Ninjago - Heart of Stone

Chapter Twenty: Dealing with the Devil

Lou didn't understand how it happened.

The storm had seemed innocent enough. It was raining, lightly at first, before it became a downpour. The wind had begun to roar, and the rain lashed at the windows of his studio, covering the glass in a sleek wall of water. It was because of this that Lou had failed to notice he was under attack until he was actually, literally being attacked by a massive man made entirely of stone.

"Get back!" He flung the nearest object (the nearest object that wasn't the music stand he'd been given as an anniversary present) at the stone man, already searching for something new to throw as the book on music notes sailed through the air. The stone man caught it, dropping it on the ground at his feet and deliberately stepping on it as he came towards Lou, lifting his axe above his head. Lou ducked out of the way at the last second, running with his shoulders hunched and his head bowed towards the door.

He escaped through it, rushing through the halls in panic to reach the outdoor exit. Behind him, he heard the stone man crashing through the halls, destroying the studio in his haste to catch Lou. He tried not to imagine all his priceless possessions shattering and smashing, praying that everything that was Cole's would remain intact. As Lou cut through the stage to reach the exit, he screeched to a halt at the wall, grabbing the family portrait that hung there on the wall and tucking it inside his jacket.

"Sienna, darling, I could really use your help right now," he muttered, darting off again as the stone man came lumbering into the room. Lou tore across the room, stumbling and nearly tripping over his own feet as he raced for the door. He slammed into it bodily, and he pushed himself back so he could grab the handle. Behind him, the stone man was fast approaching, and Lou could sense his movements as he raised his axe menacingly above his head.

The handle clicked and the door swung open, and Lou practically fell outside, staggering down the steps and taking off in a mad sprint down the street. Rain still lashed against him, and the pavement was slick and shiny, little rivers running down both sides of the road. Lou heard screams around him, and saw more stone men gathered in the streets, chasing civilians and destroying buildings. Unconsciously, Lou placed a hand against the bulge in his jacket made by the portrait.

"Look out!" He wasn't sure who shouted the warning, but as Lou looked around to find the source, he failed to see the threat he was being warned against. The next thing he knew, he was lying splayed out across the wet pavement, his entire body convulsing and covered in oozing black liquid.

There were a few seconds during which he panicked, thinking he was dead, or dying. He scrambled to his feet, staggering and falling once again when his knees buckled beneath his weight. He lay there, shaking and gasping, for a moment longer. Then, his mind emptied, and he forgot everything.

He stood up and began walking calmly through the streets, suddenly unaware of the rain and the wind and the darkness. He heard faraway, muted screams, which he ignored. A few feet away, someone was thrown to the ground and bashed over the head with a club. Some blood splattered onto Lou's cheek, warming his skin and then sliding down the side of his neck with the rain. He didn't even notice.

His master was calling him. He trudged through the street until he came to the place— the tower, upon which stood his master. He was beautiful, and majestic, and powerful, and Lou couldn't help but stare.

Defend me, the voices told him. Defend me, obey me, and forget who you really are.

"Yes," Lou mumbled, smiling. It was easy to say yes. It was like sliding into a familiar dream, the air cooling his skin like fresh water. He listened to the voices as they told him what to do, where to go, who he was. As he trudged along in a slow, dizzying circle around the base of the tower, Lou's portrait slipped from his jacket and fell to the ground, the glass shattering against the wet pavement. The picture was tugged from the frame, the rain soaking it in seconds, the colours bleeding out and wash it away as it was carried by the wind through air and our of sight.