"It's war," Fu said in a shaking voice.

Lao Shi drew in a weary breath, staring down at his hands. War. Of course it would come down to this. He couldn't have expected Theron to take the kidnapping of his prized possession lying down. Still, it was a horrible thing innocent magical creatures were being slaughtered by the hundreds as the Huntsclan began their brutal search. He tore his gaze away from his fingers to look out the window at the New York skyline. It was beautiful now, with the first rays of dawn caressing the tops of buildings. Yet, even as the first citizens began to stir, magical citizens were dying.

Masked warriors were flooding the streets with orders to murder. He knew that they would stop at nothing – Theron would stop at nothing. He looked away from the window, feeling every lost soul weigh on his conscience. He had stolen the Huntsgirl so that he would, in the long run, prevent death. Everything he had done was to prevent the worst; he had done it so that his world may soon live in harmony without the threat of the Clan. Yet, what about the short term? Did the lives of thousands, millions, in the future mean more than the lives that were being lost right now?

"The Dragon Council isn't happy," Fu added. "They say that you overstepped your authority. They say that taking the Huntsgirl was completely out of line."

Lao Shi ignored Fu's words. He could care less about the Dragon Council. They weren't in New York fighting this with him. They weren't interested in the prophecy and what it foretold – they wouldn't accept the ancient words as the truth. Though the Huntsclan was a global problem they weren't the ones with the Huntsmaster in their backyard. They weren't the ones fighting to protect a city when the city's sworn protector had given up on it.

He was old and he was tired. He was ready for the nightmare of the prophecy, the nightmare of being a magical protector, to be over. He had lived this brutal life for far too long. Yet, it was far from over. There were battles being watched, even as he sat idly at his kitchen table. But he took comfort in the knowledge that with every hour that passed, every sun that set, the end came closer. The thought of the end tore at his aged heart but he truly believed that sacrifice now, for the greater good, was worth it. Once the final gem, the Dragon Gem, was created life would get easier for all. Though evil would always exist (good could not continue on without its counterpart) it would not be as strong.

Perhaps it should trouble him; his willingness to sacrifice. But it did not bother him in the least. Many other mortal men had given up far more for far less.

"Out of line or not it was the right decision," Lao Shi finally responded to Fu Dog's earlier words. "And we have to live with it now."

"What are we going to do about the dying?"

"We will help the fight back as much as we can. The prophecy will come to pass in a few days' time. Then it will all end." His eyes darkened. "For better or worse."

Fu felt a chill wind down his spine at his master's harshly spoken words. He didn't want to think about the difference a few days could make, especially if the Huntsclan continued their bloodthirsty rampage at their current rate.

"Let us gather weapons," Lao Shi suggested, rising from the table and headed down to the shop. "We will take them to several creatures; help out in that way for the day. Our captives are not going anywhere. By evening, the Huntsgirl should be recovered enough to undergo some more," he fished for a word, "questioning."

"Are we leaving Jake here?" Fu asked, hoping the answer was 'yes'. For Jake to emerge in front of the Huntsclan now would certainly spell certain death; as it was, Lao Shi was going to have to be overly cautious with his public appearance.

Lao Shi gave a crisp nod. "Why do you think the captives are certainly not going anywhere?"

Fu nodded his agreement, quietly padding down the stairs in Lao Shi's wake.

(-.-)

"No one has any information?" The Huntsmaster growled. He couldn't contain his rage, bringing his impressive fist down upon the desk in front of him. A crack appeared in the center of the desk, making the boy – the bearer of bad news – swallow nervously.

"No one has seen either of the dragons in days." Andrew revealed softly, hoping that a gentle tone might not inflame the master as badly.

"They haven't come out to help their magical community?" The Huntsmaster inquired, confused. He had been waging attack for hours. If the dragons were going to come to aide their precious magical creatures, shouldn't have they come already?

His blood boiled as he realized why no one was coming; they were torturing his Huntsgirl. They were keeping such a close eye on her that they couldn't be bothered with the loss of life they were causing. He almost snorted in disbelief, except that the facts did not surprise him. Dragons were notoriously selfish. It didn't matter if the streets were running thick with innocent blood – unknowing humans and barely aware magical creatures – so long as the dragons won in the end. The Chinese Dragon, especially, was of this single mindset. Theron had been dealing with that meddlesome beast for more decades than he would ever care to count; neither of them had ever been able to get the upper hand on the other.

Until now.

Theron, lost in thought, smiled a wicked smile to himself. For once, the Chinese Dragon would fall; could not match or best him. Despite the obvious skill and prowess of the young American Dragon, it could not compete with his protégée, his little Huntsgirl. He had made her perfectly – too perfectly, he acknowledged at times when he thought of how she would only become more dangerous with age; how he knew secrets about her she may never fully understand. But it didn't matter how the Huntsgirl came to be; it only mattered that she was.

"Sir?" Andrew prompted as the Huntsmaster's eyes began to glaze over with an unhealthy lust.

"Find her." The Huntsmaster barked, "Find her before I have to go out there and do your damned job for you."

Andrew squeaked and fled the man's presence.

(-.-)

Jake transformed and slithered down the basement stairs. His claws clicked loudly on the wooden steps, alerting the three silent Huntsclan members to his impending arrival. When he curled up at the bottom of the steps the Huntsgirl was on her feet, glaring at him, body braced for attack. The two boys, the younger members, were seated cross-legged in the middle of their prison, actively avoiding looking at him. Jake didn't care about how they were looking at him – not only were they absolutely no threat to him, but he was only here for her.

He had never had the chance to take a good look at his adversary before. Usually he only saw clips of her: long blonde braid flying; slender foot lashing out in a kick; wide, blue warrior's eyes peeking out from under a mask. He knew she was equally, if not more, dangerous than he was but, looking at her in her prison, he was surprised by how little she looked in it. She looked like a slim girl. From the small distance between him and her, he could see the lack of wrinkles around her eyes and mouth; there were no signs of age. She looked like a very young girl.

The thought disturbed him. The Huntsgirl had always, in his mind, been a seasoned warrior. Yet, thinking past the fog the drugs had cast over his memories to the summer he had spent fighting her, she had been very immature then; she had matched every innuendo he had thrown at her with an equally childish one. He didn't know when his mind had evolved her into an aged woman with decades of experience. It was ridiculous, really, for him to think that she needed to be old to have experience; he was living proof that the young could be dangerous, weary soldiers as much as the old could be.

Jake crept closer to her tube. She shifted onto the balls of her feet, waking up muscles that had fallen asleep during her stationary period. Her eyes shifted, keeping close tabs on him. Jake wished that she didn't appear to be so much of a brick wall; he wished that there was some give to the defensiveness in her eyes. He wished she wouldn't be so steadfast about keeping her secrets. It would make every one's lives so much easier if she would just talk. But he knew she wouldn't. He knew she would rather die than open her mouth and give them anything they wanted; she would rather die than open her mouth and feed them lies.

He felt an anger begin in the pit of his stomach. How dare she be so strong (especially when he had caved and broken; what made her so much better?), even in the face of danger? What gave her the right to look down upon him, gaze sliding down her upturned nose? She looked at him and knew that she was so much better. And Jake was enraged because she was right; she may be callous and cruel, but he was worth so much less than her.

Frustrated, he growled. Her icy eyes flared – not from fear that would be much too easy – with an adolescent taunt that she refused to release. The look in her eye made his fury climb into his heart, into his brain. He knew that the tube would let him pass through easily – a precaution Fu had enchanted into them; it would not harm dragon flesh – so he leapt. He passed easily through the coloured wall.

The Huntsgirl stepped back, surprise fluttering through her gesture. She had obviously not expected him to be able to invade her meager personal space. Jake heard thumps as the two boys hurtled to their feet, and he kept an ear out for them, but he wasn't concerned by any movement they might make. The Huntsgirl rolled her shoulders, as though stretching out her muscles before a fight. She had gotten over his intrusion and was now preparing for his attack.

Jake was not concerned with fighting her. He reached out a swift hand, claws wrapping around her slim, hidden, neck. He picked her up easily, before throwing her down on her back to the floor. His claws remained locked around her neck, even as she struggled to pry them away. He looked down at her furious face and didn't blink. He tried to communicate with his grip all that he was thinking – his intense hatred for her, his sorrow that she had to die (because any life was a waste), and that she should speak, try to make amends for the horrors she had committed in life before her death.

The Huntsgirl was not interested in whatever he was trying to communicate. With a strategic maneuver with her left leg, she kicked him in his ear. It did not hit its proper mark and kill him, but it was close enough to the fatal spot to sting. Jake roared and involuntarily loosened his grip enough for her to slip out.

Rose retreated as far away from the Dragon as she could without revealing her secret escape route. She could still feel his angry paw around her neck and wondered if the youngling had finally snapped. She looked at the taunt creature, his large eyes waiting for her next movement.

Her next movement was to try to relieve the pressure on her neck. Her identity didn't matter in this place and she felt overly claustrophobic with her mask on. Taking a gulp of air to try to melt away the pressure on her wind pipe, Rose reached up a hand and tugged her mask off.

Thanks to my wonderful beta; Noble6. I don't own anything recognizable.

~TLL~