Garmadon Oneshots! Of Many Flavours And Forms

leave? unlikely! • Post comic Au

Garmadon felt heavy. Like his entire body was weighed down by chains and thrown into the ocean. Suffocating and gasping, Garmadon clutched at his chest in a desperate attempt to calm himself down while the world span and whirled around him.

His head swam in the madness, his eyes darted aearched for something to gaze at, something, anything coherent. He was surrounded by insanity and all of it was getting to him.

Images. Flashing, blurry, whirling images filled his mind as he felt his senses return to him. The first thing he felt was the heaving of his body as his chest rose and fell in a shakey rhythm, the aching of his old bones and withered form filled him with trouble. He clutched at his head while trying to gather all that had happened, while also trying to gain some sense beyond the madness that made up the events of before.

What he could recall with coherency was the way he swooned and stumbled before hitting the ground. He could remember the call of someone as the world faded to black. But It was faint.

Pushing futher into his memory, he remembered Mogra. He thought of the villagers and the fight against the red crows, the bears, the tea, the final instance of his enemies crumbling. It all felt so fast, too fast for him to keep up with, but he had won..

As he gently rose from his position, Garmadon pushed against the soft sleeping mat with two of his arms, the other two merely clutched at his spiralling stomach in a vain attempt to soothe his sudden nausea.

He blinked a few times and even allowed himself to run a hand through his disheveled and sweat covered hair to keep the annoying strands of white from getting I'm his sight.

Garmadon sat there for a moment, cross-legged, collecting himself and his thoughts while allowing the waves of dizziness to wash away, to fade as quickly as they came. Gently sighing, he opened his eyes and stared at the rough palms of his clawed hands.

Examining the lines of his hands and the many cuts, scrapes, and nicks that made up the very fibre of his palms, Garmadon was so engrossed in his own skin that he hadn't noticed the sound of people beyond his door.

A loud bang of wooden beams falling over from outside had knocked his stare upwards to the wall, his body jolted with suprise and he almost made a pathetic squeak that threatened to push past his pursed lips.

Once the temporary fright had passed, he placed his hands back down on his crossed knees, breathing heavily to soothe the burning in his chest.

He ran another hand through his hair, pushing the long stands of white up his head before they fell back into place. He sighed and held his head, rubbing gently at his brow while his racing heart settled.

Content, he pushed himself up onto the balls of his feet, feeling the varnished wood beneath him as he steadied his legs.

He took a breath to futher ease his troubled soul and then turned to the doors, placing his hands and pulling them open to see the many villager all starting to make repairs to their damaged home, forcing the Red crows to help them by threat if the bears and the guardian Kuma.

Although the light of the evening sun was deeply disorienting, and even stuck him as nasueating to behold, the sight of the people made the edges of his mouth curl upwards into a weak grin, his fangs pushing out over his lips.

Garmadon looked out at the civilians, all too busy to pay the oni any attention, something he would find up upsetting under different circumstances, especially considering he had saved them. He let the smile fall as he sighed, almost happy it was over.

He shut the doors softly and moved across the room to the sleeping mat, his head pounding. Just as he went to sit back down and curl up to rest, the doors snapped back open.