"Step," Alex said and disappeared.
An outside observer would see nothing but his foot touching the ground once and then a blur. He crossed half the distance between himself and the two men, blurring in a flurry of motion. It was like a full sprint compressed into a single moment. He reappeared briefly, his next footstep about to hit the ground like he had just taken a single step. Silvertooth's and Goldfist's eyes widened, but they could still react.
Before Alex could take his second step, Silvertooth advanced, his hand on the whip at his hip. He smiled, showing his silver incisor as he tensed his body. Alex instinctively tried to adjust his trajectory on his next step, but his momentum committed him. Something was off, but in the instance of movement, Alex could do nothing about it.
"Split."
Silvertooth's body cascaded into a rainbow spectrum of colors. He seemed to split into separate flashing colored images, spreading out around Alex's vision. A loud crack split the air around Alex, and a thin, heavy weight bit into his chest and around his arms. Alex had a moment to realize that the deputy's whip wasn't merely a whip and that more than one whip wrapped around him. He tilted his foot back and caught himself before falling.
Alex had a moment to look around him. His arms were held closed against his body by the strength of five men around him. Each of them was like the other deputies, with a different shade to their shirt but otherwise identical. A chill sank into Alex's stomach as he looked at the other clones watching over the captives.
"You're cursed."
"I am cursed. You're right about that," the nearest of Silvertooth's unoccupied clones said, tipping his hat. "I'm a man able to replicate himself."
Alex flexed against the restraints. He was as good as trapped. Spikes in the whips held them tight against his skin, piercing through his skin and drawing blood. He was as good as dead unless he came up with something fast.
He started to reach out along the magnetic fields around him, but Goldfist interrupted his thoughts, raising his fist and aiming at Alex, "Hold him still."
Alex didn't hesitate. He immediately began manipulating the magnetic forces around him. The fist was too large and too fast for him to stop when it was already in motion. A wall of force to stop would be crushed back against him, making an attempt to push it back impossible. Instead, he created a negative, repulsive bubble of force directly in front of his body, shaping it with his mind as quickly as possible.
"Golden Bullet!"
Bang!
The ground rumbled as the fist fired for the second time. Alex jumped into the air, pulling against his restraints despite the pinpricks of pain and positioning the bubble between himself and the fist. The deputies between him and the fist scattered into shards of light as the fist barreled through the air. The whips around him vanished as they disappeared. Alex made sure his bubble was between himself and the fist. He focused on maintaining the repulsive field as the fist crashed into it.
He was thrown back, but the fist did not touch him. Instead, the bubble shook from the impact, folding and rippling with waves like the sea itself when a large object fell into it. Pinpricks of pain shot through Alex's mind and down his spine as the ripples shook across his bubble. He held on.
"Just a little more," he whispered as he was shot back toward the train.
Warm liquid ran down his lip from his nose. He sensed the metal of the fallen train car behind him. Alex threw his hand back, angling a second field ball so it would ricochet across the train. His muscles screamed as he hit, and he heard the fist hit the train car as he was tossed upward and over the train car. He had a moment to smile before he hit the ground, unconscious.
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"Is he dead?" Silvertooth turned to Goldfist, the giant's chain rattling as he reeled his fist back in.
"No whelp could survive that," Goldfist said, turning away. "The weak get what they deserve. Get the new slaves to the mines. We need to break them in."
He hopped up on his coyote and kicked it into a run. The coyote yipped, but the giant of a beast rode off regardless. It kicked up a storm of dust behind it as Goldfist headed north.
Silvertooth shook his head before turning to the copies of himself. With a whistle, they all mounted their own smaller coyotes. Together, they used their whips to coordinate the new slaves and follow after Goldfist. Silvertooth himself hung back. His current boss was a little too arrogant. The kid had some skill, and Silvertooth wasn't sure he hadn't survived.
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Silvertooth recognized the 'step' technique. It was a skill taught on the Five Paths, which was practiced exclusively by the Military Police. Silvertooth would know; he had seen the techniques often enough before he was assigned to Section Zero, the intelligence unit. Mastering those techniques took a lifetime. Most of the rank and file couldn't use even one of the paths. To see a whelp doing even one...
He made his way back to the train. With two hits from the Sheriff's fist, the train car had seen better days. The first punch had caved in part of the car and knocked it over on its side, and the second had torn up the wheels on the bottom. He made his way around the destruction, keeping his eyes peeled for the dark-skinned kid.
He found the kid lying face up in a pile of dirt about five meters away from the train. His right arm and left leg were broken. They splayed out at odd angles. That should have been enough, but Silvertooth wanted to make sure. He felt along the kid's neck for a pulse. Nothing. No breath. No pulse.
He stood up and turned away, his eyes following the setting sun to the west. He spat in the dirt. Silvertooth might have been a slaver for his mission, but that didn't mean he liked killing a kid.
"Arrogant little brat."
He didn't need to keep up the charade for much longer. When they found what Goldfist was looking for, he could call in the Military Police to take over. Then his boss would be in for a real surprise. A few slipships descending were the perfect distraction for a shot in the back. Silvertooth cracked a smile.
He closed his body's gate, and the light flowed out of him. His other bodies still had their gates open, and he could feel them in the distance. They were faint, but he could still sense them.
He focused on his clones in the distance, transferring his mind over to one of them. His senses faded out of his current body as he let his form dissipate into shards of light, leaving the boy alone and dead on the ground.
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Alex lay in cold water, his eyes closed as he floated back and forth with each wave. The scent of salt water filled his nose, and soon, he felt the clinging touch of wet sand on his back.
"Again?" he whispered as he opened his eyes to the night sky above him.
He stood and looked up at the pale moon above. The night sky glittered like a sea filled with glimmering diamonds. Alex knew that sky better now than when he first saw it. It was the nightsea, the space between islands revealed with the setting of the sun. All that was missing was the sudden spotlight, shouts, and gunfire he had heard the last time he was on that beach.
This visit was peaceful in comparison. He smiled as he bathed in the light of the moon. It didn't change his goals. It didn't change his path. However, even he could enjoy his new life and the few moments of happiness in the strange world.
It had been ten years since he had woken up on that beach the first time, ten years since he had left his old world behind. He closed his eyes tight.
He opened them again. He was lying down again. The night sky above him was not the same. It was not wet sand that clung to him but the dust and dirt of the desert around him. His lips were dry.
Alex instinctively flexed his fingers and toes. They burned, but they were still all there. He pulled his arms and legs together. They worked. He rose to a sitting position. Every part of his body groaned in pain. He examined himself. The skin on his right arm and left leg was a faint purple, meaning they had stitched themselves together while he slept. He was glad that he had slept through their healing. He touched a hand to his chest and felt the whirring vibration of his gate, hidden beneath his clothes.
"Did worse than I thought," he said.
He was lucky. That wasn't the first time he had tried to stop a large object like the fist with his curse, but he hadn't done it in such an extreme situation before. He would have been crushed instead of thrown if he had been off by just a little. He shook his head. He had been arrogant to think he could have handled both of them without a plan.
"Can't fix the past," he said, opening his gate slightly and reaching out with his senses.
He found his staff and called it to his hand. It flew from the ground to his left and attached to his hand. With it, he pushed himself up to stand and surveyed the world around him. He still didn't know where he was, but after a second bout of unconsciousness, he had a better idea of what had happened before.
He had been traveling on a fairly fancy slipship that he had stowed away on a few days ago. Traveling from island to island was no easy feat for an outlaw on the nightsea. He had been awakened by screaming and the sound of explosions. A crash in the nightsea had sent him to this particular island. He didn't know how much of the slipship had survived the transition to the island, but he probably rode some of the wreckage down. The two bounty hunters must have discovered his unconscious body in or near a town. Alex reached up and rubbed at the growing stubble on his chin. That made his situation a little easier. He had three paths before himself.
He could follow the train to Portsmouth, which the bounty hunters had named for him. He could also backtrack toward the town they had come from, assuming it was along the tracks back the way he came. Then there was the third option.
He didn't know how far in either direction he would need to go to find a town, but he could be sure that Goldfist and his deputy had a place of operation relatively close by. That meant food, shelter, and hopefully, information, even if he had to take the fight a second time. He knew he wouldn't lose a second time now that he knew Silvertooth was also cursed.
He walked back toward the train and over the tracks, following the path of destruction toward where the fight had happened. He could make out tracks in the dirt that led to the northeast. He could follow them and find out what he needed to know. He didn't have any real interest in stopping the operation, though he did owe both men for the fight.
Alex's stomach rumbled as he looked over the tracks. The cold of the desert night nipped at his face. He had to make a choice, but he already knew the answer. He made his way northeast.