Ninja Apocalypse

18: Ouroboros (edited)

The skeleton army had broken through the great gates to Ouroboros. The defensive spikes and blades that were set into the walls made no difference as they scaled them to over-run the battlements. Pythor had watched the Generals from afar, fighting next to their soldiers. If he were to have any remorse about taking Ouroboros, he would have felt it when the last General fell. All he felt was intrigued. Why bother fighting? Just the sight and sound of his skeleton army climbing the very defences designed to keep enemies out, should have tipped them off; they weren't going to win... They really were incredibly stupid. He snorted into the air and looked at his reflection in his polished blade. Tilting his head to get a better angle, he admired his regal air. His Markings were unusual and had always set him apart and with his bleached scales he looked every part the conquering warlord. He was truly born to be a great and fearsome leader and now he had achieved it. At Last.  He breathed deep of his victory and smiled.

Sir... Pythor Sir... Master?

Pythor was jolted out of his self appreciation 'You shall now call me Pythor the Great... No wait, that's a bit clumsy. High Ruler... He straightened himself at the title. Yes, that works, continue'

'Yes, High Roller...'

'...WAIT! Not High Roller for pity's sake, perhaps that's not quite right... I'll think of something. Continue'

'All the generals are fallen. The soldiers are rounded up and are not resisting'

'... and the High Council?'

'The entrance has been barricaded from the inside. We believe they have collapsed the interior tunnels'

'Oh really... what's the point in that? They are just delaying the inevitable. We can burrow up to them, continue'

The large Anacondrai skeleton bowed low 'Yes, you're High... er... ness?'

'Hmmm. Your Highness... It's simple, but direct. Yes I like this. Inform the troops of the new plan and my new title'

'Yes, Your Highnessss' The Anacondrai hissed and backed away.

The High Council was in session and had been since the siege began, the fire-pit fuelling the final throws of the new world of Ouroboros. The last few Shaman stood around the edge, their staring eyes dry and fixed to the fires heart. At the edge of the chamber, other shaman had been pulled, having collapsed from the days of heat and the strain of staring, waiting for the visions. Assistants with damp cloths and droppers with liquidised protein, attempted to slowly restore them back to consciousness. They had pushed their bodies to the absolute limit and their minds to the edge of reality. Deciphering what was real and what was imagined from the gruelling hypnotic state reached at Kiva, were the scribes, one standing next to each shaman.

The Scribes stood in quiet concentration, themselves bearing the great heat. Whether the Shamen spoke in whispers or great shouts; be it nonsense or fluid clarity, the scribes wrote their visions in an ancient shorthand script that looped and curled across the parchment. The words they recorded now could speak the future of Ouroboros, the United Serpentine Clans and the world. Though on this occasion the brushes marked just one character again and again... fire, fire, fire.

An assistant spoke with the Head Scribe 'The flames speak to them all, yet it seems to be only the flames they can see. What can this mean? Is this the end? Are they seeing the fires of doom?' Another Shaman dropped to the floor. The Head Scribe gathered his assistants beside the last shaman standing. Their fingers hovered above their boards, ready to record the last words of this session and their hearts willed the shaman to have more for them.

Every waver of the Shamans body could be the start of a vision. His eyes, dry and frozen, stared into the flames. 'It's starting' the head scribe informed his assistants. They all became still as they tuned into the Shamans altered state.

'Fiiiiire...'

In unison the scribes made one mark on their pages and the Head Scribe tried not to let the assistants see his disappointment. The shaman swayed, his long neck heavy, unable to take the weight of his head any longer. His pupils grew large, the flames burning into the back of his skull.

'Ninjaaaaah...'

The chief scribe felt impossible chills. A second mark; Fire - Ninja.

The secondary assistants held themselves, ready to rush to the Shamans aid. He had already said more than all the Shamans together. Surely he would fall now? The Head Scribe held up his hand to hold them off. It was his call to let them proceed and this Shaman wasn't done yet.

The shaman swayed precariously his words coming slowly at first 'Gollllld' the scribes made another mark 'Armourrr... will hold... the power of... one. Two, makes the... impossible... possible. The confused heart will create order in chaos. The broken heart will mend the whole. The spark is the conduit. Black will become white...' The brushes stopped and hovered, waiting for more. The shamans' eyes blinked, the fire that fuelled his energy drained from them as the connection to the flames was broken. He swayed and fell to the ground.

The Head Scribe swiftly flicked his hand forward and the secondary assistants ran to aid the fallen Shaman. As they busied themselves administering the moistened cloths and trying to drip-feed him, they became still. An assistant turned and shook his head. The Shaman was gone.

A tremor hit the chamber. The great fire pit jumped as the stones surrounding it split and crumbled. The floor gave way underneath the fire, the flames collapsing into the depths; taking with it the body of the shaman, a handful of assistants and the sacred first stone. A great tunnelling mech rose up from the hole, spitting sparks and white-hot splinters of wood. The heat that had built up over days was finally released but the serpentine were trapped. The Head Scribe grabbed as many of the notes from his workers as he could, rolling them as he moved to the one door of the chamber and opened it onto the fallen rubble of the destroyed tunnels. It had held Pythors army back just long enough to capture the shaman's final vision, but had also sealed their fate. The Scribe squeezed out into the pockets of space that remained and shut the door. He was Venomari, the smallest and most cunning of all the snake types, so finding the crevices and pockets within the rubble did not worry him, if anyone could get through, it would be him. He only needed to travel a short way to find the first of many hidden escape hatches. If luck were with him he would be able to access one and deliver the dead Shamans final vision to the only free Shaman in Ninjago.