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Day 3: Taking care of a rival
It had been a very long day.
Lloyd had not wanted to end up in the situation he currently found himself in. But then again, he had not wanted to be involved in most situations of his life. He was not a stranger to the unfairness of Destiny.
However, for once, he had hoped that this ‘adventure’—more like a forced mission—would evolve smoothly.
Thing is, missions for Lloyd have never evolved smoothly.
He was tasked with finding a rare diamond, which held the essence of a ghost master of spinjitzu that Omega desperately wanted.
In retrospect, the mission was easy. A burglary was a piece of cake for a Ninja of their team’s calibre. Lloyd especially, who was talented in the art of discretion when needed, had been chosen for that exact reason. It was supposed to be a quick task: go in, steal the diamond, get out. Barely an hour long.
So, of course, there arose a problem.
Lloyd had woken up today—from what he had thought would be a rejuvenating sleep for his inexplicably tired body—with the worst headache known to mankind. It was as if his brain was being squeezed through a tiny straw and currently fist-fighting against his skull. Lloyd was unfortunately certain that his brain was winning that fistfight.
Secondly, his throat burned. It did not just hurt. It burnt. And not just any time he swallowed. But every possible second. It felt like someone was incessantly scratching at the inside of his larynx with nails as long as an Oni’s.
The headache and the throatache were not that much of a surprise, to be honest. A dull pain on the back of his head had started just two days previously, and his throat had been somewhat scratchy every time he swallowed yesterday. A cold had been circling him this past week, but it was today that it had taken the final hit against his immune system and caused its surrender.
Those symptoms in and of themselves could be handled with some care. He’d drink some tea with Uncle Wu, take a pill for a headache, maybe eat some mint for his throat. There were quick remedies he had access to.
But there was a folly in his plans.
It was not simply the headache and throatache he had to deal with, unfortunately. A pit had curled up in his stomach, and a hand was squeezing, then tying his intestines into a twist as intricate as the Gordian knot. What little food he had eaten yesterday was making a jolly journey up his assaulted throat and intended to vacate his mouth until he could no longer hold it in.
He dove for the toilet bowl.
He retched and hacked and dry-heaved for what felt like whole centuries. There was no respite, no moment of peace. For Lloyd lived a nightmare.
Minutes or hours later, a droopy-eyed Ninja entered the dining hall of their cruiser. His face was gaunt and pale, his shoulder slumped and heavy. He could barely stand.
Lloyd could see no member of his family inside. Kai and Nya must still be sleeping. Cole and Jay were probably playing video games again, while Pixel and Zane were making breakfast.
Master Wu was nowhere in sight.
Lloyd felt a sigh leave his lips. The mission was supposed to start from the moment Lloyd woke up. So simple was it that he could be back before breakfast. Nobody would bat an eye at not seeing him this morning.
Disheartened by this realisation, Lloyd’s tired mind came to a decision. The mission was of vital importance, and the other Ninja were busy enough as it was. Lloyd could handle being a bit sick. He had suffered worse—way worse.
He did not even glance at the bread perfectly positioned on the table. His stomach tumbled at the mere thought. Instead, Lloyd made his way out of the Bounty, which had stopped yesterday on the outskirts of Ninjago, and into the city.
The diamond was kept inside a museum for its historical significance. Apparently, it used to be the possession of a famous queen. Was that before or after the spinjitzu master’s soul got trapped inside it? He wondered.
Most probably, there would be guards. He could take police-trained officers any day, but in his state he’d rather not. Disguise, it was.
Thankfully, Lloyd was innocuously dressed, and not in his Green-Ninja uniform. Maybe he’d take a cap from the gift shop. His eyes and hair were a bit recognisable, after all.
Before long he arrived at the museum. Just as he had predicted, three guards were standing at attention at the door, looking out into the sky instead of what was right in front of them, to convey a sense of superiority. Idiots, honestly.
“Do you have a ticket, sir?” A muscular guard asked, still not looking at him. Frankly, this was for the best. If they saw who it was entering the museum and the alarm went off just a bit after he left, it would only lead to suspicion that would be entirely deserved but not at all convenient.
But a ticket? Why have a ticket for a museum?
He looked around, and his gaze sharpened on the poster to the left of a leaner guard. It was a colourful representation of abstract art. From what Lloyd could infer—he was no expert in art, generally—two women were standing next to each other—one darkly coloured, the other wholly red—reaching for a crown. Two shadows stretched behind them, and inside the shadows, big, bold white letters read:
Reporters and critics, huh? Well, Lloyd could pass for a critic, couldn’t he? He was wearing an odd mix of pyjamas and actual clothes, and he had heard artists dressed oddly, so he was in the perfect disguise.
“No, sir,” He added a bit of arrogance in his voice and a classier accent. “I am here by invitation.” Inflexion was everything, Nya said. He should act confident. “Don’t you recognise me?”
It was a very risky gamble to draw attention to his features, but this guard did not seem to originate from Ninjago. Lloyd’d guess he was from somewhere with more sun, judging from his tanned skin.
“Uh, yes, of course, I recognise you, sir,” The guard hurried to reassure. These people were very predictable. The bulky guy ushered him inside with barely constrained panic at having forgotten what he assumed was a VIP guest.
Just as the man was about to leave, Lloyd halted his steps. He looked around, as if unimpressed by the setting, and stared at the guard with disdain. “Is this what you call art?” He waved a hand over the admittedly beautiful statues and paintings. “This is rubbish. Show me to the jewels.”
“Uh, sir.” The guard hesitated. “The tour starts in a bit. I’m not equipped—”
“Nonsense.” For this to work smoothly, he needed a guide. Even though it’d look quite suspicious if he was shown to the diamonds and then immediately after, one was stolen. Though perhaps he could…
“Now, now, sir, no need to torment the poor man.” A familiar voice echoed around the room with barely hidden distaste. Lloyd felt himself freeze in his tracks. This couldn’t be…
He turned sharply on his heel, stomach tumbling with the sudden movement, to gaze at his saboteur. He was not surprised to find—
“Garmadon,” He rasped out, eyes locked on his inhumane red orbs. The man—who was the point of no return? When did a man finally become a monster?—was grinning sharply in his direction, a clawed hand in the motion of grabbing his shoulder. Lloyd wanted to flinch away from him, but that would seem too personal—Garmadon was the Green Ninja’s bitterest rival; they were nothing more.
The guard screamed in a pitch that only worsened Lloyd’s headache. He started mumbling about ‘black skin’, ‘red eyes’, ‘four hands’, and ‘demons’ before running off towards the entrance. The other two guards looked at him with concern, but when he kept murmuring about ‘demons’, they decided he was just the victim of the newest threat in Ninjago.
Definitely not a local then.
They did not even bother to investigate what had made their colleague this anxious. They simply returned to their posts, with a faint whisper of, “If we don’t look at it, it won’t hurt us.” A sound philosophy that would last for all of thirty seconds against a normal threat, but would work exceptionally well now.
“What are you doing here?” Garmadon asked, a brow raised.
“What do you care?” Lloyd hissed. He did not need Garmadon ruining his perfectly smooth-going mission. Not to mention that entrusting his plans to a possible enemy was decidedly not a smart idea.
There was a moment of silence where Garmadon contemplated his words. He stared at Lloyd for a long time, as if analysing every micro-expression on his face, every twitch of his hands, every jolt of his knee.
“I’m planning to steal a diamond,” Garmadon said finally. His eyes did not stray from Lloyd’s form despite his words. It was as if he had been entranced. “You look… different.”
Different? Lloyd was exactly the same as the last time Garmadon had seen him—a broken little boy whose heart craved parental affection and yet was denied every time. His hair looked the same. He had not grown any taller. His voice had not deepened. The only clear distinction would be his clothes, since he was dressed casually, but that was not a huge enough distinction for Garmadon to mention it in such an introspective tone.
“Not really,” He settled on, trying to avoid the man’s—the monster’s—face.
Garmadon continued to stare at him. His eyes narrowed into two tiny slits. His lips pursed. Lloyd could practically smell the suspicion.
Despite the unsettling gaze upon his skin, Lloyd had to concentrate on the mission ahead of him. There was no way he was letting Garmadon take the diamond. He’d rather die.
It was not a matter of pride, not of concern for the diamond, and, selfishly, not of reluctance at the possibility of the artefact in Omega’s hands. But something personal to Lloyd. He could not let Garmadon take the diamond.
If he had to fight him, then so be it. Lloyd had long stopped deluding himself into caring for this monster. Because Garmadon, in all his evil glory, would never be Lloyd’s father.
Maybe something in his gaze betrayed his true intentions—eyes were windows to the soul—because Garmadon’s expression tightened. He stopped analysing his features, stopped drinking in his form like a thirst-perishing might do; who knows, the well to which he has crept is poisoned, yet stoops and drinks divine draughts nevertheless.
“I do not wish to fight you for the diamond,” Garmadon whispered softly, as if he still held tenderness in his non-existent heart for a broken boy he did not wish to fix.
“I will not leave without it.” No matter what it took, the diamond would be in his hands by the time he got out of this museum—whether alive or dead was of no importance.
Garmadon must have known that already because his head tilted—not in something resembling consideration—but in acceptance. It was truly unsurprising that Garmadon would be resentful of anything relating to him but his death.
For he would die, Lloyd realised with a dull, almost childlike wonder. He was in no condition to fight, with his body so weakened by this illness. Garmadon was at the peak of his power, fully accepting of his Oni side—while Lloyd would forever fight it. Self-destruction was his mother long before Misako came along and claimed that title, as if she had any right—and with no pitiful feelings hindering him.
It was fitting, he supposed, to die by his father’s hand. Even if his father had not been a monster, and this being certainly was.
“I will not fight you.” Garmadon’s determined voice snapped him out of his ponderings.
Lloyd blinked. “What?”
“I will not fight you,” He repeated with conviction that did not befit his statement. He drew his shoulders back, but his fisted hands relaxed by his sides. He stared at Lloyd with an unquestionable certainty. Garmadon was ready to die if Lloyd attacked him, but he would not leave either.
Kill him, a shameful voice inside his head whispered. He deserves it.
But he was defenceless—is a monster with claws and fire ever really defenceless?—he had resigned himself to defeat for Lloyd. If he killed him now, would he really be any less of a monster than Garmadon?
Thoughts swirled through his mind like a relentless tornado, beating against his skull with a vengeance that would make Harumi seem mild. The ground shook for a moment, the lights hit his eyes with the power of a thousand suns, and… he could not do this anymore.
His knees buckled, his head—a burden of a million tons weighing him down—advanced his tilt, and the vomit that had been stuck in his throat throughout this whole discussion reached a crescendo in his stoma. And just like all wonderful singers, Lloyd had to open his mouth.
“First Spinjitzu Master!” Garmadon exclaimed, catching him by the shoulders before he dove headfirst into the ground.
A green-like substance spread throughout the whole floor as Lloyd hacked on his knees, mere inches away from Garmadon’s feet. Said being had knelt next to him, an especially warm hand touching his shoulder.
Lloyd was not sure how that made him feel. Goosebumps spread over his skin like tiny lightning rods standing to attention. The fear that passed over him when he felt Garmadon’s hand touch him was undeniable, yet the gesture was not inherently maleficent. The opposite, actually. It was an odd way of providing… comfort.
He had not experienced much comfort in his life. Even if it was not Garmadon offering it right now, Lloyd would not have been sure how to react.
A final droplet of spit landed on the greenish puddle. Lloyd groaned in pain as his throat erupted in dragon-flames. The throwing-up session only helped worsen his terrible headache, and while his uneasy stomach had settled somewhat, it was the embarrassment of the situation that got to him.
He realised that Garmadon was still kneeling beside him, an unreadable expression on his face. How he didn’t feel disgusted at the sight of spew was beyond Lloyd. Even he felt grossed out, and it was his own vomit.
“Are you… better?” Garmadon asked awkwardly. He still did not look repulsed by Lloyd, which was… bizarre.
Garmadon was his enemy. He should not be acting kindly.
“Yes,” He answered shortly. He tried to reconcile the two versions of Garmadon in his head—it was such a gross oversimplification to say two versions, as if there were not a hundred different aspects of the man that created him out there, waiting to torment him with either their kindness or cruelty. Lloyd much preferred cruelty.
One was kind, the other evil. One wise, the other reckless. One a pacifist, the other a war-monger.
One treated him kindly; he smiled and took care of him with tender words and love-filled promises.
The other hated him; beat him mercilessly in front of thousands of people, chose a stranger as his daughter, and forsaked him. "I have no son."
They were completely separate entities in his mind. One had reached true apotheosis, while the other had succumbed to demonisation. They could not co-exist, for they were antithetical.
But here was this being who should ooze evil from the pores of his skin, kneeling beside Lloyd, asking if he was feeling better, imitating his one true opposite.
How? But most importantly, why?
Garmadon sniffed. From the corner of his eye, Lloyd could see him searching for something in his pocket. His expression cleared suddenly, and not a second later a small vial was gripped between two deft fingers.
Before Lloyd could frown at the odd action, Garmadon helped him stand up with efficiency, and gave him the vial. At his puzzled and somewhat distrustful look, Garmadon sighed. “It’s an anti-nausea concoction. Used to be Mistake’s recipe.”
Maybe it was the mention of Mistake or the tender tone with which he spoke of her that made Lloyd down the vial despite the obvious risks. After all, if Garmadon had wanted him dead, he had already had ample opportunity to do so.
“Come then,” Garmadon waved at him with a pleased expression. Seeing his confused grimace—the concoction tasted just as awful as Mistake’s recipes usually did— he reminded him of his mission. “The diamond.”
The diamond. Of course, he had to find the diamond to prevent it from falling into Omega’s hands. That would be catastrophic. Whatever that old Oni wanted could not be good.
It seemed like Garmadon knew where the diamond was being kept. He must have done more research than Lloyd. Then again, Lloyd had done no research.
They bypassed cameras artfully, the way only Ninja could. When they came face to face with a door, Garmadon’s preoccupied hand—because he had been holding onto him with the left—fished out a pin from inside his pocket and picked the lock.
With a near-silent clink, they hurried inside. The room was completely devoid of colour. On a stand, enclosed under what could only be unbreakable glass, there was the diamond. It was a tiny thing—as big as a pushpin’s head. Yet it glowed, impenetrable to light.
There must have been at least a thousand alarms in that case individually, let alone the diamond itself. Yet with a masterful technique, Garmadon’s nimble fingers pressed against the glass and nothing happened. Quickly, he lowered it to the ground and took hold of the diamond. No alarms.
Lloyd realised that he needed to take that diamond from Garmadon. Omega could not get the lost soul of the spinjitzu master, or else whatever nefarious plan he had been devising would come to fruition.
But the diamond was in Garmadon’s hands. He needed—a part of his soul snarled in possessive outrage that it was vital to his existence—to get that artefact.
He was dizzy, and the ache in his head had not dulled in the slightest since he had vomited his guts out in front of the monster—or was it a man now after momentary kindness? Is morality so fickle?—but he was prepared to die for the greater good, just like millions of other soldiers.
The determination—the conviction—the self-abnegation—that shone in Lloyd's emerald eyes moved something in Garmadon. He held the diamond tenderly, as if one single touch could make it burst into flame. He stared at it as if it held the key to his salvation. And then… he offered it to Lloyd.
“Take it,” He whispered, eyes locked on the floor, voice so quiet that Lloyd barely heard him. “Take it and go home.”
“But…” Lloyd was at a loss for words. This Garmadon was not supposed to be selfless; he was not supposed to risk his life for Lloyd. This Garmadon was not supposed to give him this diamond.
“Take it,” The man—for despite all his faults, Lloyd had never known a monster to be selfless—offered it again with a tone of urgency. “Take it, Lloyd.” His eyes weaved through the room, as if searching for threats, invisible opponents. He went deathly still. “Run.”
And maybe Lloyd was the true monster—and not the man in front of him, because he obeyed. He grasped the diamond in his hand, the danger of alarms blaring not even registering in his mind. He ran as fast as his tired feet could take him. He ran, and shamefully, he did not look back.