The transition from the neon-drenched spires of Gotham to the open sky was a relief Jake hadn't realized he needed. As he and Lao Shi took flight, their powerful wings beat against the cool night air, rhythmic and steady. In his draconic form, Jake felt every shift in the wind, every thermal rising from the earth below. Beside him, Lao Shi moved with a grace that belied his age, his ancient scales shimmering like polished jade under the moonlight.
"Grandpa," Jake's voice rumbled in the telepathic link dragons shared during flight, "you never really finished that story. About that Zatara. You said you guys went way back. Even his daughter seems to know you."
Lao Shi banked slightly to the left, his eyes fixed on the horizon toward Cleveland. "Ah, those were chaotic days back then. Giovanni was… a man of many secrets. We met when the world was a much darker place."
As they soared over the sleeping landscape, Lao Shi's voice took on a nostalgic quality. He spoke of the 1940s, a time of global upheaval that hadn't even spared the magical world. He described the forced exodus from his home in Manchuria as the fires of war spread across Asia. "I came to America looking for peace, Jake. I settled in New York's Chinatown, opened a small dojo, and thought I could simply be a man teaching others how to find their center."
"But you didn't," Jake noted, watching the lights of a distant town flicker below them.
"The life of a dragon is never truly ordinary," Lao Shi sighed. "The magical underworld in New York was a hornet's nest. Word gets around when a Master of such caliber arrives. It wasn't long before I was approached by the Justice Society of America. They requested my assistance on the front lines."
Jake nearly missed a wingbeat, his heart racing. "The JSA? You could have been a founding member? That's legendary!"
"The Council forbade it," Lao Shi replied sharply, the old bitterness coloring his tone. "They argued that the affairs of humans were beneath us, that getting involved in their 'great wars' would only bring exposure and ruin to our kind. I was ordered to remain neutral."
Silence stretched between them for several miles, broken only by the whistling wind. Jake's mind was racing. "Is that why the Council is so obsessed with the Justice League now? Because they missed their chance to lead?"
Lao Shi turned his massive head to look at his grandson. "They are not obsessed, Jake. They are afraid. The Council knows the identities of every major hero in the League. They've kept dossiers since the first time Superman flew over Metropolis."
Jake felt a cold knot form in his stomach. "Leverage? You're saying they'd use that against them?"
"In the eyes of the Council, it is 'strategic security.' If a god-like alien or a billionaire in a bat suit ever decided that dragons were a threat to their version of order, the Council wanted to ensure they had a knife at their throats."
"That's disgusting," Jake snarled, his inner fire flickering in his throat.
"It is survival, Jake. Or at least, their version of it. But tonight, we aren't politicians. We are family. Focus on Fu."
The reminder hit Jake like a physical blow. He pushed the thoughts of Council conspiracies aside. They had a friend to save.
—----------
Cleveland felt different than Gotham, duh. It lacked the oppressive, Gothic weight but replaced it with a hollow, eerie quiet as they approached the industrial district. They descended into an alleyway near the supernatural clubhouse, shifting back into their human forms with a practiced blur.
The clubhouse, which usually hummed with the low vibration of minor charms and the smell of cheap ale, was deathly silent. As they stepped through the heavy oak doors, the air changed. It wasn't just cold; it was heavy, saturated with a static-like energy that made the hair on duo's arms stand up.
"Is it just me who feels like something crawling under my skin?" Jake whispered as he rubbed his skin with his dragon claws. "And not the friendly kind of crawl."
"Goblin Shamans," Lao Shi muttered, recognizing the acrid scent of sulfur and swamp water.
From the shadows of the upper balcony, Ralph Silverfang, the Goblin crime lord, stepped into the light. He looked disgustingly prosperous in an impeccable dark violet suit that probably cost more than Jake's entire wardrobe. His sharp, predatory teeth were bared in a grin that didn't reach his cold, yellow eyes.
"Ahh, finally. It's so good to see you guys in one piece," Ralph purred, his voice like gravel in a blender. "I trust your scales and bones are intact after that… unfortunate business in Gotham? It looked quite painful on the news."
Lao Shi stepped forward, his face a mask of stone. "Cut the farce, Goblin. You have wasted both our time and patience. Where is Fu Dog?"
Ralph clicked his tongue, a mocking sound. "Always so fucking direct. You oversized lizards truly are such killjoys. Fine. If you insist on skipping the amenities..."
He clapped his long, clawed hands. From the back of the club, a procession emerged. Several dozen goblins, hobgoblins, orcs and massive, horned ogres filed out, forming a perimeter. They were heavily armed with jagged blades, spears, iron-bound clubs and even guns. Following them were seven figures in ritualistic, tattered robes—the Shamans. They carried staves topped with glowing green crystals, muttering low, rhythmic prayers.
In the center of the circle was Fu Dog.
The Shar-Pei looked terrible. He was thin, his coat dull and matted, bound by glowing green chains of magical energy.
"Fu!" Jake shouted, stepping forward.
The dog's ears perked up, and he let out a weak, raspy sound of recognition. But as he tried to move toward Jake, the green chains flared with a harsh, crackling light. Fu Dog yelped in pain as a surge of magical electricity threw him to his knees.
Jake's eyes snapped to slits, his pupils glowing a dangerous gold. A low growl vibrated in his chest, and his skin began to itch with the urge to transform.
"Steady, Jake," Lao Shi warned, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Not yet."
Ralph watched the exchange with sadistic glee. "The Orb, if you please. I have a schedule to keep."
Lao Shi reached into his jacket and produced a small, unassuming wooden box. With a flick of his wrist, the box expanded, unfolding into the enchanted briefcase they had brought. He clicked the latches open, revealing the Orb of Malphorus.
The artifact pulsed with a deep, rhythmic violet/purple light. A collective gasp, a chorus of greedy whispers, rippled through the goblin ranks. Even the Shamans paused their chanting, their eyes wide with religious fervor.
"The exchange," Lao Shi stated, his voice echoing in the silent hall.
The atmosphere was thick with nervous energy, a powder keg waiting for a spark. Lao Shi began to walk forward with the briefcase held out, while the Shamans nudged a staggering Fu Dog toward Jake. The distance closed—ten feet, five, three.
Just as the hand-off was about to occur, lady jinx decided to strike again.
A series of sharp thwip sounds echoed through the room. Small, metallic spheres bounced across the floorboards.
"Grenades!" Jake yelled.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
The explosions weren't just concussive; they were infused with anti-magic dampeners. The clubhouse rocked, the windows shattering inward. Dust and smoke choked the air. Above them, the skylight and a large section of the roof disintegrated as a massive secondary charge detonated.
Jake didn't think. He partially transformed, his scales erupting along his arms and back, and lunged for Fu Dog. He threw his body over the Shar-Pei just as a rain of debris and twisted metal came crashing down.
Ralph's Shamans were already reacting, their staves glowing as they conjured flickering green barriers to shield their boss. Not all the goblins were as lucky; several screams were cut short as the ceiling collapsed on the perimeter guards.
Lao Shi, even in the chaos, moved like a ghost. He rolled through the smoke, emerging unscathed near the center of the room. The orb was still in his hand as his eyes scanned the hole in the roof.
Figures began to drop through the smoke on high-tension wires. They were clad in sleek, black tactical gear with red trim—ninja-like garments that Jake knew all too well. Their weapons, from katanas to crossbows, gleamed with a distinct, blue magical aura.
"Huntsclan," Jake hissed, teeth bared.
Lao Shi cursed under his breath, he pulled out his staff, extending it to its full length. This wasn't a double-cross by the goblins. This was an ambush by the third party they had been accounting for.
"Talk about impeccable timing," the old dragon growled, standing back-to-back with Jake. "Ready yourself, young dragon. This just became a three-way war."