War has a way of blinding people.
While Wu, Garmadon, and the Elemental Masters rallied against the Serpentine, their attention was fixed entirely on survival, alliances, and ancient threats resurfacing. That suited me perfectly. I had no intention of interfering directly—there was no need. I already knew how this conflict would end.
Instead, I watched.
From the shadows of my domain, through scrying pools and layered divinations, I followed every movement of the war. The Serpentine rose as expected, their armies spilling from forgotten tombs and buried cities, driven by hatred, prophecy, and old grudges. And just as predictably, the Elemental Masters responded—fractured at first, but slowly uniting under Wu and Garmadon's guidance.
Chaos creates opportunity. And I never waste opportunity.
During the height of the conflict, when armies clashed and ancient weapons were unearthed, I acquired something… unexpected.
The Oni Mask of Deception.
It wasn't guarded as fiercely as one might expect. The war had scattered protectors, weakened wards, and distracted even the most vigilant. Slipping it into my possession required patience, precision, and silence—but no real risk. When I held it for the first time, I could feel the mask's hunger for misdirection, its subtle pull on perception and reality itself.
A fascinating artifact.
There was, of course, another mask—one bound by blood and lineage alone. No amount of force or magic could change that. None of my subordinates possessed what was required, and even I was bound by certain… limitations. I dismissed the thought. Some prizes simply weren't meant to be claimed yet.
The Serpentine War marched on regardless.
Eventually, the Elemental Masters uncovered the ancient flutes—tools capable of controlling the Serpentine themselves. With those instruments, the tide turned decisively. One by one, the Serpentine generals fell, imprisoned once more beneath stone and spell.
Before they sealed everything away, I took one of the flutes.
Subtle. Quiet. Unnoticed.
Control over serpents is always useful—even if only as leverage.
With the war effectively concluded, most believed the era of betrayal and upheaval was over.
They were wrong.
I knew what was coming next.
The Masters of Time.
Acronix and Krux had never been loyal—not truly. Their betrayal was inevitable, written into every vision I had seen. The difference was that this time, I chose not to simply observe.
I intervened.
Using layered scrying magic, I tracked their movements for days, then weeks, waiting for the precise moment when arrogance outweighed caution. When it came, I acted without hesitation.
I opened a portal directly into their path.
My army emerged in perfect formation—disciplined, silent, overwhelming. I had brought a specialized force this time: a division of my stone warriors reforged entirely from Vengestone. Not stone enhanced with it—made of it.
The effect was immediate.
Acronix and Krux tried to call upon their elemental power. Nothing happened.
Again.
Nothing.
Stripped of time itself, they were reduced to two ordinary men surrounded on all sides. They fought, of course—but it was desperate, clumsy, and brief. My warriors closed in, disarming and restraining them with enchanted chains that suppressed even latent magic.
They never stood a chance.
I watched as they were bound, powerless and furious, their future collapsing into inevitability. Without ceremony, I opened another portal and had them transported directly to the Lava Lands, where containment wards and ancient bindings awaited them.
The Elemental Masters would never even realize how close disaster had come.
And that was fine.
I had gained prisoners of immense value, another artifact under my control, and deeper insight into the balance of power in this world. The war had ended, but the game was far from over.
I returned my attention to my territory—now more secure, better supplied, and growing stronger by the day.
The next era was approaching.
And this time, I intended to shape it.