Chapter 54

Heroes POV

Noah's gaze flickered to the window, concern etching lines of worry across his brow. Were his friends safe out there? He couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for leaving them behind, especially when his uncle seemed insistent on keeping him here.

As his uncle entered the room, a glass cup in hand, Noah's curiosity piqued. What could be so important about a simple glass? His uncle placed the cup on the wooden table, its emptiness mirroring the hollow feeling in Noah's chest.

"I told you to stay for an important reason," his uncle began, his eyes scanning Noah's form with an intensity that made him squirm. "I heard from your father that you lack creativity in using your ability."

Noah felt a flush of embarrassment creep up his cheeks at the accusation. "I don't lack creativity, I just don't have a clear image in my mind to replicate," he protested, his voice tinged with defensiveness.

His uncle merely nodded before lifting the cup, its delicate design catching the light in a mesmerizing dance of shadows. Before Noah could comprehend his intentions, the cup plummeted to the ground, shattering into a thousand glittering fragments.

"What the hell!" Noah exclaimed, his shock giving way to frustration. "That was a perfectly good cup."

"I want you to make the exact same cup," his uncle explained calmly. "This is an exercise that will help you use your ability more efficiently."

Noah's confusion deepened, but he knew better than to argue with his uncle. With a resigned sigh, he focused his thoughts, channeling his energy into recreating the intricate design of the shattered cup. With each delicate movement of his hands, he willed the glass to form anew, shaping it with meticulous precision until it mirrored its predecessor.

Proudly, he presented the recreated cup to his uncle, only to watch in disbelief as it too met the same fate, crashing to the floor in a symphony of destruction.

"Make it again," his uncle instructed, his tone devoid of emotion, leaving Noah to wonder just how many times he would have to endure this relentless cycle.

Noah's frustration reached its boiling point as the cycle repeated, each painstakingly recreated glass cup meeting the same fate—shattered on the unforgiving floor. Ten times over, he poured his energy into replicating the delicate design, only to watch it crumble before his eyes.

"What the hell is this?!" he erupted, his voice echoing off the walls of the room. "I keep on making it and you keep on breaking it." His gaze swept across the littered floor, where a multitude of shattered glass fragments lay scattered like fallen stars. "I could have been with my friends, but I am wasting time!"

His uncle's expression remained impassive, an inscrutable mask that offered no insight into his intentions. But Noah could no longer contain the frustration and anger that bubbled within him, threatening to consume his sanity.

With a heavy sigh, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, leaving behind the shattered remnants of his efforts and the enigmatic figure of his uncle. The weight of his emotions bore down on him like a suffocating blanket, a relentless reminder of the turmoil that churned within his heart.

Noah's frustration simmered beneath the surface as he grappled with his uncle's cryptic words. His hand hovered over the door handle, itching to escape the stifling atmosphere of the room, but his uncle's interruption halted his departure.

"What are you doing now?!" he demanded, his annoyance palpable.

His uncle regarded him with a mixture of understanding and pity, his expression softening with empathy. "I understand your frustration, but you're not going to grow if you give up this easily."

Noah turned to face his uncle, his features contorted with incredulity. "I am doing what you're telling me, but you keep on asking me to repeat."

His uncle's gaze held a depth of wisdom that Noah struggled to comprehend. "There is a reason for that," he explained patiently. "I wanted you to recreate the same cup, not just in appearance, but in essence—the feeling of creation imbued within it."

Noah's expression twisted into one of disgust. Did his uncle truly believe in such nonsense? But his uncle seemed to sense his disbelief and endeavored to clarify his point.

"Imagine what the original creator felt when they made this glass. They felt something, didn't they? I want you to try and replicate that feeling while making the glass," his uncle elaborated, nodding as though he expected Noah to grasp the concept immediately.

"What are you saying?" Noah demanded, his frustration mounting. "My ability is creation. Why would I need to imbue my creations with feelings?"

"I heard that there was a child who has the opposite ability of yours," his uncle remarked, his voice carrying a weight of wisdom. "He was able to use it to its fullest because he opened his mind to the possibilities." His gaze drifted to the shattered glass strewn across the floor. "You, on the other hand, limit yourself for some reason, and that is due to insecurities and doubt. If you want to get stronger, then you better start getting creative with your ability."

As his uncle released the door handle, Noah stood there in silence, absorbing the weight of his words. His uncle's insights cut deep, striking at the core of his doubts and fears. No one had ever spoken to him like this before—not even his own father. The truth in his uncle's words left him feeling exposed and vulnerable, a raw nerve exposed to the world.

His dreams taunted him, filling him with a sense of inadequacy and fear. How could he ever hope to protect Ninjago when he couldn't even overcome his own limitations? The weight of his self-loathing bore down on him like a suffocating blanket as he turned and left the room.

With each step, the echoes of his uncle's words reverberated in his mind, a relentless reminder of his shortcomings. He couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment in himself, the nagging sense that he was letting down everyone who believed in him.

As he entered the room he was staying in, the walls closed in around him, suffocating him with their silent judgment. He collapsed onto the bed, consumed by a wave of self-hatred. In that moment, he hated himself more than he ever thought possible.

…

Villain POV

"Lloyd was really the perfect assassin," the leader mused to himself, his gaze fixed on the photograph of his star pupil. "He would kill anyone without hesitation and won't feel guilty afterward."

With a flick of his wrist, he replaced Lloyd's photo with one of Pluto, the young protege who had shown remarkable progress under Lloyd's tutelage. Although he lacked Lloyd's natural ruthlessness, Pluto compensated with dedication and diligence.

The leader marveled at Pluto's growth, his abilities evolving at an astonishing rate. Despite being an ability user, Pluto had honed his skills as an assassin with remarkable proficiency. Now, armed with both lethal combat skills and supernatural abilities, he was poised to become a formidable adversary.

Summoning Stephine with a sharp blow of his whistle, the leader regarded her with approval as she appeared promptly at his side. She was a trusted lieutenant, her loyalty unwavering and her competence unquestionable.

"Yes, leader," Stephine responded crisply, her demeanor reflecting her confidence in Pluto's preparedness. "He is ready to take on his first mission."

Satisfied with her assessment, the leader retrieved a file from his desk and passed it to Stephine. "Give this to Pluto," he instructed. "This is going to be the final test for him."

As Stephine accepted the file, a sense of anticipation filled the room. The stage was set for Pluto's initiation into the ranks of the Order of Assassins, his mettle to be tested in the crucible of his first mission. And as the leader watched him prepare to embark on this pivotal journey, he knew that Pluto's ascent would mark a new chapter in the annals of their organization.

…

Lloyd POV

As I finished transferring some of the power of the Ultimate Spinjitzu Master to the Overlord, I set my phone back on the bedside table, my mind drifting to thoughts of Noah and his group. Noah in this life seemed weaker, a reflection, perhaps, of my own influence and the fact that our mother was still alive. But then, thoughts turned darker—should I kill her? It would present a challenge, something I craved, and Noah's strength in the past had stemmed from such a tragedy.

Before I could dwell further on that morbid notion, Pluto barged into the room, his expression one of sheer terror. I noted the file clutched tightly in his hand, resigning myself to the inevitable. As Pluto handed it to me, I braced myself for what I was about to see.

Opening the file, shock coursed through me as I beheld the target—a young boy, no older than ten. My mind reeled at the thought—why would anyone order a hit on a child? The implications were dire; either the Order of Assassins had strayed from their righteous path, or they were corrupted beyond redemption.

Passing the file back to Pluto, I saw the desperation in his eyes, pleading for guidance. Though I had no immediate answer, I resolved to find one swiftly. Locking eyes with him, I spoke with solemn determination.

"The hit is scheduled for three days from now. Prepare yourself for the moment you must act," I instructed, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I'll take care of the rest."

I hoped Pluto understood the gravity of my words as I left him with the burden of the file. Things were spiraling out of control, and I knew I needed to regain a semblance of order before it was too late.