[nineteen]

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I hum to the tune of Pumped Up Kicks, much to the Overlord's annoyance.

"Enough!" He shouts.

"Why should I listen to you?"

"Because I am the powerful Overlord! Once I am free, I will rule what is rightfully mine!"

"How is Ninjago rightfully yours?"

"I...because it is! You mortals need someone to rule over you, and I will do just that."

"We seem to be doing fine on our own."

"I will kill your friends and family one by one!"

"And I will unplug your screen."

Most conversations I attempt to make with the Overlord happen along those lines. I'm not sure how long I've been here as there is no windows or clocks, but I do know I haven't really slept, Pythor has left thrice, and my wound keeps reopening.

My hands are slowly reawakening again. I can bend my fingers and weakly wrap them around the rope that tied my hands together. Blood still slowly seeped out of my wounded leg. Even if I did manage to escape, I would bleed to death in a matter of days. I need to free my hands so I could attempt to close it, or at least stop the bleeding.

After what seems like forever, Pythor finally returns.

"So how has your day been?"

Pythor scowls. "You're worse than Lloyd."

"About that, you said you wanted to use me as bait? Well I'm afraid I'm going to die soon if I don't tend to my leg. If you could just-"

"No."

"I can't be bait if I'm dead."

"How long till that?"

"I'm not sure how long I've been here but I'd give myself 36 more hours before I bleed to death."

Pythor considers this for a moment. Finally, he sighs, coming towards me with a knife in his hands. "Fine. But if you try anything I'm killing you on spot."

"I can't walk, remember?"

He grins. "I suppose you're right." He throws me onto my stomach and cuts the rope. It takes a second for the knife to cut the thick rope but eventually it breaks through.

"Thanks," I say. Pythor grumbles in response.

I look down at my hands. My wrists are raw from my previous attempts of breaking the rope and my palms are dry and calloused, as if the staff sucked the life out of them.

I look around for a thin wire or something. Maybe if I found something thin and sharp enough I could stitch the skin back together?

Or duh, the rope.

I tie the rope in a knot around my upper thigh then place a metal rod on top of the knot. I then tie another knot on top of the rod, securing it. I twist the rod, applying pressure to my thigh to stop the blood flow to the wound directly below it.

"I'll give you credit, you know what you are doing," Pythor says, silently watching me from across the room.

"Thanks," I say, gritting my teeth. He doesn't respond. Instead, he turns to leave. "Where are you going?" I ask.

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