A/N: Hey guys! So, a few things. I fixed a problem in the last chapter, a big CHUNK involving Jax got cut out. And for reference this chapter, the Palisades are a BEAUTIFUL national park in New Mexico, to which I will post links of photos in my profile. Thanks you guys for the reviews and support!

Also: Brownie points to people who guess the movie/radio/TV refs at the end of the chapter.
/DeZia

Fate Strafe
T H R E E: Mechanics of a Rivalry

Desert. Morning. Mountain breeze. A slight mid-level fog that neither swamped to the ground nor allowed the tops of the mountains to be seen. It was unevenly spaced, however, and bright white lasers of early morning sunshine pierced the The landscape was dappled in the migrating patches of light, ghosting across trees and hills like sea-skimming manta-rays, hugging every detail of the terrain. There was no sound but the occasional car driving on the highway, and the hoarse whisper of evergreen needles and currentbush and scrub-oak leaves and wind whistling and moaning through the crags of rock that made up the brilliant facade of the landmark known as the Palisades.

The brilliant, rough surfaces of the brown-pink, lichen-stained sandstone bluffs were like the face of some natural castle, on whose turrets were perched many Knights; birds of prey, lizards. If one was lucky they might see a coyote, bear or cougar, the true kings and queens of this desert land high atop the uneven cubed pinnacles of rock.

Like the arrows of angels, the meandering white lights from the sky shifted to glint off of something bright red. It glowed faintly, and a beetle scuttled out of the way, realizing that it's path was suddenly obstructed by something that was most definitely not there before. A ruby pendant carved like a six-celled honeycomb glinted, deflecting the arrows in blinding little spots. This signaled its location.

The Shen Gong Wu known as Hives' Wrath had revealed itself. And with that disclosure of its existence two groups of adversaries vying for it's power were headed straight for the Palisades.

Eyes to match the ruby honeycomb sought from high above the clouds. It was not by way of their own power did they finally find the treasure, but with the aid of one of the lenses of his goggles (worn over one eye, slantways across his head) and one eye free from the scope to keep a peripheral view out for his nemeses. Even if his eyesight was bad due to his albinism, he could still detect motion incredibly well. It was a part of the paranoia.

Part of those two years.

Part of the Anarchy that drove him mad and set him free.

No one could just sneak up on him anymore. They had to earn it.

He wore earphones to deal with the atmospheric pressure, special machines in his suit that automatically acclimated him to the altitude of the Rocky Mountains. It helped that they were blaring some of his favorite music, as well.

It made him feel more powerful, more powerful than the title of "Heylin" had ever made him feel. It made him want to go as fast as he could. It made him go as fast as he could.

Spinning, twisting, flipping mid-air. Letting out cries of adrenaline ecstasy.

No one else could fly like this.

It was then that he saw a spot of green and whirled around and came to a halt mid air, his jacket spreading around him like fanning dark wings as he corrected course. The one scope-goggle locked on to the object and told him what he needed to know. "Xiaolin fags, eh? Let 'em come." It was about time to show them what he really was anyway. True, he could just grab the Wu and go, but that was no fun. And they had ruined his flight, his body felt a slight ache at the loss of speed, he would need to get payback for that, too.

He wanted more than anything the childish revenge of outdoing his former bullies. The best revenge was living well? Bullshit. The best revenge was laughing in their faces. He wanted it more than anything.

Almost.

He dropped like a stone through the sky and low-hanging clouds, shrouds of clammy moisture rolling across his white skin. He was pierced by the sky's sharp missiles twice as he fell, his uncovered eye shedding tears of protest that, as he closed his eyes against the painful light, fell away from him and mingled with the fog. Just as it seemed he would smash upon the rocks he stopped, hovering above them, alighting on a rocks, his feet spread for balance as if he were rollerblading. He hopped off of and behind the chunk of quartzy granite, waiting.

Like a trapdoor spider, he let the emptiness take over and watched with the blood-tinted vision and sanctimonious silver-fanged smirk of a predator.


The green blur Jack had seen was indeed the Monks, on their way to retrieve Hive's Wrath from the Palisades.

"Looks like it's back to the great North American Desert." Kimiko said, checking some things on a wrist PDA her father had made her. Combining technology and Fire-Chi had become her specialty; she may have remained small but her skill and wit far made up for it.

Clay nodded, holding on to Dojo's mane and trying to hold up a napping Omi. The little teen was not taking well to being so far from the ocean... from being so far from moisture in general. "Mm-hm. The Upper Sonoran. I reckon just across these mountains is the Rio Grande gorge, that river goes straight down to Texas. Haven't been this side of the Rio Grande much, actually." He smiled at the thought of his family's trip to the Grand Canyon that had changed his life forever. "Just once, but it's still my kinda' place. Same can't be said for little pard'ner here."

Raimundo spoke up. "He shoulda' taken a nice long shower and got water-logged instead of whining about it. There's a creek here, let's dump him in it." Scoffing he turned around; rather than sitting he had taken to standing on Dojo's head, as if to prove his balance, as if to prove he was made for flying.

But who was he proving it to?

Kimiko shot fire from her eyes, not real fire but a kind of heat that was more an extension of her will than of temperature. "Rai, be nice, the little guy's powers are changing, all of ours are. We're becoming more dependent on our Elemental Chi, you know that."

"Right, and that's why you carry a zippo and matches, pyrophile." He rolled his eyes.

"Hold on there, Raimundo, calm down. Somethin' gotcha' on edge?" The Earth dragon looked from beneath the brim of his hat at Raimundo. Even sitting, he was almost eye-level with the breezy Brazilian.

"I am NOT on edge, alright?" he yelled. Irony would have it that Dojo sneezed at that moment and threw Raimundo off of the precarious perch atop his head. "WH—AAAAUUGH!"

"RAIMUNDO!" Dojo, Kimiko and Clay called out all at once, and Omi jarred awake as well, letting out a yelp of his own. All of this was, however from shock, they all knew Raimundo would be fine. He could stand on the clouds and waited for them, hanging from a crescent of mist for a bit before jumping up and propelling himself back to Dojo's head.

"Whups... Rai, kiddo, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to--" Dojo offered an apology which Raimundo waved off.

"Not like it was the first time. Shoulda' been paying more attention, my fault." They descended into the clouds.

"Right. Well, Hive's Wrath should be here somewhere. Nasty little Wu, the user gets control of their own personal swarm of six wasps. And let me tell you, that sting chafes like nothing else." They felt a shudder in the wavelike motion of the Dragon, and Omi looked sick.

"It's so dry here... It is as if my bucket has been kicked over the farm!"

"One, you REALLY failed that one, Puddle. Two, you'd kind of have to be DEAD for that to be true." Raimundo rolled his eyes. Even at fourteen Omi hadn't gotten a full grasp on the subtleties of English, one of the few things Raimundo could pride himself in. Omi was barely bilingual, while he had three fluent languages and a slight grasp on Chinese... even if that grasp was more like a flimsy handhold. He only knew as much as he needed for his stronger "magics". Most of what he did depended heavily on instinct and study, the later of which he avoided whenever possible.

Unfortunately for Raimundo, that snide remark earned him a punch from Kimiko's metal-gloved fist.

Hard.

In the arm.

He fell from Dojo again, and this time smacked through the needles of a ponderosa pine tree. After regaining his balance, he roosted catwise on a springy bough and glared at the others as they landed. "So, seriously, what's the deal with Dashi and bugs?" He counted off on his fingers the amount of Shen Gong Wu that involved insects. "Silk Spitter, Juju Flytrap, Moonstone Locust, Ants in the Pants, Silver Manta Ray..."

Clay let out a big laugh that echoed off of the Palisades, which Omi was ogling at in wonder. It echoed off the trees, a wholesome, true sound, the sun sending a water-balloon rather than an arrow as if to emphasize it, a splash of sunshine. "Manta rays aren't bugs, Rai, they're related ta' sharks!"

"Oh who CARES, they LOOK like bugs!" The Wind Monk flailed his arms and vaulted from the branch as if it were a springboard, doing a showy back flip before landing. Meanwhile Omi was playing in the creek, feeling much better and trying to practice his skills by catching baby fish. His cavorting was interrupted as a chipmunk, fat and tourist-fed, hopped onto a nearby log, expecting food.

"AAAIIYAAAH! THIS SQUIRREL HAS THE PAINT OF A WARRIOR ON HIS FACE!" The fact that it had no tail was even more worrisome to Omi. Had the creature lost it in some battle? Had it cut it off itself to make a more efficient fighter out of itself? He jumped away from the crick (that seemed to be chuckling at his musteline phobia) and scrambled through the dust across the tourist parking lot to hide behind Kimiko. This was a bit harder to do than it once was because he now equaled her in size.

"Omi, it's only a chipmunk. They're even less dangerous than squirrels!" Kimiko tried to explain while attempting to detach the younger Asian.

"But if this one is a monk as you said, it could have long-range attacks! We must be careful, I WILL NOT LET YOU DECIEVE ME MONK OF CHIPS!" He shook a fist at the chipmunk, which was long gone, frightened away by Omi's sudden movements.

The Brazilian snickered, and the Texan laughed and tipped his hat down to hide his grin at the li'l Dragon's distress. Then, one visible blue eye squinted to search for the treasure.

"Up... AGH, AAAAGH CHOOOF! ... up there!" Dojo let out a monstrous sneeze that blew dust and debris and disgruntled birds around the area, before pointing a four-clawed hand to a crag. Moments later a flaming arrow of dawn struck the crag, briefly lighting the mock wasps' nest aflame.

"Hive's Wrath. Let's get it and go." He jerked his thumb behind him, towards the dawn-crossbow sunrise of the East. Back to China.

Entrance time.

I'm only as good as my entrance.

My entrance is damn good.

A bloody flash of light not unlike the glint from Hive's Wrath sliced down Rai's face and to his middle, the laser-aimer of what looked like a chrome rifle pointed right at the same-hued heart within Raimundo's chest. Flash, sun, laser, flash; following the light Raimundo saw a pale, gloved hand with a silver talon. Traveling up the talon he saw a heavy, thick black sleeve. Traveling up the sleeve brought his eyes to a neck ringed by a jacket collar and a leather spike-collar, and then a leering face that filled him with hot, acid anger, acrid smoke tainting the winds of his soul.

The markings had changed, not just an eyestripe, the makeup now sported an arrow at the tip, as if mocking Raimundo to look right back down again. "You won't be getting ANYTHING, Windbag." He had even lit up a cigarette to complete his badass image, letting it hang almost carelessly from his lips.

Acrid smoke tainting the winds of the desert.

"JACK SPICER!" Omi pointed and yelled, an act he had yet to grow out of. "You will not attack our friend Raimundo with such a weapon!"

"No. Go ahead and shoot me, you fuckin' fag, I'll send that bullet right back between your eyes!" He barked in utter defiance, his accent thicker than usual. The winds picked up, whistling in the crags, reacting to the anger of their kindred.

"Don't you dare shoot Jack!" Clay called up. 'We ain't done nothin' ta hurt ya'--"

"-- YET." Jack sneered, rolling his eye. His left eye, uncovered. Clay's right eye, uncovered. And no one involved realized that both those eyes had terribly poor sight.

The sheer will in the combating gazes masked all handicaps.

For a moment, Jack was completely taken aback with the deadly earthquake fury in that eye. Blue. Startling blue. He even recoiled.

This had given Kimiko enough time to throw the Star Hanabi and melt the barrel of Jack's rifle shut. Molten metal and flames of victory as red as the pendant. As red as Jack's hair and eyes.

"SHIT. FUCK." Those eyes blazed with pain as a single teardrop of superheated metal caught his hand and sunlight mocked him by shining painfully in his unprotected eye. He threw his gun away quickly and stumbled back.

Raimundo was already acting when Jack had stumbled backwards, using a whirlwind to propel him forward like a human missile of lithe metal, the mock-sun around his neck marking his alliance with the holder of the crossbow that was so deadly to that "vampire" Spicer.

Nothing can beat the sunshine from Rio, not even some tech-freak punk.

Raimundo made a beeline for the hive, chuckling a bit at the mental connection as his tan arm shot down, an extension of the sun, a solar wind claiming its prize.

The furious anarchist had other ideas. His arm sliced down through the dry air, striking at the blood-red treasure like a denim snake, its black nail polish eyes glinting greedily in the arrow-light, his own machine shooting air-ripping momentum behind him.

They both grabbed the ruby at the same time, fingers locked, Jack's silver finger armour talon drawing blood and Raimundo's desperate grip spreading bruises, bluish and greenish-yellow on Jack's hand, even under the glove. When they were about to crash, they both corrected their deadly courses, but would not let go of the prize, locked in an almost deadly grapple. Both young men spiraled upwards into the air, spinning in and out of a sunbeam.

Perfect opposites. Deadly rivals. Childish, boyish hatred. Furious, ageless anger.

"The mutual gravity of the stars locks them in a spiral."

Like Yin and Yang they flipped and grappled, both aiming kicks at each-other and both scoring hits that stunned the opponent in a most painful manner, kicks that struck ribs and solar-plexus and drove the breath (but not the fight). Dizzily, they set down at the pinnacle of the Palisades, gasping for breath through pained lungs but neither willing to let go of the prize.

It was Raimundo who recovered first. "S'... been a damn... long time... fuckface. Spicer... I chall... challenge you to... a Xiaolin Showdown."


After devouring both of Jack's cellphones, all of the electronic lights, an old gameboy color, a discarded mp3 player, a half-complete Jackbot, some discarded frenchfries and the crushed remains of the alarm clock, he was feeling far from satisfied.

"Please sir, can I have s'more? SAVE MONEY ON CAR INSURANCE." The flickering of the radio-dial he had assimilated was the only way he had to feed his limited language banks. "This is CARTALK, more hits, MUST GET MORE HITS, more music, WHO NEEDS MUSIC. I have a HALF OFF sale on AWESOME." The babble continued as he processed and re-ordered the words for later use.

Only city lights from the window lit the face of the abomination, the single red light on the right side of his face glowing in the shadow. The red light flickered as well, showing the simple glyph of a frowning face. :( "Hungry for good eats? It takes a REAL MAN OF GENIUS to find it." he stumbled across a mini DVD player and in a grotesque fashion devoured it, nanotech wires squirming like hungry snakes to pull it in, to crush it and assimilate the technology.

"Clockwork orange, SPECIAL features, main menu. Today man was arrested for possession of a SHANK." Grabbing the nearest thing, he drove it into the screen of the TV on the shelf above him, and for a moment his nonsensical babbling was pacified by the crackling of electricity, which he mimicked in a crooning fashion. "Sorry I had to put ya' down Old Yeller. NOTHING PERSONAL." He pulled his arm from the TV, torn to shreds by the glass, and watched as the wounds sealed up with clear nanoskin. He could see the wires and diodes beneath, flashing, like a blasphemous heartbeat. For over half an hour, he was mesmerized by this, until his skin was once again pale and opaque.

"I don't bleed. I wonder if Dad bleeds."

Then he laughed, the laugh of someone so clearly yet wrongly enjoying themselves. The laugh of a psychopath, echoing the laugh Jack had let loose before leaving that place, as if he had sucked that laugh out of the air like a demon vacuum and distorted it for his own purposes. "I can do no wrong because I know not what wrong is! MARK TWAIN. CLOCKWORK ORANGE, SPECIAL MENU. I am RUNNING like CLOCKWORK. I AM CLOCKWORK."

Just like Jax, the robotic creature had named itself.

It had no programming to obey anyone.