Ninjago Oneshots

the spirit who burns with rage

he only remembers fire and the feeling of his skin cracking and burning away. he retains his memories after death, but only to fuel his desire for vengeance on the world of living for abandoning him in his time of need.

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Fire crackled and hissed as it burned away at wood and stone foundations. The entire house was obliterated. Too many things had gone wrong for anything to remain salvageable by the time the fire was put out. There was only one casualty: the owner of the house. He hadn't been lucky enough to escape on time.

The source of the fire was a small table in the middle of a simple living room. A bottle of an opened mystery chemical was burning brightly beside a fallen figure. His face was burnt and charred beyond recognition, his arm reaching out, as if seeking help before death claimed his soul.

He vaguely remembered screaming out "NO!" as the flames sprung up and the audience ran, screaming as they did so. He pleaded for them to not run, that this was all part of the plan and he had it under control. They never listened, and all disappeared, practically climbing over one another to escape. They didn't try to help, like they claimed they would should anything go wrong.

He remembered stumbling around blindly, shrieks of agony escaping his throat as flames rose higher and engulfed his entire body. The liquid that he'd coated his clothes in acted as a guide for the fire, allowing it to spread more rapidly than he could put it out.

Why hadn't that elixir worked? It was supposed to work. Nothing was supposed to hurt him if he used it.

It was their fault. They did this to him.

Everything was so bright. Everything hurt... it was so painful and he just wanted it to stop—

"Whoa, what happened to you?" an unfamiliar female voice asked.

A faint thud was heard, followed by "Bansha, you don't just ask the new spirits that."

"You asked me that!"

"I asked who you were."

He forced his eyes open, expecting to see the wreckage of his house and a crowd gathered around him. He didn't expect to see three green people (well, two green people and a green skeleton) looking down at him. One held a bow, another had two swords sheathed across her back, and the skeleton carried a scythe. He was smart enough to realize that he was no longer in the world of living.

"Wh-what?" he muttered. He pushed himself onto his feet, wincing in pain as he did so. His face paled when he saw his hands. Charred, blistered, and raw skin ran all the way up his arm from his hands. Almost hesitantly, he let his fingers touch the burnt areas. He felt nothing. Now panicking, he grabbed at his arms, realizing that his clothes had burned away, leaving his torso bare. It was also covered with dark red splotches and blisters.

His entire body was covered in third degree burns. Maybe even fourth degree. He didn't want to imagine what his face looked like.

"Is it bad?" he asked quietly, not caring that these three green people were complete strangers.

"Well..." the female spirit — Bansha — said. "I mean, it will heal."

The scythe-holding skeleton elbowed her and mumbled something into her ear. Her eyes widened slightly and she winced. "Oh."

"If it's more than a third degree burn, it wouldn't heal on its own," he said, still looking down at the ground.

"Take him to the Preeminent," the archer said. "She'll know what to do."