It took a year—one long, methodical, brutally efficient year—but the Lava Lands were finally secure.
Every border was fortified. Every molten river warded. Every mountain pass guarded by stone sentinels that never slept, never questioned, and never failed. Patrols moved in precise cycles, timed to the pulse of the land itself. Villages within my territory had been catalogued, enslaved, reorganized, and made productive. Resistance had been crushed early and thoroughly enough that the idea of rebellion no longer existed here.
The Lava Lands were no longer just a territory.
They were a kingdom.
My kingdom.
Once the final wards were sealed and the last patrol routes confirmed, I allowed myself a moment of stillness in the highest tower of my castle. From there, I could see rivers of lava carving glowing veins through the land, the air shimmering with heat and magic. This place resonated with me now. My power had sunk deep into its bones. Even the stone obeyed me more readily than before.
With my territory secured, it was time to look outward again—not for conquest yet, but for preparation.
Power recognizes power.
And Ninjago was filled with relics, beings, and forgotten forces waiting to be claimed.
I began by shifting my focus to artifacts. Items of power always outlived their creators, accumulating history, resonance, and potential. Among them, there was one set of relics that interested me more than any other.
The Oni Masks.
Ancient. Dangerous. Tied directly to primordial forces that predated most of Ninjago's current understanding of magic. Masks that could reshape reality, command destruction, and tear down even the strongest defenses. Masks that were sealed away not because they were useless—but because they were too effective.
I wanted them.
Not merely to wear, but to study, dissect, and eventually integrate into my own magic.
I summoned Clay to the war chamber personally.
Stone Clay arrived in silence, his massive form carved from dark enchanted stone, runes faintly glowing across his body. As my lieutenant, he was methodical, relentless, and utterly loyal—perfect for a task that required patience and absolute discretion.
I projected an image of the Oni Masks above the table: three ancient visages, each radiating a different strain of oppressive power. "You will oversee the search," I said calmly. "You are in charge of locating the Oni Masks. Use any resources you require—spies, magic, artifacts, informants. I want results, not excuses."
Clay inclined his head. "Understood. The masks will be found."
"They are scattered," I continued. "Hidden. Guarded. Possibly even forgotten. But power always leaves traces. Follow the distortions in magic. The anomalies. The places where history doesn't quite make sense."
Clay absorbed the instructions without question. Before leaving, he paused. "And once they are found?"
I smiled faintly. "Bring them to me. Untouched. Unused. I have… plans for them."
Once Clay departed, I expanded my efforts beyond relics.
Artifacts were useful, but people—especially the right people—were far more valuable.
I began searching for individuals of significance. Scholars, warriors, exiles, cult leaders, forgotten sorcerers, outcasts who had been overlooked by history but still burned with potential. Some I observed through scrying mirrors. Others I tracked by following ripples in magic or fate itself.
I was not interested in loyalty born of fear alone. That could be manufactured easily enough.
I wanted ambition.
I wanted resentment, hunger, desperation—the raw emotions that made people moldable. Those were the ones who could be elevated, empowered, reshaped into something greater. Servants who understood what it meant to owe everything to me.
At the same time, my other plans continued quietly in the background.
The draining orbs remained active, their slow, steady streams of power continuing to flow from Garmadon, Wu, and the Overlord's lingering essence. I adjusted the matrices occasionally, refining the spellwork, experimenting with flow rates and magical resonance. Elemental energy behaved differently than traditional magic, but it wasn't incompatible.
It was adaptable.
Which meant it could be mastered.
I also began preparing contingencies involving the Oni Masks. I suspected they were not merely tools, but keys—interfaces between realms, conduits for forces that even the Oni themselves had not fully controlled. If I could combine their power with Chronosteel, stone animation, and my own magic…
The possibilities were exquisite.
And dangerous.
But danger had never stopped me before.
As the days passed, reports filtered in from my subordinates. Rumors of strange ruins. Ancient battlefields where shadows lingered too long. Places where the air felt heavy, oppressive, wrong. Each report was another thread leading closer to the masks.
I remained patient.
Time was still on my side.
The Elemental Masters were not yet united. Garmadon and Wu were still young, still growing, still unaware of the true scope of what moved behind the scenes. The world believed itself at peace.
That illusion would last only as long as I allowed it to.
Standing alone in my war chamber, I watched the glowing map of Ninjago rotate slowly before me. The Lava Lands pulsed with my sigil at its center, unchallenged and absolute.
I had secured my foundation.
Now, I would gather the pieces needed to reshape the future.
The Oni Masks were only the beginning.