Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Papa, for the five millionth time, you need to rest!”

“I feel perfectly fine!” Toshiro protested as his daughter began herding him back towards his bedroom. “My foot is nearly healed!”

“Nearly,” Kimiko emphasized. “The doctor said you shouldn’t be walking on it yet. It’s bad enough that you kept walking on it after you got hurt!”

“It was not that bad,” Toshiro said.

“You broke three bones!”

“Only little ones! And they were very minor fractures.”

Really, she was making too much of a fuss about this. Toshiro felt perfectly fine! Yes, that Showdown for the Orb of Tornami had not gone exactly to plan, what with the large barrel running over his foot. Yes, perhaps he should have been taking things a bit more slowly. Yes, his doctor was not happy that he had gone running off to the Arctic for another Shen Gong Wu before his foot was done healing. 

But the doctor had also said that he should not see any long-term damage, and had encouraged light exercise! So there was no need to worry. These things always had a way of working themselves out, in his experience.

However, he also knew his daughter very well. Even when things were fine, she was always going to worry.

“Can you at least sit down?” she was asking, exasperated. “If you’re going to ignore the doctor’s orders, the least you can do is ignore them on the couch.”

“But I want to see what will happen if I use the Longi Kite and Monkey Staff at the same time!”

“Uh, you’ll be a flying monkey?”

“That is my guess, yes! But we cannot know for sure if we don’t try it!”

“Can you just-?” Kimiko started, but cut herself off as a red blur darted into the room.

Zippy, the little red holographic Shen Gong Wu detector, had undergone a few upgrades while Toshiro’s foot healed up. The most impressive of these was courtesy of young Jack Spicer, who had been working on a way to artificially identify the name and powers of newly activated Shen Gong Wu. 

Spicer’s identification algorithm was far from perfect, but it was very impressive! Zippy could now provide basic information about a new Shen Gong Wu as well as its location, though the information was not always 100% accurate. 

Toshiro had also upgraded his voice bank, replacing the placeholder blips and beeps with a procedurally-generated voice designed to create more natural-sounding noises. He’d settled on a guinea pig as the base for Zippy’s voice bank, and he thought it sounded very cute.

“Oh, no,” Kimiko said as Zippy did an excited loop around the room. They both knew what that meant. “No, you’re not going out on another Wu hunt.”

“Let us at least see where it is!” Toshiro suggested. “Perhaps it will be here in Tokyo, just as the Shroud of Shadows was.”

“I dunno, Papa, these things kind of seem more like a ‘one per location’ kind of deal.”

“Where is it, Zippy?” he asked the little red dragon.

Zippy squeaked and opened his mouth to show them his map. Toshiro and Kimiko both squinted at it, looking for the glowing gold light that would indicate where the new Shen Gong Wu was located.

“There!” Kimiko said. “North America. Looks like somewhere in the midwestern United States.”

Toshiro’s shoulders slumped. “Yes,” he admitted, “that is a bit far.”

“A bit far? It’s the other side of the world!”

“Zippy, what is this Shen Gong Wu?” Toshiro asked.

“Oh my God, Papa, it doesn’t matter what the Wu is. We’re not getting it!”

“I am merely curious!” he assured her. Besides, he loved seeing Spicer’s algorithm at work. It was a true marvel of software engineering.

Zippy closed his mouth and opened it again, now projecting a string of text. Toshiro squinted at it through his glasses.

“The Heart of…Jong?” Kimiko read over his shoulder as she stepped up behind him. 

“How fascinating!” Toshiro’s attention was on the smaller text underneath the Wu’s name, which featured the algorithm’s best guess as to its powers. “It says here that it can animate objects! Do you think that means it can make still images move, or that it can bring things to life?”

“I think,” Kimiko said firmly, “that it doesn’t matter, because we’re staying home.”

Toshiro deflated a little bit as Zippy closed his mouth again, but she did have a point. Though he felt much better, an impromptu trip to the other side of the world would be pushing it. If they had those marvelous Golden Tiger Claws, perhaps…but they did not, and were limited to mortal modes of transportation. 

Still, he had to try just one more time.

“Aren’t you curious, Kimiko? It could be quite the adventure!”

“I don’t want an adventure!” Kimiko burst out, snapping her arms out to either side with clenched fists. “I want you to stay safe! Why can’t you understand that?!”

Zippy chirped out an alarm.

“Kimiko,” Toshiro said calmly, “your hair is on fire.”

Kimiko reached a hand up and gasped. The flames dancing atop her head were instantly extinguished.

He turned to face her and reached up to place a hand on her shoulder. She was so much taller than him now; it was strange to have to look up to see her face. “You do not need to worry so much,” he told her gently. “I will be all right. It is not your job to protect me.”

“Yes it is, Papa,” she said. “I have to watch out for you. If I don’t, who will?”

“I can look out for myself,” he replied brightly. “I managed just fine until you came along, didn’t I?

“But you weren’t alone! You had Tomoko, and Mo–!”

Kimiko’s voice broke and stuttered into silence. WIthout his meaning to, Toshiro’s hand had flinched away from her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Her voice was quieter now, subdued. “I shouldn’t have–I didn’t mean–”

“It is fine!” Toshiro said, injecting brightness into his tone and pasting a smile back on his face. He placed his hand back on her shoulder. “But perhaps you are right. Perhaps it would be better to stay home today.”

She returned his smile with a tentative one of her own. “You think so?”

“I do.” He squeezed her shoulder gently, and then turned away. “We have six Shen Gong Wu, and I am curious to see what might happen when using more than one at once! This is the perfect opportunity to experiment!”

“Papa.”

“Yes, I know! I will be careful!” He waved a hand. “I can do the experiments while sitting down. I will just have to save the Longi Kite for later.”

“Papa, seriously!”

But he was already off to fetch the Shen Gong Wu, careful not to put too much weight on his healing foot as he went. As Kimiko followed him, still trying in vain to stop him, neither of them noticed a shadow moving outside their living room window.

Neither of them noticed as something dark and feathered took flight.

So Rai’s training had been going pretty well.

They’d moved from practicing with the Sword of the Storm to basic elemental control, which was mostly just Rai blasting gusts of wind at stuff, and most recently to combat applications and advanced fighting skills.

Which meant that he’d graduated from sparring with Chase’s jungle cats. Now when he sparred, it was against Chase Young himself.

Rai had thought, back when they first met, that Chase looked pretty twiggy and frail underneath all that armor. He’d assumed that, if it came down to a physical fight, he’d be able to take Chase down easily.

But he’d learned by now that Chase was a lot more than what he seemed.

The guy was something else when it came to fighting. He was a true master of martial arts. His form was precise, his every move calculated, his every blow brutal and effective.

And maybe it was his style or maybe it was something he was just doing for the training, but Rai had noticed that Chase rarely made the first move when they trained together. He waited for Rai to move and then reacted, or he danced around and tried to taunt Rai into striking first so that he could counter him. 

It was all pretty frustrating to Rai, who was used to fights where both combatants punched first and asked questions later. He wasn’t used to a fight where he had to think, to truly anticipate his opponent’s moves. It was kind of like playing chess both physically and mentally at the same time. And Rai was pretty good at chess, but damn.

Take right now for instance. 

It was just the two of them today. No cats, and Sal had fucked off somewhere within Chase’s lair to do who knew what. 

Chase had said something about using his abilities within confined spaces, and then he’d snapped his fingers and a bunch of panels popped up from the floor and transformed the training room into a mirror maze. Like a funhouse, but with less stale popcorn and more snooty martial artists trying to kick his ass.

Rai was supposed to use his abilities to navigate through the maze, while also trying to avoid Chase’s attacks. This was a lot harder than it sounded, because Chase was fast and he was able to navigate through the maze so easily that he could probably do it blindfolded. Rai had smacked - literally -  into a few dead ends before he’d figured out that he could check a path with a small blast of air before running down it. 

He kinda got where Chase was going with this. He had to be pretty precise with his air blasts; too strong, and the air just blew back at him and didn’t give him a clear enough picture of the path ahead. Too weak, and it wouldn’t reach the barriers, so he couldn’t judge how far away the next one was.

It was also a little weird using his powers without the Sword of the Storm, but he was getting used to it. It felt strange, like flexing a muscle he didn’t know he had, but every time he did it, every time he held his hand up in front of him and whispered, “wind,” it got just a little easier. A little more natural. Less like something he was doing, and more like a part of who he was.

He caught a glimpse of Chase’s hair refracting down the path he’d just checked, and he darted forward, skidding into a sharp turn around a corner he wouldn’t have known was there if he hadn’t seen Chase turn it. He barely even looked to see if Chase was in front of him before he brought both arms up with a shout of his element and summoned the strongest gust he could.

He’d been hoping he could catch Chase off guard and slam him into the nearest mirror, but there were a few things wrong with that plan. One, you couldn’t really be stealthy about an attack when you had to yell a word to trigger it. Two, he was still learning how to control his powers without using the Sword of the Storm, and it was hard to get the right amount of oomph in his attacks without it. And three, Chase was ready for him.

Raimundo barely had time to lower his arms before Chase was on him, leaping forward with a kick that he only just managed to dodge. He threw himself against the wall, dropped to the ground, shifted his weight to his hands and came up with a capoeira kick.

Chase didn’t seem to know how to counter his capoeira as well as he could counter more basic hand-to-hand moves or any of the fancy kung fu stuff he’d been teaching Rai, so Rai was relying on it more and more in their fights. It was the only way he ever managed to get anything close to the upper hand.

He felt his foot make contact with Chase, which was a sort of victory in itself since the guy was nearly impossible to land a hit on. When he got back on his feet, it was to see that Chase had skittered down about halfway down the narrow corridor of mirrors and was standing stock still in a combat stance.

Rai mirrored his pose, locking eyes with the other man. There was a long, tense moment of utter stillness.

Then a caw broke the silence.

One of Chase’s messenger crows sailed into the room and swooped low over the mirror maze. Chase didn’t break his stance, but held an arm out for the crow. It alighted on his pauldron and leaned in close to whisper something in his ear.

Chase abruptly froze, every muscle in his body tensing. Even his hair went stiff. Rai thought that if he had a tail - which he obviously didn’t, that would be silly - it’d be lashing like an angry cat. 

“Uh,” he said, and dropped his fighting stance (but not his guard, in case this was a trick). “Dude, you good?”

Chase’s pupils were tiny, narrow slits, so thin that his eyes looked almost solid gold. “The Heart of Jong has revealed itself,” he said as the crow flapped away.

“Oh,” Rai said, and relaxed a bit. A Shen Gong Wu. This, at least, was fairly routine, even if Chase’s reaction to it wasn’t. He looked…not panicked, not quite, but definitely on edge. “What’s, uh. What’s that one do?”

Chase didn’t answer him directly. Instead, he straightened up, pulling an indifferent and collected air over himself like a cloak. With a wave of his hand, the mirrored walls slid back into the floor. “Where is Salvador?” he asked.

“Uh,” said Rai, “hang on, I think he’s around.” He turned away, cupped his hands around his mouth, and hollered “SAL!” at the top of his lungs (which, given his naturally increased lung capacity as the Dragon of Wind, was pretty darn loud). 

The sound echoed off the walls of Chase’s citadel, and before the echoes had fully died down a portal shimmered into existence in the air between Rai and Chase and deposited one Salvador Cumo, who landed in a crouch on the ground.

“You called?” he said, straightening up.

“New Wu just went live,” Rai said, nodding towards Chase.

“Ah!” Sal brightened. “How exciting! What is it this time?”

“The Heart of Jong,” Chase said, and conjured up a shimmering image of a heart that pulsed with a steady beat. It hung in the air, which was weird as hell but by now, Rai was used to it.

“Looks…interesting,” he said, squinting at it.

“It is a powerful and most unusual Shen Gong Wu,” Chase said. “It has the power to bring the inanimate to life.”

“...Huh.” Rai stared at the pulsing heart. “Like Frankenstein?”

“I suppose,” said Chase, seemingly indifferent. “I must impress upon you the importance of retrieving this particular Shen Gong Wu. It cannot be allowed to fall into the wrong hands.”

“Whose hands, exactly?” Sal asked casually, though Rai could sense the deeper curiosity behind the words. Was Chase trying to keep it away from someone in particular? And if so, who? Omi? That Wuya ghost? Someone else entirely?

“Any hands,” Chase said. “I would prefer that it not be used at all.”

Oh. Rai exchanged a quick glance with Sal, one that said, That’s a new one.

Chase fixed them both with a piercing look. “I have,” he said, “until now, been fairly lax when it comes to the Shen Gong Wu you retrieve. I do not care what you do with them, how you use them, where you keep them. The Heart of Jong is a different matter.” He waved his hand and the image of the Heart vanished. “Once you have retrieved it, you must move it to a secure location. I do not care where, and you need not inform me. A safe, a vault, the center of the Earth. I only care that it be well out of reach from those who would seek its power.”

Yeah, definitely different. Chase had never asked them to hide a Wu before.

“Let me be absolutely clear,” Chase continued. “I will not accept failure. I have been gracious in times past, but I will grant no such lenience today. If you do not succeed in retrieving the Heart of Jong, you may consider yourselves terminated and our partnership over. And if you dare think to use its power for yourself,” his eyes narrowed, and a hint of a growl edged its way into his tone, “you may consider yourselves my enemies. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly so,” said Sal, who seemed as unfazed as ever. Rai had to give him props for that, since he personally was feeling a little intimidated by the whole thing. Chase really wasn’t fucking around with this one.

“Yeah,” he said, forcing himself to keep his voice even. “One hundred percent.”

“Good.” Chase waved his hand once more and conjured another image; this time, it was a picture of a forest, lush and full of oak trees with their branches waving in a midsummer breeze. “You’ll find the Heart in this forest,” he said. “Picture it, and use the Golden Tiger Claws to transport yourself there. Do not waste any time; you will most certainly not be the only ones seeking it.”

“Understood,” Sal said with a nod. He turned to Rai and raised the Golden Tiger Claws. “Shall we?”

“Sure,” said Rai with a shrug.

It wasn’t until they were standing in the middle of the forest and the Tiger Claws’ portal had disappeared that he let out the breath that it felt like he’d been holding for hours and said, “Well, that was weird.”

“It was certainly unlike our usual debriefs,” Sal agreed.

“Understatement of the century.” Rai turned around, taking in their surroundings. It was definitely a forest, and he didn’t see the Heart of Jong anywhere. Not that he really expected to see it just sitting out in the open. They were going to have to hunt for it. “You think we should be worried?”

“If we retrieve the Heart? Absolutely not,” Sal said. He reached out with his foot to a nearby rock and nudged it until it flipped over. No Heart. “If we cannot retrieve it? Well, we would be out of a job, at the very least.”

“And I could kiss my training goodbye,” Rai added. He tilted his head up to scan the branches that arced over their heads in a tangled, lush canopy of deep green leaves. No Heart that he could see from here. “He really doesn’t want anyone using this thing, huh? Any ideas why?”

“He did say it was powerful,” Sal said. “I would guess that it could pose a potent threat in the hands of his enemies. And I do wonder one thing. Did its name ring any bells for you?”

“Now that you mention it, yeah.” Rai stopped still for a moment. He hadn’t fully registered it at the time, but he’d heard the name “Jong” before. It’d been the first Wu Chase asked them to retrieve. “The Helmet of Jong. Do you think they’re connected?”

“That would be my assumption, yes.” Sal turned to recline against the trunk of the nearest tree. “I can’t think of any other reason that Chase would be interested in a Shen Gong Wu with such trivial powers.” He reached into the fanny pack at his waist - the “Wiener Money” one he’d gotten in New York - and pulled out the Helmet of Jong. How he’d managed to cram it in there was anyone’s guess.

“That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time!” Rai tossed his hands into the air. “Nobody needs eyes in the back of their head! It’s such a dumb power!”

“But, as you recall,” Sal raised a finger as he returned the Helmet of Jong to his fanny pack, “he did not ask us to hide the Helmet. Merely to hold on to it. So if they are connected in some way, the Heart must be the key.”

“What is Jong, anyway?” Rai asked. “I mean, a lot of these Wu have weird names, but if two of them are named after the same thing there’s gotta be a reason, right?”

“Excellent point, Raimundo!” Sal beamed at him. “I had not considered that! The name ‘Jong’ does not ring any bells for me, but I can certainly look into it.”

“Not sure it really matters either way, since he’s so set on nobody gettin’ this thing.”

“Mm,” Sal hummed in assent. “Still, I believe it would serve us to have some idea of why that is. Even once we have retrieved and hidden it, that knowledge could prove useful down the line.”

“Yeah, you’ve definitely got a point there.” 

“Anyway!” Sal clapped his hands together and pushed himself away from the tree. “We should get hunting, hm? There is no telling how much longer we have before the others arrive.”

“Right.” Rai stretched his arms behind his head and asked, “Split up?”

“That would be best, yes. I have the Golden Tiger Claws, so I will be able to cover a lot of ground very quickly.”

“Cool. You head north, I’ll head south.”

“Excellent. If I find it first, I'll stash it and come find you. If you find it, signal me in the usual way.”

“Right.”

“Keep an eye out for company and be prepared to run once we have the Heart. We move fast and we strike hard.”

“And,” Rai added, “we try to avoid a Showdown, since we only have three Wu left. And one of them is the Helmet of Jong.” Which was not only useless in a fight, but if their hunch was right, losing it to someone along with the Heart could be disastrous.

Sal nodded to him. Rai nodded back. Then he took off running with a blast of wind to speed himself along, hearing Sal’s call of “Golden Tiger Claws!” fade quickly behind him.

He kept his eyes sharp as he wove between the trees, looking out for anything that could be hiding a Shen Gong Wu. Whenever he spotted a low enough branch, he’d hop up into the trees and leap from branch to branch, just in case it was hidden among the thick canopy of green leaves. 

He never stopped for more than a few seconds at a time to check a potential hiding spot. There would be no sightseeing or time-wasting today. The stakes were too high. Even if Chase hadn’t made it incredibly clear that failure was not an option, it would have been understood.

The Serpent’s Tail had been an absolute disaster of a mission, and the Sun Chi Lantern had been a total wash. Chase hadn’t seemed too bothered about the Lantern, at least, but two failures in a row was unacceptable. They could not make it three.

So Rai had to keep moving.

Man, this forest was bigger than he’d thought. He should have tried to get a better lay of the land before running off after the Wu; he didn’t really know exactly how much ground he had to cover in his search.

Rai jumped into the nearest tree and climbed as high as he could. Then he took a deep, centering breath, like Chase had been teaching him. 

He’d been wanting to try this for a while, but this was the first chance he’d gotten to test it out.

“Sword of the Storm! Wind!”

By himself, Rai’s control over his element was still growing. He was still developing his finesse, and had pretty hard limits to the strength of his elemental attacks. With the Sword of the Storm, he could summon stronger winds, maintain greater control over the air around him.

With the Sword of the Storm, he could fly.

He couldn’t hold back a whoop of excitement as he felt the air swirl around his body and lift it, buoy him into the sky. Sure, he’d done this to his opponents in battle, and Chase had spent a whole training session making him juggle his cat warriors with the Sword (which had been kind of terrifying), but he hadn’t tried it on himself before now.

This ruled.

He carried himself up into the air until he could see the whole forest spread out below. It wasn’t as big as he’d feared. He wasn’t great with measurements, couldn’t tell the difference between an acre and a hectare, but from what he could tell it was maybe the size of like, four soccer pitches put together. He squinted, trying to spot any movement that might tell him where Sal was, or who else might be–

“Whoa whoa wHOA LOOK OUT!”

The shout startled him and broke his concentration, and he plummeted like a stone. Which was a good thing; when he managed to catch himself on the wind and look up, it was to see that he'd avoided a collision with Jack Spicer by a few scant inches.

“Dude, watch where you're going!” Rai yelled.

“That's my line!” Spicer called back to him. He was hovering in place, the Jetbootsu glowing on his feet. He was wearing a dark gray turtleneck in place of his usual blazer today, Rai noted, and he was holding some kind of small black mechanical device. “What are you doing up here?” 

“I'll let you guess,” Rai said, and released his hold on the wind to drop back down into the forest canopy. If Spicer was here too, he had to pick up the pace. Sure, they were on pretty good terms - he assumed - after their visit a little while back, but Spicer meant Wuya, and Wuya meant trouble.

“Hey, wait!” he heard Jack yell, but he'd already caught himself on a branch and swung himself down to a lower one, then to the ground. He dashed off, jumped over a log, and slammed into a brick wall.

“Oh!” the wall said. “Pardon me.”

Rai staggered back a step to see that the wall was in fact a man. A big guy with shaggy blond hair, a full beard, and the most yeehaw-hoedown outfit he'd ever seen. 

He had no idea who this guy was, but the metal star thing around his neck definitely looked like a Wu. And there was only one reason anyone would be out in these woods, anyway.

So he didn't stop to chat. He just turned on his heel and kept running, tucking the Sword back into its sheath on his back as he did.

He heard the cowboy shout something after him, but didn’t stop. Place was getting crowded. The window of opportunity to get the Wu without a fight was rapidly closing. 

“LOTUS STRIKE!”

Forget that, it was already closed. Omi had arrived.

The monk landed in front of him in a crouch, blocking Rai’s path. Rai feinted to the left, but Omi matched his movement. Feinted to the right, same thing.

“You are in a hurry today, most dishonorable stranger,” Omi said, eyebrow raised. 

“Why are you still calling me that?” Rai snapped back, and tried once more to feint his way past the monk. It didn’t work. “I know you know my name by now.”

“It suits you,” Omi said. “You are dishonorable, and I do not know you well.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Raimundo narrowed his eyes. “Stay outta my way, kid. I'm not playing any games today.”

“Neither am I,” Omi said coolly. He folded his arms together, tucking his hands inside the sleeves of his robes. “I know that you are allied with-”

“AaaaAAAAAH - OOF!”

With a splintering of branches, Jack Spicer plummeted from the trees and landed on the ground between them with a scattered spray of oak leaves. Groaning, he sat up and adjusted his flight goggles, which had been knocked askew in the crash. 

“Jack Spicer!” Omi exclaimed.

“Nope, not allied with him,” Rai deadpanned. Not currently, anyway. He'd tried to plant that seed, but only time would tell if it'd bear any fruit.

“Who's allied with what now?” Jack asked brushing leaves off his pants as he got to his feet.

He was, Rai noted, alone. Ha hadn't seen Wuya with him in the sky, and she wasn't floating down now to lecture him about not crashing through trees. He tossed a quick glance to Jack's hands - no Ring of Nine Dragons. Not that he could see, anyway.

“Where is Wuya?” Omi asked, having noticed her absence as well. His eyes darted around warily for any sign of the ghostly spirit.

Spicer blinked. “Is she not here? I figured she’d be here.” He reached down to pick up the little techno-doodad he’d been holding earlier; he’d dropped it during his fall.

“You do not know of Wuya’s whereabouts? That is most unusual.”

“Do I look like her babysitter?” Spicer shot back. “Sometimes she wanders off. I don’t really know or care what she gets up to in her free time.” He jabbed a few buttons on the doodad and added, “Weird that she didn’t show, though. She’s usually all about Shen Gong Wu.”

“What’s that you’ve got there?” Rai asked, nodding to the thing in Spicer’s hands. Omi’s focus had split as soon as Spicer showed up. All he had to do was get the guy talking, and he could buy himself a window to slip past Omi and get back to hunting.

As expected, Jack’s face lit with excitement. “Oh, this! I’m calling it my Detecto-Bot. It’s pretty neat, right? I took Mr. Tohomiko’s Wu detection program and upgraded it with an identification algorithm, and now I can find Shen Gong Wu on my own! No magic required.”

“No magic?” Omi looked at him with round eyes. “How is this possible?”

Spicer immediately launched into a long string of technobabble, and Rai took that as his cue to leave. He charged towards Omi and ducked underneath the startled grab the monk made in response, coming up on the other side and pelting deeper into the forest.

“Stop!” he heard Omi shout, but he didn’t. He kicked a log out of his way, checked briefly to see if a heart-shaped Wu fell out of it, and when he didn’t see one he leapt for a nearby tree and scrambled up the trunk to check a hollow between two branches. Nothing there, either. He hopped back down to the ground, landing in a small clearing among the trees.

“Orb of Tornami! Shoku Neptune, ICE!”

Shit.

A wave of frigid water crashed into the clearing, freezing everything in its path. Rai pressed himself against a tree to avoid getting frozen. He succeeded, but the pause cost him his head start.

Omi barged into the clearing a moment later with Spicer trailing after him. He had the Orb of Tornami in his hand, and aimed it at Rai.

“Jeez!” Rai said, raising both hands above his head in surrender. “I’m not even doin’ anything!”

“It is not what you are doing now,” Omi said, “but what you plan to do. I cannot allow Chase Young to place his hands on this Shen Gong Wu!”

Raimundo blinked, caught off guard enough that his hands lowered a little. “You know Chase?” he asked. Because he remembered Chase saying when they met, pretty clearly, that he didn’t know Omi personally. Rai’s understanding was that Chase knew of Omi, and they definitely weren't on the same side, but that they’d never met and didn’t have any personal history. 

To Rai’s knowledge, and according to Sal, Chase didn’t tend to tell outright lies. He liked to stretch the truth and be selective with his words, but he didn’t usually lie. If he’d been lying to them about this, that was a pretty significant break in his pattern of behavior – one they definitely needed to investigate.

Omi didn’t answer his question directly, just stared back at Rai with a sharp expression that was just this side of accusatory. “Am I correct, then?” he asked. “Your ‘teacher’ is none other than Chase Young?”

Raimundo heard Jack Spicer scoff. “Chase Young? Like the ancient, immortal, super-evil guy in all those old legends? Come on, Omi, he’s a myth! He doesn’t actually exist.”

“Oh, I assure you, Jack Spicer,” Omi said, not taking his eyes off Rai, “he is all too real. And very, very dangerous.”

“What’s it to you if he’s my teacher?” Raimundo asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the tree. “I’m not loyal to him or anything. We have an agreement. That’s all.”

“Loyal or not,” said Omi, “an alliance with Chase Young is a most perilous thing indeed. I am afraid that so long as you are on his side, I have no choice but to treat you as my enemy.”

“So nothing’s gonna change, then,” Rai said.

“Uh, you guys can drop the act now,” Spicer said with a nervous laugh. “Chase Young? Not real? Hello?”

Omi tilted his head to the side. “What do you mean? I have treated you with the courtesy and respect due a worthy opponent. You will find I am not so courteous to my enemies.”

“‘Courtesy and respect?’” Rai snorted. “Oh, boy. Sure, you’ve been nothing but ‘courtesy and respect.’ You ambushed me outta nowhere the first time we met, you pick a fight with me every time you see me, you won’t shut up about how you think I’m throwing my life away, and you’re always assumin’ the worst of me. Like you are right now.” 

He fixed Omi with a stare. “You think everyone’s gotta slot neatly into your little boxes of ‘good’ and ‘evil.’ You ever stop to think that maybe things’re a little more complicated than that?”

“Complicated?” Omi repeated. “I fail to see what is so complicated here. You are allied with Chase Young and you travel with a notorious criminal. What else am I to call that but ‘evil?’”

“He’s kinda got you there,” said Spicer. ‘You’re like, evil-adjacent at least.”

“Look,” Rai said, “who I associate with is my business, all right? And I don’t have to justify myself to you.” He directed that at Omi. “I’d tell you that Chase isn’t getting his hands on this one anyway, but I know you won’t believe me.”

“You are correct,” Omi said. “I do not believe you.”

“Well, I don’t need you to.” Rai pushed away from the tree and straightened up. “I’m getting that Heart, and if you have any sense in that overinflated head of yours, you’ll stay out of my way until I get it.”

“I will do no such thing,” Omi said, and subtly shifted into a stance that Rai instantly recognized, because it was one Chase used a lot in their sparring sessions. Almost instinctively, he shifted his own stance to match it.

“What,” he said, “you think you can stop me?” He met Omi’s eyes and gave him a mocking little smirk. “Bring it.”

“Gladly,” Omi said, and launched himself towards Raimundo.

Rai ducked out of the way and let his momentum carry him into a forward roll; he heard Omi collide with the tree but correctly anticipated that the monk would rebound off of it so when Omi came crashing into him Rai was ready. This wasn’t a rehash of their first fight in Atlantic City, or even their fight in New York when he’d used Repulse the Monkey for the first time. No, now they were really fighting. Now Rai could hold his own.

It wasn’t like fighting Chase. Omi wasn’t waiting for Rai to make the first move, or trying to goad him into attacking a certain way. He was just coming at Rai with everything he had, a flurry of blows and leaps and kicks. Rai had to act more on instinct than anything else, let himself respond to Omi’s attacks in the moment rather than strategize his every move.

The weird thing was that the longer their fight went on, the easier it got. Not easier as in easier to win - neither one of them quite had the upper hand over the other - but easier as in more natural. More comfortable. It was like Rai didn’t really have to think about the fight; his body was naturally anticipating Omi’s movements, moving to meet him blow-for-blow. 

And his energy, what Chase kept calling his chi - it felt…more alive? More responsive? Like, he’d been getting used to the feeling that the wind was always there and ready to be called on, but now he felt like it was really part of him, an extra limb that he could move however and whenever he wanted.

Weird. But he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He had a fight to win.

“What in tarnation is goin’ on here?” he heard someone say, though he didn’t let himself break focus. It was probably the cowboy he’d run into earlier. Who else would say “what in tarnation” unironically?

“Pretty much what it looks like,” Jack Spicer answered.

“So…did they find the Heart already?” New voice. Vaguely familiar. Male, young…teenager? Rai leaped away from Omi’s next attack and spared a glance towards the voice. Oh, yeah. Workout clothes kid from New York. Weird that he was here, but Rai could figure that out later because right now he had to dodge another kick from Omi and follow it up with one of his own.

“Nope,” he heard Spicer say. “They just started fighting over nothing.”

“What a shock,” muttered another voice; he was pretty sure that was Dojo.

He’d let himself get distracted by the conversation long enough that Omi’s next strike caught him off guard. The monk nailed him with a kick to the chest that sent Rai flying; his back collided heavily with a tree and he dropped to the ground.

A second later, something else hit the ground next to him with a meaty thud.

Rai sat up, grimacing; he wasn’t injured, but that had been a pretty heavy hit. He looked to the ground beside him, where he’d heard the thing land.

“The Heart of Jong!” Omi cried, and then the monk was charging for him. 

Gritting his teeth against the soreness in his midsection, Rai rolled on top of the Heart and kicked himself to his feet. He forced himself into a run, tucking the Wu up against his chest with one hand and bringing his other hand to his mouth.

He inhaled, stuck his fingers in his mouth, and blew as hard as he could.

The resulting whistle was loud, piercing, and he could only hope that Sal heard it because Omi collided with him a second later.

They barrelled across the forest floor, Omi trying to grab the Wu from Rai’s hands and Rai trying not to let him touch it lest they start a Showdown. He wrapped both arms around it, waited until he was on the ground with Omi on top of him, and then kicked hard against Omi’s stomach with a shout of “WIND!”

It was enough to get Omi off of him, enough to let Rai scramble back to his feet and keep running. He wouldn’t get far, he knew, but he wasn’t trying to get away. He just had to buy enough time.

Still keeping the Heart close, he reached back and grabbed the Sword from its sheath. “Sword of the Storm! Wind!”

He used the Wu to propel himself off the ground and into the trees, landing on a nearby branch. He quickly leaped from that tree to another, and then another. Omi wasn’t far behind, he knew, but hopefully the branches would slow him down a little.

He dropped down in another clearing; he couldn’t see Omi anymore but he could hear leaves rustling in the trees behind him, so the monk couldn’t be far. He turned to keep running but a shadow passed overhead, and then Cowboy and Workout Kid both dropped from the sky and landed in front of him.

Goddamnit, he’d forgotten about Dojo. Speaking of, the little dragon swooped down a moment later to perch on Workout Kid’s shoulder.

He took a step back and glanced over his shoulder, but - nope, there was Omi. Great. He’d run himself right into a corner. 

“You have - hah - no place left to run, dishonorable stranger!” Omi called out, panting a little as he caught his breath.

“Sure,” Rai said. He turned slightly so he had Omi in his range of vision and held the Sword of the Storm ready, keeping the Heart braced against his chest. Come on, Sal.

“Now,” Omi continued, “relinquish the Heart of Jong, or else we will take it from you most forcefully!”

“Please,” Rai scoffed, eyes darting furtively around the clearing. “You’re too much of a Boy Scout. You wouldn’t know ‘forceful’ if it whacked you upside the head.”

“You will thoroughly regret those words!” Omi informed him. “You will find I can be most vicious to my enemies!”

“So we are enemies now, huh?” Rai hitched the Sword up onto his shoulder; hopefully it’d make him look less likely to use it, though the reality was that he was still ready to swing it down at a moment’s notice. “Whatever happened to recruiting me?”

“If you wish to join us,” Omi said - us? Rai wondered - “you would of course be welcome. But I know better than to believe your words. You have a most talented tongue.”

“Uh, Omi? Might want to phrase that one a little different next time,” said Workout Kid.

“If you really want me to join you,” Rai said, “you could start by trusting me a little more.” And finally, finally, he caught a flash of purple light in the trees. He shifted his hold on the Heart of Jong, subtly moving it from the crook of his elbow to his hand.

Omi’s eyes grew flinty. “You have given me no reasons to trust you.”

“Yeah, well, first time for everything, right?” Rai said, and took in a deep breath. Then he yelled, “Sal! Heads up!” and hurled the Heart of Jong into the trees like an American football.

Omi yelped in shock, but he and his buddies were too slow to stop it as it sailed past them.

“Golden Tiger Claws!”

There was a flash and the Heart was gone. In its place was Salvador Cumo, prancing his way into the clearing.

“Good work, Raimundo!” he exclaimed. “That was a beautiful throw.”

“Thanks,” Rai said, more for the catch than the compliment. Omi stormed past him and up to Sal.

“Where is the Heart of Jong?!” he demanded. “I insist you retrieve it at once!”

“Oh,” Sal said. “I am sorry, my friend! I would love to. But I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“Wh-?!” Omi sputtered. “What do you mean, you don’t know?! You used the Golden Tiger Claws!”

“I did,” Sal agreed. “I picked a spot at random!”

“At random?!”

“You think he’ll be satisfied with that?” Rai asked Sal over Omi’s noises of incoherent outrage.

Sal shrugged. “It fulfills his requirements. Now even I cannot find it.”

“Whose requirements? That Chase guy?” That was Workout Kid, stepping up to stand beside Omi along with the cowboy. 

“Ah!” Sal beamed at him. “So nice to see you again! Jermaine, wasn’t it?”

“Uh,” said the kid. “Yeah.”

“A pleasure! I am glad to see that you are traveling with young Omi! The two of you made an excellent team in New York City!”

Jermaine, who clearly hadn’t been expecting this level of exuberance from a notorious criminal, blinked. “...Thanks…?”

“And who is this?” Sal asked, turning his attention to the cowboy. He was in full charm mode. Guileless and chipper, full on ‘you can totally trust me’ vibes. 

“Erm,” said the cowboy. “Clay Bailey. Dragon of Earth. Or, uh. I’m gonna be.”

“Are you now! How fascinating!” Sal gushed.

Fascinating was one word for it. There was another elemental Dragon? One willingly working with Omi? Oh, man. Chase was either going to love this or totally flip his shit.

“And you’re Salvador Cumo, ain’t ya?” the cowboy asked, tilting his head slightly.

Sal’s grin froze, just a bit - enough that Rai noticed, but not enough that anyone else could sense a difference. “That I am,” he answered after the briefest pause. “Heard of me, have you?”

“Just rumors, mostly,” Clay replied. “Saw a feature about you on PBS some years back. You mostly steal jewels and such, don’t you?  I didn’t think someone like you would go for Shen Gong Wu.”

“Ah, it’s always nice to have a change of pace!” Sal said lightly.

“I’m here!”

Rai glanced up to see Jack Spicer float into the clearing on the Jetbootsu.

“I’m here!” he said again. “Did I miss the Showdown? Did anyone find the Heart of Jong?”

“Yes. You missed Salvador Cumo carelessly tossing it into a random portal,” Omi said, scowling at Sal. 

“Oh,” Spicer said. “Damn. I knew I should have given this thing better cell reception.” He gave his Detecto-Bot a little whack on its side.

“Ah, better luck next time, eh?”

“Yes, next time. Assuming that Chase Young does not end the world with Mala Mala Jong,” Omi said, having turned his scowl from Sal back to Rai.

Rai blinked. “Mala Mala Jong?” He glanced to Sal, who just shrugged at him. Nope, the shrug said. No idea.

“Mala Mala Jong!” Omi looked between them both, registering their baffled expressions. “Surely you know of Mala Mala Jong?”

“Nah,” Rai said, and Sal shook his head. “Never heard of it.”

“You do not know? But surely you have heard the legends! The great malevolent evil that can only be summoned by-mmph!”

Dojo had leaped from Jermaine’s shoulder with arms outstretched and had planted both hands over Omi’s mouth. “Maybe we don’t tell the bad guys how to summon the ancient world-ending evil spirit?” he suggested.

“If this Chase Young fella is as evil as Omi says,” Clay said, “I reckon he already knows.”

“Not helping!” Dojo barked.

“What’s all this about Chase Young?” Sal interjected. His eyes were round and curious, the picture of innocence. Rai caught his eye and gave a tiny shake of his head. They know.

Sal twitched his head back in the ghost of a nod. Understood.

“Do not play at ignorance!” Omi snapped, pushing Dojo’s hands away from his mouth. “I know that you are his allies! You are most likely here to retrieve the Heart of Jong on his orders!”

Sal tilted his head to the side, dropping the wide-eyed expression. A slow, easy smile crept onto his face. “My, you are a perceptive one, aren’t you?” he said – nearly purred, really. “Yes, Chase hired us to retrieve the Heart of Jong. But,” he raised a finger, “he did not want it for himself.”

“Yeah,” Rai added. He crossed his arms over his chest, though he didn’t let go of the Sword of the Storm. “He said he didn’t want anyone using it.”

“A likely story!” Omi snapped.

“Actually,” Jack Spicer said, and then cringed back when everyone’s attention swung to him. “Uh,” he said. “if Chase Young is real and you all aren’t just playing some kind of prank on me, that would track? He seems like the kind of guy who wouldn’t want any evil competition. If he’s real.”

“Yes, that was my assumption as well,” Sal said. “If the Heart of Jong is the key to summoning an ancient evil,” he directed this to Omi, “I can’t imagine that Chase would want anyone to use it.”

“You seem like you know a lot about him,” Jermaine observed.

Spicer and Sal responded at the same time, one a squawk of denial and the other smooth and unruffled.

“I don’t! I’ve just read about him!”

“Ah, it’s true that I have known Chase for some time, but I assure you we have nothing more between us than a business partnership.”

“Riiiiiiight,” Jermaine said, raising an eyebrow.

“Wait,” said Spicer, “which one of us were you asking?”

“It does not matter!” Omi cut in. “What matters is that Chase Young cannot be allowed to raise Mala Mala Jong!”

“How many times do we have to tell you he’s not gonna do that before you’ll believe us?” Rai asked him.

“There is no limit!” Omi met his eyes challengingly. “I will not take you at your word! I know that you cannot be trusted!”

“You little-!”

A hand on Rai’s shoulder killed the insult on his tongue before it could find air. He glanced sidelong at Sal without turning his head. Trust me, the weight on his shoulder said. I have an idea.

“If you can’t trust our word,” Sal said, “perhaps you can trust this.” 

He held up the Helmet of Jong.

“Why would I trust the Helmet of Jong?” Omi asked suspiciously.

“Because,” Sal said, and the hand on Rai’s shoulder vanished as he took a step forward. He held the Helmet out to Omi. “I am giving it to you.”

Rai stiffened, but caught himself before he could verbalize a protest. No, this was a smart move. The Helmet of Jong was pretty much useless to them, but if they were right about its connection to the Heart - and they definitely were, what with this whole “Mala Mala” business - it was a powerful bargaining chip. 

Omi eyed the Helmet with trepidation. “How do I know this is not a trick?” he asked.

“No tricks,” Sal promised. “Here, I will even set it down on the ground, so that you know I do not mean to start a Xiaolin Showdown over it.” He leaned down to place the Helmet on the forest floor, and nudged it towards Omi with his foot. It rolled forward and came to a stop in front of the teenaged monk.

Slowly, without taking his eyes off of Salvador or Raimundo, Omi stooped down and gingerly picked up the Helmet with one hand. He held it up and inspected it with a critical eye.

“Is it legit?” Jermaine asked, looking over Omi’s shoulder.

“It smells like the real Helmet of Jong to me,” Dojo offered.

“There,” Sal said, “you see? So long as you have the Helmet of Jong, Chase Young cannot summon Mala Mala Jong. I do hope that sets your mind at ease.”

“It actually kind of does,” said Dojo.

Omi seemed less convinced, but after a long moment he passed the Helmet to Clay and nodded.

“Very well,” he said. “This will suffice for now.” He frowned. “But if I find that this is a trick, you will regret it most stupendously.”

“I certainly hope so,” Sal said. “A Xiaolin Monk of your caliber must always work to keep us ‘evildoers’ in check, mm?”

Rai heard the air quotes in the statement, but he was pretty sure the sarcasm was lost on Omi.

“Indeed,” Omi said with a nod. “It is our duty to maintain the balance between the forces of good and the forces of evil.”

“And you do so wonderfully,” Sal assured him. He stepped away, moving back towards Rai. “Now then! I do believe our business is concluded, yes?”

“Seems pretty concluded to me,” Rai said, stowing the Sword.

“Yes, we should be on our way.” Sal slipped on the Golden Tiger Claws. “Best of luck to you, Xiaolin Warriors. Keep that Helmet safe.”

And in a flash, they were gone.

Rai was expecting to find Chase Young’s lair on the other side of the portal, so he was a little surprised to step out on a beach instead. It was empty, absent of any other people or any signs of civilization at all. He couldn’t have said where they were, except that there was a lack of salt in the air and the water was calm, so he guessed they were by a lake.

“Sal?” he asked, turning back to face his mentor.

“I thought we could use a moment to regroup before we report back,” Sal answered. “Away from prying eyes.”

“You think Chase was watching us.”

“It’s always a possibility. Chase aside, you never know who might be listening," said Sal. “But that went well! We certainly learned a few valuable new things.”

“Like how Omi found another guy with magic powers? How many of us are there, anyway?”

“I wouldn’t know.” 

“And Omi knows Chase, apparently.”

Sal hummed thoughtfully. “Or at least knows of him.”

“I thought Chase said he didn’t know the kid.”

“Yes, he certainly implied as much.” Sal stroked his chin. “From things Chase has said to me, I do get the feeling that they have not interacted much, if at all.”

“So you don’t think he was lying to us about that?”

“It is a possibility,” Sal allowed, “but no. At least, I don’t believe it was an intentional lie. It is something to think about, to be sure.”

“And we’re down another Wu, though it’s not like we were using the Helmet. Great thinking on that, by the way. Though Chase might be ticked when he finds out.”

“He never instructed us to keep it,” Sal pointed out. “Just to retrieve it. I suspect it was his aim to keep it separate from the Heart, and I expect the monks will do just that without our involvement.”

“Still,” Rai said.

“Ah, don’t worry about Chase. If he’s displeased by this turn of events, I will handle it.” Sal twirled the Claws around on his hand. “I suspect quite the opposite, in fact. We recovered the Heart, after all.”

“Sort of. Where’d you send it, anyway?”

“I think,” Sal said, “that the fewer of us who know its location, the better. It seems quite dangerous.”

He had a point, but Rai didn’t love it. They were a team, weren’t they? Usually, they faced any danger together. He sighed and brushed his right hand over the Brazilian flag tattoo on his left arm, then said, “Yeah, fair enough. But it’s safe?”

“It is safe.”

“Good. That’s all he’ll want to know.”

“And all he needs to know,” Sal agreed.

The drawer slid shut with a thud that echoed off the walls of the Shen Gong Wu vault. 

“Well,” Dojo said from his current spot on Master Fung’s shoulder, “that’s that, I guess.”

“For the time being,” said Omi. He could not tear his eyes from the drawer, or the small carving on its front that indicated which Wu was kept within. The etched eyes of the Helmet of Jong stared back at him, almost mocking.

“I don’t know,” Jermaine said, “I kind of feel like they were telling the truth. Why would they give us the Helmet if they’re planning to summon this Jong guy?”

“Yeah,” said Clay. “It don’t make sense. Maybe they’re tryin’ to get our guard down.”

“Or maybe they were just being nice!” Dojo suggested.

“What do you think, Master Fung?” Omi asked. He managed to drag his eyes away from the drawer containing the Helmet to look up at his teacher.

Master Fung was silent for a moment. When he spoke, it was measured and careful. “If Chase Young does indeed have the Heart of Jong,” he said, “that is dire news. But so long as we hold the Helmet of Jong here, it is true that Mala Mala Jong cannot be summoned. We will have to be vigilant and keep watch for trickery.”

“Do you think that Salvador Cumo was being truthful when he said that Chase Young does not wish to possess the Heart?” Omi asked.

“It is difficult to say.” Master Fung turned to begin ascending the stairs out of the vault, and the three younger monks followed him. “Chase Young is a tricky and cunning opponent, but I cannot think of a reason why Salvador Cumo would lie about his plans while giving us collateral against them. It may be that only time will tell what Chase Young is planning.”

“And in the meantime,” Jermaine said, “we’ll just have to keep training so that we can whoop his butt whenever he does make his move.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” said Clay.

Omi still felt doubtful, but there was a warm, steady feeling in his chest as they emerged from the vault. Yes, perhaps Chase Young was planning something insidious. Perhaps he would come to regret accepting Salvador’s gift. But at least, should the worst come to pass, he would not need to face it alone.

At least, should the world end and darkness fall upon him, he could face it with friends at his side.

In a darkened room, a cursor blinked at the end of a line of text. The white text was the only light in an otherwise black screen, casting a faint glow that spilled out from the oversized computer monitor upon which it was displayed.

INITIATE PROGRAM? Y/N , said the text.

The quiet clatter of a single keystroke sounded through the room.

Chapter Text

Jack woke up feeling a little disoriented.

He couldn’t place why at first, but after a few seconds of staring at his bedroom ceiling he realized that his daily alarm wasn’t blaring in his ear like usual. Maybe he’d accidentally switched it off.

He groped around on his bedside table until he found his phone and dragged it over to his face to check the time. Hm. 9:52 a.m., and no missed calls from the office. Well, that was nice.

That explained the disorientation, at least. He’d overslept.

Jack yawned, stretching his arms over his head. Maybe he’d overslept, but he’d definitely needed it. He felt refreshed. Relaxed. It was nice and quiet here in his room. Extra quiet, since he hadn’t seen Wuya for a few days. Not since before the Heart of Jong had gone active.

She’d probably just spent too much time on her tablet and gotten sucked into one of those YouTube channels for babies with the dubiously legal 3D models of children’s characters. It wouldn’t be the first time.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position and reached over to the wall, where he’d installed an intercom some years back. “Hey, Yes-Bot,” he said into the microphone. “Can you grab me some coffee and a bagel?”

He hung up without waiting for a reply and set about getting ready for the day. 

Once he’d showered and put on a (mostly) fresh change of clothes - hey, his jeans still smelled fine, who cared if they were the same ones he’d been wearing for the last two weeks? - he came back into his room, ready to tear into his bagel and gulp down the coffee.

Except that they weren’t there.

He paused in the doorway to his room, confused. Yes-Bot usually left his breakfast on his dresser, but there was nothing there. That was weird. Was the intercom broken or something?

Ugh, he’d just have to grab something on his way out the door. He probably had some toaster waffles and energy drinks in the kitchen.

He’d pulled on his jeans and a light gray T-shirt; now he just needed something “professional” enough to go on top of it. It was a real bummer that his blazer had gotten torched in the Showdown back in Texas; it’d been his only nice piece of clothing outside of the tuxedo his PR Guy had bullied him into purchasing for black tie galas. And like hell was he wearing a tuxedo to work.

Jack swung his closet door open and began rummaging through the hangers. Man, he was long overdue for a wardrobe cleanout. There were things in here he hadn’t worn since high school. Half this stuff wouldn’t even fit him these days. And so much of it was just stinking of wannabe evil. Capes, cloaks, studded vests (okay, those were neat, but he couldn’t wear them to the office), leather jacket–

Hm. Actually.

He grabbed the hanger and withdrew it, tugging the leather jacket out of the closet. He kind of remembered this one; he’d gotten it towards the end of his failed attempt at villainy. It’d been too big for him at the time, but now? Now it might actually fit.

It was black on the front and back, but the side panels were bright red. It looked like a racing jacket, maybe? Where’d he even gotten it? He couldn’t remember.

Well, it’d do for now. He slipped it on, checked himself in the mirror on the back of the closet door, and then tried popping the collar. 

Oh, he looked like a douchebag. It was perfect.

He shut the closet door, grabbed his phone and wallet, and headed downstairs.

His phone vibrated in his pocket as he entered the kitchen. Then it vibrated again when he stuck his head into the pantry to look for something to drink. And when he opened the fridge. And when he pulled out the frozen waffles. And–okay, this was getting ridiculous.

Jack set the box of waffles down on the counter, fished his phone out of the right-hand pocket of his jeans, and glanced at the screen.

Then he stared at the screen.

Fifty-seven missed calls?

What? No. What? That wasn’t - he would have heard the phone ringing. He didn’t have it on mute or anything. Maybe his service had cut out?

But. Fifty-seven was a lot. Like, a lot. And this was an unlisted number that Jack only ever gave out to a few people, so…who the heck was calling him fifty-seven times at 10 a.m.?

He tapped the notification to expand it and started scrolling.

Three missed calls from PR Guy. Two from his lawyer. A bunch from different numbers that weren’t saved in his phone. One from Mom. One from Dad?! Another six from PR Guy. Mom again. His secretary at work. 

He had a ton of texts, too. Mostly from PR Guy. Mostly saying some variation of “Answer your phone, NOW.” Then, starting about an hour ago, “Don’t answer your phone for ANYONE.”

That was the kicker. He’d apparently been getting these calls and texts for hours. The earliest one was timestamped around 7:00. 

But his phone hadn’t rung even once.

It dinged in his hand; he’d gotten another text. PR Guy again. 

“Don’t go outside. They’re camped out front. CNN has a live feed. Working on a statement.”

Live fee–?

Oh, fuck.

Jack nearly faceplanted into the carpet in his desperate scramble towards the living room. He stumbled to the coffee table and snatched up the TV remote, mashing the power button repeatedly until the screen lit up, and punched in the channel number for CNN before the current channel had even appeared on the screen.

And there was his house. On live TV. Being broadcast on cable news with a serious-looking reporter standing in front of it.

“-Spicer has yet to make an appearance or public statement on this crisis, but we’re told that a representative from SpicerTech Industries will be speaking to the press shortly. Reports continue to flood in from every part of the globe-”

Whoa, whoa. Wait. Crisis?

His stomach felt like it was made of solid lead as he moved his thumb to the “channel up” button and pressed it, switching the screen over to the next news channel.

“-reporting live on this developing situation as thousands of SpicerTech robots appear to have gone rogue. Witnesses report–”

The lead in his stomach was liquifying and turning to acid. He pressed the button again.

“-claiming that their ‘Yes-Bot Helper Companion’ robots first became unresponsive and then began acting erratically. One witness claims that his device chased him out of his own home while wielding a hedge trimmer. Others–”

Click.

“Early communication from SpicerTech claiming a ‘software glitch’ was quickly proven false as customers found themselves unable to disable or reboot the rogue machines–”

Click.

“-It’s like I’ve been saying all along, Nancy! These rich Hollywood elites want to take over our homes, take over our cities, and now these robots which were supposed to make everyone’s lives better–!”

Click.

“You can almost see SpicerTech’s stock dropping in real time–”

Click.

“-said he was under ‘new orders’ and threw my quiche on the floor!”

Click.

Oh God, it was on every channel. Not just the news channels. Every channel. 

The sports channels had talking heads discussing whether this would affect the year’s draft. The kids channels had news alerts scrolling along the bottom of the screen underneath the cartoons. The food channel just had a big notice saying “DUE TO CURRENT EVENTS, TODAY’S AIRING OF ‘COOKING WITH YES-BOT’ HAS BEEN CANCELED.”

He numbly flipped back to a news channel. This one had another live feed, but at least it wasn’t of his house.

It was his office.

It looked like the cameras had been set up across the street from the building. Jack could see the front entrance on the screen. There were Jackbots in front of it.

Armed Jackbots.

“Thanks, Ted,” the reporter on screen was saying. She was clutching on to her microphone like a lifeline and seemed like she was trying very hard not to look at the armed robots on the other side of the street behind her. “I’m outside of SpicerTech corporate headquarters, which appears to be under guard by robots resembling those that attacked Times Square several months ago. I’m told that all human personnel were able to evacuate safely, and the surrounding buildings have been cleared.”

Fuck. RJ. Of course it was RJ. 

But how? How could it be RJ? Jack had solved that problem. He’d come up with security that RJ wouldn’t be able to crack, not without knowing all his safe codes, and getting access to the Changing Chopsticks, and even knowing about the physical puzzle key component in the first place.

Jack had been positive that his systems were clear of RJ’s spyware. Had he overlooked something? Had his robotic counterpart been one step ahead of him this whole time?

“Today was a teaser,” RJ had told him after New York. He wasn’t kidding, apparently. This whole robot uprising thing was making New York look downright quaint in comparison.

He stared down at his phone, only half-paying attention to the TV now as the reporter continued to detail just how fucked his career was. Because it was fucked. There was no coming back from this, not when it sounded like every single Yes-Bot on the market had turned against their masters. 

Which was thousands. Thousands. Like, they’d been doing great with sales lately, and had expanded their market to every continent on the globe (including Antarctica, since a few Yes-Bots had been purchased for scientific expeditions). Yes-Bots were widely versatile and suited for a wide range of tasks, which was why they’d been so successful despite the high cost.

So that meant that RJ had easy access to a robot army that was already stationed worldwide. In homes. In schools. Hospitals. Government buildings. Houses of state.

Jack was so fucked.

Onscreen, the feed had switched back to a newsroom, and the talking heads were talking heads-ing at each other. Jack pulled up social media on his phone, which he knew was a bad idea, but he needed to see just how bad it was.

The number one trending topic worldwide was “#RobotApocalypse.” Great.

“...new footage released just moments ago, which appears to show a young Jack Spicer attempting to attack the headquarters of the United Nations–”

Jack’s head snapped up. What? No. No, there was no way–

But there on the screen, to his horror, was the most humiliating day of his life. He was frozen in place, unable to do anything but watch as the grainy, years-old footage played out.

There he was, sixteen years old, in his old villain getup: jacket, goggles, helipack, makeup.  There he was, striding into the United Nations antechamber like he owned the place, flanked by a half-dozen Jackbots. 

“Leaders of the world!” he crowed on-screen. “Bow before the awesome robotic might of Jack Spicer, Evil Boy Genius!”

There was silence on the tape as the various assembled members just stared back at him. Jack remembered how it’d felt, how they’d looked at him like he was some random kid who’d gotten lost and wandered in off the street.

“What is this?” someone asked.

“What’s it look like?” his younger self replied. “I’m demanding your unconditional surrender! Jackbots, show them!”

The clip cut off there, clearly edited to show the worst part, the most damning part. If it’d kept going, the whole world could have watched together as Jack’s teenaged dream of world domination imploded right in front of him. But instead, it cut off right where he looked the worst.

As the shock began to wear off, Jack’s mind began to race. His parents had done everything they possibly could to make sure that footage was purged and the story was completely buried, and they had the money and influence to make it so. 

Nobody knew about it. Nobody outside of Jack and his family. And probably the people who were there that day to witness it, but they’d all either been paid off or completely forgotten the incident. 

RJ had dug this footage up - somehow - and he’d done it for a reason. He wasn’t just trying to make Jack look incompetent. He was trying to make him look dangerous.

And he was trying to get inside Jack’s head, too, by broadcasting the worst day of his life to the entire world. By rubbing his face right into the reason he’d given up on evil.

The problem was that it was working.

Jack braced his head against his hands, staring down into his lap and not really seeing anything.

His phone was blowing up again. He didn’t look at it. He knew he was completely and totally screwed, he didn’t need five hundred texts from his lawyer to reinforce it.

At least he was free and clear legally from the UN thing. His parents had made sure of that.

Couldn’t say the same for this Yes-Bot crisis.This was - this wasn’t just career ending, it was pretty much life ending. He’d never be able to show his face in public again if everyone thought the robot uprising was his fault. Assuming there were people left after everything settled down - though he hadn’t heard a death toll mentioned in any of the news reports, so at least there was that?

Okay, no. He had to snap out of it. If RJ was behind this, then Jack was the only one who could stop it.

Jack took a deep breath and lifted his head out of his hands. Plan. He needed a plan.

His robots were all basically a lost cause. The office was, too. He couldn’t trust any of his tech, since RJ had clearly found a way past his security and was definitely in his systems. 

Resources. What did he have access to? Well, Shen Gong Wu. Jack had all of his Wu here at the house, except for the Changing Chopsticks - he had to assume that RJ had those now. 

He had some cash here in the house in case of emergency. He had bank accounts too, but who knew how easily he’d be able to access those? Especially without a phone or computer. 

He had to assume that anything financial that wasn’t liquid - his investments, his company value, his stock options - were basically gone. Poof. Into the ether. 

And he definitely couldn’t stay here. He’d have to leave the house, find somewhere private where he could think without worrying about being ambushed by reporters or disgruntled civilians. He couldn’t go out the front door since there were news crews camped outside. Maybe he could sneak out the back.

Maybe he could call someone to come get him.

His phone had stopped pinging with texts, at least for now. He took advantage of the lull to open up his contacts and scour them for a safe place to hide. He needed someone who wouldn’t sell him out, or lecture him, or kick his ass. 

His parents were right out; they’d be furious with him for fucking up this badly and dragging the family name through the mud. 

Kimiko? When’d he even save her number? Absolutely not. 

PR Guy? Ha, no. He and Jack’s lawyers were already up to their neck in this shit and didn’t need him bugging them. 

He lowered his thumb for another scroll and paused as a name caught his eye. 

“You know how to reach me if you change your mind.”

He hadn’t planned on it. But fuck it, he was desperate. He needed an ally - anyone -  and he couldn’t afford to be a choosing beggar here.

He punched the call button before he could have second thoughts.

It rang twice before the recipient picked up.

“Hey, Spicer. Get yourself into some trouble?”

“Great,” he said. “Does everyone know?”

“Dude, you’re on every news channel. All over social media, too. There’s no way not to know.”

“So I don’t need to explain why I’m calling, then.”

“Guessing you need somewhere to lie low for a while.” There was a short, sharp chuckle. “Was I really your only option?”

“Do you think I’d be calling you if I had a better one?” Jack snapped.

The laugh he got this time sounded a little more genuine. “Okay, yeah, fair. But sure, I think we’ve got a place you can crash at for a while. It’s nothing glamorous, but it’s discreet.”

“Discreet is all I need.”

“Cool. Hang on a sec.”

He hung on a sec.

One second later, a glowing rift appeared in the middle of his living room. It widened into a portal, and Raimundo Pedrosa was on the other side.

“Hey,” he said, giving Jack a little wave with the hand that wasn’t wearing the Golden Tiger Claws.

“Shut up,” Jack grumbled, hanging up his phone..

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I know. Shut up.”

“Sure,” Raimundo agreed amiably, and hopped through the portal, which closed behind him. “You got anything you need to bring with you?”

“Um,” said Jack, who was now realizing that he wasn’t exactly prepared for an indefinite stay in parts unknown. “Maybe? Do I need, like, food?”

“Nah, there’s food and stuff. The basics. You’ll probably want some clothes, important documents, some money.”

“Right,” said Jack. “Uh. I have a safe with money and my birth certificate and everything.”

“Good, good. Assume you won’t be back here for a while. Grab anything you really can’t live without.”

“You have a lot of experience going on the run, huh?” Jack asked as he turned and headed for the stairs.

“Duh,” he heard Raimundo snort behind him. “I work with Salvador Cumo.”

“Right. Yeah.” It was still kind of hard to reconcile the idea that the goofy mustachioed man with Big Dad Energy was a cunning master criminal.

Jack trudged up the stairs and down the hall; he could hear Raimundo following behind him. He hesitated a little bit before entering his room, mostly because it was kind of a mess and he wasn’t sure whether he valued Raimundo’s opinion of him enough to be self-conscious about the mess.

Oh, screw it. It’s not like he had any sex toys or old self-insert fanfictions about Chase Young lying around.

Not that. Not that he’d ever written any.

Anyway.

He pushed the door open and let Raimundo follow him in. There were clothes on his floor, his bed was unmade, his desk was covered in crap. Whatever. He had more important things to worry about right now.

Back to the closet he went. He had a big suitcase in here somewhere - ah! There. He dragged it into the center of his floor and went back to hunt around for his safe.

“You mind if I sit on the bed?” Raimundo asked.

He waved a hand over his shoulder. “Go for it.”

“Cool.” He heard his bed squeak as the guy flopped down on it.

His safe was in the very back of the closet, next to a pile of his old Evil Boy Genius jackets and a box of unidentified contents that had almost definitely been sitting there since he was a teenager and was therefore Completely Off Limits. He didn’t even want to know the depths of the cringe contained within.

The safe was kind of heavy, so he had to drag it more than lift it out of the closet, and then lug it over to the suitcase. There. That was one less thing to pack.

What next? Well, clothes. He could probably buy new ones if he needed to, but who knew how long he’d need to stretch the money in his safe? He turned back to the closet.

“So,” Raimundo said after a long stretch of totally-not-awkward silence, “I’m guessin’ it’s a touchy subject, but I’ve got to ask.”

Jack, in the midst of shuffling through an array of brightly-patterned aloha shirts, huffed out a sigh. “Go ahead,” he grumbled. “Get it out of your system.”

“Dude, what the hell possessed you to try attacking the United Nations?”

Yep, there it was. He shoved a palm-tree patterned shirt aside with more force than strictly necessary. “You’re right. It’s a touchy subject.”

“Ei, sorry, didn’t mean to push,” Raimundo said. “Just curious. I mean, that’s a pretty ballsy move, and, no offense? But I didn’t think you had it in you. You really don’t seem like the kind of guy who attempts coups.”

“Yeah, well, that’s kind of the point.” Jack emerged from the closet with an armful of button-ups and sweaters. He didn’t look at Raimundo. “My parents paid good money to have the whole thing swept under the rug. So much for that investment, huh?”

“Mm.” 

Jack shoved the clothes into his suitcase and turned to his dresser. He tugged open his underwear drawer and tried to pull some out as stealthily as possible. He’d have to figure out how to get them into his suitcase without Raimundo seeing.

“So you were evil,” he heard Raimundo muse aloud. “Or at least trying to be. Explains a lot.”

“Do I even want to know what you mean by that?”

“Probably not.” The bed squeaked again as Raimundo shifted his weight. “But I do gotta ask, what made you stop? You looked pretty sure of yourself in that security footage.”

“Hm, wow, what a great question,” Jack said flatly, and left it at that.

“All right, all right, I’ll drop it.”

“Aw, so kind of you.” Maybe he could sneak his undies inside of something else. He hadn’t packed any pants yet.

“I worked it out, by the way. What you said back in New York.”

“Which part?” Jack asked absently, pulling his pants drawer open. Well, open more. It hadn’t been closed all the way.

“The whole thing about your company not manufacturing those robots. Sal and I noticed you were really careful about how you said it, and now I get why. It’s because you designed and built them, but your company never did.”

“Congratulations,” Jack said in a dry tone as he slipped a couple pairs of underpants inside some jeans and rolled them up. “You solved it. Woo hoo. And before you ask, I’m gonna say again, I didn’t send them to attack New York.” He turned around to very nonchalantly stash the pants in his suitcase.

“No, I know that. Just like I know you’re not behind whatever’s happening with your robots right now.”

“Really?” Jack forgot that he was trying to be stealthy and stared up at the bed.

Raimundo, who was lounging on the bed like he owned it, rolled his eyes at him. “Do you think I’d be helping you out if I thought this was all you?” he asked. Jack didn’t miss the way his words mirrored his own question over the phone from earlier. He also didn’t miss the way Raimundo’s hoodie had ridden up enough to expose a strip of (very toned) midriff.

He quickly tore his eyes away and hoped that his cheeks didn’t look as red as they felt. “No,” he admitted as he packed the pants away, “but I figured I’d have to convince you at least a little.”

“I haven’t forgotten our conversation,” said Raimundo. “I knew you were dealing with something - someone - you wanted to handle on your own.”

“Oh. Right.” Jack had almost forgotten his slip of the tongue, the way he’d said “him” when he should have said “it.” Of course Raimundo wouldn’t have forgotten. He pulled out another pair of pants and stuffed more underwear inside of it. Stealthily.

“So whoever ‘he’ is, am I right in guessing this is his fault?”

No use in denying that. “Yep,” Jack confirmed, rolling the pants up. “At least I’m pretty sure. He’s the only guy I can think of who’d do this.”

“And who’s that, exactly?”

“Nope,” Jack said, and plopped the pants into the suitcase. “You’re not getting it out of me that easily.”

“Damn. Well, it was worth a shot.”

Jack snorted. “If you can call that a shot.” That was probably enough undies for now. Whew. Mission accomplished. He turned back for a final pair of pants.

“Hm,” Raimundo said after a long minute of silence.

Jack sighed, folding up the pants he’d grabbed. “What now?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Great.” Jack reached over to put the pants in the suitcase.

“Just wouldn’t have tagged you as a briefs guy, is all.”

“What?!” Jack squawked, dropping the pants. But he’d been so sneaky! He stared into the suitcase, but couldn’t see even the slightest hint of underwear peeking out of his pants. He looked up at the bed.

Raimundo was gingerly holding a pair of (thankfully clean) briefs between two fingers, one eyebrow raised.

“Oh my God, give me that.”

“Sure,” Raimundo agreed, and flicked the briefs right into Jack’s face.

The noise Jack made probably could have woken the dead.

Packing didn’t take long after that, mostly because Jack was half-dead from mortification and just wanted to get it over with. All he really needed was his clothes, his document safe, his Shen Gong Wu, and his Detecto-Bot (which wasn’t on the same system as the rest of his tech, since he’d based it off a Tohomiko Electronics program hosted on a Tohomiko server). He grabbed his favorite toolkit and welding gear too, just in case. 

He left all his personal electronic devices behind, after sending out a quick text to all the relevant parties (parents, lawyers, PR Guy) to let them know he was going offline for a bit. He almost smashed his cell phone with the Fist of Tebigong to be extra safe, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

Then it was time to go.

He followed Raimundo through the Golden Tiger Claws portal, which was a weird sensation because it didn’t feel weird at all. And it should have felt weird, so that was weird. Not feeling anything during instantaneous transport? Weird.

Anyway. He dragged his suitcase through the portal and glanced around as the portal closed behind him.

They were standing in a cavernous building, an industrial behemoth with old glass-paned windows that took up most of the top half of the walls and allowed light to filter in. An old factory, Jack guessed, though it was empty of any machinery or equipment. There were only bare concrete floors and steel support pillars and plaster peeling off the walls to reveal the worn brick underneath.

“What’s this place?” he asked.

“Exactly what it looks like,” Raimundo called back as he walked briskly towards one corner of the building. “It’s a safe house.”

“Safe house?” Jack echoed, trailing after him.

“Yeah, you know. Sometimes in our line of work, things get hot and we need somewhere to lay low.”

“So you hide in an abandoned factory?”

“Occasionally. We’ve got hiding places all over.”

As they approached the corner Jack realized that there was a jumbled pile of crates and wooden boxes, which had been hidden by the shadows. There were two small cots tucked behind the pile, along with an unlit camping lantern and a small propane stove.

“Here you go,” Raimundo said with a sweeping gesture. “It’s not much, but hey. The paparazzi won’t find you here.”

“Thanks.” Jack dropped his suitcase onto one of the cots. “Where exactly are we, anyway?”

“Uh,” Raimundo put a hand to his chin, “I dunno, dude, I always get these European cities mixed up. Hamburg, I think. Or Vienna?”

“You think?”

“Yeah. Or Prague, maybe.”

Helpful. Jack glanced around. “Uh. You said there was food?”

“In the boxes.” Raimundo rapped his knuckles against one. “There’s a crowbar around here somewhere if you can’t get ‘em open. Some of them have food, some have medical supplies, some of them are left over from whatever this place used to be. I think they’re labeled.”

“You…think?”

“Maybe. Hey, we never claimed to be organized.”

“Great.” Jack sat down on the cot next to his stuff. “You uh. You mind if I move things around a little? Open up some of the old factory crates?” Maybe he’d find some useful materials in there. Probably not enough for new robots or anything, but if he could build something - anything - it might make him feel less useless.

“Go for it,” Raimundo said with a shrug. “Sal’s been talking about making this place ‘more homey’ forever.”

“Cool.” Jack drummed his fingers against the cot. “And, uh. Thanks. For letting me stay here.”

“Oh, don’t thank me.” Raimundo turned to lean against a nearby pillar. “I did you a favor. Maybe you can repay it when you’re not on the run.”

“Aw, come on, really? Does there have to be a catch? Why can’t you just let me crash here out of, I dunno, the goodness of your heart?”

“Sorry, dude,” Raimundo said, examining his nails. “That’s not exactly how we operate. Besides, I wouldn’t call it a ‘catch.’ I’m not attaching any strings here. Just sayin’ that you owe me.” He offered Jack a sly look. “Maybe you can make it worth my while, y’know?”

Jack sighed. “How much money do you want? I mean, I don’t know how liquid I’ll be once everything dies down, but–”

Raimundo looked surprised, startled even, and raised his hands. “Whoa, dude, no, I wasn’t asking for money.”

“Huh?”

“Deus, you’re oblivious even when you’re not split in half.” Raimundo rolled his eyes, a slight smirk tugging at his mouth as he let his hands drop. “I meant like, dinner or something. Y’know. Show me a good time.”

“Oh.” Jack felt a flush begin to creep up his cheeks. “You mean like, uh. A date?”

“If you want it to be,” Raimundo said with a shrug. “If you’re not feelin’ it–”

“No, no, I am! Um. I mean, I could be, er.” Jack’s face had to be bright red now. “Sorry, I’m just uh. It’s been a weird day.”

“Yeah, you’ve got other things on your mind. I get it. No pressure, man.”

“I’m kind of surprised you’re even interested in me after all this,” Jack said. “What, the inadvertent facilitation of a robot apocalypse isn’t a turn-off?”

“Everyone has off days,” said Raimundo. He walked over and sat down on the other cot. The cots were pretty close together, so he was only about a foot away from Jack, with his left side facing Jack.

“No kidding,” Jack muttered. He glanced at Raimundo from the corner of his eye, a little confused. Why was he still here? He’d gotten Jack situated. Wasn’t their business concluded?

Maybe he just wanted to make sure Jack didn’t totally trash the place.

He was so hard to read. Most of the time he came across as a pretty chill guy, kind of a surfer dude bro type, but then every now and again the mask would slip and Jack would remember, oh, yeah, this guy is best buds with one of the most notorious master thieves of all time. And he was…apparently???? working???? for Chase Young???? Who was real????

Jack shifted on the cot. Cleared his throat.

“So…uh…what’s he like?”

“Huh?”

He felt his cheeks flush a little. “Chase Young. What’s he like?”

“Hm.” Raimundo drummed his fingers against his thigh. “...Grouchy. Likes to talk in circles. Drinks a lot of tea.” He turned his head towards Jack. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, y’know.” Jack tried to look nonchalant. “No real reason. Just wondering.”

“You said he was a myth,” Raimundo observed. “Said he’s showed up in legends. You read a lot of stories about him?”

“...Yeah,” Jack admitted. “I, uh. Kind of went through a phase when I was a kid. Fixated on him big time. You know how it is.”

“Sure,” said Raimundo.

“I just figured all those stories were made up,” Jack said. “I didn’t think he was real.”

“Well, he’s real. And he really kicks my ass in training every time I see him.” Raimundo leaned over, a smirk lifting his lips. “I could show you the bruises to prove it.” He gestured to his butt.

“Um!” Jack’s voice squeaked. “That! Won’t be necessary, thanks.”

Raimundo snickered and moved back out of Jack’s personal bubble. “Dude,” he said, “you’re too damn easy to fluster.”

“Shut up.”

They settled back down into silence. It wasn’t a bad silence. It was almost companionable. As flustered as Jack felt, he was…kind of enjoying himself.

It was sort of nice to have this little scrap of almost-normalcy in the midst of the worst day of his life. It was good to be around someone who wasn’t grilling him for details, or putting pressure on him to fix things immediately, or blaming him for the whole thing.

He still couldn’t exactly say that he trusted Raimundo. He knew the guy was a lot slipperier than he seemed. But…well, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about him.

He glanced to his right, where he could see Raimundo in profile. Sitting this close, he had a good view of the tattoo on the guy’s upper left arm. It was pretty simple, just the Brazilian flag, but up close he could see that the skin underneath was weirdly uneven. It took him a minute to realize that what he was seeing was a scar, a round one that was almost perfectly covered by the blue…circle thing in the center of the flag. If the circle thing had a proper name, he didn’t know it.

“Huh,” he said. “What’s the deal with the scar?”

He regretted saying it as soon as he did, because, duh, usually when people covered scars up it was because they didn’t want to talk about them. 

But Raimundo didn’t seem bothered. 

“Hm? Oh, that. Eh.” He shrugged. “Singapore.”

“Singapore?”

“Yeah. Sal an’ I were on a job down there that went sideways, and the other guys got a little gun happy. Sal got out okay, but I wasn’t so lucky.”

“No kidding.” Jack stared at the scar. “Did it hurt?”

He was expecting Rai to play tough and brush it off, but instead the guy snorted and said, “Of course it hurt, dude. I got shot. But it wasn’t bad. I healed up quick.”

“Oh. Uh, that’s good.”

“Yeah, the tattoo guy said he’d never seen a bullet scar so clean. I guess a little of Sal’s luck did rub off on me.”

Jack blinked. “Does, uh. Does your tattoo guy see a lot of bullet scars?”

“Beats me, I only ever saw him once.”

“Cool.” Jack stared at the scar again, trying to picture what it looked like under the ink. The only scars he had were the surgical ones on his chest and stomach, which were long healed.

He felt kind of…not really inadequate, not really. Not next to Raimundo, who seemed like he was permanently covered in an insubstantial layer of grease and looked like he did all his clothes shopping in a junkyard. But at the same time it was like…this guy was out there having adventures, getting shot at. Running jobs for Chase Young.

Could Jack have had something like that, if he’d chosen a different path? If he hadn’t stuck to what was safe?

Would he have wanted a life like that?

He looked up. Above their heads was a platform of some kind, an overhang that probably had been used as a walkway at some point. Further out, beyond the overhang, afternoon sunlight was streaming through the grimy windows of the abandoned factory and filling the space with a dusty golden light.

“...Do you really want to know why I gave up being evil?” he asked.

He felt more than heard Raimundo shift next to him. “I mean, if you’re sharing. I won’t pry.”

Jack took a deep breath. “It’s because. Well. I mean, the UN thing…that was my big move, right? It was what I’d been working up to for years. I was going to take over the world in record time, and everyone was going to see how cool my robots were and,” Jack snorted, “man, I was such a dumb kid. But it didn’t work.”

“I mean, I kind of guessed that considering that you’re not running the UN right now.”

“Yeah, well. That footage that they aired? Cut out right before my Jackbots malfunctioned. I’d upgraded their weapons without accounting for the increased stress on their inner mechanics and they all overheated. Just all broke down into heaps of smoking scrap metal.”

“Ouch.”

“Yep. And it’s. It’s not even that it didn’t work.” Jack swallowed. “It was how everyone in that room looked at me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean. They weren’t scared. They weren’t even bothered. They thought I was a random teenager playing a prank. I was nothing but a joke to them.” He stared off into the middle distance. “Just a funny anecdote to tell their grandkids at dinner.”

“Ouch,” Raimundo said sympathetically. 

“It wasn’t just that they weren’t taking me seriously. What I realized is that they couldn’t take me seriously. I wasn’t serious. I wasn’t a threat.”

“So you gave up.”

“Yeah.” Jack shifted on the cot. “Well, no. Not at first. At first I went back to the drawing board. Told myself I’d come back bigger and badder. But I couldn’t figure out how to do it. Nothing I could come up with was good enough.” Hours and hours spent pouring over blueprints and plans, nver able to come up with something good enough to work. “And it all seemed so useless. My parents were ticked at me, my entire identity was a joke, and it just…wasn’t fun anymore. So I stopped. Focused on my robots. Sold my first patent at 17 and never looked back.”

“I mean,” Raimundo said, “kinda seems to me like that worked out great for you.”

“Until today,” Jack said with a humorless chuckle. “And, I don’t know. I don’t regret it, not really but…you know I found Wuya’s puzzle box when I was fourteen?”

“Really?” That was genuine surprise in Raimundo’s voice. “Huh. No, I didn’t.”

“Yep. It’s funny, y’know? If I’d opened the puzzle box when I found it, things probably would’ve turned out way differently. If I’d known about the Shen Gong Wu as a kid, maybe it’d have given me the edge I needed to stay in the game. Maybe I could’ve made something of myself as an evil genius.” He folded his arms on his knees. “Or maybe I would’ve burned out even faster and made an even bigger fool of myself. Who knows.”

“Hm.” Raimundo cleared his throat. “I’m not a big advice guy, but Sal’s always telling me not to dwell on the past, y’know? That what matters is here and now, and we have to keep living in the moment.”

“Wow.” Jack snorted. “That’s downright motivational. He should print that on a shirt.”

“Hey, don’t give him any ideas.”

“I’ll try not to.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes more, and then Raimundo slapped his thighs and stood up.

“Well,” he said, “I guess I’d better get back out there, see how Sal’s holding up with the world being overrun by robots and all. You gonna be good here?”

“I guess,” Jack said. “I’m, uh. Gonna try and stop him.”

Raimundo paused, looking down at him. “Him? Like, him- him?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “I’m the only one who can.”

“...Sure. Well. I guess I’ll see you around.” Raimundo slid the Golden Tiger Claws onto his hand. “Good luck stopping the robots or whatever.”

“Thanks,” Jack said. “Uh. Take care, Rai.”

Rai flashed him a grin and a finger gun, and then he was gone. 

Jack sat alone in the silence for another long moment, and then he unzipped his suitcase, rummaging through it until he located his toolkit. He pulled it out and stood up, turning to face the stack of crates in front of him.

He had a lot of work to do.

Chapter Text

TUESDAY

If “I told you so” was a person, right now it would be Kimiko Tohomiko.

Because oh, she’d been so right about Jack Spicer. 

She’d known that he was a shifty little weirdo from the start. He’d always gotten on her nerves, because she could tell he was hiding things. Everyone had told her she was just being paranoid, all of them too blinded by him and his stupid robots to see what Kimiko could see. But she could see. 

Kimiko knew what it looked like when someone was hiding their true nature. She’d learned the hard way, years ago, what happened if you let them get away with it. The harm they could cause. The damage they could do.

She hadn’t ever been able to peel back Spicer’s blazers and turtlenecks to find the evil schemes lurking beneath, but she’d known they were there. And nobody had listened to her, and now his company’s products had gone rogue and were taking over the world for him.

And of course he’d been lying in New York City! She’d known the whole time that those robots belonged to him. It was so obvious! Even if she hadn’t seen the footage that had blown up the internet, the old security tape of him breaking into the goddamned United Nations with the same robots that had attacked Times Square, she could have guessed he was lying. 

Because that was what he did. He was a lying, slimy little worm and he was going to catch a face full of fire the next time she saw him.

“Kimiko, your hair–”

“I know, Papa!”

For what had to be the tenth time today, Kimiko swatted grumpily at the top of her head to dispel the flames that had sprouted there. She’d started the day wearing a hat, but she’d had to take it off pretty quickly or else risk torching it to ashes.

She’d thought she was getting a pretty good handle on the whole spontaneous combustion thing, but that was before the robot uprising. When you had fire powers that apparently responded to strong emotions, it was really hard to keep them under control when the world was literally falling apart.

She grit her teeth and glared at the computer in front of her. Normally, she’d frown on corporate espionage, but these were desperate times. Her hacking skills were a little rusty, too, but she’d figured she could out-hack whatever crummy security Jack Spicer had on his systems and override whatever he was using to control his robots. But she had to admit that his security was a lot more sophisticated than she’d expected. 

He had to have some kind of hyper-advanced algorithm running it or something, because it was actively countering nearly everything she tried in real time. Every time she thought she’d finally found a hole in his system to exploit, it’d be patched before she’d even finished her next line of code.

It was almost like someone was hacking back at her from the other end, but that was impossible. Nobody could code that fast.

“Do you suppose the robots know about the fish tank in the lobby?” her father fretted. “It is on an automatic feeder, but what if the filter needs to be changed?”

“The fish will be fine, Papa,” Kimiko said, stabbing the “enter” key a little harder than necessary. She was trying not to take any of her frustration out on him, but it was difficult. Because this was kind of his fault.

Not the robot apocalypse, no.

The whole “locked out of Tohomiko Electronics because someone just had to buy a fleet of Yes-Bots for the employee cafeteria” thing.

Maybe the next time she told her dad, “Hey, I think that buying our biggest competitor’s products as a ‘show of goodwill’ isn’t the best idea?” he’d actually listen to her. Maybe then they wouldn’t have to worry about the fact that their corporate headquarters was being held hostage by SpicerTech robots, and that those robots had direct access to every company secret and piece of proprietary technology in the building.

Or they would, if they could break the security encryption. Kimiko just had to hope that it would hold.

Against something Spicer built? They’d probably be fine. But she couldn’t take that as a given.

It’d barely been a day, and already the robots were well on their way to total world domination. Spicer had clearly been planning this for a while, because he had robots everywhere and some of them had been in government buildings and military facilities. He essentially had control over a few countries already. As far as Kimiko was aware there hadn’t been any mass casualties - yet - but she was also trying not to watch the news too much, because she needed to focus.

The weird thing was that Spicer hadn’t come out to gloat or make any demands. His ego was the size of a planet; shouldn’t he be lording his victory over everyone’s heads? Shouldn’t he be lording it over her?  

But no, not a peep. It was weird. It was so unlike him that she'd be tempted to believe that it wasn’t him if she didn’t know better.

Kimiko took a sip of the fizzy, fruity energy drink that was serving as her current sleep substitute and thunked it back down on the table, staring glassily at the screen. She really needed a break; she was starting to see code scrolling past her eyeballs every time she blinked. But she couldn’t stop now. She was getting close, she just knew it. All she needed was to keep going, and…

And.

Her cursor wasn’t blinking. Why was it not blinking?

She jiggled her mouse, heart jumping when the motion failed to produce any corresponding movement on the screen. Pressing the keys didn’t do anything either. The screen was completely frozen.

“No, no, no, no!” she muttered under her breath, tapping frantically at the space bar. Not now! Any time but now!

The computer’s fans were whirring, loud as jet engines. The screen flickered, and then distorted, the colors warping like someone was holding a magnet against it. A strange sound was emerging from the computer’s speakers, crackling with electronic feedback and static, at first barely audible over the fans but growing louder and louder. 

It was laughter.

It was Jack Spicer’s laughter.

The laughter cut off abruptly, and Kimiko’s computer went with it. She tried to turn it back on, but nothing happened. When she went to open up the tower, it was smoking.

Her hair was on fire again, but it didn’t matter. Jack Spicer was going to hell.

THURSDAY

Life at the Xiaolin Temple wasn’t exactly what Clay had expected.

They had more creature comforts than he would have thought, for one thing. There was electricity and running water and even high speed internet, though most of the folks at the temple didn’t have electronic devices to use it with. The living arrangements were simple - Clay’s dorm room was a wooden stall and his bed a mat on the ground - but not austere. 

It wasn’t all that different from growing up on the ranch, really. He woke up at dawn, did some chores, made breakfast, trained with Jermaine and Omi. There was a comforting sort of familiarity to it, a routine that he’d missed since he left for school. 

Of course, there was the matter of the robot attacks.

Since the SpicerTech robots had started taking over, the temple had been raided twice by groups of those nasty-looking bronze robots – the same kind that had attacked New York City back in May. Nobody was sure why, exactly, the robots kept attacking; they’d been keeping an eye on the news as best they could from such a remote location, and attacks like this didn’t seem to be widespread. 

Omi figured they were after the Shen Gong Wu. Jermaine thought it was revenge for the robots they’d destroyed in New York. Clay…Clay wasn’t sure what to think. 

This whole “robot uprising” thing didn’t sit right with him. Something about the whole situation just seemed off. Granted, he’d only met Jack Spicer twice, and very briefly, but he hadn’t struck Clay as the megalomaniacal type. Arrogant, sure - the feller was cocky as a rooster in spring - but not someone set on ruling the world or committing robotic terrorism. 

It was a puzzle, but Clay wasn’t all that good at puzzles. He figured he could leave it for someone else to solve, and focus on what was in front of him.

Today, there was an obstacle course in front of him.

Master Fung had set up a humdinger of a course, designed to test the skills they’d been honing in their training. The idea was to get through the course and grab a little stuffed dog off of a pedestal as quickly as possible. Kinda silly, really, but Omi and Jermaine seemed excited about it.

Omi had gone first to “demonstrate” the course, which for him really meant “show off.” He’d sailed through it effortlessly, weaving through poles and leaping over mechanical alligators as if they weren’t there, pulling off fancy flips and flashy kicks and finishing the whole thing with a flourish. He made everything look easy when it came to training exercises, but that was probably because he’d been doing this sort of thing his whole life.

Then again, Jermaine had only been at the temple for two months, and he made it look easy too. Not as easy as Omi did, but he had no issues dodging the various projectiles or landing on each platform. He’d taken to Xiaolin training like a hog to mud from what Clay could tell; Master Fung was already dropping hints that he’d be moving up to the next level soon.

Clay was definitely nowhere near ready for that. He was no stranger to hard work, but he wasn’t picking up the moves as quickly as Jermaine had. He wouldn’t exactly call himself the most coordinated person around. Wasn’t too fast on his feet, neither. He was slow and steady as the proverbial tortoise, but he didn’t exactly see himself winning any races that way.

Which was fine. Clay didn’t need to win. He just needed to improve, and he knew he would with enough patience and hard work.

Jermaine made his final leap and snatched the dog from the pedestal, landing in a crouch that wasn’t as form-perfect as Omi’s but was still pretty impressive.

“Excellent work, Jermaine!” Omi burbled, bouncing on his toes. “Your time was only thirty-seven seconds slower than mine!”

Jermaine straightened up, still clutching the dog. “Isn’t that a lot?”

“It is not a lot for a novice!” Omi beamed up at the taller boy. Clay thought that if his eyes could form themselves into little pink hearts, they would. “You did very, very well! You are a most impressive and talented warrior!”

“Oh. Uh, thanks.” Jermaine rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. Clay wondered if he realized that Omi was flirting with him. He wondered if Omi realized it. 

Ah, well. They had time yet. They’d figure it out sooner or later.

Omi bounced off to reset the course while Jermaine returned the dog to its pedestal. Clay watched stonily from behind his thick beard and shaggy bangs, trying to get the lay of the land.

If you asked him, it seemed like all you’d have to do in order to get the fastest time on the obstacle course would be to just walk up to the pedestal and take the dog. It was only a few feet from the starting line, and he didn’t see much point in all the hoopin’ and hollerin’ on the obstacle course if the whole point of the exercise was to get the dog.

But of course, that couldn’t be the solution. They wouldn’t make it that easy. This was a temple full of warrior monks. They were looking for who could run the fastest and jump the highest and kick the hardest, not who could spot the weirdest loopholes in the training exercises.

He was shaken from his ruminations by a loud, sudden sound; the insistent and repetitive clang of a gong. In his periphery he saw Jermaine straighten up and Omi drop the mechanical alligator he’d been putting right. They all knew what that sound meant by now.

“They’re back!” Dojo wailed unnecessarily, zipping into the courtyard like a jackrabbit with a pack of coyotes on his tail. Only in this case, the coyotes were metal and had laser guns. And they weren’t actually on his tail, not yet, but when Clay looked into the sky above the temple he could see three distant specks swooping their way.

Clay reached up and untied the Star Hanabi from around his neck. Jermaine had the Tongue of Saiping, and when Omi darted up to them he was clutching the Orb of Tornami in both hands.

“How’re we doin’ it this time?” Jermaine asked.

“Clay!” Omi said, and Clay blinked down at him, a little startled. “Do you recall what we discussed after the previous robot attack?”

“Uh, yeah,” Clay said. “Why?”

“I would like to try it!”

“Really?” Clay hadn’t thought his idea was that good, or even much of an idea. But here Omi was treating it like it was some kind of brilliant scheme he’d never have dreamed up himself.

“Yes! I believe we will be able to dispatch them most handily!”

“Well, sure,” Clay said. “If you say so.”

“If y’all have the robots covered,” said Jermaine, “I’ll make sure all the older monks are safe and keep an eye out in case more show up.”

“You have the Tongue of Saiping,” Omi said, nodding to him. “You can speak to the birds around the temple grounds and find out when the shore has become clear!”

“I think you mean coast,” Jermaine said. “But sure, that works.”

“Better move fast,” Dojo piped up as he hopped onto Jermaine’s shoulder, “because here they come!”

The three robots were bearing down on them, swooping from the sky with their laser guns blazing. Shots of laser fire peppered the ground around them, shattering the courtyard’s stone bricks and leaving char marks in their wake.

Omi and Clay turned together to face their incoming attackers, each with his Shen Gong Wu at the ready. Clay took a deep cleansing breath, and heard Omi do the same. 

“Orb of Tornami! Shoku Neptune: Ice!”

“Star Hanabi!”

A jet of frigid water erupted from the Orb, snaking through the air and striking first one, then two, then all three robots. Each robot froze solid as it was struck, and before any of them had hit the ground Clay had shattered them all to pieces with the Star Hanabi’s fiery projectiles. All those years of lassoing had given him a pretty sharp aim.

“You were correct!” Omi beamed as a light rain of smoking robot parts pattered down around them. “Combining our attack was most successful! It was quite ingenious of you to suggest it.”

“Aw, it’s nothin’, really,” Clay said, feeling his shoulders hunch a bit. He was still getting used to Omi’s exuberance and tendency towards lavish praise. He never really knew what to do with compliments. “You told me about how you froze that robot and then kicked it to pieces in New York. I just figured it’d be more effective to do it as a team.”

“And it was!” Omi agreed. “Much, much more effective!”

“Okay, everything seems otherwise clear for now,” Jermaine said, jogging back into the courtyard with Dojo still wrapped around his shoulders. “I asked the birds and they said they didn’t see - did you two finish already?!”

“Seems like,” said Clay. He squinted up at the sky, but just as Jermaine said, it was clear as could be. 

“Huh,” said Jermaine. “I guess I can, uh, tell the old guys to come back out of the greenhouse basement.”

“I will go with you!” Omi chirped, prancing to Jermaine’s side. “Master Fung will most certainly wish to hear of our great success!”

“I’ll start cleanin’ this up,” Clay said, nodding to the assorted bits of robot scattered across the courtyard. “Might as well get a jump on it.”

“Sounds good,” Jermaine said. “We’ll be back to help soon.”

Clay tipped his hat to them and turned to begin the long and tedious task of picking robot rubble off the ground. He kept the Star Hanabi tucked into his pocket and a wary eye on the sky just in case. Even if they could take down the robots easily enough with the right combination of Shen Gong Wu, he had a feeling this was far from over.

He couldn’t shake the thought that it was, in fact, just the beginning of something worse.

SATURDAY

“Ah,” Salvador said as the Golden Tiger Claws’ portal closed behind them. “This is where you brought Spicer?”

“Yeah,” Rai said, turning his gaze from the decrepit factory building in front of them to the man standing at his side. “Why, is there a problem?”

“No, no problem at all. I simply did not expect you to bring him somewhere like this. We do have more…accommodating hideouts, after all. I can’t imagine that someone of Spicer’s upbringing would find an old factory to be all that comfortable.”

“You’d be surprised,” said Rai. He handed the Claws to Sal and started walking towards the door. “He seemed pretty down with it to me. Besides, it’s gotta be the last place anyone would look for him.”

“This is very true.”

The door let out a rusty screech as Rai shoved it open, walking inside without bothering to knock. “Hey, Spicer!” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “You here?”

It was a rhetorical question, obviously. Where else would he go?

His rhetorical question echoed through the building, reverberating off of steel and concrete. He’d last been here three days before, when he’d dropped in to give Jack one of his and Sal’s extra burner phones. Hey, the guy’d seemed pretty desperate for any scrap of technology he could get, and Rai figured it was just another favor he could cash in later.

The fact that it gave Jack a way to contact him might have factored in, too. Not that it really mattered, because he hadn’t dropped Raimundo so much as a text since then.

Rai was maybe a little concerned that the guy’d been vaporized by a robot.

Well, not concerned–

Okay, yes, concerned. He couldn’t lie to himself about that.

There was a rustle and a mechanical clatter from above, and he looked up to the concrete platform that ran along one side of the factory building. A strange face appeared suddenly over its edge, oval-shaped and made of dark metal with one rectangular eye in the middle of its otherwise featureless surface. Rai had his hand on the Sword of the Storm in a flash, and it wasn’t until the face tilted up to reveal pale skin and a shock of bright red hair that he realized it was a welding mask and not a horrifying robotic monstrosity.

“Rai?” Jack Spicer said, and something about the tone of his voice sparked a warm feeling in Raimundo’s chest. It was the way Spicer said his name, like he was happy to see him, like Rai being there meant his day had just gotten a little better.

Aaaaand Sal was giving him a sidelong smirk, because he’d picked up on Spicer using Raimundo’s nickname and the familiarity it implied. Oh, he was in for the ribbing of a lifetime once they were alone.

“Sup,” Rai said, shifting his stance so the grip he had on his sword looked like he was doing a cool pose and not like his finely tuned sense of danger had almost splattered Spicer against the wall with gale-force winds. 

He felt more than saw Sal quietly step away. Probably to “give them some privacy.”

“What’re you doing here?” Jack asked.

“We needed somewhere to crash for a few days,” Rai said. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Uh, no,” Jack said. He scooted to the edge of the platform and swung his legs over it, letting them dangle in the air. “I mean, this is your place. But why? I thought you were staying in a fancy hotel or something.”

“It’s getting rough out there.” Rai’d been holding his pose long enough, so he let go of the Sword and settled back into a more natural, casual stance. “Haven’t you been watching the news?”

Jack gave him a look of incredulity. “Dude,” he said, “my only connection to the outside world right now is a freakin’ flip phone. Not to mention that everything here is in German, and I only got a translator rigged up yesterday. I don’t even know what day it is.”

“It’s the 10th of July,” said Rai, and then added, helpfully, “Saturday.”

“Wait, really?” Jack’s mouth dropped open. “July 10th? You’re sure?”

“...Yeah? Why, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jack said. “Nothing’s wrong.” He reached up to pull his welding mask all the way off and set it down behind him. “Just. Didn’t realize it was that close.”

“What’s close?” Rai asked, tilting his head to the side. Jack didn’t seem upset or panicked or anything, just a bit put off. Perturbed, Sal might say. 

“Oh. Uh. My birthday’s tomorrow.”

“Ah,” Rai said. Yeah, that explained it.

His own birthday had been the month before, and he and Sal had done their usual birthday celebration of “pick a city and party for a week.” This year it’d been Rio, which was nice because it meant he’d gotten to see his family. All his siblings, and his aunts and uncles and cousins, and these days there were nieces and nephews, too. Tons of little kids who loved to clamber all over Raimundo and ply him with birthday presents of crayon scribbles and cool rocks they found outside, who followed Sal around like a herd of ducklings and pestered him for more (heavily edited, kid-friendly) stories about their travels and adventures.

Definitely a far cry from spending a birthday trapped in an old factory with near-strangers while the robot apocalypse raged outside.

“Bummer,” he said aloud.

“You’re telling me.” 

Jack shoved himself off the edge of the platform, and Rai had the wild urge to run underneath and try to catch him in the split second before the Jetbootsu on his feet glowed to life, slowing his fall. When he touched down on the factory floor, it was without so much as a jolt.

“Jack!” Sal said, making an abrupt reappearance that sent Spicer recoiling with a startled scream. “I see you have been hard at work here! I quite like what you have done with the place.”

Jack, up on one leg with his arms flailing, blinked at him and then relaxed. He set his foot back on the ground. “Thanks?” he said. “Rai said I could move stuff around so, uh. I did.”

“You certainly did!” Sal agreed. “I am a big fan of the kitchenette. Did you build the oven and the refrigerator yourself?”

“Mostly. I found a junkyard not too far from here and frankensteined some old appliances together. It’s not the best, but it’s an upgrade from a camping stove.”

“That it is.” Sal nodded sagely. “It’s marvelous! You truly have the ability to build anything you wish, don’t you?”

“I don’t know about that.” Jack folded his arms with a slight frown. “Apparently I can’t build a robot that won’t try to take over the world. And I can’t build a computer. Not without the right parts, anyway.”

“Why do you need a computer?” Rai asked, raising an eyebrow. “You that hard up for entertainment?”

“No, genius.” Jack rolled his eyes at him. “I need something I can code on. A flip phone won’t cut it.”

“Perhaps tomorrow we can go out into the city and search for a store that sells computers,” Sal suggested.

“Assuming anything’s open. Everyone’s scared shitless of the robots,” Rai pointed out.

“Which is strange, isn’t it? There haven’t been any mass casualties since this whole thing began. It’s been a largely bloodless coup.”

“They weren’t programmed for lethal force,” Jack muttered, mostly to himself. “I guess he never found a way to override that.”

Rai blinked. “...You didn’t give your robots the ability to kill?”

“No?!” Jack looked at him like the answer should have been obvious. “I was trying to take over the world, not murder people.”

“The two are not often mutually exclusive,” Sal pointed out.

“Yeah, dude, I kinda think that world domination tends to involve killing people by like. Definition.”

“So I was a dumb, naive kid!” Jack flung his hands into the air. “I think we’ve established that already.”

“Naive, certainly,” Salvador agreed. “But it took great intelligence to design and construct your machines, especially at such a young age.”

“Cut yourself some slack,” Rai offered. “If taking over the world was easy, everyone’d do it.”

“Seems easy enough for RJ,” Jack grumbled, letting his arms fall to his sides.

Raimundo exchanged a quick and meaningful glance with Sal. Jack seemed unaware of what he’d just revealed. Should they address it? Push for more information? Or let it be and hope he let more details slip out?

I’m going to say it, said Raimundo’s raised eyebrow.

Go ahead, said the twitch at the left corner of Sal’s mouth.

“So his name is RJ?” Rai said aloud.

As expected, Jack froze. He looked at Raimundo and Salvador with wide, wary eyes, and they both looked back with carefully neutral expressions. 

When neither of them followed up with any other questions, Jack relaxed just a little. Then he let out a deep sigh, dropping his shoulders.

“Fuck it,” he said. “If you’re staying here while I work on stuff, you’ll probably figure it out anyway. Yeah. His name is RJ. It, uh. It used to be RoboJack.” He ran a hand through his hair, grimacing. “You can probably guess by the name, but he’s a robotic version of me. Or. Me, six years ago. I built him when I was 15.”

“When you were still attempting to be evil,” Salvador guessed, and Jack nodded. “Ah. I see. So he is evil as well?”

“Yep. He sent those Jackbots after us in New York. He’s definitely the one who hacked the Yes-Bots and leaked that UN footage to the press. And since I’m the guy who built him, and I’m the only person who even knows he exists, I’m the only one who can stop him.”

Silence ensued as Raimundo and Salvador each processed this new information in his own way. Then,

“Well. You’re not the only one who knows he exists now,” Rai pointed out.

“True,” Jack acknowledged. “Though I don’t see how that changes anything.”

“Perhaps it doesn’t,” Sal said. “But it must at least be a relief to share that knowledge with someone else.”

“I…guess. I don’t know. I’d rather nobody else find out that I accidentally built a clone of myself who’s better at evil than I was.”

“Yes, that’s fair.” Sal bobbed his head in a nod.

“I just wish I had an easy way to fix this mess.” Jack ground his face into his hands. Muffled, he said, “The best I can come up with is some kinda kill code, but I’d need a way to code one first. And even if I did, he’d probably find a way around it before I could load it to his CPU.”

“Maybe you should just sleep on it, dude,” Rai suggested. “I mean, tomorrow’s another day right? Or whatever other inspirational platitudes you wanna hear, I dunno. I know Sal’s full of ‘em.”

Sal chirped, “What doesn’t make you stronger will kill you!”

“You see? He’s full of it.”

Jack coughed a laugh out into his hands and pulled them away from his face. “You guys are idiots,” he said, “but maybe you’ve got a point. And I mean, hey, tomorrow’s my birthday. Maybe age’ll bring wisdom or something like that.”

“That is the spirit!” Sal clapped him on the shoulder, beaming. “Now, shall we see about finding ourselves some dinner? I am very excited to try out that new stove!”

“Oh, sure, I found a bunch of nonperishables in one of those crates,” said Jack. “But, uh, I’ll have to give you a run through on the stove before you use it. I might’ve added some extra features.”

“Sounds like fun!”

To Rai, it sounded more like a disaster waiting to happen, but he was pretty sure they had a fire extinguisher around here somewhere. 

It’d probably be fine.

Chapter Text

There was sunlight on Jack's face.

It wasn’t the worst way to wake up, really, but it wasn’t exactly his favorite either. The sun was bright, and hot, and right in his eyes. He groaned and turned over, pulling his blanket over his head.

He’d found an air mattress in one of the boxes on the factory’s ground floor, which was definitely an upgrade from the camp cots that he’d spent the first couple of nights sleeping on. And then he’d thought, hey, he always wanted to sleep in a treehouse and the raised concrete platform above the main factory floor was the next best thing, so with the help of the Changing Chopsticks he’d moved a bunch of stuff up there and gotten to work on welding together a bed frame.

He’d been slowly but surely adding little creature comforts to the factory over the past week, mostly by scrounging around a nearby junkyard and finding things he could repurpose or refurbish. It was a good distraction and a way to pass the time. He’d found a battered full length mirror that he’d propped against the wall, lots of old scrap metal he could make stuff with, some appliances he’d been able to get up and running, and all together he’d gotten things to the point where it was a functional, if not comfortable, living space.

But he’d forgotten to do something with the giant glass windows and skylights. Which meant sun in his face.

Maybe he could make a really, really big curtain.

Jack groaned again and rolled onto his back. He peeled the covers back and cracked open his eyes to stare at the dingy skylights above him.

Well. Here he was.

He was 22 years old, functionally homeless, and no closer to beating RJ than he’d been six days ago when everything fell apart.

“Happy birthday to me,” he muttered.

As much as he’d like to wallow miserably in bed for the rest of the day, he couldn’t afford to. Every minute spent not working on The RJ Problem was a minute wasted, and he’d already wasted enough time. 

So, reluctantly, he dragged himself out of bed and rummaged through his suitcase for clothes that were clean enough to wear. He’d have to find a way to do laundry soon.

He found a T-shirt that wasn’t too bad and some briefs and jeans that didn’t stink, and then pulled the black-and-red leather jacket that was quickly becoming his new go-to over top of it. Sure, it was July, but this factory was huge and old and drafty, and whatever city this was - he was 99% sure it was Hamburg - anyway, it got surprisingly cool at night. So. Leather jacket. Plus his flight goggles and the Jetbootsu, which had become his go-to daily footwear out of pure convenience. It was really nice being able to just float around whenever he wanted.

He checked himself in the battered mirror and grimaced. Man, he was a mess. His hair was limp and crusty with old hair gel, and his roots had grown out to the point where you could see black through the red. And his eyes. Jeez. His bags had bags, and the dark circles underneath were probably a permanent fixture at this point.

Maybe there was something he could do about that.

His eyes slid to his suitcase; more specifically, the toiletries bag he'd grabbed while leaving his house. 

Jack climbed down the steep metal stairs to the ground floor a short while later, hair as brushed as he could get it and deodorant freshly applied. As he approached the little kitchenette he’d cobbled together out of refurbished appliances and scrap metal, he was greeted by the sight of Salvador Cumo in a chef’s hat and a bright pink apron. He was hovering around the stove, and Jack could smell something cooking. Bacon?

“Uh,” he said. “...Hello?”

“Ah!” Salvador said, and turned around. Jack was momentarily distracted by his apron, which said “French The Chef” in loopy cursive and featured a bedazzled rolling pin underneath the words.

Jack had no idea where he’d gotten it. The guy hadn’t even brought any luggage with him.

“Good morning, Jack!” Salvador offered him a broad, beaming grin, which Jack returned with a cautious half-smile he didn’t really feel. “I hear it is your birthday! So I made us all some breakfast.”

With a flourish, he presented Jack with a plate piled high with bacon and freshly made waffles, complete with maple syrup and a pat of butter. 

Jack’s eyes flicked to the kitchenette. No waffle iron in sight.

Well. He wasn’t about to look a gift plate of waffles in the mouth. And it was his birthday.

So, “Thanks,” he said, and took the plate.

He saw Raimundo sitting next to one of the big wooden crates he hadn’t opened yet, using it as a table for his own towering plate of waffles. Jack hesitated for one slight, awkward moment before he walked over to the crate and plopped down on the other side.

“Morning,” Raimundo said casually, glancing up at him.

“Hey,” Jack said back. Existing in a space with other people was weird. Sure, he’d been around his parents plenty as a kid, even if his dad was always away on business trips, but once he’d started his own company that had all changed. When he wasn’t at his office or on his own business trips, his parents were busy with their careers and hobbies or off enjoying their semi-empty nest status together on cruises and trips to Europe. So he’d gotten used to being on his own. 

It’s not like Raimundo and Salvador were intruding on his space here - the factory was too big for that, and this was technically their place anyway - but it was still strange to eat breakfast with someone else.

“Nice eyeliner.”

“Hm? Oh.” Jack raised a hand to his face but caught himself before he could touch it and smudge the still-fresh makeup under his eyes. “Thanks.” 

It was just a thick line along his lower eyelids - not as elaborate as the eyeliner he’d worn back when he was trying to be edgy and evil - but he’d thought hey, if he was going to walk around with these dark-ass eye bags he might as well make them look intentional. Fuck it, not like anyone was going to see him anyway.

Well, other than his temporary new roommates, but they barely counted.

“It suits you,” Raimundo said as Salvador approached them, his own plate piled high with bacon. “Especially with that jacket.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, glancing down at himself. “I figured that if I’m basically exiled from the public eye anyway, I might as well go back to my edgy goth kid roots. It’s been a while. I had to dial everything back a bit for the whole corporate CEO thing.”

“If you’re really leanin’ into it,” Raimundo said, pointing at him with his fork, “you should get some piercings. Just go all out.”

Jack grimaced. He didn’t exactly love the thought of sticking sharp metal into any part of his body, even if it made him look cool. “I dunno,” he said. “When I fix this mess, things’ll go back to normal, and I’m not sure piercings would fly with my PR Guy or the board.”

“Hey, it’s your call,” Raimundo said with a shrug. “But for the record, you’d look hot as hell.”

…Okay, maybe he could deal with a little piercing.

He took a bite of waffle so he wouldn’t say something embarrassing. Huh. The waffles were pretty good.

“So!” Salvador said brightly. “Any plans for the day?”

“Not really,” Jack said, swallowing his waffle. “Uh. Probably going to try and find a computer today so I can make something to take RJ down. I just have to find a computer store that’s open with clerks who won’t recognize me on sight.”

“We’re in Germany,” said Raimundo. “I kinda doubt anyone’s going to recognize you.”

“Your average Joe Schmoe? Sure.” Jack took a bite of bacon. Around it, he said, “But a computer geek? I'm the face of modern robotics.  Any nerd who pays even passing attention to the tech industry knows me. Doesn’t matter where in the world I go, if I walk into a computer store I’m pretty much guaranteed instant recognition.”

“Perhaps,” Salvador began, but stopped. He cocked his head to the side. “What is that sound?”

The three of them fell silent. Jack heard air whooshing through the factory vents, and the sound of city traffic outside, and a loud, repetitive beeping sound - ah.

“Oh,” he said. “Shit. That’s my Detecto-Bot. Hang on.”

It was a good thing he was already wearing the Jetbootsu, because they made getting back up to the platform a simple task. His Detecto-Bot was lying in a tangle of scrap metal and wires, beeping insistently. One of the arrows around its LED display - the bottom arrow - was blinking.

Jack picked it up and squinted at the readout on its display. “Looks like a Wu just went live,” he announced. He gave the device a little shake. “The…Reversal Mirror? Reversing? Something like that.”

He slid off the side of the platform and floated back down to the ground floor.

“What do you think, Sal?” he heard Raimundo ask as he returned to their improvised breakfast table. “Should we go for it?”

There was a rapping sound from one of the ground floor windows.

“Ah,” Salvador said, and nodded to the window. “It seems as though we must.”

Jack followed the direction of his nod and was mildly startled to find the beady black eyes of a crow staring at him through the grimy glass.

“A crow?” he said.

“Oh hey, yeah. It’s one of Chase Young’s crows.” Raimundo stood up and stretched his arms over his head. Jack tried not to stare too hard at his (distracting!) midriff as he did. “That’s how he calls us in when he needs something. He probably wants to hire us to get the Wu.”

“Oh.” Jack sidled back over to the table-crate and picked his plate up. “Uh. Cool, okay.”

Salvador finished his current mouthful of bacon and then stood up, sliding the Golden Tiger Claws onto his hand. “Shall we, then?” he asked Raimundo.

“Sure,” Raimundo said with a shrug, hitching his pants up.

Jack took another bite of waffle and chewed thoughtfully, brow furrowed as he tried to work out how he’d get to the Shen Gong Wu on his own. He didn’t have access to his car or anything, and he didn’t have the funds for a plane ticket. 

He could just fly to wherever it was with the Jetbootsu but he had no idea how far away it was, or how long the Wu could be used in a stretch. He really didn’t want to be halfway across the ocean when it turned out that the Jetbootsu had a time limit.

“Dude, are you coming or what?”

Jack jumped, dropping his fork. It clattered against his plate and bounced to the floor. He looked up at Raimundo, who looked back at him with an expectant expression. Behind him, Salvador waggled the Golden Tiger Claws invitingly.

“What?” Jack said, and then “Why? Don’t you two have a job to do? Wouldn’t I just get in your way?”

“Eh,” Raimundo said with a shrug. “You’re going after this Wu anyway, right? Might as well tag along with us. Consider it another favor you can pay back later.”

“Besides,” Salvador added, “I am certain that Chase Young would be quite fascinated to meet you! He seemed intrigued by your work.”

Jack’s brain short circuited. He was still having a hard time believing that Chase Young was even real, and now, apparently, Chase Young knew he existed? And wanted to meet him?! 

“Oh good going, Sal, you broke him.”

Jack was frozen in place, mouth hanging open, eyes wide in shock, fingers rigid around the edges of his plate.

“Yes, perhaps that was a bit much, mm?”

“You think?” There was suddenly a weight on his shoulder, warm and solid, and then Raimundo’s face swam into view. “Hey. Earth to Spicer.”

“Wuh?” Jack asked eloquently.

“Are you coming with us?” Raimundo’s tone was unusually serious, almost kind. His eyes looked for Jack’s, seeking contact. “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I know you can make your own way there.”

Jack blinked, then shook himself out of his stupor. What was he doing?! They were offering him a free ride to the Shen Gong Wu! He couldn’t pass that up.

“Okay, yeah,” he said. “I’ll come with you guys.”

And that was how he found himself trailing cautiously behind Raimundo and Salvador, trying not to trip over his own feet as he drank in every detail of Chase Young’s lair.

Whenever he’d pictured his own “evil lair” as a kid, there was always a lot of fire and spikes and metal and moats full of crocodiles. Chase Young apparently preferred a much different aesthetic. 

This place was beautiful and meticulously kept, overflowing with plants and waterfalls, everything sculpted from pristine white stone. If he hadn’t seen the outside when they’d arrived, he’d never know they were inside a volcano.

If they weren’t being led through it by a freaking lion, he’d never guess this place housed the greatest evil mind of fifty generations.

Said evil mastermind was waiting for them in a gazebo near the top of the cavernous main atrium. He was standing with his back to them, hands braced on the gazebo’s railing as he presumably gazed down into the space below. 

He dismissed the lion with a wave of his hand, and Jack watched it leave with his mind buzzing full of questions. How’d he trained it to do that? Did it even know what it was doing? He thought he’d read something about Chase Young cursing the warriors he’d defeated to a life of servitude, but nothing about lions. Maybe he turned them into lions somehow? Was that a thing he could do? 

Man, he really should have kept up more on the Heylin stuff after he quit evil.

“I see you’ve brought a guest,” were the first words he ever heard from Chase Young’s mouth, and then the man turned to face them.

Okay, maybe Jack was a little starstruck. Because holy shit, he was everything that the legends had described and so much more. Beautiful, obviously, with long black hair that evoked spikes in the shape of its wild waves and possessed a glossy, green-tinted sheen, and an angular face with sharp, severe features. His eyes were bright gold and had slit pupils like the dragons he was said to consume, and his ears were pointed like an elf’s. 

His armor looked ancient but was as beautifully preserved as the man himself, every inch of its surface buffed and polished to perfection, free of scuffs and scrapes. It was almost as if the man wearing it had never seen battle, but if even a tenth of the stories Jack had read were true he knew that wasn’t the case.

And something about the guy just oozed pure evil. Jack could practically feel it, though not with any sense he could name. It was just a feeling, a deep knowledge in his core that this guy was Dangerous with a capital D. 

His inner fourteen-year-old was fanboying so hard right now.

His outer twenty-two-year-old, on the other hand, was barely holding back a nervous breakdown. 

Chase Young was staring at him with those golden eyes, sizing him up with a critical expression. “Piercing” seemed like too weak a word to describe his gaze; it was like he was looking directly into the core of Jack’s being and judging what he saw there. And if his expression was any indication, he wasn’t impressed with what he saw.

Get it together, Jack, he chided himself. Who cares whether Chase Young likes you? You’re not here to be best buddies or anything.

“Ah, where are my manners!” he heard Salvador say from somewhere to his right. “Chase Young, may I have the esteemable pleasure of introducing you to Jack Spicer, inventor extraordinaire?”

A flash of something like recognition ran through Chase’s eyes, but his gaze didn’t grow any less critical. If anything, it sharpened. “Jack Spicer,” he echoed, and Jack had to viciously stomp down the instinctual glee that rose up at the sound of Chase Young saying his name. “This is quite unexpected, Salvador. I was not aware the two of you were personally acquainted.”

“A recent development,” Sal said. “He happened to be with us when we received your summons, and we thought he might like to come along.”

“Did you.” Chase raised one long, thick, meticulously groomed eyebrow. “I’m surprised that Wuya would agree to that.”

“Wuya?” Jack blurted out, surprise overriding his celebrity-induced panic. “What’s she got to do with anything?”

“It was my understanding that the two of you were allies,” Chase said. His other eyebrow rose to join the first. “Is this not the case?”

“Um,” Jack said, “I mean, ‘allies’ is stretching it, but I guess we are? Or. Were. I haven’t seen her in weeks. Mr. Chase Young. Sir.” Was that the right way to address him? How did you even address an ancient evil that could kill a man with his hands tied behind his back?

“Weeks,” Chase repeated.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “She just kind of vanished. I haven’t seen her since…uh.” He had to think on that one, actually. “I’m not sure. Definitely not since before the Heart of Jong went active. Maybe it’s been more like a week and a half? I, uh. Time’s been weird lately. Sorry.”

“Yes,” Chase said, “I recall Salvador informing me that Wuya had not been present when the Heart of Jong was revealed. Quite unusual for her.”

Jack blinked at that. “What, do you know her?”

Chase just sneered at him. “Forgive me if I seem reluctant to impart sensitive information in present company,” he said. “I simply do not believe in handing advantages to my enemies on gold-encrusted platters.”

Enemies? Jack felt the blood drain from his face. Shit, he knew   what Chase Young did to his enemies. At least, he’d read plenty of stories with lurid descriptions of blood and gore and glorious victories and villages razed to the ground.

“I-I’m not your enemy!” he squeaked. “Honest! I - I’m not even here, okay? I’m not here. I’m gone. Don’t worry about me.” He ducked behind the nearest solid object, which was Raimundo.

“Yeah, don’t worry about him,” Raimundo said. “Trust me, he’s no threat.”

“Hey!” Jack protested on instinct, but then he remembered that a threat was the last thing he wanted Chase Young to think he was, so he clamped his mouth shut.

Something occurred to him then as he shot another wary glance at his former evil hero. Chase hadn’t mentioned the robots. He’d seemed to recognize Jack’s name, but in an “I’ve heard of this guy” way rather than “Oh, this is the fucker taking over the world right now,” which seemed to be the the default for anyone who’d paid even a half-second of attention to the news this week. 

Did Chase not know? He couldn’t. If he knew, believed, or even suspected that Jack was behind those attacks, he definitely wouldn’t have let him walk right into his lair. Huh. Maybe news traveled slowly out here, wherever “here” was.

“Anyway,” Rai continued, “can we get to the point already? You called us here because you want us to grab the, what was it, Reversal Mirror, right?”

Chase went very still. His eyes sharpened, the pupils narrowing to slits, which was both kind of hot and incredibly unsettling. “How did you know it was the Reversing Mirror?” he asked. 

Raimundo and Salvador looked at Jack as one, and he stared back at them with wide eyes. Oh no.

He felt like he was supposed to be picking up some kind of hint with the way they were both looking at him, but whatever wordless language of meaningful glances they used with each other was completely lost on him. 

They looked at each other - in unison, which was kind of creepy - and then Salvador broke his eye contact with Rai, grinned at Chase, and said, “Oh, Jack built this marvelous little machine! You should see it, my friend. It’s quite fascinating!”

The Detecto-Bot let out a beep right at that moment, and now Chase’s focus was fully back on Jack. But at least he didn’t seem pissed off. 

“Go on, Jack,” Salvador urged. “Tell him all about it!”

“Um,” said Jack. He glanced nervously at Chase Young. Chase looked back at him.

“Yes, Spicer,” he said. “Do tell me about this…device.”

“Uh. S-so I call it the Detecto-Bot.” Jack held it up. “It can, uh, detect new Shen Gong Wu when they activate, and direct you to them. See, these arrows light up in the direction of the Wu’s location.” The up arrow was blinking, and he swiveled the Detecto-Bot to the left until the blinking switched over to the right arrow. 

He chanced another glance at Chase, whose expression betrayed very little about his thoughts, though he still didn’t look very amused. 

…This wasn’t so different from a typical shareholders meeting, actually.

Hey, yeah, wait a minute. What was he so nervous for? He had tons of experience presenting to intimidating people who didn’t like him! 

This was just another product pitch to a skeptical audience. He’d done hundreds of those. He could do one more, easy. He just had to pretend he was talking to a random stranger and not, y’know, the guy he’d idolized for basically all of puberty.

“And that’s not all it does,” he continued, his newly found confidence steadying his voice. “I’ve developed an algorithmic neural network based on all the data I could scrape on known Shen Gong Wu, and this baby comes fully loaded with it. So it doesn’t just show you how to find a Shen Gong Wu, it can identify its name and powers with over 72% accuracy.” He paused. “Which might not sound like a lot, but keep in mind that this is just a prototype, and it’s a live learning model. It’ll just keep getting better as time goes on and more data gets added to its source code.”

“What’s it say about the Reversing Mirror?” Raimundo asked. 

“Hang on a sec.” Jack poked at the Detecto-Bot’s screen until it brought up its summary of the currently active Shen Gong Wu. “Uh, it says it’s a mirror that ‘reverses or turns around other Shen Gong Wu and their effects.’ Kind of vague, but that’s how these descriptions tend to read. I’m still working on that.”

“Is that true?” Salvador asked, directing the question to Chase.

“True enough,” Chase said. “It can indeed reverse the effects of other Shen Gong Wu.”

“Ha!” Jack pumped a fist and did some quick mental math. “Make that 76% accuracy, then. And climbing!”

“Remarkable!” Sal gave him a little round of applause. “To think you did this all with your technology!”

“Well, I can’t take all the credit,” Jack said, because modesty looked good on a genius. “Mr. Tohomiko figured out how to track the Wu energy signatures. I just Improved the tracking sensitivity, developed the ID algorithm, built the physical interface. Y'know. Everything else.”

“I must admit,” Chase Young said, “that your device is…impressive. Tracking and identifying Shen Gong Wu without the use of magic has long been considered an impossible feat.”

And suddenly Jack was jolted back to reality, forcibly reminded that he was not in fact demonstrating a new product to a room of potential investors but was instead standing in front of an immortal superpower that could rip him into little pieces without breaking a sweat.

“W-well,” he said, and maybe his voice cracked a little, “that’s what SpicerTech does best. We’re all about pushing past the limits of what’s possible.”

“I can see that.” Chase’s expression was still coolly indifferent, arms folded across his chest, but all other signs of hostility or open dislike had vanished. Jack guessed he could count that as a win.

“Anyway,” Raimundo said, “you want us to go for the Reversing Mirror?”

“Yes,” said Chase. “The usual stipulations apply. I will compensate you upon retrieval of the Shen Gong Wu. Do not allow this one to fall into Wuya’s possession.” He fixed them with an acrid stare. “And I do hope you are not expecting a higher rate of pay just because you’ve gotten yourself a new lackey, Salvador.”

“Hey!” Jack protested. “I’m no one’s lackey!”

“Yeah,” Raimundo confirmed, slinging an arm over Jack’s shoulder. “He’s just tagging along with us for this one. It’s ‘Take Your Billionaire To Work Day,’ haven’t you heard?”

Jack could have corrected him that he wasn't technically a billionaire so long as he was on the run and cut off from all his assets, but he was a little distracted by the warmth and weight of Rai's arm across his shoulders and against the back of his neck.

Chase rolled his eyes. “Regardless,” he said. “You have your assignment. You know what to do. Do not fail me.”

“Aye-aye, captain,” Raimundo said, and to Jack’s dismay he pulled his arm away to give Chase a salute.

Chase turned away, a silent but clear dismissal, and Salvador and Raimundo both turned to leave. Jack followed them, trying to stick close so he wouldn’t get lost in the maze of walkways and corridors that criss-crossed and honeycombed through the mountain.

Ahead of him, Sal leaned over to Rai and asked, “Então ele é seu bilionário agora?”

Raimundo’s cheeks flushed deep red. “Shut up,” he muttered, digging an elbow into Sal’s side. The older man just snickered.

Jack had no idea what any of that meant and decided he didn’t care. Mostly because he finally had a task to focus on that wasn’t RJ-related, and that? That felt good.

Maybe he’d actually have fun getting this Wu.

“I don’t believe it,” Jermaine said as he slid off Dojo’s back. “Did we get here first?”

“Makes sense that we did, don’t it?” Clay’s boots landed with a thumping clank against the lighthouse’s metal deck. “We got a magic flyin’ dragon. What do the others got? Jets? Cars?”

“Raimundo and Salvador Cumo have the Golden Tiger Claws,” Omi pointed out. He vaulted over their heads and landed in a crouch in front of them. Before them sat the lighthouse’s lamp, its mirror slowly turning. The Reversing Mirror sat in the very center of the room, resting against the base of a gigantic lightbulb. “They could be here at any moment! We must be vigilant.”

“Aw, and here I thought we were going to have one of those cool, super-dramatic entrances. It’s no fun if you know it’s coming.”

Omi’s eyes snapped to the other side of the room. Raimundo Pedrosa stood there with a cocky smirk and arms crossed, flanked on either side by Salvador Cumo and, to his shock…

“Jack Spicer?” he said, confusion coloring his tone.

Indeed, Jack Spicer stood next to Raimundo. He’d foregone his usual blazer-and-turtleneck combo for a striking red-and black jacket, and the skin around his eyes looked strange, darker than usual. He looked tired, really, as if he hadn’t been sleeping well.

“What’s he doin’ here?” he heard Clay say behind him.

“Yeah, aren’t you trying to take over the world with your robots?” Jermaine asked. “You really taking a break from that for a Shen Gong Wu?”

“Ugh,” Spicer groaned, planting the palm of one hand against his face. “No, that’s not me, all right? I’m not taking over anything.”

“Sure seems like you are,” Clay said. “Ain’t those your robots rampagin’ through the streets and harassin’ us at the temple?”

“No - I mean, yeah, they are, but – wait, harassing? You?” Spicer lowered his hand. “Why would he-?”

“AIEEEE!”

Something hurtled into the lighthouse, landing bumpily on the floor and skidding across it until it collided with the outside edge of the lighthouse’s rotating mirror. The mirror turned, pushing it into clearer view, and Omi blinked down at a pile of Tohomikos on the floor. But how strange they looked!

Actually, on closer inspection, Kimiko looked perfectly normal apart from her hair and clothes being in wild disarray. Toshiro was an entirely different matter. He was in monkey form, one foot clutching the Monkey Staff tightly. Somehow, inexplicably, he’d sprouted great white wings. The wings’ feathers were strangely textured, almost as if they were made of paper layered thickly over itself.

“That, ” Kimiko said sharply as she sat up, “is the last time I let you talk me into testing a ‘Shen Gong Wu theory.’ Oh my god, Papa. We’re lucky to be alive!”

“Oh,” Toshiro said, bounding to his feet, “but it worked! And look, we are uninjured! I told you that I had it under control!”

Kimiko didn’t seem to have heard him, as she was muttering furiously to herself under her breath and trying to set her hair to rights by combing through it with her fingers.

“Kimiko–” Toshiro began.

“Can you just give me a moment?” she snapped back at him. “I just need a minute, Papa, all right? I have to…” she trailed off, eyes caught on something above her. Omi followed her gaze to Jack Spicer.

“You.”

Kimiko’s tone was drenched in venom, the single syllable snarled through gritted teeth. Jack Spicer’s eyes went wide.

“Oh shit,” he squeaked out.

Kimiko lunged for him, and he lurched into the air outside of the lighthouse with a scream as the Jetbootsu on his feet glowed to life. She was undeterred, leaping onto the ledge. 

“Third Arm Sash!”

The Shen Gong Wu around her waist snapped out, and Spicer dodged it with another yelp. “Don’t kill me!” he called, twisting away as the Sash came for him once more. “I’m innocent, okay? I was framed!”

“You fried my computer!” Kimiko howled, following him around the perimeter of the room from the inside as he bobbed and weaved past the open windows.

“I didn’t! I swear, I didn’t do anything!”

“Don’t you dare try to worm your way out of this one!” She punctuated each sentence with a swipe of the Sash. “I’m not stupid! I have eyes, Spicer. Your robots have been terrorizing people! Do you even care? Does it bother you even a tiny bit to think about all the people who are jobless or homeless or dead because of you?”

“Of course it does!”

  “Don’t fucking lie to me!” Her voice rose on a scream, and Jack Spicer had to fly straight up to avoid the Sash as it snapped towards him.

“I’m not! I promise!” Jack bobbed back down into view, waving his arms over his head in a desperate gesture of surrender. “I know what this all looks like, okay? But I didn’t do any of that stuff! I didn’t touch your computer, I didn’t order my robots to attack anyone, and I didn’t raid the temple!” He directed this last bit to Omi, who frowned back at him.

“That is very difficult to believe, Jack Spicer,” he said.

“Yeah,” Jermaine added. “They’re your robots. Everyone knows that now. We all saw that UN tape.”

“But I’m not in control of them!” Jack dodged another attack from Kimiko. “Someone hacked me, okay?!”

“Yeah, right,” Kimiko snorted.

“He’s tellin’ the truth, actually,” Raimundo piped up. He was standing in the arch of one of the lighthouse’s open windows, leaning against the side.

“Oh, like we’re supposed to take your word for it?” she snapped at him. “I wouldn’t exactly call you a reliable source.”

“Besides,” Clay added, “who in creation’d be able to hack Jack Spicer? Ain’t you some kind of computer prodigy?”

Jack’s mouth flapped open and shut. While he tried to compose a response, a new sound filtered through the air, faint at first and then growing louder.

Omi cocked his head to the side. It sounded like…music? Very loud, angry music. The grating, gritty sound of an instrument he’d come to recognize as an electric guitar from some of Clay’s records, though none of his records sounded like this.

“What’s that noise?” Jermaine asked, turning his head to the windows.

“Ah, you hear it too?” Salvador had hopped down from his own window perch at some point and now stood under Raimundo’s window. 

Omi’s tiger instincts prickled, drawing him to look outside. Something was moving. Many somethings, a throng of somethings, filling the air around the lighthouse as the music grew louder.

Robots.

Dozens and dozens of robots, the kind that he had defeated in Times Square, the same robots that had been attacking the temple all week. All with laser guns mounted on their chests and clawed hands raised in menace.

Spicer yelped and darted back into the relative safety of the lighthouse; he flitted over to Raimundo and Salvador and pressed himself between two windows, back flush against the slim pillar of wall that divided them.

Omi took up a defensive stance, pulling out the Orb of Tornami; he knew without looking that Clay had done the same with the Star Hanabi. The technique they’d been using to defend the temple had been incredibly effective against the small raiding parties of two or three robots, but against this many? This would be a much greater challenge.

“What did you do?” Kimiko demanded, Third Arm Sash at the ready as the horde of robots closed in. Her father stood beside her, still in monkey form but now sans wings as he tucked the Longi Kite away.

“I didn’t do anything,” Spicer insisted, eyes wide. “This isn’t me.”

“Well,” she snapped, “if it’s not you, then who?”

The robots halted, holding still in midair. A new sound rose over the music, growing louder.

Laughter.

It sounded oddly familiar, and it took Omi a minute to realize that it was Jack Spicer’s voice. But Jack Spicer was not laughing. No, when Omi glanced at him, his wide-eyed terror was giving way to fury, his expression darkening and drawing tight, his mouth pressed shut in a thin, angry slash across his face.

There was something else about the laughter. It was distorted in a most peculiar way, with an echo like that of someone speaking into a tin can. Omi puzzled over it until new movement outside caught his attention. Something - some one - was slowly rising into view.

First he saw two whirring rotors, perched atop long, thin poles. Then a shock of bright red hair, and round yellow goggles with red spirals etched into the lenses. Then the person’s face emerged, one shockingly and startlingly familiar, twisted into glee as that too-familiar cackle continued to emerge from his mouth.

Omi’s jaw dropped.

It was unmistakable. Jack Spicer was floating outside of the lighthouse, head thrown back and arms wide as he continued to laugh.

But Jack Spicer was also inside of the lighthouse, glaring at himself with a deep, boiling hatred that Omi had only ever seen exchanged between Master Monk Guan and Chase Young. And when Omi glanced to his hands, he saw no Ring of Nine Dragons. Jack’s fingers were bare.

Kimiko was looking back and forth between the two Jacks with an expression of horrified bafflement. Her father looked thoughtful. Raimundo and Salvador, when Omi darted a glance at them, both appeared curious but not shocked. 

“Two Jacks?” Jermaine said from behind him.

“Lord a’mercy,” Clay muttered.

Above them, the new Jack’s cackling finally faded away. “Oh man does this feel good!” he announced. He aimed a startlingly sharp-toothed grin at the Jack Spicer inside the lighthouse. “Oh, you should see the look on your face. That’s one for the hard drive.”

Now that he was holding still, Omi could see a few key differences between this Jack and the one inside of the lighthouse. His sharp teeth, for one; they were triangular and pointed and most inhuman-looking. He was wearing heavy eyeliner drawn underneath his eyes, with a hook extending down his left cheek. His goggles, which were perched atop his face rather than over his eyes, were rounder and featured red spirals etched into the glass. The pupils of his bright red eyes were white and shone with a cold light that bathed his face in an odd glow. He also had a seam running up the right side of his face, with what looked like two piercings below his eye.

Moreover, he looked much younger . His face was rounder, chubbier, and he didn’t seem as lanky as the Jack Spicer Omi knew, though it was difficult to tell while he was flying. He appeared to be a teenager around Omi’s own age.

Perhaps this was not Jack Spicer, then. Perhaps a younger brother?

“What,” Jack Spicer growled, “the hell are you doing here?”

The hovering teenager tsked at him, wagging a reproachful finger. “Language, Jack!” he chided. “You should watch what you say around sensitive ears. Besides, isn’t it obvious? I’m here to bask in the sweet, sweet glow of victory. I’m just steps away from total world domination, baby!”

“Can someone please explain what on Earth is going on here?” Kimiko cut in. She thrust a finger at the floating Spicer, and then at the seething one. “Why are there two of you?!”

“Aw, you didn’t tell them about me?” The younger Spicer pouted. “I’m hurt, Jack.”

“You know exactly why I didn’t tell anyone about you,” Jack snarled back.

The pout vanished, replaced by a sneer. “Yeah, I do. It’s because you’re a coward who can’t stop running from his own past. Well, guess what? You lost. I did it. I did exactly what you were too weak to pull off, and I did it in a week! Who’s the superior lifeform now?” He spread his arms wide, palms up.

“You’re not even alive!”

“If I may cut in?”

The voice was quiet and genteel, and all eyes slid to Salvador Cumo. He offered the floating Spicer a winning smile and said, “The ever-elusive RJ, I presume?”

The so-named RJ’s eyebrows rose. “Huh,” he said. “So you did tell someone. I thought you’d be too busy cowering in your basement.”

“Yeah, well, you thought wrong,” Jack said. “I’ve been cowering somewhere completely different.”

“What, with those two losers?” RJ scoffed. “Yeah, I know you scurried off to hide with the rats. Not that I’m surprised. Vermin loves vermin and all.”

Jack looked rattled for a moment, but shook it off with a scowl. “I’m gonna ask again. What are you actually doing here? Whatever happened to ruining my life from the shadows? What’s this whole production with the Jackbots and the, what, is that Linkin Park?”

“Oh, that.” RJ waveda hand. “Yeah, I figured it was about time for my big debut. I had one more thing to do before we could officially take over, so I thought, hey, might as well go all out.”

“...We?” Raimundo broke the ensuing silence after a beat. “What do you mean ‘we?’”

RJ’s sharp-toothed smile only widened, and then a hissing cackle filled the air. 

This voice, too, was familiar to Omi, in a way that sent dread trickling down his back and pooling at the base of his spine.

“Oh, come on!” Jack Spicer cried out as Wuya slithered through the air to hover over RJ’s shoulder. “Seriously? This is where you’ve been this whole time? With him?!”

“Jealous, Jack?” RJ shot, still smiling.

“Of you? Hardly.”

“Methinks the fleshbag doth protest too much,” RJ sang out. “I’m about to get everything you ever wanted, and I didn’t even have to publicly humiliate myself to do it!”

“I must say, Jack,” Wuya added, “you’re not quite the incompetent buffoon I’d taken you for. You did manage to build something useful over the course of your short, pathetic life.” She drifted closer to RJ, her painted mask bearing a wide and savage grin that matched his.

“And now, it’s coming back to bite you big time.” RJ’s hand slipped into a pocket of his black trenchcoat. “All we need is the Reversing Mirror.”

He withdrew his hand from the pocket. It was clutching a Shen Gong Wu that was long, thin, and green. One Omi hadn’t seen since it slipped through his grasp in New York City.

“The Serpent’s Tail!” he said aloud.

Omi had spent many years studying the Shen Gong Wu. In the absence of any real threats to the balance of good and evil, there had been quite a bit of time to read through the temple’s vast assortment of scrolls. He had learned all about Xiaolin Showdowns and the different forms they could take, all about the various great evils of the world and how to oppose them, and of course, much about the Shen Gong Wu themselves. Some were better studied than others; the Reversing Mirror was one of these since its powers opened up a vast realm of possibilities. 

There were many scrolls about the Mirror, analyzing its properties, discussing ways it could be used. How it could deflect a Shen Gong Wu’s effect back to the user, or change them entirely to have the opposite effect as intended. Omi had read them all and knew them well.

As such, it took him only seconds to realize why a ghostly spirit with an ally in possession of the Serpent’s Tail might wish to acquire the Reversing Mirror.

As Omi gasped with dawning horror, Jack Spicer was staring at the Shen Gong Wu, jaw agape.

“How'd you get that?” he demanded. “You told me you didn't have it!”

“Did I?” RJ held the Wu up and smugly inspected it. “Maybe you should work on your active listening skills, Jack. It could save you a ton of grief in the future.” He lowered the Tail and grinned nastily. “Well. Assuming you have a future. Jackbots!” 

He thrust his free hand towards the lighthouse, indicating those gathered within.

“Attack!”

The robots swarmed forward, firing off their laser guns as they converged on the lighthouse. Omi leapt out of the line of fire, keeping his eye trained on RJ. 

“He means to restore Wuya to her full power!” he called to his companions. “Do not allow him to retrieve the Reversing Mirror!” 

“Right!” Clay and Jermaine answered together. Clay fired a blast with the Star of Hanabi that struck true, sending two Jackbots hurtling down in a plume of flame.

“You figured it out already?!” RJ swept down towards one of the windows. “Man, I was trying to set up a big dramatic reveal. Way to ruin the moment.”

“You will not find it so easy to fool me, younger Spicer!” Omi shot back, Orb of Tornami at the ready. “I have studied the Shen Gong Wu for many years!”

“Wow, impressive,” RJ said in a tone that did not sound impressed at all. “But I bet you didn’t study this.”

He raised his arms, and four long metal tubes tipped in claws shot from his back and rushed at Omi and his companions. The three of them scattered, and the metal tubes - arms? - slammed into the spot where they had been standing only moments prior.

“He’s a robot?!” Jermaine said incredulously.

“Duh,” said RJ. “Do you really think perfection like this comes naturally?” His metal arms pulled back just a little bit, and then surged forward for another attack. Omi had to use his best Crane Strike to evade them.

Two robots swooped at him, and he barely had a chance to raise his Shen Gong Wu and shout “Orb of Tornami! Ice!”

Even without invoking his Shoku powers, it was enough to freeze them both and send them to the floor. The impact was not enough to shatter them, but at least they were no longer a threat.

Seeking a chance to get his bearings, Omi darted over to the nearest wall and pressed underneath the window ledge to avoid drawing attention from the Jackbots outside. From here, he quickly took stock of the battlefield. It was chaos, with Jackbots flooding in through the windows and, thankfully, being dispatched just as quickly as they arrived due to the various efforts of those within the lighthouse. 

As he watched, a still-monkey-formed Toshiro Tohomiko raised two Shen Gong Wu together. 

“Two-Ton Tunic! Longi Kite!”

The Two-Ton Tunic materialized on his body in its fully armored form, with the addition of two broad wings extending from its back. He leaped into the air, screeching happily.

Omi saw Raimundo charge for the Mirror, only to be slapped away by one of RJ’s mechanical arms, which in turn was dealt a blow by Jack with the Fist of Tebigong, who then had to flee as a robot bore down upon him. Nobody was having much success laying claim to the Shen Gong Wu, but if he waited for the right moment…

Clay struck down three robots with a well-aimed blast of fire, and Omi waited.

Kimiko grabbed a robot with the Third Arm Sash and flung it towards RJ, who dodged it with a very Jack-Spicer-like scream, and Omi waited.

Toshiro barrelled through the air in a shrieking blur of wings and armor, knocking robots out of his way, and still Omi waited.

Finally, he saw his opportunity, and he leapt for it. He executed a beautiful Lotus Strike that carried him smoothly through a gap in the fray, and touched a triumphant hand to the Reversing Mirror.

Another hand, tanned and calloused, landed next to his. Then a pale one in a leather sleeve. Then the end of the Third Arm Sash. And finally, a mechanical claw.

The Reversing Mirror began to glow as Omi looked up to see Raimundo Pedrosa, Jack Spicer, and Kimiko Tohomiko staring back at him. As one, they turned their heads to RJ, whose mechanical arm slowly retracted into his body as he approached with a feral grin lighting his face.

“Meatsacks,” said the robot, “I challenge you to a Xiaolin Showdown! I wager the Serpent’s Tail.” He was holding the Tail high and proud, like a trophy.

“I wager the Orb of Tornami,” Omi said, withdrawing it.

Raimundo reached to his back and pulled the Sword of the Storm from its sheath. “I wager the Sword of the Storm,” he said.

“I wager the Third Arm Sash,” said Kimiko.

“Lotus Twister,” Jack said shortly. He hadn’t moved his gaze from RJ since the Showdown was declared.

“Let’s make it a battle royale,” RJ said. “We'll all try to knock each other off the lighthouse. Last man standing wins.”

Omi glanced to his right, making eye contact with Kimiko, and then Jack, and then Raimundo. They all returned it with determination in their eyes, and Raimundo gave him a little nod. They were in agreement, then. This robotic Spicer must be stopped.

“Agreed,” he said, and the others nodded. “Let’s go! Xiaolin Showdown!”

The Reversing Mirror glowed brighter, overtaking them all with a flash of brilliant white light.

The lighthouse broke apart and reformed itself: the roof and lamp rose up to hover in the air, the lamp turning to flash its beam of light into the surrounding starry darkness. The floor below widened and flattened into a large, round stage, with each combatant positioned around the edge at equal distance from each other. Outside of the lighthouse, surf pounded against sheer, craggy cliffs. Atop the nearest cliff, Salvador, Toshiro, Wuya, Clay, and Jermaine clustered together to watch the Showdown.

“Gong Yi Tanpai!” the five participants chorused together.

Omi wasted no time, charging straight for RJ with a wordless battle cry. The robot dodged his attack, and he landed on the other side, rolled, and pulled up into a crouch. He could see Raimundo and Jack moving towards the robot as well - or Jack was, but then the Third Arm Sash barrelled into him and knocked him over.

“Hey!” Jack cried indignantly from the ground.

“Kimiko!” Omi called. “We are trying to defeat the robotic Spicer, not the real one!”

“Oops,” said Kimiko, utterly remorseless.

Omi started towards Jack with the intention of helping him to his feet, but to his surprise Raimundo had already grasped his arm and was pulling him up. He wheeled back to face RJ, intent on securing victory swiftly and decisively.

“Orb of Tornami! Shoku Neptune Water!”

The Orb spewed forth a raging torrent, and Omi bent it to his will with ease. He directed it at RJ, putting the full force of his power behind the attack.

“Serpent’s Tail!” the robot cried. Omi’s attack passed harmlessly through him - and slammed into Kimiko, who’d been trying to come up from behind for a sneak attack. 

She flew off the stage with a scream and vanished with a flash, reappearing on the cliffside next to her father. “What the hell, Omi?!” she demanded, wringing water out of her jacket.

“I am sorry!” Omi cried. “I did not mean to attack you!”

“This is the ‘mighty Xiaolin Warrior’ you keep complaining about, Wuya?”

The voice came from behind him, so he turned to face it. RJ stood with arms folded and one eyebrow raised, smirking at him.

“I don’t see the big fuss,” he continued. “This guy can barely control his own element.”

“I shall show you my control!” Omi snapped. “Shoku Neptune! Ice!”

RJ leapt into the air as Omi struck, his attack sending a jagged wave of ice spikes across the battlefield that missed Jack Spicer by mere inches. 

“Dude!” Jack yelped.

“He’s baiting you, kid!” Raimundo called. “Come on, you can’t be that dumb!”

“I think he can,” RJ cackled as he drifted down to alight on the ground. “He almost froze you solid, Jack!”

“Yeah, well, he didn’t. Lotus Twister!”

A long, rubbery arm sailed across the battlefield, aimed straight at the robot’s face. RJ simply plucked Jack’s fist out of the air and held it, quirking an eyebrow at his older doppelganger.

“Seriously? What did you think that was going to accomplish?” He turned and yanked on Jack’s arm with great force.

“Oh, fuck,” Jack said, and then screamed as he was pulled off his feet and flung off the platform. He reappeared on the cliff with a flash, his arm snapping back into his body like overstretched elastic as the Lotus Twister vanished from his grasp.

“Man,” said RJ, “I knew it would be easy, but this is pathetic.” He turned slowly, surveying the platform. “Now it’s just down to the loser monk and the. Huh. Where’d the greasy jerk go?”

“Sword of the Storm! Wind!”

Raimundo’s attack slammed into the robot from behind, lifting him up into the air above the platform once more. The rotors on his strange backpack buzzed to life, pushing against the current to hold him in place until the gust died. He hovered lower, observing both of his opponents from above.

“Oh, there you are,” he said to a frowning Raimundo, who stood in a battle stance with the Sword in both hands. “Avenging your new boyfriend, huh? That’s sweet.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Jack Spicer squawked from the sidelines with rapidly flushing cheeks.

“Oh, please,” RJ said, rolling his eyes. “I may not have eyes on wherever you’ve scurried off to hide, but anyone with half a working brain cell could see how gone you are for this guy. You’re so predictable, Jack. What, you finally gave up on Chase Young so you had to settle for his apprentice instead?”

Jack spluttered. “I’m not–! He isn’t–! …It’s not like that!”

RJ sidestepped another gust of wind from below. “Aw,” he cooed down to Raimundo, “did I touch a nerve?”

“Nope,” Raimundo said, stonefaced. “You’re going to have to try harder than that if you want to get inside my head, dude.

“And you,” RJ said, swiveling his head around to face Omi, who had been stealthily creeping around the perimeter of the arena, “are going to have to try harder if you want to catch me off guard. Hello? Robot? I’m superior to you fleshbags in ways you can’t even begin to comprehend.”

“Then perhaps it is time I dispensed with caution,” Omi said, and launched himself at the robot with a cry of “Water!”

RJ swooped low to dodge his attack, and then veered sharply to the left as Raimundo charged for him. Omi came down at him from above and he dove into the floor with a call of “Serpent’s Tail!”

When he resurfaced, Raimundo met him with a kick to the hand. The Serpent’s Tail flew from his grasp and skittered across the arena.

“Ha!” Raimundo said, and RJ tackled him.

As they rolled across the ground, Omi darted over to the Serpent’s Tail and snatched it up. He glanced up to see RJ and Raimundo struggling with each other near the edge of the platform. He could hear shouts of encouragement for Raimundo from the gathered onlookers.

“Raimundo!” Omi called. “I shall assist you! Worry not, we shall defeat this robot together!”

“I don’t need your help, kid!” Raimundo replied, voice strained as he continued to grapple for the upper hand. He was braced with his back to the edge of the platform, hands against RJ’s as they struggled. 

“Is this really the best you can do?” RJ asked him mockingly.

“Shut up,” Raimundo growled back. He shoved hard against RJ’s hands and brought his knee up sharply between his opponent’s legs.

His knee connected with a solid clang, and Raimundo bent forward in pain.

“Nice move,” RJ said. “Underhanded, but it would have worked great if I weren’t, y’know. A robot.”   Four metal arms emerged from his back and shoved at Raimundo, who staggered backwards.

Omi ran towards them, preparing himself for a Monkey Strike. But shamefully, he was too slow. RJ brought all four of his metal arms down and pushed Raimundo over the edge.

As Raimundo vanished and reappeared between Salvador and Jack Spicer, RJ turned to face Omi. Omi approached him slowly, Serpent’s Tail in one hand and Orb of Tornami in the other.

The robot was watching him with a new wariness that hadn’t been there before, and Omi realized that it was because he now had the upper hand. RJ was still standing near the edge, nothing but open air behind him as Omi walked forward, and he no longer had the Serpent’s Tail. Omi felt a small, confident grin cross his face as he advanced.

RJ’s eyes were wide, his expression nervous as Omi pressed him closer to the edge of the platform.

“You fought well, robotic Spicer,” Omi informed him, “but I am afraid you did not fight well enough!”

Abruptly, RJ’s anxious expression broke into a smirk. “You sure about that?”

“What?” Omi said, and something grabbed his ankle.

One of RJ’s robotic arms had stolen up behind Omi while he’d been focused on his opponent. It yanked him now by the ankle and flung him over RJ’s head and off the platform.

“NO!” Omi screamed as he sailed off the edge. He could see RJ standing tall with a sharp, triumphant grin before the Showdown ended in a flash of light.

He hit the floor of the lighthouse and rolled, surging to his feet and charging for RJ before the light had fully faded. Unsportsmanlike, perhaps, but sportsmanship mattered little against the fate of the world.

“Sword of the Storm!”

The gust hit Omi hard enough to knock him off balance, and he tumbled to the floor. 

Cackling, RJ rose into the air in the center of the lighthouse. His metal arms were still extended, and each one now held a Shen Gong Wu. In his regular hands, he held the Serpent’s Tail and the Reversing Mirror.

“Now!” Wuya shrieked, zipping over to him. “Quickly!”

RJ held both Shen Gong Wu aloft. “Serpent’s Tail!”

“Reversing Mirror!” Wuya called, flitting in between the two Shen Gong Wu.

RJ brought his hands together, and the world exploded in a brilliant pulse of light. Omi was blasted out of the lighthouse, and he felt himself collide with something that wrapped itself around him before setting him down on solid stone.

He looked up to see Clay, who was staring back at the lighthouse with a grim expression.

The building itself was still standing, but its top had been blown away. The world around him had gone gray and seemed to be getting darker; when Omi looked up to the sky above, he saw a shadow covering the moon. He and Clay were standing on the cliff with the others, facing the now-ruined lighthouse. 

A thick, choking miasma of darkness was settling over all of existence. Omi could taste it in the back of his throat, could feel dread clawing at his gut. The balance of the universe had shifted seismically in the wrong direction.

Two figures remained atop the ruined lighthouse, which burned with unearthly green fire. One stood triumphant with metal limbs extended, still holding a Shen Gong Wu in each one. The other was wreathed in crackling green magic. Tall and shapely, with pointed ears and long red hair that swirled around her head, Wuya hovered before them in physical form with her painted wooden mask still covering her face.

She was laughing.

It seemed to Omi that her voice changed as she laughed. At first it was the raspy, rattling cackle he had grown familiar with, but as Wuya’s body continued to pulse with Heylin magic the raspiness faded and her voice grew fuller and throatier.

With a final peal of laughter, she thrust her hands high and a pulse of green energy burst forth. She floated to the ground like a cork on a wave, and the Reversing Mirror shattered beneath her feet.

Slender hands tipped in long, curved nails reached up to take hold of the wooden mask and peeled it away. The face beneath was both beautiful and terrible. Wuya’s eyes were the same poisonous green as her magic, framed by long and elegant lashes. Her deep-red painted lips curved into a wicked smile, revealing sharpened canines. The dark lines of kohl under her eyes fanned out like spider’s legs over her cheeks.

She let the wooden mask drop from her grasp, uncaring of where it landed.

“Well,”  she said, her voice a sultry and confident purr as she looked herself over. “This is certainly an improvement.”

“Hey,” said RJ, “ any body’s an improvement over no body.”

“Oh, too true.” Wuya extended a hand and examined her nails, then summoned forth a ball of green fire that danced upon her palm. “And now the real fun can begin.”

Omi dropped into a crouch. He might have lost the Orb of Tornami, but he was still a Shoku Warrior. He could stop Wuya now before she unleashed her fearsome power upon the world. 

“Omi!”

A hand wrapped around his bicep, holding him still. He turned his head, startled.

“Have you completely lost it?!” Jermaine urgently whispered to him. “She just exploded the Reversing Mirror, man! If you try to fight her, she’ll do the same to you!”

“I must do everything I can to stop her!” Omi yanked his arm away, easily breaking Jermaine’s grip. “It is our duty as Xiaolin Monks to stop evil at any cost!”

“It’s also your duty to stay alive!” Dojo piped up from Jermaine’s shoulder. “What am I supposed to tell Master Fung if Wuya blasts you to bits, huh?”

“You may tell him that I perished with great honor,” Omi said solemnly.

“Er, honor’s great an’ all,” Clay chimed in, “but maybe you don’t need to leap straight to self sacrificin’. I’m sure there’s plenty of other things we can try that ain’t–”

“A- hem.”

The three monks looked over at RJ, who had planted his hands on his hips and was scowling at them.

“Do you mind?” he asked snottily. “We were having an evil moment over here, and you totally ruined it!”

“No need to fuss, my dear RJ,” Wuya said airily. “If they’re so eager for a fight, I can certainly oblige.”

She raised her arms and the earth beneath their feet began to shake. Dojo shrieked as an arm burst from the cliff in a spray of pebbles, followed by the torso and head of a gigantic, shambling monster made of rock. Then another one erupted from the cliff face behind them, roaring.

“May I make a teensy suggestion?” Dojo asked, trembling. “Let’s get the heck out of here!”

That said, he leaped off Jermaine’s shoulder and assumed his full size, quickly sweeping under the three monks to scoop them up as he beelined to the top of the cliff. There was a purple flash of light from the Golden Tiger Claws behind them and Omi saw Toshiro Tohomiko, back to a non-armored winged monkey, hauling Kimiko along as well.

They crested the top of the cliff, where more rock creatures were erupting from the earth.There were flashes of purple portals below them as Raimundo and Salvador kept pace with Dojo with Jack Spicer swooping along in the Jetbootsu. A glance behind, and Omi saw great spires of rock erupting from the sea, shooting up to form a foreboding citadel of jagged stone.

Suddenly a rock creature the size of a house rose in front of them, blocking Dojo’s flight path. The dragon screamed and attempted to do a u-turn in midair, but his momentum carried him into the rock creature’s bulk. It raised a great stony fist and wrapped it around Dojo’s tail, yanking it with a jolt that sent his three riders flying.

“Dojo!” Omi yelped as he landed on his feet. Clay and Jermaine landed next to him.

“Hellllllllllllp!” Dojo wailed, thrashing in the creature’s grip.

Omi started forward, but another voice called “Two-Ton Tunic! Fire!”

From the sky hurtled a screaming ball of flame that crashed into the monster’s torso and sent it staggering back with Dojo still clutched in its hand. The no-longer-flaming projectile fell back from the impact, plummeting to the ground, but Clay was there to catch it - catch her, because it was, of course, a smoldering Kimiko Tohomiko.

“Damn,” Kimiko said as Clay set her down, “I thought that’d take it out.” She narrowed her eyes at the monster, which was still stumbling around as it tried to regain its balance.

“It was a good shot,” Jermaine said. “You busted a hole in its side.”

“It was very clever of you to combine the Two-Ton Tunic with your elemental abilities!” Omi added. “That is an advanced technique that many Dragons do not learn until Apprentice level!”

“I mean,” Kimiko said with a shrug, “We saw you doing it with the Orb, so Papa and I thought-”

“Incoming!” Clay bellowed.

Omi looked up to see a flaming rock headed straight for their little group and acted on instinct. “Shoku Neptune! Water!” he cried, reaching an arm towards the cliff edge. He drew a stream of water from the ocean just in time to intercept the flaming rock and deflect it to the ground.

The rock creature holding Dojo leaned back, pursed its lips, and spat another flaming rock towards them. Then another creature followed suit, and another, until the air was thick with rocks. Omi quickly raised his arms, spreading the water out into a shield to cover their little group.

There was a shriek from above and Jack Spicer swooped down to shelter underneath the shield. “Thanks, Kimiko,” he snapped, crouching behind Clay. “You gave them ideas.”

“Excellent thinking, Omi!” Salvador Cumo’s voice came quite suddenly from beside him; Omi startled, but maintained his makeshift shield. “This will buy us precious time to devise a plan.”

“I am afraid,” Omi said through a clenched jaw, “that I cannot purchase much more time.” A rock splashed against his shield and his body shuddered with the effort it took to deflect it. 

“We should plan quickly, then,” Salvador said.

“Seems like a good time to retreat,” offered Raimundo Pedrosa from Salvador’s other side. 

“Not without Dojo,” Omi said sharply.

“Help!” Dojo called from the distance.`

“So hit that big guy with another Kimiko-bomb,” Spicer suggested. “Then your dragon’s free, and we all vamoose.”

“If you’re so eager to sling someone into a rock,” Kimiko snapped, “why don’t you do it?”

“Hey, you’re the one who can spontaneously combust on cue! I’m just a guy.”

“Can y’all stop fightin’ like a pair of polecats for a moment? We ain’t gonna get out of here alive if we don’t work together.”

“Ew,” Raimundo said, pulling a face. “Teamwork.”

The ground began to shake violently underneath their feet, cutting off any further conversation. Sweat rolled down Omi’s forehead as he did his best to maintain his shield, but he couldn’t hold on. He lost his grip on his powers and fumbled the shield, soaking them all with seawater. 

A rock creature erupted almost underneath them, breaking the group apart, and Omi was knocked off his feet. With a groan, he rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up. They were surrounded by rock creatures now, dozens of them shambling along and shaking the ground with every step.

“Omi!” he heard Jermaine call. “Watch out!”

Omi blinked, confused. The ground was trembling again; he turned to see a rock creature charging towards him.

“Ox Pushing Boulder!”

Jermaine tackled him, shoving him out of the way. The monster’s hand closed around him and with a speed belying its size, it gulped him down.

“Jermaine!” Omi and Clay cried together.

The rock creature’s stomach shifted; holes appeared in its belly that stretched until it resembled a cage, with Jermaine trapped inside.

“I’m okay!” he called to them. “Just gimme a minute, I’ll bust out of here.” He aimed a solid kick at the base of the stone bars encasing him. The bars did not break, but Omi knew that Jermaine was quite skilled, even without a Xiaolin Element to call his own. If there was a way to break free from his confinement, he would find it. 

“So, about that retreat?” said Spicer from where he was half-hiding behind Raimundo.

“Might be easier said than done,” Clay said, eyeing the monsters surrounding them.

“Ah, not to worry!” Salvador Cumo had helped a slightly dazed Kimiko to her feet and now passed her to Clay, who put a steadying hand on her shoulder. “I know just the place.” He withdrew the Golden Tiger Claws. 

An enormous hand the size of the Xiaolin Temple’s main hall plummeted from the sky and crushed him beneath its bulk.

“Sal!” Raimundo howled and lurched forward; Clay shot out the hand that wasn’t still on Kimiko’s shoulder and caught him by the hood.

The rock creature that had struck Salvador down was massive, far bigger than any of the others. Omi had to crane his neck to see its head; its height rivaled the buildings he’d seen in New York City. Its face was heavy with malice, craggy features carved into what seemed to be a permanent scowl.

“WIND!” Raimundo screamed, straining against Clay’s grip. A fierce gust of wind whipped around them; it nearly tugged Clay’s hat off his head but dissipated harmlessly against the monster’s hand.

The monster tilted its head and peered down at them. Then, with a bone-jarring THUD its other hand came down atop them all.

It was a long and tense moment before Omi registered that he was unharmed. The monster’s hand was cupped over them the way Master Fung would trap the spiders and moths that made their way into the temple. Faint green light was filtering its way into the darkness through gaps in the giant’s fingers that were too narrow for anyone to fit more than an arm through.

Omi, naturally, had excellent night vision, and it didn’t take him long for his eyes to adjust. The monster had trapped him along with Clay, Raimundo, Kimiko, and Jack Spicer, who seemed deeply uneasy at their new predicament. Clay was stoic. Kimiko seemed confused. Raimundo was still struggling, though he’d fallen silent.

Clay relinquished his hold on Raimundo’s hood and the man rushed to the nearest gap, pressing up against it. Omi followed him. Through the gap he could see the giant’s other hand, almost close enough to touch.

Jack Spicer stepped up on Raimundo’s other side, looking as though he wished to speak but saying nothing.

“My,” a voice said into the silence, “that was certainly something.”

Raimundo’s head snapped up, his eyes going wide.

Impossibly, Salvador Cumo’s head and shoulders appeared between two fingers of the giant’s other hand. His hair was in disarray and the rest of his body was pinned out of sight, but he was alive and appeared unharmed.

“Sal,”  Raimundo breathed. The tension melted from his body and he slumped against the stone, his face resting against the edge of the gap. “I thought,” he started, and then “How are you alive? Are you okay under there? Can you move?”

“I’m fine,” Salvador assured him with a wide and reassuring smile. “Fit as a fiddle! But quite trapped, I’m afraid.”

“Okay,” said Raimundo, “hold on, we’ll get you out.” He turned to Clay. “Hey, you. Cowboy.”

“Clay,” said Clay.

“Sure. Your thing’s Earth, right? You can bust us outta here and get this idiot off of him.”

“Er.” Clay’s mustache twitched. “I’ll be honest, partner, I ain’t been a Dragon that long. Don’t have the hang of this ‘elemental’ business just yet. I’m still green as a spring-planted pasture.”

“Well, give it a try!”

“There’s no time,” Salvador said hurriedly. For the first time since Omi had met him, a note of urgency entered his tone. “You need to leave. All of you.” He winced, brow knitting into a frown of concentration, and then withdrew his arm with the Golden Tiger Claws gripped tightly in hand. He reached across the gap between the giant’s hands, holding them out. “Get somewhere safe. Make a plan. I know you’ll be able to fix this.”

Raimundo looked at the Claws, and then at Salvador. His expression darkened like gathering thunderclouds. “No way in hell.”

“I am not asking you, Raimundo.” Salvador’s ever-present smile had slipped from his face. “You cannot fight her here. Not like this. The only chance you have is to leave and find another way.”

The Golden Tiger Claws shook between them, a motion so slight it would be imperceptible to anyone not blessed with Omi’s excellent vision and reflexes.

“Please, mijo.”

Raimundo was absolutely still. He could have been carved from the same stone that pressed his mentor to the ground. Not a hair on his head flickered, not a muscle stirred, not a breath passed his lips.

Then finally, painfully, he closed his eyes, nodded, and took the Claws.

“I’ll see you all soon, then!” Salvador said brightly, and the weight of his tone from just moments before was gone as though it had never been. “Best of luck!”

“Thank you,” Omi said, because it did not seem as if anyone else was going to say it.

Salvador aimed a beaming smile in his direction. “You are welcome, Omi!”

“Wait,” Kimiko said as Raimundo and Omi turned back to the others. “Where’s my dad? Has anyone seen him?”

“I think he flew off,” said Spicer. “Shouldn’t we worry more about getting out of here?”

“No,” Kimiko said, voice rising slightly, “no, he’s - he probably got caught by one of those rock things! I have to-!”

“What we ‘have to’ do right now,” Clay said firmly, “is get ourselves somewhere safe. You won’t be any help to your daddy if Wuya gets her hands on us.”

“The cowboy’s right,” Raimundo said flatly as he donned the Claws. “We’ve gotta regroup. We can worry about the collateral later.” He slashed his hand through the air. “Golden Tiger Claws!”

“But-!” Kimiko protested. Clay gently but firmly guided her through the portal, Jack Spicer close on their heels. 

Before Omi followed them through, he cast a glance at Raimundo. The man had his head turned towards the gap in the stone, his torso twisted so that Omi could see the sheath on his back hanging empty where it usually cradled the Sword of the Storm.

Then Raimundo let out a long breath and began to turn.

Omi ducked through the portal before he could be caught staring.

Chapter Text

Back in the warehouse, a place that was growing more familiar than he’d ever thought it would, Raimundo was doing his best to regroup.

Everything around him seemed blurry and vague, and the world seemed sapped of color - though that could be all the dark magic overtaking the globe. Rai barely noticed.

All he could think about was Sal. 

They’d been through plenty of scraps together over the years, but Sal had never gotten hurt. Not like this. 

He hadn’t seemed injured, but Rai wasn’t stupid either. The guy had crazy luck and an uncanny knack for avoiding death and serious injury, but he’d seen the rock crash down on top of him. Nobody could survive that unscathed.

“I’m fine,” Sal had said, had looked him in the eye and smiled reassuringly. And Sal didn’t lie to him. 

Well. Not directly. 

Again, Raimundo wasn’t stupid. He knew there were things Sal kept from him, things he couldn’t or wouldn’t share. He knew, for instance, that things had probably gotten a lot worse in Singapore than Sal let on, even if he’d gotten out unharmed and Rai’s injuries had healed up fast. He’d seen the blood on his mentor’s shirt, and known that it probably wasn’t all his.

Sal kept things from him to protect him. Which, like, Rai wasn’t a kid, okay, he could handle bad news, but at the same time he got it. He did the same with his family, who would never know Sal’s last name or the true origins of the money he sent home to them after each big job. 

Had Sal just put on a brave face so Rai wouldn’t worry about him? He had the horrible, sinking feeling that he knew the answer, and he didn’t like it. He’d never seen the guy so…what?

Sincere? Serious? Scared?

“Mijo,” Sal had called him, and, uh. Yeah. Rai wasn’t going to unpack that right now. 

Even if Sal had somehow survived a multi-ton rock fall without injury, he’d probably been captured by Wuya, and who knew what that entailed. Rai honestly didn’t know enough about her to guess what her M.O. might be when it came to world domination or prisoner detainment. 

Stupidly, he’d written her off as a naggy cloud of purple vapor when he should have been watching her to assess what threat she could pose. The fact that Chase Young was so interested in her and focused on keeping specific Wu away from her should have been a big clue. 

If Chase Young considered someone a threat, they were probably a big deal.

He knew without even having to speculate that Sal had been keeping an eye out where he wasn’t. Sal definitely had a clearer idea of how fucked they were. He wished he could talk to him, ask him for advice, but that wasn’t possible. For the first time in three long years, Rai was on his own.

Well. On his own, but (unfortunately) not alone.

“I should have guessed that you’d crawled off to hide somewhere like this,” Kimiko Tohomiko was saying snottily to Spicer. “It’s so…you.” She plucked a dirty fork off the box they’d used as a makeshift table that morning and held it gingerly between two fingers with an exaggerated expression of disgust.

“Hey,” Spicer protested, “cut me some slack here! I’m doing my best!”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

Rai honestly hadn’t meant to bring them all here, but he’d kind of been running on instinct and for whatever reason, the warehouse had been the first place he thought of when he thought “safe place.” 

There were worse places to hide. It was out of sight from their enemies - the robot had said something to Jack that implied he didn’t know exactly where he’d been hiding - and they had food here, and probably materials to improvise weapons with.

‘But that’s not why you feel safe here, is it?’ he could almost hear Sal asking with a teasing note to his voice. And that, the way this empty shell of steel and concrete had already started to feel like a home in the space of a few short days with Jack Spicer, was another thing he was Not Going To Unpack Right Now.

Figure out the apocalypse first. Deal with inconvenient crushes later.

He needed to gather his thoughts. Assess the situation. Find a way out. He and Sal always found a way out when their backs were against the wall, even when things seemed hopeless. Even when the mob boss you were dealing with decided you weren’t worth the trouble and sent his goons to take you out. Even when the goons had guns.

So. Time to take stock. 

First: the main threat. Wuya. Ridiculously powerful, had some kind of crazy green magic, and could pull a seemingly endless supply of giant rock monsters out of the ground. Might be able to take her down physically, assuming one could get close enough, and also assuming she wasn’t good with hand-to-hand combat. It was hard to tell, since he hadn’t actually seen her in a fight.

There was RJ, too. Jack Spicer’s robotic doppelganger, with an army of his own and access to all of Spicer’s resources. Thanks to him, the world was already a mess even before the super-powerful witch showed up. He was sneaky, too. Nothing compared to Sal, obviously, but he’d gotten into Omi’s head during the Showdown and taken half his opponents out by letting them take each other or themselves out. If Rai had to guess, RJ was the brains behind this whole scheme.

Together, they made for a pretty formidable enemy. Hell, they’d be hard to take down even as individuals.

Okay. So that was the threat. What did he have to work with against them?

Wu-wise, he had the Golden Tiger Claws, and. Well. That was it. His back felt weirdly naked without the Sword of the Storm resting against it. Its weight had become a part of him since he found it, a reassuring reminder that he could always fight his way out. But now…

He wasn’t dwelling on it. Couldn’t. More important matters at hand.

There might be other, non-magical weapons hiding here, stashed in one of the crates. It wasn’t likely and probably not worth the effort to rummage through each one, but possible. Maybe if he got desperate.

That was the “what.” Now for the “who.”

He considered the four people who’d stumbled through the portal with him. Not who he’d pick for his team in an apocalypse scenario, really. A mouthy brat, a stuck-up rich girl, a cowboy, and Jack Spicer.

He could live with Jack Spicer on his team, even though the guy was terrible under pressure. Maybe the cowboy, too. He knew next to nothing about the cowboy, just that he was apparently a monk alongside Omi and Jermaine. Didn’t seem as full of himself as Omi did, so at least that was something. He had superpowers too, apparently. Earth ones.

Huh. Between him, Omi, Tohomiko, and the cowboy, they had four different Elemental Dragons in the room. He’d have to do his best to keep Omi distracted enough not to realize that, because he had no doubt the kid would start hounding him about recruitment again. That was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now.

Sucked that he’d have to work with Omi, but he couldn’t deny the kid was a powerful ally. What he lacked in tact and perception was made up tenfold by his fighting skills and abilities. He also had an ego the size of a house, which meant he was easy to manipulate. The kind of guy you could get to do anything as long as he thought it was his idea.

Tohomiko, eh. She was, best as he could tell, a more spoiled Spicer. Smart, stubborn, and obsessed with her father’s safety. That was what she was yakking about now, fretting over his safety, wondering what Wuya was doing to him, blah blah blah. Rai could relate, kind of, but it was still annoying. She shouldn’t be sitting on her ass and whining about it, she should do something. 

He should do something.

Wait. He could do something.

He had an ace up his sleeve, one Sal had slipped there with his usual finesse. An ally with knowledge, skills, and resources greater than anything Raimundo or the rest of this motley crew could scrounge up. Someone who could easily take Wuya on, or at least provide the resources to do so.

He pulled out the Golden Tiger Claws.

“--And what do you think you’re doing?!” Tohomiko snapped, cutting herself off mid-rant.

All eyes turned to Raimundo, who froze midway through the action of sliding the Golden Tiger Claws onto his hand. “I’m getting us help,” he said.

Kimiko planted her hands on her hips. “What the hell kind of help could you possibly get us? In case you haven’t noticed, the world is ending.”

“Easy.” Raimundo finished sliding the Claws on and adjusted them with a twist of his wrist. “We fight fire with reclusive martial artist. I’m going to Chase.”

“Who’s Chase?” Kimiko asked blankly. Behind her, Omi bristled.

“You cannot seriously believe that Chase Young would assist us! He cares for nothing but himself!”

“I don’t doubt that,” Raimundo said. “But the way I see it, he owes me. Sal and I have been doing his grunt work for long enough, the least he could do is return the favor. And hey, it beats sitting around here while you guys whine about your issues.”

“Issues?!” Kimiko seethed.

“Can I come?” Jack piped up.

“Yeah, sure,” Rai said with a shrug. “Don’t see why not.”

“This is a most foolish endeavor,” Omi said as Jack darted over to Raimundo’s side. “You are wasting precious time and energy that we could use to formulate a plan!”

“Hey, it’s worth a shot.” Rai cast him a sidelong glance. “Least I’m tryin’ to do something instead of complaining about it.”

“Complaining-!” Kimiko started forward, but the cowboy held one tree-trunk sized arm in front of her and shook his head.

“He ain’t worth it,” he told her, which Raimundo couldn’t argue with.

“Anyway, you guys have fun. We’ll be back.” Rai turned and headed deeper into the factory, since he didn’t trust Omi not to try and hitch a ride.

“So!” Spicer said, bounding along at Rai’s heels. “Chase Young, huh? You really think he’ll help us?”

“He better,” Rai said. “I don’t know what the hell he’s been training me for if not something like this.”

“Do we need to bring him a Wu? I could spare, uh...the Fist of Tebigong, I think.”

“He probably won’t want it. I don’t think he cares about ‘em unless it’s one he’s requested.” Rai stopped and glanced sidelong at Jack. “But, hey, bring it. Can’t hurt.”

“Great. Give me a sec.”

Rai leaned against the wall and folded his arms as Spicer flitted off. He was back a moment later, gliding through the air with the Fist of Tebigong tucked under his arm.

“Good to go?” Rai asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Jack said, alighting on the floor. “I think so.”

“Cool.”

One portal later, they were inside Chase Young’s lair. 

Rai’d dropped them just outside Chase’s…throne room? Meditation chamber? Hell, Chase probably called it something like that, but it was just a big round room with a fancy chair in it. Pretentious as hell, but that was Chase Young for you. Chase seemed to spend a lot of time brooding in there, so he figured it was as good a place to start as any.

It was crazy to think they’d been here only that morning, getting debriefed like it was any other retrieval job. This had been one of the longest days of Raimundo‘s life.

He strolled into the chamber, and yep, there was Chase. Sitting on his gaudy-ass throne and looking none too pleased to see them. Which, yeah, they hadn’t called ahead or even knocked on the door, so Rai wasn’t surprised. 

Whatever. This was an emergency. No time for manners or protocol.

(The tiny voice in the back of his head that sounded a lot like Sal protested at this thought, but Rai waved it away).

“Raimundo,” Chase said, and raised an eyebrow. “This is unexpected. To what do I owe the…esteemed pleasure of your company?”

Ouch. The dripping sarcasm wasn’t a good sign, nor was the way Chase’s fingers were curled tight around the armrests of his throne. 

“We have a problem,” he said, which was apparently the wrong thing to say because Chase’s eyes narrowed slightly. Annoyance. Not anger, not quite over that threshold just yet, but he was definitely a little peeved.

“‘We,’” Chase said, “most assuredly do not have a problem. It may be that you have a problem, but do not dare to presume that your problems extend to me.”

So he was gonna cop an attitude, huh? Fine. Rai could cop one right back. His temper was running short today for some unknown reason that totally had nothing to do with how he kept having flashbacks to Sal being crushed under a giant’s hand.

“Oh, silly me,” he said, planting a hand on one hip and raising an eyebrow to mirror Chase’s. “Here I was thinking you’d be a little more concerned with, y’know, the end of the world, considering that you live in it.”

“If you are referring to Wuya,” Chase said, “rest assured that I am fully aware of her return to power and have planned accordingly.”

Rai felt the knot in his chest unravel a little. “Oh,” he said, dropping the hand from his hip. “Great. So you’ll help us take her out?”

“No,” said Chase.

“No?!” The knot in Rai’s chest tied itself back together and plummeted like lead into his gut, sending a splash of white-hot anger up through his core. “What do you mean no?!”

“Just as I said. I will not assist you.”

“B-but you have to!” Rai’s free hand curled into a fist as he gestured wildly with the one still wearing the Golden Tiger Claws. “She kidnapped Sal! She’s got an army of giant rock things and it’s only a matter of time before she takes over the whole world!”

“Uh,” Jack Spicer piped up from behind him, voice uncharacteristically meek, “plus, she kind of allied with the guy who took over my systems. So she’s got an army of evil robots too.”

“See!” Rai gestured to him and then pointed the Claws back to Chase. “We have a deal, dude. You can’t just drop your side of it whenever you want.”

“Our alliance,” Chase said icily, “does not mean that I am responsible for mopping up your messes. I made it very clear to you that it was vital that Wuya not gain possession of the Reversing Mirror. Your failure to prevent it is not my error to correct.”

“That’s bullshit,” Raimundo snarled. “You know that me and Sal never signed up for this ‘end of the world’ shit. You should have expected that somethin’ like this would happen. You were constantly goin’ on and on about ‘keeping the Wu out of the wrong hands’ but you never gave us the full picture! We didn’t know about Wuya! We had no idea this would happen if she got it!”

“I had expected you would work it out for yourselves,” Chase said, raising an eyebrow. “And I had assumed the two of you would be competent enough to handle any mishaps that might arise. Clearly, I was mistaken.”

Rai grit his teeth and clenched his fists. Every muscle in his body felt tight with rage, a spring coiled to snap at the slightest provocation. He was so mad that he felt ready to toss their whole alliance out the window - and something about that didn’t feel right. 

Something was up.

He could picture Sal standing next to him, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder and saying, ‘He’s baiting you. He’s trying to provoke you into a fight. Why? What is he trying to distract you from?’

He glanced back to Chase on the throne. After months of working with him, he’d gotten to know more and more of the guy’s tells. And right now, despite the clear annoyance, he was laser focused. His eyes were bright and locked on Rai, anticipating his next move. The rest of his body language spoke of boredom, impatience, but his eyes said that he was on high alert.

Chase was waiting for something. Bracing for it. But what?

It was like their training sessions. Chase rarely attacked Rai directly when they sparred. He waited for him to make the first move, and then responded in kind. He was slippery. Indirect. Subtle.

Chase wanted Raimundo to attack him, so he’d have an excuse to fight back. To force Rai out, get him to leave - so he wouldn’t have to get involved. 

Rai straightened up. That was it. That was what Chase was trying to hide.

“You’re scared,” he said aloud. 

Behind him, he heard Spicer make a strangled noise. Chase’s expression froze on his face.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Rai continued, straightening up a little more. “You’re afraid of Wuya. You don’t want to fight her, so you’re hiding out here while we do all the heavy lifting.”

Chase’s face was twisting, darkening into a tight and furious scowl. His pupils were narrow slits, so thin his eyes looked almost solid gold, and every muscle in his body had gone rigid. Even his hair looked spikier.

“Uh, Raimundo?” Spicer said from behind him.

Rai ignored him. “I can’t believe I didn’t see this before,” he said. “You’re not some untouchable mastermind. You’re a coward.”

The next second, he was diving out of the way as a furious monster rushed him with teeth bared and claws outstretched. 

Which, okay, where did that come from? He hadn’t seen Chase make any moves to summon it, and hadn’t ever seen signs of him keeping a giant monster around the citadel, and – yeah, no, avoid giant lizard first, figure out where it came from later.

He hit the ground and rolled onto his back, only to be pinned down by the monstrous lizard on top of him. 

Rai looked up at the gigantic fangs inches from his nose and thought, Well, this is it.

“Fist of Tebigong!”

The monster was abruptly thrown off of Rai by the force of a Fist of Tebigong to the face. Rai had just enough time to process that he was free before he was being dragged to his feet and pulled into a run.

“We gotta get outta here,” Spicer chanted as they pelted through Chase’s lair. “We’re so dead!”

“Claws,” Rai said, a little dazed at first, and then, “I got the Claws!”

“Right!” Spicer screeched to a halt, and then jolted back into a run at the sound of a furious roar from behind them. "So use them!”

They skidded around a corner and found themselves faced with a dead end - a parapet overlooking the main atrium. 

There were snarls from behind them, and the two whirled around to see several jungle cats approaching, with the lizard bringing up the rear. They were cornered.

“Fuck,” he heard Spicer breathe next to him. Rai took a step back, and glanced down. Below them there was nothing but open air between them and the ground; a drop of 20, maybe 30 feet.

Yeah, he thought, I can work with that.

“Wait,” Spicer said when Rai grabbed him by the waist and hauled him to the edge, “what are you–wait wait NO-!”

“GOLDEN TIGER CLAWS!” Rai screamed as they plummeted off the ledge together.

The portal opened below them, and they plunged right through it and shot out the other side, landing in a tangled heap on the ground. There was a furious roar from behind that cut off abruptly as the portal closed.

“Whoa, Nelly,” said a voice from above them. The cowboy, Rai figured. “Y’all look more spooked than a wild mustang in a pit fulla rattlesnakes.”

“Ugh,” Rai grunted. He tried to sit up, but he was tangled up in a web of Spicer, who had clamped himself to Rai like a vise and wasn’t letting go. He poked at him. “Dude,” he said. “You’re cutting my circulation off.”

Spicer peeled open one eye. “Are we…not dead?”

“Nope,” Rai said. “Can you stop hugging me, please? Not that I mind, but you’re gonna strangle me if you squeeze any harder.”

Spicer’s face abruptly flushed bright red, and within seconds he’d disentangled himself from Rai and scooted backwards across the floor. Rai flopped back onto the ground and glanced up at three faces with expressions ranging from mild concern to distaste to “I-told-you-so.”

“Didn’t go so well, huh?” said Tohomiko.

Spicer sat up. “It was going fine,” he said, “until someone decided it’d be a good idea to insult Chase Young to his face.” He gave Rai a Look.

Rai waved him off. “He wasn’t going to help us either way,” he said.

“Yeah, well, you just blew even the slightest chance of that right out of the water,” said Spicer. “Also, I hate to break it to you, but I think you’re out of a job.”

“I picked that up, yeah,” Rai said. He exhaled, feeling a little wobbly now that the adrenaline was wearing off, grateful for the solid concrete under his back. Everything had happened so fast, he felt like he was still processing it. He wasn’t sure where that giant lizard monster had come from, or where Chase Young had gone, or even how he hadn’t ended up as lizard chow. If it weren’t for Spicer…

He blinked, and then looked over at Spicer. “Dude,” he said, “you straight up punched that monster in the face.” And he’d saved Rai’s ass. Possibly even his life. He’d saved him from an incredibly painful mauling at the very least.

“Huh.” Spicer looked down at the Fist of Tebigong, which was still on his hand. “I guess I did.” 

A beat. 

And then, “Oh my God, I punched Chase Young in the face.”

“What?” Rai propped himself up on his elbows. “No, you punched a big-ass lizard thing. Chase Young was nowhere near us.”

“Chase Young was the lizard,” Spicer said. His voice was muffled because he’d buried his face into his hands, Fist and all. “He can turn into a giant lizard. That’s kind of his whole deal.”

“He can what,” said Rai.

"Did you not know?" This was a new voice, and he looked up to see Omi standing a few yards away. The monk raised one eyebrow at him. "It is my understanding that you have been allied with Chase Young for quite some time. Were you not aware of his abilities?"

"I knew he was scary good at martial arts and all that shit," Rai said slowly, "but no, somehow 'hey check it out I'm a lizard' never came up in our training sessions."

"Then you are more naive than I had thought," Omi said gravely. "Chase Young’s martial arts skills are threat enough, but his supernatural abilities make him a most fearsome enemy. It was foolish to approach him."

Rai scowled. "Well hey," he said, "I don't see you guys comin' up with any better ideas. At least we tried something."

Omi's face darkened in response. "If the two of you had stayed rather than rushing off to confront Chase Young," he said coolly, "then perhaps you could have aided the rest of us as we formulated our plan."

"Plan?" Spicer peeled his face off of the Fist of Tebigong and raised his head. "You guys have a plan?"

Silence. The three others exchanged an uneasy glance.

"'Plan' maybe ain't the word," said the cowboy. "Maybe more like, we all got some ideas, but there ain't no consensus just yet. We're split as an old broom’s bristles."

"I have a plan," Omi sniffed, straightening his back. "And it is a very good plan!"

"Yeah, time-traveling into the past to find some dead guy doesn't sound like a solid plan to me," Tohomiko said, rolling her eyes.

"It is better than rushing into Wuya's stronghold full-cocked!" Omi snapped back. "A frontal assault would be even more foolish than Raimundo’s attempt to recruit Chase Young!"

"I think you meant half-cocked there, partner."

"Half, full, any cock! A direct attack would be suicide!" He turned and thrust a finger in Tohomiko’s direction. “You would doom us all!”

“I just don’t see what has to be so complicated about this!” she snapped back. “We’ve got enough Shen Gong Wu between the five of us, we should be able to take her on no problem!”

“It took Grand Master Dashi years and hundreds of Shen Gong Wu to defeat her! And he was a Xiaolin Dragon! I am nearly one myself, but the rest of you are untrained novices. We would not have a chance of victory against Wuya in battle!”

“I still think it’d be best to take a step back and regroup,” said the cowboy quietly. “Hunker down here, lick our wounds, come back and take her on once we’ve had more time to figure out our next steps.”

Omi and Tohomiko looked at each other, and then both rounded on the cowboy.

“Absolutely not! We cannot afford to waste any time, or else the damage Wuya has already done will become irreversible!” Omi stomped his left foot for emphasis. “To say nothing of the fate of our friends! I shudder to think what horrors Wuya has visited upon Jermaine and Dojo!”

“Yeah,” Tohomiko added, “if you think I’m leaving my Papa in that hag’s clutches for even a second longer than absolutely necessary, then you’re completely out of your mind!”

“I get the urgency, y’all,” Clay said. “Really, I do. But we’re all rattled from that last fight, and rushin’ in before we’re ready won’t do anyone any good.”

“Wait, wait,” said Spicer, who was still sitting on the floor with his arms around his knees. “Can we backtrack for a second? What was all that about time travel?”

“Oh, it’s really stupid,” Tohomiko said, rolling her eyes. “Just wait until you hear it.”

Omi shot her a scowl, and then turned to Spicer. “It is much simpler than it sounds!” he said. “My thinking is this: Grand Master Dashi is the only one to have ever successfully defeated Wuya at her full power. He alone knows how to create the puzzle box he used to trap her. All we must do is find our way to him in the past and ask him to make us another!”

“Ha!” Raimundo let out a guffaw, which instantly earned him a sharp look from the monk. “Are you serious? The dude lived like a bajillion years ago! How the hell would you manage that?”

“I have read,” Omi said primly, “of a powerful Shen Gong Wu known as the Sands of Time. If we could find where it is hidden, we would be able to travel back in time with great ease. We would just need to find it.”

“And good luck with that,” Tohomiko added. “You don’t have your dragon, I don’t have Zippy, we have no way to track it down, and we don’t have time to waste on a wild Wu chase!” She tucked a lock of hair behind one ear. “Face it, my plan is the only one that makes any sense.”

“Why do you need a new puzzle box?” Spicer asked. “Why can’t you just use the original one?”

“Yes,” Omi said, “that would be much simpler. Unfortunately, I do not know where it could possibly be. I do not even know that whoever was responsible for Wuya’s escape still has it! They might have destroyed it, or thrown it away.”

“Well,” Spicer said, “funny thing about that.”

Chapter Text

Wuya strode through the shadowed, craggy halls of her stone fortress with the confidence and grace befitting the ruler of the Earth. She’d secured the unconditional surrender of all the world’s major superpowers, and now every pathetic mortal on the planet was wedged firmly under her heel. As they should be.

It was good to be back.

She strutted into the throne room she’d prepared for the express purpose of luxuriating in her newly reclaimed glory, and stopped short.

“Oh hey, Wuya,” said the teenaged robot currently sprawled across her throne. His feet were up on one armrest and his head dangled over the edge of the seat, synthetic fiber hair nearly brushing the floor.

She tutted and made a shooing motion with one hand. “Scoot,” she said. “Mama’s got some well-deserved gloating to do.”

“Mm…yeah, nah,” said RJ. “I have a better idea.”

From the dark corners of the room, Jackbots emerged with their laser cannons trained on Wuya.

“You see,” RJ said, swinging his legs down and his torso up so he was sitting in the throne properly, “I don't like to share. It's not in my code.” He propped his left elbow on an armrest and his chin on his hand. “So, thanks for conquering the world for me and all, but we're done here. There's no room for fleshlings like you in my new world order.”

Wuya’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened. “You can’t be serious,” she said. “You’re betraying me? Me?! I’ve crushed more rebellions and slaughtered more pesky upstarts than you can even begin to imagine! I practically invented the art of evil! And you think you can simply stab me in the back and take my victory for yourself?!”

“Yep,” RJ said. He met her gaze and raised an eyebrow cheekily. “What’re you gonna do about it, huh? I’ve got you surrounded and dead to rights.”

At Wuya’s side, her fingers began to crackle with green lightning.

“You released Wuya?!”

“I’m kinda surprised you didn’t think it was me from the start,” Jack said, propping his chin on the Fist of Tebigong. “What, did you think she hung around me because she liked me?”

“I am merely surprised by your subterfuge, Jack Spicer,” Omi said with suspicious, narrowed eyes. “I had thought you were not fully aligned with the Heylin Side.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why,” Omi burst out, throwing his hands into the air, “did you release an ancient evil to terrorize the world?!”

“Hey!” Jack protested, holding his hands up protectively just in case Omi decided to go for the face. “Look, in my defense I had no idea she was in that thing when I opened it. It’d been sitting in my basement for years. I just thought it was a present from my dad that I’d never unwrapped.” 

“But you’re sayin’ you still have the box?” the cowboy cut in as he walked up to Omi’s side.

“I’m pretty sure, yeah,” Jack said. He was trying to remember where he’d last had it. It’d been packed up with the rest of his "evil lair" stuff into storage after Wuya’d gotten out, and then he’d…right, he’d pulled it out when he was working on his updated security system. And he was pretty sure it hadn’t gone back into storage after that, which meant…

“It’s in my workshop,” he said. “At HQ.”

Kimiko pursed her lips. “SpicerTech HQ,” she said.

“That’s the one.”

“The HQ that got taken over by evil robots.”

“Yyyyyyyyyep,” said Jack. “It was on TV and everything.”

“Ain’t you supposed t'be a genius?” Clay asked, tipping his head to the side. “Surely you can find a way into your own office, even with all the robots an’ such.”

“Yeah, I’m a genius,” said Jack. “Problem is, RJ is too, and he thinks like me. I guarantee you he’s got all the secret entrances and backdoors guarded, and he’s probably monitoring the whole place. He knows I’m going to try to get my company back as soon as I can, and he’s definitely planned for it. I can’t exactly sneak right in under his nose.”

“What if you used the Shroud of Shadows?” Omi suggested.

“Don't have it.” He glanced down at the Fist of Tebigong in his lap. His own warped reflection stared back from the curved bronze surface. 

It reminded him of old days spent staring at his Jackbots as he worked on them, which stirred up the twisted, complicated feelings of regret and anger that all thoughts of his Jackbots stirred up these days. He missed them. It wasn't fair.

“Well,” Rai said beside him, “while you guys sit around here figuring out plans, I'm getting something to eat. Call me when you have ideas that don't completely suck ass.” 

He pushed himself off the ground and stood up. The Golden Tiger Claws, still on his hand, clattered against the concrete floor as he did. 

Jack glanced at the Claws. Too bad his camera network was so thorough. Even if he could use the Claws to teleport straight in, RJ would probably see him and bring the entire might of his stolen Jackbot army right down on Jack’s head. If only there was some way he could, like remotely hack a Jackbot to grab it, or cut a tiny hole in the table under the box, or…hm. Wait.

“Hey,” he said. “Hang on. I just had a thought.”

Raimundo paused. “Can it wait?” he asked. “I’m hungry, dude. Near-death experiences’ll do that.”

“I’m just wondering,” Jack said. “The Golden Tiger Claws. How precise are they, exactly? Like, how exact of a location can they target?”

“Are you seriously going to run off on us?” Kimiko cut in before Rai could answer. “That’s so like you.”

“What? No! I’m not going anywhere!” Jack protested.

“Sure.” She sneered at him.

“No, seriously! I just - Rai, gimme the Claws for a second, I want to try something.”

“Ha!” This from Omi. “It is very funny, Jack Spicer, that you think Raimundo will offer you his assistance. He has no honor! He trusts no one! He–”

“Here you go,” said Raimundo, handing him the Claws.

“Thanks,” Jack said over Omi’s dropped jaw. 

Rai shot him a finger gun and wandered off, presumably to find a snack.

Jack heroically resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at Omi as he donned the Wu. He had to keep a serious face on, since this was serious business time. For serious things.

The Claws were on his right hand, so he put his left hand out, palm up and flat. His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he lined his hands up, angling the Claws until their tips were positioned a few inches above his left hand.

Okay. The Shen Gong Wu responded to intent, right? So if he really concentrated, and thought of his workbench, and all the tools scattered on it, and pictured the box exactly where he last saw it…

“Golden Tiger Claws,” he said, and tore a teeny, tiny, box-sized hole in the universe.

Something fell through the hole and landed in his hand with a thud, and he knew before even looking at it that he’d been unsuccessful. Whatever it was, it was too heavy, and cold, and oblong. 

He looked down to see a wrench. One of his favorite wrenches, actually. 

“Great job,” Kimiko said sarcastically. “Maybe you can throw that at Wuya’s head.”

“Hey, this is a process!” Jack tossed the wrench aside and heard it clatter on the floor. “I just gotta keep trying.” And hope he didn’t tip RJ off in the process.

He had to focus harder. Visualize the box. Picture the last time he’d seen it, the way it was sitting on his workbench, the overhead lights glinting against the ancient, hand-carved wood. Think about how it’d felt in his hands the first time he’d held it, the strange thrumming of what he now knew was Heylin magic buzzing against his fingertips. 

He closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose. Held it. Exhaled.

“Golden Tiger Claws.”

This time, the thing that landed in his hand was lighter. Square. Cool, carved wood.

He opened his eyes.

“Oh fuck yes!” he crowed, holding the puzzle box aloft. “That’s more like it!”

“Indeed!”  Omi bounced on his toes. “Now we need only to seal Wuya inside of it.”

“Knock yourself out, buddy.” Jack lobbed the puzzle box at his face and was only a little disappointed when the monk snatched it out of the air without flinching.

“I will do no such thing,” Omi informed him, cradling the box in both hands. “It would be very counterproductive. I cannot defeat Wuya if I am unconscious!”

“How’s that thing supposed to work anyway?” Kimiko asked. “Do you throw it at her like a Pokéball?”

“What is it with you and throwing things at Wuya?” Jack asked her.

“Ain’t it a Shen Gong Wu?” Clay asked. “I reckon you’d just have to aim it her way and activate its powers.”

“It is not a Shen Gong Wu,” said Omi. “Dashi did not intend it to be used as a weapon against anyone but Wuya. He imbued it with powerful and mysterious magic meant to ensnare and contain her. It was meant to be used only once, not as a weapon.”

“Huh,” Jack said. “So…how do you use it, then?”

“That,” Omi said, “I do not know.” He took hold of the box and pried it open; Jack shrieked and dove for the floor, but nothing happened.

“Hm,” Omi said, frowning at the empty box.

“Careful where you point that thing!” Jack snapped from where he was sprawled on the floor. He’d dropped the Golden Tiger Claws.

“Oh, do not be so concerned, Jack Spicer. You are no sorcerer. The puzzle box cannot trap you.”

“And you know that for sure?” Jack asked skeptically as he got to his feet.

“No,” Omi admitted, “but it does not matter, because nothing happened.”

“Yeah, er, about that,” said Clay. “Nothin’ happened, Omi. Don’t you think that means the enchantment is gone?”

“I suppose it is possible. But it is also possible that the enchantment simply does not work when Wuya is not nearby!”

Jack frowned. “So you have no idea how this thing works.”

“Well, you are the one who opened it! Surely you must have some idea of how the enchantment functions.”

“Hey, I just opened it! I didn’t make it!” Jack flung his hands into the air. “What makes you think I know anything about magic, huh? You guys are the ones with superpowers! I make robots.”

“It is true that I am extraordinarily talented,” Omi said, “but I am no Grand Master. Not yet. I do not possess the level of skill or ability that Dashi wielded.”

“Yeah,” Jack sniped, “you just shoot ice beams out of your hands. You’re basically powerless.”

“Compared to Grand Master Dashi, I am!”

“Can’t you just charge the puzzle box up or something?” Kimiko asked.

“How do you charge a box?” Raimundo asked, rejoining the conversation with a protein bar in one hand.

“It’s a magic box. There’s got to be some kind of power source you can use, right?”

“What about the Sun Chi Lantern?” Clay asked. 

“Oh!” Omi put a hand to his chin. “Yes, that could work. But it is back at the Temple, and we — where did you get that?”

“This?” The cowboy raised his hand. From it, a Shen Gong Wu dangled on a cord. Jack didn’t recognize it, but he could guess from context that it was the Sun Chi Lantern. It definitely looked like some kind of lantern.

“Yes!”

“Grabbed it ‘fore we left.”

“Why?” Omi demanded. “It has very few practical applications in combat, and losing it in a Showdown could have disastrous consequences!” He thrust a finger towards Raimundo. “Imagine if Chase Young were to rub his fingers on it!”

“Ew,” said Rai, mouth full.

“Well, I just thought it could come in handy, is all,” Clay said. “Seein’ as we’re still a mite short on Wu, and I had a few ideas for how t’use it.” His shoulders hunched a little. “Sorry. Guess I shoulda let it be.

Oof. Awkward. If Jack were a little bit more of a dick, he’d be enjoying the schadenfreude, the slow realization on Omi’s face at Clay’s discomfort. As it was, since these guys weren’t actually his enemies or anything, it was just kind of uncomfortable. He wasn’t a big fan of secondhand embarrassment.

Raimundo didn’t share his opinion, if the slight smirk on his face meant anything.

“Er,” Omi said, “I…did not mean to imply that you made a mistake. Your decision to bring the Sun Chi Lantern may very well have saved our leathers!”

“...Hides?” Clay asked.

“Yes,” said Omi. “It must be that your Tiger Instincts led you to this decision! Your training is progressing faster than we had realized!”

“I guess,” Clay said. “Didn’t exactly feel instinctual t’me, but you’re the expert.”

“Yes, I am!”

“Can we get to the point already?” Kimiko cut in, tapping her foot against the floor. The sole of her absurdly pretentious designer shoe made a clacking noise on the cement. “How’s that tacky old lamp going to help us beat Wuya?”

“Like this,” Omi said, holding a hand out to Clay. When the cowboy handed him the Shen Gong Wu, he held it up and called, “Sun Chi Lantern!”

The lantern began to glow, and the light quickly spread along Omi’s hand and arm until it had engulfed his body. He thrust his other hand, still holding the empty puzzle box, into the air and closed his eyes. A small furrow of concentration appeared between his eyebrows. 

Slowly, like old pudding being poured into a garbage disposal, the light moved to cover the box, suffusing it with the same unearthly light. It pulsed and glowed, and Jack could see the way the energy was moving, how it flowed from the top of Omi’s head, along his arm, out through his fingers and into the box.

Eventually, Omi opened his eyes. The light faded away, and the lantern went dark.

“Did it work?” Kimiko asked.

Omi held the puzzle box up to eye level and inspected it. “It is difficult to know for certain,” he said, “but I believe my attempt was successful. I can sense power within the box now where there was none before.”

“Great,” said Raimundo. “So we’re good to go?”

“I–” said Omi, but Jack cut him off before he could take the credit for saving the day.

“We are so good to go,” he said, and thumped a fist against his chest. “And who saved our sorry butts? Who hung on to the puzzle box because he knew it was gonna be important? That’s right. Jack Spicer, Tech Genius. You’re welcome, Earth.”

“You didn’t do anything,” said Kimiko, scowling at him. “Omi’s the one who fixed it.”

Jack waved a hand at her. “Details! Either way, we’ve got what we need. Now we just have to cram Wuya back into that thing.”

“Which is so easy, right?” Kimiko sneered. “It’s not like she has an army of giant monsters or anything.”

“It’s not that complicated,” said Rai, taking another bite of his protein bar. “We just have to get into that big rock tower she made out of the lighthouse, right?”

“Yes,” Omi said with a nod. “Which we shall do most swiftly and forcefully!”

“Giant rock monsters,” Clay reminded him.

“...Which we shall do most carefully and with great precision!”

Raimundo rolled his eyes as he swallowed his mouthful. “Deus, you’re hopeless. It’s like you’ve never planned a heist in your lives.”

“Well most of us aren’t career criminals,” Kimiko said, shooting a nasty look at Jack as she did, which was totally unfair.

“Criminals or not, it’s basic strategy. Look.” Raimundo plopped down on the floor, picked up the Golden Tiger Claws, and set them upright. “This is Wuya’s base, all right? Assuming she’s still in the lighthouse. We don’t know that for sure, but it’s the best place to start looking.”

“And how exactly are we supposed to get in there?” Kimiko asked.

“That’s what this is gonna help us figure out,” Raimundo said, gesturing to the Claws. “See, like,” he reached into his pocket and rummaged a bit, then pulled his hand out and dropped a few assorted items on the floor. “These are us, right? Let’s say I’m the real,” he pointed to a dingy coin, “and Omi’s the breath mint. Cowboy can be the tissue, and you’re the bobby pin.”

Jack felt his face grow red. “Uh,” he said.

“So Jack’s the condom?” Kimiko asked, thoroughly unimpressed. “That tracks.”

With a flash of movement, a chipped plastic button sat where there had previously been a square foil packet.

“What condom?” Raimundo asked. “Anyway. There's five of us, so we can spread out and cover more ground.” He slid the coin and breath mint away from the group. “The kid and I have the most stealth experience, so we probably want to take the initial sweep while the rest of you keep a lookout for trouble.” He frowned slightly. “It'd be great if we had a way to see inside from a distance, but that thing's solid rock.”

“Kimiko has the Falcon's Eye,” Jack said. 

She scowled at him. “How do you know that?”

“I've been keeping a spreadsheet. Or I was before everything went to shit.” He shrugged. “So it's out of date by now, but I figured you probably still have that one. Not like it’s super useful in Showdowns.”

“Cool,” said Rai. “What’s that one do, again?”

“How,” Omi asked incredulously, “do you not know the function of the Falcon’s Eye? It revealed itself months ago!”

“Ei, kid, I’m not all about Shen Gong Wu like the rest of you.” Rai poked at the Golden Tiger Claws, which wobbled slightly on the floor. “Sal and I really only went after the ones Chase wanted us to grab. We got other shit to do, y’know?”

“Like crimes,” Kimiko said.

“Sure, sometimes,” he agreed breezily. “So, the Eye thing?”

“Lets you see through stuff,” Jack said. “X-ray vision.”

“Perfect. We can use that to scope things out.”

“Hang on,” Kimiko protested. “The Falcon’s Eye is my Shen Gong Wu. I’m not just going to give it to you!”

“So you come with us,” Rai said with a shrug, and slid the bobby pin next to the coin and mint. “Whatever. I’m flexible.” He shot a sly look at Jack. “In more ways than one.” 

Jack’s face, which had only just recovered its normal color from the Condom Incident, swiftly returned to red.

“So,” Clay cut in, “Spicer an’ I keep a look out? And then, what, y’all will call us in? Don’t seem very stealthy if you’re hollerin’ halfway across creation t’get our attention.”

“Hello? Golden Tiger Claws?” Rai said, gesturing to them. “I’ll just portal you over once we’ve found our way in.”

“And then,” Omi said, “it is only a matter of confronting Wuya and trapping her within the box!”

“And freeing her prisoners,” Kimiko added pointedly.

“Wait,” Jack said as a realization dawned upon him.

“See? What’d I tell you. It’s simple.” Rai picked up the Golden Tiger Claws and flipped them into the air, catching them on his hand in one fluid motion that seemed effortless (but would probably lose Jack a finger if he tried it.)

“Uh,” Jack raised a hand, but nobody acknowledged it.

“I do hafta give it to you, partner,” said Clay. “It’s a pretty elegant plan. Nothin’ too fancy.”

“Hey, I like fancy as much as the next guy,” Rai said, “but sometimes you just gotta trim things down, y’know?”

“HEY!” Jack bellowed. The other four looked at him, baffled like they couldn’t imagine why he’d be yelling. He cocked his head to the side and said, “Hello? You forgot something.”

“What’s that?” Clay asked, scratching his beard.

“RJ!” Jack flailed his arms in the air. “He’s got an army of robots and a huge chip on his shoulder, and I bet you anything he’s keeping an eye out for us. For me, anyway. He’s me. He knows I wouldn’t just walk away from my bots like that.”

“Ohhh,” Clay, Kimiko, and Omi said together.

“I had nearly forgotten about the robotic Jack,” Omi said. “He was a most formidable opponent in battle!”

“Thanks,” said Jack.

“That’s not a good thing,” Kimiko said. 

“I mean, I’m the one who built him,” said Jack. “So I’ll choose to take that as a compliment, thank you very much,” and he stuck his tongue out at her.

“Ughhh,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’re such a child.”

“Whatever,” Jack said. “So. What are we going to do about him?”

“I’m not worried about him,” said Rai.

“Perhaps we could,” Omi began, and then stopped.

“What?” Jack said blankly. “Why aren’t you worried about him?”

“I mean,” Rai said, “I think the problem’s gonna resolve itself.”

“And how do you figure that?” Clay asked.

“Jack,” Rai said, and Jack sat up a little straighter. “You worked with Wuya for a while. Would you call her trustworthy? Or loyal?”

“Um,” said Jack. “I…guess not? I thought she was at first, but she jumped ship pretty quickly once she realized I wasn’t going to get her what she wanted.”

“And what about RJ?”

Jack snorted at that. “Are you kidding? I built him with an obedience chip and the guy figured out how to override it within 48 hours of his first activation.” At the time he’d seen that as a sign of how awesome he was at evil, and not the giant red flag that it was.

“There, see?” Rai said. “They’re going to tear each other apart.”

“You seem very confident of this,” Omi observed. “How are you so certain it will come to pass?”

“I’ve seen it a million times,” Rai said. “Happens a lot in organized crime. Two bigshots think it’s a great idea to team up, they rain hell for about five minutes, then they start squabbling and next thing you know one of them is in the ground. Or both, sometimes.” He rolled his shoulders and added, “The smart money’s on Wuya. No offense, dude, but I don’t think anything you’ve built can stand up to something as powerful as she is.”

“I wish I believed you,” Jack said.

“Trust me,” said Rai. “I’ll even bet on it with you. If RJ's bitten it before we get there, I’ll buy you dinner.”

“I wouldn’t take that bet,” Kimiko cut in. “He seems like the kind of guy who stacks his decks.”

Rai put a hand over his heart in mock offense. “You wound me, senhora! I would never!” He dropped his hand. “Sal’s the one who cheats at cards. I can never keep track of ‘em.”

Jack’s cheeks were red again. He tried valiantly to pretend they weren’t. “So you really want to just barge ahead with no contingencies?” he asked. “Just in case you’re wrong?”

“Omi and I have been makin’ pretty short work of them robots when they attack the temple,” Clay said. “We can take ‘em down easy when they haven’t caught us off guard.”

“Yes!” Omi nodded. “And your robotic counterpart is no different!”

Jack wished he had a fraction of that confidence. Maybe a few years ago, he would have. But right now, he just felt small and thin and worn out.

But Raimundo flashed a smile at him and, despite himself, Jack wanted to smile back.

Well, whatever. Maybe this was suicide, but at least he wouldn’t die alone.

Wuya’s throne room was a mess.

Piles of rubble dotted the floor, nearly unrecognizable save for a stray claw or bit of metal. Her throne itself was cracked and charred, still smoking slightly. 

Wuya cared little for the state of her throne room. Her focus was entirely on the traitorous little bag of bolts she’d pinned to the wall, one hand around his throat and the other raised threateningly with a ball of green fire burning in its palm. 

“Come on!” the worm protested, squirming in her grasp with a wary eye trained on the fireball. “Can’t we talk about this? I mean, what’s a little betrayal between friends, huh? I was just trying to keep you on your toes!”

“Oh, RJ,” Wuya purred, her tone sweet even as her eyes blazed with fury. “Dear, darling RJ. We have nothing to talk about.”

With one smooth move she rent his head from his body, and before he could so much as shoutt she’d charred his body to ash.

“Hey, no fair!” RJ’s now-disembodied head protested as it rolled across the floor. “I worked hard to get back into that body!”

“I know,” Wuya said, striding towards him. “But you need to learn, dear boy. Actions have consequences.”

And she kicked his head like a football into the hole that opened in her throne room’s floor.

His wordless scream of rage was cut off as the hole closed seamlessly behind him.

Wuya tossed her hair over her shoulder, combing it into some semblance of order as she inspected the room with a critical eye. No, this wouldn’t do. Such mess was unsuitable for the ruler of all creation. She’d have to make the rock creatures tidy it up.

She might keep the crack in the throne, though. It added character.

Chapter Text

“You find a way in yet?”

“Back off,” Kimiko snapped in a hushed tone, waving away the obnoxious con artist hovering over her left shoulder. “I can’t concentrate with you breathing down my neck every five seconds.”

“Sheesh, all right. No need to bite my head off, girl.”

“Call me girl again, and I’ll do more than bite your head off.”

“Ooh, kinky.”

The urge to hit Raimundo with a fireball to the face was strong, but Kimiko couldn’t afford to indulge it. Not right now, with so much on the line. Gritting her teeth, she held the Falcon’s Eye up to her face and resumed the tense, tedious task of casing Wuya’s fortress.

Apart from a few Jackbots floating around outside and various rock creatures patrolling the interior, the place seemed largely deserted. She hadn’t spotted Wuya or RJ yet, or any easy way to sneak in. No sign of her Papa, either, or anywhere that looked like it was meant to hold prisoners. Honestly, she cared way more about that than she did about fighting Wuya. But there was a big chamber near the top that looked like some kind of throne room, which she reluctantly but dutifully relayed to Raimundo.

“Great, that’s probably where she spends most of her time. Sounds like a spot to leave for last,” he said. “Any sign of, like, air vents? Drainage systems? Something we could use to get around undetected. The Golden Tiger Claws are flashy enough that we should avoid usin’ em once we’re inside. She’s gotta have something. ”

“I’m not sure,” she said.

“Can’t you see anything?”

She pulled the Falcon’s Eye away from her face and turned to give him her most scalding look. “I’m doing my best, okay?! This thing doesn’t exactly have a zoom function. Or heat vision. It’s dark down there. Because, you know, it’s solid rock?”

He raised his hands. “Ei, cool it. I get that you’re worried about your dad, but we’re on the same team here.”

Her glare deepened. “We’re not a team. And you don’t get to talk to me about my dad.”

“Why?” he asked. “You think I can’t relate? She got someone I care about too, you know.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.” Her hand was tight around the Falcon’s Eye; it was digging into the flesh of her palm. “You don’t seem that concerned about your friend. Aren’t you worried? She squished him flat.”

“Of course I’m worried.” He met her gaze coolly. “But I don’t let it get to me. You gotta push that stuff down if you want to survive a job like this.”

“I can’t just turn it off,” she snapped. “He’s my dad. I could never be so selfish.”

Finally, a flash of anger in his eyes, but before Raimundo could say anything else, they were interrupted.

“I have returned from my mission of stealth!” Omi declared, popping up between them. “I did as you suggested and thoroughly scooped out the terrain!”

“It’s ‘scoped out,’” Kimiko muttered, but he didn’t hear her.

“I believe I have found a way to get inside,” Omi informed Raimundo. “There is a small tunnel at the very bottom of the spire. It appears to be a waste channel of some sort.”

“Told ya,” Raimundo said to Kimiko. She just huffed.

“Whatever,” she said. “Go grab the others so we can get this over with.”

He saluted her mockingly with the Golden Tiger Claws and vanished in a flash of purple light.

“This is most invigorating!” Omi informed Kimiko. His voice was hushed, since this was supposed to be a stealth mission, but he was nearly vibrating with visible excitement and anticipation. He brushed a small pebble off his robe and added, “Truly, we are following directly in the shoe prints of Grand Master Dashi! Perhaps one day, they will tell tales of our heroic exploits much as they retell the legends of Wuya’s first defeat!”

“Why are you so excited about this?” she asked him. “This isn’t a game. Peoples’ lives are in danger.”

“Yes, and we are going to save them! At long last we are exploiting heroics worthy of Xiaolin Dragons!”

“How am I the only one who’s actually worried about the people that got kidnapped by monsters?” Kimiko demanded in a whisper-shout, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “We still have no idea where they are, or if they’re hurt, or even if they’re still alive!”

“Oh, I am certain that they are,” Omi reassured her. “They are all very capable! Jermaine is a Xiaolin Warrior! Dojo is a mystical dragon! Salvador Cumo, I do not know well, but Clay says–”

“I don’t care how capable everyone else is! My dad isn’t!”

Omi blinked owlishly at her. “That is not a kind thing to say about your father. He seems very capable to me.”

“You don’t know him,” Kimiko said. “You don’t see all the nights I’ve had to drag him to bed because he was arms deep in some new project and forgot what time was. Or all the times I had to do the same thing with food. You don’t know how many times I’ve had to talk him out of blowing every penny we’ve got on some stupid vintage toy. You don’t know about–” and her voice broke, and she had to catch herself before she started reliving some very painful memories. She wrapped her arms around herself, shuddering despite the heat rising beneath her skin.

“It is true,” Omi said slowly. “I do not know these things. But I have seen your father do things that were very brave and very clever.”

“Sure,” Kimiko muttered. “Like what.”

“He defeated Jack Spicer in his very first Xiaolin Showdown,” Omi pointed out. “He helped me and Jermaine to safety in New York, and did the same for many people he did not know.”

“Plus,” Jack Spicer added as he joined them alongside Clay and Raimundo, “he came up with his own way to detect and track Shen Gong Wu. Which I improved on, obviously, but he figured it out first.” He blinked back at Omi and Kimiko’s startled expressions. “What? I have ears. You’re talking about how cool Mr. Tohomiko is, right?”

“Since when do you think he’s cool?” Kimiko demanded.

“Uh, see prior statement. Plus, we’ve been texting back and forth. He has really good taste in memes.”

“Oh my god.” She dropped her face into her hands. As if this day couldn’t get any worse.

“What, uh. What’s going on here?” she heard Raimundo say. “Are we doing this thing or not?”

“Kimiko’s jealous that her dad likes me better.”

She snapped her head up. “I am not!”

“You so are.”

“Hey now.” An arm thicker than Kimiko’s head came down between them. “Maybe save the scrappin’ until after the world is fixed?”

“I’m with the cowboy,” Raimundo said. “We’ve got to get going. Especially since you guys have no idea what ‘stealth’ is, and I’m pretty sure there’s some rock guards heading our way.”

Shit. She’d forgotten to keep her voice down. And just as he’d said, when she looked back at Wuya’s fortress she could see several rock creatures beginning to make their way towards the cliff they were gathered atop.

“Everyone in,” Raimundo instructed, tearing open a portal. “Go. Go!”

The portal spat them out at the base of the fortress, where waves crashed against the jagged rocks and sent up hissing plumes of salty spray that pattered over them like rain. Her hair was going to be disgusting after this.

“Where’s that tunnel, kid?” she heard Raimundo say from behind her.

“This way!” and Omi bounded past her, hopping over the rocks like he was skipping through a daisy field. Raimundo followed him, similarly undaunted by the crags and crevices, and Jack Spicer floated after them both with the Jetbootsu.

Kimiko exchanged a look with Clay before they both began to carefully and laboriously pick their way over the rocks.

The others were gathered around a small opening in the rock by the time they caught up; Raimundo had his head and upper torso wedged inside.

“Good news,” he said as he withdrew. “It’s an air vent. No sewage.”

Kimiko pulled a face. “Why would there be sewage?”

“Hey, you never know. Maybe she rigged up some indoor plumbing,” Jack suggested. “It wouldn’t be that hard to do.”

“Bad thing about it being an air vent,” said Raimundo, “is that sound’ll carry. So while we’re in there, we’re gonna have to be as close to silent as we can get. It’s a pretty tight fit, too, but big enough for everyone if we crawl. Even you, cowboy.” He jerked his head at Clay.

“I will go first!” Omi declared, stepping forward. “I am the most prepared to deal with unexpected obstacles that may impede us.”

“Not a bad idea, actually,” said Raimundo. “How about you and the cowboy in front, so you’ve got some extra muscle just in case. I’ll go last and cover our tracks.”

Which was how Kimiko drew the short straw of being stuck in the middle of the line as the five of them crawled their way into Wuya’s fortress. It was dark and crowded and Jack Spicer kept accidentally bumping into her leg, so to put it plainly: it sucked.

It wasn’t the total pitch black she’d expected, at least, because apparently Omi…glowed in the dark? Something like that. She could see a very faint golden light from up ahead anyway. It wasn’t enough to really see anything, but it was better than pure darkness. 

She couldn’t say how long they spent crawling through the dark, except that it was way too long. Her hands and knees were getting sore and her eyes were starting to feel strained by the time she finally saw something other than muted gold and blurry shadows. Green light, faint at first but steadily growing stronger, indicated that they’d found their way to the interior of Wuya’s fortress.

“There is an opening ahead,” Omi whispered to the rest of them. “I do not see any guards.”

“How big is it?” Raimundo whispered back. “Can you fit through?”

“No, it is too small.”

“Okay. We’ll have to break through, so be ready to fight.”

“Break through?” Kimiko hissed. “It’s solid rock!”

“Jack,” Raimundo said, “you still got the Fist of Tebigong?”

“Yeah.”

“May I borrow it?” Omi asked.

There was a tap on Kimiko’s shoulder, and then something round and metal pressed against her hand. She took the Fist and passed it forward to Clay, who presumably passed it to Omi.

“Prepare yourselves for battle,” Omi whispered, and then, “Fist of Tebigong!”

There was a thud and a rumble and the green light got brighter, and then they were all tumbling through the newly enlarged hole in the wall.

Omi had brought them to what looked like a hallway. The floor was slanted and it curved sharply, putting Kimiko in mind of the lighthouse that had originally stood here before Wuya’s ascension. 

They all stood still, tensed and ready for battle. Several moments passed, and nothing happened. No robots came flying in with laser guns blazing. No rock creatures came charging with fists raised. 

“...Huh,” said Jack. “Guess they didn’t hear us.”

“You reckon it’s a trap?” Clay asked. 

“Possibly,” said Raimundo. “Though I don’t know why they wouldn’t cover all the possible entrances if they knew we were coming.” He turned to look up the hallway. “My guess is Wuya’s gonna be waiting for us at the top.”

“So we shall meet her there.” Omi reached into his robes and pulled out the little wooden box that Jack Spicer had given him. “And we shall put an end to her evil, for once and all.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t make sure everyone she kidnapped is okay first?” Kimiko cast a look in the other direction, where the hallway sloped and curved down into the depths. Her Papa was down there somewhere, she just knew it.

“They will be more okay if we defeat Wuya first,” Omi pointed out.

That wasn’t enough for Kimiko. Who knew how long defeating Wuya would take? What if her dad was hurt? What if he was lying in some dungeon cell right now, bleeding out, and they were wasting precious time on a boss fight when they should be mounting a rescue mission?

“You guys go ahead,” she said. “I’ll catch up.”

“Wait!” Omi cried as she turned and began running down the sloped, curving hallway.

“Are you kidding me?” she heard Raimundo say. She ignored him. He didn’t matter. None of them mattered. What mattered was making sure her dad was all right.

“Kimiko!”

That voice didn’t come from behind her. It was in front of her. And it was familiar.

She was already running full tilt, so she was unprepared for the collision that knocked her legs from underneath her. Arms she couldn’t see wrapped around her middle, and the chest she collided with was solid and warm.

“Oh, thank goodness,” a voice said into her ear. “You’re all right.”

She thrashed in the invisible grip, confused and caught off guard. “What the hell?!” she demanded. “Let me go!”

“Worry not, Kimiko!” Omi called. “I shall save you!”

“It’s all right! It’s all right. Here,” and suddenly she wasn’t being held by an invisible monster, but by her father. He had the Shroud of Shadows clutched in one of the hands that were wrapped around her.

“Papa?!” she gasped. He grinned at her.

“I’m happy to see you too,” he said. Beside them, something green flashed by.

“Omiiiii!” a voice wailed, and then the hallway was full of voices.

Her dad seemed okay. He wasn't bleeding, or visibly hurt; he wasn't even favoring his recently-injured foot. He had the duffle bag he liked to carry their Wu in looped around his shoulder, and Kimiko could see the Monkey Staff poking out of it.

He was fine. Somehow, he was fine.

When Kimiko eventually forced herself to let go of her father, she turned to see that their numbers had nearly doubled. Dojo was clinging to Omi’s shirt and sobbing tears of joy, while Jermaine and Clay looked on; Jermaine had a hand on Omi’s shoulder. Salvador Cumo had ambled his way over to Jack and Raimundo, and he and Raimundo were having one of their freaky silent conversations where they mostly exchanged meaningful glances.

“How?” she asked, turning back to her dad. “Wuya kidnapped you. I thought you were dead!”

“Ah!” Her father’s grin widened. He raised a finger. “But she did not kidnap me! I had the Shroud of Shadows!”

“Yeah,” Jermaine chimed in, “he snuck in here and busted the rest of us out.”

“It was amazing!” Dojo added. “I didn’t even know the Tangle Web Comb could do that!”

“I combined it with the Monkey Staff,” Toshiro explained, beaming proudly.

“And then he just smashed right through our cells like,” Jermaine thumped one hand into the other and mimed an explosion. 

“Yes, it turns out that the Monkey Staff can grant its monkey power and strength to other Shen Gong Wu when used together! It is quite fascinating. I want to try more experiments with them! Perhaps activating them in a different order might affect the results.”

“Maybe you can try that after we take care of Wuya?” Jack suggested.

“Yes, that is the plan!”

“We were going to try and find a way to contact you guys,” Jermaine explained, “after we'd scoped the place out a bit. And then there was a little bit of a, uh. Situation.”

“...What sorta situation?” Clay asked.

Muffled yelling erupted from inside Toshiro's duffle bag, and Kimiko flinched back. 

“Papa,” she said, “is - do you have someone in there?!”

“Oh yes!” Toshiro said cheerfully. “That would be our hostage.”

“Hostage?!” Kimiko chorused along with Raimundo, Jack, Clay and Omi.

Toshiro reached over and unzipped the main pocket of his duffle bag. The five of them crowded around to peer into it.

“Ha!” Raimundo said. “Called it.” He elbowed Jack playfully in the ribs. “Guess I owe you dinner now, espertinho.”

The disembodied head of RJ glowered up at them. “Yeah, yeah, yuk it up,” he snapped. “If you think a little temporary setback like this is enough to stop me from conquering the world, you’ve got another – hey!”

Toshiro zipped the bag shut, prompting another round of muffled yelling from the decapitated robot within. “It was the most peculiar thing,” he informed them. “We were preparing to leave, and he fell right on top of me!” He rubbed his head.

“From what we could make of his ranting,” Salvador piped up, “he and Wuya had, shall we say, a bit of a falling out.”

“No kiddin’,” said Clay.

“I thought we should just leave him there,” sniffed Dojo, “and good riddance! But some people couldn’t leave well enough alone.” He shot a glance at Salvador. 

“You never know,” said Salvador. “He could be useful. If not as a bargaining chip, then perhaps as a paperweight.”

“...Sure,” said Raimundo. “Well. Now that we’re all caught up, who’s down for a witch hunt?”

Jermaine raised his hand; Omi’s shot up a second later.

“I love this enthusiasm!” Salvador shot them both finger guns.

“Great, well, let’s get moving,” Jack said. “I’m ready to sleep in my own bed for once.”

He turned and began walking up the hallway, followed by Raimundo and then Salvador, with the Xiaolin Monks close behind. 

Toshiro began to follow them as well, but Kimiko reached out and grabbed his wrist before he could take more than three steps.

“Kimiko?” he asked, glancing back at her. “What is wrong?”

“You’re not seriously thinking about fighting Wuya, are you?” she replied.

“I was.” He raised his duffle bag. “I have plenty of Shen Gong Wu for us both!”

“Aaaaah!” said the bag.

“I don’t care how many Shen Gong Wu you have! I care about you being safe.” Kimiko tugged at his wrist. 

“I will be all right,” her father said soothingly. 

“No,” she said. “It’s way too dangerous.” 

His smile dimmed. “Kimiko–”

“I can’t let you risk your life like this,” she said. “This doesn’t have to be our fight.”

“Kimiko.” His voice was more serious now. “It will be fine. I can take care of myself.”

“No, you can’t!” Kimiko burst out. “You always say that, but you can’t! I can’t let you get hurt again!”

“Kimiko, stop!”

His shout echoed off the stone walls around them.

She froze, shocked out of her protest. In all her life, her father had never, ever raised his voice at her. Not once.

Toshiro looked almost as surprised as she felt, his eyes wide behind his glasses. But then his expression settled into one of grim determination.

“I know you want to protect me,” he said. “I know that you are still upset about what happened with P-”

“Don’t say his name!” she snapped, and was surprised by the panic clawing at her throat.

“I won’t,” her father said gently, “but, Kimiko, it’s been six years! You need to move on.” He stepped forward and reached up to put a hand on her shoulder. “This is not healthy, and it’s not helping either of us.”

“But,” she said, “I have to-”

“No,” her father said firmly. “You do not ‘have to’ do anything. You are my child, and if anything, it should be my job to protect you! I realize I have done a poor job of that.”

There was a distant shout from above them, and then the tower trembled.

“It sounds like the battle is starting!” her dad said. “We should help them.”

“But-” Kimiko tried to protest.

“ I will be fine, Kimiko.” He squeezed her shoulder. “And afterwards, we’ll have a proper talk about all of this. That is a promise.”

And before she could say or do anything else, he’d pulled out the Monkey Staff, activated it, and had run off on all fours towards the sound of the fight.

What else could she do but follow him?

Wuya wasn’t exactly ready for them when they found her in her throne room, but she wasn’t as caught off guard as Raimundo would have liked. She was able to throw a fireball at Omi before he could get the box open, and then a bunch of rock creatures had showed up, and now it was chaos.

At least she didn’t seem to have the same level of control over the robots as she did with the rock things, because they were just kind of sitting around and watching the fight. With - were those two sharing a bag of popcorn?

He didn’t have time for a second look, because a rock monster was swinging its fist straight at his face.

“Got that thing open yet, kid?” he called over to Omi as he leaned back to avoid the hit.

“I am trying!” Omi snapped back. “It is - ha! - very difficult to open a puzzle box in the midst of battle! Ox Dodging Viper!” He leapt out of the way just as a green ball of fire slammed into the spot where he’d been standing.

“What,” Jack called from where he was doing his best to stay out of range of the battle, “did you lock it when you closed it? I left it open for you!”

“It locked itself!” Omi kicked a rock creature’s grasping hand away from the box and tucked it close to his chest. “It is a magical puzzle box!”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” said Jack.

A screeching blur that was probably Toshiro Tohomiko entered the fray, duffle bag flapping in the wind, and a surly Kimiko followed a few moments later. Somewhere, Rai heard Jermaine shout “Eye of Dashi!” and then a noise that sounded like a rock getting electrocuted. He thought he heard a muffled shout from somewhere else, but he couldn’t make out the words.

“This is quite the scrap, isn’t it?” Salvador said, suddenly appearing at Rai’s elbow. “I haven’t seen a brawl like this since that time in Madrid.”

Rai managed to land a kick hard enough and in just the right spot so that the rock creature attacking him lost its arm, and took advantage of its shifted center of gravity to duck under its other arm and give it a good shove in the small of its back. The thing toppled over and collapsed into a heap of rubble. “Madrid, huh?” he said. “Was that the job with the two chicks and the fake diamond?”

“No,” Sal said, nudging the pile of newly inanimate rocks with the toe of one shoe, “it was the one with that spoiled heiress and-”

“-Oh, right, the watch.”

“Exactly. Speaking of watches, you may wish to watch your six.”

Rai wheeled around and ducked in time to avoid a robot swooping at him - it seemed some of them had decided to join the fight after all. He hit it with a blast of wind that pushed it into the range of the Star Hanabi, which the cowboy was wielding with a laser focus that was kind of lethally impressive. 

“Man,” Rai said, watching the robot go down in a ball of fire, “I miss my sword.”

“You seem to be doing just fine without it!” Sal observed cheerfully.

“Sure,” Rai said, “but it’s just not the same, y’know? I can stand here yelling Wind! all day–” he used the gust that shout had summoned to boost himself up and over the top of the new rock creature lumbering towards him, “but it just doesn’t have the same oomph. Fuck off!” He kicked the monster’s head like his team was tied in the last minute of the World Cup Final. 

The hit connected and successfully separated the monster’s head from its body; the head rolled away and the now-headless body began stumbling around in vain, searching for it. 

Salvador casually stuck a foot out and tripped it, contributing another pile of rubble to the chaos around them. “I’m sure it’s around here somewhere, if you’d like me to look,” he offered.

“Maybe later,” Rai said. He glanced over to Omi, who was still struggling to open the box as he dodged rock monsters and Wuya’s attacks. “One thing at a time, right?”

“Very true.” Sal followed his gaze. “For instance, it seems that now might be a good time for a diversion, yes?”

“Ugh, if we have to. Kid’s gonna owe us big time for this.” Rai ducked out of the way of a stray rock. “Any particular ideas?”

“Oh, yes! I had something in mind I’ve been wanting to try with the Claws.” Sal held a hand out, palm up. “May I?”

Rai handed the Golden Tiger Claws over. “What’re you thinking?”

“Standard divide-and-conquer,” Sal said, sliding the Claws onto his hand, “with a twist. Follow my lead.” He winked at Rai and then leaped forward with a shout of “Golden Tiger Claws!”

He reappeared on the other side of the room and hopped on top of the rock monster that was about to swipe for Omi; it stumbled and missed. A second later, a tiny portal opened above Rai’s head and dropped the Claws in front of him; he caught them more on reflex than anything else.

Oh. So that was the “twist.” 

Yeah, he could play that.

The portal he opened brought him right on top of another rock creature; he vaulted off its back and somersaulted over Sal’s head, tossing the Claws down to him as he did. A moment later the Claws were hurtling back towards him from a different angle.

And so they went, trading the Claws back and forth as they pinballed around the room and generally made nuisances of themselves. He could tell when their tactic started working and Wuya started paying more attention to them than to Omi, because the amount of green fire heading their way suddenly jumped from “a little bit” to “a lot.”

Thing was that Rai’d been good at dodging even before he started training with Chase, and Sal was ridiculously lucky and surprisingly nimble for his age.

“Man,” Rai said loudly, balancing on top of a rock creature’s head like he was riding a surfboard, “you’d think that an ancient master of evil or whatever would have better aim.” He tossed the Claws over his shoulder without watching where they landed.

“Ah, do not be so hard on our friend Wuya, Raimundo!” Sal called as he hopped out of a portal to his left. He passed Rai the Claws and jumped down to the ground. “She is just a bit out of practice.”

“Makes sense,” Rai said. His next portal took him to the other side of the room, where he had a clear view of Wuya standing atop her throne. “I’d be out of practice too if I was stuck in a box for a thousand years.” He said this last part loud enough for his target to hear him clearly.

Wuya, for her part, didn’t seem as pissed off as he’d expected. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration, not fury, and she wasn’t responding to their witty banter. He’d have to try harder.

“What’s the matter, old lady?” he called, cocking a hip. “Up past your bedtime?”

Her eyes flicked to his, and a slow smile curled her lips. That…wasn’t what he’d expected. Instantly on guard, he braced for an attack.

“Oh, forgive my rudeness,” Wuya replied. “I was just trying to remember what it was you said to RJ before.” She tapped a long, sharp nail against her chin. “Now, what was it again?”

“‘Fuck off and die?’” Raimundo suggested, kicking a blade of wind her way.

“Mm, no,” Wuya said, sidestepping the blast. It blew her hair back, but she appeared otherwise unruffled. “I believe it was something along the lines of trying harder to get into your head?”

She snapped her fingers.

Long, thin spears of stone erupted from the ground beneath Salvador, piercing him through from behind.

“Skewered like a kebab!” Sal would probably say, eyes twinkling with morbid humor, except he couldn’t say anything. Because there was a stalactite in his chest. He couldn’t say anything because blood was seeping into his shirt, bubbling up through his lips. He couldn’t say anything because he was– 

Because Wuya had–

The world had gone silent, not because there was no sound but because the ringing in Rai’s ears was drowning everything else out. Someone was probably screaming. Maybe it was even him. His throat was kind of sore.

There was a hand on his shoulder and warm breath near his ear, like someone was speaking to him, but he couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t hear anything. Couldn’t do anything but stare at Sal speared through his chest and his arms and his legs and–

Sal lifted his head.

“Hm,” he said, glancing down at himself. “Now that’s a bit inconvenient.”

Something like relief swept through Raimundo, chased immediately by burning, acidic horror.

“Sal,” he gasped, and took a stumbling step forward on jello-wobbly legs, “Sal, don’t move, I’m gonna. I’m–we have the Claws, there’s got to still be a functional hospital out there somewhere–”

“Ah,” Sal said. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

“Don’t say that!” Rai burst out, panic bolting down his spine and through his gut. “Don’t - you’re going to be okay!”

“Yes,” Sal said calmly - too calmly. “I will be.”

And to Raimundo’s utter horror, he pulled himself forward and off of the spikes.

“Merda!” Rai cursed, lunging towards him. “Merda, merda, não!” because he knew what to do when you get stabbed, okay, and what not to do, and the number one thing you don’t do is take out the thing that stabbed you. That was something he’d learned before Sal, before anything, really, from one of his older cousins giving him a Talk about what to do when someone gets hurt.

You don’t take out the thing that stabbed you, because it’s holding everything in place. You get stabbed by a knife, the knife’s plugging the wound. You take the knife out, there’s nothing to stop you from bleeding out. Like Sal–

Like Sal. Wasn’t. 

Sal was standing on his own, unaided, and still covered in blood but it wasn’t gushing out of him the way it should be. There was still blood around his mouth, on his chest and arms and soaking through his pants, but when he grabbed the hem of his tank top and pulled it out to inspect it, the skin of his stomach visible through the hole in its midsection was whole. Unblemished.

“Drat it,” he heard Sal mutter to himself, “I just washed this shirt.”

“What,” said Rai.

Salvador looked at him, then, and his expression changed to something that looked almost like guilt, except it couldn’t be, because Sal never got guilty or ashamed over anything. “Raimundo,” he said. “I suppose I owe you an explanation.”

“No shit,” said Jack, who was standing to Rai’s left - when did he get there? Had he been there the whole time? It was his hand on Rai’s shoulder. Huh.

Behind Sal, Omi finally got the puzzle box open. It glowed with a brilliant blue light, which surged across the room and wrapped around Wuya - and then. It dissipated. Faded away like nothing had happened.

Wuya tossed her head, shaking her hair out. “Cute,” she said. “I’ll give you five points for effort.”

The ground began to shake. Sal cast a quick glance to Wuya, and then back to Rai.

“I’ll explain everything later,” he said. “That is a promise. But for now, as they say, in for a penny, eh?”

As he turned to face Wuya, his body began to ripple and then to shift, and his torn and bloodied clothes fell apart to shreds as his torso bulged and turned green. Before Rai’s eyes, the man he’d thought he knew better than anyone else dissolved away. In his place stood yet another giant lizard monster with sharp teeth and a long, muscular tail and, inexplicably, his signature mustache still in place.

“Dude,” Jack said, “is everyone you work with a giant lizard?” Then, presumably catching a glimpse of Rai’s expression, he hurriedly added, “Nevermind.”

“He’s in shock,” he heard Sal say. “Get him out of here until he’s in fighting shape.” Then the giant lizard thing wearing his friend’s mustache lunged forward, colliding with a rock monster that Wuya had summoned forth from the ground.

He felt himself being steered this way and that and then he was somewhere that was dark and quiet and not being overrun by rock monsters and robots. Omi was there too, staring balefully at the opened puzzle box in his hand with Jermaine kneeling next to him and Dojo draped around his shoulders.

As the numbness began to wear off, Rai realized that they were in an alcove of sorts, some kind of crevice tucked away from Wuya’s throne room. He could still hear the fighting, but it was muffled. Distant.

“I don’t understand,” Omi was saying. He sounded more subdued than Rai had ever heard him. “I thought it would work.”

“I mean, it looked like it was working,” Jermaine said. 

“It did look that way,” Omi agreed, “but it was not powerful enough. It could not hold her.”

“What exactly did you kids do with it?” Dojo asked. “That didn’t look like Dashi’s magic.”

“I used the Sun Chi Lantern to infuse it with my chi,” Omi said. “I had thought that, as a Shoku Warrior, my chi would be powerful enough to awaken the enchantments within the puzzle box, but it seems that I was mistaken.”

“Ohhhh,” Dojo said. “Yeah, okay. That makes sense.”

Omi blinked. Then he said, “Why does it make sense?”

The little dragon froze. “Um.”

“Dojo,” Jermaine said, “is there something you’re not tellin’ us?”

“No...?” Dojo said.

“What are you not telling us?!” Omi demanded.

“Nothing!” Dojo yelped. “Nothing, it's nothing. Don't worry about it.”

“Dojo.”

“Master Fung moved you up too early!” Dojo blurted, and then immediately slapped his hands over his mouth.

Omi stared at him. “...What?” he asked, voice small. Smaller than before, even.

Dojo just looked back at him, wide-eyed and mortified. 

“What do you mean?” Omi asked, and when Dojo didn't answer right away he leaned forward. “Dojo. What do you mean?”

Reluctantly, Dojo peeled his hands away from his mouth. “You’re not supposed to know this,” he said. “Don’t tell Master Fung I said anything, okay? But you weren't progressing the way elemental Dragons usually do. Your Wudai weapon didn’t work, you needed your elemental Wu just to be able to summon your element, and. Well. You weren't at Shoku level. You weren’t really even performing at Wudai. But…well. It'd been long enough we figured the other elemental dragons weren't gonna show. And Master Fung didn't want you to feel bad about something that wasn't your fault. So…”

“So he promoted me to Shoku level before I was ready,” Omi said. “So that I would not…feel bad.”

Dojo sighed. “Look, kiddo,” he said. “Single elemental Dragons just don’t happen. They always come in teams, because their powers feed each other. You never got that. Honestly, we weren’t sure your powers would ever fully develop. Master Fung didn’t want you to think you were falling behind.”

“But Omi’s not a single Dragon,” Jermaine said. He pointed at Rai. “There’s at least three others, right?”

“Well, yeah, we know that now,” said Dojo. “But we didn’t then. This was months before Wuya got out. And you have to understand, that’s - most elemental Dragons make Shoku within three or four years of starting their training. Omi’d been training for seven. Sixteen, if you count all the years before Master Fung started training his element.” He shrugged. “We could’ve kept waiting for the others to show up, or we could’ve accepted that they weren’t ever gonna show up and moved on. Master Fung thought it was better to move on.”

“Or,” Jermaine said, “he could’ve, y’know, told Omi all this stuff. Ever think of that?”

“I wanted to!” Dojo insisted. “I told the big guy that keeping information from Omi was a bad idea! But, I don’t know. I guess he was trying to protect him.”

Omi stared down at the puzzle box in his hands and said nothing.

On his side of the crevice, Rai huffed out a breath that could’ve been a laugh, or maybe just the ghost of one. “Look at that,” he said. “Guess we have something in common after all.”

“The magic powers weren’t enough?” Jack asked.

Rai waved a hand. “Those don’t count.”

“Powers,” Omi murmured. He looked up from the box. “Our powers feed each other.”

“Yeah,” Dojo said. “So yours weren’t strong enough to charge the box. Sorry, bud.”

“My powers alone weren’t enough,” Omi said. “I am not Grand Master Dashi.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over that, doll,” said Jermaine. “You’re plenty skilled in other ways.”

“No, you misunderstand!” Omi rose to his feet, puzzle box clutched tightly in both hands. “I know what I did wrong!”

“That’s a first,” Rai cracked. He heard Jack try and fail to stifle a snort next to him.

“I alone am not powerful enough to defeat Wuya,” Omi continued as if Rai hadn’t said anything, “but together, with the other elemental Dragons, we can–”

“Hey, wait, no, I’m cutting you off there,” Rai interrupted. “I’m not about to sign on to any ‘magic of friendship’ bullshit here, okay?”

“I am not asking you to,” Omi said. “I know we are not friends.” He held up the puzzle box. “But if the four of us combine our abilities, it may be enough.”

“Enough to save the world?” Rai rolled his eyes.

“Enough to save your companion,” Omi said pointedly. Outside their crevice, they heard the thud of flesh meeting stone.

And sure, Rai might be having a lot of conflicting feelings at the moment, but he couldn’t shake off the lingering image of an impaled Sal. He couldn’t deny that he wanted this whole mess over with.

“...Fine,” he said. “Let’s just make this quick.”

Chapter Text

“So how exactly are we doing this?” Jermaine asked.

The crevice they were tucked into was a hastily-constructed hole in the wall of Wuya’s fortress, a collaboration between Jack Spicer (loaning the Fist of Tebigong) and Clay (combining it with his elemental abilities). Omi wasn’t sure how Wuya hadn’t spied it yet, but from the sound of the shouting outside, she was a bit preoccupied with Salvador Cumo and his newly-revealed abilities. 

“We need Clay,” Omi said, “and Miss Kimiko. If the four of us use the Sun Chi Lantern together, I believe it will be enough to make the puzzle box work properly.”

“Sounds right to me,” Dojo said with a nod. “Not a sure thing or anything, but it’s a solid theory.”

“So you need them over here,” Jermaine said, “without tipping Wuya off. I think I can swing that.” He glanced over at Jack Spicer. “What do you say, Spicer? Want to play hero for a bit?”

“What?!” Spicer blinked back at him, round-eyed behind his flight goggles. “What do you mean, hero?”

“I mean,” Jermaine said, “someone’s gotta keep Wuya busy while the Xiaolin Dragons do their thing.”

“It sounds like Sal’s keeping her pretty busy already,” Jack said. Outside the crevice there was a frustrated shout from Wuya, followed by a monkey’s shriek. “Also Mr. Tohomiko.”

“Sure,” said Jermaine, “but they can’t do it alone. C’mon.” He grabbed Spicer’s wrist and pulled him to his feet, ignoring the former billionaire’s protests as he dragged him out into the fray.

Omi had expected some resistance from Raimundo as well, but the man only watched them go. He’d been unusually withdrawn since Wuya’s vicious attack on Salvador Cumo. It would be concerning, if Omi had much concern to spare for a stranger of little honor who’d done nothing but rebuff his offers of friendship and ally with his enemies.

“Uh,” Dojo piped up from his spot on Omi’s shoulder, “while we wait for the others, I just want to check in. You okay, kiddo?”

“I am fine, Dojo,” Omi said stiffly. 

“You sure? I know it’s gotta be upsetting, finding out that Master Fung, um, didn’t tell you about the–”

“I am fine,” Omi said again, stressing the last word. “I am not upset that the last several years of my life have been built on a lie.”

Dojo winced. “I maybe wouldn’t go that far–”

“It is not important at this moment,” Omi said. “Regardless of how I may feel, we have the fate of the world to attend to. I must put my Xiaolin duties above all else.”

He felt Dojo shift uneasily. “I mean, sure, but you shouldn’t–”

“Hey,” Clay said, sticking his head and shoulders through the gap in the wall. “Jermaine said y’all need some help in here?”

“Yes!” Omi sat up straight abruptly. He felt Dojo topple from his shoulder with a yelp. “Come quickly! There is very little time to be lost!”

“What’s this all about?” Kimiko asked, her scowling face appearing behind Clay as the cowboy crawled into the little alcove. “Shouldn’t we be fighting out there instead of hiding in here?”

“This is the fight.” Omi reached into his robes and withdrew the Sun Chi Lantern. He placed it on the floor beside the empty puzzle box. “It will only take a moment.”

Kimiko frowned down at the Lantern as she scooted inside to kneel next to Clay. “Didn’t you already try this? It didn’t work.”

“Correct,” Omi said with a nod. “It did not work, because I tried to imbue the puzzle box with the power of one Shoku Warrior. What I should have done was to imbue it with the power of four elemental Dragons.”

“What, us?” Kimiko said blankly.

“Er,” Clay said, “not to disparage your idea or anythin’, but how do you reckon the four of us will be any stronger? We ain’t near as powerful as you are, Omi. We haven’t been trainin’ as long as you have, or using our powers.”

“That does not matter.” Omi knelt before the Lantern, placing his hands on his knees. “Elemental Dragons are stronger together. Our powers feed each other. And my power alone is not as strong as I had thought.” He glanced up at the others, looking first to Raimundo and then to Kimiko. “I know that you do not wish to join the Xiaolin Temple. We may never become the team we were destined to be. But I believe that if we combine our powers just this once, we can end Wuya’s reign of terror before it truly begins.”

“So,” Raimundo said, speaking up for the first time since Jack had left, “if we do this for you, that’s it? You’ll stop trying to recruit me into your little kung-fu cult?”

Though it pained him, Omi nodded. “Yes,” he said quietly. “If you help me to defeat Wuya, I will leave you be. Both of you. You have already chosen your paths, and I cannot divert you from them.”

“Finally, he gets a clue,” Raimundo said.

Kimiko studied Omi’s face silently and said nothing.

“Is this really the only way to do this?” Clay asked, gesturing to the Sun Chi Lantern. “Just, since it didn’t work before…”

“It is the only way available to us at the moment,” Omi said. He had read about various fighting moves and formations that allowed elemental Xiaolin Dragons to share their energy and boost their abilities, but they all required the participants to be at the same or similar skill level. While he may not have been a true Shoku Warrior, he was surely much more skilled than the others. It was unlikely that attempting something such as the Dragon X Kumei Formation would prove successful.

Besides, it required one of the participants to perform a handstand. They simply did not have the time or space needed to practice it.

“Right,” said Clay. “Well. I reckon it’s worth a shot. How’re we doin’ this?”

“Place one hand on the Sun Chi Lantern,” Omi said, doing so, “and the other on the puzzle box.”

Clay followed suit without hesitation, but Raimundo leaned forward, narrowing his eyes.

“Sounds an awful lot like you’re trying to trick us into a Showdown,” he said. “Nice try, kid. I don’t even have any Wu on me.”

“No Showdown,” Omi promised. “As long as we are not contesting ownership of the Shen Gong Wu, we can touch it without consequence. You see?” He nodded to the Sun Chi Lantern, which sat inert beneath his and Clay’s hands.

Kimiko gingerly reached out to the lantern, relaxing slightly when it did not begin to glow at her touch. After a moment, Raimundo relented and joined them. Their four hands overlapped on the puzzle box; Clay’s was atop Omi’s and engulfed it entirely.

“Now what?” Kimiko asked.

“I will activate the Shen Gong Wu,” Omi said, careful not to say the name and activate it too soon. “It will merge our chi together, and then we must channel it into the box.”

“And how the hell do we do that?” Raimundo raised an eyebrow at him.

“Er.” Omi frowned. “What do you mean? You direct your chi to the box. It’s quite simple.”

“I have no idea what that means,” said Raimundo.

“Yeah, uh, what?” Kimiko shook her head. “What, do we just…think about it really hard?”

“Pretty much,” Clay said with a shrug. “I’m still gettin’ the hang of this Xiaolin hoop n’ holler myself, but best I can tell, channelin’ your chi is all about focus. Like meditation.”

“Exactly!” Omi nodded vigorously. “You are an excellent student, Clay!”

Clay’s mustache curled up in what Omi was coming to recognize as a bashful smile.

“Ew, I hate meditation,” Raimundo muttered. “It’s boring as hell. You just sit there and think about nothing.”

Omi wished dearly to correct him and instruct him on the proper technique for meditation, as Chase Young had most certainly misled him badly for Raimundo to think of it as boring. But they had more pressing matters at hand.

“Let us begin,” he said. “Sun Chi Lantern!”

The lantern began to glow with a brilliant light, illuminating the four of them. They all began to glow as well, and the light within the lantern’s chamber pulsed and swirled.

When his chi blended with the others, it was like nothing he’d ever felt before.

It was the first sip of water after an hour of training outside. It was a breeze cutting through a heavy summer’s afternoon. It was the solid ground beneath his feet when he hopped off of Dojo after a long flight. It was the warmth of the temple kitchen in the dead of winter.

It was a bone-deep feeling, not of happiness or excitement, but rightness. A sense of “Yes, this is correct. This is as it should be.”

He’d been sleepwalking for years, and only now was he waking up for the first time.

The others seemed similarly startled by the feeling. Raimundo’s eyes were wide. Kimiko’s mouth was slightly agape. Clay’s hands were trembling, though he kept them firmly in place.

When Omi had transferred his chi to the puzzle box before, it had taken a good amount of effort and concentration. With three other people aiding him and their chi resonating in his core it felt as simple as pouring a cup of tea for Master Fung. The light of their chi, threaded through with streaks of different colors, flowed down their arms and through their hands. The box soaked it up like a sponge.

When the lantern’s light faded, Omi was surprised to find tears in his eyes.

Resolutely, he avoided looking the other Dragons in the eye and instead stood up, clutching the puzzle box to his chest.

“Did it work?” Clay asked. His voice was soft, almost raspy, as if his mouth were dry.

Omi looked down at the box in his hands. When he had infused it with his chi the first time, he’d barely been able to feel the energy contained within; it had been faint, but it had been there. Now? Now, the box practically vibrated in his hands. If he looked closely enough he could see glowing sparks of gold in the grain of the ancient wood.

“Yes,” he said with absolute surety. “It worked.”

“Viper Striking Rat!”

Maybe it was all the training, maybe it was some kind of Xiaolin martial arts magic, or maybe Jermaine’s hands had just gone numb from all the fighting, but when his fist struck the rock creature bearing down on him, it didn’t hurt. Not even a little.

It didn’t seem to hurt the rock creature much either, but hey. Progress was progress, right?

“Heads up, kid!”

Jermaine ducked just as a green blur hurtled over his head and tackled the rock creature to the ground.

“Thanks,” he said, straightening up. The Komodo dragon that he was still struggling to remember was Salvador Cumo turned and bared his teeth in what was probably supposed to be a friendly grin. The weird-looking amulet around his neck swung back and forth.

“No problem at all, my young friend! It has been quite some time since I was able to let loose in a fight like this.” His grin turned slightly feral. “I’d forgotten how much fun it could be.”

“Aha…yeah.” Jermaine returned his smile weakly. Man, the guy kinda skeeved him out. Had even before he turned into a lizard. Weird vibes. Probably due to the whole “internationally wanted master thief” thing.

The room around them was a chaotic mess of lumbering rock creatures, flying robots, and the occasional ball of green fire. Wuya stood in front of her half-destroyed throne, conducting her rock creatures with one hand and summoning bursts of flame with the other.

“How much longer do you think they’re gonna take in there?” Jack Spicer asked, floating through the air backward as he jabbed at a rock creature with the Fist of Tebigong.

“Dunno.” Jermaine tried really hard not to look towards the spot in the wall where Omi and the others were hiding. They’d done their best to disguise it with some rocks and the Shroud of Shadows, but he still couldn’t give the spot away. If Wuya found them before they were ready, it’d all be over.

“I’m sure it won’t be much longer,” Salvador said brightly. “I know they’d hate to miss out on all this fun!”

A rock creature barrelled into him, slamming him to the ground.

“Yeah,” Jermaine said, watching him go. “Fun.”

The rock creature had pinned Salvador to the floor, one massive hand clamped around each of his forearms. The Komodo-formed criminal didn’t seem overly bothered. He just looked up at the monster with one scaly brow raised. 

“Now, this is quite forward,” he said. “I hardly know you. Are you certain you would not like to buy me dinner first?”

“Stop flirting with my rock creatures, you miserable reptile!” Wuya called over to him.

The rock creature roared in Salvador’s face. He didn’t so much as blink.

“I thought you might say that,” he said to it. “Shame.”

And he rolled away - well, most of him did. His arms remained pinned to the ground, but they were no longer attached to his body. He’d already grown new ones by the time the rock creature had realized he was gone, and Jack Spicer reduced it to rubble immediately after.

Jermaine made a face at the discarded limbs on the ground. “I wish you’d quit doing that. Your body parts are all over the place.” 

“Ah, but they’ve been quite useful. They make excellent improvised weapons, you know!”

With a shriek, Toshiro Tohomiko charged towards Wuya in monkey form, double-wielding two more of Salvador’s discarded forelegs. The enhanced strength and reflexes granted to him by the Monkey Staff, along with the solid muscle of Salvador’s limbs and the long, sharp claws on their toes, made for two admittedly intimidating melee weapons. Wuya had to shift all her attention to Toshiro, leaping out of his way as he swung the severed arms at her.

“You could say,” Salvador said, “that they’ve really come in hand- y!”

“Yeah,” Jermaine said, “that wasn’t funny the first six times you said it either. Eye of Dashi!” He blasted a smaller rock creature to bits as it charged for his legs.

“I don’t know,” said Spicer, “it was a little funny.”

“Don’t encourage him, man.”

“What? So I like a good pun.” Jack folded his arms as he spun slowly in the air. “I didn’t realize that having a sense of humor was a crime now.”

“I wouldn’t call it a good pun -” Jermaine had to cut himself off to dodge a blast from a Jackbot, one of the few still remaining in the fight. They were annoying to deal with since they all had those weird lightning rod things that let them absorb electricity; he couldn’t use the Eye of Dashi on them. He scrambled over piles of rubble and discarded pieces of lizard, dodging laser fire as the bot chased him around the room.

“Star Hanabi!”

The robot crashed to the ground in a plume of flame, its last volley of laser fire going wide.

“Thanks,” Jermaine said to Clay, who tipped his hat in response. “You get it working?”

“That’s what Omi thinks,” said Clay. “It’s all up to him now.”

It took a second for Jermine to spot Omi - the younger monk could be really sneaky when the situation called for it, and it was only the last few months of training experience that led Jermaine to spy him skulking around the shadowed edges of the room. His dark robes helped him blend with the shadows, and he moved slowly and carefully, eyes fixed on Wuya.

Jermaine turned his own attention to Wuya. She was pretty distracted at the moment, but she was moving around so much and there were so many projectiles flying around the room that there was no way Omi was going to be able to get a clear shot. 

Assuming the puzzle box worked now, but Jermaine was sure it did. If Omi thought it was fixed, it had to be fixed.

Omi needed a clear shot. Which meant Wuya needed to stop moving.

Jermaine had a few ideas of how he could make that happen. They were just…all the kind of idea that would get him grounded for like, a year if his moms ever found out he did them.

But hey, the fate of the world was at stake. And his moms didn’t need to know.

So Jermaine jumped towards Wuya and grabbed her - around the waist, like a gentleman - and held on as tight as he could, and he didn’t shout “Now!” or anything like that because he couldn’t risk tipping her off to the puzzle box, so he just had to hope that Omi took it as the cue that it was–

Wuya snarled, grabbing hold of his left arm. Her nails were so sharp he could feel them through his sleeve, digging into the skin beneath. “Foolish child,” she hissed in his ear. “As if a whelp like you stood a chance against me. I am the most powerful being in the world! ” 

On that last word she flung him off of her, slinging him by the arm with such force that he felt the socket pop. He sailed through the air and landed hard on the ground, shoulder smarting badly. Grimacing against the ache, he looked up.

A beam of brilliant golden light slammed into Wuya with a force that sent her stumbling back.

Omi was clinging to the puzzle box, which was wide open. Four streams of gold light were emanating from it, wrapped around Wuya. Their ends were oddly shaped, wider and with tendrils coming off of them…

Hands, Jermaine realized. It looked like four hands grabbing Wuya around her arms and waist. 

“No!” Wuya shrieked, thrashing in the grip of the puzzle box. “Impossible! You don’t possess this kind of power!”

Omi, for his part, looked just as shocked as Wuya. His grip on the puzzle box was white-knuckled, and Jermaine was reminded of videos he’d seen of fishermen trying to reel in a shark.

“You pathetic fool! You have no chance of imprisoning me! Not again!” Wuya yanked one arm free, and Omi stumbled.

He couldn’t reel her in alone. He needed backup, and he needed it fast.

Jermaine tried to push himself up off the ground, but pain lanced up his left shoulder and he yelped, dropping down.

As he looked back up, Clay stepped up to Omi’s side and put one gloved hand over Omi’s own, bracing it. Kimiko and Raimundo were on Omi’s other side, pressing up against him, helping him hold the box still. 

Together, the four of them faced Wuya down.

It seemed to Jermaine that the light grew brighter. Stronger. It began to recede into the box, pulling Wuya with it.

“No!” she wailed, her voice growing raspier as she drew closer to the box. “No! NO! Not again!”

The light engulfed her, and she shrank with it. She faded into a spirit once more, the wooden mask reappearing on her face.

And then the box snapped shut and she was gone.

Omi hadn’t needed his help at all.

There was a long moment of stillness as they all stared at the box, half-expecting Wuya to pop right back out of it. But she didn’t.

“Well!” Salvador Cumo said in a bright tone. “That was easy!”

The tower began to shake under their feet.

“Thanks, Sal,” Raimundo said flatly. “Thanks for that.”

Cracks began forming in the rock around them, and little pebbles fell from above. Jermaine tried harder to get up and managed to pull himself into a sitting position.

“Jermaine!”

Omi was suddenly next to him, brow furrowed and eyes wide with concern. “What is wrong?! Are you injured?”

“Think my shoulder's busted,” Jermaine said. “It’s no big, I can still walk.” He didn’t think it was broken, but it hurt like a word his moms didn’t allow him to say.

The floor rumbled ominously.

“Uh,” Jack Spicer said from overhead, “I don’t think we can just walk out of here. This thing’s coming down fast.”

“How is it coming down?” Kimiko asked. “It’s solid rock!”

“Wuya created it from magic, and her magic sustained it,” Omi said. “And now that she is gone-”

“-This thing’s more rickety than a mine cart made of used toothpicks,” Clay finished. 

“Yes,” Omi agreed, though a note of confusion colored his tone.

“Ew, now I’m thinking about Wuya’s teeth.” Spicer pulled a face.

With a loud crack! the tower split open, the roof crumbling away. Jermaine shouted in surprise as the floor fell out from beneath him. For one brief, heartstopping moment, he was suspended in midair with nothing below his feet.

Then he plopped onto a broad, scaly green back, and Omi wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him in place. He’d landed between Omi and Clay; he grabbed for the back of Clay’s shirt and held on tight with his good arm as Dojo twisted and shimmied through falling boulders and collapsing sheets of stone. He could see Jack Spicer keeping pace with them in the Jetbootsu, towing Raimundo along with one arm clamped tightly around his wrist.

Jermaine squeezed his eyes shut, because if they were all going to get squished by giant flying rocks he really didn’t want to see it. But no impact came, no sudden jolt of gravity, and when he felt Dojo’s flight evening out he dared to open his eyes.

Dojo’d broken free of the collapsing tower and was sailing towards the nearby cliff, which still bore the scars from their earlier battle. He spiraled down smoothly and landed on top of the cliff.

Toshiro Tohomiko, in his Longi Kite flying monkey form, touched down next to them with Kimiko dangling from his forearms, and Jack Spicer set Raimundo down on the dead, gray grass as Salvador Cumo hopped out of a portal and shifted back to human form midway through.

They all watched together as Wuya’s fortress crumbled, as a shockwave of magic pulsed from it and man, Jermaine felt it in his teeth as it washed over them. It was a brief and deep sense of wrongness and then a sense that all was as it should be. 

Every dead blade of grass around them was suddenly green again, and the lighthouse once again stood tall, shining new in the morning sun.

Chapter Text

The sun was bright in Raimundo’s eyes after hours of darkness. He had to squint to see what remained of Wuya’s fortress - which was nothing now. Just a pile of rocks and the lighthouse, which looked good as new. Better than new, even.

“Wow,” he heard Dojo say.

“You said it,” the cowboy agreed.

Toshiro Tohomiko let out a whoop of victory, and that broke whatever spell was keeping them all silent. Sal clapped Rai on the back and Kimiko Tohomiko hugged her dad tight. 

Over by Dojo, he saw Omi pick Jermaine up by the waist and spin him around. “We have defeated Wuya!” the monk crowed. “We are the greatest Dragons-in-Training to have ever lived! Even Dashi could not defeat her at our level!”

“Watch his arm, Omi,” said the cowboy.

“Oh!” Omi set the other boy down instantly and hopped back, wringing his hands. “I am sorry, Jermaine! I did not wish to cause you further injury!”

“I’m fine,” Jermaine said; Rai could hear the blush in his voice from where he was standing. “It doesn’t hurt that bad. I don’t think it’s broken.”

“Let me check it out,” said Dojo, shrinking down to his smaller size. He hopped onto Jermaine’s uninjured arm and began inspecting him closely.

Rai still wasn’t entirely sure how they’d pulled it off, but they’d done it. They’d saved the world. Somehow.

And he and Sal needed to have a Talk.

But not here. Not now. He couldn’t show any weakness in front of his enemies and rivals, and if he blurted out any of the million thoughts running through his head at the moment, it’d break the image of him and Sal as a united front. Couldn’t do that. He had to keep playing nonchalant until they were alone.

So he pushed his mouth up into an easy smile and slung an arm around Jack Spicer’s shoulders and said, “Check out this guy, comin’ in clutch with the Jetbootsu! Thanks for the lift, man.”

Spicer didn’t say anything, just stayed frozen in place with eyes wide and fixed on the restored lighthouse.

“Spicer?” Rai asked. “Jack? You with me, dude?” He poked his shoulder with his free hand.

Jack jumped and looked up at him, eyes still wide. Then he twisted around and surged up, grabbed Rai’s face in both hands and-

Oh. Wow. Okay. Spicer was kissing him.

It’s not like this was totally unexpected – Rai’d only been flirting with the guy for months – but he’d just kind of assumed that whenever they got to the kissing stage, he’d have to be the one to initiate. For all his brilliance and determination, Spicer wasn’t exactly what he’d call a Casanova.

The kiss was chaste, closed-mouth, and it had been entirely unplanned. That was what Rai surmised, anyway, considering that Jack’s face was pretty much an exact color match to a freshly boiled lobster when he pulled away.

“Sorry!” Jack said - blurted, really. “S-sorry, I don’t know what came over me. Just - haha! - caught up in the moment I guess. Don’t worry about it, won’t happen again, I prom-”

That seemed like a good place to cut him off with another kiss, so Rai did.

This time it was slower, more deliberate. Jack stiffened against him in surprise for a second, and then relaxed once he realized what was happening. It was a few seconds later that Rai felt Jack’s arms come up to loop around his neck, pulling himself a little harder into the kiss.

“Huh,” he heard Jermaine say. “When’d that happen?”

“I literally could not care less,” Kimiko answered.

Jack was still bright red the second time Rai broke the kiss, and it seemingly took him a second to realize that his arms were around Rai’s shoulders. When he noticed, he let go immediately, but he didn’t move away. Rai just smirked at him.

“Wow,” Jack said. “Huh. Okay.”

Rai raised an eyebrow at him. “‘Wow?’ It was that good, huh?”

“Shut up!” Face flushing deeper, Jack thumped a halfhearted fist against Rai’s chest. “That’s not what I meant! I wasn’t expecting you to kiss back, is all. I mean, I wasn’t expecting me to kiss you in the first place! I don’t know where that came from.”

“Adrenaline,” Rai said sagely. “Hell of a drug.”

He felt himself smiling – a real one, not part of his forced cheer. Which, actually, he didn’t have to force it in this moment. Something about Jack pulled genuine feelings out of him, made him feel calm and happy in a way most people didn’t. Most people tended to fall under one of two categories: threats or marks. Sal’d always been an exception.

He was starting to think that Jack might be another one.

“Special delivery!” Sal sang out suddenly from behind them, which made Jack shriek with surprise and flinch right back into Rai’s arms. Sal’d probably planned it that way, because he liked to think of himself as an excellent wingman.

He was. Maybe about sixty percent of the time.

“Here,” Sal said, stepping up beside them and plopping something into the limited space between them. “I believe these are yours, Señor Spicer.”

Rai leaned back a little and peered down to see whatever it was Sal had wedged between them, and the Changing Chopsticks and Lotus Twister stared back up at him. Not literally, obviously. They didn’t have eyes.

“Oh,” Jack said, and then, “Um. Thanks?” He stepped away from Raimundo and caught the Shen Gong Wu as they began to fall.

“Where’d you get those?” Rai asked, turning his head to look at Sal.

“At the base of the lighthouse!” Sal chirped. “It seems that all of the Shen Gong Wu in Wuya’s possession appeared there when it re-formed itself. And on that subject!” With a flourish, he produced the Sword of the Storm seemingly from nowhere and presented it to Rai.

Rai reached out and wrapped his hand around the hilt - and it was like the Sword hummed, in a way it never had before. That was weird as hell, but he could unpack that later. 

He looked up to thank Sal, but the guy had already flitted away to offer the Orb of Tornami to an ecstatic Omi. Great. He was avoiding Rai. Probably trying to delay the uncomfortable conversation they both knew they had to have.

“So, um,” said Jack, and when Rai looked at him he was fiddling with the Chopsticks, staring down at them like they were the world’s most engaging fidget toy. “Should we – do we need to talk about whatever that was?”

“What, Sal?” Rai asked. “Or the kiss?”

The Changing Chopsticks seemed to become even more interesting to Jack. “The second one,” he said.

Rai shrugged. “I mean,” he said, “if you feel like it’s something you want to talk about, sure. But we don’t have to make a big deal about it. Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss.”

Jack’s shoulders lost a bit of their tension, but he didn’t look up from the Chopsticks. “Oh,” he said in a carefully neutral tone.

“But,” Rai added, “if you want it to be more than that, we could-”

An indignant shout echoed across the clifftop. “Who said that you could take the Serpent’s Tail?!”

Rai glanced over to see an irate Omi, Orb of Tornami in hand, scowling at Sal. Jermaine had a hand on Omi’s shoulder as if to hold him back, but he and the cowboy had matching frowns on their faces that didn’t bode well for whatever argument Sal was trying to make.

He was moving towards them before he even realized it, drawn to be Sal’s backup the way a rusty nail is drawn to a magnet.

“Consider it my payment,” Sal was saying as he approached, “for graciously returning your Shen Gong Wu to you. Delivery doesn’t come cheap these days, you know.”

“We can’t just let you take it, man,” Jermaine said. His tone was remarkably chill compared to Omi, who looked like a teapot about to whistle. 

“Yeah, I reckon that Wu’s pretty dangerous in the wrong hands,” said the cowboy.

Sal put on a wounded expression and turned his hands palm up, spreading his fingers wide. “I assure you,” he said, “these hands intend no ill will! Besides, the threat has passed, has it not? You’ve got Wuya well contained within that box of yours.”

Omi and Jermaine both looked to the cowboy, who nodded and raised his hands. He was holding the box tightly, as if Wuya were an angry hornet he’d trapped inside a plastic cup.

“Anyway,” Jack piped up - had he followed Raimundo over? - “you’d need the Reversing Mirror to do anything weird with the Tail, and it shattered when she got all fleshy.”

“Did you have to say it like that?” Dojo whined.

“I could say it worse.”

“Don't,” said the cowboy.

Omi continued to eye Sal with deep suspicion, but after a long moment he gave a short, sharp nod. “Very well,” he allowed. “I suppose there is no harm in allowing you to keep the Serpent's Tail. But I shall be watching you most closely, Salvador Cumo.”

“As well you should,” Sal said breezily, like it was an acknowledgement and not a threat. Maybe it wasn't actually a threat. It could be hard to tell with him.

“Are we done here?” Rai asked. “I think I've had enough fun to last me the next three decades.”

“Yeah,” Jack added, “I’m all funned out.”

“Of course, gentlemen, of course.” Sal tapped the end of the Golden Tiger Claws against his forehead as a salute to the Xiaolin Warriors. “Until we meet again, my friends! I’m certain our paths shall cross before too long.”

Once the portal had dropped them back into the old factory-turned-safehouse, Rai whirled on Sal.

“No more fucking around,” he said in Portuguese. “I don’t want this conversation any more than you do, but you’re going to tell me everything, now.”

“I know you’re angry,” Sal replied, also in Portuguese, “but aren’t you tired from the battle? You should rest. The conversation can wait.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Salvador!” Raimundo roared. The Sword of the Storm was still in his hand and he thrust it forward, accusingly, like a pointed finger.

“Um,” he heard Jack say in English. “I’m just gonna. Go work on. Yeah.” The sound of hurried footsteps pattered off into the depths of the factory. Rai didn’t take his eyes off of Sal.

Salvador Cumo. His mentor. His partner. His closest ally. The guy who’d been stuck like glue to his side since Raimundo’s ill-advised attempt to rob him on the beach in Rio. The man who’d showed him the world, taken him to places Rai’d never dreamed he’d see with his own eyes. The person who taught him to lie, to steal, to pick people apart and find what made them tick. The one who’d stayed by him no matter how bad things got, who’d kept vigil by his hospital bed in Singapore, who’d given him tips on flirting and taught him how to shave and never, ever forgot his birthday even when they hadn’t seen a calendar in weeks.

Was it the same person standing in front of him now? How much of it had been a lie?

“I will explain, Raimundo,” Sal said softly, like he knew what Rai was thinking. And of course he did. He was a master of reading people, and he knew Raimundo better than Rai knew himself. Rai didn’t have to tell him how hurt, or scared, or angry he was. He knew Sal could read it all.

“Okay,” he said, lowering the Sword. “Explain. Give me the abridged version.”

“I possess an enchanted amulet that grants me magic powers,” Sal said.

Rai frowned at him. “...Less abridged than that. Come on, man.”

“How abridged do you want it? It is not the sort of thing that can be summed up concisely.”

“I mean, like, what the hell sort of powers? Have you had them the whole time?”

“Yes,” Sal said. “Well. The whole time I have known you, certainly.”

“And before that?”

Sal hummed, tapping a finger against his chin. Then he said, “About forty years, give or take.”

“What, since you were a kid?”

“Oh! Oh, no, not at all.” For as long as Rai’d known him, Sal had worn some kind of large, heavy necklace hidden underneath his shirt. Sal had never said anything about it, and Rai hadn’t pushed. So he couldn’t stop his eyes from widening when Sal reached under his shirt and pulled the thing out.

It was a large, round pendant about the size of Rai’s hand, resembling a reptilian green eye with a slit pupil. The setting was golden - whether it was real gold or just brass, Rai couldn’t say - and it sparkled in the factory’s light when Sal held it up. “The Jitsusara Amulet,” he said, “grants its wearer the ability to regenerate lost body parts and, by extension, heal from nearly any injury. And as a side effect, I do not age.”

Rai blinked. “It makes you immortal?”

“Conditionally, yes. I do not believe I would survive a decapitation or a fatal blow to the heart. But most other injuries do not trouble me so long as I wear it.”

Rai put a hand to his forehead, mentally reeling. Immortal? Sal was immortal? He’d always assumed that the guy was, well, not young, but like…middle aged? In his 40s, maybe. “So how old are you, then?”

“Ah. I am not sure, actually. I stopped counting some time in the 1990s.” Sal tapped his chin again. “Somewhere between 75 and 90. Probably.”

Rai pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. Well, okay, it could be worse. He’d been bracing himself for Sal to say he’d been around since, like, dinosaur times or something. Still, the guy was old enough to be his grandfather. “Is that how you know Chase? What, is there some kind of social club for immortal freaks who can turn into giant reptiles?”

“Rather the opposite,” Sal answered. “I found the Jitsusara Amulet off of a tip from Chase Young. He used to be my employer, you know.”

“No, I don’t know,” Rai snapped. “I don’t know anything, apparently! You’ve been keeping me in the dark about all this shit!”

Sal had the nerve to look wounded at that, but he bowed his head in acquiescence. “I have,” he admitted, “but that time is over now. I have no more secrets to keep from you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” Rai demanded. “Were you worried I’d run screaming in the other direction? Were you trying to keep me ignorant so your buddy Chase could - could fucking use me like a tool?”

Two hands grasped his shoulders in a firm, solid grip, and when he looked up, Salvador leaned over him, his face more serious than Rai could ever remember seeing it (except at the hospital in Singapore, maybe) and his eyes bright with what Rai told himself couldn’t possibly be tears.

“Never,” he said vehemently. “Never, Raimundo, do you understand? I have made my career out of manipulation and honeyed words. I am a master of telling people what they want to hear, but it was never my intention to do so with you.”

“You really think I’ll buy that shit? I know you better, Sal. You’ve never done a single selfless thing in your life. There’s always something in it for you.”

Sal closed his eyes and said nothing for a long moment, which was how Raimundo knew he’d touched a nerve - or hit on the truth. He took a deep breath in through his nose, exhaled through his mouth, and then opened his eyes. They were dark, solemn. Rai could almost see his reflection in them.

“It’s true,” Sal admitted quietly, “that my intentions in taking you in were not wholly altruistic. But only to the point that I saw the value in a traveling companion. I saw that you had considerable talent and potential, and felt it would be a foolish decision to pass up the opportunity to make you my ally. But I swear to you, I promise, that my designs ended there. It was never my plan to lead you down a path of darkness. I,” he faltered a little here, and then took another breath. “I see a lot of myself in you, Rai. I have never made a secret of that. And I saw that you were heading down the same dark path that I followed as a young man. It seemed like such a waste.”

“So you roped me into a life of crime,” Rai said.

“I never claimed to be a good person,” said Sal. “I simply wanted to provide you with the opportunity to choose your own path. I didn’t want your decisions to be influenced by thoughts of good or evil.” He reached a hand up to his amulet, stroking over the polished surface with his thumb. “I chose not to tell you about my powers because I did not want to tempt you into seeking dark magic as a solution to your problems. I did not want you to repeat my mistakes.”

“So you just didn’t tell me anything,” Rai snapped. “You let Chase play me like a chump because you were, what, trying to ‘protect’ me? Great job, Sal. A-fucking-plus.”

“It was not my intention to mislead you-” Sal tried.

“A lie of omission is still a lie, Sal!” Rai shouted. “You know that better than anyone. Hell, you practically invented it! And you - you fuckin’, kept me in the dark for years, you let me worry about you whenever we got into fights–” He cut off, mouth gone dry. A memory’d surfaced of Sal waving a flippant hand, backlit by harsh hospital lights.

“Don’t worry about me. Their aim was terrible.”

“Holy fuck,” he said, “You did get shot in Singapore!”

“Raimundo–”

“You told me they’d missed, but–” Rai shook his head. “I don’t believe this. You could’ve died. We could’ve both died. It’s a miracle I didn’t get hurt worse.”

And that - something crossed Sal’s face at those words, a shadow of something dark and foreboding. There was guilt in those eyes, but when Rai looked a little closer it almost looked like fear.

It looked like a flinch. Like he’d brushed up against a tender spot, an old bruise.

“Oh,” he said. For a moment, his anger was gone. “It was worse. T-the doctors -” he stumbled on the words, “they said it was gonna take way longer to heal than it did, the scar’s way cleaner than anyone thought it’d be - that was you. You–” the anger was coming back now, “you put that thing on me, didn’t you?! What, am I cursed now? Am I gonna turn into a lizard, too?”

“No,” Sal said, “no, Raimundo, it doesn’t work like that, I only gave it to you long enough to stop the bleeding–”

“You used fucking magic on me and you were just gonna pretend like nothing happened?! Were you even gonna say anything-?”

“You were going to die!”

The shout shoved Raimundo out of his interrogation and he stared at Sal, whose chest was heaving with heavy breaths. His tongue - forked, like a lizard’s - flickered out from between his lips and darted back in. 

He’d never done that before, not that Rai could remember. Was that normal for him? Or was he just forgetting not to be a lizard right now because he was upset?

“You,” Sal said, and stopped. Took a breath. Started again. “When they shot you, it hit an artery. You were bleeding out. I didn’t - I couldn’t do anything to stop it. Only this.” He gestured to the amulet around his neck.

Rai swallowed dryly and tried to moisten his lips.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Sal said quietly. “It was a desperate gamble. I only kept the amulet on you for as long as it took to be certain you would recover, and that was all. If there is some dark price to pay for using its powers, I doubt you should ever need to pay it.”

“Like that makes it okay,” Rai muttered.

“It does not,” Sal agreed. “But I hope you can understand why I did it.” He took a breath. “I am not used to having someone I can rely on, not the way I do with you. I have…never had that, not that I can remember. Even when I had a family, they relied on me.”

Rai didn’t say anything, though some part of him stood to attention at the last sentence. Sal had never mentioned his family before. Not once.

“I confess,” Sal continued, “that trust does not come easily to me, and I am not used to being on equal ground with another. I am not used to this…” he gestured vaguely with one hand, “this vulnerability. When you got hurt…I have never felt fear like that in all my many years.” He dropped his hand, let it fall to the side. “None of this excuses my actions, but I hope you understand them a little bit more.”

He could, was the thing. He could hear and see how earnest Sal was being, knew that he meant every word. He could hear the desperation, the pleading tone in the other’s voice. 

But that was the key with Sal. He was always genuine. His manipulations and machinations were as effective as they were because they came from real feelings, real emotions.

The tricky part was that Sal could care genuinely about someone, genuinely like them as a friend, and then turn around and stab them in the back anyway. He was really, really good at compartmentalizing.

Rai wasn’t stupid enough to think he was an exception to the rule.

“I have grown to care deeply for you, Raimundo,” Sal said. “I know it’s not our way to say these things aloud, but I feel it needs to be said. I am immensely proud of the man you’ve grown into these last three years.”

Rai flinched and held a hand up to stop him before he got any sappier. “Don’t,” he said. “Just. Not right now, okay? I’m not. I don’t. I…I need some space.”

And as he said it, everything snapped into perfect, crystal clarity. 

He couldn’t be around Sal like this. Not when he was doubting his every word, his every action. Not when he felt the need to study everything Sal did with a magnifying glass, scouring for ulterior motives.

“I need space,” he said again. “I. I think I gotta run on my own for a while.”

He glanced at Sal, expecting to see sorrow or anger in his expression, but all he saw was calm, placid acceptance. Somehow, that hurt more.

“Not forever,” he added. “I just. I need some time to think.”

“I understand,” Sal said gently. “Perhaps it would do us both good to spend some time apart.”

“Yeah.” Rai wrapped his arms around himself, still clutching the Sword of the Storm. “...Yeah. Maybe it will.”

“Uh. Hey. You guys good over here?”

And man, Rai had to be more upset about this whole situation than he’d realized, because he hadn’t heard or noticed Jack Spicer until the guy spoke. At least Sal looked just as startled. 

Ha. Imagine that. Salvador Cumo, caught off guard.

“Yes, Jack,” Sal said in English. “We were just finishing up our discussion. I believe we’ve come to an understanding.”

Rai nodded. Then, not quite looking Jack in the eye, he said, “You mind if I keep crashing here for a bit?”

Jack blinked, confused. “No? I mean, this is still technically your guys’ place. I was just gonna stay here until I figure out what the hell’s going on with my company and all my assets.”

“Ah, you can stay as long as you wish,” Sal said with a wave of his hand.

“You mean it?” Jack asked, brightening up a little. “I’ve got some more ideas for improvements, and Rai said you didn’t mind me fixing it up.”

“By all means!” Sal’s smile was a little too warm, his eyes a little too bright. “This place is already looking much livelier since you moved in, and it has not even been a week! I am certain you’ll make it something truly special.”

“I don’t know about that,” Jack said, “but at least it’ll be habitable. Maybe I can even aim for ‘comfy.’”

“I could live with ‘comfy,’” Rai said. He must not have managed to inject the right amount of cheer into his voice, because the next time he glanced at Jack the guy was looking at him a lot more closely than Rai would have liked.

“Uh,” Jack said. “Not to pry or anything, but are you sure you guys are cool? Everything good? Just, there was some yelling, and, like, I don’t speak Portuguese or Spanish or whatever but. Y’know. Yelling’s not usually a great sign.”

Rai and Sal looked at each other. Sal raised an eyebrow - how much are you comfortable telling him? 

Rai shrugged. Whatever, I don’t care what he knows.

A small, knowing smirk tugged up the corner of Sal’s mouth - oh, it’s like THAT, is it? -  and before Rai could refute it, verbally or otherwise, Sal said aloud, “We had a rather…emotionally intense conversation, it’s true.”

“That’s definitely a way to put it,” said Jack.

“Yes, well,” Sal said. He glanced at Rai. “As it is, we’ve come to the conclusion that a bit of time away from each other may be in order.”

Jack blinked. Then blinked again. “You’re splitting up?!”

“For a little while, yes,” Sal said. “I believe it’s for the best.”

“Yeah,” Rai muttered. 

“Huh. Wow.” Jack clearly wanted to press for more details, but instead he just kind of shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot and after a long, uncomfortable silence, offered only a meek, “That blows.”

“It’s whatever,” Rai said with a shrug. But he appreciated the lack of interrogation. Tact was not something Jack Spicer seemed to have much of, and nor was restraint. That he was holding back his clearly burning desire for more detail out of respect for Rai and Sal’s privacy was, well. Kind of nice.

It was also the bare minimum, so Rai figured he shouldn’t read too much into it.

“I suppose I should leave you to it, then,” said Sal. He flexed the hand that wore the Golden Tiger Claws. “I have a few errands to run.”

“You’re leaving now?” Jack squawked. “You’re not even gonna, like, rest a little? We just saved the world!”

“No time like the present, I always say!” Sal said brightly. Raimundo knew he was probably the only person alive - or one of them - who could see the strain around the edges of Sal’s broad smile, the pain in the crinkled corners of his eyes.

He felt it too: the pain of separation. It was like his chest was being ripped open. But not knowing whether he could trust Sal? That hurt way more.

“Don’t do anything too wild out there, old man,” he said, hoisting the Sword of the Storm onto his shoulder as he stepped up to Jack’s side. “Your bones might not handle the strain.” He couldn’t manage a smile anymore, but he could keep up the facade just a while longer. He knew he couldn’t fool Sal, but maybe he could at least pretend like this wasn’t ripping them both apart on the inside.

“I’ll do my best,” Sal said. “But you know how it is with us old folk.” He winked. Then, in a slightly more serious tone, he added, “Take care of yourself, mijo.”

“Mijo” again. Rai couldn’t hide the flinch.

“Yeah,” he said back. “You too.”

Sal turned his focus to Jack, expression relaxed but eyes sharp. Jack straightened up a little.

“Watch his back, kid,” Sal told him. “Be good to each other.”

“Um,” Jack said, voice pitching up, “I’ll…try?”

The smile Sal flashed him in response was probably a lot fonder than he’d meant it to be. Rai wondered if he realized.

“You’ll know how to reach me, if you need me,” he said. 

And just like that he was gone in a flash of Claws and light. All that was left was the empty shell of the former factory, full of nothing but dust and shadow where it wasn't occupied with stacks of shipping crates or half-built furniture.

“Huh,” Jack said. “So. I guess it’s just us now?”

Rai didn’t say anything. But in the first real show of weakness he’d allowed himself since Sal got stabbed, he let his head go limp and thump onto Jack’s shoulder.

“Oh,” said Jack, and then, quieter, “okay.”

“Shut up,” Rai said, just as quiet. He was still holding the Sword of the Storm in his left hand, his right dangling down between his body and Jack’s.

A few seconds passed, and then a hand pressed against his right palm. Warm, soft skin. Short, chewed-on nails. Fingers slightly calloused from years of tinkering and welding and fiddling with tiny, sharp wires.

He took it.

He held on.

“What do you mean, cut off?” 

Kimiko’s fingernails scraped against the polished wood of her father’s executive desk, nearly carving into the lacquer. From the other side, her Papa looked back with a solemn expression.

“I should have done this many years ago,” he said. “You are far too dependent on me, and while I appreciate your concern for my wellbeing, it has gone very far past the point of being healthy.”

“So you’re kicking me out?!” Kimiko felt heat rising under her skin, but her hair didn’t catch fire this time. Since the whole thing with the Sun Chi Lantern, she’d noticed her fire was a little easier to…well, maybe not control, but she was more aware of when she was using it now, so it was easier to stop before she did anything bad.

She might have charred the desk a little, though. Hey, nobody’s perfect.

“I will give you enough money to cover six month’s rent in a good apartment,” her father was saying. He either hadn’t noticed the curls of smoke rising from under Kimiko’s fingertips, or was pretending not to see them. “And of course, I can provide excellent references based on your time at the company! But you will need to figure the rest out on your own.”

“I can’t believe this,” Kimiko said. “You’re just tossing me out on the street with nowhere to go! You’re treating me like - like some kind of delinquent! What did I do to deserve this, huh? I stayed in school, I got great grades, I’ve been doing really good work at the company…”

“You are not listening,” her father said patiently. “This is not meant as a punishment, Kimiko. I am attempting to correct my own mistake.”

“By abandoning me?!”

“By offering a deal.” He placed his hands flat on the desk. “The deal is this: I want you to accomplish something of your own in the next six months. Enroll in school, start a business, create a beautiful work of art - I do not care what it is! I just want to see that you are able to do things for yourself, and not just for me. When the time is up you can show me what you have done, and we can discuss our next steps from there. But until then, yes, I am cutting you off.”

“This is so unfair.” 

“No,” Papa said, “what was unfair was my keeping you so close these last six years instead of sending you out into the world to become your own person.”

“I just can’t believe you’re doing this to me.” Kimiko stared down at the slightly-charred desk. Despite her best efforts, hot tears were prickling at her eyes. “After everything I’ve done to watch out for you? After how hard I’ve worked to keep you safe?”

She heard her father sigh, long and heavy. His footsteps clumped against the carpet as he walked around the desk and approached her. Somewhere outside, a crow cawed.

“I know you have worked very hard to support and protect me,” he said. “I know you feel that it is your job to keep me safe. But it is not, Kimiko. That is my job. I am your father. My job is to protect you, and nurture you, and help you to grow into the amazing young woman I see you becoming. And your job is to grow up. That is it. That is all it should have ever been.”

His hand was on her face now, gently cupping her cheek. She looked up, and he caught her eyes in his own.

“You’ve done enough, Kimiko,” he said gently. “It is time for you to take a break.”

The tears spilled over, and she’d thought they were tears of anger so she was unprepared for the deep sadness that washed through her, the sobs that clawed at her chest. Warm arms wrapped around her, and her head was guided to rest against a broad, solid chest.

For the first time since she was thirteen years old, Kimiko Tohomiko cried in her father’s arms.

Salvador Cumo entered Chase Young’s throne room with no fanfare, no announcement other than the soft growls of the jungle cats trailing behind him. Chase was reading an issue of “Evil Homes and Gardens,” lounging casually in his throne with a crow perched on his left shoulder.

He was, Sal noticed, sporting a rather impressive black eye courtesy of one Jack Spicer. Jack and Raimundo had briefly filled him in on their encounter with Chase Young, but seeing the evidence for himself was, well, impressive. That Spicer kid had some real chutzpah.

“Salvador,” Chase said, glancing at him over the top of his magazine. “I had a feeling I would be graced with your presence sooner or later.”

“I hear you tried to kill my kid,” Sal said through a smile that was all teeth.

Chase scoffed. “Hardly,” he said. “I have far more self-control than that. I was simply reminding him which of the two of us was in charge.”

“No,” Sal said lightly, “he poked at your insecurities and you lost your temper. You and I are both very lucky that he wasn’t alone.”

Chase rolled his eyes. “Get to the point, Salvador,” he said. “I’m sure you came here to do more than toss veiled threats my way.” He turned the page of his magazine.

“Certainly,” Sal agreed. “I’m sure you realize that our prior agreement has been effectively dissolved.”

“Of course.”

“And knowing you as I do,” Sal added, “I am also sure that you will not consider our affairs settled without some sort of recompense for whatever insults Raimundo inflicted during your last meeting. So, in the interest of settling all outstanding debts, I’m here to pay up. Name your price, my friend."

“Straight to the point,” Chase noted. He lowered the magazine and set it aside on the arm of his throne. “How very unlike you.”

“I see no point in playing the usual games today,” Sal replied. “It’s just the two of us, after all.”

“Indeed.” Chase rose from his throne. “It is true,” he said as he began to walk towards Salvador, “that I have a price in mind. A favor, if you will. I will simply require the use of the Jitsusara Amulet.”

“Mm,” Salvador said, placing a hand over the lump of the amulet where it lay under his shirt. “You understand I can’t simply give it to you.”

“I’m asking nothing of the sort,” Chase said with a flippant wave of his hand as he came to a stop in front of Sal. “I merely wish to borrow it. It will only take a moment, and I will return it to you immediately afterward.”

Salvador studied him for a long moment. Chase was clearly planning something, but at the same time he didn’t think the man would be so brash as to steal his amulet under the guise of borrowing it for a moment. No, he wanted to use its power for something. But what?

In the end, his curiosity allied with his desire to be free of any lingering obligations and together they won out over his caution and suspicion.

“Very well,” he said.

“Excellent,” said Chase. He held out a hand, palm up. “If you would?”

Slowly, Sal reached up to his neck and undid the clasp holding his amulet in place. He took it off and placed it in Chase’s hand. As Chase began to fasten the amulet around his own neck, a lion padded up and dropped an empty cloth sack at Chase’s feet, the sack’s mouth yawning open.

With the amulet in place, Chase removed the glove from his left hand. He held his bare hand over the sack. Then, with no warning or fanfare, his hand detached from his body and fell into the sack with a dull thud. The lion snatched the sack up and walked away, and by the time Sal looked back to Chase, his hand had already grown back and he was nonchalantly slipping the glove back on as if nothing had happened. His black eye, Sal noticed, was gone.

“Thank you, Salvador,” he said as he undid the amulet clasp. “That will be all.” He held the amulet out.

Sal took the amulet back and slipped it over his head. “Dabbling in a bit of black magic, are we?” It was the first thing that came to mind; he could only assume that Chase was planning to partake in some sort of dark ritual that involved human flesh. That, or he was exploring the world of self-taxidermy.

“I believe,” Chase said, “that is none of your business.”

“No, I suppose not,” Sal agreed. So it was black magic, then. Chase would have flatly denied it otherwise. How curious! “Grand plans, I expect. World domination?”

“Mm,” Chase said - a noise that was noncommittal, but lacked hostility. “Not that it’s any of your concern–”

“It rarely is!” Sal lied cheerfully.

“ –but I have little ambition for world domination at this moment. My interests lie elsewhere.”

That could mean any number of things, and was frustratingly vague. Which Chase knew, of course. He was being deliberately opaque.

“Of course,” Chase added, “if I did have grander things in mind, you know well enough to stay out of my way.”

“Of course, of course,” agreed Salvador, who did know this. However, his track record for keeping out of trouble was just as short as his record of making good decisions.

Now, if Chase had some sort of world domination plan in mind, he wasn’t particularly surprised or bothered. A bit of chaos was good for business in his line of work, and the current crop of Xiaolin monks had proven their ability to stand against world-ending threats.

But if he was planning something else, something more subtle, well. That could be worrisome. Because knowing Chase, he might instead focus his attention on those he considered a threat to him. And that placed a target squarely upon the back of Raimundo Pedrosa.

Their arrangement with Chase might be over and any debts might be settled, but he knew that did nothing to reduce the size of the target on Raimundo’s back. Raimundo’s elemental powers and his lack of fear towards Chase made him a threat.

So it was very likely that whatever Chase was planning would catch Raimundo in the crossfire, even if he wasn’t its primary target. And that simply wouldn’t do. 

“If that’s all then,” he said, “I suppose I’ll be off. All the best of luck to you, my friend.”

“Mmhm.” Chase had returned to his throne and resumed perusing his magazine. He waved a hand in Sal’s direction. “Take care that the door does not hit you on the way out, Salvador.”

Sal, correctly taking that as a threat, used the Tiger Claws to leave.

He stepped through the portal onto the cliff outside of Chase’s lair, and he stopped there. He gazed out into the swirling mist that surrounded the mountain. It was thinner than usual today, thin enough to let some watery sunshine through and set the sky to a pale grey rather than red or black. Chase must be in a good mood.

He was used to being alone - had been for the vast majority of his life. But he’d never felt it like this, never had the sense of a yawning absence at his side. It hurt in a way things rarely did for a man with regenerative abilities: a lingering pain, persistent and unchanging. 

Salvador had, he realized, grown quite unused to missing people.

Ah, well. It would fade in time. It always did. All he had to do was keep himself busy. 

And if Chase was planning something dangerous, well. He could make sure that his old friend’s concentration was spread thin. He could find a way to disrupt and befuddle his plans without ever needing to get directly involved; indeed, he was already turning some possibilities over in his mind. 

He had more than one card up his sleeve, after all. The Heart of Jong, for one; he was still the only person who knew its true location. For another, the Reversing Mirror currently tucked up snug beneath his shirt. He hadn’t corrected Jack’s assertion that it had shattered, because it had. But when he’d found the other Shen Gong Wu waiting at the base of the lighthouse, the Reversing Mirror had been sitting whole and unblemished on top of the pile. Hell if Sal knew how. He was comfortable chalking it up simply to “magic” and moving on.

Two very powerful trump cards, though with all luck he wouldn’t need to play either one unless things got truly dire. He was quite sure he could cause more than enough mischief with his usual methods.

Perhaps it was time to reach out to a few old contacts, see if he couldn’t make use of some connections. 

It might even be fun.

Late-morning sunlight spilled across the Xiaolin Temple grounds, casting the interior of the meditation temple in a warm yellow glow. 

“Y’all have any idea why Master Fung asked us down here?” Clay asked as the three Xiaolin Warriors kneeled side-by-side. They had their backs to the pot that hid the entrance to the Shen Gong Wu vault, facing the temple’s entrance.

“I have some idea,” Dojo said, elbowing Jermaine playfully on the side that didn’t have an arm in a sling.

“Come on, man,” Jermaine said, though he was smiling. His shoulder had been dislocated during his struggle with Wuya, and the sling he had to wear until it finished healing was like a badge of honor upon his arm.

“Seriously, you’re a shoo-in for Apprentice! I mean, you were already on the fast track for it even before you helped take down Wuya!”

“I guess,” Jermaine said. “But wouldn’t there be more monks down here if this was a moving-up ceremony?”

“Oh, good point,” Dojo said. “The whole temple usually turns out for those. Remember your Shoku ceremony, Omi?”

Omi, who’d been gazing off into the distance, startled slightly. “Hm? Oh, yes. It was…very elaborate.”

“You all right there, partner?” Clay asked. “You’ve had your head in the clouds all morning.”

“My head is just fine, Clay,” Omi replied. “It is on my shoulders where it belongs.”

“That’s a figure of speech, Omi,” said Jermaine.

“I know.”

The sound of footsteps drew their eyes to the temple’s entrance. Master Fung appeared in the doorway, hands tucked into his sleeves.

“Ah,” he said. “Good morning, young monks. We have an important matter to address today.”

“What’s that?” Jermaine asked.

“A celebration.” Master Fung withdrew a hand from his robes. In it, he held two purple sashes. “We are here to commemorate two Xiaolin Apprentices.”

“Two?” Jermaine repeated. Clay’s jaw fell open.

“All due respect, Master Fung,” he said, “I ain’t ready to move on just yet. I reckon I still got some learnin’ to do before I’m Apprentice material.”

“I agree, Clay,” Master Fung replied. “While you have progressed greatly during your short time here at the Temple, you still have much to do before you are ready to move on. This sash is not for you.”

“Then who-? Clay asked, and he and Jermaine both looked to Omi in confusion. Omi stayed silent, his eyes fixed on their teacher.

“Jermaine,” Master Fung said, and the teenager snapped to attention, standing up when his teacher nodded to him. “You have trained long and worked hard since your arrival here at the Xiaolin Temple. Your progress has been swift and impressive, and you hold the heart of a true Xiaolin Warrior. Omi has told me of your courage and your skill in the battle against Wuya, but it is not only your ability that marks you as a warrior. It is also your compassion and your empathy. You uplift and support your fellow monks, even when they are given to despair.” He held out one of the sashes. “I am honored to present you with the title of Xiaolin Apprentice.”

“Thank you, Master Fung,” Jermaine said. He bowed to their teacher and took the sash in hand, running his fingers reverently over the fabric.

“Now,” said Master Fung, “to the matter of our other Apprentice. Xiaolin ranks are given based not simply on the level of one’s ability, but on their maturity and strength of character. It is often a difficult and arduous process to ascend through the ranks, and they are titles not given lightly.” He paused. “Under usual circumstances.”

Omi flinched very slightly.

“Omi,” Master Fung said, and his gaze snapped to his teacher’s face. “To say that I was surprised when you approached me with the recommendation for our second Apprentice would be a vast understatement. But it showed great humility, honor, and discipline. These are traits highly valued in a Xiaolin Warrior.” He stepped forward. “You have grown much over these past months. It has been a pleasure to watch you train with your fellow monks, and I look forward to watching as you continue to grow.”

“Thank you,” Omi said quietly.

Master Fung took a deep breath. “What I am about to do now is very, very rare,” he said. “Indeed, it has not happened in many years. But it has been brought to my attention that a grave mistake has been made, and I have been asked to correct it. Omi, please rise.”

Omi stood up.

“Omi,” Master Fung asked, “is it true that you wish to step down from your Shoku rank and resume the rank of Apprentice?”

“It is,” Omi said simply. Clay, Jermaine and Dojo gasped.

“Then by my power as Master of this temple,” Master Fung said, “I hereby revoke your Shoku rank and confer upon you the title of Xiaolin Apprentice.” He stepped forward and held out the purple sash.

Silently, Omi removed the gold sash from around his waist. He held it out to Master Fung and accepted the purple sash in return.

“I am very proud of you,” Master Fung said, quietly enough that only Omi could hear it. Omi simply nodded in response.

“Congratulations to you both,” Master Fung continued, stepping back. “Continue to work hard and train well, and I am certain that we shall see great things from you all.”

“Thank you,” Omi and Jermaine answered together, and both bowed to Master Fung.

“That is all for now,” said their teacher. “We will meet in the training yard after lunch for our usual exercises. Until then, you are free to do as you wish.” He nodded to them all and then turned to leave.

As he walked away, Omi found himself suddenly surrounded by his friends, Dojo wrapped around his neck and crying loudly while Clay and Jermaine flanked him on either side.

“Holy cannoli, man,” Jermaine said.

“Guess that explains why you were so distant all mornin’,” Clay added.

“I’m so proud of you both!” Dojo blubbered, blowing his nose loudly on Omi’s collar.

“Are you okay?” Jermaine asked. “Seriously, that had to be a tough choice to make.”

“Actually,” Omi admitted, “it was not a difficult decision at all. The difficult part was determining whether I should ask for a demotion to Wudai or to Apprentice.” And convincing himself that he was not a failure for making this choice, but that part was still ongoing.

“Wudai’s the level above Apprentice?” Clay asked, scratching his head. When Omi nodded, he continued, “Then why didn’t you pick that? You sure seem skilled enough for it.”

One reason was that the Shimo Staff had still refused to respond to his command when he’d tried it the night before, and one could hardly be a Wudai Warrior if their Wudai Weapon didn’t work, but Omi didn’t share this particular point of shame. Instead, he said,

“When I was first promoted to Apprentice, my elemental abilities had not developed as they should. Now that they are developing properly, I thought it would be best to revisit that training. Besides,” he glanced at Jermaine, “now we are all much closer to the same level! It will make our training much more effective.”

Jermaine beamed at him. “Hey, yeah!” he said. “Now we’ll be training together for real!”

“Well, y’all will,” said Clay. “Reckon I still need to catch up.”

“You will catch up most swiftly,” Omi assured him. “I am certain of it.”

Dojo had ceased his crying, but was still draped around Omi’s neck. “Are you going to keep the robes?” he asked, nodding to the black clothing that Omi had received upon his promotion to Shoku level.

“Master Fung said that it is my choice,” said Omi. “These robes are usually given to the leader of the elemental Dragons; I received them because I was the only one at the time.”

“Well,” said Clay, “I sure don't mind you leadin’ us.”

“Yeah,” Jermaine said. He squeezed Omi's shoulder. “I can't think of anyone better for the job.”

For the first time that day, Omi smiled. “Thank you, my friends,” he said. “I shall certainly do my best to lead us all to victory.”

“We’re off to a good start,” said Jermaine. “We already got Wuya. She’s locked up safe, right?”

“Yeah!” Dojo said, nodding. “Master Fung stashed her box down where we keep the Heylin See–er, in a super-secure location. Nobody’s getting to her there.”

Omi, having just managed to hide his wince at the near mention of the Heylin Seed, nodded. “After Wuya,” he said, “any other enemy should tan in comparison. No evildoer will stand a chance against us!”

“Sounds about right to me,” Clay said with a nod.

“You’re growing up so fast,” Dojo said wistfully, wiping a tear from his eye. Then he straightened up. “This calls for a celebration! Who wants pancakes for lunch?”

“Only if Clay makes ‘em,” said Jermaine. “You used way too much baking soda last time.”

Dojo pouted. “Hey, in my defense, the recipe looked like it said tablespoon, not teaspoon!”

“So you put in a half cup?”

“I was doubling the quantity!”

“Be happy to,” Clay cut in. “Long as y’all’re willin’ to be my sous chefs.”

“Soup chefs?” Omi echoed. “I thought we were making pancakes.”

“Sous, Omi. It’s French.”

“Oh.” Omi did not know French. But he was starting to believe that might be all right. Maybe it was okay if he did not know things.

…And maybe he was a horrible failure. But only time could truly tell of these things. For now, there were pancakes to make.

“Follow me, my friends!” he called, trotting out of the temple. “To the kitchen!”

And as the other monks followed him out into the courtyard…

A flash of purple light dropped a man into a shadowed alley, his mustache dotted with drops of rain,

A monster in the shape of a man descended into the depths of his lair with a cloth sack clutched in one hand, his purposeful steps echoing off the stone walls around him,

A young woman folded clothing into a suitcase, muttering under her breath while two rooms away, her father placed his latest office decoration onto a shelf and ignored the insults it snarled his way,

One young man dozed upon the shoulder of another, sparks glinting off the dark glass of a welder’s mask,

And deep beneath the ground, in a dark chamber beneath a carved stone statue, two ancient evils slept together, one more aware than the other and silently seething in her wooden tomb.

The balance had been restored. Good and evil were, for one brief and fleeting moment, weighted equally on either side of their cosmic scale.

And if they had stayed that way, this would be the end of our story.

But there is more to come, and there will be more tales to tell.

To be continued…