Shawn stood quietly near the back of the chamber, watching the dramatic display before him with undisguised boredom.
Sure, to Valon and the others, the newly freed Holy Lord was a terrifying figure—a massive, eight-meter-tall dragon demon radiating ancient evil. To them, he was a walking nightmare, a god made flesh. But to Shawn?
He was just a shell.
A loud, glowing, overly theatrical shell.
Shawn's expression barely shifted. He knew that if he really wanted to, he could obliterate the Holy Lord in a second. No struggle. No effort. Just one flick of his wrist and that proud roar would be silenced forever.
Still, he had to admit—the whole resurrection spectacle had been flashy. The golden light, the roaring, the trembling walls… it had style. Not that Shawn cared for style. He preferred results.
So as the Holy Lord preened in front of his cowering followers, Shawn finally spoke.
"Holy Lord, have you finished your little performance?"
The voice echoed through the room—cold, sharp, and calm.
The Holy Lord visibly flinched.
The same being who had just demanded kneeling from Valon was now standing rigid in nervous respect. He turned his great, horned head toward Shawn and bowed slightly.
"Ah—my brother. Apologies. I got… carried away. Freedom after so long—it makes one emotional."
The tone was low, deferential.
Valon and his men were stunned.
They looked between the enormous Holy Lord and the lean, silent figure of Shawn with slack jaws.
The Holy Lord—the demon of fire, reborn from centuries of imprisonment—was… apologizing?
To him?
Valon gulped.
If the Holy Lord was this humble, then the man before them wasn't just strong—he was terrifying. Clearly, far more dangerous than even the dragon demon that nearly crushed their minds with his aura. And this meant one thing:
They were all completely out of their league.
Valon took a shaky breath, barely able to hide the tension in his trembling legs. Just as he was trying to process everything, the Holy Lord turned to him.
"Valon," he said, his voice authoritative again, "take your men and leave. I must speak with my brother."
"Of course!" Valon barked without hesitation.
He was more than eager to get out of that chamber.
With a slight limp from the earlier pressure Shawn had inflicted, he staggered to his feet and motioned for the others to follow. Each step felt like walking on needles, but he wasn't about to complain.
He just wanted to get away before the demons changed their minds.
They had barely reached the edge of the chamber when Shawn spoke again.
"Wait."
The single word stopped them cold.
Valon's heart skipped a beat.
Slowly, nervously, he turned around. His skin prickled with fear.
Shawn didn't say another word. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small velvet pouch. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the contents onto the ground in front of them.
The objects clinked and sparkled.
Diamonds.
Not just any diamonds—each one the size of a thumb, flawless, and glowing faintly under the chamber's light.
Valon's eyes went wide.
So did Ratso's, Chow's, and Finn's.
"Take them," Shawn said flatly. "And get out."
There was no further explanation. No kindness in his voice. But it didn't matter.
The message was clear: This is your reward. Now leave.
"Thank you, Lord Demon! Thank you for the blessing!" Valon cried, dropping to his knees as he and the others scrambled across the floor, grabbing every diamond they could.
They moved with the desperation of men who had just won the lottery in hell.
Each of those diamonds could fetch upwards of twenty million dollars—at minimum. And there were dozens of them.
By the time they collected them all, they could barely carry the weight.
Even though they hadn't yet gotten their hands on the legendary Golden Rooster King treasure that the Holy Lord had once promised, this unexpected fortune was more than enough to make them forget about it—at least for now.
"Out." the Holy Lord growled, a little less patient this time.
Valon bowed quickly. "Yes, yes! We're leaving!"
Without another word, he and his crew limped away, disappearing into the dark corridors with their arms full of sparkling loot.
And then, finally, only Shawn and the Holy Lord remained.
The air grew heavier again—but now with quiet intent rather than fear.
The Holy Lord turned back toward his brother, folding his arms across his scaled chest.
"My brother," he said with a hint of irritation, "I don't understand why you rewarded them. They're just humans. Slaves. They would serve us whether we paid them or not."
His voice was confident, dismissive.
But Shawn didn't bother to respond.
The words were beneath him.
He knew the truth—and so did the audience watching, if this were a story.
In the original events of Jackie Chan Adventures, the Holy Lord had also promised Valon great rewards—most notably, the treasure of the Golden Rooster King—in exchange for collecting all twelve talismans.
But everyone knew how that turned out.
The Holy Lord never kept his promises.
He broke his word the moment it became convenient.
He used people, discarded them, and laughed at their loyalty. Even Valon—who had risked his life countless times—was nearly killed by the very demon he served.
And from that betrayal, a saying was born:
"The Holy Lord never keeps his promises."
Why?
Because to him, humans were just tools. Pawns. Things to be ordered, not respected. In his mind, the very idea of fulfilling a promise to a lesser being was absurd.
Promises, to the Holy Lord, were just bait.
So he dangled treasure in front of Valon… and in the end, gave him nothing.
Valon's final fate in the Jackie Chan timeline?
Tragic.
He lost everything—his power, his followers, his wealth, even his legacy. The once-feared Mafia lieutenant ended up driving a bus for tourists, completely broken, unable to even look Jackie Chan in the eyes.
A man who once had it all, reduced to nothing.
And all of it… because he trusted the Holy Lord.
Shawn knew that story well.
Which is exactly why he had given Valon the diamonds.
Not because Valon deserved it.
But because Shawn kept his word.
Because he wasn't the Holy Lord.
The Holy Lord might still think like a tyrant from a forgotten era—but Shawn played the long game. His rewards were tools, his generosity a weapon, his silence more terrifying than any roar.
"Let's talk," Shawn said finally, breaking the tense quiet.
The Holy Lord nodded slowly, suddenly far more cautious in his approach.
They were brothers—yes.
But they were not equals.
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