Ouroboros (Ninjago x Male Reader)

23. Sight

(y/n) woke up in complete darkness. At first he didn't think much of it, but when he realized his eyes were open, he shot up into a sitting position

He drew in a sharp breath in fright, before throwing his hands onto his face. He blinked and felt around, trying to find anything that could have possibly be blocking his sight. But he didn't find anything, not a blindfold nor anything else.

Realizing there was nothing blocking his sight, he started feeling around his surroundings. If he couldn't see, but nothing was blocking his vision, then something must be blocking all light from entering the space he was in.

(y/n)'s heart beat faster than it should have as he felt around. Had he been kidnapped? Or taken to a shelter or... prison? Was it Morro's blood? He hadn't washed it away yet.

(y/N) felt around in an even bigger panic. A cloth, grass, dirt... No walls and no floor, no matter how much he felt around. He was outside.

The last thing (y/n) remembered was falling asleep outside, very much out of it after having drank the Heaven's Door tea.

That's when (y/n) realized it. He hadn't been taken anywhere, nothing was blocking his sight... his sight was just gone.

(y/n) couldn't bring himself to calm down, he hyperventilated under the rising morning sun, which he himself couldn't even see.

Of course Mystake had warned him of a possible side effect, yet this was just cruel. (y/n)'s fingers dug into the dirt, desperately searching for stability of something, anything, as his thoughts raced.

Stay calm, he told himself, though every instinct screamed at him to panic. Just breathe, He pulled his knees to his chest, trying to steady himself.

But as he sat there, the eerie feeling of helplessness settled deeper into his mind. Without his sight, he was vulnerable in a way he hadn't been before. Even the sound of the birds and the wind breezing by felt threatening to him.

(y/n)'s hand shakily searched for his his bag, before feeling around for Morro's blood covered knife. When he finally found it, he ended up carelessly grabbing the blade, before feelingblood trickle down his fingers.

Yet (y/n) just winced and adjusted to grip the handle instead, keeping the weapon close to his chest as he muttered to himself.

"Morro... Morro...!" But Morro wasn't going to answer. Of course not, Morro's death was the reason he was even here.

(y/n)'s fingers tightened around the handle of Morro's bloodstained knife, the sharp sting in his palm a grounding reminder of his reality. The warmth of his own blood mingling with the cold metal was almost reassuring, a familiar pain in the midst of the terrifying unknown. His breath was shallow, uneven, but he forced himself to take another gulp of air.

Morro's name slipped from his lips again, but no answer came. Of course not.This is what you wanted, he told himself harshly, the words laced with self-reproach. You knew the risks.

When there was nothing to look at, (y/n) felt like he could see the memories of Morro's death in his head. The moment played like a movie. Only those memories, and the bloody knife in his hands, were left of the Master of Wind.

A faint sound broke through the oppressive silence. Footsteps. He wasn't sure where the sound came from, but after a while, he guessed it to be from his right.

(y/n)'s body tensed immediately, his grip on the knife tightening. He couldn't see, couldn't tell who or what was approaching him. His breath quickened again, panic creeping back into his chest.

"Morro...?" he whispered, half in hope, half in fear.

But it wasn't Morro. It couldn't be. Morro was dead. 

The footsteps stopped, and for a moment, the world was still again. (y/n) could still sense the presence of someone else right by him.

"Oh, here you are," A woman's voice said, low and unfamiliar. It didn't seem concerned for (y/n), or because of (y/n)... it was just cold.

Seems the sight of a boy covered in blood, holding a bloody knife wasn't enough to scare this woman.

(y/n) swallowed hard, his heart racing. "Who's there?" His voice was strained, barely a whisper, the fear obvious in his tone.

The voice chuckled softly. "A human, much like you." Was the woman making fun of him?

(y/n) gritted his teeth, frustration flickering on his fear filled face. "What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing much. I just need some help with something," The woman's voice said again.

"...What is it?" (y/n) had finally grown curious. He couldn't understand what the hell was going on with the woman.

"Oh, nothing much," The woman repeated her exact words from a few seconds ago. "I just need you to pay me back for beating me up with that buddy of yours!"

(y/n) realized then and there that was was seriously in trouble.

"Don't remember? It was only last week!" How could (y/n) remember, Morro beat up so many people on a regular basis, how could (y/n) recognize them from just their voice.

But (y/n) didn't bother playing dumb. "I can't remember. But if what you're saying is true, why would I pay you back?" He said, trying to not anger the holder of the voice. The presence shifted, stepping closer, and (y/n) tensed, sensing something bad was to come.

"Because," the voice whispered, "You have no choice."

Before (y/n) could react, the woman kicked Morro's knife from (y/n)'s hands as the boy cried out in desperation, trying to feel around to where it had fallen. It was the only thing left...

The woman's footsteps circled him slowly, methodically, each step echoing louder than it should in the oppressive darkness.

(y/n) couldn't see, couldn't track the woman's movements, much less find Morro's knife. And with each second that passed, the sense of danger grew.

"If Morro were here, you'd be dead..." (y/n) spat out, his voice shaky, full of fear and frustration. The woman however wasn't intimidated.

(y/n)'s hands swept the ground, hoping to feel the cold metal of the blade, but he came up with only dirt and broken grass.

"You have no idea how pathetic you look right now, do you?" The woman's voice dripped with mockery, her tone laced with a twisted amusement that made (y/n)'s stomach churn. Oh, what the simple thought of revenge could do to a person.

(y/n)'s breath hitched, his fingers shaking as he realized how powerless he had become. The man had the advantage, and (y/n) was nothing but blind and disoriented. He cursed under his breath, anger bubbling beneath his fear. His mind raced for options, but without his sight, every idea seemed pointless.

In the end, he stopped and sat down. There was nothing he could do.

This was the last flashback for now. I've shown the most important moments in their past, so only the present is left.