This is a multi-chapter sequel to my one-shot “Mastery.”

I have been wanting to write this for some time. At this site I go to, someone is hosting a fic contest, and it as the boost I needed to get this down. I know I’ve got two other fics but…I can’t resist competition. Anyway, a stipulation of the contest is to post the fic here (yeah, like I wasn’t going to do that anyway, hehe) so I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter One

Slade was not the lethargic type. Nor was he one to experience long periods of little motivation. His mind was a veritable machine of ideas and plots, where possibilities and variables were calculated and compared and strung together into criminal schemes. As a result, he was almost never bored, not when there were so many inspirations and notions constantly spewing forth from his super-charged, genius-level mind.

Yet for the past few weeks, even as his largest schemes (take over the world, destroy the Teen Titans) continued their slow but steady progress forward, Slade felt himself going through the motions of conducting them. He was un-alert as his spy drones reported images of Titans Tower back to the large view-screens that dominated entire walls of his lair. He was uninterested while reading the reports and data scattered on his desk on his desk or stored in his complex’s extensive computer system.

At first, Slade feared the worst. Was he experiencing some sort of trivial mid-life crisis? The idea of him fretting over his lot in life as if he were some boring, whipped suburbanite male was positively laughable. He knew very well who he was, and what he wanted out of his existence.

And yet, for the first time in his life, he felt dull-minded bout his surroundings. His rapid-moving brain was slow and unproductive. He felt unenthusiastic about his goals.

It took a little while, but he managed to isolate the problem.

In a relatively short amount of time, he had experienced set-back after set-back. His plans for an apprentice had failed—twice. His plans of conquest had failed along with them. Defeat after defeat, humiliation after humiliation, had been pitched his way by six teenagers who weren’t old enough to vote for the mayor of the city they protected—and one of them was a rock.

He was far from crushed, but at the moment he didn’t feel the burning, masculine desire of power and conquest that he had always felt in the past. He felt like he needed to clear his head—that he needed to find a way to relax his mind and cleanse away the past unpleasantries from the past year. He needed a vacation, so to speak.

Vacation. Slade had never cared for it much. He had always felt happier when he was working, not lounging. So it didn’t come as a surprise to him when he found himself drawing blanks on where to go.

The only place he had ever been at peace had been in China, when he had trained with the True Master in his youth. He had been with the woman for almost a year, when he had been around the Titans’ ages, actually, and she had immeasurably improved upon his already-considerable skills. The Master had been the only person he knew then to treat him with kindness and understanding, and during the time he had been her student, she had been like a mother to him. He had respected her, a rare thing for Slade to do. Even rarer, he had obeyed her.

Sitting in his throne-like chair, surrounded by the sounds of rotating cogs and thrusting pistons, Slade imagined the old woman, in her calm yet seemingly infinite wisdom, and he conceded that spending a little time in China with his ex-master wasn’t the worst way to spend his time.

Unfortunately, the last time Slade had visited the woman had not gone so well. It had been about three years ago, after he had made a name for himself in the criminal world, especially on the West Coast. Slade had traveled to China, scaled the mountain where she taught her students, and approached the dojo that rested on top. As if she had sensed his presence, the True Master had come out to greet him.

Things had gone badly after that. It had been like a slap in the face. He had told her of his desire to have a student of his own, and she thought it was unwise of him to train a pupil—she didn’t trust him to do it correctly. Slade had left her bitter and angry.

He knew he couldn’t return to the Master. Not after what she had said to him, not after the way he had turned his back on her.

Still, surrounded by drudgery, and having to grudgingly admit the woman had been right all along, a part of Slade desired to see the woman again. If he were to tell her of his misfortunes, she would understand—or at least listen. She would talk to him the way they had always down in the past, and she would give him advice he would never take.

In that moment, against his pride and better judgment, Slade made his decision.

He was going back to China.

(TT TT TT)

In the past, Slade rarely left the comfortable darkness of his lair—why would he, when everything he needed was at his fingertips?—much less left the country. Yet here he was, slowly but efficiently packing a spare set of armor into a heavy traveling case. Each piece of armor had its own special velvet-lined groove to rest within, and the case itself was latched shut and protected by a special lock that required a specific five-numeral code.

He finished loading his armor when he placed the two pieces of his masked helmet into their appropriate place, then closed the lid on the large traveling case. Next to the case on his bed was another nondescript bag he had already packed. It was filled lightly, with only a spare change of his signature black and silver clothing and a few other traveling provisions. Slade didn’t see the need for anything else.

“When should I expect you to return, sir?” came a voice from behind the masked super-villain. Wintergreen was standing the way a seasoned butler of his trade would. His straight-backed stance was somehow relaxed and natural, yet still professional. Slade turned to the man, dragging his carrying case off the bed and to the floor.

“I’m not sure,” Slade said. “But I shouldn’t be gone longer than a few days. Do you think you can keep the place running while I’m away?”

“I’ll do my best, sir.” Wintergreen answered the almost playful question modestly and tolerantly, but they both knew better than to question the butler’s capability. “And while we are on the subject,” Wintergreen continued, “are there any special tasks that you require of me while you’re gone?”

“Yes,” Slade answered, shouldering his other bag. “Keep a casual eye on the Titans for me. Record their movements, and keep count of anything unusual. I’ll review everything later when I get back.”

Just because he was going away on a “vacation” of sorts didn’t mean work—or the research necessary for revenge—ceased.

Slade ran a quick inventory of his bag and traveling case through his head, checking to see if he had overlooked anything. Thanks to his mind’s advanced eidetic memory, he could easily visualize all of the contents he had packed away. After a quick mental scan, he decided everything was in order.

“Well good-bye, old friend,” Slade told Wintergreen, gripping his belongings and exiting his sleeping chambers. “I’ll be back soon.”

“If I may ask, sir—” Wintergreen followed Slade out the door, “exactly where are you going?”

Slade paused, frowning slightly behind his mask. Wintergreen knew most of the details of his past, but Slade had never spoken much of the True Master. And he didn’t feel like divulging that information now. He trusted the butler more than any other person on the planet, but revealing that he was seeking out his old teacher would be admitting a softness that he did not want to expose, not even to his trusted friend. It didn’t fit his image at all.

“I’m visiting an old…associate,” Slade answered the butler after a moment. “A very powerful, influential one.”

“I see.”

It was obvious that the butler knew there was more to the story, but Wintergreen was wise enough not to ask.

(To be continued)