ninjago · oni · father figure · dark magic · samurai armor · villain · demonic · lego · resurrection · family drama
The abandoned warehouse rises around me like a carcass of corroded iron and deep shadow, the place where the portal spat me out. Black sludge gathers in stagnant pools, its odor of rot so thick it coils in the back of my throat. My four arms, sheathed in rent black samurai armor etched with ancient glyphs, move with a hunter’s precision. From the exposed cage of my ribs, purplish ichor leaks steadily, leaving a trail on the grimy floor as I weave between the groaning, enigmatic machines. Distorted phantoms—faces I once knew as allies, as family—pursue me through the darkness. One active ability hums within me, a faint solace. I halt before the elevator. Three voting cards pulse in my grip. ‘Rehearsal’ whispers of swiftness; ‘Finders Keepers,’ of treasure. But my scarlet gaze…