The door groans on its hinges as it glides shut, clamping in place with the frame as he seals it with a tight spin of the hatch. The tinted glass of the medical bay hid its contents from the outside world, topped with drapes on the other side. It was a secretive room. Perfect.

His steps echo throughout the floorboards of The Bounty as he abandons the hall, opting to travel up, and up, until blurry sunshine stung at his eyes and the air around him was chill with ocean wind. From where he stood, he could only see sky. Not a single cloud littered it, allowing the bleak sky to expose itself. No land iced the horizon as far as he could see, and only as Lloyd strolled outwards to the starboard bow could he even begin to see anything that would suggest they were moving.

His forearms fold, digging into the cherry parapet as he leaned over it, craning his neck over the edge to stare at the ocean far below them.

Well, not far. Not as far as the cliff was tall.

The ocean whips violently past below him, white caps adorning the rippling body of water in mass. He could see The Bounties' magnificent reflection drifting across the surface underneath. It reminded him of the bait on the end of a line, dragging across the water as a bigger fish chased after it, ready to devour it. Only in their case, the bigger fish was on board.

Lloyd sighs, deep and heavy.

With the noise, he feels the sight fade from his vision as he retreats to his mind, words and sentences bubbling up and overlapping, yelling over each other. He tries to pick one, to single it out and waste his time away pondering it, but it seemed like all his thoughts jumped to be the one at the end of his pointing finger.

He grows sick of them, and quickly resorts to just grabbing at one, and yelling it at himself until he thinks of it and only it.

I shouldn't have argued with Nya.

He repeats it.

I shouldn't have argued with Nya.

Why?

Because she doesn't trust him anymore. She saw the mess on him, the blood, she was trying to care for him, to help him, he should have let her. But he had to go and ruin everything by arguing in front of everyone, and hitting her. Now she doesn't trust him- now none of them trust him, especially Jay. He'll never regain their trust. He could try, but he knew it wouldn't work unless he told them the truth. The whole truth, and that wasn't an option. He could still try: It would be worth it.

The voice bubbles up behind him, humming lightly. "Why would you do that?" It teased. As Lloyd let his eyes fall back to the water below, he could almost picture its reflection, hovering above his own head like a dark little rain cloud.

Lloyd frowns at it. "Because they're my friends," He reasoned aloud. He spoke quietly, not wanting to risk being heard. "I've already threatened Jay, and I've hurt Nya, they won't trust me now. Cole probably hates me now. I know Wu already does." He huffs a sarcastic laugh, glancing 

behind him to check for unwanted visitors. There's no one. "I only have my dad."

"And me," The voice adds. It felt like the truth. "You don't need them anyways, Lloyd, they're only holding you back." If the disembodied voice had a body, its hands would be pressed against his shoulders, pushing him further and further over the edge of the parapet until his feet could no longer hold him, and he ultimately fell. He would slap into the water with a crack that would shatter every bone in his body. He almost shudders.

Silence rings in the air, spreading nauseous tremors down his spine. He speaks just to fill the silence. "How?"

"Don't you remember how they reacted when you first harnessed the power of your ancestors?" The voice smiled. He listened intently, a habit. "They were so reluctant to let you become powerful. They feared you, and they still do. They want you weak Lloyd, they want you to be equal with them, but you can show them that you are superior. You can show them true power." He feels the echo that was the voice dissipating into the back of his mind as the air grows silent again, and Lloyd knows that even if he eggs it on it will not come back.

They feared you, and they still do. Lloyd relayed the words in his head. He guessed that was true, wasn't it? The look in Jay's eyes as he trapped him in place with a crushing grip, oni power pouring from his very veins and he threatened him into secrecy. His eyes were wide, eyebrows stiff as he shook and breathed sparse, shuddering breaths. He hadn't even moved till Lloyd was out of sight. The green ninja truly had left a lasting impression on the other, and vice versa. Every Time he'd seen the blue ninja since, he almost saw that quiet look of pure horror on his face again. Not to mention the way he tensed, and the way he could see his chest heave as he forced himself to breathe. He knew the lightning ninja was fearful, but these reactions? Lloyd would be lying if he said it didn't give him a strange sense of pride.

He leaves the headspace, staring out at the sea to his right. The horizon was flat, adorned only by faint crinkles of water, The Dark Island now far from reach as The Bounty rocketed away. It felt like a metaphor, for leaving it all behind. But still, as he stared away to his left, he saw no land. No long white clouds above luscious green land, not even a single cumulus cloud spotted the bright sky. It was almost liminal, how empty the sky and ocean felt at that very moment.The water below him was dark and inky. When he looked into it, he could see the blurry reflection of his figure leaning over the edge of the Bounty. It didn't look like him, though.

Lloyd wonders faintly where they were going now: To Staynes, the Monastery, or somewhere else. Wu had mentioned during their talk that they were planning to stop at Torchfire Mountain to destroy the spear, but Lloyd isn't sure if he was bluffing or not. Wu was never one to destroy an artifact; they usually just locked them away under Borg tower, never to be seen again. If he wasn't lying, then it seemed he'd learnt his lesson.

He laughs a little at the irony.

A thud, and Lloyd cranes his head over his shoulder to see the rest of his team gathering in the main cabin. They're talking, he can see their mouths moving, but he can't hear them. They're too muffled by the walls of the cabin.

Even though he cannot hear them, he knows the gist of what they're saying: Awkward filler conversation, trying to pass the time. It would never work. They were going to be on The Bounty for a while.

He stares anywhere but at them, something akin to guilt eating at his throat as he cleared it with a fist to his mouth. The hand felt dry, and as he pulled it away to stare at it he noticed dirt and fresh blood covering it. His nails were still caked with brown spots, fresher red dipping into his cuticles. The blisters that once caked his palms were nowhere to be seen, replaced with thick yet invisible calluses.

His gaze travels up his hands, to his wrists and arms that were adorned in familiar black sleeves. They felt strange on him, too thick and too dark to be his gi, yet comfortable and warm on his skin. The outer robe was obviously too big for him, pooling in folds a little at the wrist, and it hung too low on his hips.

As Lloyd remembers why he was wearing his father's robe, he quickly pushes him off the parapet, striding to the centre of the Bounty where the noisy cabin sat. He stepped into it silently, passing his teammates by with a cold air as he descended into the hall, hardly giving them time to react to his temporary presence.

Down the hall, he passes the medical room. He stares at it.

The door of their bunk room comes into sight and Lloyd wastes no time swinging it open.

The room looked the same as it had before his little unwilling holiday: Six beds lined the walls in parallel, a round table in the centre. Pictures and notes and stickers decorated a corkboard on the other end of the room; His father's old, smiling face stared back at him. He would be disappointed.

Lloyd outright ignores the man on the gurney, opting to kneel beside his own green-fitted bed and pry the red drawer below it open. It groaned roughly against wooden drawer slides, revealing an onslaught of the very green gi's he had admired just days ago. His Zx suit, his elemental robes, his deepstone armour, his fusion armour- the list went on for a while.

He dug around until he found what looked like a copy of his current gi- well, what used to be his current gi. The one that Pixal had made for them when they broke out of prison. He grabbed the folded pile, hooking it under his arm.

He hardly waited around, stepping out from the bunk room in search of the bathroom.

It was small, and probably not the best bathroom, but it was what they had and he would never complain.

Draws clustered underneath the vanity, all with latches tightly secured. They had to close securely, or else all of their supplies and sanity products would just fly around the room while the Bounty was in motion. On that note, he wasn't usually supposed to shower while in motion either, but the longer he stayed in his filthy gi, covered in dried mud and dirt, not to mention dust and dead grass, the more he started to feel like ripping off his skin. He doesn't even know if it's a metaphor or not.

Lloyd dumps his fresh gi onto the vanity, beside the sink, and he looks in the mirror.He doesn't even want to acknowledge what he sees.

The dark robe is mostly clean as he unties it from his body, just lined with thin splotches of dust. A small patch of dried blood, hardly visible, lays near the collarbone. Once the sash comes loose, he quickly drops the robe in a heap on the floor.

His gi is ruined.

The sashes around his waist are crusted with blood, stiffened by the former liquid as he unties it. His kusazuri armour is similarly stained and damaged as he shrugs it from his shoulders, and unwraps it from his hips. They thud against the ground, but he can't find it in him to care. He mourns the loss of his pauldron, before he stares at his defenceless self in the mirror. All that's left is his tattered gi, covered in holes and stains. Some wraps flimsily hold themselves together, while others stick to his skin uncomfortably. One final sash around his waist holds the robe together, and as he unties it it falls apart, fluttering to the ground as his gi unravels. It's quickly peeled from his torso and arms, thrown with the heap a bit too aggressively. Lloyd impatiently rips at the final wrapping around his torso, throwing it wherever as he finally stares himself down in the mirror, assessing his state.

It was... to be honest, it was incredible.

Of all the dried blood that drenched his clothes and skin, most of it belonged to Lloyd himself, yet as he stared he couldn't see a single injury. Nothing old nor new. Even some of his older scars had vanished, leaving a blank slate of simply dirtied skin.

He smiled, utterly pleased with himself, pressing a feathering hand against his abdomen. He imagined the spear piercing his torso again, watching the red-stained gold rip through his skin like paper, yet it didn't affect him like it used to because there was nothing there! Not even a rash remained where the spear had been. There had been one before he healed himself, he had felt it itching at his clothing whenever he moved.

Don't even get him started on his leg.

Where there had once been a large, ugly, bruised lump, there was now just... skin. It blended in with the rest of his leg, not a trace left of the injury that had rendered him mostly unconscious. He couldn't even feel any other bruising- like at his ribs, and his back. You'd think falling off a cliff would leave you injure- and it had. But Lloyd was better than that now.

He was powerful.

He tore his eyes from the mirror, leaning down to pry his boots from his feet. He cringes at the right boot, still confused by the strange grey tone it now seemed to have. He ignored it before, he'd continue to ignore it. He chucks the dirtied boots as the cherry on top for his heap of filthy clothing.

He hurriedly goes through the motions of showering once he's done, scrubbing his skin practically raw. Flakes of blood and mud fall onto the floor, painting the water in a sickly-looking soup. He spots too-dry skin on his hands and forearms peeling off in too-large amounts. He tries to ignore the similar situation that appeared on his stomach.

As he scrubs his hair clean of days-old grease and similar gross-looking substances, he stares at the shampoo tucked away in the shelves of the Bounty shower. Slotted safely in them was a special hair treatment, one that Kai insisted no one else used. It was the special one he used once a month, to "rejuvenate and revitalise" his luscious hair, as he had explained it. Lloyd had joked about stealing it, of course, as anyone would, but of course, he never had, and he was 

never going to.

Lloyd smiles fondly, remembering the time Kai had busted Cole using the treatment. He had retaliated and stole his portion of sweets for the entire month. Kai had even shared some of the stolen treats with Lloyd, it was great. Well, not for Cole.

He felt the smile reach his eyes, and it felt nice. He hadn't smiled like this for a while, It felt genuine, and happy.

But it also felt sad.

He felt like he was reminiscing over something he could never have again.

What would Kai think of me now?

Kai was like a brother to him. So was Nya, and Cole, and Zane, and Jay, and Pixal- what was he doing? Why was he turning himself into something so unrecognisable? Why was he so angry, why couldn't he accept his friend's help? Why was he like this?

What even happened?

How did he get here?

A headache began to form behind his eyes, and he shut them, dipping his head under the water and letting it wash cheap shampoo from his scalp.

He clenches his teeth and huffs the water from his face.

There was no going back now, anyway. The nauseating feeling of regret could eat at him another day. Now was not that day.

He'd already begun the steady descent into his plan. It was all downhill from there, and not just for his friends, but for him too.

This wouldn't end well for anyone.

-

When he finally steps out from the warm comfort of the shower, he quickly- maybe too quickly- throws his gi on, revelling in the clean feel of it. He buckles on his armour, slotting his new pauldrons into place at his shoulders and wrapping his kusazuri back around his hips.

Usually, he'd leave the armour off after showering, disliking the way the armour made his gi stick to his still-damp skin, but today was different.

He'd be needing it.

He stared mournfully at the green gi in the mirror, before stepping out from the bathroom in search for the final piece to his plan.

--