I knew the risk before I began.
The Oni Masks were never meant to be dismantled, let alone consumed. They were artifacts of identity, not batteries of power. But I am not bound by what things were meant to be. Meaning is mutable. Magic even more so.
My private study was sealed—layer upon layer of wards, temporal locks, and reality anchors humming softly through the stone walls. I placed the two masks before me: the Oni Mask of Deception and the Oni Mask of Vengeance. They radiated a pressure that prickled against my skin, a low, predatory awareness that reminded me these were not passive objects.
Good.
I activated the modified draining spell—an evolved fusion of my old necromantic siphons, elemental extraction matrices, and Oni-compatible runic arrays. The spell did not rip the power out violently. That would have been crude. Instead, it convinced the masks to let go.
Dark energy bled from the carved visages like smoke pulled by gravity. Two distinct orbs formed in the air, hovering before me—dense, writhing spheres of pure Oni essence. One felt sharp and calculating, twisting perception itself around it. The other radiated a brutal, honed certainty, the quiet confidence of a blade that knows it will strike true.
I did not hesitate.
I drew both orbs into my body at once.
Agony unlike anything I had ever experienced tore through me.
It wasn't pain in the conventional sense—it was redefinition. My bones screamed as they reshaped, magic and flesh rewriting ancient contracts that defined what I was. My veins burned as if molten shadow flowed through them instead of blood. I collapsed to one knee, teeth clenched, hands digging into the stone floor as my shadow lashed violently around me.
I felt my magic recoil, then adapt.
I felt my time power pause instinctively, trying to stabilize me—only for the Oni essence to tear straight through that safeguard. My reflection fractured across a dozen mirrored wards as my eyes flared with unfamiliar light.
For a moment—just one—I wondered if this was how the Overlord had felt when he first embraced what he was.
Then it stopped.
I gasped, breath returning like a shockwave, and slowly straightened. The pain receded, leaving behind a deep, resonant stillness. My body felt heavier… denser. As if reality itself acknowledged me differently now.
I cast a full diagnostic scan on myself.
The results made me smile.
I was no longer merely a wizard.
I was half Oni.
The masks themselves lay lifeless on the stone floor, cracked and crumbling into fine black dust. Their purpose was fulfilled. Their power was no longer external—it was mine. Permanently integrated, bound to my essence rather than my soul, meaning it could not be stripped, sealed, or stolen.
I flexed my hand experimentally.
The air shuddered.
Without a spell, without even conscious effort, a nearby obsidian table lifted into the air. Not with magic—not exactly. This was something deeper, more instinctive. Telekinesis born not of arcane formulas, but of Oni will.
From the Oni Mask of Deception, I had gained more than simple telekinesis. I could feel it now—the way space itself yielded to intent. I could twist perception subtly, guide motion, manipulate objects as extensions of my thoughts. Illusions became easier, more convincing. Lies gained weight. Truth became optional.
Then I reached for the second gift.
I summoned a sword—one of my practice blades—and the moment my fingers closed around the hilt, understanding flooded me.
Not knowledge.
Mastery.
From the Oni Mask of Vengeance, I inherited something extraordinary: absolute, instinctual swordsmanship. Every stance, every angle, every micro-adjustment necessary for lethal efficiency simply… existed within me. I moved once, experimentally, and the blade sang through the air with terrifying precision.
This was not learned skill.
This was inherited dominance.
Acronix had been one of the greatest warriors in Ninjago's history—but this was different. His knowledge had been copied. This was encoded. My body knew how to kill with a blade before my mind could even articulate the thought.
I laughed quietly.
Not out of madness.
Out of clarity.
I was no longer just a schemer in the shadows or a mage who bent reality from afar. I had crossed another threshold—one that brought me closer to the primordial forces that shaped this world.
Wizard. Oni. Time. Spinjitzu. Sword.
Each piece fit perfectly.
And somewhere deep within, I could feel it—the faint echo of something ancient taking notice of me. The Oni realm, perhaps. Or destiny itself, recalibrating around a variable it had not anticipated.
Let it watch.
I rose fully to my feet, shadows curling obediently around me, power humming beneath my skin like a restrained storm.
I had paid the price.
And I had become something greater.