Chapter One Hundred Sixty-Three: ‘O, deadliest Knife...’

Jercash’s thick boots crunched over the gravelly, smoldering earth as he entered what was left of the town of Orobell. Vanderberk, Germal, Koh, and several others came crunching up behind him as Jercash caressed the left tip of his mustache, taking in the scenery.

Barely any buildings still stood, and those that did looked like they’d been blasted out by mortar shells, the smoke from their ruins rising all the way up to the evening clouds. Automobiles were everywhere, though not as they should have been. Instead, they were overturned or on fire or buried in rubble or crumpled up like an old newspaper.

“Huh,” said Jercash in two voices. “Ya know, last I checked, this place was being protected by the Vannies. I’m not goin’ senile, am I?”

A small red-haired woman shuffled up next to him. Her thin-rimmed glasses didn’t do much to conceal the diagonal scar down the middle of her face. “No, sir,” she said, rifling through a briefcase. “Our latest intelligence placed thirteen mid-level threats in this town only five days ago.”

Jercash exhaled through his mouth. “Well, this is inconvenient.” He half-turned toward everyone. “Spread out and see what you can make of this mess,” he said more loudly. “Groups of three. Zenia, Liar--you’re with me.”

They all dispersed, leaving only the red-haired woman with the briefcase, Germal, and Germal’s reaper, Nerovoy.

To Jercash’s eyes, the reaper was a simple plastic bag, fluttering noiselessly through the air. It was a far cry from the skeletal phantasms that he perceived them as in his youth.

They made their way toward the carved-out heart of the town, not particularly bothered by all the bodies around. Jercash could sense that they were certainly not pretending to be dead, as none of them had souls--nor were there any souls lingering around, waiting to be ferried.

“It looks like the aftermath of a hurricane,” said Germal, “but Kavia doesn’t get such weather.”

“Yeah, it was probably one or more of our eager young guns,” said Jercash. “Kids these days.”

‘Perhaps it was the work of Hada,’ said Nerovoy.

Jercash knew the reaper was probably joking, but he didn’t see much point in gracing that with a response. The God of Storms was not likely to have suddenly started existing. More plausibly, it was someone trying to feed an aberration, though he kept that guess to himself, in case it proved wrong later.

“You never told us what you planned to do here,” said Germal.

“Yes, and there was a reason for that,” said Jercash plainly. “I don’t know you, and they call you the Liar of Lyste. When I combine those two facts, I’ve got myself a paranoia sandwich.”

“I see,” said Germal. “I thought I would have your trust implicitly, as I have Gohvis’.”

Jercash snickered. “Gohvis doesn’t trust you. And if you think he does, you’re a fool.” He stopped walking in order to spin around and put his face right up to Germal’s. “Which begs the question. Are you a fool? Or are you lying to me?”

Germal met his gaze steadily, not balking, but not saying anything, either.

Jercash merely waited. He deliberately chose not to pressure him with his soul. He wanted Germal’s response to be of the man’s own choosing. In a way, that would be more informative than trying to coerce the truth out of him.

That, and he wasn’t entirely sure that such a tactic would work on this person. There was just something about him that gave Jercash that impression. Maybe it was the horn. Right in the middle of the guy’s forehead? And the way it curved ever so slightly to the left?

So weird.

Jercash didn’t like it much, and he normally enjoyed creepy things.

“...You are right, sir,” said Germal. “I was lying.”

Jercash laughed and turned away again. “There, you see? You really do deserve that name.”

“I do apologize, sir,” said Germal, sounding genuinely ashamed now. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Jercash didn’t really care, either way. It wasn’t the first time he’d been lied to by a supposed ally, and it wouldn’t be the last.

‘He meant no disrespect,’ said Nerovoy. ‘It’s a compulsion of his. Sometimes, he simply can’t help himself.’ He shot a glance at Germal. ‘It can be a real problem, when he’s not careful.’

“That sounds pretty annoying,” said Jercash, hardly even listening to the words coming out of his own mouth. “You must have lived a difficult life, eh?” He was more concerned with the environment. The town of Orobell had held a special place in his heart, once upon a time. To see it reduced to rubble was leaving him with mixed feelings. Partly solemn, for that angelic woman who had lived here a hundred years past; and partly ecstatic, for all the insects who would no longer be a drain on the planet’s resources.

“I have had my share of sorrows, yes,” said Germal, “but now I find the future looking rather bright.”

“That so?”

“Yes,” said Germal. “A-and please allow me to apologize again for my indiscretion. I hope I have not soured you to me as an ally. I have nothing but admiration for you and the work you’ve done, ledo.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it so much.” Jercash waved his hand. “I’m a very forgiving person by nature.” He wasn’t.

‘In that case, would you mind telling us why you wanted to come to this place?’ said Nerovoy.

“Eh, I suppose there’s no harm in it at this point,” said Jercash. “See, the idea was to infiltrate this group, not exterminate it. I had reason to believe that they had ties to the Hammer, so it would’ve been nice if we could’ve used these poor dead folks here in order to get a leg up on him.”

“Are you saying that this was Kane’s hometown?” said Germal.

“That, or something similar. Supposedly.”

“Wouldn’t that mean he could be on his way here, at this very moment?”

“Heh. Wouldn’t that be something?”

Germal’s expression suggested that he did not agree.

‘If you truly had credible intelligence,’ said Nerovoy, ‘then why did you not spread this information far and wide?’

Jercash snorted. “‘Credible’ might’ve been a strong word for it. And who would you suggest I tell, exactly?” He spared the reaper a brief glare. “I am Abolish.”

That gave Nerovoy pause, perhaps only then realizing precisely how true that statement was. ‘Y-you could’ve told Dozer, surely.’

“I did. But he’s got plenty of other concerns. And he never listens to me, anyway.”

Jercash knew that he mostly had Jackson to thank for his recent “promotion,” such as it was, but that was only insofar as appearances were concerned.

The truth of the matter was that Jercash had been the tip of the spear for quite a few years now. Decades, arguably--though he knew many who would indeed argue that.

Sure, the names Dozer and Morgunov still struck far more fear than his own, and they likely would continue to do so for many more years--which was fine with him. Preferable, actually. But the reality, at least from his perspective, was that those two barely ever did anything anymore.

Morgunov had descended so far into his own madness now that he hadn’t left his laboratory in thirty years. The lunatic might of course still show up one day and surprise everyone, but he certainly couldn’t be relied upon to do that.

And Dozer? Jercash couldn’t say he fully understood what he was planning, but the old bastard seemed to have grown so paranoid that his actions had become indistinguishable from cowardice.

And sure, Gunther and Dunhouser had been much more reliable--each one a powerhouse in his own right, with plenty of strong and loyal followers. But that was about all they’d been. Men of action. Not men of forethought.

Certainly, losing both of them at once had been a major blow to Abolish’s military strength, but it was for the best. Weapons you couldn’t control were never truly part of your arsenal, anyway.

Jercash felt quite good about his decision to delay his own men from answering Dunhouser’s request for reinforcements. He couldn’t imagine a better outcome, unless Jackson had died along with them. At least now, some genuine direction might be able to take hold.

It was still a bit crazy to him, though, the fact that Gohvis hadn’t shown any interest in picking up the pieces left by their deaths.

Had he known that this was what Jercash wanted? It seemed like he had, but how could that be? Did Gohvis simply know him that well? Pretty unfair, if so.

Even if the Monster didn’t make for a very reliable or even consistent ally, the sheer enigma of that man had never ceased to pique Jercash’s interest.

Then, of course, there was Ivan. For the time being, rescuing that stupid asshole was probably more trouble than it was worth, what with Iceheart being the one guarding his frozen head.

Ideally, Jercash would be able to raise someone up to take Ivan’s place as head of all the intelligence divisions--a few someones, actually. Rather than putting all of their eggs in one basket, as Ivan had done, it would be much more effective to share the highest levels of intelligence-gathering between multiple heads. Voss, Xen, and Caster had already taken to their new positions pretty well, but it was still early days, and Jercash had several backup candidates in mind.

Still, he’d probably want to go retrieve Ivan, eventually. That was going to be a pain in the ass.

Oh, and he supposed there was Vanderberk to consider, too, but fuck that guy. At least he might be useful if Kane really did show up.

Jercash doubted that would happen, though, and even if it did, he’d taken precautions. Teams of scouts had been patrolling the area forty miles out for the past few days. There would be plenty of warning, in the event that Kane decided to show his fat face here.

And besides, Jercash had a couple new toys in the bag over his shoulder that he wouldn’t mind testing on a truly worthy adversary. He’d never been the most bloodthirsty--compared to his comrades, at least--but it wouldn’t do to shy away from conflict too much. That was how wolves became sheep.

Jercash stopped in front of the largest remaining structure in town, seemingly. A clock tower. It looked like it had been struck by lightning a few dozen times, and its bottom floor was completely filled with rubble. The actual clock face was on the ground, charred black and bent, and Jercash prodded it with the toe of his boot.

That was a couple hundred years of history down the drain, some of which had been his own. He recalled stealing a kiss while standing in this very spot.

He felt empty.

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A very familiar feeling.

“Are you alright, sir?” came Zenia’s voice.

Jercash looked at her. She seemed concerned about him. Of course she did. She was still young. And as far as secretaries went, she was probably the most doting one he’d ever had.

She was attractive, to his eyes, despite the scar. Perhaps even because of it. She was wounded, both inside and out. It complemented her, as a person, he felt.

All things considered, he might’ve married her by now, if he didn’t like her so much.

He patted her gently on the head. “I’m fine,” he said.

That seemed to appease her, and she relaxed.

What expression had been on his face to cause her to worry about him, he wondered? It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed something like that.

He’d have to be more conscious of such things in the future. It wouldn’t do to cause his cute little Zenia to be any more concerned about him than necessary. She already had plenty of reason to be worried that the Vanguard would kill him next.

He noticed Koh approaching from the right, and he had someone on his back. A little girl with frayed pigtails and ashes all over her. She was clinging to the Man-Eater’s silvery fur as if her life depended on it, and the look on her tiny, tear-stricken face was one Jercash had seen many times before.

Abject horror.

It was no surprise. The safe assumption was that she’d grown up in this town and seen it torn to pieces, perhaps even seen her own family slaughtered in front of her.

Jercash had no sympathy for her, old and callous as he knew himself to be, but he did understand what she was going through, at least.

She’d seen Hell. The Hell that humanity makes for itself. And in all likelihood, Abolish had shown it to her. Perhaps now, her eyes could be opened to the truth. Or maybe she’d simply direct all her hate at Abolish and grow up to take revenge on them one day.

It could go either way, at this point.

Heh, or she could alternatively take comfort in some pacifistic mindset. That was technically possible, though Jercash had yet to witness such a transformation with his own eyes. Pacifists had always interested him. They were like alien lifeforms--all but impossible for him to understand, but fascinating nonetheless.

As Koh neared their group, Jercash offered to take the girl from him, but the dog only growled at him, his jaw already visibly slick with blood. Instead, Koh carried her over to Germal, who leaned in, as if to examine her.

“I wasn’t going to hurt her,” Jercash felt compelled to say.

Koh just stared back at him.

A sudden question occurred to him. “Where are Vanderberk and Rita? Didn’t they go with you?”

Koh spat out half of a human skull.

Jercash’s expression flattened as he looked at it. “You killed both of them?”

Koh let out a beastly snort that somehow still managed to sound smug.

Jercash eyed the Man-Eater again. He’d known that Koh was powerful. Of course he had. But to eat Vanderberk, just like that? A guy who’d recently gotten Gohvis’ vague approval?

Come to think of it, Gohvis had mentioned something about Koh biting Ivan’s head off, too.

Just how strong was this dog, anyway?

It almost made Jercash want to test him and find out. Without the ability to speak, Koh would never be able to occupy a leadership position and be regarded as Jercash’s equal in terms of rank, unless his reaper could fill that gap for him. Jercash had yet to meet whoever that was, which only left Jercash with even more questions.

Gohvis’ men truly were ridiculous.

“...Tell me you didn’t kill their reapers, too,” said Jercash.

And Koh did nothing.

Jercash glowered. “You’ve been a very good dog so far,” he said with a darkness that didn’t match the words. “Do you want me to start treating you like a bad dog?”

A tense moment transpired.

Then Koh’s torso contracted and flexed, and the dog coughed up two reapers as if he were suddenly a cat and they were hairballs.

They barely retained their form, having both been rendered into unconsciousness while covered in soul-empowered drool and bile.

Jercash grimaced and picked them both up. He wiped them against his coat.

“You will be alright now, cedo,” Germal was saying softly as he brushed the tears from the little girl’s face with his thumb. He’d been whispering to her for a while, and even now, Jercash could barely hear him. “Don’t you worry. We will take care of you. There is no safer place in this world than by our side.”

And to the horned man’s credit, she actually did look better. Her eyes were still puffy and red, but her posture and breathing had relaxed.

Germal’s next words were loud enough that he must have meant for Jercash to hear them. “Do you think you can tell us who did this to your town, cedo? Do you remember them?”

She didn’t answer.

Germal patted her head. “It’s okay if you don’t, cedo. We won’t be angry. But I want you to try and think back, just in case.”

Jercash didn’t think that was going to work. Not yet anyway. The girl was obviously traumatized beyond words. Perhaps in time--

“I remember,” she said in a voice that was even smaller than her.

“Good,” said Germal. “That’s very good.” He kept one hand on her forehead, as if checking her temperature, and with his other hand, he dug into his travel bag and produced a syringe with a detached and still-wrapped hyopdermic needle.

Jercash cocked an eyebrow. “What are you giving her?”

“Nothing yet,” said Germal. “This is only a precaution. Go on, cedo. Tell us what you remember.”

“It was the Flying Man,” she said, sounding surprisingly calm. Almost eerily so. “He killed all the grownups. Boom. Flash. I heard their screams. Boom. Flash. It was so loud. It hurt my ears. Boom. Flash. He killed mommy and daddy. Boom. Flash. Then the others showed up. The Flying Man’s friends. The Smiling Man. The Green Man. They argued. The Green Man saw me. He tried to get me. He said he wanted to eat me. But the Flying Man stopped him. Boom. Flash. The Green Man’s arm came off.” She started shaking. “The Flying Man. The Flying Man said. He said--he said I--he told me--” Spittle began to form on her lips, and her eyes started rolling back into her head.

“Tch!” Germal tore the wrapping off the hypodermic needle with his teeth as he dug into his bag again for one rubber glove and snapped it on. He screwed the needle onto the syringe, then tapped the side of the tube with one hand while grabbing a swab from his bag with his other. He sterilized a small area on her arm and finally plunged the needle into it, pressing down steadily with his thumb.

Jercash observed in silence. He’d seen more than his share of medical emergencies and had therefore picked up a modest degree of knowledge on the subject. He understood the procedure of what had just happened, but not why. She’d obviously just had some kind of seizure or similar neurological problem, but what in the world had caused it?

“She has a condition,” said Germal, having apparently predicated what Jercash was thinking.

“Epilepsy?” guessed Jercash, not really convinced he was right. His medical “expertise”--if it could even be called that--had more to do with gaping wounds, severed limbs, and so forth.

“Something like that,” was all Germal told him. He felt her forehead again.

Her eyes returned to normal, but only for a second before easing shut. She went limp, and Germal scooped her up before she could fall off of Koh. Germal put his ear up to her face, probably to make sure she was still breathing, and then checked her pulse.

After a few moments, Germal appeared to relax. Zenia helped him return his tools to his bag for him while he shifted the girl’s weight into a more comfortable carrying posture. Koh nuzzled up to the one-horned man, perhaps offering to carry her again, but Germal just shook his head.

Nerovoy floated closer to Jercash. ‘You don’t mind if we take her with us, do you?’

“I intended to, anyway,” said Jercash, eyeing Germal. Zenia spoke the words that were on his mind.

“I didn’t know you had medical training, Mr. Germal,” she said. “Oh, or should I call you Dr. Germal?”

“Just Germal is fine,” he said.

“Do you have any other hidden skills?” said Jercash.

“Oh, a few. As I’m sure you do.”

Jercash thought he sensed reluctance. “You don’t wish to tell me about them?”

“This hardly seems like the time or the place, wouldn’t you agree?”

Jercash wasn’t so sure that he did. “As your superior, it would be quite helpful if I knew the full extent of your capabilities.”

Germal bobbed his head to the side a little. “That is understandable. Very understandable, indeed. But I am not sure Gohvis would appreciate me saying too much.”

“Oh, well, if he gets mad, you can just tell him I forced it out of you.”

Germal paused, that blank-yet-friendly expression still perfectly guarding his thoughts, as usual.

Jercash wondered if he was privately consulting Nerovoy.

“Hmm,” Germal eventually said. “If you insist, sir, then I suppose I cannot refuse. My fields of expertise are psychology, neurology, and medicine.”

“Mm. Anything else?”

“Oh, I’m also an expert deliveryman, if that counts.”

“Quite the curious skill set you’ve got.”

“Perhaps. But such is life, no? We go through the doors that open, wherever opportunity takes us.”

Jercash wanted to keep prodding, but he couldn’t think of any other relevant questions.

‘Would you mind if Germal and I took the girl somewhere to rest?’ said Nerovoy.

“You’re that concerned about her?” said Jercash.

‘A bit, yes. But I was also thinking Germal wouldn’t be much use to you here with his hands full.’

Jercash wanted to refuse for some reason he couldn’t articulate, but he caught himself and decided to cool it with all this irrational suspicion, for now. He knew only too well about the dangers of paranoia for servants his age. He wasn’t going to end up like his mentor. “Alright. Report back to me by midnight.”

‘Yes, sir.’

He watched them go.

When Koh turned to join them, however, it tickled his distrust again.

“You,” said Jercash with force. “You stay with me, Koh. I’d still like to get to know you better.”

The dog looked at him, then at Germal’s shrinking back, then at him again. For a second, Jercash thought the dog might disobey him. But he stayed.

“Good boy,” said Jercash.

Koh had no reaction to that.

Jercash tilted his head at him. “Do you like being treated like a dog? Or does it annoy you?”

Koh just snorted.

“I don’t know what that means. Seriously, tell me if you don’t like it right now, or I’m just gonna keep doing it. I’m very much a dog person, you see.” His own words made him crack up. “I mean, not as much as you, obviously! But you get my point, right?”

Still, Koh made no response.

“...Alright, then,” said Jercash, immediately wanting to test the limits. He pointed at Koh authoritatively. “Sit.”

And to both his and Zenia’s utter shock, Koh sat.

Jercash stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. “Uh... roll over?”

Koh rolled over.

Jercash squealed with delight and ran over to the giant dog. “Oh, you’re such a good boy! Yes, you are!” He rubbed behind Koh’s ears with both hands. “And you’re so fluffy! How did you get so fluffy, huh?! Just a big softie, is what you are! Yeah!”

“Sir, this is making me a little uncomfortable...”

“Shut up, Zenia! Don’t ruin this for me! Do you know long I’ve been wanting to get a dog?! Ever since Thrasher died!”

“I don’t know who that is, sir.”

“Oh, right, that was before your time. Well, it was about forty years ago. Thrasher was this big, beastly pit bull, you see. Not anywhere near as big as Koh here, of course--nor as well-behaved, for that matter. In fact, now that I’m thinking about it, he was a real asshole. Always trying to bite people, including me. He ended up getting mauled by a mountain lion, but in all honesty, he probably provoked it. Still miss him, though.” Jercash allowed a beat to pass. “Hey, why don’t you come over here and pet Koh with me? You won’t believe how soft his fur is!”

“I’ll pass on that, sir.”

“What, are you worried he’ll bite you?” He turned to look directly at Koh’s huge face. “You wouldn’t do that, would you? Because you know that Zenia’s not a servant, and that roughhousing wouldn’t be a good idea, right? And you know that if you harmed her in any way, I would go tear the head off of that little girl you just saved and smile to myself afterwards. You know all that, don’t you? Because you’re such a good boy!”

Koh met his gaze evenly, but that was the extent of his reaction.

Jercash waved Zenia over. “C’mon.”

She remained where she was. “I’d still rather not...”

Jercash smacked his lips and went back to petting Koh. “Your loss.”

“Sir,” said Zenia, taking that stern tone that Jercash so rarely got to hear from her, “you still have considerable work left to get done today, do you not?”

Of course he did. He had a crapload of reports waiting for him back at camp, and most of his men were going to need new marching orders after the dead end that Orobell turned out to be. He was still holding onto hope that there might be something helpful to be found in the ruins of this town, but he wasn’t going to be surprised if it didn’t turn out that way.

That girl’s testimony had certainly been interesting, though. He fully intended to look into who else was stationed here in Kavia, right now, because even with access to Izalog’s impeccable memory, he wasn’t recalling any Abolishers who had the kind of power that would be required to level this town full of Vanguardians.

That meant only one of two things, really. Either there was a third power at play here, aggressive toward the Vanguard and therefore a potential new ally; or one of his lovely subordinates had recently acquired a substantial power boost.

He hoped it was the latter. Abolish always had a use for new rising stars, and it had been a while since he’d gotten to promote someone. It was always a nice feeling, getting to see dramatic growth in the youngsters.

Except when it went to their heads, of course.

Jercash sensed Horace’s rapid approach with fifteen or so seconds to spare.

Horace was one of his stronger subordinates. He’d mastered pan-rozum almost completely, which was quite the threatening boost for his manganese transfiguration ability.

Jercash sensed the man’s pan-rozum merge from more than fifty meters away, which was more than enough warning, really, even if the man had been one of those ever-annoying light wielders. So Jercash had plenty of time to react. He even had time to realize that it wasn’t himself who was being attacked but Vanderberk’s reaper, the unconscious Elinox.

Trying to create yet another opening in upper management, most likely.

Sadly, as much as Jercash might have liked to let Vanderberk eat shit here and die permanently, that would ultimately be counterproductive. So he raised Elinox out of the way of a sudden bed of manganese spikes and batted away the incoming javelins as well.

To his credit, Horace seemed to realize his failure immediately, but even by then, it was too late. Jercash was already on him, having found the man’s neck with his free hand.

Both of Jercash’s hands were full now--Horace’s neck in his right, and Elinox in his left. But that wasn’t a problem, because he just grew a third hand out of his chest. This one was made mostly out of beryllium, as per his transfiguration ability, but it functioned just as well.

He used it to rip the reaper right out of Horace’s body, along with a few ribs, muscles, and organs. Horace collapsed immediately, and Jercash set to work freezing his head, though he deliberately took his time with it.

“Horace, Horace, Horace,” said Jercash, shaking his head. “What am I going to do with you?”

Horace couldn’t answer, partly because his lungs needed time to regrow and partly because of the lingering disorientation that came with leaving a hyper-state.

The man’s reaper was still conscious enough to talk, however. ‘F-forgive us, Hahth Jercash! I don’t know what came over us! It was madness! We would never dream of standing against--!’

“Shh-shh-shhh,” hushed Jercash, squeezing the reaper enough to cause concern but not to kill. “As the saying goes, I’m not angry with you. I’m just disappointed.”

The reaper was apparently too afraid to respond now.

“A blind frontal assault from fifty meters away?” said Jercash. “Really? Did you learn nothing from me? It would’ve been so much smarter to act casual, get up close, and then try to kill Elinox.” He indulged in a pause for timing. “It still wouldn’t have worked on me, but it definitely would’ve been smarter, is all I’m saying.”

‘Please!’ the reaper tried. ‘I-it all happened so quickly! I don’t understand what came over us! One minute we were talking--’

“Calm yourself,” commanded Jercash. “I’m not going to kill you. For now. Later? Maybe. But you’ll have plenty of time to work on your excuses until then, so try not to lose your head, hmm? You’ll need it.”

The reaper fell silent at that, which was probably wise.

He made a small, round cage for Horace’s frozen head and his reaper.

Jercash didn’t like killing his own men, and he especially didn’t like killing their reapers. Servants could be released if they got too far out of line, but reapers were a precious commodity. Very difficult to replace and always risky to do so.

Still, he could hardly believe that Horace had tried to do something so stupid. Sure, it wasn’t terribly surprising that one of his subordinates would let their ambition get to them during these times of organizational turmoil, but it certainly was surprising how incompetently Horace had gone about it.

Jercash had only been half-joking when he’d chastised the reaper about their plan of attack. Horace didn’t have the most impressive mental fortitude, but the man should have known better than to attack Vanderberk’s reaper while Jercash was standing right there. He definitely should have known.

...What if he had?

Jercash stopped. He looked up and around, surveying the ruins of Orobell another time.

What if Horace had known better? What would that mean? Would that mean his goal hadn’t truly been to kill Vanderberk? What would it have been, then? To test Jercash? To get a glimpse of his power?

It was true that not many people knew what Jercash was capable of in combat. He much preferred it that way.

Ah.

There was that paranoia again.

It wasn’t going to let up anytime soon, was it?