Jack looked up at Chase for what felt like the millionth time after begging for an apprenticeship. He was eighteen and living on his own, and yet he still wanted it so badly. Chase was once again unenthused.
"Please Chase, I'll do anything to be by your side, anything," Jack pleaded, hugging Chase's knees with all of his unimpressive might.
Chase was tired of the charade he had been playing since Jack was roughly twelve, and yet he had staved off until Jack's maturation. However, now Chase knew that while he could not hold him off much longer, but he was also aware that he would have to ease affection into his mannerisms ever so subtly.
But for now, Chase needed satiation.
"Anything, Spicer?" Chase asked, slowly raising an eyebrow.
Jack nodded silently, his eyes to the floor.
Chase smirked, "well then," he said, unlacing his trousers, and exposing his manhood, "prove your allegiance, worm."
Jack swallowed instinctually. He wasn't so sure that he was ready, or even wanted this. Chase was big... really big, and if he screwed up now, Chase would never accept him. But Chase didn't care; Chase never cared about what Jack wanted. Chase was in it for himself. But Jack had to hope.
Jack opened his mouth, and began to administer to the Warlord. At first, he felt as though he were going to choke, and it hurt. But he soon became accustomed to the rhythm. Chase held onto the back of Jack's head, the other gripped the arm of his throne. He groaned salaciously at the attention, as he hadn't been touched in years. Jack was mortified, he felt so dirty, so wrong, but in a bad way; He began to let the tears he had been holding back leak out and stain his face. After what seemed like a quarter of an hour, Chase bucked into a climax. He bruised up Jack's throat in the process, and filled the young man's mouth. As he pulled out, a slight spray alighted onto Jack's face.
Jack was a mess, a pitiful, disgusting mess. And he knew it.
Chase scowled coldly at the youth. His job done, Jack was of little use to Chase at the moment.
"Go home and clean yourself up Spicer," he growled, "You won't see me again until I say so. Just please, go home."
Jack realized what a fool he had been. He shouldn't have ever expected Chase to follow up on his end of the bargain; it hadn't been the first time. Jack wiped his face on his sleeve, walked to the end of the hall, gave one last tearful look at Chase, and flew off into the night.
A small flurry of snow was the only trace that he had ever even been in Chase's palace.
It was six o'clock the next morning when a large bang brought Chase Young to his front door. Floating listlessly before Chase was a Jackbot, nothing special, just a plain, bronze and black Jackbot.
"Excuse me Lord Young, but have you seen Master?" The machine buzzed, "He did not return home last night."
Chase's eyes widened dramatically, Jack was gone...
"We lost radio communication with Master late last night during the blizzard." The robot continued, "This was the last recording we received."
The Robot crackled and hissed with a staticky facsimile of Jack's voice:
"Jackbots... I want pajamas laid out and a hot bath running by the time I get home..." Jack chocked a sob, "And the usual mix of pills, but add another pain pill just in case... I'll be home i- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAArgh!"
Chase instinctively covered his mouth with one gloved hand. He may have inadvertently killed Jack. He felt as if his blood had been converted to ice.
The Robot continued. "We lost radar, communications, and tracking signals the Master usually sends out, and now we cannot find him. Would you know where he is?"
Chase scowled, "I don't know now, but I am going to find him..."
And without another word, he teleported to the throne room. Scrying the Eye-Spy Orb, Chase found no trace of Jack. Every time he tried to search for Jack, he got expanses of ice and snow. Finally, thoroughly fed up with his ineffective searches, he traveled to the wastes dictated by the orb.
Chase spent the next several hours searching for Jack to no avail, when he came upon something that worried him deeply. Embedded in the snow was a flock of dead birds, which appeared to have been flayed to ribbons by some razor's edge. Amongst the carnage was one of Jack's Heli-pack propellers, bent and damaged, it's wires extended from the retractable pole. Chase cursed inwardly, Jack couldn't fly very far or very well on one propeller, he would have...
And that's when he saw it, the flapping cloth in the tree nearly a hundred yards from where he was standing. The wind had caught the edges of Jack's trench coat, and threatened to dislodge them. Hanging from the branches was Jack's beloved coat and the remains of his Heli-Pack. Following the trail of damage to the base of the tree, Chase let loose a single tear, because a single white hand clawed up from the snow bank surrounding the roots. Something precious had been lost in the storm.
"Spicer."
Chase was the only human at the service, all other chairs were filled by machination Jack had cared for; Chameleonbot, his RoboJack, and a legion of Jackbots, all in attendance to their beloved master's last rites. One of the Machines endowed with AI performed the service and eulogy, expressing all of the kindness and love Jack had shown them all throughout the years, and how they had been happy to serve such a great Master.
Chase placed an envelope in Jack's cold, icy hands, and closed the casket.
When the burial was over, Chase teleported home to cry, because he knew this was all his fault.
In that letter were all the things Chase should have told Jack and everything he had intended to tell Jack. How he had always felt some love for Jack, how his last promise he had intended to keep, how sorry he was for taking advantage of such a loving young man so often. How much he would miss him.
For the next week, Chase didn't bother to leave his bed, and his warriors were smart enough not to argue.
Wuya however, was not nearly so bright, and thought a little gift would cheer Chase up.
Perhaps something Chase could make suffer.
She scoured the astral plane searching for a sufficiently miserable creature, and that's where she had found the perfect thing.
She left the wooden box above Chase's bedding and left the room, waiting with anticipation for a reward that would never come.
Chase read the card:
Chase,
I'm sorry to hear that you've been so listless without Spicer's life to make miserable, so I did a little digging (figuratively, not literally, what I found was the only part not in the ground.) and got you a gift you'll just love to break.
Here's to hoping some of that excess energy gets spent on me,
Wuya
Chase shuddered in horror, but was still curious. As he lifted the lid, he heard a weak whimpering. Peering inside, Chase was greeted with a sight that instantly brought all life back to his form. For inside the box was a very weak, very spectral Jack Spicer. No body, no flesh, just a tattered and battered soul struggling to stay coherent without a form to latch onto.
"Don't worry Jack; I won't leave you to the storm this time." Chase whispered, hugging the box to his chest.
Chase rose from his bed, knowing that there was much work to be done.
