Chapter Text
The San Francisco morning fog had always been one of Jack Spicer's favorite weather phenomena. It gave the city a mysterious, gothic, almost gloomy air; undoubtedly, the perfect aesthetic backdrop for a rising evil genius. However, this particular afternoon, as he shuffled his heavy feet up the steep, cobbled streets, the fog seemed only damp, cold, and utterly miserable. Just like he felt inside.
A dull, sharp groan escaped his chapped lips as he brought a gloved hand to the side of his ribs. That last Xiaolin Showdown had been a complete, utter, and humiliating disaster. Another shameful stain on his already rather long record of failures.
As he walked, ignoring the tourists and locals who gave him sidelong glances because of his flamboyant clothes and appearance, Jack couldn't stop replaying the scene in his head. He remembered Raimundo's laugh, that arrogant, mocking tone the Brazilian always used, which managed to get under his skin in seconds. And Omi… that insufferable little cheesehead with his ridiculous, poorly constructed sentences and his superiority complex.
The humiliation burned far more than the physical bruises that now covered his pale skin. Kimiko had literally charred him, leaving the unpleasant smell of burnt hair still clinging to the ends, and Clay had rammed him with the force of a runaway truck. The four of them had given him a monumental beating. And all for what? For a stupid Shen Gong Wu that, if he was honest with himself, didn't even do anything worthwhile; it was just a silly golden teapot that spewed jets of hot steam. A useless object that had now left him with a swollen face and his pride shattered.
But, on second thought, what really made Jack's blood boil wasn't the monks. He'd expected that from them. They were the "good guys," their job in life was to ruin his plans, stop him, and keep the world safe. No, what caused a tight knot of frustration and fury in his throat was his own side. His supposed "Allies of Heylin."
Jack angrily kicked an empty soda can that rolled noisily along the sidewalk and hit a trash can.
He had freed Wuya! He had given her shelter, he had helped her when she was nothing more than a pathetic, floating ghost trapped inside a stupid wooden puzzle box. And how was that ancient witch going to repay him for all his dedication and intellect? With constant betrayals, deafening shouts, daily insults about his lack of magical abilities, and abandoning him at the first opportunity for someone stronger, more magical, or simply more useful. He treated him like an earthworm, a mere expendable lackey whom he could trample without a shred of remorse.
And then there was Chase Young. The great, legendary, and unattainable Chase Young. Jack clenched his fists so tightly he felt his own fingernails digging painfully through the leather of his gloves. He had idolized this immortal warrior. He had seen him as the epitome of pure, elegant evil. He had begged on his knees to be his apprentice, brought him gifts, done his dirty work, humiliated himself in ways his fragile ego still couldn't quite forgive him for. For what? So that Chase would look at him with those icy, terrifying, reptilian eyes as if Jack were nothing more than a smear of foul-smelling mud on his perfectly polished martial arts boots. Chase didn't even consider him a threat. He considered him a joke, a noisy nuisance buzzing around him.
And as for the rest of the Heylin, he'd better not even think about them.
"I'm an evil genius," Jack muttered to himself, stopping at a corner and pressing his hot forehead against the icy metal of a lamppost. "I build machines that defy the laws of physics. I have an entire army of Jack-bots under my command. I control technology at a level those troglodytes will never understand… Why doesn't anyone take me seriously?"
With a shaky sigh that he would never admit sounded dangerously close to a stifled sob, Jack straightened up, mechanically adjusted his glasses on his forehead, and looked around. He was so lost in self-pity that he wasn't looking where he was going. He was on the outskirts of the city's Chinatown. The streets were adorned with paper lanterns, filled with small shops selling cheap plastic souvenirs, noodle restaurants that emitted thick vapors, and markets selling herbs and dubious-looking fish.
It was then that his black-lined eyes caught sight of a facade unlike any other. It was a shop with a tired, old-looking facade, its windows slightly dusty and a heavy wooden sign. On it were worn oriental characters that Jack didn't bother trying to translate, flanked by more legible Western letters indicating that it was an antique shop. At first glance, it didn't seem like much. In fact, it looked like the kind of dull, musty place where grandmothers went to buy ugly vases or moth-eaten furniture.
However, a quick, fleeting thought crossed young Spicer's brilliant, yet twisted, mind. 'What if there's a Shen Gong Wu in there?' He knew better than anyone that these powerful, ancient artifacts often ended up in dusty trinket shops and flea markets, ignored by the ordinary world, patiently waiting to activate. A spark of greed and longing lit his red eyes for a brief second, but it died almost immediately. 'Even if I'm incredibly lucky enough to find one by accident, those Xiaolin losers will surely appear out of nowhere riding their stupid green dragon, beat me up again, and steal it right under my nose,' he thought bitterly.
Still… he didn't want to go back to his lair just yet. He didn't want to face the blank stares and mechanical drones of his robots that would only remind him of his umpteenth failure, nor did he want to be alone in his room dealing with his own depressing thoughts. Maybe stepping into an unfamiliar place, breathing in the stale air, and inwardly scoffing at a pile of overpriced junk would marginally improve his mood. With a defeated shrug, Jack crossed the street and pushed open the heavy wooden door of the shop.
A small brass bell above his head announced his arrival: *Ding-ding*.
The inside of the shop was exactly what one would expect from such a place, only amplified. It smelled strongly of sandalwood incense, dried herbal tea, and that sweet, distinctive scent of very old paper. It was crammed to the ceiling. There were shelves overflowing with jade figurines of various deities, scrolls piled haphazardly in baskets, handmade ceramic masks that seemed to stare down at him from the walls, and glass cases filled with amulets, coins, and trinkets that looked like they'd been taken from centuries ago. Jack wrinkled his nose in disgust at the complete lack of modern technology, but at the same time, he felt secretly intrigued by the gloomy, mysterious atmosphere.
"Welcome!" a high-pitched, energetic voice—definitely not that of an elderly antique dealer or a wise monk—bobbed from behind the heavy main counter.
Jack blinked, surprised by the volume of the voice, and then looked up. Leaning against the glass display case, elbows planted firmly and chin resting on her hands, was a little girl. She looked about the same age as him. Her black hair was cut in a straight bob, and she wore a fairly ordinary orange sweatshirt over worn jeans. She was staring intently with large brown eyes that were filled with a lively and undisguised curiosity. She didn't seem scared or intimidated in the slightest by Jack's gothic appearance or the aura of "pure evil" that he always tried to project.
"Um…" Jack paused for a moment, puzzled, looking around to make sure he hadn't stumbled into the wrong door and accidentally walked into a daycare or an educational toy store. "You run this old dump of a shop? Where's the owner? Your grandpa or something? I don't have time for childish games."
The girl rolled her eyes with an expertly bored expression, as if dealing with arrogant people was her daily bread.
"My great-uncle went out to run some boring errands. And Jackie is… working at a university. I'm in charge of watching the front of the shop and making sure no one breaks anything. My name is Jade, by the way." She pointed with her thumb toward a door covered by beaded curtains that led to the back room. "Tohru's back there cleaning relics or something, so if you're thinking of trying to steal anything from the display cases, just so you know, we've got a giant on our side."
From the back room, a deep, booming voice, clearly belonging to a man of colossal size, echoed through the beaded curtains.
"Jade! Uncle said you shouldn't intimidate customers with my presence! And please, I beg you, don't go near the Ming Dynasty vase!"
"I'm not touching anything, Tohru! I'm just being an excellent, proactive salesperson!" Jade shouted back over her shoulder, before turning her intense attention back to the pale teenager in front of her. "So… what are you looking for? Some belated Halloween decorations? Or is that black clothing and those weird glasses a full-time lifestyle choice?"
Jack felt the vein in his left temple begin to throb dangerously. Of all the things he had to put up with today, a sarcastic, know-it-all girl was definitely not on the list. He crossed his arms, ignoring the stabbing pain in his ribs, and raised his chin, striking his most haughty and dramatic pose.
"For your information, nosy girl, I'm Jack Spicer. The self-proclaimed Evil Genius. And this"—he gestured to his pristine black coat and heavy platform boots—"is the haute couture of the dark side. You wouldn't expect someone of my superior intellect and wicked intentions to be walking around in garish hoodies like you, would you?"
Jade blinked a few times, absorbing the theatrical introduction without flinching. Instead of backing away in fear or running to hide as Jack would have preferred, an amused smile spread across her youthful face.
"Evil genius, huh? Wow. That's new. Usually, the bad guys we deal with have scales, green skin, tentacles, or are ninjas in weird outfits who appear out of the shadows." Writing "Evil Genius" on your business card is quite a unique touch. What exactly do you do? Do you hack government computers or rob banks using giant laser beams?
Jack immediately opened his mouth to retort, ready to boast about his inventions, his fearsome Jack-bots, his alliance with the ancient forces of Heylin, his worldwide search for the Shen Gong Wu… but he stopped dead in his tracks. He slowly closed his mouth. She wouldn't understand. Ordinary mortals never did. Besides, something about the casual, natural way this girl talked about dealing with "bad guys" and "ninjas" struck him as extremely odd. He decided to dismiss it quickly; it was surely just the overactive imagination of a brat who watched too much television.
"I do things… much bigger, more complex, and more sinister than your little mind could even begin to comprehend," Jack said, slurring his words and trying to sound as dark and mysterious as possible. He turned and began pacing the narrow aisles, running his gloved fingers over some ornate wooden boxes. "I'm looking for… artifacts. Things with real hidden power. Ancient objects that house lethal mystical energies."
Jade stepped out from behind the counter and leaned against one of the nearest shelves, watching him walk with his peculiar gait.
"Well, Spicer, you're in an antique shop. By definition, everything here is old and dusty. As for 'mystical energies'…" Jade shrugged dismissively. "Uncle says a lot of this stuff has history and cultural value, but if you're looking for something that breathes fire or makes you fly through the air, I think you're in the wrong shop. Most of the stuff here just serves as paperweights and collects dust."
Jack sighed deeply, feeling the heavy blanket of depression settle back down on his shoulders even more firmly. He picked up a small bronze dragon from a nearby shelf, examining it without much interest. Truthfully, he didn't sense any unusual energy signature, no warning on his internal radar that he was holding a Shen Gong Wu. It was, just as the girl had said, only old junk with no practical use for world domination.
"Yeah, I figured," Jack muttered, his arrogant, theatrical tone almost completely fading, replaced by his raw, genuine weariness. "Nothing seems to be going right for me lately. I could have the most powerful magical artifact in the world in my hands right now, and I'd probably trip over my own feet and give it away to some bunch of losers in pajamas."
Jade tilted her head, immediately noticing the boy's sudden change in demeanor. Despite his strange outfit, flamboyant glasses, and delusions of being a "destructive villain," in that vulnerable moment he just looked like a normal teenager who'd had his ass kicked by life and desperately needed a break.
"Tough day at the office of evil, huh?" Jade asked. Her tone lost its sarcasm and became a little more empathetic and genuinely curious.
Jack placed the bronze dragon back in its spot with a soft metallic *click* and leaned heavily against the edge of the bookshelf, sliding down slightly until he was slumped in a defeated posture.
"Worst day ever. My… 'coworkers' hate me, they literally use me as a doormat, they yell at me for things that aren't my fault, and my enemies constantly taunt me while kicking me in the face. Literally, kid. I got kicked in the face today. Multiple times. By monks who haven't even finished high school." Jack instinctively rubbed his flushed cheek at the memory. "I'm a genius, you know. I've been building incredible things since I was a kid. Complex machines, artificial intelligence. But nobody cares about my intellect. In this stupid game, all they care about is who hits the hardest physically or who has the coolest, most destructive magic."
Jade let out a small, sympathetic whistle, crossing her arms.
"Wow. Sounds like you desperately need a change of equipment. Or at least a long vacation on a beach with no cell service. Sometimes, the people you work with and try to help can be complete, ungrateful jerks. Trust me, I know this all too well. Try convincing a stubborn archaeologist that you're much more helpful out in the field than locked away studying in a boring library. It's a mission impossible."
Jack frowned beneath his glasses, puzzled by the girl's odd comparison to an archaeologist, but strangely comforted by the fact that someone—even if it was just some random girl in a dusty San Francisco store—was listening to him without immediately judging him or attacking him with water balloons or tornadoes.
"Maybe you're right," Jack conceded, staring down at the worn wooden floor. "But if I quit Heylin's side… then I'm nothing. I'd just be Jack Spicer, the pathetic kid who lives in the basement of his absentee millionaire parents' enormous house. Being a bad guy is the only thing I really have that makes me feel special."
Jade remained completely silent behind the counter, observing the pale teenager in front of her with a mixture of pity and disbelief. She'd dealt with enough megalomaniacal maniacs, immortal sorcerers, ancient demons, and criminal organizations in her life to recognize the pattern. Despite his ridiculously dramatic attire, smudged eyeliner, and swagger, this kid wasn't messing around. He genuinely considered himself an "agent of evil," a villain in training, and was actively searching the city for magical artifacts with intentions he himself classified as dark.
Logic, common sense, and years of perilous adventures around the world alongside her Uncle Jackie dictated only one immediate course of action. Jade knew she had to slowly turn around, lift the heavy receiver of the store's landline phone, and dial Captain Black's encrypted number. Section 13 needed to know immediately that there was a new player on the loose in San Francisco. A goth teenager, seemingly a robotics genius, who confessed to hunting mystical relics for evil. She should report him. She should put his Uncle Jackie and Uncle on high alert. It was protocol.
But then, her dark brown eyes lingered on Jack's hunched posture. She saw the way he clutched his own bruised arm, as if trying to give himself the comforting hug no one else in his life ever provided. She heard the raw, real pain in his voice as he spoke of how his own allies treated him like dirt. She didn't see a fearsome crime lord poised to conquer the world; she saw a lonely boy, deeply frustrated and desperate for the minimal validation his absent family in China and his cruel teammates constantly denied him. A critical part of her—that same impulsive empathy that sometimes landed her in colossal trouble, but had also helped her save the world on multiple occasions—prevented her from picking up the phone. He didn't need a Section 13 tactical team descending on him; he needed someone, for once in his day, not to kick him in the face.
Letting out a sigh so soft and restrained it was practically imperceptible in the quiet of the shop, Jade relaxed her shoulders and offered him a genuine smile, devoid of any trace of her usual sarcasm.
"Hey," she said in a soft, conciliatory voice, "we all have absolutely terrible days. Even self-proclaimed evil geniuses. If it's any consolation, I think if you're truly capable of building advanced robots and artificial intelligence from scratch, you're far more valuable than those idiots believe. Why don't you take a break? Look around the shop. Lose yourself among the antiques for a while to forget your troubles. Sometimes, looking at things that have peacefully survived hundreds of years gives you a bit of perspective and helps calm your mind."
Jack looked up sharply, surprised by the sudden change in the teenager's tone. He blinked a few times, searching her for any trap, any trace of cruel mockery on her face. Finding nothing but a polite and honest suggestion, he snorted and crossed his arms, feigning superior disdain.
"That's a pretty cheap and transparent tactic to get someone to spend money in your messy place, you know that?" Jack remarked.
His voice was dry, raspy with disuse, in a tone that wasn't a sharp complaint or a scream of terror, but oddly, it lacked its usual defensive venom. He didn't sound genuinely annoyed, and more importantly, he made no move toward the door to refuse the suggestion.
Jade's smile widened, a glint of mischief flashing in her eyes, and she placed her hands on her hips with overwhelming confidence.
“Hey, you can’t blame a young businesswoman for wanting to sell her wares and earn a living. Uncle would let me run things more often, and without Tohru as my undercover babysitter, if I manage to boost sales this month. Consider it your first good deed of the day… or your first financial bad deed, if spending money makes you feel better about your shady reputation.”
Jack snorted again, glancing down at his heavy boots, but this time, the corners of his chapped lips curled upward in a very faint, almost imperceptible smile. It was the first time all day—and probably all week—that someone had joked *with* him and not *about* him. Without another word, without another complaint, he turned and shuffled down the narrow, crowded aisles of the antique shop.
The atmosphere in the place was dense, pleasantly warm, and permeated with that comforting scent of aged wood, polished wax, and withered paper. As Jack ventured deeper into the labyrinth of tall bookshelves, the distant sound of San Francisco traffic faded, replaced only by the rhythmic, peaceful ticking of an antique pendulum clock tucked away in some distant corner. He ran his gloved fingers over cold porcelain vases from lost dynasties, dusty tapestries with faded gold threads, and strange ceremonial masks that seemed to stare at him with empty eyes.
With every step he took, his mental and physical radar was instinctively on high alert, searching for the familiar, electrifying, and addictive hum of mystical energy that characterized an active Shen Gong Wu. He analyzed rusted swords, carved jade amulets, and discolored bronze chests. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Everything in the place was exactly what Jade had said it was: mere old junk with no practical use. There were no cloaks that granted invisibility, no rings that fired destructive beams, no staffs that controlled animals. On the one hand, the lack of discoveries was a predictable disappointment. On the other, the profound silence and the complete absence of Heylin or Xiaolin magic gave his overactive, stressed mind the rest it so desperately needed. For a few minutes, he could stop being the pathetic lackey who had to secure a Wu at all costs, and simply be a teenager peacefully browsing.
He stopped in front of a particularly cluttered display case at the far end of the main counter, far from the main counter. There, half-hidden beneath a pile of old, rolled-up nautical charts and yellowed ledgers, something caught his eye. It didn't glow with mystical energy or radiate the slightest hint of dark power, but it had a singular aesthetic that resonated deeply with his gothic sensibilities and his love of intimidating designs. It was a small, antique Chinese chest, exquisitely carved from heavy, black wood, with intricate details on the lid depicting dragon scales and aggressively intertwined claws.
Driven by pure curiosity, Jack pushed aside the dusty maps and took the chest in his hands. The wood felt cool to the touch and spoke of age. With a gentle flick of his right thumb, he lifted the small, rusty brass latch and opened the lid. His eyes widened behind the red glass.
Resting in the exact center of the chest, on a worn crimson velvet cushion, was an utterly fascinating object. It was a perfect crystal sphere, the size of a billiard ball, but it wasn't transparent. The interior of the thick crystal was masterfully carved, colored, and structured to resemble the actual eye of a gigantic predatory reptile. The pupil was a sharp, vertical, black slit, menacing and intense, surrounded by an iris of a deep emerald green veined with amber that seemed to capture the tent's meager light and reflect it with an almost hypnotic, vivid depth. It wasn't pure magic, Jack knew that with empirical certainty; His internal scanners wouldn't detect any magical radiation signature on that object. But it was an exquisite piece of craftsmanship—disturbing, macabre, and utterly brilliant.
Jack stared at the crystal reptile eye for several long minutes, completely spellbound. His prodigy inventor mind began to spin, making him forget all about the monks and Wuya. He could embed this eye in the central control panel of his next series of elite Jack-bots. Or better yet, he could use it as the aesthetic core and focal point for a new custom command staff. The design possibilities for instilling terror were endless. He felt an overwhelming attraction to the piece.
Immediately, his self-proclaimed profession's instincts kicked in. He glanced cautiously over his shoulder toward the front of the shop. Jade stood with her back to him, humming a pop song as she arranged some books on the counter. The giant man, Tohru, was still in the back room, completely oblivious to what was happening. The exit door was a mere fifteen meters away. It would be so ridiculously easy. He would only have to silently close the chest, slip it into the wide, deep inside pocket of his black coat, walk into the San Francisco fog, and disappear. It was what a true villain would do. It was what the ruthless Chase Young would expect him to do: take what he wanted without paying, flouting the pathetic rules and laws of civilized, feeble society.
His gloved hand closed firmly around the cold glass surface of the eye. He lifted it from its velvet bed.
But then, as he weighed the object, the image of Jade smiling kindly at him flashed through his mind. He remembered how the girl had stopped to listen to him complain about his constant misfortunes without judging him, without interrupting him, and without launching into a moralistic sermon about right and wrong. He remembered how she hadn't mocked his obvious physical humiliation at the hands of the monks, something Omi or Raimundo would have done without hesitation. She had granted him a rare moment of peace and dignity on a truly hellish day. If he stole the glass eye, he knew perfectly well who would pay the price. They would blame the girl. The old man who owned the shop would surely yell at him mercilessly for losing valuable merchandise during his watch, in exactly the same unfair way Wuya yelled at him when he lost a duel due to external factors. He didn't want to be the cause of that.
Jack clenched his jaw tightly. Slowly, almost with physical pain from suppressing his kleptomaniac instincts, he placed the heavy glass eye back into the chest, fitting it snugly into the crimson velvet slit.
“I’m not some pathetic thief of cheap trinkets from a street market,” he muttered to himself in an almost inaudible whisper, feverishly trying to justify his sudden bout of decency. “I’m a world-class evil genius. My family budget is practically unlimited. I pay for my eccentricities.”
He clicked the chest shut with a sharp, final sound and, turning on his heel, walked purposefully back to the front of the shop. Jade looked up from her books when she heard the unmistakable thump of heavy boots approaching.
Jack stopped dead in front of the glass counter and shoved the small, dark wooden chest toward her. Then, with a theatrical flick of his wrist, he popped the lid open, revealing the disturbing reptilian eye trapped in the glass.
“Wow,” Jade exclaimed, leaning over the counter, her eyes wide with genuine surprise. The vertical pupil seemed to stare back at her from the shadow of the chest. “That looks pretty cool.” Absolutely disturbing, kind of creepy, but very, very cool. You've got a good eye for finding weird stuff in this mess, Spicer. Literally.
Jack straightened up immediately, puffing out his chest with pride and adjusting his glasses at the unexpected compliment.
"Of course I do. My sense of perverse aesthetics is unmatched and superior to that of any mortal," he retorted in his usual arrogant tone, though this time it sounded much lighter, almost playful, and lacked his desperate need to prove himself. "How much does this thing cost?"
Jade carefully picked up the small chest, turned it over to find the small yellowed cardboard tag attached by a string to the back hinge, and squinted to try to decipher her uncle's small, messy handwriting.
"Let's see... according to Uncle's cryptic register, this costs... eighty-five dollars. It's solid, hand-carved crystal; it seems to be a rather old and unique piece."
Jack didn't even blink at the price. He reached deep into his dark trouser pocket and pulled out an expensive, bulging black leather wallet stuffed with high-denomination bills. Even though his main underground base of operations and his parents' sprawling mansion were located in China, he always made sure to carry plenty of international currency for his constant whirlwind trips around the globe in search of Shen Gong Wu. He counted the money with mechanical speed and placed a hundred-dollar bill on the glass counter.
"Keep the change and pack it up with the chest," Jack said casually, as Jade took the bill and inserted it into the antique metal cash register, which gave a loud, cheerful chime. She nodded, pleased with the sale, and carefully slid the closed chest toward him.
Jack took his new acquisition, tucked it with extreme care into the secure pocket of his coat, and turned to leave. His platform boots clattered heavily against the creaking wooden floor as he crossed the shop, approaching the front door. He reached for the cold brass doorknob and turned it until he heard the click of the mechanism.
But before he could push the door open and step outside, he stopped dead in his tracks. He stood there, his back to the door, frozen, his gloved hand gripping the knob tightly. A strange, tight knot suddenly formed in his stomach. It was an unusual, uncomfortable feeling, something he wasn't at all used to in his daily interactions. Nervousness. Doubt. Gratitude.
Slowly, as if it required a tremendous physical effort, he turned around. Jade had already gone back to flipping through a magazine behind the counter, but she looked up instantly when she saw that the doorbell hadn't rung and he hadn't stepped outside.
Jack swallowed hard, feeling his usually paper-pale cheeks flush with a light but undeniable blush of embarrassment beneath the thick layer of black eyeliner that framed his eyes. He nervously fiddled with the leather rim of his glasses. He tucked his left glove into the fabric, avoiding direct eye contact with the girl.
“Hey… uh… kid… Jade,” he began, his voice stumbling awkwardly over the syllables before he cleared his throat sharply and tried to adopt a slightly firmer, more dignified posture. “I… I mean… about earlier…”
Jade raised an eyebrow, closing her magazine and waiting patiently, giving him the time he needed without pressuring him.
Jack let out a long sigh, surrendering to the difficulty of basic human emotions.
“Thanks,” he finally blurted out in an almost brusque tone, his gaze fixed on a nearby vase, unable to meet her eyes. “For… you know. For listening to my pathetic complaints. And for giving me encouragement earlier. None of my ‘powerful allies’ would have even bothered to let me finish the first sentence before throwing me out of a window or threatening to kill me.”
Jade blinked twice, genuinely surprised by the confession. For a second of absolute silence, she didn't know what to say. She definitely hadn't expected the dramatic, goth kid who'd walked into her shop, loudly proclaiming himself the impending scourge of humanity, to have any manners, or to be capable of such vulnerability and honesty so openly. But the initial shock quickly faded, immediately replaced by a warm, deeply empathetic, and radiant smile.
"It was nothing, Jack," she replied sincerely, using his first name in a friendly tone and resting her chin gently on her hand. "We all need someone to listen to us now and then. You know where to find 'Uncle's Weird Finds' if you ever need another break from the stressful dark side, if things get tough, or if you just want to come and pick up some more creepy glass eyes for your projects. Good luck with your robots."
Jack stared at her for another second, taking in her words. The constant, oppressive tension on his shoulders, the kind he'd carried since his morning humiliation, had almost completely vanished. With a short, firm, and curt nod—a gesture far more befitting a general respectfully bidding farewell to an equal ally than a goth kid leaving a trinket shop—he opened the heavy wooden door.
The brass bell chimed again above his head, signaling his departure. As Jack Spicer stepped back into the thick, damp fog of San Francisco, he realized the city no longer seemed as bleak, cold, or miserable as it had before. He walked with his head held a little higher, the weight of his crushing defeat in the Xiaolin Showdown noticeably lighter on his pride, and the reassuring presence of a small, strange chest in his pocket reminded him that, perhaps, not everything in the world was always against him.
The flight home on his private jet was, surprisingly, one of the most peaceful and reflective journeys Jack Spicer had experienced in months. As the aircraft sliced through the night sky above the vast Pacific Ocean, leaving the cold fog of San Francisco far behind, the self-proclaimed Evil Genius sat in his red leather armchair, turning the small, dark wooden chest over in his gloved hands.
Unlike his typical return trips after a Xiaolin Showdown, this time there were no tantrums, no shouting, no tools hurled against the metallic walls of the cabin. There was no ghostly Wuya hovering around him, yelling in his ear about how incompetent he was and how he had once again failed to secure a simple Shen Gong Wu. For the first time in a long time, Jack was alone with his own thoughts, and the echo of that peculiar girl Jade's kind words still resonated in his mind. She hadn't judged him; she hadn't treated him like an annoying insect. He had seen the boy behind the gothic clothes and flamboyant glasses, and had offered him a sympathetic smile at his lowest point.
Jack stroked the intricately carved wood of the chest. The unsettling reptilian glass eye that rested inside possessed such an exquisite and menacing aesthetic that, somehow, it gave him a strange sense of comfort. It was his. He had bought it with his own money, without having to fight with teenage monks or endure the jeers of immortal sorcerers.
Hours later, the jet touched down smoothly on the private airstrip that connected directly to the grounds of his enormous, silent mansion. As usual, the vast property was shrouded in darkness, save for the automatic security lights. His parents, as always, were away on business somewhere far into the world, leaving him alone in the immensity of that luxurious fortress.
Jack descended a staircase into the depths of his true home: his enormous underground lair and laboratory. As he entered, a dozen Jack-bots activated in unison, their robotic eyes flashing red as they whirred toward their creator.
“Back off, you tin cans,” Jack muttered wearily, lazily waving a hand to disperse them. “I don’t want any reports, repairs, or world-conquest plans today. The Evil Genius has had a ridiculously long day and desperately needs his beauty sleep. Shut down your main systems and go into recharge mode.”
The robots obeyed with a series of muffled mechanical beeps and retreated to their charging stations. Jack let out a long yawn that made his jaw crack. His entire body ached. The punch Clay had landed on his ribs still throbbed with every deep breath, and his face felt stiff from Kimiko’s minor burns. Wasting no more time in his lab, he climbed a private spiral staircase that led directly to his bedroom.
Jack's room was a monument to his eccentric, dark tastes. The walls were covered in black and red striped wallpaper, his immense four-poster bed was flanked by faux-stone gargoyles he'd sculpted himself, and computer screens were scattered everywhere. He groaned off his heavy black coat, tossed his signature boots into a corner of the room, and, after slipping into black silk pajamas, sank down onto the soft mattress.
Before settling in, he took the glass eye out of its case. He studied it one last time in the dim light of his reading lamp. The vertical pupil seemed to stare back at him from deep within the green and amber iris. It was mesmerizing. With a careful movement, he placed it on the cool marble surface of his nightstand, right next to his digital alarm clock.
"Good night, Mr. Creepy Eyeball," Jack murmured, switching off the lamp.
He buried his face in the pillows and, unusually quickly for his usually hyperactive mind, fell into a deep, heavy sleep, overcome by the immense physical and emotional exhaustion of the day.
Time passed in complete silence inside the mansion. Outside, the Chinese night sky was clear, adorned with a blanket of stars and a bright, round full moon. Around three in the morning, the Earth's rotation caused the intense, pale moonlight to stream directly through the large window in Jack Spicer's bedroom. The silvery beam crossed the room and landed, as if guided by an ancient force, directly on the bedside table, bathing the glass eye completely.
The moment the moonlight touched the carved surface, the object ceased to be a mere inert ornament.
The interior of the crystal began to emit a pulsating glow, a crimson and gold aura, wild, dense, and ferocious. The air around the nightstand distorted with a sudden rise in temperature. The reptilian eye began to beat rhythmically, like a living heart just revived after millennia of slumber. A strange golden and reddish mist began to seep from the crystal, spilling onto the nightstand and falling heavily onto the carpeted floor of the room.
The mist swirled and grew, expanding to fill a considerable space at the foot of Jack's enormous bed. It condensed, absorbing all the moonlight and darkening the room. Suddenly, the silence was broken by a low, deep, guttural sound; a resonant growl that shook the very foundations of the mansion. It wasn't the whir of a robot's gears. It was the unmistakable sound of a supreme predatory beast.
The fog burst with a blinding flash of light, revealing the imposing figure that had materialized.
Standing in the middle of Jack's room was a large, armored warrior. His armor had a dragon-themed aesthetic (specifically based on the Dragon Avalon). The main colors were red and dark tones, with details suggesting dragon scales or plates. He wore a menacing mask with a distinctive red glow around the eyes, emphasizing his ferocity.
The sudden flash of light, the abrupt change in air pressure, and the creature's ragged breathing were enough to jolt Jack from his dream.
The teenager opened his eyes with a start, blinking in confusion in the darkness. As his vision adjusted to the dim reddish light emanating from the beast's mask, his heart stopped for a split second. His lungs filled with air, and, unable to control it, Jack let out one of his characteristic high-pitched, terrified screams.
"AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"
Seized by utter panic, Jack crawled backward desperately across the bed, tangling himself in his own black silk sheets until his back slammed violently against the carved wooden headboard. His red eyes were wide open, fixed on the dragon monster that occupied almost half his room.
"Jack-bots! Jack-bots, code red! Invasion! Protect your leader!" Jack shrieked at the top of his lungs, fumbling around on his nightstand for a panic button, but in his clumsiness, he only managed to knock his alarm clock to the floor.
There was no response. His robots were too far away, deep in their recharge cycle in the lower levels of the lair. He was completely alone, facing a living nightmare.
Jack's mind began racing, trying to find a logical or magical explanation. 'What is this? Is it one of Chase Young's monsters? Had Chase finally had enough of me and sent one of his mutated feline warriors to assassinate me in my sleep? But that's a dragon, not a cat! Was this the work of the monks? Or Wuya?'
The imposing creature in dragon armor slowly turned its head toward him. Its glowing amber eyes fixed on the trembling figure of the teenager cornered against the headboard. The beast took a heavy step forward. *THUMP!* The sound of its armored boot hitting the floor made the bed shake.
Jack squeezed his eyes shut, raising his thin arms in a pathetic attempt to shield his face. He was ready for the impact. Ready to be crushed, incinerated, chewed up, or whatever painful fate that monster had in store for him. He cowered, expecting to feel the sharp claws tearing him apart.
But the attack never came.
Instead of a crushing blow, Jack heard a loud, resonant metallic screech, followed by a dull thud, as if a heavy anvil had fallen on his rug. Slowly, trembling like a leaf in the wind, Jack opened one eye, peering over his crossed arms.
What he saw took his breath away, his brain paralyzed with sheer shock.
The immense, intimidating beast wasn't preparing an attack. It was kneeling. The beast had dropped to one knee in a perfect posture of martial submission. It had bowed its head, offering its neck in utter respect, and held one of its clawed hands firmly against its armored chest.
"There is no need for you to fear, my lord," the creature spoke.
The monster's voice was as deep and booming as the sound of an approaching storm. It was rough, raspy, and carried an ancient echo that spoke of centuries of antiquity, but there wasn't a single drop of hostility, mockery, or arrogance in it. On the contrary, it overflowed with absolute reverence and devotion.
Jack slowly lowered his arms, his mouth agape. His genius brain, which normally processed complex algorithms in seconds, simply shut down.
“M-My… lord?” Jack stammered, his voice sounding pathetically thin and high-pitched in the silence of the room. “Are you… are you talking to me? You’re not going to… eat me or crush me or blast me in the face with a magic beam, are you?”
The beast raised its gaze slightly, keeping its head bowed in respect, and its eyes met Jack’s bewildered red ones.
“I have been trapped in that crystal prison for a time mortals can scarcely comprehend, in a dark and unbreakable slumber,” the warrior explained solemnly. “You, and you alone, claimed the jewel. It was your hand that held me, it was beneath your roof that the moonlight touched me, and it was your energy that anchored me back to this physical world. The ancient laws are absolute and unbreakable. Whoever frees a General becomes his Master".
The dragon monster thumped its chest with a closed fist in a flawless martial salute, producing a metallic clang that resonated with authority.
“I am the bearer of the spirit animal of the Dragon of Avalon. I am your sword in the darkness, your shield in battle, and your most loyal servant. I am the Phantom Beast General Scorch. And from this night forward, my power and my entire life belong exclusively to you, Master.”
Jack Spicer froze, blinking slowly as General Scorch’s words sank into his mind. He glanced at the kneeling creature, then at the nightstand where the glass eye still rested, and then back at the gigantic dragon monster.
No one, ever in his life, had knelt before him. Not his mindless robots that merely followed codes, nor Heylin’s allies whom he had tried so hard to impress. Chase Young despised him. Wuya used him and insulted him. The monks mocked him. And here he was, in his own bedroom, a being of immense and terrifying power kneeling submissively and swearing absolute loyalty.
All the humiliation, pain, and depression Jack had suffered that day began to evaporate with astonishing speed. The initial fear vanished, replaced by a familiar spark of megalomaniacal ambition, but this time, ignited with a real and powerful fire.
Slowly, the corners of Jack Spicer's lips began to curl upward, stretching into a wide, sinister, and genuinely euphoric smile. Perhaps the Shen Gong Wu weren't his only means of world domination after all. His luck had just changed in the most glorious and terrifying way imaginable.