The Magical Market was normally a cacophony of vibrant chaos, a place where the scent of exotic spices mingled with the earthy aroma of mandrake roots. But for Jake Long and his grandfather, the atmosphere felt suffocating. Tension radiated from them in waves, sharp and jagged, cutting through the usual bustle of the bazaar.
Jake's phone call to Lao Shi had been frantic. Fu Dog was missing. The sharp-tongued, potion-brewing Shar-Pei hadn't returned from his ingredient run, and the silence he left behind was deafening. They hadn't wasted a second, leaping through a portal and arriving at the market with grim determination etched into their features.
Their first stop was a familiar one: a shop tucked away in a corner draped in enchanted silks and jars of shimmering powders. Veronica, the fellow formidable arachne with a sharp eye for quality, looked up as they entered. Her multiple eyes blinked in succession, her usual professional demeanor faltering at the sight of their stony expressions.
"Lao Shi? Jake?" she asked, her voice cautious. "You look like you've both swallowed a batch of bad flux-weed. Is something wrong?"
"Fu Dog is missing, Veronica," Lao Shi replied, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
The shock was visible even on an arachne. Veronica's hands—all of them—stilled. "Missing? But he was just here!" She moved quickly, pulling a ledger from beneath the counter. "He came in this morning for Phoenix Licorice. We had our usual… spirited debate over the price. He complained about the 'inflation of mythical flora,' paid his credits, and left. I haven't seen his wrinkled snout since."
Jake's jaw tightened. "Did he mention where he was going next? Any other stops?"
Veronica shook her head. "Nothing out of the ordinary, Jake. Just the usual grumbling about his back and the quality of the tea in this sector."
They left the shop with a heavy sense of unease, leaving Veronica with a stern instruction to contact them immediately if she heard even a whisper of Fu's whereabouts. The duo spent the next hour canvassing the market. They questioned potion-sellers, charm-peddlers, and even a disgruntled troll guarding a bridge. The answers were maddeningly inconsistent. Some claimed to have seen a Shar-Pei near the spice stalls; others hadn't seen him in days. No one had a definitive lead.
Lao Shi remained outwardly calm, a lifetime of discipline keeping his emotions in check, but his eyes were sharp, scanning every shadow. Jake, however, was a coiled spring of frustration. His fists stayed clenched, his gaze darting between the colorful stalls.
It was in a narrow alleyway near the edge of the market that Jake spotted him: a goblin. In the Magical Market, goblins were as common as cobblestones, but this one was different. The moment its yellow eyes locked onto Jake's, its face contorted with a mixture of recognition and pure, unadulterated terror.
Without a word, the goblin turned and bolted.
"Hey!" Jake shouted, his instincts screaming. He signaled to Lao Shi and took off.
The chase was on. The goblin was small and agile, disappearing into narrow gaps and weaving through the legs of towering giants. It knew these alleys better than those dragons. It doubled back, scrambled over crates, and dived through a sewer grate.
"Not today, shorty!" Jake growled. With a sudden surge of heat, he shifted. Dragon wings erupted from his back, tearing through his shirt as he took to the sky. His slitted eyes, now glowing with draconic intensity, locked onto the small, green blur darting through the shadows below.
Jake folded his wings and made a powerful, whistling dive. He hit the ground like a meteor, tackling the goblin just as it reached the mouth of a dead-end alley. The impact was brutal; the goblin let out a wheeze as it was pinned against the damp stone, nearly turned to a paste by the sheer force of the American Dragon.
Jake hauled the creature up by its collar, his face inches from its own. "Why were you running?" he hissed, his voice vibrating with dragon-fire.
Lao Shi arrived moments later, his expression grim. Jake raised a fist, ready to beat the truth out of the sniveling creature, but the goblin began to wail frantically.
"Wait! Wait! Don't burn me! My boss! Herbert! He wants to meet you! He told me to find you!" the goblin shrieked, its spindly limbs flailing.
Jake and Lao Shi shared a look of cold realization. Herbert the Goblin.
Without a word, Lao Shi stepped forward. A swift, precise karate chop to the goblin's neck rendered it unconscious. Jake hoisted the limp creature onto his shoulder. "Let's go find Herbert," Lao Shi said, his voice like ice.
—----------
Everyone in the underworld knew Herbert. He was a scumbag in every sense of the word, a parasite who ran a gang of goblins and ogres, specializing in extortion, smuggling, and high-stakes gambling. Jake had crossed paths with him quite early in his career. Just when he started as the American Dragon.
He had dismantled Herbert's operation and left the goblin with a permanent souvenir—a jagged burn mark on his face—to ensure he understood that Jake wasn't someone to be trifled with.
They followed the goblin's trail away from the main market, moving into a dilapidated sector where the air grew thick with the smell of rot and old grease. This was the territory of orcs, goblins, and ogres—the fringes of the magical world where law was a suggestion and strength was the only currency. As they entered, a heavy silence fell over the grimy streets. The residents watched them from the shadows, eyes gleaming with a mixture of fear and curiosity.
They reached a fortified warehouse at the end of a cul-de-sac. Inside, the tension was thick enough to choke a phoenix. They were led into a dimly lit office where a figure sat behind a desk made of scrap metal.
It was Herbert. He looked worse for wear since their last meeting. A thick, ornate mask now covered the left side of his face, concealing the burn Jake had gifted him.
"Ah, the Dragon and the Master! What a pleasure," Herbert greeted them with a sickeningly cheerful tone. He gestured to two chairs his men had hurriedly brought forward. "Please, sit. Can I offer you a drink? Some fermented toadstool cider, perhaps?"
Jake didn't sit. He stood tall, his eyes burning into Herbert's mask. Inside, he was seething, the dragon within him roaring for release.
Herbert leaned back, his remaining eye scanning them both, darting around as if searching for someone else. "You look… incomplete," he mused, clicking his tongue. "Where is that charming little mutt of yours? Is he ill? Perhaps a touch of kennel cough?"
"Get to the point, Herbert," Lao Shi snapped. "We know you have him."
Herbert chuckled, a sound like dry leaves skittering across pavement. "Such a killjoy, Lao Shi. Always straight to the business." He leaned forward, the mask glinting in the low light. "Yes, I took him. I'll admit, my first thought was simple revenge. I wanted to cut that dog into enough pieces to fit in a five-gallon bucket and mail him back to you one paw at a time."
Jake took a step forward, a low growl vibrating in his chest, but Lao Shi held up a hand.
"But then," Herbert continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I had a better idea. I am a goblin of business, after all. Why settle for simple blood when there's profit to be made? Or better yet, a way to move a problem off my plate."
He smiled, a jagged, yellowed grin. "Your mutt isn't here. He's currently enjoying the hospitality of a very… prestigious individual in Ohio. Cleveland, to be precise. He's under the gracious wings of Ralph Silverfang."