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It took months to find Spicer, the cowardly little worm. He had finally yielded to the inevitable and crawled into a little hole in the middle of nowhere, under a dark dank rock where he belonged, to wait. To wait for Death. For Chase Young.

The dragon overlord phased his way into the dark room, waiting in the shadows knowing Spicer could feel his presence but not know where he was. He had only paused in his rage, waiting at the edge of light that fell on Spicer’s sitting form, as if it knew of his coming execution, to savor the tech geniu's fear. He wanted Spicer in his truest and purest form. He wanted him sniveling, whimpering, and pleading for his life in the most ridiculous and humiliating way, bare of all shame. He wanted the satisfaction of knowing that he was ridding the world of a truly pathetic, dishonorable, cowardly little bug.

But there wasn’t any fear.

Spicer sat there staring straight ahead, not looking just staring, eyes shining and bloodshot. He didn’t make a sound.

The little shit picked now to have some pride and face death without any shameless displays of self-love?

Young could feel the phantom burn of his anger and resentment in his scar as he finally sneered and moved forward into the light behind Spicer. He grabbed the albino by the back of the neck with one hand and lifted.

The tech made a slight sound of surprise and his hand instinctively shot up to defend himself but then lowered again, reluctantly, yielding to the inevitable. His body shook with reflexive tremors, fighting for life even as the soul had given up.

Young had his other arm pulled back, ready to spear into the traitor. Not through the heart. No quick death. He needs to suffer. But he was hesitating.

The dragon wanted vengeance and to make an example of Spicer. No one had betrayed him in centuries. All that had come before had been dealt with swiftly, brutally, and publicly. But the man had questions. Nagging doubts.

Hurt.

No. We’re not thinking about that.

That was root of all of it. Spicer’s betrayal had been different. The others were easy to deal with. They were simple. They were fodder. Spicer, the little worm, had started out that way but then he became something else. He was infuriating and idiotic. Weak and pathetic. Even stupid, but somehow he had managed to get under Chase’s skin. Despite his glaring faults and patterns he managed to endear himself to the overlord and then strike a blow powerful enough and deeply enough to scar .

Physical and mental.

Indignation, rage, and vengeance pulled the dragonlord’s arm back a little further.

“I’m sor-” Jack whispered.

Chase Young had already struck.

He struck Spicer in the heart. He didn’t feel the wetness on his cheek.

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No matter how many times he thought back to that day he couldn’t make any sense of it. It didn’t make sense then and it made even less sense now. There was no reason. Now all he thought about was the strike. The impulse that had driven him. They had been coming more frequently. This need to be close to Chase, run to him even.

This one… came from nowhere. All there was now was the memory of blood and Chase’s yell.

Why?

It had began happening more often. The impulse. The little voice or impulse showed up more frequently. This strange reflex to physically engage Chase. He had chalked it up to his desire for Chase, but it had felt different, moving so quickly into Chase’s space was a little…hostile and not what he was aiming for. But it seemed to work. Chase finally let him in. Chase allowed him to join him and for a while the voice and impulses died down. He seemed to have regained control and then one day in the middle of a battle, full of adrenaline and fear, complete heart gripping fear. He seemed to lose all sense of time and space. Nothing made sense, everything was after him. He completely panicked. He wasn’t going to get out of the fight alive. Then Chase appeared in view and the impulse returned full force. But with the return of the impulse came clarity. Jack’s mind had returned… but not control. Something else had it. And it was headed right for Chase.

Was it desperation? Was it hope? What was driving him to Chase? Did he need help?

As he got closer he could feel his muscles readying a strike. A strike for Chase. A strike at him.

No! Wait! Why?

He couldn’t stop it. He had no control. He could feel. He could think. But he could not control.

CHASE!

The look on Chase’s face, the half that wasn’t covered, was absolutely damning.

Jack ran.

There was nothing else to really do. He couldn’t think at the time. All he could think about were the things he couldn’t do. He couldn’t apologize. He couldn’t be independent. He couldn’t go back.

He couldn’t run forever .

That was all he could do really. Give Chase what he would no doubt want: revenge.

So he waited. He dropped where he was, a little underground in the middle of an African forest, and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long.

The familiar feeling of predator eyes on him filled the cavern. He briefly felt the same thrill of fear and something else, something more affectionate, that he always had for Chase. It was so disheartening to think of what could have been if…

If he only had answers. If he had control.

But that wasn’t important now. What was important was that Chase was here. This was the only time Jack had with him. And it was going to count.

No running. No begging. No hollow words. No resistance.

He belonged to Chase and Chase would do what he wanted with him.

Chase seemed to be taking his time. Jack was only slightly surprised. He had almost expected to see an apex dragon charge towards him and then nothing else. Or, if he wasn’t killed instantly, he would be thrown around or torn to shreds. Quickly or slowly. Perhaps Chase was thinking about torture? Did he have questions. Jack hoped not. He didn’t have any answers. All he had was his life.

The was a sudden pressure around the back of Jack’s neck and he was being lifted. It choked but he could still breathe. He had to fight to calm his hands from fighting back. So much for dignity.

There wasn’t an immediate strike. What was going on? Jack could feel the trembling power in the grip around him. What was it waiting for?

It was almost funny.

Jack felt one last impulse.

Except it was different. This time it truly felt like him.

Jack took one last breath. “I’m sor-”

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It took 1500 years of waiting but Hannibal couldn’t be more pleased with how his revenge had worked out. It really went to show that patience was a well paying virtue even among the damned. Even after being trapped in the Ying Yang realm for 1500 years he hadn’t lost his knack for truly twisting the world to his worst needs. Instead of going after Young immediately, he waited.

He waited and watched and saw his opportunity… in Jack Spicer.

As glorious as it would be to confront Young head on, to beat him in his own fashion (that boy really had a temper), it was sweeter to watch the ungrateful traitor tear himself apart because of, of all things, someone else’s betrayal.

And in the end brain is better than brawn.

It was delicious to watch Young’s spiral after killing Spicer. Watching the unanswered questions consume him and drive him mad as he tried divination after necromancy spell. Watching him try for 500 years to try and get some answers from Spicer beyond the grave. It was a pleasure to know that Young’s greatest strengths were now the source of his all-consuming ignorance.

Bean debated telling Young the truth in his last hours of living. He thought about being there at the last minute to whisper a greeting in Young’s ear. To tell him how he had watched him, how he had read him, how he had seen his affection for Spicer (and Spicer in return). How he slipped into Spicer’s ear while he slept, how he had played them both like puppets, and then tore them apart.

He wondered what he would see in the dragon lord’s face when he processed how badly he had misjudged, been deceived, fooled. How stupid he had been.

He wondered if he would see regret. Regret for what? For Spicer? For his temper? For choosing the Lao Mang Lone? For everything?

It probably doesn’t matter. It would just be a lovely bonus to all the chaos and powerlessness his former pupil already felt.

It will be a marvelous return to the field. To announce his resurgence by emerging from the ashes of one of the world’s greatest evils (that he helped create). After 2000 years of thinking it was safe, of thinking there was any true reprieve from him, the Heylin would know, the Xiaolin would know, everyone would know to never, EVER cross Hannibal Roy Bean.