Chapter 197 - My SI Stash #97 - Adversary by QAI521 (PreWorm) (2/2)

”I don't care,” Grey Boy droned with that bored down he always had. He used to be more excited about visiting places back when they had first started out under King. Still, Jack supposed with a power like his, everything became dull after a while. The only times he ever saw the man grow interested was when he was torturing someone, or one of his victims was telling him an exciting story. ”Just let me know when we have something to do.”

Jack didn't quite let out a sigh of relief as Grey Boy turned back towards whatever he had been doing. The one downside of constantly traveling was that since his time bubbles couldn't move, they couldn't really bring anyone alone to keep his attention away from him. Long trips like this always had to be interspersed with stops so the boy could let off some steam and cool down.

”…ah, crud.”

”What is it?” He asked, turning his attention towards Screamer. The blonde's expression was twisted into a scowl, and she roughly jerked her head down the road. Jack followed her gaze and grimaced in annoyance himself at the sight of a downed powerline. The metal tower had literally been ripped from the ground and tossed across the street like a child's broken toy. Likely from that tornado that has passed by here a few days ago.

Natural disasters like that (and Endbringers) made it so much easier for them to operate, but it left small annoyances like this in their paths.

”Well, I suppose Crimson is going to be getting his workout,” Jack muttered as he glanced back to the only parahuman in their group who could move something that large. Breed might be able to use a few of his minions once they got big enough, but staying in one place for a few days wasn't the best of ideas.

Especially not when Grey Boy was already getting testy.

”Bring the RV up and we can—”

The tingling grew to a roar in the back of his skull. The transition was so startling that Jack gasped for a moment, clutching his head as a rather potent migraine struck. It felt like someone was running over his skull with a truck. Distantly, he could hear Screamer asking him what was wrong. His lips pulled back, teeth grinding against each other as he tried to respond…

But then the RV was spinning, and there was no time to answer.

The world around them twisted with a thunderous crash as something slammed into the side of the vehicle with enough force to send them spinning. Those who were wearing seatbelts (Breed was always cautious like that) clutched at their harnesses while the rest of the troupe were tossed around the twisting hunk of metal like bugs in a jar until it finally came to a stop.

Jack gasped for breath as he tried to pull himself up.

Pain lanced through his legs, and it only took a quick glance to realize that they had been broken. Flecks of white pushed their way through flesh at an angle that wasn't natural. For the dozenth time, the serial killer berated himself for not turning that healer they had met back a few months ago.

We could have really used that.

The bearded man (now that he could finally grow a beard) turned to find Screamer's head lying next to him, empty eyes staring out at the world. If that wasn't enough confirmation that she was dead, the giant jagged piece of metal sticking through her throat was. If he wasn't in such pain, he might have laughed at the irony.

She always did enjoy slitting people's throats when she had the chance.

With a grunt, Jack pulled himself up as best as he could, using the shattered wreck of the RV for support as he did so. The ground shook at the familiar sound of battle echoed outside, the shattered glass on the earth quaking as though it anticipated being drenched in blood today. A quick pat-down revealed that his blades were still attached to him (though a few had pierced his skin), which meant that he was armed.

He had gotten out of worse situations than this ambush (what else could it be), and he would do so again. Nothing they could do could bring Grey Boy down…so all he needed to do was keep the monochrome cape's ire focused on their ambushers and not him. Even if the rest of the Nine died, they could recover and rebuild so long as they were given enough time.

Unlike King, he wasn't…attached to individual members.

”WINTER!”

Crimson's grated against his ears. It was unlike the hulking brute to sound so concerned at the injury of his lover, which likely meant the former child soldier was dead. Unfortunate, given how useful her ability could be at times. Well, at the very least, her death would serve to motivate Crimson to avenge her, which would buy him time to…

…oh no.

Jack crawled through the shattered remains of the windshield just in time to see Crimson soar through the air. The rust-red parahuman shriek of fury was cut short as a lance of power serrated through his heart, muscle, and bone pulping in an instant. Like a puppet whose strings had been cut, the still-growing giant fell to the ground with a dull thud, cracking the road with weight alone.

But that wasn't what concerned Jack.

No…it was the floating figure that had done him in, green shawl and cloak dr_a_p_ed across her back. Loose curls hung from her head, accenting her youthful appearance. Yet despite her youthful looks, she held herself with all the regalness of a conquering queen.

A Fairy Queen if he wanted to be precise.

He had heard about her years ago, back when King had still held his leash. The potential she could have made as a member of the Nine was staggering, but there was something about her that scared him. He could never put a pin on what was the cause of his concern, but he could always remember the cold chill he felt when he thought about her.

The only one who he found more frightening was Grey Boy.

And when you had to compare someone to Grey Boy…that wasn't someone you wanted to meet.

Except now, she had found them and was taking them down with the ease of a tiger in a pen of pigs. Granted, they mostly used hit and run tactics because they didn't have the means for prolonged conflicts. An ambush like this played against their strengths, left them unprepared and lacking their usual tempo and momentum. They were off their game, and as one of her shadowy ghosts wreathed Nyx in flames, he could tell she was using that to her full advantage.

He needed to getaway…he needed to regroup and—

”And where do you think you're going?”

Jack twisted towards the sound of the voice, his hand slipping down towards one of his blades with practiced ease. He could feel the thrum of his power grow as his hand wrapped around the finely carved grip, the blade's edge extending beyond the realm of physical limitation. The ambusher's suit tore and frayed as he flicked his wrist in an attempt to make the man bleed, to bring him low like he had brought low so many others…

…only for the invisible blades to bounce of his flesh.

Brute, he cursed in the back of his skull.

His power might allow him to extend his blades as far as he could see, but they could only cut what the base blades could cut. An issue he had worked around before (usually passing them off to Crimson or Grey Boy), but he didn't have that option anymore. He could only hope that Grey Boy was able to deal with Glaistig Uaine in a timely manner.

Survive.

”This suit cost me a pretty penny,” the masked man commented as he examined the torn fabric that hung from his frame. Jack thought the helmet was a nice touch if a bit tacky. There was something to be said for having something as plain as a face be the most terrifying thing that one could see. Putting a mask between you and your victims…it always felt like a wall was in the way then, as though you couldn't enjoy the moment as much with that division.

Jack smiled as best as he could, considering the circ_u_mstances. ”Well, I suppose that goes to show – dress for the occasion and all that. I don't suppose you – gahk!”

The parahuman serial killer spasmed as an impossibly strong hand wrapped around his jaws, pinching them shut. He could feel the cartilage of his nose crack, his teeth and jawbones screaming in fury as he was hauled to his feet. His legs dangled in the air even as he desperately lashed out at the man with everything he had, blades swinging faster than he could remember.

”No. Begone.”

Then the pain started.

Jack Slash was intimately familiar with the concept of pain.

He was something of an expert, really.

But he had never felt something like this before.

The closest thing he could compare it to was as if a thousand molten fishhooks were digging into his brain, ripping something out that he knew was necessary. His skull felt like it was splitting open underneath a chainsaw, his body spasming as all his nerve endings ignited.

Then, as quickly as it had come, …it was gone.

A gasp of relief escaped his throat as he was tossed to the ground. His limbs felt numb, refusing to respond to his commands. His thoughts were a muddled haze, twisting in so many directions he couldn't make sense of what was up or down. But despite all that, Jack Slash could feel that something was wrong, missing. As though a vital piece of him had ripped out and left behind an empty void.

”An interesting power,” the helmeted man mused, casually reaching down for one of his blades. All Jack could do was watch as the man brought up a small pocketknife that he had pulled from the corpse of a Boy Scout whose campsite they had raided (they had made such delicious screams). The blade whipped out towards him, and despite their distance, he could feel the line cut across his cheek a faint dribble of blood running down his flesh.

Oh no…

The implication of what this meant (please don't let it be true) and what it would mean for him (don't take the one thing I have) hit him at once. The cold pit in his stomach rolled and boiled even as the sounds of battle started to quiet down. A dull thud echoed in his ears as Grey Boy's body slammed against the roof of the shattered RV.

It lacked his infamous monochrome coloring.

It's over…

It was such a small thought, but one that crumbled every other thought that had previously dominated his mind. A loss…he could handle a loss. Even as successful as the Nine were, they had lost plenty of times over the years. They had retreated from more than one cape that turned out to be a bit too much for them to handle.

Well, for anyone not named Grey Boy, that was.

But this was more than a loss, wasn't it?

The Nine had never been defeated in such a decisive manner before. They had always made sure to keep themselves from getting into extended conflicts, fleeing whenever they had the chance so they could still take their revenge another day.

”You can feel it, can't you? The clawing emptiness?” The man asked, casually leaning against the shattered RV. He held himself with the same casual confidence that he had once felt, that was now bubbling away like morning dew in the face of the sun. Despite that, Jack tried to keep up his smile, his coolness, to hide the growing horror in the back of his head.

He was more than just knives.

He liked to talk, to bring people down, turn them into the monsters that they really were.

He just needed to do it again…

…and avoid being killed in the process.

”It's a neat trick you have,” he managed to get out, smiling through bloodstained teeth. ”Though I can't help but—”

CRACK.

Jack howled as the man's foot slammed against his chin. Bone shattered and splintered, and he could feel teeth fly out of their sockets. His tongue screamed as it was nearly bitten off by his own jaw, and his throat tasked like copper, the metallic tang staining everything it touched. He glared at the man through one of his eyes even as he laid in the dirt like…like he was a victim again.

As if he hadn't killed King.

”Even without your secondary power,” his attacker started, much to Jack's confusion. Secondary power? What was he talking about? ”I'm not interested in listening to whatever half-c_o_c_ked pseudo-philosophy you've chosen for the day to justify your degenerate ineptitude as a human being. I imagine that's the only way you've ever been able to convince anyone, hasn't it? Changing the reason for doing what you do so nobody can refute you? So you can always have the correct answer to turn them to your side? The mental gymnastics of an overgrown child who can't stand being told no.”

The man let loose a laugh just dripping with contempt.

”What a waste.”

The cold chuckle did little to focus his mind. It was one thing for people to be disgusted at what he did (that was part of the fun), but something about the way the man spoke grated against his nerves. King may have founded the Nine, but it had been him that had turned it into the force that it was today. The terror of small towns across the country, the nightmares that left hardened criminals quaking in their boots.

Yet here was this man (who he didn't even recognize) casually dressing him down as though he were a common thug. As...as though he didn't matter.

It was…infuriating.

…and terrifying.

Jack would admit that he was used to having the upper hand in situations like this. He took great p_l_e_a_s_u_r_e in being able to captivate his audience's attention, to force them to confront the ugly truths of themselves and the world around them. Peeling back all that glamor and glitz that they thought made them important, made them more than the animals around them.

This…this was new for him.

Or maybe old, considering his previous relationship with King and his parents.

The sounds of battle were quieting down in the distance, the final gurgle of his form compatriots wafting through the air. A chill of terror swept across his body with the realization that he was likely the last of the Nine alive.

Here he was, the last of the legacy that he had hoped to forge…and he couldn't even talk.

Was this how he was going to die?

Not gloriously, in a way that would seal his name in the annals of history forever, but rather being slaughter in the middle of nowhere by a monster and her pet nobody?

…was this how he was going to be remembered?

I don't want to die.

The man laughed.

It wasn't a friendly laugh – it was the kind of laughter that would have fit right in with the Nine.

”Oh, Jacob, Jacob, Jacob. You're not going to die today. Though, I suppose by the end of it all, you're going to be wishing your parents had left you to rot in that bunker of theirs,” the man said, a bright smile hidden by his helm.

Jack swallowed, the metallic flavor of his blood mixing with saliva.

How did he know that?

How did he know that!

King hadn't known about that!

”Your punishment is not that you die, Jacob,” the man commanded, rising to his full height. His shadow seemed to swallow the sun, casting the downed killer in darkness. Deadly intent rolled off him in waves, and a small part of Jack pulled itself back to the time when King's ever-present shadow loomed over him.

Back when he had been Jacob.

Crackling power engulfed the man's hand as he reached down.

”Your punishment is that you live.”

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”I think quite often a fate worse than death is life, for lots of people.” - Tom Bake