"Don't you dare go to sleep," Robo-Jack droned as the Molar-2000 descended underground.
"You should," Jack replied.
"Agreed." RJ scooted over to the opposite end of the cockpit and, leaning back, closed its optics.
"And don't you dare wake me up unless the guys are returning from low orbit." Laying down on the cockpit's wide seat, Jack then raised a finger. "Or the Losers resurface." And then jutted the finger even higher up. "And speaking of: Follow that Wu, Moley!"
Things went remarkably well after that. The three hours and twenty three minutes that followed were the best sleep he's had in quite a while–
Until Robo-Jack shoved him awake and yelled, "They've broke the surface– wake up– go-go-go!"
Of course, Jack shot up, rolled mid-air, and landed with his hand slamming on the acceleration pedal, which for some reason his vehicle allowed to throw them into over-drive. For a little while, at least, as this also featured the tossing of both redheads into the rear of the cockpit.
Three minutes, it's been since then, and Jack's still disorientated from the experience. He also needs to be upright, rather than upside down in his seat, but something else is at the forefront of his still-awakening mind: "...You made me go through all that for that?"
"Well if you'd been awake, you would have had your seat-belt on," RJ quips.
Jack shakes his head at this warped logic, but notes the design flaw. "If I was awake, I wouldn't have been asleep!" Apparently he needs safety restraints for this.
Nonetheless, Jack moves to sit properly, straps on his seat-belt, and steps on the acceleration pedal.
RJ merely sits back. "You did sleep."
It shrugs.
Spicer wipes at his eyes, conceding via grudging silence.
'Another three hours still would have been nice...'
Yawning, though, the evil genius presses a side-button on his watch and navigates its main menu for Wu-detection. The list of artifacts is long, but any will do, and he selects the first one in line.
The Crystal Glasses's distance displays. The numbers flicker, as expected, but are now also constantly changing as they do so – and radically at that.
Jack's brow knits.
Something magical, other than the state of the world, is getting in the way of his inventions' detection of the Shen Gong Wu. He's now no better than Wuya or Dojo, in that he can now only point in the direction the Wu is in…
The evil genius makes a face. Feels a sense of dread as he re-navigates his watch's menus to find out what their current location–
"Oh that's just great."
The Jungle of Neither Here Nor There.
That explains every-thing.
According to legend, the place was cursed by Wuya in her hay-day; and since then, all that perish here are doomed to forever roam the jungle, stuck in limbo.
No ascension. No descent.
Neither here nor there.
A literal death-trap.
"Yup, we're really in for it this time," RJ says. "What d'ya say we wait a couple hours, huh?"
"Okay, you seriously need to let that go– BUT," raising a finger before RJ can speak, "do what you want. Just know that the Molar is mine." He blinks, however – many times – and wakes substantially before asking, "Did T-Bot make it?"
RJ deadpans. "Of course it did." The damn thing just blasted off for a low orbit. Even now, whilst floating along within the thermosphere, T-Bot still has plenty of fuel to spare. "Nonetheless, understood."
"Take T-Bot. I'll over-see from here." Jack reaches within the dashboard for a small refrigerator compartment and pulls out two pudding cups, opening the first, then ripping plastic wrap for an also-plastic spoon.
Eating ensues. It's a slaughter-fest RJ blinks at only once before making its way out an emergency exit leading out the back of the vehicle.
One, two, three pudding cups later, and Jack burps – loud and long – then hums before pressing a button that has a twenty-inch monitor lowering from the roof of the cockpit via a two-bar hinge until its screen is right before him and displaying RJ's point of view.
Robo-Jack stands within the underground tunnel. Its optics blink, switching to night-vision as the Molar-2000's back-lights get further and further. Signal is then sent to T0Bot, which takes a few minutes to reach the latter; but once it has, the vehicular robot begins descending through Earth's atmosphere. T-Bot is fortunately low in the thermosphere and thus doesn't take too terribly long to reach the lower stratosphere, from which it then continuously pulses down a wide frequency that, in time, rebounds off the planet's surface.
A small window pops up on the lower right corner of both the monitor Jack's looking at and RJ's vision. On it, the genius and his robotic double see much of the jungle revealed by T-bot's radar as a hazy vermillion – an unfocused detection of cursed land upon which there are five tiny, yet distinct blips: The two monks, Dojo, and the bags of Wu, each with their own color-code (light blue, green, and yellow, respectively).
"Hmm… no one but the monks, huh?" Jack muses over the inter-comm. "Alright. Guess we're still in the clear, RJ: Go for it."
Optics looking up, Robo-Jack curls its fingers and smirks within the now-dark tunnel. The metal of RJ's palms slide away and reveal a hidden blaster each, after which Robo-Jack jumps, flips upside down, and fires a plasma-shot from both hands to jolt its transforming feet straight into the ceiling as a newly-formed drill.
Making it to above ground takes a while. Roughly fifteen minutes pass before RJ surges forth from the ground, reverts its drill into a pair of legs, and lands within The Jungle of Neither Here Nor There. It's a thick, dark jungle, too, and somehow still lush. There's not a single wilted plant in sight… but all the vines, leaves, and branches RJ's walking through are gooey as if they are yellowing and dying.
There's even animal life. Chirping crickets, croaking frogs, cawing birds–
RJ pauses to stare at a line of ants walking up and down a tree.
The little critters are all an ethereal blue. Ghosts.
A frog that's also such hops across the ground, then out of sight.
RJ blinks. "Do you think Wuya really sacrificed fifty-thousand people for this?" it asks Jack over the inter-comm.
"And split their spirits into what you're seeing?" Jack asks in reply. "I dunno, do you think Chase Young believes in corporal punishment?"
"With certainty…" RJ mutters whilst again walking.
A ghostly jumping mouse goes by, performing its namesake. An ethereal bat, then, it loosing an eerie screech as it flies over-head. Bugs, rodents, small birds – all manner of lowly creatures come and go, each one a phantom remnant.
The first roach RJ sees gets stomped on, however, and the bot quirks its head as the bug simply runs out from under its foot, completely unscathed. After which Robo-Jack proceeds to ignore the ghostly wild-life as it walks.
The gentle rain that's falling is of more note, now, since it's making the slime-fest worse. If it weren't for the likelihood of the losers far up ahead hearing the blasts, Robo-Jack would give a generous plasma-bath to itself. Yet such is not the case, so, 'Full-coverage, here I come.'
RJ's not even going to bother with trying to dodge the many thick globs of gooey water falling from the trees. It accepts the free extra camouflage and simply keeps walking.
Survival: It's the game.
Chase has declared the evilest of warfare upon them.
Might as well show up dirty and track the stuff all over his floor. Leave a false trail. Pull the wool over his eyes. Again.
For now, though, Robo-Jack's content to pause in its walk and remain two klicks out from the Xiaolin Losers that T-Bot's radar is showing to have stopped. Deep underground, Jack is, too, and takes his foot off the Molar-2000's acceleration pedal.
Nineteen kilometers above, though, T-Bot descends… enters the upper troposphere… and better focuses its radar…
Expression stoic, RJ watches the wavelengths' superior penetration of the dark clouds, each one's rebound leading to a clearer detection of the monks… whom are in a small clearing… sitting on something, something long – perhaps a fallen tree.
Gentle snoring reaches RJ through the inter-comm.
The bot growls.
Jack snorts. "Well this is a waste of caffeine so far."
"And time," RJ adds.
"Semantics."
Still: "The losers are taking forever."
"I'm sure they're planning something," Jack drones.
"Great…" RJ mutters.
Jack's unperturbed. "Shark Bait must be somewhere around here. Otherwise this is just one giant unnecessary risk."
"Then how come we haven't detected him yet?" RJ asks.
"Iunno… maybe he's underground."
"Well then, I guess we should just go back to sleep," RJ snarks.
Inside the Molar-2000, Jack glares at the screen showing RJ's view. "Hey, I didn't see you stopping me – or handing me a coffee pill." Primly, Jack speaks over RJ's attempt at such: "We. a-greed. to sleep-slash-recharge."
Perhaps this being factual does have RJ glum, but that doesn't take lying off the table. "I deny everything." Besides, RJ was under duress, and that rhymes with stress.
"Exactly." Jack nods. "And now that we're back on track– since when have these losers ever been reliable?"
A rhetorical question if RJ's ever registered one. The answer only stems from little more than three hours ago.
To think that for all that was done, all RJ got was a ten-second recharge, at most.
Sure, the monks could have their Wu. Jack doesn't care. It's theirs anyways. Have it. The Shard of Lightning already served its purpose–
Jack's been cheated. There's no doubt about it in the genius's mind – he just can't place why. Maybe some bad words were exchanged here and there, but the end-goal was still achieved; Jack is sure of this.
Dojo? Check.
Sleeping Loser? Half a check.
Angry girl? Check.
Glasses? Check.
Hick? Check.
What changed? Who the hell knows.
Robo-Jack, however, actually has an answer to Jack's last spoken query: "Na-outt'a w'ooooncce," Its optics rolling in opposite directions is merely for character. Culture.
Slow as a snail, brain of a turkey, and built to block anyone's path to success, Clay isn't exactly a hard entity for T-Bot to detect. His two-kilometer-away blip within the sea of foliage is a lot like looking to the night sky and seeing a star go super-nova. Like Tubbimurra, but half the blubber and double Vlad.
RJ suddenly smiles wide. Jack does, too, within the Molar-2000, also receiving notification of his Guard-Bots' beginning return from Earth's exosphere. "Now there's evil news," Jack says. "You know what do to."
Smirking, RJ looks skyward and sends signal to T-Bot.
Directive: Meet Guards, download the package, then relay it home.
T-Bot receives its new orders and halts its radar emissions before making a U-turn and burning back for higher atmospheric planes. The resultant sonic boom fails to part the thick layer of clouds, they do buckle before the invisible force hits ground-level.
The evil duo snicker. They imagine the monks are on alert, now, wondering what the heck that noise was. However, RJ and Jack's humor is given pause by the former registering a distant rumble. There's also now a strong magical signal that RJ can easily make out through the jungle's mysticism, and the robot elongates its optics for a better view of the vibrant blue shining within a sea of otherwise dark magic.
What's more pressing than the Dragon of Earth's sudden spike in power, though, is that he's apparently sent a fast-approaching current of energy across the jungle floor as an ever-expanding circle.
Bending its knees, Robo-Jack jumps onto the branch of a nearby tree and watches Clay's searching force go by underneath.
"Well wha'd'ya know," Jack says over the inter-comm, "Clay finally figured out a way to sit still and be useful at the same time."
"Heh," RJ snorts, "I guess even a slow dog can be taught new tricks." From its stand upon a tree branch, the bot smirks at the far-away cowboy's fading energy signature, but then immediately frowns as another source of outstanding magic spikes into existence.
This time, though, it's a purer source… not merely a monk's chi… but an artifact…
RJ's optics widen.
It's the Falcon's Eye. A Wu that, as RJ goes prone on its branch, Jack knows to have come out of one of his bags.
'And this is supposed to be a split-up?'
What, exactly, does this fire-loser take that word to mean? Use and take his stuff, and not return the favor? So he didn't ask for the Shard– so what?! It served it's purpose, and they. got out. alive!
It is as Jack told Dojo: He'll have his losers back. But did Jack really have to specify who will be doing it, though? All the hard, brutal, counter-evil work?
'What, does Dojo think I meant his Losers?'
Sure. Just look at them now, wasting all the time left in the world to look for an enemy that isn't there.
And so it goes…
Meanwhile, the evil duo eye the Guards' uploading of their newly-acquired information to T-Bot. RJ remains where it is, distant from loser eyes that, in time, give up; and down below, Jack sits back within the Molar-2000's cockpit and crosses his arms.
"Finally…" RJ mutters.
Standing next to a fallen tree within the Jungle of Neither Here Nor There, the monks look about the dark location. Kimiko pockets the Falcon's Eye as she does so, and Clay lifts his foot out of its imprint on the ground.
"Think it was him?" the cowboy asks.
"Who else?" Kimiko can't think of anyone else that can cause such a noise. It certainly didn't sound like magic. More like something rocketing to space… again…
"He is the only other one that can track the Wu." Dojo frowns at the bags of artifacts. "…And better than Wuya… or me… so he must know where we are…"
All of them frown, but, "Reckon there's nothin' to be done there." Clay shrugs, him and Kimiko once again sitting down on the fallen tree with Dojo between them.
The dragon makes a displeased noise, but nonetheless re-raises the map in his hands and looks at it with his kids. From what Kimiko told him of the area Raimundo was taken to, he's pretty certain he knows where they will find the Dragon of Wind. There's only one giant redwood tree around this accursed place, after all, and its height and blood-red leaves always put it in rather clear view the sparse number of times he's flown over this place. That, however, was also when the place had some semblance of sunlight shining upon it every now and then.
And it's no surprise to the dragon… when he recalls the thing to be located near the center of the jungle…
Nonetheless, all Dojo then needs is for Kimiko to jump atop one of the nearby trees so that he and her can get a look around the area to figure out where they are. Every cawing bird in the place is far more eerie for the short time they spend doing this. The dragon's goosebumps were already bad enough as a result of the jungle's dark mysticism – blood magic, no less – and after about two minutes of looking around, Dojo has had his fill of being so exposed at the top of the tree-line.
Thankfully, within those two minutes of Dojo's body quivering more and more, Kimiko was able to find the tree with the help of the Falcon's Eye, and the three of them are able to now make their way toward it, planning their friend's rescue as they go.
"Woohoo!" RJ and Jack shout from their respective locations.
Data transmission almost complete. Soon, all they will have to do is end Chase's reign, get back to base; and Loser Young will have, for the first time in his fifteen-hundred years, proven useful.
"What did I say, RJ!?" The evil genius points at the screen before himself, where T-Bot's downloading of the Guard's package is being shown. "One step closer to World Domination, baby!"
Still two klicks out from the losers, Robo-Jack smirks as it trails them within the jungle. "And no one will see it coming."
"Not a single loser or moron," Jack affirms.
RJ chuckles. Jack chuckles.
"Never mind the world."
After the kids left and the massive explosion caused by Jack's latest missile cleared, hundreds of thousands of demons flew high above the lake's surface. Many paused to fire bolts of lightning down into the vast body of water as their thousands searched and searched, others raking over the mountains. Taking no notice of the water's surface. Taking no notice of the dead aquatic life floating, then sinking and disappearing every moment or two; until soon it's all gone, leaving the lake's surface a clean abyss once more.
And still the demons' frenzied search continued – until three and a half hours later, when one Heylin Warlord comes storming through a magical portal of the Golden Tiger Claw's making. He storms in, shooting every mid-air beast into immediate panic, and demands answers at once.
Why, Chase wonders, is it that his ten-year – minimum – training regime for Omi has so suddenly been put on hold? Why, Chase muses, is it that despite the Mountain Demon Clans – brought back from the dust they were by he, himself – surrounding this entire lake, they are not handing him five bodies?
Chase is livid enough for them having taken over three whole hours to send a messenger for him to destroy before coming here to stack the bodies of all who fail to answer every simple query he can conjure – those that like to stare at the glow on his forehead, instead of meet his eyes and tell him if they were slacking off with that Human Stew of theirs. Were they, perhaps, off harvesting human flesh from local villages, leaving but a few of their thousands as look-outs? Do they think the witch in charge? He asks this of seven demons that perish as he does so. Then he bludgeons his way along their cowering lines, rows – however many meet his eyes with less than the spark of a true warrior's flame – a cowardly lot, all of them–!
Wuya would ask the rampaging man if he's enjoying himself now, but the sight of his madness is good enough for her. She's also a measure curious of the lake.
Something just feels drastically better about it today.
A glance at Omi shows the kid none the wiser than his Master, now watching Chase with a wide evil smile. The young boy was upset to be interrupted in his tutelage from Chase, having been growing ever-excited by the fight Chase was telling him is to come – what has been prophesied – but the on-going violence has clearly turned Omi's frown upside down.
Wuya hated every second of Chase going on and on about that accursed prophecy. Every word Chase spoke about it stunk of him in charge for the next ten-thousand years, Omi at his side, Omi at his side; and, of course, Omi at his side.
She lost track hours ago of how many times she's heard him say that particular line.
Omi at his side, training, battling, bringing order to the world, preparing for the return of Hannibal.
Nothing about her, though – nothing but Chase sicking Omi on her to satisfy the boy's lust for battle in between training sessions.
So right now is making for a much better time of scoping out her enemy. Chase is sure to slip up somewhere, and the thirty-four and still-growing stack of dead demons say he's doing a fine job of it right now.
And she gets a front row seat.
Spicer being the cause only makes the show all the more delicious. Sweet and sour.
Chase does eventually calm down, though. She was pretty sure he would transform, but it seems he's saved a particular minion for last. One that meets his apparent standards. One that, after giving Chase all his answers, finds himself shot through the chest by that very man's fist.
The poor sod hangs there for a while, shocked still as the light fades from its wide eyes.
Chase throws it aside like trash. Another for the pile.
Dropping to the ground, then, the warlord returns his hands behind himself. He stands at full height, body still, and eyes the lake calmly.
"Leave us."
The remaining demons all but soar back up into the air, fleeing like mice back to their mountains.
Silence.
"...It appears Spicer has renewed his worth beyond even his meager start." A pause. "Wuya."
"Yes, oh great one?" Her eyes remain on her nails.
"Why did you leave the boy alive?" Droll monotone, tinged with agitation. "You spend a year with the insect, and the moment you get him to assemble Mala, you leave him to his devices." And because it's now such a pulsing thought: "Why do you even exist?"
The witch even repeated this same error not long after failing with Mala, when resurrected by the unworthy Dragon of Wind. "Is he such a charmer, Wuya?" The warlord scowls. "I would almost think you blood by the length at which you stayed by his side."
The notion of such an insect growing to now pose a threat… is a hellish thing to call reality. Certainly, somewhere along the way here, there has been a mishap. Some cosmic fluke that Chase just hasn't gotten under his heel yet…
But for now, the witch standing over there is the only thing he can see holding any and all fault for the circumstances of now. She was always with the boy for his pure intellect – unquestionably, nothing else – and then left it in-tact.
Wuya shrugs a shoulder. "I knew he would be dumb enough to re-team-up if things went South." The witch smiles just so at her sharp nails. A tool is a tool, and, "A smart witch always keeps insurance."
Chase's eye twitches. His fists tighten. Wuya straightens a smidgen, but her eyes narrow. "You've had just as many chances to throttle him to death as me!" Coldly, then, "You are not blaming me for this. It's as much your fault as it is mine and you know it. I was a disembodied head; you still had a body."
Her glare dulls just the slightest. "And last I checked, neither of us bothered to because he's just some sniveling little brat." She looks back to her nails, snorting. "Spicer can only dream of becoming like us. No matter how 'technologically advanced'." She flicks at one of her nails, pretending to have flung that so-called genius off into the distance. Preferably into a pit of fire.
Chase is quiet. Considerate of not the lake itself. Not even of what she seems to think so unknown.
"Were you also this careless two years ago?"
Her sharp nails pause.
"How long did your last 'reign of terror' last, Wuya?" Chase muses. "I recall thinking the moment a mere case of bad weather." Every word slices down Wuya's calm. "There one moment, gone the next. Fif-teen-hun-dred years of being sealed in that box by Dashi, and in that time, you learned nothing."
Chase walks along the lake's shore, eyes ahead, on the mountains. "You are the same monster, now, that you were then. No more, no less – body. or. not."
He stops. "I have little interest in mirroring your mistakes, Wuya. However you deigned to lose your grip on the world is your make. Your legacy. So keep your 'wisdom' private."
Livid, the weak little witch glares into his displeased slits, seeming only mildly bothered by the violent light and dark energy clashing within him. He shoves the energy forth, then, blowing her hair back, but not at all dulling her bladed eyes.
"Is it time to fight!?" Omi strikes a fighting pose at Wuya.
Chase's chi settles.
The witch's eyes widen. 'Not again…'
With a snap of Chase's fingers, Omi leaps at her.
Chase turns his back on the violent on-going spar and looks over the lake once more. He considers his options. Hears wings flapping, flapping, and is then leaning in to hear what his crow has to say.
Slowly, a feral grin rises upon the warlord's face.
"Seems they're not wasting any time." Chase chuckles. "It would be rude to not return the favor."
His forehead once again glows.
Performing a single-handed chop down to the ground sends forth a thin ethereal energy that slices through the pile of corpses. Chase then widens his stance, shoving open palms on a horizontal path past one another.
The corpses pull apart to form two piles.
Glowing a dark blue, then, Chase sends all his accumulated chi to his hands. His fingers curl, palms facing the corpses.
The two piles glow a faint purple.
Spiteful, Wuya jabs Omi in the side, sending the boy careening across the water.
As Omi stops himself, something long and pink suddenly wraps around his waist and snatches him underwater.
Chase does not bat an eye. He thrusts a hand out toward the water, palm open, and fires an ethereal ball of blue-white energy underwater. Then, with that same hand, the warlord hefts two fingers up, lifting Wuya's creature straight out of the water.
The monster is now coated in a faint white glow, thrashing and roaring as Chase keeps it afloat. Its given pause, though, and suddenly snarls.
An icy spike breaks through the beast's back, growing larger and longer by the second. The creature can merely thrash anew, in pain.
When the spike grows no more, it wastes little time to shift into a long blade.
The monster gets out one last screech as the blade thrashes all the way around the monster's length. The meaty slice brings complete silence from the beast. Its halves merely float, lifeless, as Omi's bloodied form falls to the lake.
The monster's halves gain a purple glow, then matching flames to the demon corpses'.
Slowly, Chase drags his hands to the right, moving and adding the beast's remains to the piles of corpses.
His hands rise, one at a time, surging the flames higher and higher.
The sky thunders.
Two whirlpools tear into existence along the air itself, sucking up the purple flames and burning the bodies faster, until nothing remains. The portals then glow, grow, and compress back down, booming as an electric charge is added to their make.
From the portals step two far different beings from the many lesser demons sacrificed: Two warriors fully garbed in dark red-blue battle robes, shoulder-plates spiked and their lower arms covered by arm-guards. They are lean beings, and not as tall as the demons before them, but their stillness is unnatural. Dead. Not a breath or beat. Their faces are a mere abyss from which an electric set of eyes gleam their piercing stare from within helmets fashioned from a bear and wolf head respectively.
They stare, watching Chase like statues. Omi's resumed fight with Wuya may as well not be happening.
'Good...'
"I have but one job for the two of you." Their sharp-fingered, bone-like hands grip at the hilts of blades dangling from their hips, but neither pulls their weapon free of its electrified sheathe.
Chase raises an open palm, alighting it with a blue, whispy energy that grows, then morphs into the face of Jack Spicer. "You are to bring me," Kimiko Tohomiko, "every, "Clay Bailey, "single," Dojo, "one," Raimundo Pedrosa, "of these heads." Repeat.
A flock of crows lands aside the warlord. He motions for them as they caw.
"You will have my men's assistance in this endeavor." His hands go back behind him. "And in exchange for your success, I will allow you the unconditional war burning within you." The mountains themselves seem to roar, then, and Chase speaks louder to match. "Make no mistake. The slaughter is at hand, and we will begin enslaving this weak populace in the coming days of our wrath." Lightning fires from mountain-top after mountain-top, each strike an ever-lasting stream of energy. "We will wipe this world clean, remove all of the rot that's taken hold, and leave only the survivors to either surrender their loyalties or die at our feet." The warlord looks from one pair of sinister eyes to another. "Starting with the monks, and that insolent insect, Spicer."