Disclaimer: I do not own J.C.A. If I did, it would likely have been taken off the air sooner due to poor business skills on my part. I also don't own Star Wars, ReBoot, or any other shout outs I did in this chapter. Hope that cover the legal front.

Betaed by: Nocturne no Kitsune and Zim'sMostLoyalServant

PDJ Presents:

"Queen of All Oni"

CHAPTER XI

Timely Encounters

OR

The Perilous Nature of Withdrawals

The girl was curled up beneath her thick dark blankets, her long hair spreading freely across them and hiding her face. The candlelight caught in the perfect strands, a sight beautiful in its simplicity, the watching man thought. The bedroom's furniture and the heavy-laden shelves were cast in shadow by the candle he held. Hot wax ran down its length as he silently crossed the room, his sandaled feet barely disturbing the dark rugs.

He did not seem to notice the hot wax reach his hand and run over blue knuckles. He stood at her bedside watching her, the rise and fall of her breathing, her faint shape, her hair let down at this time as no other.

He only lifted his gaze at the audible shift behind him.

"It is time, chunin," the new arrival spoke softly. The watcher answered with a nod that gave him a final look at her.

The child stirred, and a glowing red eye shone through the veil of hair to take in the empty room. Finding nothing, the eye closed as she drifted back into sleep.

Nearby:

The watcher stepped into a long chamber lined with wooden columns decorated with swirling patterns that seemed to dance in the candlelight. The walls to either side of him were lined with bright candles, which failed to light the chamber but set the shadows dancing across the floor and between the columns and giving the high ceiling a look akin to night water.

A raised platform stood at the far end, removed from the illumination of the candle rows and flanked by two iron candle stands that did nothing but outline the robed figure sitting there. Faint twin points of dark red glowed on the figure's unseen face as it shifted, leaning on an ornamental armrest.

Eight paces before the waiting figure the watcher stopped, lowering himself to kneel in the center of four concentric circles drawn on the floor, each containing a strange assortment of symbols. The red spots on the figure brightened and sharpened as she opened her eyes, watching him.

"Chunin Karasu," a deep voice spoke. A man alighted on the floor between the shrouded figure and the kneeling man. He wore a black hakama trimmed with gold; the red kanji painted onto it were obscured by the shadows. Two sword hilts showed over his shoulders as he lowered his gaze to inspect the one before him.

Karasu lifted his face to the speaker. His jaw was broad, the face not lined from smiles or scowls; this was not someone given to such expressions. His nose was slightly hooked and his shoulder length hair was pulled back into a wolf tail displaying a mild widow's peak. Most noteworthy were the tiny scars of lighter blue that dotted his chiseled features.

"Jonin, Matriarch, you have called and I, Karasu, have come," the unmasked Shadowkhan said to them.

"You understand your mission?" the Jonin demanded curtly.

"Pursue the traitor Drago into the past, neutralize his threat, and above all protect the Advent of the Fourth Era of the Shadowkhan. You are the hands, I am the blade, use me for the glory of our race," Karasu answered solemnly.

The Jonin turned to look to the Matriarch. The maned silhouette of her head shifted, indicating a nod. The Jonin stepped forward, offering a glowing vial of green light to Karasu. The chuunin took it delicately and tucked it into a pouch on his belt.

"Ancestors guide you, Shadowkhan," the Jonin answered, stepping back and out of the circles. Metal clacked on wood and a fire whooshed to life. Turning, the Jonin picked up a large silver chalice from the edge of the Matriarch's platform as the figure herself retreated, long and wild hair briefly catching the green firelight rising from the chalice.

Iron drums were set down with a clang, four of them along the edge of the outmost circle. The Shadowkhan that had placed them were half masked, showing only their hair and upper faces. They rose from adjusting the drums' positions, pulling out old-fashioned thick wooden drumsticks.

"Begin," the Matriarch commanded, her voice beautiful and deep with a raspy echo. The Jonin held the cup of green fire aloft, silver smoke rising from it, glittering in the candlelight. As one, the drummers struck, a deep grave note filling the chamber. Half the outermost runes began to glow with orange light, and the Jonin took a single step.

With the next beat, he took another step and the plume of glittering smoke drifted into the circle.

And so it went, a step for each beat of the drums as the outer circle came alive. The Shadowkhan kneeling in the center was nearly obscured by the smoke as the Jonin finished his first circle, then the beats sped up.

Soon the drums sounded their thunderous beat like a storm, the Jonin running each footfall in rhythm around the circle, smoke trailing from the goblet he held into the rising sphere of mist, colored by the angry glow of the runes below. Passing the Matriarch again, she shifted amidst her shadows and a clear note of wind music sounded.

The melody was high and sharp, a swift bird daring the storm fearlessly. It brought flashes of lightning to accompany the thunder of drums and footfalls.

The sparking dome of orange and green swirled, pulsing with light in tune to the thunder. A high long note cut off, the drummers stayed their hands, lifting sweating brows, and the Jonin halted and twisted, throwing the goblet into the sphere.

A crack filled the room, and a rush of air sent the Shadowkhan flying back, their drums tumbling. Only the enthroned Matriarch remained unperturbed, looking at the now unmarked spot on her hall's floor. Of the dome, circles, and Shadowkhan, there was no sign, only the twisted blackened ruin of the goblet. Sharp white teeth were bared, catching the flickering candlelight.

"Now, Drago, let us see how a demon's treachery stands against a Shadowkhan's loyalty," she hissed as her vassals picked themselves up.

San Francisco, After Drago's Arrival:

Over the drainage canal a light ignited; it hovered in the air like a green will'o wisp. A stray cat hissed at it angrily, quite tired of strange occurrences. With a boom that echoed down the concrete lined ditch, the green expanded into a large disk. Four circles of blazing orange appeared on the disk, a symbol in its center most circle erasing itself.

As the last line of orange writing vanished, the circles and disk shattered like glass, clattering to the ground and shattering further as a figure in back dropped to the ground, crouching.

Red eyes scanned the surroundings and sniffed the air as the shards of his arrival vaporized into blue smoke.

Hand resting on a cord wrapped along his left forearm, the figure rose to his feet. He watched the cat, confirming it as the only seeming witness. The cat hissed at him before running off.

With a deep breath, he ran a hand through his close cut dark hair. The breath induced the near gagging sensation he had hoped for.

Drago's trail. For once, the most honored Matriarch's traveling spells had sent a Shadowkhan exactly where he was meant to be, without complications. Which he found too hard to believe; best get moving before whatever was wrong with this spot kicked in. The bull had been, while not the worst, certainly the most memorable instance of teleporting gone wrong for him.

No time to linger anyway, this was not just a normal duty that he could never fail at. This was a duty to everything that mattered in his inconsequential existence. Despite his reservation as he sprinted into the dark on Drago's trail, he found himself praying.

Section 13:

Dragowas having trouble enjoying his easy success. Sure, winning was the best, but…"Man, security here was weak back in the day! I mean really, the air vent cliché working was bad enough, but this?" Drago grumbled.

He held a groaning agent in his clawed hand by the collar of his shirt. The man's nose was broken, with the twin black eyes starting to dropped him to the floor with the other unconscious S-13 agents. No, these red shirts didn't deserve to be lumped in with the agents of his time; this was lame ole Section 13. Apparently the Chans really had carried it all on their backs in the old days.

Drago smiled, showing off his teeth as he walked up to the vault door. He ran a finger over it; really, steel felt the same regardless of its thickness. But still he had some idea how thick it was supposed to be, and he could feel the magic protecting it.

"But it's not meant to keep out the likes of me. The world's there for the taking, and only three obstacles in the way! Conquer yesterday to be on top today," Drago declared.

Spreading his jaws, the son of Shendu breathed a stream of fire on the vault door.

Uncle's Rare Finds:

"No,"Uncle stated, carrying a clay wolf statue in both hands to his desk. Viper followed behind him, frowning as he placed the artifact on the surface and pulled out a magnifying glass.

"What do you mean, 'no'?" Viper demanded.

"Aiyah! No, as in 'Uncle will not even listen to your verrrry foolish request'!" the old wizard yelled, before sitting and leaning back into his inspection. Tohru looked up from his own worktable, covered with books and papers adorned with strange kanji. Ink stained hands declared much of it to be his own work, along with the sumi-e set close at hand.

Tohru sighed. The onion-smelling thief brought new dynamics to their teamwork, along with filling in much of a Jade-shaped hole. Amongst those was her frequent butting of heads with Uncle. She was neither a child, a relation, nor a student, and as such felt less inclined to accommodate the man's stubbornness. And sometimes Tohru just thought she enjoyed the this time it was a very real argument, and he was left wondering how it would turn out.

"You owe me this! This is hazard pay, purple heart material," Viper insisted."You are volunteer, no pay and no frivolous benefits. Such things are for forces of darkness!" Uncle proclaimed.

"Wow, you really give progressive views on labor. Now look at this, though I know you love your antiques," Viper humphed. Pulling some of her hair aside she revealed a patch of bare skin on her scalp that had been hidden from sight.

"If you can hide it so well, Uncle sees no problem," Uncle waved it off, turning back to his statue. Viper smacked a hand on the desk, making Uncle grab the antique protectively in his arms.

"It's not growing back, even with the horse! You're a man, so you may not realize I am too young and too pretty to have a bald spot. Period," Viper explained, glaring.

"Vanity; thief should chalk baldness up to bad karma from life of crime. Shave head and Uncle may stop calling you thief," Uncle shot back.

"I can see why you're everyone's Uncle and not a grandfather. Such a way with women," Viper snarked. Tohru coughed, and they both looked at him, one with a glare, the other with misplaced irritation. Tohru drained cup of tea and coughed again, trying to look innocent.

They returned to glaring at each other as Tohru picked up a sheet covered in characters in a spiral pattern.

"Thief, there is no hair grow back potion!" uncle yelled, raising his arms.

"No way! You have magic that can bind ancient evil, travel though time, bring an action figure to life, reverse aging, and separate someone into good and evil twins, and no on has ever made a way to grow back hair? No wizard has ever been bald and not liked it?" Viper demanded."…" Uncle looked at her evenly. Viper let out a long breath, and smacked her forehead onto the desktop lightly."I could look into it," Tohru spoke up. Viper snapped back up and smiled at him.

"Now that's a real man's attitude. Thank you, Tohru, and maybe you should take notes from your student," Viper remarked, smiling at Tohru and casting a look at Uncle.

As the thief left with a much lighter step than she arrived, Uncle glared at Tohru, who just shrugged with a nervous smile. Then the phone rang.

Section 13:

"Yes, a wall of red fire between us and the Vault. A dragon man. No glowing red eyes, size? Human-ish, but with a tail," Captain Black called into his phone while his men sprayed fire retardant foam and jelly onto the red blaze, to no effect.

"What? A dragon-man, demon-thing, threw down a vial and it erupted. No, he didn't give his name.

"No, it's not spreading! But nothing puts it out! What? It's fire, it looks like fire!" Captain Black yelled into his phone.

Nearby:

Drago let up his flames and watched as the last layer of the vault door melted away. He didn't want to risk damaging the Talismans, or the masks. Demon fire might actually do the job, and he wanted that power and those Generals right where they were.

He glanced back at the bottled hellfire keeping Captain Black at bay. As he thought, this pathetic era had no ready means to even begin dealing with such tricks. Still, he only had two vials left…

No matter – unlike in his present day, there were eleven Talismans ripe for the taking. Only humans could be so foolish as to possess such consequence-less power and not use it.

"Who dares? !" a voice roared. A very familiar one.

"Oh yeah, you're still hanging around," Drago sighed. Stepping into the Vault, his eyes played over the Talisman container. The good magic was already coiling along the cylinder, agitated into power greater than on the door. He was prepared for it.

"Drago? Has the son come to the aid of the father?" Shendu asked as Drago stepped into sight.

"Me? Help you? Have you gone senile, you old gecko? I ought to come over there and chip off your horns!" Drago yelled.

"Worthless ingrate! I am your father, all you are comes from me!" Shendu yelled back, his eyes flaring.

"You're the bastard who left me sealed in that sword by Lo Pei! You actually got the sword from him, and just chucked it over the Himalayas!" Drago shouted, pointing an accusing finger.

"I thought a few centuries sealed would build some character in you, weakling," Shendu said. Drago had a feeling that, if he could, the old dragon would have shrugged his shoulders while saying it.

"Well, it made me realize how much I hate your ass, so I guess it worked," Drago grinned.

"Enough! Give me the Talismans; free me! Or when I am freed you will suffer like no other, my treacherous spawn!" Shendu threatened, his red eyes flaring bright.

"When you're free? Oh, right, you wouldn't know yet. Jade already destroyed the Dog talisman, so you being freed… well, it's not going to happen, pops," Drago grinned.

"WHAAA-! *BOOM*" Shendu roared, before the blast door crashed down over his alcove. Drago pulled his hand back from the big red panic button, smiling.

"Boring conversation anyway. Now, Talismans come to poppa!" Drago laughed, pulling out a small cutting torch.

Outside the Vault:

Captain Black stood next to Agent Wisker and the two-dozen Section 13 agents that had gathered outside the corridor leading to the Vault. Said corridor was currently filled with flames of a red-orange hue, which were mystically not spreading beyond the area they currently engulfed, or being affected by the facility's fire suppression system.

"Try and look on the bright side, sir," Agent Wisker commented, "At least we know the hostile doesn't have access to all the Talismans, so we don't have to worry about him letting Shendu out."

"No, we just have to worry about him taking the rest of the Talismans himself," Black groaned, rubbing his forehead, "You know, it's time like this I miss Interpol – no demons, no magic, just good old fashioned criminals."

"Well, the old man should be here soon, sir. And once the flames are down, the target will be cornered, so it should be easy enough to neutralize him."

Black was about to comment on his subordinate's optimism, when something suddenly shot through the air between them, falling into the flames and hitting the ground with the sound of breaking glass. This was followed by a flash of dark energy, as the flames parted to the side, forming an opening to the Vault.

Before any of the assembled agents could comprehend what had just happened, a figure dressed in black dashed between Black and Wisker, nearly knocking them aside, before darting between the other agents and through the passage in the fire, which quickly closed behind him.

"…What just happened?" Black asked, stunned.

Meanwhile:

Drago grinned wickedly as the cutting torch did its job – the glass was magically reinforced, but that hardly did anything against such a mundane tool. And he was more than ready to deal with the actual magic once he got to it.

"Too easy," he said, before noticing something reflected in the glass. Before he could realize what he was seeing, there was a loud *CRACK* as a length of dark leather suddenly wrapped around the torch, biting into his hand before pulling it free and bringing it smashing to the ground.

Hissing in anger and pain, Drago clutched his hand as he spun around. His eyes narrowed as he spotted the black-clothed figure standing outside the Vault.

Though he wore the traditional Shadowkhan clothes, his blue face was uncovered. His face was angular, a pointed chin and nose with narrow cheeks calling a bird to mind. The effect was enhanced by thin sideburns framing his face, and a widow's peak made prominent by a near buzz cut of dark hair.

"Karasu!" Drago roared. He watched the Shadowkhan walk through the ruined vault door, pulling the whip back and at ready. Drago growled, starting to pace the room, keeping the Talismans between them as they fell into the classic circling.

"You don't seem surprised to see me, oath-breaker," Karasu stated, glimpsing the red eyes of the hybrid through the Talisman display. He stepped over the ruined cutting torch as Drago laughed.

"Like Jade would let me run rampant in the past. I stole a good bit of my spell from her scrolls; I knew she would have some kind of time magic handy. If for no other reason than to keep it from being used against her.

"So I knew someone would try and rain on my parade. But you? Here I feared Lee, or maybe even Jade herself, and they send the babysitter! Is she that unhappy with her life that she wants me to thrash it up?" Drago laughed.

"You mock the Matriarch… have you no shame?

"Lo Pei sealed you in the Blade. You were still an inexperienced youth when Verde freed you from it only to make you a slave. When the Shadowkhan claimed the sword everyone expected her to return you to the seal.

"But she spared you that. Gave you a chance to rise above your heritage. You were her vassal, a valued student. And you repay it with this treachery?" Karasu demanded, glaring through the case.

"What can I say, I saw my future as a lackey and didn't like it. She wouldn't settle for being someone's stooge, and I learned most everything from her and the old gecko. If anyone's to blame, it's her for not seeing this coming.

"And why are we talking about this? You know my story, and I lived it. What's with the recap, rugrat herder?" Drago demanded, stopping in place. Karasu halted across from him, tilting his head as if thinking.

"Oh, I'm just stalling for time. You are stronger than me in a straight-up fight, but once the Chans break in here, your chances of success drop close to zero.

"All I need to win, traitor, is for you to lose," Karasu's lip twitched in what might gave been a smile.

Drago glanced to the shadows cast in the hall by the hellfire. Was it wavering? How much time had he wasted? Too much.

Without another word, he lunged around the case, fire breath already building.

Outside Section 13:

"Jackie, what kept you! ? Dragon man is trying to steal Talismans, and is in there with Shendu!" Uncle yelled as Jackie ran up to the phone booth. For all his impatience, it was clear the three from the shop had only just arrived.

"I was across town! Where do these dark forces keep coming from?" Jackie moaned. Uncle smacked him over the head as he, Jackie, and Viper – disguised with a shoulder length blonde wig and sunglasses – crammed into the elevator.

"Daolon Wong's death has created a vacuum in the ranks of Dark Forces. Even disenchanted, the Darkest Mage is relevant. As with Shendu's death at Jade's hand, evil is rushing to fill the void.

"Uncle thought Jade was already doing so, and might get worse, but the Dark Forces must be trying verrry hard," Uncle explained grimly.

"You mean it gets worse than an evil Jade with Shadowkhan?" Jackie moaned, trying to face palm but elbowing Viper's shoulder in the process.

"Hey," Viper protested.

"Jackie, do not molest thief, you set a poor example," Uncle cried.

"That was not even…" Jackie protested before cutting himself off and sighing. He was already getting a headache.

"The girl's blue and bad already, a bit late for him to set a 'bad' example, don't you think old-timer?" Viper asked with a mischievous grin. She realized she was in no position to dodge just before his smack set her wig askew with a crack.

"Oh, if that's how you want it…" Viper chuckled menacingly.

*SMACK*

"Waaah!" Jackie cried in pain and surprise.

"Sorry Jackie, backswing," Viper muttered nervously.

The Vault:

The dragon unleashed the fireball, which cut through open air to strike Shendu's door. A whip cracked and Drago cringed. His leather jacket was ripped across the back and a thin trail of blood flowed down its center.

Karasu pulled his whip back, backpedaling as Drago growled, following him.

"Backstabbing ninja!" Drago roared, leaping forward with speed born of superior strength. The ninja faded to the left, swiping claws grazing his shoulder, tearing into cloth.

And flesh. Drago smiled, looking at the drops of blood on his claws. Opening his jaws, he spat another fireball at the Shadowkhan, whose back was to the wall.

Karasu's whip radiated black and coiled into a circular shield in the ninja's hands. The fireball burst against it, and as the flames danced, it unwound to reveal Karasu unharmed.

Drago was already in his face, pulling back a punch. Karasu's empty fist shot forward, coming under Drago's jaw to hit his throat.

"Gah!" Drago croaked, but grinned, his own fist shooting forward anyway. Steel buckled as the scaled fist impacted the spot Karasu had been. The ninja slipped between his opponent's legs only for his head to be stopped as a tail wrapped around his neck as he came back up.

"That trick doesn't work on those of us with tails. Jade must be getting worse, or I'm getting better. Then again-!" Drago was cut off as the whip cracked, catching one of his feet. Twisting his whole body, Karasu pulled Drago off his feet.

The tail came loose enough for his free hand to pry it off. They were both on their feet, staring each other down in crouches. The blue man was scowling, while the dragon man bared his teeth, smoke rising between them.

"You can't beat me Karasu, I know all your ninja tricks from the spars," Drago pointed at the Shadowkhan.

"I know just as much about how you fight, oath-breaker," Karasu answered with banked anger.

"Well that never let you win before, it won't now," Drago smirked. Karasu's lip twitched, bringing the dragon up short. The Shadowkhan held a hand to his ear. Watching him suspiciously, Drago cocked his own head, he didn't…

Hear the sound of a nearby inferno.

"Victory does not require that I win, only that you lose," Karasu stated.

"YOU!" Drago roared, before a green ray struck him in the shoulder, sending him stumbling back.

Karasu glanced to the figures appearing in the lone doorway. A blur of white made him look down. His right arm shot up before the sutra scroll billowing around him tightened about his body, binding all other limbs.

Drago looked up at Tohru, Uncle and Viper filling the doorway, and Jackie Chan already looking the pair of them over with surprise.

"Later, babysitter," Drago grinned, reaching into his jacket. Glass shattered out of sight as the wizards fired off their chi blasts. The green beams struck a column of hellfire stretching up into the ceiling and then lifting up off the floor. It rose out of sight through the ceiling, not even leaving singe marks.

"What is going on here?" Jackie demanded, looking at the spot the dragon man had disappeared from.

"Drago, the son of Shendu, wants to cut your niece's future short, Jackie Chan. I'm here to see to it he fails. So what are you going to do?" Karasu drew attention to himself as he knelt down on the vault floor, watching the humans filling up the room.

"Tohru-san, you look different without your scars," Karasu remarked as he was marched down the corridor, his free arm held behind his back by the sumo. Captain Black and the others also escorted him, Agent Wisker frowning as he glanced back over his shoulder at the ninja.

"We are not buying the time travel story that easily," Viper commented. The Shadowkhan glanced at her; his lips almost drew back, but he seemed to think better of it.

"Taicho, think about this. What would I have to gain by lying? If not for me, you would be dealing with a demon dragon powered by eleven-too many Talismans," Karasu asked Captain Black.

"A battle between monsters doesn't require a right side. And even if you are from the future, it doesn't look to be a good one," Captain Black remarked, one hand on his side arm.

"Rather depends on where you stand, I suppose. But Drago is an enemy to all sides, then and now. You should be focusing on him; I only work to preserve the future as it is," Karasu insisted.

"Shadowkhan goals are not our goals!" Uncle smacked the blue man over the head.

"Well, in that case – when you meet Drago, use better sutras," Karasu said as they reached the open holding cell door. The paper fell down around his legs and the freed hand sprang up to hit Tohru on the throat. Tohru gasped and stumbled back. A fish and two guns came up, only to hesitate as he ninja slipped behind Tohru's back.

Viper came around him, onion in hand, just as Tohru's shadow stopped rippling.

"Well, now I can believe he works for Jade," Viper remarked.

"We really should make knocking them out standard procedure," Wisker added.

Bank of California, San Francisco Branch:

Blankman flipped through the documents as he stepped out of the stock office. These returns had been simply unacceptable. The agent had sold stocks at a loss, and bought from companies on his supposed "classified" short list, and charged for the services. He truly detested those who felt entitled to demand payment for failure.

Success was to be rewarded, failure at best tolerated and at worst punished. The world would be a better place if his fellow financial men had the Sword of Damocles dangling over their heads. Nothing like vital threats weighed against rich rewards to separate the wheat from the chafe and bring out the best of their potential.

Blankman was contemplating how best to get back at the disgraceful little man for his slight to proper financial management conduct, and just registered the warm tingling in his trouser pocket before the double doors dominating the lobby exploded in.

Drago gave his best, "panic inducer" roar as he walked into the bank. He frowned at the humans looking at him stunned instead of running. Rearing back his head, he released another fire blast, striking the ceiling. That got the running and screaming he was going for.

He had no interest in actually robbing this place, but he needed to draw attention.

Tohru didn't have any scars, which meant Jade didn't have the second tablet yet. Which meant she wasn't in so strong a position that she would turn down an alliance. He could still make this work without the Talismans. Get rid of the babysitter, get close enough to Jade to end her, maybe even take the Shadow Hand himself!

But first he needed to find her. Which was not going to happen, so better to get her attention and let her find him.

So now, where do they keep the money? After all, he might as well line his pockets while he's at it.

The son of Shendu paid the fleeing humans no mind. He wasn't as dismissive as the old gecko would be; his experiences wouldn't allow it. But this was all just a stunt for grabbing attention, no need to bother with the insignificant.

As such, it was only with nearly noticed idleness he noted that the last of the humans had fled from the fire he had started and the perceived terrorist attack/robbery. Then the surveillance cameras around the room, and beyond, began to explode in a shower of sparks and the sprinklers clicked off.

Drago stopped running his hand over the bank vault door to look around. He was experiencing puzzlement that bordered on alarm.

"Demon filth, who are you to intrude on this place of business?" a bland monotone of a voice demanded. Frowning, Drago turned to see a pudgy balding man in a grey sports jacket standing across the room behind a desk. Drago narrowed his eyes at the man and sniffed the air.

His eyes widened for a moment, before narrowing to slits.

"You," Drago hissed.

"Me?" Blankman asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"Oh yeah, I guess this could happen. But you're no Ten now, just another hack wizard too big for your pants!" Drago laughed.

"Britches," Blankman remarked.

"Huh?" Drago broke off his laugh.

"The saying is 'too big for your britches'. I know you are demonic vermin, but can you at last respect proper language and grammar?" Blankman asked with a tone that suggested he doubted Drago could.

"Oh, no doubt! Only two people can piss me off this quickly. Well, three actually, and a couple come in under… Never mind! I was just looking to get into Jade's number two slot, but nipping you in the bud is one fantastic bonus. First you go down, then she gets my claws in the back at the golden opportunity," Drago cheered, crackling his knuckles.

Blankman cocked an eyebrow again. Without crouching, he leapt over the desk, landing in a relaxed position, looking as if he hadn't just performed such a feat.

"Those goals are rather unacceptable. As violent disagreement seems inevitable, are you going to answer my question?" Blankman queried. Drago frowned, but lowered himself into a stance.

"Drago, son of Shendu, and the last name you're ever going to hear," Drago smirked. With a roar, he charged the wizard, claws raised. Blankman reached both hands under his sports coat, and ripped them back out with a sound of tearing cloth. Sheets of paper burst from under his jacket.

"Seal of the first spiral, 32nd cant, essence of iron," Blankman declared sedately. Sheets of paper glowed with runes as they adhered across his body. Drago bore down with an overhead strike, only for both arms to be diverted away from Blankman's head as fists struck the inside of his wrists. The man was gone then, and pain exploded in Drago's left shin as a metal foot seemed to whip into it.

"Coup de pied bas," Blankman said.

"What? !" Drago demanded, stopping himself from pitching forward.

"Fouetté," Blankman answered, his shoe whipping into Drago's back, sending the demon flying into the desk.

"If you don't fear my magic, son of Shendu, perhaps you should be wary of my savate de rue," Blankman commented.

Drago pushed himself up from the desk and glared at the accountant. His joints and forehead were covered with rune-adorned paper, along with his hands and shoes.

"I've dealt with martial artists," Drago spat. Blankman's mouth twitched at that comment and perhaps his eyes narrowed too for a moment.

"True Savateurs are no hypocritical philosophers, young demon. There is no enlightenment or higher justification for these skills. Making yourself your best weapon is all the reason wanted or needed," Blankman retorted calmly.

Drago took a deep breath and breathed a steam of fire at Blankman. The savateur sidestepped the flame, only for Drago to pivot on his feet. Paper flew off the man into the path of the flames. The dragon fire made them burst in sparks, runes flaring a final time.

"Even magic paper is still paper, lousy human," Drago laughed. The stream cut off and the tall shield of paper crumbled, revealing nothing behind it. Blankman slapped Drago's back, leaving a king of clubs stuck there.

"Seal of the Fifth Spiral, 53rd Cant, Demonic Suppression," Blankman said. A blazing white rune ignited as the playing card picture peeled away. Drago screamed as electricity played over him. Blankman punched him in the neck with a jab, sending him to his knees.

Drago threw out his own punch; a grey-sleeved arm closed around it and twisted. A pop was covered by Drago's yells, as the arm was forced out of joint.

"Demons, Fey, the Little People, and all the rest; you never change your tunes. Humans are either your marks, your food, or patronized little children. You act as if you are so high and we are so low.

"A truly foolish attitude. Despite the power at your command, who was it that won in the end? Which race established dominion over this world and molded it to their purpose? And which races were pushed to the periphery and beyond, left to only covet the world they lost and the days they were relevant?

"Humans are the superior race, it's been proven by the outcome. Victory so absolute that too many of them, the lot of you, are just a story to pass the time.

"And yet still you act as if you are entitled to meddle with the works of humanity with your delinquency," Blankman scowled, knocking Drago to the floor with a roundhouse kick to the back.

The card bust into flame as Drago rose, panting for breath. Hands grabbed the horns on his head and jerked it to the right; he strained against it and roared, grabbing at paper-coated arms.

"What are you doing?" Drago demanded.

"Research – does snapping a hybrid's neck kill it, or merely paralyze?" Blankman answered.

Drago tried to twist around on his attacker, but Blankman just moved along, his grip remaining tight.

"Idiot, no human is strong enough…" Drago spat, before his head began to ease in the direction of the twist despite his muscles' straining.

"No you DON'T!" Drago roared. The dragon crouched swiftly, pulling Blankman off his feet onto his back. With a wordless bellow, Drago leapt straight up, colliding with the ceiling, Blankman taking the impact.

They hit the floor, Blankman still holding on, but loosened. Reaching back, Drago grabbed his arms and threw the man up and over him.

The paper wizard flew but twisted in the air, landing in a crouch, sport jacket flapping around him as he skidded backwards across the floor. The hybrid spat a spark to the side and popped his arm back into place with a grunt.

Drago sneered and smacked a purple jewel ring on his right hand. Purple mist filled that hand and spread to his waiting other hand. With a blow from Drago the mist dispersed, revealing a nasty looking warhammer.

"Hmm, that was Wong's," Blankman remarked, standing up.

"The Hammer of Chui has a new master. And now, it's hammer time!" Drago roared, raising the hammer to charge at the wizard. Bearing his fangs, he swung the hammer down at the wizard's head. It passed through, and into the torso to hit nothing.

With a crunch, the hammerhead crashed into the tile floor, burying itself between the nice brown shoes. Blankman flickered and vanished, revealing Blankman standing two paces behind the illusion, holding a glowing playing card.

"Oh fu-" Drago muttered, before a foot collided with his mouth and a fist slammed into his kidneys. Letting go of the hammer reflexively, Drago tried to back away. His eyes widened when a knee shot up between his legs. He grinned as the wizard cocked an eyebrow at his lack of reaction.

"I'm a reptile, genius, my assets don't just hang around like a dumb mammal," Drago laughed, spitting a fireball and forcing the wizard to dodge and backpedal.

"So that's why dragon balls are such a premium. So hard to find them," Blankman noted with a thoughtful frown. Reaching down with one hand, he pulled the Hammer of Chui out of the floor and smacked its upper handle into his other palm, regarding Drago.

"Shendu had only one son, and he is sealed in the Sword of Lo Pei. Furthermore, this hammer should not be accessible. And finally, you know me when nobody should. You come from the future, which means… you knoweth too much," Blankman stated, narrowing his eyes. Drago looked at the hammer that had ended up in his enemy's hand, but still managed to meet his eyes with a smile.

"Wouldn't you like to know how much I know?" Drago taunted.

"Dragon scales are supposed to be like steel. A smith can make steel sing with a hammer. How many strokes until you sing for me?" Blankman asked with that same flat tone.

"Just try it," Drago spat. Blankman nodded, and with the hammer raised, advanced at a brisk but controlled clip. Drago did not wait for him, coming forward with his face set in concentration.

Blankman frowned, but struck out with the hammer, taking the last three steps long and swift into Drago's guard. Drago twisted away from it, a corner of the hammer nicking his side and sending him near off balance as something cracked.

Both fighters moved with the motions, coming around again. Drago's hand latched onto the handle of the hammer right under the head, stopping it before it crashed into his face. Blankman stepped in, driving the iron handle into Drago's side with all the force he could muster.

The demon hybrid grunted in irritation and grabbed the handle with his other hand. For a moment, they stood there struggling, the hammer barely moving between them.

Both combatants acted in tandem and ignorance. Blankman's left foot hooked around Drago's right and struck its ankle. At the same time, Drago's ring flashed, and the hammer dissolved into smoke. Drago stumbled with a curse while Blankman nearly fell onto his back at the loss of handholds.

A clawed hand covered in green scales shot through the purple smoke. Cloth ripped as Drago raked his claws across Blankman's unpapered chest, shredding the white shirt and light red tie.

Blankman gasped, backpedaling away from the demon. Scowling, the balding man pressed a hand to his chest; it came away red and wet as his shirt changed color.

"You are becoming an annoyance," he stated, a hint of heat creeping into his voice.

Drago licked blood from his index claw with a long tongue. He stopped to smile at Blankman.

"Oh, it gets worse," Drago said. Opening his mouth, Drago revealed fire already sprouting from his throat.

"No, it does not," Blankman answered, pulling a joker from his sleeve with a blood-smeared hand. Drago let the flames fly and cut if off quickly to counter whatever the wizard was cooking. But glancing around, the wizard was nowhere in sight?

"What's with the paper magic, he never used that when I fought him. A joker?" Drago wondered, turning around. He was getting anxious; he had counted on this target being an easy mark at this point, but he was showing skill Drago hadn't seen before.

'You must not have been worth my future-self showing all his cards. Never play your king when the jack is quite enough,' Blankman thought, watching Drago.

His activated Joker was adhering to his chest as he crouched on the ceiling. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out a tiny bottle, cracked and empty.

'So much for that,' he thought, tucking the potion bottle back in. His hand mirror had been cracked too; he had felt it when Drago hit the ceiling. He would need some time, Blankman decided, silently walking to stand over Drago.

Drago was debating whether or not a retreat might be a good idea when a drop of blood landed on one of his horns. He looked up to see paper filling his vision.

Thunk

Blankman's leap, corresponding with a restoration of personal gravity, carried his weight via a paper-coated knee. A satisfying set of crunches followed, his own impact and as he drove Drago's skull down to fracture the tiles.

'Less than ideal though,' the wizard frowned, getting up off of the dazed dragon to shake his knee. Even with armor, his knee was tingling during a high stakes encounter he had been adequately prepared for.

It was time for a trip to the men's room, Blankman decided.

Drago was seething as he sat up; his face was throbbing like… well, like what had happened had happened, he thought, putting the pieces together. He grinned though, seeing the gray sports jacket vanish into the bathroom. The one who ran was usually the one who lost.

Blankman clutched his chest as he walked to the nearest mirror. Squaring himself in front of it, he pressed a bloodstained hand to the glass. He watched as the bloody handprint sank into the thirsty glass, revealing his reflection, then a face very much not his own.

"Lucinda, alchemic contingency 2," Blankman instructed. A feminine face seemingly crafted from stained glass of green and gold regarded him with glowing eyes, and then nodded to him before turning away.

Drago knocked the door off its hinges with his hammer and stepped into the bathroom.

"Pissing yourself, stinking wizard?" Drago asked. His eyes widened after he said it and then brought the hammer up to cover his face.

Thunder ripped through his ears before something punched him in the chest, hard.

The impact sent Drago skidding and stumbling back out of the room into the lobby. Blankman stepped through the doorway, cocking the shotgun again.

"Magister shells! Those don't exist yet!" Drago yelled, clutching his chest as steam rose from the bloody little holes in it.

"I hate to resort to something so crude, and engraving each enchanted silver ball shot is time consuming, and it doesn't even kill your kind. But, I can just kill you with something else after," Blankman commented, raising the shotgun.

Drago threw the hammer at the man. Blankman sidestepped the projectile and fired; he almost expected a miss as the dragon ran towards the window dominated far wall. But he knew some connected, from the way the demon stumbled. Blankman briskly pursued, pumping the gun again.

Drago leapt up, bursting through the glass, arms shielding his face. He pitched forward as thunder rattled the lobby again. Blankman leapt up to the windowsill, glass crunching under his feet as he chambered another round. A mundane round, but fear of it would help. He saw Drago in the alley below hurl something onto the ground. Glass shattered then fire sprang up, filling the air.

The wizard hopped back into the bank, blinking in surprise at the hellfire filling the window. It was gone in moments, and then he dropped the gun and drew a pair of cards from both sleeves. Thus armed, he leapt back onto the sill, but the alley was empty.

"Hmm," Blankman hummed, looking back into the lobby.

Sirens filled the air as he zipped a plastic bag shut, inside a simple blank business card stained with all the demon blood he had been able to find on the floor. Stashing it in a coat pocket, he picked up his briefcase and placed a queen of hearts on the floor.

"Seal of the second spiral, 27th cant, purifying spring," he stated. The queen peeled away to reveal a shining blue rune. Water burst from it in a spout majestic as Blankman stepped back. He picked the shotgun up off a broken desk and watched as the water erased much of the forensics both mundane and mystic; few people thought to use this spell like that.

The twinges in his chest reminded him he had to be going. Flicking a card into the air, it shredded into glowing confetti and whirled about the bloodied man in the suit, trailing darkened winds in its wake. For a few seconds a small dark whirlwind appeared in the demolished lobby, only to disperse with a crack.

Men with guns and suits entered warily, water bubbling around their feet. The place was deserted; two of them shared a look, wondering what they had missed.

Elsewhere?:

Floating in the black, all was dark, no warmth, no cold, nothing stirring. Nothing, nothing but the black.

She could not tell when her eyes were open or closed; everything was fuzzy. Was she floating, falling, or just another piece of the darkness?

How long had she been here?

Had she been somewhere else?

What else? There was supposed to be something else?

Yes, there was something… warmth. Yes, below, on her back, warmth.

Not heat/light/bad. Warmth. Yes, good warmth, sink into warmth. Down, down and away.

Fade, into warmth and dark.

"No," the dark spoke.

She shuddered at the sound shattering her peace. Other, someone else? Outside? Talking, burning?

Deeper, quicker, away, away, away, away…

"No," the voice repeated. Arms beneath, stopping the descent, holding her. She pressed against them, sagging, moaning at the unwelcome contact so solid against her shifting form.

One arm moved, letting a calloused hand cup her small head. They rose, lifting her up and away from the warmth, she may have wept. She couldn't see the one who had denied her warmth, it was too dark.

"Your time is not yet," it spoke. The firm finality angered her enough to form words not even fully understanding their meaning.

"Says you," she whispered. She could feel him look at her, which she decided was very unfair.

"So I say? Yes, I have waited, without expecting it to come. And it still has not. But it may. So long ago, so many mistakes. Roads best left untraveled, walked to the bitter end.

"So no, you have leagues and leagues before you sleep. Forward," it spoke near and distant to her.

"Forward?" she asked, confusion mounting.

"Backward, to go forward. Right first, then left. Down before up. Into darkness, and out into light.

"The past before the future, legend before destiny," he spoke, lifting her up. He only had hands on her now; the arms were stretched up. She did not like this, she was exposed, she could be dropped.

"Stop," she begged.

"No," he repeated. With that word the darkness was gone, without a peal or a flash. As if it had never been, nothing was replaced by something.

A mountaintop. Lush forests below the bald peak, a meandering bright river cutting through the trees. Three figures were atop the mountain. A hag, red of skin with a nose far too long and a cloak of gray that clung to her, somehow she was like a bird. A man loomed over her, his features beyond sight, his clothes plain but fine, a spear that rose higher than his distant face held at ready.

Upon a bed of moss a most beautiful woman cried. It was birth, her belly swollen ripe with life as the long nosed midwife hovered over her. Even pained and swollen her beauty was flawless.

Her legs parted, and fire poured forth. Fire everywhere, the red woman howled in pain and terror while the woman screamed, falling through the dark in flames. A roar shook the darkness and thunder threatened to split the world, as the husband raged and slammed his spear upon the earth.

The mother fell, cloaked in flame, a fine robe it became on her form, fitting perfectly to a figure no longer strained by bearing life.

She alighted on a land of corruption. All was darkness and filth, trees of twisted fruit and a river overflowing with corruption. There were others there, but her light held them back, nothing but shadows hiding in shadows.

A distant light became her goal. The way to her proper place, far beyond and above this polluted land she need not linger in. Yet they hovered as she walked along the river's shore. The light drew them even as it repelled, driving them to sing in joy and mourning as had never been heard in the halls of the underworld.

A song that reached a throne crafted in the likeness of this place. The ruler and warden of all in this darkness unbroken, stirred from his miserable duties. The darkness ever thickest around his mighty form he rose, in search of what disturbed the misery unending of his domain.

He found it, and in a moment forgot his throne was one of revulsion, that his realm was a prison bounding guardsman and guilty both to its walls. Desire long forgotten grew and bloomed as he drew unto her light.

She bid him back; it was not his place to waylay her. Her path lay beyond, she need only pass through.

As he knew. Yet his realm was where she stood and he could demand his toll. To never look upon the sun or be looked upon by it, and in exchange all must pass before him one day and he may demand tribute.

She had been unprepared, and her husband in his grief had given no offering even as he shook the world. So the Dread Lord took his payment even as her light burned his flesh on the banks of the river.

The seed was planted, and she could go no further till it bore fruit. On the edge of the river he adorned her as unto a queen, her raiment of fire extinguished. But all in his realm was polluted and vile; from her throne of bones she waited, hating all who drew near, garbed in corruption at the river's edge.

At last the time came and the seed was born. The child was born, a girl standing on her feet and climbed away from the pollution of the river at her mother's command. Colored after the sunless river save for the ember eyes of the flames of her conception she hid herself.

The mother, exhausted and famished by the birthing, took an offering of fruit from the Dread Lord. And only having taken one bite realized her error. The Dread Lord rejoiced as his queen was bound to his realm. Yet, to dwell in his realm was to be polluted and her beauty decayed before his eyes. She sat upon her throne garbed in the fineries of the underworld, now one suited to wearing them.

Seeing the decay of its mother the child refused the food of the underworld and sat beneath her throne, ever hungry. Looked past and unheard by the figure enthroned, she hungered in all ways in the darkness.

At last the husband came. Teeth gashing and scowling as the unclean parted before him in fear, he searched for her in the darkness. He called for his wife, begging her return. The mother begged the Dread Lord his leave. For one not dead had come and had the right to demand one back from his realm.

Glamored to seem as she had been, she came to her husband with the Dread Lord's challenge. The husband was to wait, beyond the door to the Dread Lord's throne room, until she was sent out, her business with the underworld done.

The door closed, and he waited in darkness for her to come out. He waited long in night unending, the pollution of the very air offending him. He wondered what business has a wife with another man behind a barred door. What business to make him wait? And how long was he to wait? Until the seas ran dry?

Could he even mark the time without moon and sun as the unclean mocked him for ages wasted?

Breaking a tooth from his comb he lit it. The light drove back all his watchers, but one.

He eased the door open, and by the light of the match saw her fallen form, with the Dread Lord. The mother roared with despair, covering her nakedness, for now she would never return from whence she came for his act.

Donning her crown she called to the Oni, the hags, and the unclean dead; called them one and all down on her betrayer. Only his fall would sooth their queen, each one great and small stirred to lay the spearman low.

Thus he fled, through the hosts of the underworld and about the Oni. Outwitting and overcoming, eluding all he did not lay low. Save the ember-eyed child, who ran between his great strides, never striking, but seeking his path.

At last they emerged into the day. The husband paused for but a moment, and in that she slipped free and away into the world, before with a great boulder he sealed the underworld forever. The mother raged against the seal, cursing and renouncing him.

At last, with a heavy head and conviction he renounced in turn, and washed himself of the underworld and its denizens.

As he bathed, the child slipped away. In awe of the sun and all things beneath it, she forgot her endless hunger for sometime. Until she came across a peach tree, old and steeped in fruit. Freed from the pollution of her birth she did not fear she would rot, and the child of endless hunger sought to sate it.

But the tree was thick and the branches far from her reach. Maddened by the scent and hunger, she tore and gnashed at the soil and roots in despair. In a moment of exhaustion, she saw her shadow stretching long on the ground.

In the sunless lands no shadow was cast, so she knew not what she saw. To her it seemed a man dark, but most of all tall. The ember-eyed child bowed to the shadow and begged it to help her end the hunger she had known since her birth.

The shadow was awed and humbled to be addressed so. She thought it a man, so it stood up as one, colored and eyed like the one who had addressed it so courteously. With ease, a blue hand seized the ripest peach and gave it to eager tiny hands.

And with the first bite, just as those born to the living are bound to the dead, so did one born of the dead become one with the living. The tree was left bare before the girl rested beneath its boughs, the man who had been her shadow watching over her.

The scene faded away, Jade watched it go with puzzlement, lying easily in some man's arms.

"The Shadowkhan," she uttered, stunned.

"It is forgotten and now remembered. Kagehime, beloved of shadows, born from death into life, from darkness into light," the man spoke. She still couldn't see him through the darkness.

"Am I… dead?" she asked hesitantly.

"No, but nor are you worthy. Like Tametomo before you, you do not know what a shadow is," the man rumbled.

"A shadow is a shadow," she scowled at his hidden face. Somehow she knew he shook his head.

She rose out of his grasp, and to her surprise she tried to grab onto him. Up and away, the darkness fading. Fading into light…

San Francisco, South Street Junkyard:

"Freakin' buckshot," Drago cursed from his perch on the top of a rusting grey van. With a grimace, he tilted a pair of needle nose pliers awkwardly in his back. The dragon pulled the pliers out with a grunt and a small spurt of blood. His shirt and jacket were off, which revealed his scaled form, with several such crude holes bleeding across his chest, upper back, and two near his shoulder.

He held the pliers before his face, studying the bloody shot ball pinched in it. With a scowl, he opened the pliers and watched the ball fall with a ping and roll away and off the van roof.

"Finally," he sighed. Taking a deep breath he closed his eyes, face setting into concentration. The air around his body started to warp in heat waves, and the paint remaining on the roof he sat on began to curl.

With a series of firecracker sounds, flames burst from his wounds. Eyes snapping open, the waves vanished. Wiping soot from his chest, Drago revealed the wounds to be gone without even a scar.

"Well one problem solved. Now what?" Drago wondered.

"Jade is vulnerable, but if that guy is running interference I'll need some serious firepower. The Talismans… no, my best chance is gone there. I know what I need, but I need more power to get it," Drago cursed, pulling his tattered clothes back on.

Scowling, he walked through the junkyard, taking in the odds and ends of humanity's crap. High pitched whimpering drew his attention to the dog he had cowed earlier, hiding in a beat up excuse for a doghouse decorated with rusty vanity plates.

Inspiration struck him and he almost face-palmed.

"I even said it to the gecko!" Drago cursed. Striding to the perimeter fence, he tried to put together a map of 'Frisco in his head.

There was one Talisman power still within his reach. Maybe not the one he would have picked, but one had to start the road to world domination somewhere.

Jade Sea:

The sky was overcast, thunder rolled in the distance. Yet the thunder was receding, and only the odd patch of sky was torn in the breaks of the cloudbank. The sea had changed though. Now clouds floated atop ink-dark waters, catching the twilight in its reflection and sucking it down below as the clouds glowed almost jovially.

The Jade road the waves silently, cutting through the waters like a blade. Only the black sails strained, and the flag atop the mast flapping in the wind of the retreating wind betrayed the vessel's passage.

The Queen looked up at the banner of her ship, replacing the juvenile flag Hero had flown and she had been forced to tolerate for so long. A blue banner to match her coloring, with a red eye in the center surrounded by nine silver shuriken. She thought it was quite fitting.

Stepping up to the railing, she looked down on the deck where the crew muttered. Many Aspects newly splotched in blue stood among the ranks, a testament to her victory. Still, she winced at the thought of those stubborn Aspects chained to the hull and gagged. Depriving them so was against her "do as you please" approach, but they just weren't tolerable.

It made her glad in a way that Science and a few others had deemed to swim for it. A lack of opposition could make her reign dull. She thought over this as she descended the stairs to the deck. Expensive black slippers muffled her steps as the wind tried and failed to stir her precisely arranged hair. She held the sword beneath the hilt, still sheathed. It did not fit with her appearance, but she loved it and this ship regardless.

Even though it still seemed to be made for him.

She could not see Hero bound to the mast through the press. They were ignoring her; their attention was only for him now. She snarled, showing off her razor fangs. She drew the sword and pointed to the door beneath the helm station. The plank blocking the door rose with a clattering and the door swung wide with a bang.

All the Aspects scampered away, their alarm tasty on her tongue as she licked her lips. Ah, power. The chains struck out from the darkness beyond the door into the crowd, sending all but the most hardened Aspects fleeing back. She waited for the cry of alarm as she entered the channel the chains had cut. She did not need to fear them with the sword in hand.

No, never again would she fear those horrid chains.

But the cry never came. She blinked, seeing it but not hearing what she should. Somewhere deep in the vessel, an arthritic wheel began to turn and shriek, pulling the chains back.

Hero came forward with it, bound from neck to ankles in black metal. The swashbuckler was tattered, his kerchief a sodden white mess, the rest rags from what she could tell. Only his fine captain's hat was unspoiled. He looked at her as he dragged his heels. And looked.

She did not like that look. Crossing the shrinking distance, she hit him in the mouth with the sword pommel. He turned his head with the blow and looked back at her, smiling impeccably. Then he gave a single bark of laughter.

"What are you laughing at you… loser? !" the Queen demanded.

"You," he answered.

"Me? Hero, I have won. All that's left is what I don't need. This is not a situation you can escape from – this is your tragic downfall, not your heroic epic," she chided, watching as the chain drew him farther away, toward the open brig.

"Keheheheh," Hero chuckled. He shook his head, closing his eyes as his passage carved twin rows into the wood.

"Stop laughing!" the Queen roared, stamping her foot. Metal screamed and the wheel shrieked out of sight, in a rush of movement teeth and drawn back lips filled her sight.

"Kahahahaha!" Hero laughed into her eyes. With a gasp, she stumbled back; the chain jerked him, drawing him back away from her, carving out the deck again. Straightening up, she watched him go, suppressing an eye twitch.

"You. You are even more delusional than I am! Even more shortsighted! You just can't, you have no idea!" he laughed, the wind kicking up around them and rocking the boat. She watched him strain impotently against the chains, smiling at her with eyes that seemed to blaze, with a color that was not red.

"You think suppressing me is just like what happened to you? ! Hah! You were a possibility; I am Hero! So much leads to me, so much comes from me!

"But, you're right. I did lose, even if by no victory of yours. So take it, take all I had at my best and sail it on your heading. See where your course takes you. See what it makes you!" he cackled merrily, glaring at her as the crew drew back further.

A gust rocked the ship, sending black splashes onto the deck as he reached the doorway. The captain's hat was torn away, into the wind, leaving long hair to whip around freely.

"It's your show old man, show us what you've got," Hero laughed. With a final jerk back he was gone, into the darkness, only a Cheshire grin showing through the doorway.

The door slammed shut and the bar fell down, locking it into place, locking him away. The boom of wood on wood seemed to shatter the storm at last. The dark seas calmed and the clouds receded to the horizons. Baring a torn starless sky, the sun replaced by a pale moon reflected in the inky water.

The Queen gave a long sigh, holding the sword close to her chest. Even through the layers of her formal kimono, the steel was cold.

The captain's hat flitted through the sky, a sagebrush of the air. Almost merry in its idle wandering though the darkening world it finally drew near to a light. It may have been with some regret it allowed a human hand to reach up and grab it.

Father sat on the red tiled parapet. Light flooded from a nearby window; by it he solemnly inspected the hat, turning it over slowly. Manacled legs dangling over the edge, he looked out into the night, spying the distant ship.

"Fool, you gallant, magnificent fool. What did you have to prove? Why did you think it was worth so much?" he demanded, voice nearly cracking. The Father held the totem tight as he stood watch on the walls of the soul, the night growing darker beyond.

Outside Uncle's Rare Finds:

Stakeouts – hardly Drago's favorite pass time. Jade had agreed with him on how boring it was, even when teaching him how to go about it. She preferred action, and it had been even more pronounced in her younger days he had been told. The idea of a more proactive Jade, even in miniature… well, it was a bit intimidating.

But the payoff was being able to set up for that moment of awesome when everything happened in a flash.

So he waited patiently, if not happily. Watching the shop, waiting for the walkies.

He couldn't break in; the ward wasn't designed for him so he could break it, probably. But not so quietly as to not bring a pissed off chi wizard down on him on the guy's home turf.

Never fight a wizard on their own spot – you never knew what extra tricks they might have stashed.

But he knew this about this wizard, even if he was looking at the Vault with the place threatened, he would never leave his precious shop unattended. Add in a hyper dog and…

"And bingo was his name-o," Drago chuckled as Viper came out the front door with the dog on the leash.

"Huh, she doesn't look half bad with all that hair," Drago remarked. Pulling himself from his hiding spot on the roof across the street, he began to shadow her warily. He could handle her in this era, he was certain, but she would still have sharp senses.

Drago did not want to end up chasing the dog everywhere, so he approached this task stealthily. And he was so focused on sneaking up on someone else he did not notice someone was doing the same to him.

As his back was lashed, Drago cried out and shot up and forward, bracing and spinning against the ledge. Below, Viper looked up in surprise while Scruffy barked.

"Oh, you are so asking for this!" Drago roared at Karasu as the narrow-faced Shadowkhan cracked his whip.

"I told you, all I need do is prevent your victories to win," Karasu rebutted. Drago charged, forcing the ninja back in a series of leaps from the dragon's claws. He landed deftly on the opposite ledge, Drago still pressing on.

Springing into the air, he somersaulted in space as Drago ran into the ledge. Coming out of it, Karasu brought his heel onto the back of Drago's head, using it to spring away. Drago pitched, but recovered immediately to glare at the shinobi.

"Good move on a human, but my skull is much thicker, that must have hurt your foot," Drago taunted. Karasu pulled his whip from its coil on his arm and grabbed the leather in his free hand, stretching a length taut in front of him.

The leather crackled and seemed to be popping before it was free in a blink, coming for Drago's face. It cracked through empty air as Drago went down into a crouch and spat a fireball. The ninja leapt to the side clear, but came down with a roaring dragon in his face.

Karasu's tunic ripped as claws raked, revealing blue, but unbroken, skin. With a hiss, Karasu cracked his whip, its length ensnaring Drago's shin. Drago grabbed the cord as Karasu stepped back, pulling it taut. The leg jerked but did not send him down.

Red eyes glared into each other. Drago's free hand came down in a flame-coated chop, the whip snapping with a pop under the impact. Karasu stepped back, holding up the stump of smoking whip, scowling.

Drago laughed, unwinding his half and tossing it off the roof.

"Really, babysitter, I don't get it. She's not an idiot – if she was, I wouldn't have needed to resort to this. So why send you to stop me? I mean, she named you for a badass, but all she sees you fit to do is mind her brat.

"I mean it just doesn't make sense. Did you trick her into sending you back 'to prove your worth' or some crap like that?" Drago asked, crossing his arms, watching the ninja. He uncrossed them when Karasu grinned at him, an honest to crap grin!

"Drago, you are as blind as ever. You call yourself a dragon, but you are more demon than the Matriarch saw. Like Shendu, you view offspring as a bother, an investment you might take advantage of later. Your own miserable father's treatment of you is the measure you hold to family.

"Did it ever occur to you, that she chose me to watch over that which she valued most?" Karasu asked. Drago growled, taking a step toward his foe.

"Whatever! It still doesn't change-" Drago declared before a chi blast hit him in the back.

Falling to his knees, he glared over his shoulder to see Viper on the rooftop with Jackie Chan; Tohru was climbing up the ladder, having stopped to fire his fish.

"Shendu's son… I don't know. You see a resemblance, Jackie?" Viper asked coyly. Drago turned on them, vein throbbing in his forehead.

"Forget it! I'll change the future the old fashioned way. Break everyone and everything I can and see what that does. And you humans are the first!" Drago roared, smoke rising from his mouth.

Karasu threw a vial of glowing liquid at his back; it broke on impact, drenching Drago in thick green liquid. Drago felt it spread, turning back to the ninja as he clawed at the glowing substance.

"What was that? !" Drago demanded.

"Recall, to send you back to a fixed point in time. It only works on a time traveler, and that's all she could whip up. Enjoy your appointment," Karasu chuckled dryly.

"NO! I need more time! You cheated! This isn't fair!" Drago shouted as all but his face was covered in the glow.

"Drago, I'm a ninja, fair isn't in the job description, remember?" Karasu chided.

"Raaaaah!" Drago roared, spitting a final fireball before his mouth was covered. The projectile took Karasu in the chest, sending him hurtling back.

The liquid covering Drago stretched him prone, and then curled him into a ball. A ball that pressed smaller, and smaller, and smaller, until he was the size of a billiard. And with a crack-snap, that too vanished in a shower of green sparks.

"What just happened?" Jackie asked, looking at the spot where Drago disappeared.

"Two wrongs made a right, I think," Viper answered, nodding to where Tohru was already tying the unconscious Shadowkhan up with sutras. He was already knocked out – Wisker would be happy about that.

Somewhere in Colorado, Future:

When the blinding light cut out, Drago hit something hard. A stone floor, he realized as his thoughts started to catch up to the breakneck pace of that little bungie trick that had been pulled on him.

"My head," he groaned, putting a hand to it as he laid facedown. Had he gone overboard with his leave again, how much vodka had he…?

The question trailed off in his head as he recalled what he had been doing and why. More relevantly the situation he was currently in. Karasu had sent him to a specified point-

The Shadowkhan were on him before he could complete the thought. He couldn't tell how many there were as they grabbed him and started to shackle and chain him. His head still felt like an overworked anvil, and they slammed him facedown into the ground.

The face slam actually helped a bit, clearing the last fuzz out of his head. Still hurt, but at least he was thinking clearly again. Not that it did much good. Steel rang against stone as lengths of chain were secured to the floor with hammer and spike.

Jerked up by his shoulders, he yelled with wordless anger as an iron muzzle was slipped over his face and tied behind his neck.

The Shadowkhan withdrew silently, leaving him chained down in a kneeling position, arms manacled behind his back and muzzled against any fire breathing.

He could almost take this level of binding as a compliment, he noted wryly.

"Drago, Drago, Draaaaago," a familiar voice called from behind him. Stiffening, he tried to turn toward her, but the chains made that quite impossible. He could hear her slither across the floor, too well. She wanted him to hear each motion.

The son of Shendu repressed the shudder he felt as she came over his chained feet and pressed a hand into his back between the chains.

"Lady Matriarch," he bowed his head, voice given a metallic echo by the muzzle.

"I am so disappointed, Drago. So very disappointed. Not only have you repaid my generous patronage with treachery, but you have also proven all the accusations leveled against you over the years.

"Really, did you have to be so cliché?" she demanded. He couldn't tell if she was amused or angry. She moved away from his back into his peripheral vision; he could feel the length of her sliding across his legs as she wound around to face him.

Her face was obscured by the shadows, and the hair that nearly touched the floor as she moved. Two of those hair spikes lifted to point towards him, moving forward like curious snakes to hover in front of his face. One closed the distance to run over the muzzle while the other traced his brow, including the vein starting to throb in it.

"I saw something in you, Drago. Something that made me give you a chance after I wrested you from Verde's control. Even now I can see it – after all, it's the sort of gamble I may have taken if my goals seemed out of reach.

"But for two reasons I will not forgive this easily. Changing history to cheat your way out of an obstacle, I don't approve. Yes, maybe I would have done it once, but now I just see it as such… poor form. You should have had faith in your own skills rather than focusing on eliminating your enemy's strengths.

"Secondly, you threatened my family's existence.

"In light of this, how should I respond to treachery, my dear serpent?" she asked, red eyes flaring for a moment.

"Have mercy?" Drago asked. The hair tendril inspecting his face slapped him over the head.

"I was talking to Mohinder," she scolded him.

"It was worth a shot," he shrugged under the chains. He watched as her loose blue kimono stirred at the shoulder and a large black cobra emerged to wrap around her neck. The snake looked at him thoughtfully before disappearing up into her hair, to her ear, he realized.

The Matriarch "hmmed", as the snake lowered back into sight and slid back under her kimono by the opposite shoulder.

"Mercy it is," she smiled at him.

"Really?" Drago slipped, stunned.

"Yes, put him in one of the 'good' cells when you're done," she said, lifting her eyes to look above him. A thumping sound made him look away from her, to several half-masked Shadowkhan standing over him. They were patting their open hands with metal baseball bats.

"Oh sh-!" Drago cursed before the first blow landed on his neck.

The Matriarch watched, her eyes drifting close, setting the scene in a blur. She stroked her pet through the wool as it tried to settle back down.

"I'd say that's merciful, all things considered," she remarked to herself as she turned, slithering away from the beating, the long blue tail vanishing into the shadows.

Windsor Mansion, Present Day:

Jade lay in the bed, her only movement her chest rising and falling; more than ever she was dwarfed by its size. The blanket was pulled back to expose a shoulder and let a too-scrawny arm rest atop it. It was no longer the near emaciated look from the start, but it was not healthy. Her face had regained some of it vitality, though her cheeks were still gaunt, the bones a bit too defined. A black cloth, whose ends were lost in the black hair limply spread out across her pillow, covered her eyes.

Right glanced back to her from his spot standing at the foot of the bed. The Shadowkhan warrior had his katana off his belt but still sheathed. The tip of the sheath rested on the blue carpet, his hands on the pommel.

Left watched her, standing to her left side by the IV rig. His hands were free, but every so often twitched. He glanced to the IV bag, checking its level, despite having watched it long enough to know it was not time to change it, or to move her position, as Blankman claimed would prevent an injury of sorts.

They were her bodyguards, she was the one who had raised them to awareness and granted them power. Thought and the power to act on it, boons that to Left could never be fully repaid. Yet what could they do to protect her from this danger she was in now?

He wondered if he should have forced the wizard to stay and find a solution. The wizard said waiting was all that could be done, and his duty was to ensure the Shadow Hand's finances were ready for use when she awoke.

That was perhaps the key reason he had not placed further demands. The wizard did not regard her awakening as a possibility, but as inevitability.

The sound of tearing cloth stirred Left from his thoughts. With Right, he looked with stunned amazement as the Queen's exposed clawed hand raked the blankets as it balled into a fist.

"Your Majesty?" Right asked, walking around the side of the bed. She mumbled something, and Left put a hand on the bed to lean closer. Ear close to her mouth, he made out what she was saying.

Looking to his brother beside him, he realized he had heard it as well.

Left grabbed the cloth where it touched her cheek and gently lifted it off her face.

There were small but definite bags under her eyes of darker blue. More importantly, when she blinked her eyes shined through the nearly transparent skin. She blinked rapidly, no doubt confused by the switch from clear to fuzzy vision.

"My eyes?" she asked them. Or perhaps not, as she was still looking up at the ceiling.

"The wizard's work. We had hoped they would heal," Right answered. Jade looked toward them, and past at the antique lamp behind them, shining bright and merry. Her head jerked away, startling them.

"Turn off the lights," she ordered. They swiftly flipped switches and the room was soon only lit by errant sunbeams through the curtains.

Jade sighed, turning her head back. Her night vision was still awesome; this was enough to work with, she thought. With a deep breath she closed her eyes, still seeing the room, albeit it was blurry, but in the dark it was closer to what it should be.

She turned her head back toward her Shadowkhan and noticed the feel of her hair under her head. Frowning, she raised her free hand, stopping to stare at the IV needle taped to it.

"Bad day," she muttered. With some effort, she pulled her other arm free, eliciting sounds of tearing fabric. Confused, she looked at her hand, and was stunned by the black claws her fingernails seemed to have grown into.

"Wow," she uttered. She was no longer wondering about her hair.

"What happened?" she asked the red-eyed ninjas kneeling at her bedside.

"A wizard stole you-" Left began.

"I remember that!" Jade snapped. He bowed his head, and she shut her mouth, frowning. She massaged her scarred forehead with her free hand, stopping to try and be mindful of the claws. The dimming of her eyes showing her to have closed them.

"Sorry, I remember it. The light…" she whispered the last two words. The thought made her shudder, and shiver under the covers.

'No!' she forced herself still from the shaking, from thinking abut the…

"Lung?" she demanded sharply.

"Defeated, dead, his fortress and all within it yours by right of conquest," Right answered.

"Dead? Good," Jade sighed deeply, sinking back into the bed again. She looked the two of them over, quirking an eyebrow.

"You saved me?" she asked quietly.

"We do not know how we found you. Someone delivered us to the fortress," Left answered.

"He saved you from the orb," Right added, nodding to Left. Jade focused on the Shadowkhan with two sword hilts showing over his shoulders. She stared at him intently for nearly a minute.

"Your mask, take it off. You too, Right. I want to see your faces," she commanded, slowly sitting up in the bed.

Through a cracked door, Blankman watched from the darkened hallway. From here he could only see that they both had dark hair, Left's cropped short while Right's was pulled into a topknot style.

She seemed focused on Left, reaching out to touch his face.

"Scars?" she asked, her voice getting raspy from sudden use.

"I had to break the sphere with my face," he answered matter of factly. Blankman shut the door with the same silence he had opened it. Walking back down the corridor, he reached the medically stocked cart at the far end. Turning the lights back on, he began making noise again as he moved.

He pushed the supplies down the corridor; he wondered how long it would be before she could address the paperwork backlog? Hmm, it occurred to him being bed bound just might be an opportunity to finally get her caught up on it altogether.

Ah yes, this had proven a productive day after all, Blankman thought, stopping to straighten his replacement tie.

Section 13, Detention Wing:

In a highly secured, and warded, cell, Karasu sat on the steel floor. He had lost his blacks in exchange for prisoner oranges. He breathed deep in the lotus position, and smiled. His eyes cracked open, imagining the events unfolding beyond that door.

'Mission progress, highly satisfactory,' Karasu decided silently. After all, they were watching him closely, and listening.

Coming to his feet he fell forward, catching himself with one arm. Commencing one-armed pushups, the captive ninja wondered how best to prepare for the next phase.

Author's Note:

And thus, the saga continues, finally. This story can be divided into two parts – the first half, which is in reaction to Jade's relapse into Queen of the Shadowkhan, and the second half, in which the fallout from Lung's meddling enters the mix. The first half was fun for me to write and you my dear readers seemed to enjoy it quite a bit as well.

It is my hope that as we enter Queen of All Oni Part 2, that my work will continue to meet the expectations that have been established. And if it seems to fall, I am as ever welcome to constructive criticism.

Now, notes for this chapter specifically:

Blankman's savate de rue is likely full of holes since I've never even seen it used. Also for his opinion on it, he is not using the modern, regulated, sporting style but is closer to savate's roots as a French street fighting style.

The Shadowkhan origin depicted here is created from altering and adapting the story of Izanagi and Izanami in Japanese lore.

Thank you for reading, long days and pleasant nights to you all.