The Faerie drew his sword: a stout, double-edged blade gleaming silver in the moonlight.

“General,” said Jack, with a mocking bow. His gaze remained locked on the Sidhe. Flashes of memory raced through his brain—entire planets blown to dust, starship fleets riddling each other with holes.

The venting of an airlock, and the betrayed look on his friend’s face as she floated into the ether. He’d thought he’d left it behind. So many dead, yet he’d returned, with no goal or meaning. Nothing to protect.

“Been a long time,” he continued. “Not gonna lie, hoped it would be longer.”

Chuckling, Erich stepped forward, taking a flat stance as he approached Jack. “And I had hoped it would be sooner. Now, I will avenge the scores of my people dead by your hand.” He narrowed his eyes, piercing into Jack’s soul.

“What’s he talking about?” said Hannah, expression frayed as she looked between them.

Erich turned to her, cocking his head. “Well, hello there. And you are?”

“Leave her outta this.” Jack growled, bristling. He finally had hope, a tiny glimmer of light waiting beyond the horizon.

But could he reach it with the weight he carried?

“Such a reaction,” said Erich, pointing his sword at Hannah. She flinched. “Is this one important to you, then, Scourge?”

Scourge of the Unseelie. That was what they’d called him, long ago. Lifetimes. His blood froze as he regarded the Faerie’s twisted smile.

From behind, Derren had crawled up, reaching out and grabbing Erich’s ankle.

“Please don’t hurt her,” he said, gasping and choking on his own blood. The wound was healing, but not quickly.

With a sigh, Erich tilted back, driving his blade down. A harsh, squelchy crack rang through the area, and Derren gurgled. It had pierced his heart.

Jack’s lip trembled, his throat constricting as his arms went slack.

“Derren!” cried Hannah, taking a step. Hadn’t he kidnapped her? Why was she so bothered?

“Stay back!” Circling around, he tried to put himself between her and the Faerie. Erich relented, circling away from him.

She slumped to her knees, shaking. “He didn’t deserve to die…”

“People rarely do,” he said, sparing a glance over his shoulder. He focused back on Erich, who held an offensive stance—side-on, blade pointing backwards—and a satisfied smirk. “Wasn't he your ally?”

Erich scoffed. “Ally? He was a tool, and not a very good one, clearly. The authorities are aware of our actions, and perhaps even us thanks to this fool’s incompetence.” He grinned. “But as you say on this pathetic planet, ‘every cloud…’.”

Chewing his lip, Jack edged forward. Erich did the same, teeth bared in a strange mix of a smile and a snarl.

“I’ve been looking forward to this…” said Razor, giddy.

They clashed in a screech of metal.

***

“You understand why it’s so potent, obviously.”

Allsop stood in the centre of the warehouse’s main room, surrounded by rows of shelves and stacks of boxes. It was all obfuscation, of course—the main business occurred in the back.

Still, that hadn’t stopped Terry from checking on the front, which was supposed to act as a regular haulage company. Who just happened to haul drugs and guns.

Workers scuttled around, a man in a fluorescent jacket with a hard hat and clipboard giving others orders. The beeping of forklifts melded with chatter and thumping packages. It smelled of cardboard and sweat.

“Not really,” said Allsop, shrugging. He’d never liked drugs; addiction was too easy to fall into, and he barely survived as it was.

Terry sighed, shaking his head. He held up a brick of white powder—indistinguishable from cocaine—and eyed Allsop. “If you want a drug that’s out of this world, where do you think you’ll get it from?”

“A lab?”

Sucking his teeth, Terry glanced about at the workers. “Think bigger, lad.”

“A… really big lab?”

“Out of this world, lad.”

“Yeah, you already said that.”

Terry palmed his face. “No, I mean that’s where you get it from.”

Jackpot. He was one well-placed question away from learning the Firm’s supplier. Not that he didn’t suspect already—the lab analysis was finally finished, and it was as he’d feared. A natural compound.

But not one from Earth.

“Out of this world,” said Allsop. “You mean, like… a different planet?”

“Exactly!” said Terry, pulling a key from his trouser pocket. “Not much grows on the Unseelie homeworld, but the shit that does…” He slit the brick with the key, digging out a pinch of powder and offering it to Allsop. “Will blow your head off.”

Waving his hands, Allsop said, “no thanks, boss. I don’t—”

Terry pushed the key toward him. “I insist.” His voice had lowered, and when Allsop met his eyes, he saw a hard edge glaring into him.

Impossible. Had he been found out?

A crash interrupted his thoughts. The front door—which opened directly into the main room—flew through the air, tangling with a stack of boxes and knocking them over.

This cleared the sight line, allowing Terry and Allsop to gape at the arrival. Striding in was a woman who barely broke five feet. She was thick, though not fat, and she walked with authority, her jagged gaze enough to cow any worker who locked with it.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Smirking, she looked at Terry. “Could somebody tell me,” she said, “what it is about villains and warehouses?”

***

The blade whistled past his cheek.

Frantically, Jack shuffled to the side, away from Erich’s mad lunge. The Faerie whirled round, driving at him. Jack raised Razor to block.

Crash.

His arms protested as he pushed, both swords wobbling—locked with each other—as Jack clenched his jaw. He disengaged, circling back to protect Hannah.

Erich swiped across at him. With an exhale, he batted it aside, gut twisting into knots. Defeat wasn’t an option. Stepping in, he stabbed toward the Faerie. Deftly, Erich slipped aside, launching a horizontal slash intended to sever his head.

Jack ducked. That had been close—he felt the change in air pressure as it chopped the ends of his hair. Again, he thrust.

This time, Erich was off-balance, and couldn’t slide away in time. Razor slipped through his shirt, cutting a chunk from his side.

Blood spurted, and the Sidhe winced, grunting as he hacked at Jack’s head.

Slipping to the left, he batted it to the right with Razor, kicking the wound. The smell of blood intensified, a splash staining Jack’s jeans. Erich screamed. With a guttural yell, he spun, almost knocking Razor from Jack’s hands with the force.

Breath hitching, he stepped back.

The Faerie pushed on, battering Jack with a flurry that numbed his arms. Spit flying from his teeth, Erich continued striking with a twisted expression, each blow fraying Jack’s resolve. He wilted, exhaustion weighing down his muscles.

“You can’t give up now—fight through it!”

I’m trying!

Catching Erich’s blade on his own, he shoved, breathing ragged—the Faerie forced him back, growling.

“What do you want?” said Jack, knees wobbling as he tried remaining upright.

Erich’s glare could have cut diamonds. “Your head.”

“Obviously there’s something else.” He snarled through the pain, arms turning to goo. “What’s Mab’s game here? Why get involved with the Firm?

“I don’t expect you to understand our queen’s great design, but know that your world is to become Unseelie.”

“Sorry, it’s occupied.” He panted.

Erich withdrew his blade, raising it above his shoulder. “Not for long.”

Jack prepared for the slash.

But Erich changed movement halfway through, slamming the pommel into Jack’s temple.

He heard a crack, stars jumping into his vision. It blurred.

“Watch out!”

A blade whizzed at his face. His heart met his teeth, a chasm opening in his gut.

Somehow, he got Razor up to block.

Arms sagging, he fell to one knee, head pounding. Where were his thoughts? He needed to stand up. He needed to stop him.

He needed to protect Hannah.

Pain blossomed across his chest, a blade tearing down from his shoulder to his hip. Blood evacuated him as he pitched forward.

His stomach exploded in agony as the Sidhe kicked him. With a sickly gasp, he slid across the tarmac, holding onto Razor for dear life. Weakly, he raised his head. Erich stood a few feet away with a satisfied smirk.

Behind him, Hannah gaped at him, tears forming in her eyes.

The Faerie turned to her. “Now, Scourge—it’s time. You will suffer as I did.”

His stomach churned, blood running cold. He could barely see, barely think, but he knew what came next. As always, he’d failed in the end. When it really counted.

Hannah stared up at the advancing Erich, trembling with wide eyes.

“Watch her die,” he said, “while helpless to do anything.”

He drove his sword into her stomach.

***

Lydia surveyed the building. It was full of shelves and boxes, some of which she’d knocked over earlier. Probably full of guns, or drugs, or some other nefarious product for delivery.

She didn’t know enough. She’d seen Jack as she flew in, but he’d been fighting, so she doubted she’d have gotten answers. Perhaps she could have helped, but he’d seemed nonchalant enough.

So she’d chosen to check out the warehouse she’d spotted the first time.

And what luck she had. In the middle of the room, behind a stack of boxes she’d knocked over, stood a pair of men. One was tall and bald with an eyepatch, the other with short ginger hair, ruddy cheeks, and tracksuit bottoms. The former had an air of control about him. The leader?

Glancing at the workers cowering, she smirked. There were at least two dozen, and all shied away when she moved forward.

Except for those two.

“So,” she said, “what exactly is going on here?”

The bald man dropped his white brick. Drugs, perhaps? “You’re telling me… you charged in without even knowing what we were doing?”

“That is correct, yes.”

Cackling, the man gestured to her, looking at his friend. “Can you believe this bitch? Sort her out, Warren.”

Warren stepped forward, his gait shaky. She reached out her senses. Drawing in quintessence, she waited for the perfect moment.

“Mostly drugs,” he said, “cultivated from a plant on the Unseelie homeworld.”

She halted.

“Warren!” Eyepatch called after him. “What are you doing? Stop right now!”

“Betrayal?” Lydia cocked an eyebrow. “Not the greatest look, but I’m sure I can spin it.”

Strolling up to her, he shook his head. “I wasn’t on their side to begin with.” He looked back at Eyepatch. “Just try not to destroy my evidence, okay, Blackwell?”

***

He clenched his teeth. Erich’s elbow bent, his sword slowly slicing toward Hannah’s heart. Gasping and coughing, she tried to struggle, but just fell further down his blade. All Jack could do was watch.

Why was he so useless?

Everything he tried to save ended up dead, no matter how hard he tried. A weight buried him. Heavier than it had ever been, it crushed him, forcing him to gasp for breath. For a while, it had been lighter, with other shoulders helping carry the load. Ones he’d never asked for. Still, they’d grown on him, despite his best efforts, and now reality was catching up.

He couldn’t protect a damn thing.

“You’re wrong,” said Razor. “You’ve done it time and time again.”

Scoffing, he coughed up a glob of blood. His chest was on fire, a dull throb pulsing out from his wound. And it always ends the same.

“Because you let it. Because you make excuses, but in reality, it’s just easier for you to give up!”

Why not give up? In the end, none of it means a thing.

She growled, a guttural sound that filled his mind. “Maybe it doesn’t. But does the artist stop seeking perfection, knowing that it’s unattainable? It’s not about where you end up, Jack, it’s about how you get there. And can you honestly say you’ve done everything you can? Do you really mean to tell me you’re willing to see it end like this?”

Was he? He’d fought nearly to his last breath, until he couldn’t stand anymore. His torso was ripped, blood streaming from the wound, and his breaths came in ragged pants. He didn’t know if it was the world or his head spinning.

But it twisted at his gut, seeing the Sidhe’s brutality as he closed in on Hannah’s heart. And why? What had she done to him?

Something clicked. He had lost more people than he could count: those he’d sworn to protect, and those who protected him. But he always survived. It wasn’t a curse, nor was he some kind of cosmic plaything—he was just good at surviving.

It’s not about where you end up.

Was it because he always gave up in the end? Despaired at his powerlessness and wallowed in defeat? Each of those times, had he done everything he could?

He knew he hadn’t. He’d run away rather than save his family, after all.

It’s about how you get there.

But now he was different.

He was Jack Of All Trades, and he would protect them.

He wouldn’t accept defeat until he died.

He threw his sword.