* * *
It had been exactly where he knew it would be.
Valmont picked up the dragon-hilted sword and smirked. He felt the click in his head, the joining of the chi remaining in his mind with the chi possessing the sword. The old psychic wounds that had resisted all the help his money could buy withered under the flames sweeping his mind as he reunited with himself.
It shouldn't have been a reunion, really. The old man's exorcism shouldn't have left these white-hot spikes in his mind.
But it had and it was. For two painful years, he had tried to pick up the shards of his life. Every time it seemed like he would recover, the fires lurking in his head surged through him, and he destroyed everything he had built up.
He had almost given up this last year. He had looked at his life and judged that there was nothing he could do anymore. He had fallen from the heights and he would never achieve half of what he once had. A miserable death was the only thing that waited for him.
Then the dream of the sword began. It drew him out of the despair he'd sunk into and gave him something to hold onto in the dark nights. He followed the dream-sword halfway across the globe, always looking for a clue to its actual whereabouts. The dreams had revealed where the first clue was, but they mostly left the rest of the journey to him. Paying for his travels hadn't been a problem, of course; he had stolen and murdered his way across the world before.
The British man wrapped the broadsword up carefully and tied it to his backpack. Time to leave, before the half-demon and Jackie Chan came after this demon chi. The fools would realize what had happened soon enough, but he didn't have to make it easy for them. He smirked unpleasantly and picked his way through the broken rocks of the ancient mountain fortress.
Cold wind blew down from the heights to whirl around his feet, stirring up fallen leaves and pebbles. For a bare instant, it cut into his flesh like a knife. The sluggish lava-blood in his body flared terribly hot, and sweat began to drip down his body.
The half-demon should not have let him get so close at that little interview. Valmont nimbly leapt across the rubble blocking the gate. He might not have been able to understand what he had sensed then, but with the joining of the sword.... Well, the demon chi would have been quite useless if it didn't impart the instincts of how to use it.
He stopped and took off the down-lined jacket, sighing in relief as he cooled down a bit. Red-tinted memories of that winter in the warehouse tried to filter into his mind but shoving them away was easier than ever.
The mountain seemed to rail against him taking the sword; the wind grew icier and he could almost taste the storm blowing down from the peak. A blizzard, he guessed, but what did he know about mountain storms? It was unpleasantly cold, though, and he kept raising his internal fires to compensate. His sweat turned to steam as it formed.
Valmont let his thoughts drift as he trudged down the mountain. All the previously insurmountable problems seemed so simple now. Even Jackie Chan could be easily handled and contained if he showed his face.
He would leave his old enforcers be. They deserved whatever life they had worked out for themselves, especially after that old chi wizard had gotten through with them. Hak Foo, though, was another matter. The Black Tiger would be useful for when Chan and Drago came calling.
A few snowflakes drifted past him, the ones that touched his skin turning to steam. Only an hour more till he reached the village....
At the foot of the mountain, he stopped at the shrine to the mountain goddess and stashed the pack and sword. His jacket and pants smoldered unpleasantly, while his shirt was already merrily ablaze. Unfortunately, the added light from the fire made the snow almost blinding.
In the end, he stumbled into the village barely ahead of the blizzard. Snow obscured his vision to no more than three feet ahead, and the wind howled in his ears. His clothes had crumbled to ashes ten minutes ago. Steam billowed from him, and his bare skin glowed with heat. When he brushed against an abandoned wagon, it burst into flames.
Laughter bubbled up in his throat. He had won! In the end, after being humbled and injured nigh unto death, he had beaten Shendu. The demon was a statue, while he was a free man.
After all, he didn't need the sword. The chi had transferred to him the moment he held it. He could leave it lie in the shrine, after taking the incriminating pack. Drago and Chan need never know what happened to the fire chi.
The End