Once again, thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I’m doing my best to respond to everyone. (Apparently, they got rid of the simple ‘reply’ option on story reviews.)

And our usual disclaimer: It’s not my sandbox, I just play in it.

Chapter Three

An eerie lull had settled over the burning city, the sort of bottomless quiet that follows death. Streets had been emptied, buildings charred and skeletonized, screams silenced long before nightfall: it was just the fluttering roar of the fire now.

That, and the slow rhythm of wing beat.

A lone martial eagle drifted through the towers of smoke, eyes meticulously picking over the wreckage of Huo Jin City. She blinked sparks away from her face, and spotted a moving smudge on the backdrop of the inferno.

Business as usual, she thought with a shrug.

The eagle shook out her feathers, snapped inwards like a fan, and plunged.

The dark spot, which turned out to be a sparrow, shrieked in fear when the iron talons clamped around him. He began wriggling, and babbled incoherently until words managed to form through the whimpers.

“Let me go, please let me go!” he cried. “What do you want with me?”

No response. The eagle pulled out of her dive and leapt onto a rising blast of scorched air, ascending until she was clear of the flames again. Flying past the city gates, she spared a thought for the little bird.

“My lord would like to meet you.” Her voice was sweet and dulcet and seemed out of place coming from the hooked beak.

The sparrow began to sob.

A crack of thunder sounded. The eagle looked westward to notice lightning pulse within the approaching black clouds, the heartbeat of a monster, and gave a snort of disgust: thunder brought storms and storms brought wind. Wind ruined the smooth beauty of her flight, turned her midair dances into stumbles and trips. Wind was rude and spiteful, a petulant child that pulled her every which way and disheveled her. The eagle hated it.

But the wind was forgotten, when she picked out a figure standing on a hillside: a large lion who was looking down onto trampled wheat fields. A smile grew on the raptor’s face to replace the frown.

Diving once more, the martial eagle let out a shrill cry that made the hapless sparrow wince, and the lion turn his head upwards.

“Ah. General Zuri,” he called. The lion raised his left arm into a bent position as he spoke.

With a sound like wind filling a sail, the eagle, Zuri, landed gracefully onto her commander’s gloved wrist. She immediately began to preen herself, and deposited the sparrow into the lion’s open paw as an afterthought.

“You’re back quickly,” he commented, as he watched his general pick ash from her glossy feathers.

A gust of wind ruffled the lion’s black mane, which was run through with a few plaits, and wafted the scent that surrounded him: a strange mix of mountain pine, frankincense, blood and steel.

The eagle laughed in delight. “Oh, Lord Nemean, I quite enjoyed it! I haven’t seen a city that burned so lovely since Huian.”

“Not half as lovely as you, of course. Well done.” The lion, Nemean, garnished his words with a smile that never quite reached his eyes.

Before Zuri could respond, there was a dry mutter. A few scales rasped over the armor that the lion wore, and a snake reared up on his right shoulder. It hissed in distemper: the diamond-patterned hood flared out accordingly.

“For all your aesthetics, Zuri, you’re not very sharp. All cities burn the same,” the cobra spat.

“War is an art, Vishnu,” the eagle oozed in her saccharine voice. “But I can’t blame you for not understanding. Poor ugly thing. It must be so hard, having to crawl everywhere.”

“War is a sport. But I can’t expect someone as frivolous and vain as you to understand that. And besides, I’d rather lie low than have so far to fall.”

“You ignorant worm.”

“Overstuffed pigeon.”

“Slithering coward.”

“Narcissistic lightweight.”

Nemean only had to curl his lips back slightly, emit the faintest of velvet growls, and the two fell silent as if on cue: he gave them both congratulatory nods when they did.

“Thank you for that, General Zuri, General Vishnu. We wouldn’t want to look uncivilized in front of our guest, now would we?”

The cobra, Vishnu, gave a short, raspy laugh. Zuri settled on a rock nearby, and Nemean turned his full attention down to the little sparrow. A new smile hemorrhaged across the lion’s face, while his left paw rested on the twin curved swords he carried. One thumb idly slid them in and out of their sheath a few inches: Shink. Shink. Shink.

“Hello there,” Nemean said charmingly.

The bird drew in a shaking breath. Trying to meet lion’s gaze was like looking into sun, so he focused his attention on two pendants that hung about the warlord’s neck: a large golden medallion, and a single claw on string of rawhide.

“Hello, milord,” the sparrow replied, his voice shooting through three octaves.

Nemean laughed.

“See, that’s the spirit…. respectful and cooperative. What’s your name?” He smoothed out several singed feathers on the bird’s back while he spoke.

“Peng, milord.”

“Peng!” the warlord exclaimed. “Native for ‘Roc’, the bird of legend. Rather ostentatious of your mother.”

The sparrow hopped a few lame steps forward across the giant paw, trying to keep his head bowed. He mumbled something, and Nemean leaned in closer.

“I didn’t catch that, little friend. What did you say?”

Under the feathers, Peng went ashen.

“I-I said…she thought it would be ironic. The name Peng, I mean. I mean, because I’m…I am….was, I was…I was the smallest one, she thought it would be funny, and my brother was named Xiang and my sister was named Ai and… ”

“Indeed,” the lion interrupted. He widened his grin: all his fangs were exposed now. (Shink. Shink. Shink.) “Oh, and how rude of me, I haven’t introduced myself yet; my name is Nemean.”

“Yes, I know, milord, I- I’ve…. heard…. about you.”

Unable to contain herself any longer, Zuri ducked her head behind her wings and giggled shrilly. Vishnu glared over at her, and hissed something in a foreign tongue that sounded like an order.

“But he’s so silly and ugly!” the eagle shrieked in childlike amusement. “Oh milord, may I please peck his eye out? Please? You allowed Vishnu to bite the last one…. I heard he died a few days after delivering the message, haha!”

Nemean ignored her and continued to speak to Peng.

“Tell me, little Roc: how fast can you fly?”

The thought of his brothers and sisters had made the sparrow brave. “Fast enough, milord.”

The lion raised his golden eyes in brief contemplation before speaking. “Fast enough to, say, reach the Valley of Peace in three days.”

It was not phrased as a question. (Shink. Shink. Shink.)

“I…One would have to fly without rest to make such a journey.”

“An easy feat for one so named as you. Yes?”

“Yes,” Peng reiterated.

“Good. Now, my little messenger, I want you to turn and look. Get a good picture of this in your mind, because I wouldn’t want you to forget it. You should be able to describe it to the valley folk in detail. ”

The sparrow braced himself and turned around.

Their spot on the hillside afforded a full view of the burning Huo Jin. The scarlet flames had leapt higher, stained the undersides of the low clouds to red. For the sparrow’s part, he could still hear screams echoing in the rising smoke, in between the rushes of wind and flurries of glowing ash.

(Zuri heard music; Vishnu heard a tally being counted.)

Peng looked up and gave a stiff, silent nod to the warlord.

“What a fine lad you are. Your mother must be proud,” Nemean remarked with a dark glint in his eye. “Now, I want you to fly to the Valley of Peace. Tell them that to be spared this,” he gestured towards the city, “they need only comply with my orders. A simple choice, don’t you think?”

Nod.

“You’ve already met Zuri, yes? The lady eagle who brought you here?”

NodNod.

“She’s one of my top generals, my baivarapatis: when she speaks, 10,000 troops snap to attention. You haven’t had the pleasure of conversing with Vishnu yet, but he commands the other half. And you wouldn’t want to upset either of them by failing to do what you’re told, am I right?”

The sparrow was about to nod again, but instead mustered the strength to say, softly, “I understand.”

Without another word, he jumped from the lion’s paw, wavered slightly, and flew away until he was a speck against the stormy night sky. Nemean blinked a few times, letting his swords rest in their sheath.

“Zuri,” he called lightly after a moment, head cocked in thought.

“Yes, milord?”

Nemean pointed in the direction the sparrow had flown. “Our friend could use a bit of motivation, don’t you think? Just to make sure he gets where he’s supposed to be.” Then, casually, “I want him alive, remember.”

“With pleasure, milord.”

Zuri raised her feathers in thrilled anticipation of the chase, and hopped from foot to foot once before sailing off as well.

Vishnu watched her go.

“Lord Nemean, do you think the Valley of Peace will cooperate? I’ve heard local tales of the warriors who defend it; they’re not going to surrender.”

“The people of these lands are very proud,” Nemean said circumspectly. “But our route is through that valley, and I very much doubt they can stop us if we apply the right amount of pressure…. we had best get moving, I believe it’s going to rain. All our wise little new recruits are in order, yes?”

“Of course, milord.”

Nemean swiveled about and walked over to peer down at the fields once more: every third step or so, there was the faintest trace of a limp in his right leg. Grabbing up the torch and flint resting atop a bundle of supplies, the lion drew a breath.

In one fluid motion, he struck the flint, swept the oiled torch through the ensuing shower of sparks, watched it catch, raised the flame above his head: and let out a shattering roar that drowned out the next peal of thunder.

Pause.

Then, across the fields, the road, the lands surrounding the city, specks of light came to life in response: until the countryside itself was aflame, a cluster stars, a nest of fireflies.

Nemean waved the torch back and forth once, bellowing the simple words, “Move out.”

Rain began to fall as the army marched east, a terrified little sparrow unknowingly leading the way.

Business as usual.

On the very top of Jade Mountain, in the Valley of Peace, there was a strange formation that the locals had always called “Weeping Rock”: a large white stone shaped vaguely like a face, from which two springs flowed like tear drops. There was the usual amount of legends surrounding it, in the way that legends surround everything and give the world a gilded edge. Something about it being a rendezvous point for two lovers, one of them being killed, one of them becoming a spirit…it changed with every retelling.

But Weeping Rock was best known to the citizens of the valley for its role in Master Shifu’s famous training session.

It was a rite of passage, almost, along with a test of endurance. Shifu would give his student a small ration of food and water, and simply tell them not to keep him waiting. (How the small red panda got up there so quickly was a mystery to all.)

And their task was to climb the mountain, to reach the rock from any side or path they chose: so long as they did it by themselves. When multiple students at once were involved, villagers would make bets as to who they thought would make it to the top first, or who would break the record of two hours and fifteen minutes achieved by a snow leopard whose name they dared not speak.

Ten years ago, that record had seemed up for grabs. The top five students at the Jade Palace were set to climb the mountain on the same day. That they were all bitter rivals was common knowledge, and it effectively turning the training session into a grand race: perhaps the fiery tigress would reach Weeping Rock first. Or maybe the soft spoken crane, the villagers had said.

As for Shifu, he had been unsure. All of the students possessed a balance of strengths and weaknesses, of course: Tigress was the most driven, but was rash. Crane was patient and a flier besides, but the high winds worked against him. Mantis was the strongest, but also the smallest. Viper moved quickly over obstacles, yet became easily discouraged. Monkey, the newest among them, was clearly the best climber, but also the most reckless. However they played off of those assets would be entirely up to them.

So Shifu had watched the sun eagerly once the two hour mark had passed, wondering who to expect.

But then three hours had passed, followed by four, five, and six.

In the end, it had taken them a total of seven hours and thirty minutes.

Shifu had been on the verge of fearing the worst, of going to search for them before night fell on the mountain….

When, framed by the dying light of sunset and clouds of dust, they had come staggering up the path to the small clearing where the bleached stone sat. Upon closer inspection, he’d realized that the adolescent kung fu students were all leaning on each other to some degree, and had watched them progress slowly, slowly forward.

A mere twenty feet from the rock, they had flopped down into the dirt in exhaustion.

“Phew! I dunno about you, but I can’t take another step,” Mantis had huffed. He had looked over towards Tigress, who was flat on her back and staring blankly at the sky. “Tigress, someone has to touch the rock first. You should do it.”

The young tiger had propped herself upright, looked around, and shook her head. Between heavy, tired breaths, she had dictated, “Viper deserves it. She’s the one who fell: that must have been terrifying.”

Viper, the youngest student, had blushed. “Oh, no! The whole thing was my fault, I can’t do that. Mantis, you can be the winner. You were the one who hopped out onto that branch and grabbed me.”

Mantis had fiddled with his antennae, assuring that they were in working order. “Nope. If it wasn’t for Crane, we would have both been goners after the branch gave way... besides, the guy’s got an injured wing.”

“I couldn’t let you fall, could I? And I only got hurt because I didn’t think about the wind. We’d still be on the ledge I was blown onto, if Monkey hadn’t climbed up and gotten us,” Crane replied, shifting his wing gingerly. It appeared to have been put in some kind of bandage.

Monkey had bowed his head in modesty. “I’m honored by the thought, Crane, but I never could have climbed down the way I climbed up. Tigress pointed out a safer way back to the path. She used her sash to make the sling, too.”

Tigress made a brushing-off motion with her paws. “Yes, but Viper and Mantis let us have all of their water.”

“Well, you guys are bigger than us. You needed it more.”

And so it had dissolved into a debate among the students as to who should be the victor. They had gesticulated, poked each other about and laughed, but not one of them moved an inch forward. Having listened for a few minutes, Shifu had stood up wearing his best glowering expression.

“I’m very disappointed in you all,” he had said sharply.

That was when they had finally noticed their master, sitting on an outcrop of rocks and clenching his reed flute like a bo staff. Fists had smacked into palms, dust clouds had been thrown and exclamations made, as they had all scrambled into bowed positions and given him embarrassed looks. They ducked their heads even lower in shame, after a moment of trying to meet his flinty gaze.

Shifu’s frown had deepened. “Did I not say that were to climb the mountain alone?”

“Yes, Master Shifu.”

“And did you not, in direct defiance of my orders, aid each other in getting here?”

“Yes, Master Shifu.”

“Do you realize how severe an offense it is, to disobey your master?”

They had only nodded that time. Viper had seemed to be almost shaking with want to speak, presumably to take the blame, and had opened her mouth to do so. But she had been kept silent, when Crane surreptitiously reached over and tapped her jaw shut.

Shifu had leapt down from his perch, to pace in front of them.

“Now…. I want one of you, whoever thinks they deserve it most, to step forth and claim the victory. Whoever that is will receive a full meal and a flask of water: the rest of you will not get anything, as punishment.”

He had stood back and waited.

Three full minutes had ticked by, the pupils frozen in their positions: save for their eyes, which flitted back and forth in silent argument. A few bugs had drifted through the air to land on Shifu’s ears, and he had flicked them off in irritation as the tension mounted.

Then, all five of the students had stood up…

And seated themselves back down in lotus positions, as perfectly synchronized as if they'd planned it.

“Forgive us, Master,” Tigress had said simply, “but we cannot obey you.”

“It wouldn’t be right,” Crane had added. “Either we all get rewarded, or none of us do. We worked together.”

Shifu had scanned their stoic faces. For a moment, a slight smile had tugged at his lips.

Just as he had expected.

Then, turning his back, the red panda had said emphatically, “I expect to see you all in the training courtyard tomorrow. There are some team forms I would like to see you practice. You are free to eat.”

Over the food they had leapt upon and shared, the students had deliberated between several titles to give their newfound friendship: the Ferocious Warriors of the Valley of Peace (FWOTVOP for short, which kind of killed it), the Kung Fu Demons (No, no, that won’t catch on), or the Children of Guan Yu (the god of martial arts, but they grudgingly admitted that that one was bit presumptuous).

Then, Mantis had jokingly called them the Furious Five.

And the name had stuck, and that was that.

Sunrise had always been Shifu’s favorite time of day. Even in his years as a student, when he (or rather, his bruised limbs) would cringe at the call of the morning gong, he loved to watch the explosive light cleanse the eastern sky. It cast a sort of celestial majesty over simple things.

Clouds of insects became galaxies dancing around each other. Tall trees became the spires of foreign temples. The mountains and the sky faded into translucent blue until they fused together on the horizon, the coarse weave of the tree line smoothing to velvet. The morning air, still cool with traces of night, clung to every scent and made it soft, pleasant.

And it gave Shifu time to think, as well, which was what the kung fu master most needed now.

From his position beneath the Sacred Peach Tree of Heavenly Wisdom, Shifu could turn himself away from the sunrise and look up at Jade Mountain: to the birthplace of his now legendary team. They had been willing to defy him for the sake of each other, and he had known immediately that such companionship would work greatly in their favor.

“Obeying your master is not weakness.”

The memory made him wonder if it was strength, either.

That was what he had said to Tai Lung, of course, during their battle in the Hall of Warriors. It was something that had been repeating over and over in Shifu’s head for twenty years, the assurance that there had been nothing more he could have done about the Dragon Scroll: but louder than that, in the dark hours of the night, had been the blame.

That he could have at least tried. That Tai Lung never would have become so obsessed, had Shifu not lead him to pursue the goal with such fervor. That he had driven his student to this, your fault, your fault, your fault.

And for all those years, Shifu had fostered a secret, feeble kind hope that there was still some bit of good left within his son: some little spark to kindle and make outshine the darkness. Of course, Shifu knew with painful certainty that Oogway was never wrong.

Yet he had wanted it so badly, your fault your fault your fault. The paradox and confusion of it all had been overwhelming, the conflict between duty and emotion.

Feeling Tai Lung’s claws around his throat, offering words of repentance (all he could give, really) only to have them thrown back at him in disgust, had snapped things into perspective far quicker than Shifu would have liked.

And during their fight, he had realized that his son was lost, truly lost. The elusive 'darkness' had swallowed Tai Lung whole, and there would be no saving him: that revelation had been crushing, and Shifu would have gladly paid for his mistake with his life right there and then.

(Mistake of what? Loving him too much? Do you regret that? Some part of him had asked.)

But Po had saved him.

Po, the true Dragon Warrior, had defeated Tai Lung. Good had defeated evil; that was where the storytellers would always end the tale. White stayed white and black stayed black, the way it was supposed to.

They would never speak of the emotional aftermath. There was never any epilogue, about a master trying to choose between rejoicing in his new freedom and mourning the reasons for it. What point would there be in that?

Clearly, none. Shifu had been met with the opportunity of continuing with his life, and he had been satisfied with that much, at least.

But now this.

The return had been enough of a shock, yes, but it was the news that came with it that truly sent Shifu’s newly organized world asunder. Tai Lung had returned to save them: no matter what his proud and selfish motives, that fact held true. After so long, Shifu had gotten his spark.

Unless, of course, Tai Lung was lying.

And Shifu had been burned far too many times by false hope, false lights in the darkness, to believe a word that came from the former student's mouth. He couldn’t afford weakness, not with so much to lose.

Between duty and emotion, duty always won.

The sunrise was being slowly covered up by rain clouds that rolled in from the west, and Shifu rose to leave.

He would have to send for the Magistrate.

Eavesdropping is a normally condemned practice. It is an invasion of privacy, as much as reading a secret correspondence or rifling through one’s personal belongings: it brings on that tense feeling of adrenalin and shame, balled up together somewhere in the throat.

Any member of the Five could have told you that, of course. (With Po, the lines were a bit blurrier: gossip of all sorts surfaced between restaurant tables, and it couldn’t be helped that he overheard it.)

For special occasions, though, the warriors were willing to press their ears to a few doors and swallow the sensation: occasions such as this one, for example.

“You’re going to be caught,” Tigress cautioned in irritation, looking on at her companions as they crowded the entrance to the Sacred Hall of Warriors. She glanced around. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Then why did you come along?” Viper asked forwardly, blinking large green eyes up at her friend. Monkey and Crane had to stifle their laughter, and Tigress sniffed indignantly.

“Someone needs to keep an eye on these four... mostly Po." She reconsidered. "Especially Po."

Said panda turned to look at the tigress in exasperation. "Hey, now, be reasonable. I'm a Master too, you know."

"You're a safety hazard, is what you are," Tigress insisted. "Not a day goes by where you don't trip or break something."

"I haven't done anything today yet, have I?" Po grinned smugly.

"Careful, buddy," Mantis cautioned, tapping his large friend on the shoulder. "The day's not over yet."

Po sighed, and returned his attention to the door before he next spoke. “Well Tigress, as long as you’re baby-sitting us, you can come end us an ear. Or just keep your voice down, either way: I can’t hear what they’re sayin’.”

Tigress rolled her eyes, paused, then slunk over and leaned against the heavy woodwork along with her friends.

Afternoon had brought the rain and the Magistrate, both grayed and blustery characters with a heavy mood about them. The old fox was known to dislike Shifu, and had made that clear from the moment he set foot within the palace gates complaining about regulations and zoning. In fact, he seemed almost sickeningly pleased by Tai Lung’s reappearance: an unmistakable smirk was plastered across his sharp features, from what Monkey could see through the crack in the door.

“…should have done this twenty years ago,” the Magistrate groused.

The clack of his bejeweled claws was heard on the polished floor, and it sounded as if he was touring the hall. Shifu’s footsteps were silent, as always, as he followed behind the fox.

“But surely there's some alternative. We can imprison him again, perhaps: after all, he entered the valley without conflict, seems to be cooperating, and even brought news of a possible threat. That must count for something,” Shifu countered.

Po nodded in admiration at the command in his Master’s voice, but the Magistrate only raised his and kept the same blunt tone.

“If Tai Lung can escape from the likes of Chorh-Gom and Vachir, I very much doubt that any prison in the world can hold him. He is a threat to this valley and every life in it, something you have experienced first hand on several occasions” outside, all six of the prying warriors winced, “and must be dealt with as such.”

The old fox walked leisurely over to examine more artifacts, and seemed to be wondering why one of the handles on the Urn of Whispering Warriors was backwards. Shifu persisted.

“Suppose he recants? Suppose we can get some sort of statement from him, an oath stating that he regrets his actions and will never again attempt to…”

The Magistrate cut Shifu off with a cynical laugh, and Tigress growled defensively. "Disrespectful little..."

Crane’s feathers ruffled as well, but he nudged her in the back as a reminder to keep silent. She drew a steadying breath and listened intently.

“You forget your place, Master Shifu. My authority exceeds your own,” the fox stated irreverently. His right ear twitched towards the door, and his back straightened slightly while he continued to speak. “But to humor you…fine. Try to wring repentance out of that man: you’ll have an easier time squeezing water from a stone. As for this army, we’ll see.”

With a dramatic sweep of heavy silk robes, he turned to leave.

The warriors outside all scattered like mischievous, albeit nimble, children: Crane leapt to the roof along with Monkey and Tigress, Viper slithered through a hole in the wall, Mantis sprang behind one of the pillars, and Po… fell down the steps and into a bush

But wherever they hid themselves, they were close enough hear the Magistrate call back to Shifu, with great enthusiasm,

“Well, this will be interesting. There hasn’t been an execution in this valley for a hundred years… And here I thought this would be a dull week.”

A/N: That’s all for now, folks.

And yes, the army is organized vaguely like the Persian army, split into units that are factors of ten: if the Persian army had expanded eastward instead, of course. Ha-ha. But there are also elements of a barbarian horde, etc. etc.

But I wanted a mix of animals (not to mention weapons and fighting styles), so we’ll be pulling from Africa and the Asian subcontinent now. Sorry if this chapter bored anybody, but pretty much everything mentioned is important/was essential to point out.

If you have any comments, critiques, or complaints (from now on, I’ll just say CCC), let me know. Characterization is off? Suggestions? Possible pairings? Let me know!

Thank you for reading!!