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Whispers	By : SilentSniper Category: +S through Z > Xiaolin Showdown Views: 3309 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Xiaolin Showdown, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Silky brown tendrils fell softly over teary emerald eyes; covering the sorrow that lurked within those orbs. Sinuous body slumped slightly forward in a defeated stance; not having the energy to stand up and take charge. He did not want to move from the burnt spot among the grass graced soil, did not wish to cover his displeased nose from the smoky scent.
“Raimundo?” a voice dimmed by sorrow dared to utter softly.
Green eyes, the colour of emeralds and jade, peeked out from underneath disheveled chocolate shaded hair. The orbs glittered with unshed tears; almost hiding the immense sorrow that lurked within. Lips opened and closed to articulate what ran through his mind, wanting to lift this weight off his chest.
“We tried…we did try…we weren’t good enough.” a deeper voice softened by regret.
His jaded eyes finally met those who were speaking to him in whispered tones. Midnight-black hair falling down to small shoulders in soft waves, honest ocean-blue eyes that glimmered with tears and soft milky-white skin tarnished by burns and dirt. Wispy golden hair falling over sky-blue orbs that were devoid of wetness; rough pale skin dirtied and bruised. Both of them mirrored his wilted posture, clearly berating themselves for the tragedy.
“But-but, I could have done something. Anything…” he argued quietly with spiteful undertones.
The one with the beautifully tender features kneeled besides him. “Rai…we will get him back. Its only a matter of time.”
Green eyes flooded with tears. “Kimiko…” He collapsed against her small bosom, staining the vibrant red cloth.
His gaze shifted to the terrain that they were currently on. Grass embellished ground, leaning brown sticks with leaves adorning their headdress, shifting with the calm wind. Grass that was burnt to a crisp, fading away silently, trees leaning with fatigue and their leaves whispering downward. Aflame with slight fire, keeping balance with the cracked earth, destroyed from previous harsh winds and slightly submersed in icy waters. Water that was evaporating from the absence of its wielder.
The Dragon of the Water.
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Bronzed walls that curved into a crystallized dome; peeking out into the foggy sky that was devoid of the sun’s kiss. Cold walls adorned with wide almond-shaped eyes with cat-like pupils, placed strategically in the corners of the room. The room held no windows; no light shore besides that of the blazing flames. Several gold, silver, bronze urns placed on top of tall alabaster pedestals. Heavy bowls of silver alight with intense dancing red flames. In the center of the room, were many stairs leading to a granite throne decorated with pedestals burning with a fiery bonfire and a large stone throne chair with clawed armrests and legs.
Seated in the icy stone throne was a tall man built slightly powerfully, dressed in bronze and black armor over black pants. Silken hair falling to his waist in jagged ebony waves; framing his long aristocratic face. Narrow orbs the colour of pure gold accent by thick black eyebrow that curved upwards sharply; creating an vigilant gaze and droopy-eyed stare. Flawless pale skin aglow by the flickering flames danced upon his face.
His golden eyed gaze was currently trained on a little blur that moved to and fro in his previously silent throne. A petite boy dressed in a black robe with a sliver of red trimming ending at a thick scarlet sash that wrapped around his tiny waist. Lower body clad in ebony pants that finished at the teeny tiny cherry-red slippers.
“Patience, my dear Dragon of the Water…” he said softly and waved a hand; signaling for him to cease his movements.
“But I must fight!” the boy protested as his white pupil-less eyes narrowed in challenge. He refused to stand still, deciding to bounce about in the freezing room in defiance. His nimble body moved up, down, side to side, back and forth; always in tune. The child terminated his jumps and spins as the man stirred from his seat.
The tall man rose from his throne calmly, his eyes never leaving those of the boy. His steps were deliberately slow and filled with purpose, black hair swishing back and forth. The little one faltered slightly, unnerved by the leisure pace.
“You must be patient, Omi…your time to battle will come soon,” he said, laying a slim hand on the boy’s shoulder.
Omi flinched slightly at the slight pressure upon his shoulder, disliking the thin fingers that seemed to be kneading his clothed shoulder. His round face lowered to avoid looking at the lean man. Though, despite his anxiousness, his eyes still burned with a need to prove himself.
“I must fight them, Chase Young,” the young one said through gritted teeth as his tiny hands formed fists at his side. The man’s fingers tightened slightly so on his shoulder.
Chase smiled slightly at the boy’s words and removed his hand from the swell of his shoulder.
“Soon, young monk…soon. I shall help you achieve your desire”
Omi hesitated when the man grew silent; not bold enough to disturb eerie tension that settle upon the stony throne.
“Still everything comes with a price, does it not?”
A shiver ran across the black clad monk when a cat-like smile appeared on the pallid face.
Golden eyes burning with an unknown emotion; glowing even more as the fires danced upon his pointed face.
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The dark-haired girl stood besides the golden-haired boy as they stared at the third with chocolate coloured hair. The sun-kissed boy sat in a small cubicle simply adorned with a flimsy purple coloured mat and small oak drawers. Though it was plainly decorated, it was far from clean…magazines cluttered the small space, along with balls rolling about and wrinkled clothes thrown carelessly.
“Raimundo, partner, you can’t keep moping, forever.” the pale boy whispered. His large hands tinkered with a tall tan hat, thick fingers stroking the smooth material absentmindedly.
“He’s right,” came the tinkling soft voice of the girl with glossy black pigtails. In comparison to the pale boy who kept his distance from the bronze-skinned boy, she scooted closer to him.
“Clay…Kimiko…its just not that simple,” Raimundo finally said, though his head remained bowed.
The two other monks glanced at each other briefly. They did not quite understand the urgency in his voice. True, their little Dragon of the Water was missing, but they were trying their best, honestly, they were. Kimiko bit her bottom pink lip when the Wind Dragon still refused to look at them whilst Clay hung his head in defeat. They all love and truly miss Omi; his lively frolicking about, his use of current slang and his annoyingly cute ego. Still…the Dragon of the Wind’s emerald eyes shore with an even greater sorrow then theirs; since the day that Omi walked out on them, he refused to leave his compartment. He just sat cross-legged, staring at the wooden walls of his stall while frowning.
Clay tapped the Dragon of the Fire on the shoulder and whispered, “Maybe we should leave him alone, he just needs to snap out of his shock.”
“But…”
Light blue eyes narrowed whereas dark blue ones softened. With one last glance at their saddened comrade, both of them left the room.
He just needs time to himself…that’s all…ran through both their minds as they stepped out into the cool outdoors.
They hated the outdoors now. Instead of the brightly burning sun that beat down upon lush green hilltops and meadows; upon the trees elegantly dressed in leafy crowns and fruit coronets that were lightly blown on by calm winds was now transformed into something hideous. The grass had faded away to a dull ashen colour; trees hung limply stripped of their headdresses, crying tears of green bitterness; the skies above were a dreary murky brown-gray. Beyond the miserable scenery flames crackled merrily, wickedly, impatiently upon resisting trees and mountain tops; chasing away animals that drank the rays of the forgotten sun.
All they could do was sigh softly and curse their misfortune.
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“ A price, you say?” Omi questioned curiously.
“Yes, a price,” the man stated simply with a smug smile upon his lips.
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“A price?”
“Yes, a price,” a sot tinkling voice whispered.
“Why a price, Wuya?
The woman of crimson hair and emerald eyes circled around him, smiling her wicked smile. She laughed softly.
“ My dear Raimundo…everything has a price,” she said with mirth as she wrapped her arms around him.
The brown haired boy grimaced as her slim arms with their red tipped hands draped around his slender shoulders. Wrinkling his nose as the demon-woman drew him closer to her willowy frame.
“Not everything,” he said softly.
The soft laughter echoed in his ear. “Really?” she mocked, “What doesn’t have a price?”
Serious green gems locked on with burning emerald ones. “Love”
The crimson-haired witch giggled. “Love, Raimundo?”
She tightened her grip around the sun-kissed boy and purred in his ear. “ Haven’t I already set a price on your love?”
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“What sort of price?” the white eyed youth asked.
Chase peered at him with narrowed eyes and smirked. “That will come in due time…”
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“Raimundo…why must you run from me? ” came the soft purr.
He stood on the stairs of her stone throne, not daring enough to go further in. His dimmed green eyes gazed at her lounging form; purple robes gathering around her; slender legs balanced precariously on the armrests, her long crimson hair trailing to the floor.
He remained hushed and unmoving. She smirked at his stubborn silence whilst rising from her throne; all long limbs and grace.
“Raimundo…why must you make me come to you?”
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Raimundo clutched his head, his face scrunched up; his eyes closed and lips pressed tightly together. Wuya beckoned him, whispered to him in those misty shadows of memories; sang her deadly siren song in his unwilling ear, tempting him into her cold hot embrace. She always did, even after all this time. Her sing-song voice was forever lodged within him. Mocking him with her velvet raspy voice, captivating him with her emerald gem gaze.
They did notunderstand the severity of their predicament. They did not understand what it meant to be called, to have a voice whispering in the ear, or temptation beckoning ever so softly. They did not understand the predicament that had fallen into their hands. The predicament that confined the Dragon of Water within the promises of instant gratification.
“Raimundo…don’t you want this?” a hiss of a green snake hummed in his ear.
“I thought you wanted this…” came the mocking whisper of a crimson witch.
“No! I never wanted this! Never! Do you hear me, Wuya, never!”
He crumbled against the wall, arms wrapped around his slumped body. His hair fell down his tear-streaked cheeks.
“Never…I never wanted this.”
“You lie, Raimundo” came the witch’s purr.
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Moonbeams did not shine into the room of dancing shadows; creepy figures stirring among the dull wooden walls. A single window decorated the room, letting in the chilly air of the night. In the middle of the room was a mall and slight lump, not moving from beneath the light covers. All that one could see was a round sallow head; face for once peaceful, comfortably resting, despite the rough futon.
The shadows moving across the little wooden room became larger and more menacing. The hazy tendrils became vague hands hovering above the slight form. The splotch of black became slightly more defined as the seconds pasted by. The blurred face smiled a wicked smile and slithered closer to the futon, faint tendrils of hair fluttered without any wind to touch it. A shifting, shuddering hand reached out to grasp at the light blue blanket that covered the boy, slowly the hand began to lower the flimsy material.
The child shivered from the lack of warmth and curled up, unaware of the frightening shadow that hovered above his bed. Did not rouse even as uncoloured eyes raked over the slim frame in vehemence. He did not awaken even as the hand stroked his cheek gently, feeling the contours with appreciation. A small smirk of satisfaction came upon unclear lips as the boy pressed his cheek into his hand; small mouth curving into a small smile. Fingers ghosted over his features; his eyelids, his rosy cheeks, the pert nose…his lips. His thumb traced over his lips leisurely; relished the velvetiness of his lips. Lips that begged to be kissed, begged to be poisoned, to become swollen and reddened. The shadow drew back momentarily; not tonight, not just yet.
Soon, he left the flowering face of the youth; interest wandering. His fingers fluttered to tiny tiny hands with teeny tiny fingers, awed by the delicate structure of the fingers, of the fragileness of them. His large barely visible hand cupped the slighter hand; his eyes hunted for details to be memorize.
“What price are you willing to pay?”
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Whispers