Dealing in Heylin
A very annoyed dragonlord lurked within the confines of his own library, frustrated beyond all measure.
As of late, the Xiaolin monks had become insufferable. Cocky, self-righteous, hypocritical...of course, none of that was very new, but they'd become bolder
about it recently; more obvious as if they no longer cared about their
façade as justice-bringers and had resigned themselves to being what
they truly were: Xiaolin thugs.
They lied, cheated, stole, used
excessive force on their enemies, and most intolerably of all,
maintained their 'holier-than-thou' attitude throughout.
To say the least, these insolent brats were getting on Chase Young's nerves.
For
a good deal of time, the warlord tolerated it with an immeasurable
patience by most largely removing himself from the whole thing and only
getting involved when a Shen Gong Wu too important to allow into
Xiaolin hands went active. It was no gigantic loss, really; after all,
who really cared of the intimate little details of gossip that were
circulating among the Xiaolin-Heylin circle?
Tubbimura acquired
a new disintegration ray, Katnappé made about a hundred-thousand more
mutated kitties, Kimiko got a new hair-cut for the trillionth time: the
little tidbits he'd caught even as excluded as he was from the whole
thing were nothing short of detrimentally tedious, as if knowing such foolish things actually made the warlord stupider.
Regardless, the man stayed out of it all completely and refused to allow the monks' newfound brazenness to affect him.
Until, that is, they had quite deftly crossed the line.
The
Xiaolin thugs had at last gone too far and broken into Chase's home,
ransacked several rooms, and stolen three important Shen Gong Wu.
Needless to say, Chase was beside himself with rage.
Of course, he could've easily hunted them down to their temple and made them pay for such a grave error in judgment; killing them in the slowest and most torturous way possible.
However...this sort of brazen insolence called for a special brand of vengeance, the sort of payback that would leave the monks alive but wanting death, begging for it with every last fiber of their beings.
Chase had taken to his extensive library of spells, curses, and hexes and had holed up within for days searching for the perfect punishment.
He had exhausted his resources completely by now, and had nothing to show for it.
Absolutely no curse he came across was strong enough, harsh enough, or terrible enough! Boiling eyes, crawling flesh, endless nightmares, all much too lenient for such a crime as the Xiaolin had enacted against him!
Chase wanted those snot-nosed little thugs to suffer.
The dragonlord slammed the heavy tome before him shut, a bestial snarl escaping his throat.
Damn them, he thought to himself, even revenge could not come easy with those fake-Good children!
"Good gods, you're angry, aren't you?"
Chase's head whipped around instantly, his dark mane following only momentarily with a flick reminiscent of a cat's tail.
Standing
in the doorway of his library was none other than Wuya, leaning
casually against the jamb while her green eyes stared disparagingly at
the man.
"I have a right to be angry," Chase growled back at her.
"So
angry that your cats are too scared to come near you?" the witch
challenged. "So angry you've stayed in here for a whole week? So angry
that you've ignored your Lao Mang Lone for just as long?"
The
dragonlord started at that, quickly pulling a glove from one hand to
ascertain the statement as truth. Sure enough, it was covered in a
thin, patchy layer of scales. If it had gotten so bad that his skin was
giving way to scales, then it was certain they had appeared upon his
cheeks and the bridge of his nose, as well; perhaps his face had even
begun to elongate into a snout.
As much as he hated to admit it, he saw Wuya's point: this was getting ridiculous.
Chase sighed in frustration, raking his fingers through his hair. "...They must pay," he said eventually.
"So, hex them!" Wuya exclaimed. "I'm sure you've read through a million ways to do it by now!"
"More," the man snarled back, his intimidation-factor upped tenfold for the razor-sharp teeth he bared in doing so, "and nothing is enough! All curses I've found are fathoms too insufficient!"
"Is that all?" the woman inquired casually.
Chase was naturally given pause by this. "What do you mean, 'is that all'? What else need there be?
I can't kill them because I want them alive; I can't torture them
because it's too physical; I can't hex them because every curse is too
weak; what, precisely," he demanded, "am I meant to do about those damnable monks?"
The redheaded witch looked at him as if he were stupid. "You could always see Jack about it," she matter-of-factly pointed out.
Now that name puzzled the warlord. The only Jack he knew was Spicer, and that one had long ago abandoned the Xiaolin-Heylin conflict; years ago, in fact.
As
he recalled it, it was about the time when the monks had first begun to
show their cruel side more blatantly. The fumble-footed goth had shown
an increasingly greater reluctance to battle with the
elementally-assisted youths, and at one point, doing so had been
unavoidable. They'd fought and, as per the status quo, Jack had lost.
Wu in hand, the monks could've easily taunted him as they always did
and left the defeated teenager to nurse his wounds.
They didn't.
Chase
hadn't been there personally; it was an inconsequential Shen Gong Wu,
and so he'd seen no reason to attend the Showdown. Wuya, on the other
hand, who seemed to have a proverbial hard-on for all Wu, had been there and regaled to the warlord the story of what'd happened.
They'd
brutalized the goth; had swarmed him all at once and quite literally
beat him within an inch of his life. Fists had flown, feet had kicked,
all to the soundtrack of pained screams...
And then they'd gone
too far, as the monks were obviously wont to do in all things, adding a
metaphorical insult to the injury that'd already been done.
Jack
had been on the ground, Wuya'd said, crying, shaking, and bruised all
over when Pedrosa had smirked haughtily and instructed Kimiko to pass
him a piece of shrapnel from a destroyed robot. The Japanese girl had
mimicked the dark grin, clearly thinking whatever her fellow monk was
thinking, and she obeyed his request. They'd advanced on the goth with
the jagged piece of metal, and...
Well, Wuya said she hadn't seen precisely what they'd done, but that there was blood and that Jack had fled soon afterwards; staggering away from the circle of practically Evil monks and haphazardly taking off into the sky as he clutched at his face.
After
that, he'd supposedly never come to a Showdown again. With good reason,
the warlord supposed: the youth had obviously been traumatized by
what'd been done to him and then the monks had (he could only assume)
carved up his face. Jack had always been rather vain, and if he'd been terribly disfigured, it was understandable for him to not want to be seen.
In
fact, it'd crossed Chase's mind at one point that the boy might commit
suicide or attempt it in his grief. Not really liking the idea of his
number one fan being dead for reasons he would rather not think too
deeply about, he had conceded to peeking in on the Spicer-heir, just to
make sure he wasn't going to do something stupid.
Of the two occasions he'd done so, Jack had not
been trying to slice his wrists or hang himself, nor anything of the
sort. The first time, the redhead had been sitting behind a desk with
his fingers interlaced and his chin resting upon them. The youth's hair
had been ungelled and so hung in his face; blocking it from view.
Chase
hadn't really cared: he'd heard the sounds of breathing that meant the
boy was alive, and he wasn't at all concerned beyond that.
The
second and last time he'd looked in on his fanboy, Jack had been
considerably busier. He'd been behind the same desk as before, but was
now rifling through papers and speaking with people on the phone about
things the warlord had no knowledge of.
It was conceivable that,
in abandoning the Shen Gong Wu hunt, the boy had chosen to take up the
family business instead, and by the triumphant tone in his voice as he
haggled with a man in Canada, he was quite good at it.
Jack's hair had still been let down, but his head was upright this time and so his face had been in view.
Or the right half of it was, at least: the left side had been concealed by bandages.
This confirmed for Chase that the monks truly had carved up the boy's face and that
was the reason for the bandages. Then, of course, he'd remembered the
Spicer fortune and had correctly assumed that there was enough money in
it to provide for as much of the best plastic surgery one could ever
want.
It was a short leap of logic to assume that anything done to Spicer's face could be undone
by throwing a bit of money around to all the right people and, feeling
satisfied with what he knew, the warlord left the goth to his own
devices and had not checked in on him since.
Breaking away from that train of thought, Chase frowned and demanded, "What about Spicer, Wuya?"
Green
eyes stared at him for a silent moment. “What do you mean, ‘what about
Spicer’?” the witch demanded. “It should be obvio- ohhh…right…you
haven’t been very involved in the Heylin circle lately, have you?”
The dragonlord narrowed his eyes. “What does that have to do with anything? Spicer left the Heylin circle three years ago.”
Wuya chuckled in response. “He left the conflict, Chase,” she corrected, “he never left the circle.”
And at that, Chase cocked an eyebrow. “Never left?” he echoed.
The
redheaded woman approached the dragonlord, seating herself on the edge
of his desk. “When the monks got him that last time,” she explained,
“it finally got through to him. He finally realized that he
wasn’t cut out to keep going up against the monks and that if he kept
putting himself in that position, they might very well kill him.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” the man snorted in disgust. “Xiaolin…Good…If those rotten children are voted ‘Best Do-Gooders of the Year,’ the judges were bribed.”
“How true that
is,” Wuya grinned. “But Jack finally figured that out, I suppose,
because he decided to remove himself from the fray entirely. Of course,
he wasn’t ready to give up Evil yet, even though he was obviously green
at that, so he decided on something that would let him stay involved
and stay Heylin at the same time but would put him in a position that wouldn’t get his pasty ass handed to him on a silver platter: he turned himself into a supplier.”
A supplier? Now that was interesting, the everlord thought. “Of what sort?” he inquired of the witch.
“Whatever
you might happen to need,” Wuya answered, crossing one leg over the
other. “If you need money, he’s a loans office; if you need drugs or
men or women, he can smuggle or traffick them for you; if you need a
weapon built, he’s on call at all hours of the day; if you need all
three, well…” she chuckled here, as if amused, “then he’s your guy.”
“Really?” Chase queried, honestly interested. Spicer? A supplier of that sort? “He certainly can’t be any good.”
“I
know it’d seem like that,” the witch conceded, “but that’s actually not
the case. You know how awful he was at martial arts and combat? It’s
the exact opposite in his current career. His brain,” she
hummed, tapping her own skull for emphasis, “works better with numbers
and logic than physical things. He knows just how to handle a
shady business like the one he’s running now so that it looks on the
surface like he’s doing everything by the book and is just running a
modest spice business, like his parents used to.”
The way the woman had phrased that seemed…off. “Used to?” the warlord repeated.
“Oh, that’s right,” Wuya squealed, as if excited, “you didn’t hear, did you?”
Alright, now that got Chase’s attention. There were only two things that Wuya became excited about: Shen Gong Wu and men who did very bad things. “Hear what?” he sternly demanded of her.
“Well,”
she spoke, as if a teenage girl dishing over the latest gossip of who’d
gotten fat over the summer, “he’d had his idea to become a supplier for
the Heylin side, but there was a huge problem: he didn’t have his own
money and mommy and daddy would definitely notice if he started playing with it to that extent. So…he had them killed!”
Were he a man with less self control, his jaw would’ve dropped to the floor. “Spicer?” he instead asked with an incredulity to his voice that suggested the rest of the sentence: are we talking about the same one?
“I
know!” the witch exclaimed. “I was surprised too! He seems like the
type of momma’s boy that wouldn’t be able to do it, but he pulled it
off; in fact, he was in the room with them when the trigger was pulled.
There’s a whole mess of rumors flying around about just how he did it,
but I’m going with the theory that he brainwashed a man into killing
them and believing that he’d done it to steal their money so he’d
confess to the police and get sent to jail as a scapegoat. It seems the
most practical for Jack, after all: he wouldn’t want to get his hands
dirty actually killing his parents himself, but they were in the way of
what he wanted, so they had to go.” She sighed in the manner of a
pleased parent. “Oh, I’m so proud of him!”
As strange as
it was (assuming all of this was true), Chase was proud of him, as
well. For a while there, he’d thought the boy would never
improve or find his own little niche in the ways of Evil without
abandoning it altogether and giving up to live a normal, non-Evil life.
To hear that he’d not only not given up…but had actually become successful Evil…it was very, very intriguing…
Chase
abruptly remembered his earlier predicament and understood what the
witch had been trying to suggest to him. “…You believe I should visit
him and see if he can offer me an acceptable solution to the dilemma of what to do about the monks,” he declared.
“Why
not?” Wuya shrugged. “He can get or make just about anything for a
price, so it’s worth a shot. And hey, who knows?” she giggled. “Maybe
he’ll give you a discount on whatever you want for being his Evil hero!”
The
warlord rolled his eyes, but nonetheless stood from his desk, cracking
his stiff neck and sighing silently at the relief it caused. “Perhaps I
will go see him,” he said after a moment. “I’ve certainly got
nothing to lose in doing so, and it might be nice to see the boy
tripping all over himself to gain my favor again.”
He carefully
neglected to mention the fact that he was interested by this new
description of Spicer that he’d been given; of one who had finally made
something Evil of himself instead of the pathetic and sniveling
weakling Chase had known him as, and he turned on his heel and left his
study without another word.
First on his order of business, however was a shower, followed by Lao Mang Lone, and, to top it all off, a nap.
After
all, he didn’t want his first meeting with Jack Spicer in three years
to be bogged down by the fact that he didn’t look his best, especially not when it was a Jack Spicer that was actually…interesting…
--
Several
hours later, Chase Young was once more rested and properly groomed
(most largely in the sense that he wasn’t breaking out in scales any
longer) and was off on his way to the Spicer mansion.
It was…almost like he remembered it.
The place was still extravagant as all get out, the kind of home an averagely
rich man would enter and immediately attempt suicide for not being able
to afford a fraction of what the chandelier upon the ceiling had cost.
There were, however, differences since he’d seen it last. The decorations were…darker,
for lack of a better word: the artifacts lining the hallways were no
longer pretty vases and bits of jewelry from times of aristocracy
having happy little tea parties long since past. Instead, they were
sculptures and physicians’ masks from the time of the Black Death in
Europe, paintings and tapestries of the same time period lining the
walls (all of them no doubt authentic; Spicer was rich enough to refuse
to settle for reproductions and knock-offs).
They were macabre,
often of devastation and ruin, but they were invariably beautiful; it
made sense, as tragedy was often one of the best sources of inspiration
for artists and there was arguably no greater tragedy for the medieval
world than the ultimate elimination of over two-thirds of Europe.
Chase could honestly say he liked the new décor. It added a certain…wicked charm to the place.
One major difference, certainly, was in the front hall, where the Spicer family portrait had been taken down and replaced.
In
its place stood a sheerly massive rendition of the 1973-painting by
Frank Frazetta, the Death Dealer. One might question the merit of
putting an artwork of a menacing warrior atop a mighty steed in the
front hall, making sure the very first thing a guest saw was red eyes
glowing from beneath a horned helmet and an ominously-wielded bloody
axe as the background raged in flame, but Chase understood perfectly
what the point of it was.
Spicer didn’t have the luxury
of his home being set in a mountain so as to give his guests an upfront
intimidation via advertisement of his power. Instead, he’d made do with
what he had and had used the fact of there being a good deal of space
for a painting in the front hall to his advantage.
Like the
Death Dealer, the young Heylin supplier was someone who could be a
great ally to you; could get what you wanted gotten, those you wanted
dead killed, and everything in between. In the same way, he was also
someone you wouldn’t want against you. Just as the blood on the Death
Dealer’s axe could very well end up being yours, Jack could easily turn
on someone if given adequate reason, and in all honesty, it was simply
a bad idea to cross a genius with enough money at his disposal to pay
the Queen of England to strip down to her panties and juggle every last
item of the Crown Jewels while riding a unicycle (not that he would, but still).
Chase
was impressed; what a very classy way to indirectly tell guests, “Hey,
I’m dangerous, but you’re fine if you don’t provoke me!”
If Spicer had been interesting before, he was downright fascinating now: the Spicer he’d known would’ve never thought of so clever a warning in a million years had there been thousands of him with which to convene on the subject!
The warlord was all the more eager to see the youth and what he’d developed into.
Of course, seeing the boy would mean finding him first, which was proving just a bit difficult.
Admittedly, Chase had not checked everywhere in the large, expansive mansion, but he had checked three key places: the basement-lab (which looked as if it’d been given quite the upgrade), the bedroom (which had also received a lavish upgrade), and the small office he’d last spotted the teenager in.
Needless to say, he was in none of those places, as the man was still looking.
He
had stopped in the front hall with the large, menacing painting,
choosing to admire it while he waited. After all, Spicer could not have
become successful in his trade if his guests were in the habit of being
ignored for hours on end: the front hall was the perfect place to wait
to be greeted properly.
A slight twinge of something approaching
to his left entered the dragonlord’s awareness and, as if on cue, a
Jackbot zoomed into the room and stopped to hover before him.
“Master
Young,” it addressed in a low, mechanical hum, still apparently
retaining information as to who the man was in its databanks after all
these years, “may I be of service to you?”
Pleased that he’d
been correct in his assumption of where to wait, Chase gave the machine
a curt nod. “I seek audience with Spicer,” he said. “I wish to consult
him about something.”
The robot didn’t reply for a moment, and
when it did, it matter-of-factly announced, “The database says you
don’t have an appointment.”
The warlord scowled, eyebrow arching automatically. “Do I need one?” he demanded.
“Not
really,” it seemed to shrug, not at all intimidated by the ominous
growl in the man’s voice. “Master Jack isn’t very busy at the moment
anyways, so he’ll likely see you even without an appointment.”
Chase calmed at that and imperiously ordered, “Then take me to him.”
There
was another pause that indicated the machine was interfacing with some
other bit of technology. “You’re in luck,” it intoned, a smile in its
artificial voice. “He said he’d be happy to see you now. Follow me,
please.” The robot dipped in a stiff, largely impossible bow before
turning and floating out of the front hall.
The warlord followed.
The
walk was a silent one, Chase sauntering behind the machine as it
dutifully led him through several hallways to wherever it was Spicer
had holed up.
And there it was, as the Jackbot stopped dead in
its tracks and turned to face a small, unassuming door. Surprisingly
enough, there was no knob, and the warlord turned to his robotic
companion for answers.
The machine reached out a claw and
touched it to the precise center of the door, revealing an electronic
scanner hidden beneath a thin sheet of wood.
“Press your palm
flat against the sensor,” the Jackbot instructed. “It’ll take your
handprint, identify you, and set the security of the room accordingly.”
Chase cocked an eyebrow at that. Clever, he mused, nonetheless removing a glove from his hand and doing as directed.
The
moment his hand made contact with the door, a light flashed, taking his
handprint as the robot had said it would. The small computer within the
wood (which was really titanium made to look like wood so as
not to draw attention to itself) made processing noises for a moment
before a female voice spoke, “Subect: Chase Young. Threat Level: High.
Maximum Security engaged.”
The warlord wasn’t sure whether to be
disturbed in wondering how Spicer had gotten ahold of his handprint in
order for the computer to recognize it or pleased beyond measure that
he’d been accurately identified as posing a high threat.
As it turned out, he didn’t have much time to wonder, for the door suddenly whooshed open, allowing him entrance inside.
Inside
was actually a very modern and attractive office, with red walls set
off by a white ceiling and black furniture. It was large and spacious,
with floor-length windows to allow in plenty of light should the one
within so wish them to, though they were currently blocked by thick
black curtains. It would make sense for them to be so, it being a
particularly BRIGHT day outside and the albino occupant of the
office not wanting to get a sunburn indoors. Towards the back of the
room was a huge desk of Bolivian rosewood, a computer chair made with
what looked to be black Italian leather behind it.
In that chair was Jack Spicer.
Of course, he wasn’t really the Jack Spicer Chase had known; not anymore.
The Jack Spicer he’d known had short red hair, not longish white
hair gathered into a loose ponytail at the base of his neck. He had
worn unfashionable gothic attire, not a classy Armani suit that
tastefully hugged a slender, wiry body. He’d had a youthful visage
rounded by lingering traces of baby-fat and large, expressive eyes too
big for his face, not firm and handsome features that finally seemed to
fit.
The Jack Spicer he’d known certainly hadn’t had that on his face, either.
Coming down from the boy’s…no, the young man’s
left eye (which seemed a cloudier red than its twin) was a jagged,
wicked-looking scar; a permanent and awful parody of the eyeliner hook
he’d used to draw there as a child.
God gods, Chase thought to himself, the Xiaolin weren’t practically Evil to have done such a thing to Spicer: they were Evil.
Spicer,
however, despite the scar, was grinning brightly at the warlord.
“Chase,” he greeted pleasantly in a deeper, smoother voice than the
elder man had last remembered, “it’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”
Chase
looked his host up and down once, his shock at the stark changes in
appearance neatly hidden behind a mask of calm as he evenly agreed, “So
it has.”
The grin broadened. “Well, don’t just stand there,” the
Heylin supplier invited, gesturing to the two chairs just before his
desk. “Have a seat. You’re welcome to one.”
Enjoying the courtesy being offered to him, the dragonlord stepped forward, intent on taking the chair to his right.
Jack saw this motion and sheepishly requested, “Would you mind taking the one on my right? I’d…feel more comfortable.”
Chase realized immediately why he was being asked such a thing: his right was Jack’s left, and Jack’s left eye looked a bit off, after all.
“Are
you blind in that eye?” he coolly inquired, agreeably taking the other
chair. He did not specify which eye he was talking about because the
answer was obvious.
The young man, contrary to his expectations,
was not at all sensitive about the topic and merely shrugged, smiling
good-naturedly. “Not completely,” he replied, “but it’s not good for
much. I’m limited to shapes and movement, not to mention my depth
perception’s all but shot.” He chuckled. “But then again, that’s why I’m in this area of the business now: doesn’t matter if you’ve only got one good eye, because that’s really all you need.”
“Is that why you left the Shen Gong Wu hunt?” Chase inquired, curious. “Because you were unable to fight physically anymore?”
Jack gave him a deadpan stare. “Chase, let’s not kid ourselves: I couldn’t fight physically even before,” he dragged one finger along the ragged scar, “this happened.”
“So, why did you leave?”
“Because
I had a revelation,” the albino answered. “Because it finally hit me
that those no-good do-gooders had pretty much lost whatever sense of
right and wrong they’d had and that chances were good that they’d kill me.”
Jack leaned back into his chair ever so slightly, informing, “I wasn’t
ready to die, so I got the hell out while I still could.”
“Smart move,” the warlord complimented, not bothering to mention he’d done precisely the same thing.
His
host did not, in fact, go tripping all over himself in glee at having
received a compliment from Chase Young and merely smirked in response. “I certainly thought so.”
“And
do you think so now?” Chase inquired, pleased that a conversation with
Spicer did not, for the first time ever, have to be put on hold while
Jack childishly squealed and fawned over him.
“What I think,”
Jack said, “is that it was the best damn decision I ever made. I may
not be on the scene anymore, but I’m seeing a lot more benefits than I
did when I was.”
Chase cocked an eyebrow. “In what way?”
“Just about all
ways possible,” the Heylin supplier smirked. “To start with, I’m not
getting my ass whooped on a daily basis, which is a plus. Then, of
course, there’s the fact that I’m raking in ridiculous amounts of money from the whole thing on top of
the trillions I already had, which is great. Besides that,” he added,
“keeping the Heylin side fully-stocked with whatever the hell they want
is my own little way of saying, ‘Fuck you,’ to the monks: I give ‘em
weapons or the money to make their own weapons, they sic ‘em on the
monks, the monks run the risk of losing their lives or their Shen Gong
Wu, and I’m happy.”
“That certainly makes sense of things,” the
warlord mused aloud. “I had thought there’d been a definite increase in
the usage of weaponry as of late, and here you are offering yourself as
a provider for all of it.”
A look of realization crossed Jack’s
face. “That reminds me,” he frowned, “I’ve got one or two things to
check up on really quick; would you mind if I did it now? I swear it
wouldn’t take long.”
The fact that he’d been asked permission out of politeness sealed the deal for the man, and he nodded obligingly.
White fingers snapped once, and a Jackbot rushed into the room. “Yes, Master Jack?”
“What’s going on with the deadbeats, JB-1225?” the albino casually inquired.
“Katnappé has repaid her loan in full, Master,” it dutifully informed.
An eyebrow arched elegantly when the robot left it at that. “And Tubbimura? What about him?”
“He has not been heard from, Master,” JB-1225 apologetically spoke.
A
dark scowl crossed Jack’s face, one that immediately peaked Chase’s
interest. “Find him,” the young man ordered, his tone deadly calm.
“Tell him he has until tomorrow morning to finish payment for the ray
he bought or else.”
The machine bowed in respect. “Yes, Master. Anything else?”
Jack
shrugged at that. “Just the usual,” he said. “Cut off a couple of his
fingers or rough him up as a warning; something little. If payment
doesn’t come through by 8:00 AM tomorrow, though, kill him and
repossess everything he has to pay for the disintegrator ray.”
“Of course, Master,” the Jackbot agreed, bowing again in respect before floating out of the room.
Chase found himself unbearably
giddy at how casually Spicer talked of killing his enemies. He forced
it down and instead challenged, “You didn’t think to enable a
self-destruct mechanism in the disintegration ray? It would’ve saved
you the trouble of having to find him.”
“Maybe so,” Jack
conceded with a smile, “but then the disintegration ray would be
destroyed and I’d have wasted my time and money on building the thing
without being paid for it when Tubbimura was likely injured or killed
when it exploded. This way, I get the money back if he pays up by
tomorrow and if he doesn’t, I get the money and the actual item in question back. Besides, it’s just plain more fun to have him hurt first.”
The
dark smirk the young man’s face sported at the moment sent a thrill of
wicked glee up and down the dragonlord’s spine. Spicer was not an
embarrassment to the Evil community anymore; no, no, no, not by any means. He was no longer just a foolish boy pretending to be Heylin, Chase realized…
He was Heylin.
The very thought was an attractive one. How long had it been since new blood had been present in the Heylin circle? Worthy new blood?
As a matter of fact, the very last had been himself some 1,500 years ago, and now here was Spicer, an intelligent, deadly, handsome young man now, unintentionally following in his footsteps.
…Chase wondered if it weren’t too late to make use of Jack’s feelings for him.
He’d certainly had them three years ago, that much had been obvious, but…the goth had been too green, then, too unskilled and inexperienced in everything
for anything to have come from a relationship between he and the
overlord. They were much too incompatible at that time and would’ve
ended in disaster. Now, on the other hand…
Any old fool could see there was potential, and Chase was certainly no more blind than any old fool.
“So,”
Jack began, folding his hands on his desk even as he snapped the
warlord from his internal musings, “what exactly made you decide to
visit?”
“The Xiaolin have recently gotten it in their heads that
it would be a good idea to break into my home, destroy my things, and
steal several of my Shen Gong Wu,” Chase answered with a frown.
Red
eyes stared at him in shock for a moment. Then, Jack snorted and shook
his head. “Stepping on a dragon’s toes, poking him with a stick, and
then proceeding to make ‘neener-neener-neener’ noises at him while his
back is turned: clearly that group of pricks want to die.”
The everlord agreed with that entirely. He scowled at the memory of them and corrected, “I want revenge without killing them. My problem lies in the fact that nothing mystical is sufficient punishment.”
“So, you came to me to see if something mechanical
will do the trick,” Jack deduced. At Chase’s confirming nod, he grinned
brightly, assuring, “Then you’re in luck; I must’ve thought up a
million and one ways to make their lives completely miserable and
hellish after all they did to me. Do you have anything in mind, or
should I just run with it and shoot some ideas out there for you?”
“The latter would be acceptable,” the elder man allowed. “I would prefer to hear your ideas first.”
“Alright…”
the Heylin supplier spoke, tapping his index finger contemplatively
upon his desk as he considered the options. “Well, to start off with,
the revenge would have to be personalized; y’know tailored to the
specific individual. After all, what ruins one person’s life can save another’s, so you can’t just do the same thing to all the monks.”
“That makes a good deal of sense,” Chase agreed. Perhaps that was the problem with all of the hexes he’d read through over the past week: they weren’t personalized and were just generic unpleasant things.
Armani-clad
arms crossed over a slim chest and Jack ‘hmm’ed quietly. “I’d had this
one thought; about what to do to Raimundo…it was right after he’d
scarred me,” he warned, “so it’s…pretty bad. Maybe too harsh.”
“The opposite has been the problem with everything else I’ve considered,” the warlord informed. “If it is too harsh, I will be the judge of that.”
Jack
did not further stall or make excuses for his idea to Chase’s unending
pleasure and simply said, “We could eliminate his ability to have an
orgasm.”
Golden eyes went wide at that. “…Come again?” he inquired.
“Yeah,” the young man nodded, “I could make it so that he’ll never orgasm again if you wanted.”
Quickly getting over his shock that such a thing was possible, he demanded, “How?”
“Basically,” Jack began, “the physical part of the orgasm, the expelling of semen; I don’t know how to stop that, but as for the feeling
of an orgasm…Well, the feeling comes from a flood of endorphins
released in the brain upon the expulsion of semen. It’s a natural
bodily response designed to make us enjoy sex so we reproduce and all
that. I’ve pretty much mastered nanotechnology at this point in my
life: it wouldn’t be all that hard to program some nanobots to either
block the receptors that take in the endorphins to produce that good
feeling or just get rid of the endorphins themselves. So, he’d come,
but it wouldn’t have that orgasmic feeling to it and he wouldn’t be
getting anything out of it. He’s a total manwhore, so I figure that’d
kill him; not to be able to enjoy an orgasm. Besides that, nothing
would ever feel good again if the endorphins were blocked or
eliminated, so he’d probably be depressed all the time, too. I dunno,”
Jack eventually shrugged, “what do you think?”
Chase was very
lucky for his incredible self-restraint. Were he a weaker-willed man,
he would’ve sported an erection from that deliciously Evil and
intelligent monologue and likely would’ve cleared the Bolivian rosewood
desk of its contents and dragged Jack onto it in order to have his
wicked, wicked way with him.
Instead, he honestly said, “That is perhaps the most diabolical thing I’ve heard cross your lips, Spicer. I believe that is just the manner in which I would like Pedrosa handled.”
The albino grinned, looking pleased. “Great,” he said, “so that’s one down, three to go!”
“Have you any ‘too
harsh’ measures for Tohomiko?” Chase inquired. “As I recall, she played
a rather large part in your scarring, as well.” He carefully didn’t
mention that he wanted to hear Jack talk to him about ruining lives and
making others miserable for the simple fact that the everlord had asked
him to.
It was quite the ego-stroke, really.
“Actually, I
do,” Jack replied to the query. “Kimiko is a girl who’s all about
appearances. Well, in terms of hormones and things, I’m sure you know
they can affect physical appearance pretty badly, right?”
Chase
nodded. It was common knowledge that influxes and imbalances of
hormones led to things such as unwanted hair or caused weight loss or
gain. As a teenager, he recalled having quite the problem with acne
because of that trouble-causing scourge of the human body, hormones.
This was, of course, before his face had cleared up and he’d become the
flawless, handsome devil he was today.
“There’s this phenomenon
of mimicry in the chemical world,” the younger man continued on. “It’s
when something is shaped enough like something else to be able to pass
for it in the human mind. An example is heroin; it mimics the action of
endorphins and is able to take their place in going to the receptors in
the brain. That’s why people get a rush from doing heroin: because it
mimics the natural endorphins of the body enough that it can take their
place and cause that same good feeling. I could do something similar
with hormones,” he explained. “I could manufacture some artificial
chemicals that work like certain hormones and drive Kimiko’s body crazy
from the inside: acne, growth spurts, hell, a full-blown mustache if you want!”
And at that, Chase was very close to losing his self-restraint and pouncing the Heylin supplier where he sat.
How had Spicer managed to become so decadently wicked?
Chase did not, in fact, lose his self-control and once more calmly agreed, “Another excellent solution, Spicer. I would like you to enact that one.”
“So, we’re 50% done, then,” Jack smiled, “conceptually, at least. Who do you want fucked over next?”
“How
about Bailey?” the warlord suggested. “I am interested as to how you
intend to make someone as unflappable as him miserable.”
“Are you kidding?” the albino scoffed. “He’s easy! We could go the route of a sex-change with him.”
“A sex-change?” Chase echoed. Alright, now this he had to hear.
“We
could do something similar to the hormone plan,” the young man
explained, “but with estrogen. Lots and lots of estrogen. He’ll grow
some breasts, primarily, but if you want to go all the way, we could
just kidnap him and have some surgeries performed. He’ll be too
embarrassed about the fact that he’s a chick to go to anyone for help
or turn himself back, and then the rest of his life’ll be ruined: he
seems like the type of guy to want to find a nice girl and settle down,
but he won’t be able to settle down because of what he’s been
taught. He’ll be a woman, and women can’t be husbands or father any
kids. He’ll still be straight, mentally, so he’ll find women sexually
attractive, but again, the way he was raised probably won’t let him
have a relationship with a woman because homosexuality is ‘wrong.’ He
might even go the path of what he’s ‘supposed’ to do and try to have a
relationship with a man, which will also feel wrong to him
because he’s mentally a man and not gay, even though his body would be
female thus making the act of sex with a man straight.” One white hand
waved dismissively. “It’ll be a whole lot of psychological mumbo-jumbo
that’ll fuck him up in the head.”
“I like it,” the dragonlord immediately declared. “You truly are an Evil genius, Spicer.”
Jack beamed, pleased with the compliment. “Thanks,” he said. “I know. Clay taken care of, that just leaves…Omi.”
“Any plans as to what to do about him?” Chase wondered.
The
albino merely shrugged. “Nothing so good as the other three,” he
admitted. “But I have a mind-control device somewhere in my lab; I
figure I could probably make it so that his body will be controlled
instead and his mind will be left alone and perfectly aware of what’s
going on against its will. Then, maybe program it so that he’ll do
anything you say and willingly become one of your servants, even though
the whole time he’ll be vehemently protesting whatever Evils you ask
him to do despite the fact that nothing you could make him do would be
worse than what he’s already doing as a monk.”
The dragonlord considered this silently for a moment, causing Jack to give a sheepish grin.
“See?” he said. “I told you it wasn’t that great.”
“No,”
Chase denied, a smirk flitting across his face, “it is good. It allows
me to take him as a warrior as well as seeing him punished for the
misdeeds he enacted with the rest of his compatriots. I believe I would
like that one to be done, as well.”
“Well, alright, then,” Jack
smiled, “we’re good.” He pulled a small black notebook from his desk
and quickly jotted down several notes (obviously just bits of
information so that he would not forget what he was being commissioned
to do), before placing it back where he’d gotten it. “Now all that’s
left to discuss is how much you’re gonna pay me to make all that
happen.”
Chase folded his arms across his chest, informing, “I
have more money than you could possibly imagine and I am willing to pay
handsomely to see the discretion against me by the Xiaolin avenged. I
will pay whatever you ask.”
“Mmmm,” the albino hummed low in his
throat. He leaned forward, propping his elbows upon his desk and
resting his chin upon interlaced fingers. He was silent for a moment,
then… “Your money’s no good here.”
“…Pardon?” the everlord demanded of the younger man with a frown.
“I won’t accept your money,” Jack repeated calmly.
“So, you’ll do it for free, then?”
“Certainly
not,” the Heylin supplier denied. “I’m not the type of man to waste my
money and resources without getting something in return, after all.”
The frown deepened. “So, then, you’re saying you refuse my business altogether?”
“Oh, no, I’ll do it,” the albino replied. “I’d be happy to, really.”
An
outright scowl took the dragonlord’s face and, with a very slight growl
in his voice, he ordered, “Stop talking in circles, Spicer; what do you
want in exchange for your services?”
Red eyes opened, fixing the
older man with a firm stare as the young Evil genius removed his elbows
from the desk and leaned back into his chair once more. “A kiss,” Jack
said seriously.
That little answer floored Chase, and for a full minute, he merely stared at the albino in silence. Eventually, he managed, “What?”
“One kiss,” Jack repeated. “It doesn’t have to be a tongue-kiss or anything, but it has to at least last fifteen seconds.”
Realizing that Spicer didn’t get what he was asking, the warlord altered his question ever so slightly. “Why, then?”
“Because…” the young man began with a slow hesitance, “…because I’ve always wanted one from you.”
Golden
eyes watched appraisingly as the trillionaire sighed, admitting,
“I’ve…loved you for…a really long time, Chase…Though I’m sure you knew
that; I wasn’t really subtle about it, I guess. But…I did love
you. It wasn’t some little fanboy crush or something, even if it
might’ve started out that way.” Jack frowned, explaining, “You were the
reason I wanted to become Evil in the first place, even if I wasn’t
very good at it back then. You were and still are so…awesome…and I was and am totally fucking head over heels for you; not just because you’re gorgeous and powerful, but because you’re…you,
I guess. I can’t explain it, really, and I’ve tried a whole bunch of
times, too: you’re you, and I love you for it. I dunno, maybe it’s not supposed to make sense…”
The
albino’s eyes downcast themselves, appearing to be glaring daggers at
the desk. “When the monks…did what they did to me…I knew I couldn’t be
Evil that way anymore. I was never very good at it in the first place;
I was only doing it to try and impress you, and then they scarred me. They hurt me in a way that would put me at a permanent disadvantage, and I realized that if I kept it up, I’d get killed and never be able to impress you so much that you’d want to at least kiss me. I kept the scar as a reminder of that,” he spoke, “even though I could’ve gotten rid of it.”
There was a brief silent moment, and then… “So, I took this
approach,” Jack said. “They say there’s no more Evil weapon than cold,
hard cash, after all. I made myself a supplier; the go-to guy for the
Heylin side, knowing you’d have to come here sometime wanting something,
and now that you have, I’m being selfish and asking for one kiss in
exchange for what you want me to do so I can pretend for a second that
everything I’ve done actually is enough and that you actually
want to. I’m rich enough to afford doing some several million dollars
worth of work for free, and…I’d rather be able to kiss you just once than never, even if I have to extort it out of you.”
At that moment, Chase’s only thought was that it was decidedly not too late to make use of Spicer’s feelings for him: they were still there.
“I’ll pay your price, Spicer,” he answered quietly.
Jack’s head shot back up immediately, the scowl gone as he gave the overlord a shocked and utterly helpless
look that seemed ridiculous on a man dressed so expensively and with
such a wicked-looking scar on his face. “Yuh…you will?” he managed to
get out.
“Of course,” he replied honestly, standing from his chair and walking around the rosewood desk. “Even with your reasoning, one kiss, without tongue, at that…your price is ridiculously cheap for the trouble to which you are going…”
“Yeah…?”
the young man wondered, a very slight, nearly inaudible quiver of
nerves in his voice as he turned in his chair to face the everlord.
Oh, what it did to Chase’s ego that he could do that to Spicer; could make the powerful and deadly Heylin man shiver and look at him with eyes of deep desire and fear mixed together!
He
deftly placed one foot upon the bottom of the chair and shoved it
backwards, the leather making a soft noise as it hit the wall while its
occupant made a tiny squeak. The overlord could hear Jack’s breathing
grow heavy and irregular as he braced his hands upon the wall, leaning
in until he was practically nose-to-nose with the albino. “Don’t you
think, Spicer,” he practically purred, “that you should ask a bit…more of me for all that you’re doing…?”
Jack
very visibly shivered and Chase gave a smug, toothy grin even as he
took in the scent of the young man’s very mild and pleasant cologne and
the infinitely more pleasing scent of aroused male.
“How much more are you willing to give?” the Heylin supplier wondered.
“A
wise question,” the dragonlord chuckled, allowing one hand to leave the
wall in favor of resting on an Armani-clothed shoulder. It soon
migrated to the center of the albino’s chest, loosening and then
entirely undoing Jack’s red silk tie. “How much do you want?” he
coaxed, tossing the article of clothing away.
A determined frown
took the albino’s features, and Chase found himself immeasurably
pleased when one of Jack’s hands came up and pulled his hair from its
ponytail; allowing white strands to brush against his shoulders. The
other was used to reach out and catch hold of the warlord’s red sash,
tugging it loose from its knot and tossing it carelessly aside to land
near the discarded tie.
“Everything,” Jack growled in response.
Golden
eyes glimmered in the low light of the office and an amused chuckle
passed his lips. “I think we can work something out,” Chase hummed in
response.
In the blink of an eye, the two Heylin men were gone
from the high-security office and reappeared seconds later in Jack’s
bedroom, fully intent on making a complete mess of the $1,300 silk
bedding upon the king-sized mattress.
~~~~~~~~ Back to Xiaolin Showdown ~~~~~~~~