Jack headed back for the Spicer estate, his helipack pushed to top speed. The young genius's body was nearly parallel to the ground as he tore for home.
Chase had screamed, screamed, for him. No one had ever yelled for Jack in such a note of desperation; such hope that Jack would protect them. No one ever depended on him like that before. Nobody needed him that way.
And the first time this had happened, not only was it Chase Young, but Jack wasn't there.
It tore at Jack. It broke his heart and pissed him off at the same time. He was sick with despair and livid with anger and it came out as a sudden, violent need to make someone other than himself feel pain.
Jack checked his GPS location. Shit; still so far away and Wuya was there now, trashing his lair and wanting to hurt Chase and- No, Wuya didn't want to hurt Chase.
She wanted to kill him.
Jack started swearing in every language he knew, even the ones that weren't good cursing languages. He spent quite a while on Russian and German.
The only RoboJack that was fully functioning was RJ 13 and in his case 'fully functioning' was pushing the term to the breaking point. His arms and legs all worked, but he had blown out one too many fuses and there was that little 'personal problem' of his.
'The things I think are funny when I'm bored.' Jack thought to himself. There was no helping it, though. Chase needed whatever help he could get. Ah, screw it.
"Attention all JackBots!" The goth teen snapped into his cell phone. It had a dedicated channel that he could broadcast commands to his robots. "Priority command: Immediate override of safety precaution Alpha! Password: Annihilatify! I repeat, deadly force is authorized. Protect Chase Young!"
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Thirty miles away, Wuya looked down at the JackBot that had been attempting to push her out of the door. There was a whirring noise and what looked suspiciously like the barrel of a machine gun emerged from the robot's body. It was aimed directly at the Heylin witch's stomach.
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"Priority command to RoboJack Unit 13: Immediate override of lock down protocol! Activation sequence initiated! Prepare to receive priority command. RJ 13, get your ass out there and get Chase Young to safety! If anything happens to him I'm uninstalling your favorite attachment and turning you into a CheerBot!"
RJ 13's eyes snapped open, the words of his creator still ringing through his central processor. The lock down chamber was hissing open slowly. RJ 13 had been banished to lock down several weeks previously for being naughty with the washing machine in the main house and had only escaped permanent reconfiguring because Master Jack thought it was kind of funny. RJ 13 did not want to become a CheerBot.
He'd never get any action that way.
The mechanical youth staggered out of the chamber, looking around desperately for the target he was supposed to protect. RJ 13 watched in shock as a JackBot spun across the lair to explode against a wall, laser cannon blazing the entire way. Master Jack had commanded a priority override of safety precaution Alpha? Things must be bad; he had to find Chase Young!
Now, if he could just recall who that was. . .
Maybe cannibalizing the fuses that allowed him to access his long-term memory storage hadn't been such a good idea after all. RJ 13 headed towards the sounds of fighting.
There was a squad of JackBots attacking . . . oh, what was her name? You know; her. Heylin witch-lady, used to be a ghost, abused eyeliner worse than Master Jack did? RJ 13 was pretty sure she wasn't Chase Young.
A movement caught the robot's eye. RJ 13 thrust one arm behind an overturned work table and came out holding a little Chinese boy by his black hooded sweatshirt.
"Are you Chase Young?"
"Jack, you imbecile! What do you mean-" Chase cut off sharply. The arm holding him aloft was as rigid as steel. The face, while undeniably Spicer's, was unnaturally smooth and symmetrical. And most glaring of all, Jack Spicer did not have RJ 13 printed down his cheek just inside the dark slash of eyeliner.
"You are a robot."
"RoboJack Unit 13, unlucky for some!" RJ 13 introduced himself cheerfully. "If you are indeed, Chase Young, I have been given a priority command to protect you in accordance with the highest possible classification. If necessary, I will face total destruction to assure your escape."
"I am Chase Young." Chase stated clearly, casting an uneasy glance towards Wuya.
"Then let's get out of here," RJ 13 stated. The mechanical teen shifted his grip on Chase until the shrunken warlord was cradled safely in his arms. With a few leaps of inhuman magnitude, the robot carried Chase out of the lair and back into the main house.
"Master Jack even let me out of lock down to come and get you, so I know he holds you in the highest regard." RJ 13 said conversationally, dashing down a hallway towards the front door.
"Why were you in lock down?" Chase asked.
"Because the washing machine is a whore." The robot snapped.
Before the automaton could elaborate, or Chase could ask him not to, the floorboards under RJ 13's feet exploded upwards, sending the robot and his small charge flying.
Wuya climbed up out the ruined floorboards. The witch's dress was in rags and her dusky skin marred with countless laser burns. In short, Wuya looked neither happy nor in a reasonable frame of mind.
Chase scrambled back to his feet and flew down the corridor. RJ 13 turned to face the Heylin witch.
"I know you," Wuya growled. "You're the one they caught humping the washing machine!"
RJ 13's witty retort went unheard; something grabbed Chase by the neck and jerked him sideways hard enough to see stars. The shrunken warlord gagged, clawing at his throat.
"You all right, Our Chase?"
"N-Nana?"
Nana Spicer unhooked her cane from the hood of Chase's sweatshirt and made sure the door was locked. The room she had pulled him into – well, Chase had never seen one quite like it.
Possibly because he'd never been to a shrine to the Third Reich.
Nazi Party equipment, paraphernalia, and historical items littered the room. Uniforms and flags hung from every wall. Glass cases holding everything from German SS medals to antique pistols to photographs cluttered the hardwood floor.
"That witch after you, Our Chase?" As always, the woman's lilting Irish accent made her sound as if she were inquiring after the antics of the local bully. The well-polished Luger handgun in one frail-looking hand upped the ante.
Chase nodded, massaging his throat.
"We'll see about that."
Just as the dragon lord's hopes arose, RJ 13 came through the door. Rather, most of RJ 13 came through the door. His head and his left arm seemed to be missing.
"Listen, all I said . . . all I'm saying is, if you're that desperate for a kid, I know a better way to get one." RJ 13's voice floated through the ragged hole in the door. The robot was trying to sound suave.
"All right; One: You're a machine. Two: I'm not that hard up. Three: Once I kill Chase, I'll be the most powerful Heylin warrior in the world! I'll be able to have any man I want, thank you." Wuya staggered through the ruined door, RJ 13's head tucked under one arm.
Nana Spicer brought her weapon up, but Wuya hurled RJ 13's head with startling accuracy, striking the older woman's hand. The gun discharged into the ceiling.
"See, Chase? This is the problem with depending on Jack Spicer. You go to him for protection and he leaves you with an old woman, a perverted robot, and a weaponized teddy bear. How utterly useless!" The Heylin witch began a sinister stalk towards the shrunken warlord. Chase backed away, hoping to find some cover amid the glass cases and proud displays of evil.
Part of him was incensed with Jack Spicer for failing so miserably. Another part of him realized that without magic and Shen-Gong-Wu and supernatural strength, there was very little that could be done against Wuya. Jack went up against her, or Bean, or the monks or Chase himself every day with nothing but his robots and his wits. And he didn't even let his robots use deadly force!
Was the boy completely mad?
"Come here, now, Chase. If you're a very good boy, I'll make it quick and painless." Wuya purred. RJ 13's body grabbed at her, but with only one arm and no eyes to see with, he was tossed aside like so much garbage.
Chase turned and ran. Wuya was between him and the exit, but perhaps he could make it out of a window; they were on the first floor, after all. The miniaturized dragon heard Wuya's heavy footsteps behind him, heard Nana Spicer swearing in some flowing, lyrical language, heard RJ 13's head calling for his body.
But it was what he saw that made him duck under the windowsill and curl up tight.
Jack Spicer came through the window glass, arms crossed to protect his face. The pale youth landed heavily between Chase and Wuya.
"Not on my watch, Wuya!" Jack snarled, snapping his fingers.
The dozen JackBots that had accompanied Jack on the hunt for Shen-Gong-Wu poured into the room, laser cannons ready for use. Jack didn't wait around for the fireworks to start. He grabbed Chase by the back of the sweatshirt and tucked him under one arm. His main concern accounted for, the evil genius dashed for Nana Spicer, who was cradling her right hand with a pained expression on her face.
"Come on, Nana! We've got to get out of here before-"
"Thorn of Thunderbolt!" Electricity crackled through the air, causing the JackBots to burn out and explode.
"And me without my Tesla coil," Jack said weakly.
"What the hell's going on, Our Jackie?!" Nana Spicer demanded.
"No time, Nana!" Jack cried, shoving Chase into the woman's arms. "Just go b-"
Jack had no time to finish the word before he was grabbed and hurled carelessly away from the door. The albino teenager landed on something hard and sharp. As the surface gave way by breaking into a thousand painful shards, Jack realized he had been thrown onto one of the display cases. He felt broken glass slice through his clothes and dig into his sensitive skin. Jack rolled onto all fours, trying not to let his ungloved fingers touch the piles of glass.
Wuya was advancing on Nana Spicer and Chase Young, the Thorn of Thunderbolt Shen-Gong-Wu held out threateningly. Nana Spicer looked around desperately, trying to find an escape route. Jack almost laughed at the idea; an eighty-year-old injured woman carrying a little boy trying to outrun a supernatural Heylin witch.
Chase didn't look for an escape. He stared straight at Wuya. In his golden eyes was a knowledge of his own immanent death that was obscene in a child so young. Jack had failed him. He had failed them both.
Chase had screamed, screamed, for him.
The heartbroken, pissed off feeling rose up in Jack once more. The youth was scared, terrified, but for once the feeling goaded him into action. Conflicting emotions warring in his chest, Jack groped among the broken glass for something, anything that could be used as a weapon.
Chase's eyes slid sideways to the pale youth. There was the tiniest glimmer of hope in his expression.
Jack's hand closed around the handle of an SS officer's dress sword.
"You stay away from them, Wuya!" He howled, rushing forward.
Jack knew what he had in his hand; a sixty-year-old ornament made in the shape of a weapon that had been gathering dust for the last fifty years. The damn thing had probably never even been sharpened. He knew all that. He also knew it was a long piece of metal that he could whack Wuya's arm with and maybe, if he was supremely lucky, get her to drop the Thorn of Thunderbolt.
Which was why he was so surprised when the blade sheared neatly through the witch's arm.
Jack's jaw dropped as Wuya's severed arm, still clutching the Shen-Gong-Wu, hit the floorboards with a sickeningly wet 'plop'.
Wuya stared. Jack stared. It would have been hard to decide which one was more shocked.
The Heylin witch slowly raised her arm to gawk at the limb, now neatly severed just below the elbow. The wound was gushing blood in a torrent as the arteries hadn't figured out what had hit them yet. Jack marvelled at how much blood could come out of such a skinny arm.
"Oh . . ." Jack wanted to apologize. Then the heartbroken, pissed feeling kicked him in the ass and reminded him that this mystical bint had just tried to murder Nana Spicer and Chase. In fact, once she got over the initial shock, she was sure to murder Jack as well. It was too late to apologize. It was too late for compromises. There was only one way to go and that was forward.
The albino youth brought the sword up sharply and drove it into Wuya's chest. The witch screamed, recoiling in pain. Jack pushed forward, driving her backwards until her back hit the wall. At this point the teenager realized that only the tip of the sword had punctured Wuya's body. Jack, in his inexperience, had held the blade vertically. The width of the sword had actually caught on Wuya's ribs and prevented any serious damage. Jack leaned his weight on the pommel in an attempt to drive the blade deeper.
This only elicited a louder scream from Wuya.
"Sh-Shut up!" Jack yelled. He was still terrified. How could you be this scared when you were actively trying to kill someone? Was this all there was to emotion? Fear and pain and selfishness? Fine. Jack could deal with that. Fear had driven him to attack Wuya; he could turn these things into weapons.
"You come into my house and attack my granny and my Chase and break my robots?! H-How dare you! How dare you touch these things!! They are mine!!" Jack screamed. "Get out! Get out and never come here again! If you ever come near my house again I'll kill you where you stand!"
Wuya just stared. She had half-expected a fight from Chase, even in his toddler form. Getting maimed by Jack Spicer was like getting mauled by a sheep; you never saw it coming.
But still . . . . blood red eyes burned with hatred. Teeth were bared in a snarl as if he was going for her throat next. The gleaming silver sword, charmingly decorated with eagles and swastikas, almost matched Jack's abnormally pale skin.
Jack jerked the blade back so Wuya could get the hell out of his house.
The witch sagged, leaning heavily against the wall as she stared up at the boy . . . . no, the young man who glowered down at her.
Jack backed away slowly. His heel hit Wuya's severed arm and he kicked the limb towards her distainfully. The Heylin witch collected her lost body part and dragged herself to the ruined window.
"L-Longi Kite," she said weakly, holding out the appropriate Shen-Gong-Wu. Moments later, she was sailing back towards Chase's mountain keep.
Jack sagged as if his strings had been cut. Nana Spicer and Chase were staring at him as if he'd grown another head.
"Are – are you guys all right?" He asked, feeling like he'd been twisted up and wrung out.
"Just a few smacks, Our Jackie," Nana said, lowering Chase to the floor. She looked around the ruined room, then back to her grandson. "I'll get the first aid kit. Come on down to the kitchen and we'll get patched up."
She left Jack and Chase alone. The pair considered each other for a minute.
"The JackBear didn't work, huh?" Jack said. "I'm sorry. Maybe I'll put a force field generator in the next one."
"It held her off for long enough," Chase answered. "As did RJ 13. At least, until the real Jack could arrive to handle things. You won the day, Jack Spicer."
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did." The albino teen answered quietly. He paused for a moment. "I'm shaking."
"I can see that," Chase announced. The pale youth was trembling so fiercely it was a wonder he was still standing. "Come; we'll get to the kitchen and you can rest."
The shrunken warlord went to Jack's side, bracing one unresisting hand on his own shoulder. The other still tightly gripped the dress sword.
"If I won, why do I feel like I'm about to puke my guts up?" The youth asked. He allowed Chase to steer him down the hallway. In fact, Jack didn't look like he was up for protesting much of anything.
"It's your first taste of bloodshed; it always takes people that way. Don't fret; you did well."
Jack nodded weakly, settling down on a stool. He grimaced weakly. A faint blush raced across his cheeks.
"Ch-Chase, I think I wet my pants." He said in a tiny voice.
"No, I cannot smell it." Chase frowned, sniffing lightly.
"My pants are wet," Jack protested.
"Oh, that's just the blood," The dragon lord said in a voice that was meant to be reassuring.
"B-blood?! Who's blood? My blood?!" Jack squawked.
"Ye-es. You landed on that glass case. Your back is sliced to ribbons, Spicer." Chase Young said, giving the shaken youth a bemused look. "You really didn't notice? Your veins must be pumping pure adrenalin right now!"
Jack studied his soaking trousers in shock, which doubled when he saw the faint bootprints in blood that marked his trail into the kitchen. A wave of dizziness hit him. Between the attack, the maiming, and now his own injuries, it was all too much. Red eyes rolled back in their sockets and Jack collapsed to the floor in a dead faint.
Chase Young sighed, looking down at the unconscious youth.
"My hero." He growled sarcastically.