Time passes differently for those like me. Decades can feel like days, and centuries like hours. Yet even with immortality and all the power I've amassed, some events are fascinating to observe. One such spectacle has finally begun.
Garmadon. The Devourer's venom I had so carefully studied and cultivated over the years has finally taken its toll. The corruption creeps slowly, inexorably, eating at him from the inside. It does not kill yet—it sharpens. It twists. It makes him unpredictable. Dangerous. Perfect.
Through my scrying spell, I watch from afar as he faces Wu over the Four Golden Weapons. Both are cautious, both are skilled—but neither knows the full extent of what I have set in motion. Their strategies, their dodges, their strikes—all are mere ripples in the currents I am watching.
Garmadon gains the upper hand. I can see it before it even happens. The way his strikes bend through air, the way he exploits Wu's minor hesitations—it is precise. If not for the defensive wards on Wu's robes, this battle would be over in an instant. Wu's skill is impressive, but my venom has tipped the scales. I allow a small smile to form, though unseen.
And then it happens. Wu's robes save him—but just barely. The defensive magic cannot counter Garmadon's final strike. The upper hand collapses as Garmadon falls into the Underworld.
I watch as he is disfigured, twisted further into the shadow of himself by the corruption coursing through his body. My mind runs calculations—how long before his humanity erodes entirely? How long before he becomes a weapon that can't be controlled by anyone, even me, if I chose to release it?
Wu disappears after the battle, hiding the Four Golden Weapons. Smart. Cautious. The boy has always had an instinct for survival.
I do not intervene. Not yet. There is no reason to act while the pieces fall exactly where they should. The chaos unfolding is predictable—and useful. My army, my power, and my knowledge give me a vantage point no one else could hope to have.
From my base, I observe the golden weapons' dispersal, the underworld's stirrings, the subtle tremors of imbalance across Ninjago. Each movement, each hesitation, is a thread I can pull. And pull I will—but only when the moment is perfect.
For now, I wait.
Patience is a weapon all its own.
I sip my tea, the warmth grounding me even as time itself seems to bend around this world. The Devourer's influence, the venom's corruption, the lingering presence of the golden weapons—they are all part of a puzzle I will eventually complete.
Wu hides. Garmadon rises as something new, something darker. The Serpentine, the elemental powers, the Oni masks—I have already collected most of what I desire. And yet, there is more to come. More to take.
From my scrying pools, I watch. The world spins, Ninjago moves, and I remain its silent shadow.
A few moves now. Decades later, the game truly begins.