Once married to the heavens, the water refracted yellow rays as spikes through its ever-lasting blue-green tug-of-war. The inhabitants leapt free only to dive back under as it washed over shores unseen to one another. Its every horizon was spiked by tectonic might through which soft cottons raked, the clouds' wish to draw across heaven's reflection a scattered endeavor to which hard browns and lush greens nodded their welcome.
For eons such was, until the clouds drew to a sudden still, leaving all to settle and wonder at the pause in their cool influencer.
Their wonder met howling rage. The clouds darkened past their natural anger, thundered Hell's tint, and stormed over and past the mountains, casting a shadow lit only by the sparks of its march. Until at last, the heavens were devoured. At last, the green and brown reeled in horror at their once-provider; the dance flowing over-shore flat-lined, the inhabitants demised; and Hell's overcast reflected upon still ink.
The pit was birthed an unblinking depth upon the land. Unmoved by the eventual tear in reality that allows visitation from he who fathered it.
Through the portal his armored form steps, crossing the sandy shore with Heylin victory glowing in his reptilian eyes.
After him enters the long-forgotten beauty of apocalypse. Arms crossed, she holds but dull appreciation in her swirled greens for the land's fall from grace. For the pit, in all its unholy glory, is overpowered by black. The scarlet tint need be stronger, more pungent.
An easy thing to fix, really. So many more bodies are available than in her days of luxury. Days when getting the pile of meat into the triple digits meant working up a real sweat. And that was after finding the scattered tribes, villages– whatever she could reach.
The only tricky part's getting the entirety to bubble like a thick soup.
It's all about consistency. Balance.
Still, the pit's a sight, she supposes.
Another exits the Golden Tiger Claw's portal, this time a small boy garbed in robes reminiscent of the darkness he once so ardently fought. His eyes are sharp as the clawed Wu in his hold, only matched by the spread-wide smile he wears. The look pinches into one of agitation, though, as resistance pulls at the rope in his other hand. Yet it returns right before he yanks both captives straight through the portal, them piling onto the sand.
The witch smiles. Though the taller, broader boy regains his stand with but a defeated look to the ground, the Brazilian glares past Omi for her mocking appreciation. So Wuya smiles wider at him. Tilts her head a bit and gives a delicate wave of her fingers.
Raimundo snarls as best one with a rag strung over their mouth can and looks away.
Wuya chuckles. His earlier attempts to reach his friend through mere speech was entertainment she'll never forget.
Too bad it got annoying. And the long rag one of Chase's warriors ran tight around his head and not just over, but into his mouth hadn't stopped Raimundo from making garbled noises at his fallen teammate.
Eventually, it grew so pathetic that she offhandedly told Omi that if he turned around, he might get a fight. Just to see what would happen.
It's not like she had much to do during Kimiko's seen-to jailing by Chase, so what was she to do, listen to the Dragon of Wind sputter his heart out? That took too long. Longer than bleeding out, in any case, and far less appealing.
Had she killed the Brazilian, she figures it wouldn't have mattered. The end is already here, and how better to celebrate it than strangling an ungrateful brat right in front of his friends? It would have been nice. Something everyone could enjoy. Still could be, even without the extra drive.
Chase would have understood. He's the same feral urges. They were just more apparent when he first turned and went on his first rampage.
The only thing would have been the mess in his lair... That, Chase would not have appreciated. Rotting corpses in cells are one thing; but a long deal of digging into and slicing through muscle, fat, and trying to get a damn grip on the hard base keeping the head afloat, while a rejuvenating process, will coat everything in red far before the satisfying snap at the end. After which she'd have more than likely been adding her own blood to the mix via a good old fashioned mauling.
Chase and his useless honor... He could at least be entertaining with his hypocrisy, but with what's come to pass so far, she half-way expects him to open his own temple, so she's sticking to dark musings and what evil she can draw second-hand amusement from– which she got plenty of through the imploring gaze Raimundo set upon his turned-around friend. The look was such that she could practically hear the thoughts trying to be communicated through the boy's desperate green eyes. Could almost make out the incredibly naive belief that something of Omi's original nature remains.
What can she say, it filled the time well. And then the poor, poor boy shed a tear. Whether it was of realization or not hardly matters. That one little detail dramatically spiked the intimate moment's value.
It's the little things. Dilated pupils, thrashing limbs, twitchy last seconds. Details that always improve humans' final moments, lending to separation in their doom. An individuality that, whilst the humans seem so proud of, still fits comfortably within categorization. There's only so many ways they can scream and holler, bathe in a loved one's crumble to sometimes literal pieces off in the unseen distance. They always had such an intense look in their eyes before theirs came.
To die for, the rising, deafening chorus is.
She almost sighed with a relish when the Brazilian gave up his staring contest with Omi.
"Aww," she cooed once the boy's head fell, almost snorting when it rose right back up to glare at her, "don't give up now, Raimundo." Wuya's lips quirked on one end, her voice deepening. "You were just making great progress. A little longer and you might've gotten somewhere."
Gently, her head shook. "And to think you used to be such a loyal kid." Her unkind gaze resettled on him. "But I guess it's true what they say: People change." Meanly, she smiled at both Wind and Earth's scowls, her final words a slow, smooth cut: "Right, Omi?"
And, of course, the kid heard "fight".
She'd have sighed for his enthusiastic questioning of whom his opponent would be if not for the two simmering pools of green and blue that she was enjoying, though the monks did eventually tear away their gazes.
Pity.
She stops at the pit's edge, smiling not for it.
"Are we enjoying ourselves?" asks the one aside her in droll monotone.
"Please," Wuya snorts. "You know well how mine looks." She lifts a hand from her crossed arms to cover a short yawn. "Still, don't let it ruin yours." She meets his gaze with casual nonchalance, but her cool cracks before the knowledge in his unimpressed eyes. His mouth's end twitches just so, ghosting a smile upon him.
Her nose flares, her now-sharper greens returning to the pit.
"What are we here for anyways? Dropping them in the Amazon would have made for a better choice than this."
Two things that go well with water-filling lungs reside there: piranhas and crocodiles. Each is nice on their own, but joined, they make for quite the fabulous mess. Everything in the water is fighting to survive, then. Though not much changes for the human. So far as she's ever been able to tell, they just splash around a little less. The desperate terror in their eyes was still the same, much like their sink into a murky tomb. Always the same sad end to it all...
But that's what the human-providing portal above the channel was for.
Endless nights of fun.
"I'll keep the suggestion in mind." Chase's dry tone indicates the opposite.
The fallen monk stops behind them.
Chase motions toward the pit. "Omi, if you wouldn't mind leading the way."
"Will it lead to battle?" asks the passing monk, his excited eyes glued to Chase.
"In time, Omi." the warlord mutters, his eyes ahead. The pit's surface hardens to a path of ice as Omi walks over it, and the two Heylin follow behind.
Wuya rolls her eyes at the calm pride slithering in Chase's tone. 'Him and this stupid kid.'
She can only hope it's his downfall.
Their walk, however, is long. By the end of it, she's rather sure frostbite's working through her soles, but she fists her hands, imagining that her nails are digging into the flesh of his neck than her palms.
"Still having fun, Wuya?" The question smiles. She doesn't respond, doesn't look. For if she sees it, she will tear into it or die trying.
For Chase, however, her dripping knuckles are enough, and well-timed, as they finally reach where they need be.
"Enough." Omi halts. "We're here. Do try to contain yourself, Wuya. It would be a shame to perish on the same night as your resurrection. Though the difference is beyond me."
Ending on that distasteful note, he leaves Wuya to boil inside, walking past the captives and aside Omi.
The small boy smiles up at him, excitement glowing red in his eyes. "Is this where we will fight?"
Chase smirks, dropping a hand upon the boy's head. Droplets fall back to their pit. "No, Omi. We're only here to ensure the weak remain in their place."
His eyes settle on a small wooden surface, it's still brown a mere few inches above the water. Nothing more than a glorified plank with shackles for legs; and arms atop it, in the center.
"Clay Bailey. Your fate awaits."
Omi passes Raimundo's rope – Wuya snatches it hard – ignores the boy's sputtering fall, and pulls the equally quieted cowboy ahead.
Clay steps off the ice for wood. Omi and Chase stand upon the pit, the warlord's smile tearing into Clay. The Texan shrinks from it. Moves not a muscle as his friend snaps into place his sentences.
"Starve or drown: It's your decision."
Chase Young turns with three remaining for the Golden Tiger Claw's newly formed portal.
"Make it wisely."
The ice crumbles and diminishes into the darkness, weeping Her age-old infection upon the already blighted. Seeping and dropping within the still liquid, unknown to the anguished young one above.
Where the apocalypse howls responsibility all around.
Familial grief strickens him to a fight. The chains strain tight, their foundation not so stout, and shocking the cowboy stock still.
His stand moves not again. The call of his far-away element only drained him.
Again, the wind's left to howl, rage, and tear through his book of cherished – those his fisted hands cannot protect, or even hope to ever reach.
For the life of her, she'll never understand what Omi saw in this kid. The only likely reason Jack's not laughing with his somehow-more-annoying double is because he didn't get his way with the scroll-room.
'Well too bad.' They already went through a loathsome portion of it themselves, only to hours later have Dojo find a soiled piece of folded paper that'd been between their Master's toes for who-knows-how-long ('Eugh, disgusting!'), and that's all they had on the yo-yos.
According to Dojo, the scroll they had had on them was eaten during a great potato famine of the 1400s. That explained the lack of information they found before his discovery. Why he would use its meager remains to patch a hole in the Temple Master's sandals, however, is beyond her. He could have at least told someone or kept it somewhere he'd (want to) remember. Either would have made things a little easier on them right now. 'And lessen our time around this creep.'
The goth's discrete glance in her direction didn't go unnoticed by her; she was just waiting for him to open that mouth of his, but instead he just kept watch on their burning temple and remained quiet. Remarkable for him, honestly.
His metal twin wipes at one of its eyes, turning a smile on its unperturbed creator. "This is great." The bot snickers at her past Jack. "Any other bright ideas, monk?" Her stare dulls to more of a deadpanning one, the girl repressing a sigh at her situation.
"Yeah, swell," Jack dismisses. "Where we headed?"
"Issyk-Kul." It's said none too kindly, and she jumps down from her branch to get on with it.
"That's rude, you know!"
Huffing, she whispers a heated proposition to her companion wrapped up along her lower arm: "If I carry the Wu, can you get Master Fung?"
She grunts from landing. Dojo's hold loosens. "I'd carry both if we didn't need the help…"
He glances back at the furthering duo, seeing them land, disengage their heli-packs, and slowly trail them. "It's a hard pill to swallow… but Master Fung isn't coming back any time soon, and it's just us with our Wu, Kimiko." She glances at them, too, squinting at the colorful motions they go through at one another.
Muttering a storm. Brewing.
"What do we have to lose?"
"Our minds," Kimiko groans, baby blues rolling for the sky. "He can follow until we get there."
Dojo grins up at her. "Well I wouldn't say no to that." It would serve the kid right for threatening Master Fung earlier, and the extra protection he offers is nicer without his mouth going.
Kimiko smirks wryly at Dojo.
Her silent lips simply mouth, "Watch."
Before her turn for the on-going duet, she dawns a hard frown, not needing much more than the sight of them to make it real. "Hey, Spicer!"
The redheads regard her at once.
"We're flying, got it!?" Before he can make whatever hand-gesture he's going for from the distance she put between them, Kimiko continues: "Great! Then get your toys together, or we're leaving without you!"
Raising his watch and lowering his eyes to it, Jack's beforehand thumbs-up now flips her off, RJ's joining.
"Guess he finally lost his voice," Dojo mutters.
Turning, Kimiko takes a few steps and extends her arm, Dojo dropping next to two sacs on the ground. "Let's hope so and that it lasts." Dojo returns Kimiko's smile before walking off, the girl digging in one bag.
He's far enough and enlarging when she's found what she needs. She jumps atop him after dawning the Third Arm Sash and passes him the two bags of Wu in one giant hand.
Jack's bird-like vehicle lands gently from a lengthy, wing-assisted jump, taking a few more steps and kneeling to let Jack in. The girl and dragon make a face. Kimiko turns her attention on using her Wu to secure Master Fung's body atop Dojo, the thick blue cloth snaking around his torso as if an anaconda.
The moment Jack's seat-belt is on, every invention of his darts straight for the sky, Dojo frowning up at them and taking off behind. The dragon trails, expecting Jack and his automatons' steady decline in velocity.
'Heh, looks like you're back to following, Spicer.'
They pass him without a look.
Dojo winds across the sky, speeding to their destination. Jack and his robots trail smoothly. Nothing like their take-off. They're more grumbling behind them. Far better than listening to their maker or his clone speak. Far easier to appreciate. To withstand.
Then… Kimiko turns, hearing a burst of higher ignition and watching the bots suddenly shoot higher. They roar through the clouds, quieting from distance she assumes. She drops her wariness to watch Jack and his double still following. The latter of which brings both hands flat against one another, lowers his head onto them, and pretends to slumber.
She'd not mind that robot going first. 'One is more than enough as is.'
"How long are we keeping this up, Kimiko?" Dojo pipes up.
"Long enough for us to rescue Clay," Kimiko defaults to. "For now, we'll just have to go along with this." She hates to admit it, but, "We don't have any other options…" And they're all in over their heads anyways, so the more the merrier…
Dojo frowns. "So we're stuck with him until then."
Kimiko sighs. "Seems like it, Dojo."
"...Right."
The slight edge isn't missed, and Kimiko agrees with the warning. The worst thing about Spicer is that they can never be sure of anything he says. Never a hundred percent, because when it comes to Spicer, betrayal isn't an if, it's a when. They just don't know when or how.
And there's always the fact that, 'He's only in this for himself.' To take Chase down so he can rule the world later, himself. She's well aware of him and his options. Betraying them when it suits him, then tagging along afterward like it doesn't matter. As if it didn't happen in the first place.
Jack's just as bad as Chase or Wuya in that regard. He'd jump no less high than the other two at a chance for world domination. Maybe higher. Hard to tell between him and Wuya which is more desperate. His tenacity alone made him one of the worst. Never was he not around to acquire a recently-revealed Wu before them. Delays between revelation were seen as opportunity, too, Jack so often setting his sights on the temple to steal whatever they themselves fairly and justly attained.
There's not a semblance of trustworthiness to be found in Spicer's word or acts.
'He's always had loyalty issues. That's not changing any time soon.'
The only thing she's sure of right now is that his reticles aren't on them. It's the sole reason she'd allow him their backs. Where numerous ignitions burning steady offer the greatest discomfort to them.
They're a looming presence. The rattle of the snake that made them.