle, "it's not too long now. And Lilly said…"
Cole's throat tightened suddenly, and he felt like he couldn't move or breathe. His dad never called Mom by her first name…unless he was very, very upset or afraid or angry—or all three.
"Lilly said…" his dad stammered, regaining his wits suddenly. "She wants to see you—quickly."
"Yessir." Cole choked out, unable to say another word—until he slowly trudged into the room and saw his mom lying still and weak on the bed, her face ashen and ghostly pale from the influence of the poison, her hazel eyes—which once sparkled with a starry light—glassy and dull. Her face lit up when she saw her son plodding sadly into the room, and she stretched out trembling hands, inviting him to hug her tightly.
"MOM!" Cole cried out, dashing over to her as fast as his little legs could carry him, flinging himself onto the bed and into her arms with a soft oof. His mom let out a wheezy hiss of pain from the impact but made no sign of being angry with him. For a moment, everything around him faded away as he hugged his mother tightly, relaxing deeply into her frail grip as his wound-up muscles loosened and his tense nerves unwound. He went all but limp in her grasp, faintly hearing his father tiptoe quietly out of the room to give Cole and Lilly some time alone.
"Don't leave me, Mom, please!" Cole begged, not willing to face the inevitable.
"Don't worry, Cole." his mom comforted. "I may not be with you here, but I'll always be in your heart."
"H-h-how?" Cole questioned tearfully. "You're gonna die. How can you be in my heart?"
"Look at my eyes, Cole." Lilly gently commanded. Cole looked up, face burning with sorrow and grief, and stared deeply into his mother's eyes. He'd always loved looking at her eyes. They were just like his own—a deep, sparkling hazel-brown that twinkled with curiosity and eagerness and intuition.
"You have my eyes, little one." Lilly murmured, her voice strained yet soft as she slowly drew in one shaky breath after another. Then she laid one shuddering hand on his chest and said, "Now listen to your heartbeat."
Cole once again did as his mother asked. It felt strange listening to his own heartbeat. His heart throbbed and thumped rhythmically underneath his fingers, thrumming and pulsing with warmth and hidden light. It felt a little tickly at first, and he couldn't help but let out a soft giggle, even with his eyes full of tears.
"When you feel scared and alone, just feel your heart beating, and that's how you'll know that I'm watching you." Lilly breathed, her voice becoming softer and more strangled by the moment. Then she scrabbled for a wrapped package laying on the bed. She must have had the nurses bring it up, Cole mused thoughtfully. It took him a second to realize that it was for him.
"Open it." his mom breathed, and without a moment's hesitation, he tore into the paper and lifted out a package of peppermint sticks and a soft, fluffy stuffed cat. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked at them. Peppermint sticks were his favorite—and they were also his mom's favorite. However, he had no idea what the cat was supposed to be. It looked like a mountain lion, but its amber irises held within their depths brown pupils and not black ones.
"You see that?" Lilly asked, gesturing weakly to the plushie Cole grasped tightly in his right hand. "That's a catamount."
"A catamount?" Cole questioned. He'd never heard of such a creature in all his life.
"Yes, Cole." Lilly answered faintly, her voice already beginning to fade away—maybe this time for good. "Catamounts are shapeshifters, changing from a cat to a human at will. They are good climbers and valiant fighters. They can run really fast, their night vision is highly tuned, and most importantly, they have great endurance. And that's what I want you to have right now, my little kit. I want you to endure."
She fumbled for her son's hand and grasped it tightly, as if she were already slipping away. "I want you to endure, Cole. No matter what, I want you to endure whatever comes at you. Don't give up, little kit. A warrior never quits, right? And that's what I want you to become—a warrior."
"A warrior never quits." Cole breathed, hugging the soft, fuzzy catamount to himself as he let the bag of peppermints fall unnoticed onto the white hospital sheets.
"Yes, a warrior never quits." Lilly echoed as Cole flung himself once more into her arms, crying softly. He snuggled deeply into her embrace once again before yawning gently and falling fast asleep in her arms.
But when he woke up, she didn't answer him. At first, he thought she was just sleeping. So he shook her gently. When she didn't respond, he whispered, "Mom?" and shook her harder. Still no answer.
And then he let out a sharp, heartbroken gasp as he realized that she was so cold and blue and numb and deathly, deathly still. She didn't move—didn't speak—didn't even breathe. Her hands lay limply at her sides, and there was no life or warmth left in them.
And that's when Cole burst into tears and let out a shrieking wail of, "MOM!"
"Cole?" a voice broke through the darkness holding the silently crying Cole fast. "Cole?! NINJAGO TO COLE!"
"Huh?" Cole exclaimed, groggily prying his heavy eyelids open—only to find that Morro was gazing down at him in confusion, worry streaking across his face as he stared at the earth-wielder lying motionless on the floor. Cole realized he must have blacked out for several seconds or even several minutes and he'd just regained consciousness. Yet even at that moment, he still felt rather dazed and disoriented, and the dizziness was definitely getting worse still. Morro held out a hand, and Cole grasped it tightly, so tightly that his knuckles began turning white as he hoisted himself upward, struggling to not fall again. He failed when one leg buckled underneath him and he collapsed to the floor face-first. Morro was on his knees in an instant, dragging his weak and listless frame into an unsteady kneeling position.
"Are you okay, Cole?" the wind-wielder asked, his voice drawn with great concern. Cole opened his mouth to speak, but the world was starting to spin all around him. His mind whirled with thoughts and feelings and sensations that all melded together into a muddy mess of emotions, and he could only choke out one singular coherent word.
"Catamount."
And then he burst into tears once again, shaking with sobs that soon morphed into hiccupping coughs. Morro gently patted his back and pushed his beloved catamount plushie into Cole's trembling hands. The coughs continued to wrack the Earth Ninja's frame mercilessly, and the pats turned into comforting repetitive circular motions as Cole grasped the plushie to his chest, clinging to it as if his life depended on it. His head began to ache again, as the coughs finally began to subside and the tears slowly but steadily died away.
And then the chills attacked him again. His whole frame shuddered and shook with intense, almost paralyzing cold that seeped into his joints and made him feel weak and numb and so, so exhausted. He pushed his hands more intensely into the soft, fluffy fur of the catamount stuffie, clenching handfuls of its fur in a desperate drive to stay awake and alert.
"Please don't torture my catamount." Morro's soft voice drifted into his ears, half-concerned for the earth-wielder's condition, half-frightened at the inkling of his plushie's fur being scrunched and balled and twisted to shreds out of Cole's sheer, raw fear and pain. Then Morro tilted his head and asked in a small voice tight with genuine worry, "Are you sure you're okay, Cole? You look really pale—and I should know pale."
"I'm fine." Cole mumbled into the catamount's neck. "I'm just r-r-really c-c-cold." Even as he spoke, his whole frame quaked and his teeth began to chatter.
"Are you sure about that?" Morro replied, one eyebrow shooting upright incredulously. "Call me crazy, but…your skin's hotter than a furnace, and your ears are bright red. Not to mention you're probably sweltering underneath your sweater. Seriously, you're making me hot just looking at you."
His voice was lined with a hint of cheeky mirth as he finished, but the next words that emanated from his lips were downright sullen and scared—"I think you might be feverish, Cole. Maybe you should head back to bed and get some rest. I…I can figure out how to help Lloyd myself."
"No!" Cole cried out suddenly, jerking his head upright so suddenly his neck cricked with white-hot pain and he let out a startled wince. "I…I'll be okay. Honest."
"If…if you say so, I guess." Morro relented, face still drawn with concern as he pulled Cole to his feet with a not-so-quiet grunt. Despite not wanting to admit that Morro might be right, Cole had to admire the wind-wielder's concern and genuine compassion. Hard to believe this is the same person who had the nerve to control Lloyd's mind and strip me and the others of our powers to boot all those years before! he mused to himself as he trailed sleepily after the distraught wind-wielder.
The moment the two got into the living room, Cole could immediately see why Morro needed a helping hand with Lloyd. The poor green-bean was curled up in a ball on the couch, head buried in his knees, with his fists tightly clenching his old, tattered green-and-gold blanket from when he was just a kid. When he raised his head to see who was in the room, his eyes were red and puffy from crying, and his face was smudged with both dirt and tears as he huddled there miserably in his favorite green hoodie and PJ pants. His chest heaved erratically with sobs, and his jade-green irises were glassy and wet from sheer sorrow. In that moment, the tormented, troubled Green Ninja was indeed the very definition of heart-shattering suffering and pure anguish.
When he saw Morro standing in the doorway, Lloyd cowered defensively, looking like he was about to withdraw into himself so deep that there would be no hope of pulling him back out. Morro, realizing that his timing was not impressive, quietly ducked out of the room, leaving Cole alone to deal with the sobbing, whimpering mess that was Lloyd.
Lloyd, for his part, looked a little less skittish than before, and he let out a soft sigh as he visibly relaxed. But his shoulders were still hunched in defensive mode, and the look on his face told Cole that he might either bolt or shut down at any moment. Cole had to move—quickly—before Lloyd snapped completely into full fight-flight-or-freeze mode.
The Earth Ninja staggered on wobbly legs over towards the couch, struggling to hide how frail and fatigued he felt. He then all but collapsed to his knees as Lloyd hid his face in his blanket again, shaking with sudden hiccupping coughs as he quite visibly struggled to gather his wits.
But before Cole could say a word, he let out a startled oof as the Green Ninja threw himself into the earth-wielder's arms and the sobs began again, even stronger and louder this time. Tears soaked into Cole's sweater, and he could feel the wetness slowly drenching into his PJs as Lloyd kept on sniffling and sobbing and crying his heart out, clenching the back of Cole's sweater tightly in his fists as he laid his head wearily on the earth-wielder's left shoulder. The Earth Ninja bit back a hiss of pain before gently running his right hand through Lloyd's golden-blond wispy locks, tenderly avoiding the two rather sore horn knubs that were just beginning to form on the back of Lloyd's head.
For a few moments, the two of them just sat there like that, the older brother reaching out to the younger brother, hoping to offer whatever comfort he could without pressing too hard or pressuring him too insensitively to speak. Jay could argue with Cole till he was blue in the face, but silence—not endless intrusive questions—was often the golden key to true compassion.
Then he whispered just loudly enough to be heard, but not loud enough to make Lloyd more distressed or upset than he already was, "Do you want to talk about what happened?" The energy-wielder drew in a sharp breath, and Cole felt a curling of fear in his stomach as he thought to himself, Oh, no, did I say something wrong? Is he okay? Did I just make things worse? Oh, what have I done?!
But then Lloyd took in a less sharp breath and softly breathed in Cole's ear, "I…I was in this field. It was bleak and desolate and scorched and battle-scarred. I thought I was the only survivor. But then I…" Here his breath hitched in his throat, and when he spoke again, his voice was all but choked up with sobs. "I…I saw my…I saw…Garmadon. He…he told me that…the only way I could ever…amount to anything…was if I…unleashed my Oni Form. I tried to…resist…but then he…he turned into…the Crystal King!"
His pitch suddenly spiked, and his breath came out in gasps as he wailed, "He fired his crystal power at me, and I just…I couldn't stop myself—I changed into my Oni Form! But I couldn't change back! His power froze me like that! And then the team came up behind me, and I just—I lost control, Cole! I attacked them, all of them! You—Jay—Nya—Zane—Kai—Harumi—Morro—the Golden Pups—Master Wu—my mom…"
He pulled away, face falling with grief, and for a moment, it seemed he couldn't bring himself to look Cole in the eyes. Cole said nothing—just sat there, waiting for the Green Ninja to finish. Then Lloyd spoke again—in the softest, most teary voice imaginable.
"I took their powers, and then…their lives. And you…were the first one."
Cole's hands started to shake—but not from fear. He felt lightheaded and dizzy—but not from what Lloyd was saying. Biting his lip, he struggled to hide how drowsy and faint he was feeling as the weeping green-bean finished, "And the worst part is…I enjoyed every moment of it!"
He then threw himself back into Cole's arms and burst into heartbroken tears. Cole felt his throat tightening, but he couldn't tell whether it was from sadness or something else. He hated seeing his little brother—the youngest member of the team—hurting deep inside like this, wounded deep within his core, suffering from the scars of his past reopening without warning over and over again.
He was more than just a Ninja—he was Cole's best friend, his baby brother, his family. And when Lloyd hurt, Cole hurt with him. Kai may be the team's self-proclaimed Green Ninja protector, and Nya may be Lloyd's big sister (blood-related or not), but it was Cole who Lloyd always went to when he needed emotional support. It was Cole that he trusted with his deepest, darkest secrets and trials and worries and fears. And Cole knew by now that he would gladly take a hit—physical or emotional—if it meant protecting his littlest brother from harm.
His thoughts were interrupted when a last, loud sob burst from Lloyd's throat and the Green Ninja pulled away, his crimson-splotched face streaked with even more tears than before and his runny nose dripping with snot. He pushed one hand up to wipe the tears away and then crumpled into himself, doubling almost in half as he shifted away from Cole's gaze—as if he was embarrassed about having an emotional breakdown with Morro in hearing.
And considering the tension that still existed between the Green Ninja and the wind-wielder, Cole wouldn't be a bit surprised if that were the case. All the same, he wasn't sure how to respond. What could he say or do to make Lloyd feel better? He knew that the energy-wielder's trauma couldn't be healed overnight. And he didn't want to make things worse by saying something like how it was all going to work out for good in the end—when it very well might not.
He couldn't pretend he knew what the Green Ninja was going through. He may not have agreed with his father about what he should become at first, but he'd never been through what Lloyd had been through. He'd never gone through the trying pain of being disowned by his own father—or betrayed by the one girl he cared about the most.
As he sat there, struggling to say anything—anything at all—he found that his own eyes were welling with tears, and his breathing began to grow soft and shallow. Finally, when he couldn't handle the silence anymore, he stammered weakly, "Do—do you want a-a glass of water, or a-a bag of…peach rings?"
Lloyd seemed to perk up at that, even if Cole's offer was a little awkward. Then Cole turned to the doorway and shouted, "Hey, Morro! Do you want some peach rings?"
"Nah, I'm good!" came an eager shout from the kitchen—followed instantly by a shaking sound like that of a maraca. Cole and Lloyd looked at each other and instantly shared a grin. If there was one thing Morro would fight nail-tooth-and-claw for (besides the safety of Ninjago), it would be in defending his not-so-secret stash of honey-barbecue corn chips.
"Hey, Morro?" Cole exclaimed, staggering to his feet. "Could you get me a—" He was about to say, "pudding cup," but his voice was cut off by a hoarse, ragged cough that rattled his spine and sent him sprawling to the floor in a choking, hacking heap. Swirling, nerve-wracking chills slashed through his lungs like daggers of ice, twisting deep into his core, penetrating and biting into his skin like the fangs of a wolf. His eyes watered with hot, stinging tears, and his chest heaved erratically as he lay there, gagging and gasping desperately for breath as he struggled to pull himself upright. A frantic voice cried out, "Cole? Cole, are you okay?!"
"I don't feel so good—AHHH!" A shrieking wail of anguish tore itself from his throat, as white-hot pain shot through his left shoulder, growing more and more painful by the moment, until all he knew was sheer, raw, excruciating, crippling agony. He curled into an awful fetal position, whimpering and howling with fright and panic and pain combined as his ears were suddenly flooded with a white ringing, and his sight suddenly became blurry and fuzzy and dim. Colors and sensations and smells all morphed into a whirlwind of confusion and bewilderment as the world began to spin and shift like a hurricane all around him.
Tightness clawed viciously at his chest, squeezing his ribcage in a ruthless grip until he feared his ribs would shatter from the sheer pressure. His head pounded violently behind his temples, and blackness crept into the corners of his rapidly fading vision as he felt his senses begin spiraling into unconsciousness. A wave of weakness washed over him as he was suddenly battered by roaring currents of seething heat and raw chills surging and ebbing and flowing through every nerve, every vein, every joint in his frail, languid body. His pupils dilated—his cheeks flamed—his irises glazed over from the pain licking like a whiplash at his consciousness and lucidity. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, as his face slowly turned a bright beet-red from weakness and fever intertwined.
He was just too hot and too cold all at once, and he just felt so feverish and listless and drained and sick. It was as if an unnatural darkness was pulsing within him, pushing itself upward, threatening to tear him apart. Something was thrashing and writhing and worming its way to the surface of his subconscious, poisoning and weakening his core, corrupting him from the inside out even as he struggled and fought against its influence.
But when he cracked open his eyes to see what it was, his heart froze within him.
For what was pushing through his veins—what was pulsing and glowing underneath his skin, illuminating his veins with its horrid hue—were rivulets and rills of a ghastly, literally sickening purple energy.
The purple of an Oni's destructive power.
The purple of the Forbidden Crystals.
The very purple that could make someone horribly sick if he gazed upon its hue for too long.
And now that terrible, nightmarish amethyst hue was pumping painfully through his own bloodstream.
The mere thought of it was enough to send yet another volley of numbing weakness and piercing, prickling chills sweeping through his frame. His whole body shook and his teeth chattered painfully. He could already feel currents of dark energy zapping through his nerves like deadly bolts of freakish amethyst lightning. He opened his mouth and struggled to speak, to say something before he lost consciousness—or lost the battle entirely. But his voice seemed to be choked off, smothered by the darkness swirling deep within him. He tried again, his breath hitching in his throat over and over. But after several failed attempts, he finally managed to croak breathlessly, "Find…Vania! Find…Vania!"
And then his senses began to fade from him as the darkness and numbness pounced. His breathing deepened uncontrollably, the currents of Forbidden Power giving way to a hazy shadow of sleepiness and exhaustion. His eyelashes fluttered shut, as his whole body went frightfully limp and utterly senseless.
And the last thing he heard before his mind was swept into the depths of paralyzing yet strangely soothing unconsciousness was the panicked voices of Lloyd and Morro crying out despairingly, "COLE!"
"Cole!" the frightened voice of Lloyd cried in fear as something slimy and frigidly cold hit the earth-wielder in the back. As he crumpled to the stairs in weakness, all around him the team stared in sheer, numbing fright, desperately searching for a way to save him from the corruption already leaching into his bloodstream, slowly poisoning every fiber of his frame and every bone in his body.
"We've gotta help him!" a youthful voice cried out as his vision began to blur and his hearing dulled.
"I'm hit!" he screamed, pushing back against the Dark Matter as hard as he could, thrashing and writhing and struggling to rebel against the evil threatening to pull him under. Tendrils of darkness were already worming underneath his skin, trickling through his veins, smothering his comprehension as they slowly ebbed into his heart. He couldn't hold out much longer—his mind was already darkening, and the darkness of pure concentrated evil was pressing in on him, drowning him in its poisonous influence.
"Go on!" he urged in a strangled voice, fighting to hold out just a little longer. "Go on—without me!" His eyelashes fluttered uncontrollably, and his vision began to fade out as he slowly drifted into unconsciousness.
When he passed out, he knew that he would be corrupted. But at least Lloyd—his little brother, the legendary Green Ninja—would make it to the top. It was up to him to win the fight. It was up to him to finish this, to embrace his legacy, to defeat the Overlord, to save Ninjago.
The earth-wielder's heart gave a last surge of resistance, and then the shadows of pure evil swallowed him as his core, his true inner self, spiraled into a deep, deceptively peaceful unconsciousness. The corruption would control him now—he was its pawn, its puppet.
But at least Lloyd had a chance. And as he let go, giving in and letting the darkness pull him under, he hoped against hope that his sacrifice would not be in vain.
For countless hours, a sweaty, feverish Cole tossed and turned frantically underneath his covers—with Morro and Lloyd watching him frightfully, waiting desperately for Master Wu to come up with a plan to save him. Despite still being at odds with each other over the debacle of the Realm Crystal, the Green Ninja and wind-wielder had called a temporary truce, scrambling to get the deadweight Earth Ninja into bed as quickly and gently as could be managed and to rouse the others as quietly and calmly as possible, given the circumstances. Now all the two could do was hope that their Sensei and the other members of the team could find a way to fix this.
Lloyd knew all too well how strong the influence of the Forbidden Crystals could be. Not only could the power of the crystals corrupt Elemental Powers, they could also amplify Oni powers to the point where the wielder lost control of his emotions entirely and lashed out mindlessly at whoever was in his way.
But this—this was unlike anything he'd ever witnessed or heard of before. He had no idea how long the power of the Forbidden Crystals had laid dormant in Cole's bloodstream, biding its time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike and reveal its presence.
And the possibilities of what that kind of energy could do to Cole now that it was near full strength absolutely petrified Lloyd.
For unlike the others, he knew exactly how intelligent and sentient forbidden power like this was. It had a mind and will of its own and answered to no one. And it would corrupt anyone—anyone—it could, even if it had to kill its host to do so.
He simply couldn't let what happened to his father—and what almost happened to him—happen to Cole. He mustn't!
But how could he stop it? What could he do?
A hand on his shoulder startled him as he sat there, brooding in his thoughts. And when he turned, he almost jumped out of his skin when he saw that it was Morro touching him.
"I know what you're thinking, Lloyd." Morro murmured to himself. "Cole's tough—he'll get through this, I'm sure. He won't break so easily, and he won't go down without a fight."
"But what if he does, Morro?" Lloyd whimpered, sniffling a little. "Back during the Ultimate Battle, he was hit head-on by Dark Matter. It corrupted him in mere moments. And the Forbidden Crystals are stronger than even that. I've felt their power trickling through my own veins. I know how seductive the energy can be. It doesn't just corrupt motives, Morro—and it doesn't just control minds, either. It's not like what the Great Devourer did to…to Garmadon."
(He held back from saying my father—he could still barely reconcile the memory of his real father with the Oni creature Harumi had shaped him into.)
"And it's not like what…" Here his voice quivered with trauma and deep sorrow. "It's not like what you did to me back in the museum that day. When I leaped in front of Twinkle and took the blow meant for her, I had no choice then but to obey your will."
His voice was dry and flat, almost emotionless now as he thought back on those days—even though they still reopened mental and emotional wounds whenever he thought about them. Then he sniffled again and let out a loud, piercing sob as he exclaimed, "But when you're corrupted by Forbidden Crystals, it's because you choose to be corrupted. You have to—no one, not even an Oni, can resist it for long. Those who do literally die trying!"
He suddenly grabbed Morro's shoulders so hard his knuckles began turning white. All hesitancy and trepidation about opening up to the redeemed wind-wielder fell away as Lloyd's pitch grew shriller and his voice was all but choked up with sobs as he spoke. The thoughts that had been echoing painfully inside his mind came spilling out in a tempest of fear and panic and grief and raw, agonizing pain. "And when someone gives in, it shows no mercy! It completely withers away the light within the wielder's core! It destroys every last drop of goodness within the wielder's heart, every shred of humanity and compassion in his body! What if—what if Cole doesn't make it?! What if he gives in?! Or what if he doesn't, and it—it kills him?!"
Finding he simply couldn't go on, he let go of Morro's shoulders, pulled his knees to his chest, buried his head in his hands, and cried. Hot tears flooded down his cheeks like a waterfall as the full weight of his brother-by-choice's dire condition sunk into him.
"Don't worry, Lloyd." Morro answered him, rubbing his back gently yet cautiously (grimly recalling that the Green Ninja still needed time to heal from the atrocious, mind-scarring way Morro had controlled his emotions and motives all those years back).
"He's not going to give in." the wind-wielder exclaimed. "He's not going to give in because we're going to save him! I get it—the darkness is tough, but he's tougher! If you could break through my control, through the crystals' control, then he can too—I know it!"
He poked Lloyd in the ribs to get his full attention and continued, "He defeated my father Yang, and he'll defeat this too! And we're going to find a way to help him do it! No matter what, you, me, and the rest of the team are going to find a way to save him."
"How can you be so sure?" Lloyd whimpered, mewling a little like a sad, lost puppy as he crumpled into himself once more, still hugging his knees to his chest.
"I'm not sure, Lloyd." Morro admitted, drawing his hand away and pulling his own legs up to his chest. "But if there's one thing I know for sure, it's that a ninja never quits! We can't give up now! We have to try! We're going to find a way—or die trying! Just like Cole would want! Like a catamount!"
"Like a catamount!" Lloyd agreed, raising his head and wiping away the tears from his eyes. Then he gazed back at Cole, still thrashing and wrestling against the corruption streaming through his veins, struggling with all his might to fight back.
"Like a catamount." Lloyd murmured to himself once more, hands balling into fists out of sheer resolve. This battle wasn't over—and he was ready to face anything!
In that one silent moment, a memory of the past flashed unwittingly into his mind—a memory from when he and the pups—his adopted family—faced the Overlord in his true form for the first time.
"You can't defeat me!" the Overlord taunted. "Even with your precious friends at your side, the barrier between the worlds has shattered! No matter how hard you fight, where there is light, there will always be shadow!"
"Unless that light is BRIGHT ENOUGH!"
"Hang tight, Cole." Lloyd whispered to himself, steeled face drawn with determination. "The catamounts are ready, and the battle is on!"
TO BE CONTINUED