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Title: Diametric

Chapter: 1-?

Author: scathingsarcasm

Pairings/Characters: Chack

Rating: T for now, but may possibly become higher in later chapters.

Summary: The war between the Divinian and Terrian forces is building to it's climax, with the dashing commander of Divinium and a devastatingly genius peasant from Terria at it's front. Will affection bloom amidsted the decay of war? And if so, can it last?

Disclaimer: I do not own Xiaolin Showdown or any of it's affiliated characters - I do, however, own my plot as well as any groups or characters you don't recognise.

Warnings: Slash, obviously, bad language, as well as mildly implied violence (it's a war AU,) and possibly future sweaty man-sex.

Word Count: 1396

A/N: Hello, all. So, in celebration of my almost-completed chapter of LaF, I've whipped up a little Chack AU for you all. Now, this doesn't mean that I'll be abandoning LaF, but I will be working on this as well, so the going may be a bit slow (not that that's anything new...). Ahem. So, enjoy, comment, and don't be hatin' on me. Thankies.

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A great explosion shuttered through the building, shaking the mortar from the ceiling, raining gray dust upon the basement's single inhabitant. Jack coughed against the powdered concrete stifling his lungs, curling into the corner and shuddering against the chill that endlessly pervaded the damp surroundings. His pseudo-bunker, while better than most people's options, was far from ideal, and in no way suitable for sustained occupation - once the All Clear sounded, he planned to scour the place for supplies and be on his way.

Not that that was any time in the relatively near future, he thought with a grim smile. With the way they'd been going at it lately, the fire fights could go on for days at a time, with nary a half-hour going by absent of the pop-pop-pop of AK-47s or the distant, and sometimes not-so-distant ear-shattering drum-beats of grenades and air-bombs being dropped or thrown. At the moment, he'd been confined for two and a half days, with only a half a loaf of stale bread and a small container of water. Not that he was lacking in water in this place - it was apparent that a pipe had ruptured at one point or another, either from neglect (the house had obviously been abandoned years ago,) or the constant shaking and vibrations of the explosives. He wasn't surprised; the previous inhabitants must have been wealthy to afford their own running water, and the wealthy had been the first to flee the country when...they had attacked. While he was in no danger of drowning, one whole corner of the cramped basement was flooded with an inch and a half of cloudy, dirt-brown water, and steadily over the last few days, it had been creeping over to his corner of the room. It's mere presence made the whole room drip and shutter, misting over ever surface, including himself. No, the only way he would drink that water was if one of the Divinian bastards held a pistol to his pasty white skull. Maybe not even then.

Still, he had high hopes for being free some time in the evening - the explosions and gunfire had been steadily declining in severity and frequency over the last few hours, and it was evident that both sides needed to regroup and stock up on ammunition. Still, it was a moot point - by the time they quit, it would be too late to travel from his position. The night was a treacherous foe in these times - while it had used to be his dearest friend and companion, he could no longer trust the secrets it held - villains garbed in grays and browns that came to steal away his belongings or life; sometimes both and sometimes, something more. More than once, he had heard tales of young soldiers stealing a maiden from the streets and using her in the cruelest of manners. While this should not normally scare a young man such as himself, it could not be denied even in his own mind that he was in possession of strikingly feminine features, silken pale skin and ruby eyes, fiery hair and a fierier disposition. It would not be a stretch for a desperate, deprived soldier to violate him; in these times, all lines of social acceptability blurred, and many disappeared altogether.

With that cheerful sentiment in mind, Jack settled in his relatively dry corner, and slipped into slumber.

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Chase, for once, was running.

Correction - he was high-tailing it the hell out of there.

He chanced a glance behind him, and instantly regretted it as the frigid brown eyes of a Terrian soldier jumped out at him, dangerously close. He could almost see the whites of his eyes. Dogging his steps, three more men decked in the bleak grayish-blue uniform and sporting animalistic grins perused him. Alarm welling up within him, Chase put on a sudden burst of speed, grasped a nearby street lamp shaft, and, using his forward momentum, swung his body around a sharp corner, his hunters barreling forward on their original path. Instantly, he felt his arm painfully dislocate at the shoulder, but didn't pause - couldn't pause, for he knew he had mere moments before the bloodthirsty soldiers would right their trajectory and be in hot pursuit once more.

Rapidly casting around, he slipped into a narrow alleyway, barely able to accommodate his well-muscled form. Glossy spiderwebs (the only thing in the surrounding area that actually held a shine, he noted absently,) tangled into his lengthy ebony hair, appearing as lace on the midnight canvass of his crown. He shimmed as far down the escape route as possible, coming to a stop when his torso was impossibly wedged between the battered bricks of each wall. Several yards away, where he had originally been, the Terrian rushed past with a single mindedness he could, abstractly, admire. For one heart-stopping moment, the last soldier paused at the opening of his nook, peering with a chilling suspicion down the barely-there alleyway. By some favorable twist of fate, the late afternoon sun cast impenetrable shadows against the pocket of architecture, and the sentinel move on in fruitless pursuit.

Sighing imperceptibly in relief, Chase still refused to allow his body to relax. That had been the cause of all this mess in the first place - his own lack of focus, allowing himself to lower his guard, and thus become susceptible to attack. He had gone to meet a Terrian negotiator, the apprentice of an old friend of his, to establish a rough outline of a cease fire between their two nations. This, hopefully, would lead to some sort a peace agreement regarding the war in general - for as much as Chase hated losing, neither or their nations could withstand much more of this bloodshed, mentally, physically or economically.

However, as soon as he had set his sights on the negotiator, across a crowded tavern common room, an unfortunate twist of fate occurred. A harried tavern-goer brushed briskly past him, blowing off the carefully positioned hood that concealed his distinctive features from the publics eyes. Instantly, curious eyes shot to his face, and quickly shifted to livid as they recognized his facade. As a famous general of the Divinian Forces, his face was well known among both factions of the battle - the four Terrian soldiers, heavy set and stocky, nevertheless rose with surprising speed. Needing no more warning, Chase had taken off out the tavern door into the near-twilight, the men hot on his heels, unawares of the horrified gaze of the negotiator as he tracked their progress through the winding back streets of the major Terrian city.

Clearing his cluttered mind of the matter until he was in a better position to mull over it, he strained his eyes through the darkness to observe his cramped surroundings. the narrow ally was littered with trash and debris, obviously the space between two relatively well-off families; for even those with money in this society couldn't afford very much land, and lived in close proximity with each other. If they were living there at all - typically, he believed, any Terrian citizen who had the resources to had fled at the beginning of the war between their two nations, abandoning their homes, and whoever wasn't fit to make the journey, in the active war zone that was Terra. Regardless, it seem that no one had lived there in quite a long time, for even the basement window at his feet was cracked and warped with age and neglect.

...the basement window. If he had the room, he would have slapped his forehead at his own obliviousness. It was quite large, wide enough for his narrow hips, and perhaps his broad shoulders if he squeezed hard enough. Wanting desperately to get out of between the two buildings, he gave a forceful kick to the fortunately-placed opening's dirty surface. The poorly-made, ancient glass shattered easily, giving way under his steel-toed boot with a piercing note, and he was grateful that the house had been abandoned.

Wincing as his sides scraped painfully against the remaining shards on the window's frame, he slipped smoothly into the opening -

And promptly landed on something, small, squishy, and decidedly alive.

As a startled shriek echoed off the basement walls, Chase despairingly wondered why nothing could ever be simple.

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Aaaaaand... cut!