Taking Control. (a Ninjago fanfic)

Chapter 62- Misfortune

J A Y

Darkness.

Falling

Falling

Falling.

Why?

It was supposed to be over.

Nya said, she promised—

Water.

I gasped as my body hit the sea, the force knocking the air from my lungs. Salt filled my nose, burned my throat, stinging my eyes, dragging me under. I thrashed, my limbs sluggish, my body sinking—too heavy, too slow— the water pulling, clawing at my body—

And then hands—rough, brutal hands—wrenched me from the depths, hauled me coughing and choking onto damp, rotting wood.

Laughter rang out around me, sharp and cruel.

It wasn't the Overlords. It wasn't just one person either— it was multiple.

I blinked hard, my vision swimming, the world tilting beneath me. My fingers scraped against soaked planks, and a chill ran down my spine.

What—

What was going on—

No.

No, this wasn't real.

I was just on the ground. My friends—Nya, Lloyd, Kai—they were there. I remembered them there. Holding me down, calling my name. I remembered the lightning, the Overlord, the mirror—

The mirror.

Something cold curled in my chest, sinking its claws deep into my ribs.

This wasn't real. It couldn't be.

Didn't make sense.

And yet—

Boots stomped toward me, stopping just inches from my hands. A deep, mocking chuckle rumbled from above.

My stomach twisted painfully, my breath hitching.

I knew that voice.

Slowly, I looked up.

Nadakhan grinned down at me, eyes burning bright, teeth sharp and glinting. Skin tanned, ponytail swishing wildly in the wind.

His crew loomed behind him—Flintlocke, Clancee, Dogshank—all watching, all sneering.

The sky above them churned, storm clouds swirling in a violent, endless vortex. The Misfortune's Keep groaned beneath me, the wood creaking and shifting like the ship was alive, breathing.

I scrambled back on instinct, my heart hammering. "No—no, this isn't real,"

It didn't make sense— it'd been years.

The nightmares had basically stopped.

This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

But it felt real.

The sharp, salty tang of the ocean clogged my throat. The wind bit at my skin, the heavy scent of gunpowder and blood making my stomach churn. My clothes stuck to me with sweat, my pulse a frantic, stuttering mess.

I could feel the bruises on my wrists where the chains had been.

I could feel the phantom pain of all the hits, the cuts, the whips—