Author's Note: For some time I've fought with myself over posting these — I'm actually not that big on Xiaolin Showdown anymore. Still, I write for it from time to time, mostly for friends. Why not post here, too?

There are two more drabbles besides this one, but I can't guarantee continuance after that, so please don't ask! I'm also not currently taking XS prompts. Enjoy?

Chase Young - evil prince of darkness, the master of all evil, and great warlord of ancient AND modern China - is at a loss. But, really, this is one of the most…peculiar happenings in all of his fifteen hundred plus years of living.

There must be one hundred - no, one thousand candles littering his inner citadel. Candles of all sizes, smell, and color line the floors, shelves, stairs, and walkways like a plague upon the senses…It is especially painful for Chase, whose own senses are VERY much enhanced, thanks to the deal he made with Hannibal, thousands of moons ago.

But, yes…Candles. So many, many candles (but luckily, none are lit) and Chase Young is rendered speechless.

At first, he tries to walk (not tiptoe, because he is a warlord, damn it) around and through the sea of candles, but quickly forfeits the effort in favor of hovering over them. Taken aback at the new view, he flies a bit higher, staring down with wide eyes at the sea of colors below.

Yep. Still at a loss.

Then, he spots something different. Admittedly, it's not very difficult. It's the only rectangle-shaped object in a midst of circles. In a flash, he's flown over to the small object, which is seated rather brazenly before the entryway to his throne room. Upon closer inspection, it's a small card - a note. Handwritten, by the looks of it.

The Heylin master picks it up, eyebrow raised in utter curiosity.

The letter reads as followed, in barely legible chicken scratch writing:

Dear Chase,

These candles are like my utter devotion - a bit overwhelming, but endless! You could burn every candle to the wick before I ever give up - so…Okay, who am I kidding, I can't write poetry and love letters. You're awesome, here's some candles.

PS, Don't kill me!

Jack Spicer XOXOXOXO —Evil

Face absolutely flat of expression, Chase carefully slides the note into the side of his sash, turning in an about-face to look once more upon the sea of candles.

"We'll see, Spicer. For your sake…" His eyes narrow, the golden orbs gleaming with the promise of possible malice. "There had better. Be. Pomegranate."