In Newbie's dream, he was back in the overturned transfer vehicle.
Gunshots rang endlessly in his head. The metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils, and the bitter taste of vomit clung to his tongue as he knelt on all fours—drenched in the blood of his fellow officer. His breath came in short, panicked bursts. His thoughts were scattered, overwhelmed.
Slowly, the truck's back doors began to groan shut, creaking like something out of a nightmare. He scrambled toward them, reaching out in desperation—but just as his fingers touched the cold metal, they slammed shut in his face.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
Trapped and alone, tears streaked down his face as he slammed his fists against the door, screaming into the void, "Let me out! Please—someone! Let me out!"
His eyes shot open as Jackie shook his shoulder.
Jolting upright, he locked eyes with her—his stare sharp, haunted.
"You alright?" she asked, her voice soft but worried. "You were murmuring in your sleep. You kept saying, 'Let me out.'"
"I'm fine," he snapped, brushing her hand off and sitting up straighter, trying to pull himself together.
All around, the other officers eyed him for his tone. They'd only met her today, but they wouldn't tolerate any disrespect towards Jackie.
"I-I'm sorry. It was a bad dream."
"I don't know if this will be of any help or not," Jackie said as she sat beside him, "but I understand what it's like to be trapped, reliving unpleasant memories. No one can free you but yourself. You have to truly allow yourself to open that door. But with that being said, even with the answers, you won't fully understand until you succeed in doing so for yourself. Keep moving forward, and you'll find your way in due time."
"What do you know?" he asked rhetorically under his breath, careful not to let the other officers hear.
"What do I know?" she asked, leaning forward. "Are you forgetting I'm an only child with deceased parents?"
Newbie's eyes widened as he realized what he'd just said. "Ms. O'Hara, I–"
"I don't have some perfect record of saving everyone; that type of thing only happens in stories. I think the events of today are proof enough of that. I've even managed to lose the closest people to me, unable to do a thing for them. I've freed myself from the weight of most things, but every now and then I visit hell when I close my eyes at night and I see those I wasn't able to save," Jackie paused for a moment.
"Maybe I only half know what I'm talking about, but what other option do we have but to move forward? We might as well try to grow and heal while we do so."
Jackie patted Newbie on the shoulder before standing to her feet and addressing everyone.
"Alright, men. This is as close as we can get to the action with the trolley. From here, we go on foot. We'll take them by surprise."
"Yes, ma'am!" the officers shouted in unison.
BACK IN WESTERN AUCLAIR, THE BATTLE RAGED ON.
"Hold in there, men! Backup will be here any moment!" shouted the chief to his men.
I know I'm asking a lot of you, Jackie, but please hurry, Chief Nkosi thought to himself.
As his worries painted his face and sweat ran down his neck, someone came hurtling past him, jumping right into the middle of the battle.
"What the? Who is that?" asked the chief.
"Get down!" an officer beside the chief shouted, pulling him behind cover as a bullet struck the sandbag barrier protecting them. "I think that was the child from the other day."
"What?! What is he doing here?!" the chief exclaimed, standing back to his feet. But just as quickly as he stood, he ducked back down after a bullet zipped past his ear.
"We've got to get him out of there!"
"With stray bullets coming that close, I don't think you'd be able to make it, Chief."
Chief Kota Nkosi sat there, frustrated. Balling his hand into a fist, he slammed it against the ground.
Where the hell is backup?
As Noir plunged into the fray, searching for Jackie, memories flickered through his mind as he repeated a phrase to himself:
"Just react. Just react. Just react."
He'd witnessed it countless times—an animal of lesser power evading the clutches of much larger predators simply due to its speed. Noir didn't see himself as weaker than the Dread Hunters' tools of destruction. Instead, he knew it was a clash between two tried-and-tested powers.
The night that Theo shot at him was etched vividly in Noir's memory. His keen eye for detail and sharp sense of movement allowed him to recall exactly how Theo fired his gun.
"You don't have to be faster than the weapon—just the man behind it," he told himself.
It was the only way he could think of beating something so much faster than he was.
Making his way to the middle of the battle, Noir looked around. Groups of men fought hand-to-hand and with melee weapons, while others exchanged gunfire—but there was no sign of Jackie.
"You stay right there, youngin'. It's extra points if you kill 'em from behind," a malicious voice growled behind him.
Before the Dread Hunter could pull the trigger, Noir swung his leg around and kicked him—his shin shattering the Dread Hunter's ribcage as he sent him flying.
Lifting the man by his collar, Noir started to question him about Jackie's whereabouts, but stopped when he realized the Dread Hunter had been knocked unconscious.
"Hey! Get away from him!" a trio of Dread Hunters shouted as they ran over, surrounding Noir with their melee weapons.
"We saw that, kid," said one of them.
"Yeah, you're gonna pay for that," said another.
"Mhm," the third muttered, spitting on the ground.
Noir easily took them down, leaving their bodies unresponsive in the dirt. Desperation was creeping in, though he recognized it only as anger. Fueled by that anger, he charged straight into the heart of the battle, determined to find Jackie.
"Hey Theo, isn't that the kid?" asked Neil, who was spectating the fighting like a war general through a pair of binoculars.
"Let me see those." Theo took the binoculars and scanned the battlefield. "Hm. It seems it is. Why don't we go over there and greet him?"
AS THE FIGHTING RAGED ON IN THE WEST, JACKIE AND HER SQUAD APPROACHED from the East, sneaking up behind the enemies.
"I need you all to do something very important for me," Jackie said, halting their movements. "I need you to escort Commander Fortier to the safety of our allies while I assist in battle."
The squad hesitated, voicing their concerns, but she reassured them. "I'll be fine. Besides, bringing Fortier in is a top priority. He has to pay for what he's done to this parish—and to your commander. It is crucial that you make sure he doesn't escape. Swing wide to the left and be quick about it. Newbie, you take point."
"Me? But I—" Before Newbie could doubt his ability to lead, Jackie cut in.
"It'll be okay. You're in their hands, and they're in yours."
Jackie had a point, the men thought. The Dread Hunters might have attacked and killed their commander and fellow officers, but it was all because of Eric Fortier's actions. So off they went through the empty alleyways of the parish—quickly and silently—carrying Fortier's body.
On her own, Jackie sprinted toward the sound of gunfire. As she approached, she came up behind a group of enemies and, like a strike of lightning, decapitated them with her soul weaving ability.
Soon, she found herself in the thick of the battlefield, fighting ferociously alongside the officers. Some were positioned in a shield wall formation, using rifles and ballistic shields, while others were spread out, engaged in combat.
"Backup's here, men!" shouted Chief Nkosi as he spotted Jackie mowing through the enemies.
Slashing and shooting, Jackie carved her way through Dread Hunter after Dread Hunter. But amidst the chaos, something stopped her cold—a presence. Heavy. Familiar. Overwhelming. It wrapped around her like thick fog, raising every hair on her body.
Her instincts screamed. She spun, sword drawn and gun raised, ready to end whatever it was—only to freeze an inch from the kill.
"Noir?" she breathed, lowering her weapons in disbelief.
"Jackie, I found you."
"What are you doing here?" Her voice cracked, thick with concern. "I thought you were asleep. Noir, this is no place for you. It's far too dangerous. I know you've faced your share of it before, but this… this is different."
"You don't have to worry about me, Jackie. I've died more than a few times—I always come back."
"Noir," she said, eyes locked on his, "this isn't the swamp."
But before she could say more, a voice interrupted their conversation.
"Well, well, well… what do we have here?" drawled Theo, approaching from behind Noir.
Quickly, Noir turned—just as Theo fired.
The shotgun blast hit him square in the chest, knocking him backward into Jackie. She caught him with a gasp, arms trembling as she cradled his body.
"I missed the first time we met," Theo said, strolling forward with a slow swagger. "Thing about shotguns is… they're personal. You gotta get up close to do the job. But they'll take just about anything—or anyone—down in one shot."
Jackie let out an agonizing cry that cut through the roar of the battlefield. Everything paused. Every eye turned to her.
Clutching Noir tightly, she staggered toward her allies and handed him over to the medics, her face pale but resolute.
"Withdraw from here and get him to a hospital," she ordered Chief Nkosi, her voice firm despite the quake in her chest.
"Jackie, we're not leaving you here alone," he protested. "There's too many of them. Not even you–"
"Uncle," she snapped, not looking at him. "You'll owe more than you can pay if that boy dies here. Withdraw. Now. I'll handle the rest."
He hesitated, jaw clenched, torn between duty and fear.
Then he gave the order.
"Alright, men—we're falling back. Ms. O'Hara is the only one capable of finishing this fight."
The officers quickly gathered what they could, retreating across the battlefield with urgency in their step. As they disappeared into the smoke and distance, Jackie stayed rooted in place, her gaze locked on Theo and his brother. Her stare was cold and unwavering.
"We just gonna let them go like that, Theo?" one of the Dread Hunters asked, tightening his grip on his weapon.
"It's fine with me if her little friends run off," Theo replied with a smirk. "We already did what we came here to do."
Then, turning his eyes to Jackie, he added, "But I figure you and I have a little score to settle now… don't we?"
Jackie didn't respond. Not until the last of her comrades had vanished from sight.
"You damned Dread Hunters," she said finally, her voice low and full of quiet fury. "I pity you. Truly."
Theo's smile twitched, confused.
"You're nothing but artificial personalities stuffed into hollow shells of meat. Not one of you knows who you really are. Not one of you remembers where you came from. And neither does the world."
She took a step forward, her voice growing sharper, rough with sorrow.
"No one remembers... except for me."
Her heart pounded—not just from grief for Noir, but for them. These monsters weren't born. They were made. Puppets shaped by hands long gone, carrying out the legacy of something ancient and cruel.
The Dread Hunters stood frozen, as if compelled to let her speak—as if something deep within them demanded an answer to the question they all carried but dared not ask.
"Why do you think you can't be killed by normal means?" Jackie began, her tone sharp and cutting. "Look at yourselves. You've been riddled with bullets, burned, broken—and yet you're still standing. You think that makes you invincible. But you're not. I know your weakness."
Theo narrowed his eyes. "And what would that be?"
Jackie took a slow step forward, her voice unwavering.
"The teachings I've inherited. Now, turn around—look at your fallen behind you. Then look south. That entire group is gone. Goliath included."
A ripple passed through the Dread Hunters. Could it be true? Did she really take down Goliath?
No Dread Hunter there had ever seen one of their own die. Wounded? Sure. Beaten back? Rarely. But death? That had always seemed… impossible. They carried themselves with the certainty of immortality, a quiet pride in being untouchable. It was what made them feared. What made them hunters.
Jackie saw the uncertainty bloom in their eyes.
"Why do you think you believe you're incapable of death?" she continued. "Because none of you are alive. Maybe once—but I'd wager none of you remember anything before a certain point. I know it's forbidden to talk about your pasts, your real lives—whatever scraps might be left. You've been trained to ignore it. Conditioned to forget. Ever wonder why that is?"
Silence. Not one of them moved.
"Because you don't have lives anymore," she said, her voice rising like a war drum. "You're not people. You're vessels. Empty shells. And I know exactly what you are."
She drew her blade slowly, its edge pulsing with soul-light.
"I've been exorcizing your kind for decades now," Jackie said, stepping forward. "So, straight from the mouth of your own creator—'You're all just a bunch of zombies.'"
The word hit like a thunderclap.
A heavy silence followed, thick with disbelief and dawning dread. Deep down, every Dread Hunter had entertained quiet theories—passing thoughts they'd buried deep. The bullets they'd survived. The limbs they'd lost and reattached. The lack of hunger, aging, memory. But seeing their comrades' remains wither in the street, and hearing Jackie's truth spoken aloud—it shattered something in them.
They weren't immortal.
They weren't alive.
They were hollow shells, carrying only the fractured instincts of the people they once were.
One snapped.
Letting out a scream of denial, a Dread Hunter rushed her, brandishing a bent metal pipe. Jackie didn't flinch. In one seamless motion, she stepped into his attack, her soul-weaving sword slicing through his body in a flash of light.
He collapsed, turning to ash.
He was made into an example.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Then, instinct kicked in.
Jackie's head tilted just slightly—seconds before a bullet screamed past where her temple had been. Her soul-forged helmet shimmered into place as her sword retracted, not from fear, but as a precaution guided by honed reflexes.
"So predictable," she muttered.
Her revolver snapped upward. A single round pierced through the air, shattering the rooftop sniper's scope and driving straight into the Dread Hunter's eye. He dropped before he could scream.
Theo stood frozen, eyes locked on her.
Neil turned toward him, voice shaking. "Theo… what is she? How is she doing that? How is she killing us?"
"I don't know, but something ain't right," Theo growled. "Take her down, boys!"
All at once, the Dread Hunters surged forward, firing with no regard for each other. If a fellow Hunter stood in their line of fire, they simply shot through them. A bullet slowed by one body might not kill the next, but it could still break bone or punch through muscle—and none of them cared. They embraced their false immortality, certain nothing could truly end them.
Jackie braced herself, encasing her entire body in a fine, shimmering layer of soul-armor. It was enough to block blades and absorb blunt trauma, but bullets? Not unless they were slowed first.
She didn't have time to think. She had to move.
With explosive speed, she charged into their ranks, weaving through the chaos. Her silhouette vanished into a swarm of bodies. Bullets found her occasionally, but not clean—each impact stung like non-lethal rounds rather than pierced like live fire.
They can't have brought enough ammo to fire this recklessly, she thought, darting low and rolling. They've got to be running dry. As long as I don't take a direct hit… I can bleed them dry.
She struck fast, a blur of steel and fire. One Hunter dropped. Then another. She moved like a ghost, slipping through narrow openings and striking at their heads with precision—each shot and slash aimed to kill.
At full sprint, she brought down another Dread Hunter and didn't hesitate to grab his collapsing body. Even as it began to deteriorate in her arms, she used it for cover, bracing behind it as she gunned down the long-range shooters on the rooftops.
As Jackie tore through the swarm of Dread Hunters, Theo's voice rang out above the chaos—calm, almost amused, despite the gunfire and screams.
"So, what's your grievance with us, lady?" he called. "What's got you fighting so hard against us?"
Jackie's blade sank into a Hunter's neck before she turned to glare his way.
"In order to obtain this power," she said, breath ragged, "I swore to use it to rid the world of monsters like you—if ever you crossed my path."
"Monsters?" Theo laughed, sidestepping a dying grunt. "From where I'm standing, you're the monster. A woman with inhuman abilities, killing without pause. You're more machine than human. If you ask me… we're a hell of a lot more human than you are."
Jackie's voice didn't rise—if anything, it sank, cold and cutting.
"Says the ones without souls."
She stepped forward as another Hunter fell behind her, a lifeless thud against the stone.
"My abilities let me do many things, but chief among them is the ability to sense the living—truly living. You and all your Dread Hunter brothers are as empty as bottomless buckets."
The tide was turning. The endless tide of enemies had thinned to a handful of grunts, plus Theo and Neil. Jackie stood, braced, her body trembling from exhaustion. She was covered in grime and blood, shoulders rising and falling with every breath like they were carrying the weight of the world.
Her muscles screamed for rest. Her soul burned with the effort. But she held her ground.
"You ain't looking too good," Theo taunted, watching the way Jackie's body wavered. "You're not gonna throw in the towel, are ya? Nothing kills the thrill more than lazy prey."
"Shut it," Jackie snapped, coughing through the blood in her throat. "You bastards hurt Noir. I know it's not your fault you ended up like this... but I'll never forgive that."
She spit at the ground, her mouth slick with sweat.
"Curse you, Lionel Ota," she muttered, almost too quietly to hear. "Even in death, you and Papa Lanmo are still bringing misfortune."
Without warning, Theo pulled the trigger of his shotgun. The blast hit everyone in front of him, Jackie and the remaining Dread Hunters alike. The scatter was wide, unforgiving.
"Ouch, you jerk," one of the Hunters shouted, right before Jackie exorcized him in a single, fluid strike. Another. Then another. The last of the grunts fell, leaving only Theo and Neil standing.
Jackie exhaled through gritted teeth.
She knew what had to come next.
She shifted the soul-armor wrapped around her back to double-layer her front—leaving her rear vulnerable, but it was the only way. The moment she moved, they opened fire. Bullets tore through the outer soul layer and skimmed her skin. Warm blood splattered across her arms. Pain flared up her ribs.
But she didn't stop. She couldn't.
Every step she took was a choice—between life and death, between giving in and charging forward. If her soul shattered in the middle of battle, it would be over. That was the cost of being a Soul Weaver. That was the risk.
And still... she ran.
With a final lunge, Jackie raised her revolver and fired two precise shots—knocking the weapons from Theo and Neil's hands.
Now within striking range, she shaped what remained of her soul into a blade. It flickered like a flame, unstable and barely holding.
But it was all she had left.
Swinging at both brothers, Jackie weaved between them like a shadow. They leapt back, dodging the gleam of her soul-forged blade, but she didn't let up. Each slash came with brutal intention—measured, relentless. She pivoted toward Theo, forcing him to block, just as Neil dove for his discarded firearm.
Jackie didn't miss a beat.
Anticipating his movement, she hurled her knife.
The blade spun once before striking Neil square in the head the moment he hit the ground. His body went slack.
"Neil?!" Theo's voice cracked with panic. He took a step forward, but Jackie was already sprinting to retrieve her soul.
"Neil?! Neil?!" he called again, desperation turning to rage.
Theo's teeth clenched as his emotions boiled over. "You filthy little government mutt—that's my brother! Curse you! Curse this whole damn kingdom! Damn you all to hell!"
Jackie stood over Neil's body, blood still fresh on her blade. She retrieved it without a word, then turned to Theo.
"Go ahead," she said calmly, "get it out. Scream. Mourn. Hate me if it helps. But don't waste your last words on ugliness."
She stepped forward, her eyes steady, her exhaustion hidden beneath sheer will.
"It isn't your fault you're like this. That you can't remember who you were. Someone's done a great injustice to all of you."
Her voice dropped, just slightly.
"And I intend to make it right."
"Stay back, demon. Stay away from me. Go back to hell!" Theo spat, cursing as Jackie closed the distance. His defiance faltered, his breath growing shallow. "S-stop," he gasped, a tear slipping down his cheek. He removed his hat, his gaze fixated on his older brother's body, now beginning to fade into nothingness.
"I always did feel like I was living well past some unknown expiration date…" His voice trailed off, and slowly, he looked up at Jackie, vulnerability creeping through. "Will I be able to rest on the other side? Will I be accepted, despite all the bad I've done?"
Jackie reached out and gently took his hand, her touch steady and comforting. "You're already there. You've been there all this time. Death of the mind is not the destruction of the soul. Your consciousness simply pilots the body. We're so much more than that. So much more complex," she said softly, her voice steady as her soul returned to her palm. "This is my soul. As long as it remains whole, when I die, it'll go somewhere beyond reach, beyond any ill will. Just like yours is now."
Theo adjusted his collar, exposing his throat to her, a gesture of surrender. "Well, okay then… let me be with my big brother again."
Jackie's voice didn't waver, her gaze unblinking as her soul-forged blade reappeared. "You'll see him soon, I'm sure."
She erased all doubt from her mind, and in one swift motion, she drove the blade into his submental, the cold precision of her action severing Theo's last connection to the world. The life in his eyes faded as Jackie whispered, almost to herself, "After all, what's one or two lifetimes compared to eternity?"
Dispersing her ability, she collapsed beside him, exhaustion overtaking her as the weight of the battle finally caught up to her.