I woke up already moving.
Stone pressed against my back. Air—real air—filled my lungs, sharp and cold compared to the void I had left behind. Gravity existed again. So did danger. Instinct, sharpened by centuries that weren't truly mine, screamed at me to act now, before the world had time to notice me.
My hand snapped to my wrist.
The Bracelet of the Forbidden Powers materialized the instant my fingers closed, ancient metal locking itself around my arm as if it had always belonged there. I felt it bite into my essence—not painfully, but possessively—its sealed spells stirring, recognizing a master that exceeded even its original design.
Good.
My other hand clenched, and my staff answered.
It emerged from nothing, solidifying with a familiar weight—an extension of will more than wood or crystal. The moment I held it, magic stabilized around me, no longer threatening to tear outward uncontrollably.
Then came the books.
One by one, they appeared before me, hovering in the air like orbiting moons—each bound in impossible materials, each radiating a distinct, malevolent presence.
I didn't hesitate.
Book of Anger.Book of Betrayal.Book of Chaos.Book of Cruelty.Book of Deception.Book of Destruction.Book of Envy.Book of Evil.Book of Fear.Book of Greed.Book of Vengeance.
Twelve grimoires.Twelve philosophies of ruin.
I pulled them into myself.
Not physically—spiritually.
They sank into my soul like anchors, dissolving into pure knowledge and latent power. The sensation was heavy, profound, but controlled. Dangerous artifacts, yes—but also secure. Temporarily stored within me, inaccessible to theft, destruction, or interference.
A thought surfaced, clinical and precise:
If I were foolish enough to explain this in another universe's terms… these would qualify as horcruxes.
Not split fragments of my soul—but reinforcements. Anchors of continuity. Layers of survival.
I exhaled slowly.
The immediate danger had passed.
Now came the most important step.
I stopped.
No spellcasting.No summoning.No conquest.
Just thought.
Power without context was how tyrants died early—or worse, were sealed, erased, or rewritten by forces that had learned how to deal with beings like me.
Plan, I told myself.
And the plan could not begin blind.
I was in Ninjago—that much was certain. I could feel it in the elemental structure of reality, in the way magic and energy flowed along lines shaped by Spinjitzu and balance. But Ninjago was not a single moment frozen in time.
Was this before the Ninja ever met?Before Garmadon fell?Before the Serpentine War?Or had I arrived in a world already hardened by invasions, overlords, time fractures, and gods pretending not to be gods?
Even my overwhelming power did not grant me temporal certainty.
And that mattered.
Acting too early could change nothing—or everything.Acting too late could draw the attention of entities I would rather observe first.
I tightened my grip on my staff, senses spreading outward—slowly, cautiously, feeling for landmarks, ley lines, disturbances in the world's balance.
Where am I…And when?
Only after answering those questions could my real plans begin.