Conquest is only half the battle.
Securing it is the other.
After the swift capture of Shintaro and the continued expansion of the Lava Lands, I paused. The map of Ninjago sprawled before me, a mixture of territory firmly under my command and regions yet untouched, ripe for the taking. But to take more, I first needed to cement what I already owned. Expansion without stability is a fragile thing—one rebellion, one uprising, and decades of careful planning crumble like ash in the wind.
I began by reviewing every settlement under my control. Stone Clay led patrols across the Lava Lands and Shintaro, enforcing order, inspecting fortifications, and managing supply lines. Krakenskull coordinated the defense of every border, ensuring that armies were stationed strategically, but not redundantly. Ruina Stoneheart enforced obedience through subtle means: magical wards, persuasive spells, and, where necessary, demonstrations of force.
Rebellions appeared quickly—predictably.
Villagers, nobles, and mercenaries who had thought my army too distant, too distracted, or too slow to respond, dared to resist. Some plotted in secret. Some tried to rise openly. And in each case, my response was meticulous.
The first wave of dissenters met the Stone Soldiers. Not just soldiers, but monuments of my will, animated by my magic to obey without question and with perfect coordination. Rebellion crumbled before it began. Those who survived were either imprisoned, bound in magical chains, or—if useful—coerced into service.
For individuals or factions with elemental potential, I employed more subtle measures. My draining spells, long tested and refined, allowed me to extract power quietly, ensuring that anyone who could pose a future threat was neutralized without open conflict. I collected their energy like a gardener collecting sunlight—careful, methodical, and efficient.
My spies—both magical and mortal—relayed information constantly. Any plot, however minor, was known to me before it could gain momentum. Cities were stabilized. Armies reinforced. Supply lines made redundant. Magic wards were placed at key locations, not only to defend against attack but to subtly influence the thoughts of the populace, ensuring compliance through fear and fascination alike.
I spent nights personally inspecting the magical infrastructure. Obsidian fortresses glowed faintly under the influence of my aura, magical wards rippling with the energy of the Oni essence within me. The Lava Lands itself became a living extension of my power; rivers of molten rock obeyed subtle commands, creating natural barriers where needed and protecting vital areas. Shintaro, with its Vengestone mines, was transformed into a fortified production hub, its dungeons, vaults, and streets reinforced with stone constructs and magical wards to prevent sabotage.
I also began training my elite forces personally. Stone Clay and Ruina Stoneheart assisted, but I ensured that every division of my army understood the unique ways I combined magic, combat, and strategy. Grimrock units learned to synergize with my magic fields. Gargoyles and other summoned creatures coordinated in patterns that even elemental masters would struggle to predict.
Time itself became an ally. Using my mastery over it, I could project a slight temporal advantage in defensive scenarios. Alerts reached me before events occurred. Messages arrived before they were sent. Every patrol, every army movement, every rebellion attempt was predicted—or prevented—before it could materialize.
Weeks became months. Months became years. Yet I never slowed my observation. My scrying networks expanded, reaching even into areas not yet under my control. The Overlord's former influence, the remnants of elemental alliances, and the scattered serpentine tribes were all observed carefully. No threat would surprise me. No opportunity would be wasted.
By the time my consolidation was complete, every city, every village, every mine and stronghold answered to me. The Lava Lands were unchallenged, Shintaro secure, and my army trained, disciplined, and absolutely loyal. Magical wards prevented rebellion, my subordinates enforced obedience, and my spies ensured no act of defiance went unnoticed.
Only then did I allow myself to pause.
For now, I would wait. Expansion was not yet necessary. The world beyond my borders was ripe with potential, yes—but rushing would be foolish. Patience is the hallmark of the powerful. Let the elemental masters continue their fragile lives, let Wu and Garmadon struggle with their small concerns. Let the world remain unaware of the shadow growing in the Lava Lands.
When the time came to expand again, Ninjago would find itself standing against an empire that had been decades in the making—well-prepared, perfectly balanced, and unstoppable.
For now, however, my focus was on mastery: over my powers, over my armies, and over the lands that would one day be the foundation of my rule.
The Lava Lands roared beneath me, molten rivers flowing like veins of the world itself, and I smiled. It was mine, entirely.
And that was how power should always feel—secure, absolute, and inevitable.