An alliance secured did not mean safety.
It meant preparation.
The moment I returned to my domain, I began structuring power—not hoarding it, not flaunting it, but organizing it. Raw strength without hierarchy was noise. I intended to build something quieter.
Enduring.
I tapped my staff once against the stone floor.
The sound echoed deeper than it should have.
"Stone Clay," I commanded.
The ground responded.
Stone folded upward in controlled layers, clay and mineral spiraling together into a humanoid form—tall, broad-shouldered, forged with deliberate symmetry. When the construct solidified, glowing sigils flared briefly across his body before dimming into dormant obedience.
Stone Clay opened his eyes.
They were not empty.
They were aware.
He knelt immediately, sword forming in his grasp as if the concept of weaponry itself bent to his will. I felt his mind—sharp, adaptive, capable of independent tactical thought. Not a brute. Not a puppet.
A lieutenant.
"You will serve directly under me," I said. "Command when I do not speak. Think when others wait."
He inclined his head. "As you will."
Good.
I tapped my staff again.
And again.
This time, the earth fractured repeatedly as several dozen Grimrock rose from the ground—towering stone warriors, heavy and relentless. Their presence alone warped the air around them, each one a walking bulwark capable of shattering conventional armies.
They formed ranks without instruction.
Experience—borrowed and inherited—had taught them order.
I extended my awareness further.
"Lord Krakenskull," I called—not aloud, but through the authority binding us.
The response was immediate.
The space above the battlefield darkened as massive shadows emerged from summoned rifts. Krakenskull's army poured forth—abyssal soldiers armored in obsidian and bone, their movements disciplined, their loyalty absolute.
Then came the Krakenbeasts.
Colossal, multi-limbed war entities dragged themselves into the world, their presence bending gravity and magic alike. They did not roar. They waited.
At my command, the sky filled with motion.
Stone gargoyles tore free from cliff faces and summoned architecture, wings grinding as they took to the air. Below them, stone soldiers formed tight formations—infantry, shields locked, spears angled with brutal precision.
No chaos.
No celebration.
Just readiness.
I stood at the center of it all, staff planted firmly, cloak unmoving despite the magical pressure saturating the area. Stone Clay positioned himself at my right, Krakenskull's forces anchoring the flanks.
This was not an army meant to conquer cities overnight.
This was an army meant to end wars.
I looked over them once—only once.
"Hold," I commanded.
Every creature obeyed.
We would not strike first.
Not yet.
Let history weaken itself. Let legends exhaust their final strength.
When the moment came—
Ninjago would learn what it meant when preparation met inevitability.