55. To Be Given Mercy (End of Book 1)

Commander John Steele had seen his fair share of action. As a Navy Seal, as a special ops commando, and as an instrumental cog in the machine that had seen thousands of specially trained combatants passed under his doctrines and tutelage. It was through him, the program to raise and develop teen agents for the Champion roles came to be. But when YoAnna revealed down the road that only one agent would get the Champion spot, and the chosen agent was one of the least loyal to Commander Steele, that was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

For a long time, Commander Steele flirted with the World knife. He’d once hunted them down in the badlands of the Middle East for their involvement in high profile assassinations on world dignitaries. His missions were successful. Too successful. And the World Knife paid him a visit in his own ranch home, lending him an offer John should’ve repaid with a bullet instead of curiosity. Because what the World Knife offered was a return to order that his country, and many Western nations, was straying away from.

The further Commander Steele rose as a prominent figure among military and top secret matters, the further he found himself invested in the World Knife’s mission. If the world was to be changed by the oncoming apocalypse, the rulers should be men with principles that could see the world rise back to greatness. Not a teenage alien and her assortment of untrained renegades and an unruly agent. It was hard to stomach her for the past couple of years, but it would be all worth it based on what the leaders of the World Knife had to say. All Commander Steele needed to do was destabilize one of the Champions, and then the group would fall apart like dominoes.

The Commander was polishing his personal M1911 for just this occasion. The weapon had seen him through plenty of combat and had come out as his most trusted piece. It would be the executor of Jhara Luckrun, putting her down on junkyard soil before Commander Steele made a prompt escape and let everything else fall into place. The assassins being sacrificed tonight for this one mission was a price the World Knife was willing to pay. If the boy that teen alien favored so much was to be psychologically disposed of, he’d be easier to kill in the next coming weeks. Then that would lead to the alien’s downfall and eviction from Earth.

They were very sure of this scenario. Commander Steele had never met the leaders–the benefactors–of the World Knife in person, but they had sources of information that were apparently beyond the scope of even the godling brat’s power. It sounded like the people behind the System were in support of the World Knife, and that was way more promising than whatever YoAnna offered.

“Hey, John!” Jhara shouted over the roar of the helicopter engine and chopping blades–somehow, she knew his name. She flashed him a bloody smile and the bird. “I’m going to hurt you for this!”

No matter how hard Commander Steele or any of his men smacked the woman around, she wouldn’t shut up. She wouldn’t stay compliant and nice. Hell, it had taken some ridiculous manpower to bring her in when they had finally caught Jhara in her neighborhood. For some reason, she had not only been extremely lucky, but she put up deadly resistance, stealing a warrior’s pistol and shooting him and others until they wrestled her down. The amount of spirit she exuded was extraordinary. Commander Steele was almost impressed.

But then he rubbed down his pistol with a piece of cloth one more time as he stared Jhara down. It wouldn’t take long. A quick landing. A single shot to her dome. It had to happen on junkyard ground rather than shooting her here in the helicopter and kicking her corpse out. There was magic at work–something called Chance–that needed the outcome to play out in a specific manner to effectively neuter that Jay kid. Commander Steele didn’t understand it much, but he had his orders, and he was far too deeply invested to cut corners now.

“Sir!” A crew chief called through the radio. “Agent Stronghold is still trailing us! He’s gaining fast.”

God dammit. The consequences of Commander Steele’s actions were rearing their flaming head. There had been a year where prospective agents were trained to operate a multitude of vehicles and turned against each other in competition.

Frank had come out on top again.

“I loved that kid like a son, and he turns on me like this,” Commander Steele muttered. He holstered his pistol and reached for a tube-launched rocket. He was going to deal with Frank personally. But then he noticed Jhara unbuckling herself like a madwoman regardless of the zip ties on her wrists. That second of hesitation left him unprepared for the impact from one helicopter smashing into another from behind. Commander Steele shouted as he got jumbled around with everyone else in the bird.

He crashed into Jhara herself before they tumbled out of the hull doors together. He nearly blacked out as he whipped around end over end, hurtling through the rain and rotor wash and toward the junkyard ground. He fell unconscious on impact. Then he came to, finding himself alive somehow after falling on a stack of moldy and old mattresses.

The amount of luck for that to happen was astounding. Deeply magical. The benefactors had to be correct about the assertion of Chance and magic riding on this mission. If that was the case, then Commander Steele–no–John knew he couldn’t fail this.

Luck withstanding, there was no denying it was a warzone down here. World Knife warriors were dying in droves as they tried to push back the onrush of Champions and the unpredicted lowlives following them. He wasn’t much of a commander down here anymore. He was simply a double-agent working against the MPC to make one moment come to life. He was just another grunt on the muddy ground, and he had a mission to complete.

John got to his feet and briefly saw Jhara’s form staggering not so far away. The high beam junkyard lights etched her appearance in harsh whites and blacks. Her arms were free from the zip ties somehow, but John figured that was more of the Chance magic at work. She stopped to look back before screeching mockingly at John like an evil witch. He raised his gun. She bolted away into a maze of wreckage before he could get an accurate bead.

John chased after the Luckrun woman.

There was something in the air. It was unlike anything John had ever felt. He was systemless like everyone else who agreed to fight and die for the World Knife, but there was no denying there was a great power at work. It was behind him. He could feel it. The closest thing that could describe it was the high-like battle state he’d entered when in the throes of martial combat. And that was a high like no other already.

But this power–this magic–was way better. Way, way better.

When gangsters got in John’s way, he smashed through them like they were pathetic children. He didn’t bother using his M1911. He crushed the gangsters with hand-to-hand skills, took their own rifles, and shot their friends faster than they could get a bead on John. Years of special op training gave the old man moves that seemed almost supernatural when he started predicting the enemy and punishing them. A dozen men that stepped in between John and his quarry were beaten, riddled with bullet holes, and left as bloody corpses in John’s wake.

They were small fries, really. Nothing that compared to the horror YoAnna’s ragtag chosen Champions could produce. John had looked over the dossiers and possible powers and knew the info was highly incomplete. Despite the incompetency of these untrained teens, they hurled magic proficiently and washed over professionally trained men like a tide of sparkly lights, sweeping blades, and bloody death.

John came close to seeing the business end of his doom when arrows headshotted nearby warriors or when ghoulish skeletons rose from the muck and dragged down men and women alive. He heard the strange, resonating voices of different Champions calling out their powers like a Saturday morning cartoon. A myriad of flashes and colors and horrible effects that killed properly trained people too easily bombarded the area around John.

Body parts flew like gag props. Knife Warriors begged for mercy before getting blasted, halved, or melted. John swore he saw that deeply religious band girl–the supposed healer–ambush a fleeing group of Knife Warriors and bludgeon their heads open with her oversized shield. All while exuding an awful white light that vaporized blood off her body and made John feel anxious and nauseated as if he was an unworthy wretch.

This place was hell.

Magical teenager hell.

A part of John feared all of that magic at the hands of roguish teens preparing to claim more tyrannical power. Part of John wanted to abscond and go back to his ranch and retire in peace like he should’ve done years ago.

But he doubled-down instead since he had committed too much. The magic of Chance was still urging him to hunt down Jhara while keeping John unharmed throughout the chaos. That revived John’s belief to fulfill his mission so the System Apocalypse would go accordingly in the hands of better people than YoAnna and her rogues. Even if all John could do was one small act of defiance in the face of the magical teenage oppressors, that would be enough.

John skidded around corners, vaulted over short walls of broken appliances, and gained steadily on Jhara. He kept going as the world he knew came crashing and screaming down around him.

Then he finally caught the Luckrun woman when she inadvertently reached a dead end.  This should be the last of her luck. There was nowhere else to run.

Jhara turned to face him.

The harsh junkyard lights illuminated her she-devil smile that was well known on her dossier. It was the smile of a mad woman–the smile of someone John needed to kill before they whispered insidious ideas to a future tyrant of the universe. How easily would she get her way if her son rose in power uncontested?

John raised his M1911. Despite the fall, the chase through the junkyard, and the rain, John knew his old and trustee weapon was in the best condition a pistol could ever be. All it would take was one shot. Right through that damn smile.

He pulled the trigger.

The first round didn’t fire.

“Bon!” she cheered. “My Chance is greater!”

John let years of training guide his hands like greased lightning. He cleared the dud and started pulling the trigger again. But as he did so, he heard an unintelligible voice that spoke no earthen language and had not entered his head by sound.

John froze halfway from pulling the trigger fully.

He concentrated on his trigger finger with all of his might and tried to shoot Jhara at long last, but nothing worked. His body refused to listen to him. In fact, it moved without his command when the mysterious voice ordered his arm down. Then the voice told him to drop his beloved gun.

His hand released the M1911, and it fell into a muddy puddle, tarnished. John’s consciousness became a rider of his own out of control body.

It was a horrible feeling. The muscles he’d trained and took steroids to support in his graying years didn’t listen to his demands. His facial expressions weren’t his to control, either. He couldn’t even move his eyeballs. He was in a bloody cage of his own flesh and bone.

John wanted nothing more than to scream and rage. Instead, he was forced to look at Jhara as she swaggered forward with a shit-eating grin and a haughty laugh.

“It sucks being you, huh,” Jhara said. “A pawn, and a scapegoat. But that’s not the worst part.”

She flicked his nose.

“You could’ve been one of us, John,” Jhara said with a hauntingly sweet and easy to listen to voice. A voice you’d like for bedtime stories or on a midnight radio channel. “You could’ve been the Champions’ tough-as-granite grandpa. You could’ve been Jay’s fatherly old man and see him grow into a fine lad. You could’ve gone kicking alien butt across the Multiverse with magical teens looking up to you for funny sayings that have a ring of truth to them. You could’ve had me as your hot young thing and keep that ego of yours from deflating. You could’ve been a happy badass.”

John wanted to scream at her to shut up. To stop tormenting him. To stop planting images in his mind as every word that left Jhara’s mouth came to life in his imagination. Pictures of him shouting at the Champions for being idiots, raising them up when they failed, sharing smiles and stories when they had downtime together, and being a rock that supported the emotional toil of a young godly girl fighting the impossible. He could see a fishing trip on a moon that glittered with millions of cerulean diamonds while trying to catch some leviathan of a monster. He could see the low-grav hikes across floating mountains that moved glacially in a belt of fantastic land masses spiraling across a rainbow sun. He could see Jhara in his bed, making him feel young and wild again like the man he had been before the divorces, before his children turned their backs on him, before he sought comfort in bureaucracy and systems, then sought comfort in the Apocalyptic messages of the mysterious benefactors.

John’s spirit trembled before finding himself returning to center when the mental images faded away. Jhara’s smile dimmed as she looked at him sadly. Her pity cut deep. For a moment. Then her face brightened back with a bloody she-devil smile.

She circled out of his vision, leaving him to stand staring at a wall of junk. Then the horrid and monstrous voice returned, and John got to feel more of the thing pulling his strings. It was cold like ice, and it had a slimy, disturbing touch that stroked the back of his head. He could sense an unfathomable hunger gnawing at the edges of his sanity, driving him further into primal fear with no outlet in the prison that became his flesh. Then his body moved according to the monster’s will and John was forced to walk a dozen feet before falling on his knees in front of the most irritable, annoying, and tyrannical Champion to exist. And his damned little dungeon monster.

“Old man,” Jay greeted, “we meet for the third and final time.”

Behind the magical rugrat were the entirety of the Champions. From the sister-pack born to different mothers to John’s greatest mistake, Frank Stronghold. All twelve children were a stormfront of power that pressed upon John, but none were like the power that made him feel feeble and mortal like that of Jay and the damn pet monster riding his shoulder. Jay’s different colored eyes shone with an oppressive weight that was agonizing and crushing, terrorizing John further as the weird thing puppeting him kept gnawing at his consciousness.

“Master,” the little gremlin said, “let me punish him for you. Slowly. I’ll turn his own body against him for as long as he lives. Chance will grant me plenty of time to see it done.”

John felt like screaming, raging, doing anything that would defy these monstrous bastards. But he could do nothing. No matter how hard he pushed, how hard he fought, or how deep he reached into his wealth of experience, he was impotent against this devilish force.

He couldn’t believe it.

He’d felt the mysterious power riding behind him to win. Why was it gone all of a sudden? Had that all been a trick? Did he have any Chance in the first place?

Jay bent into a crouch in front of John.

“You’ve betrayed the agency and my Patron,” Jay said. “Especially my Patron. You’ve made it so that a lot of people died. I don’t really feel much for the assassins, but it's still a huge loss of human life. And most of that blood is on my hands.” Jay raised his short sword and waved it in front of John’s eyes. “My house is gone. My mom’s been beaten bloody and chased like a dog. And I’ve never felt so angry and horrible before.”

Silence.

“Old man, I should make you die the most horrible death possible,” Jay said.

More silence.

Rain.

John’s horror sunk in further during the wait.

It was unbearable.

Torturous.

He wanted to beg.

To plead.

But John waited on his knees.

His body kept being a prison.

A holding cell.

The irony was too cruel.

His willpower broke.

He wanted to cry.

But he wasn’t even afforded that luxury.

All he had was the wait.

And the [Faerie] slavoring over his mind.

And the [Freak] staring off into the distance.

Until the wait ended.

“And yet,” Jay said. “I’m going to choose mercy.”

There was a flash of movement and a tiny mosquito bite on John’s neck. For the first time since the [Faerie] took control of his body, John was able to do something for himself.

It was an involuntary action, though.

He blinked in confusion as he watched Jay stand and walk away.

John wanted to thank the kid. Maybe ask for another chance, or Chance, so John could choose to live out those images Jhara had shown him. Images that painted him a story of having fantastic adventures he’d always wanted in his youth. There was nothing like starting today, even if he was going gray, right?

John would be willing to kowtow to YoAnna or whoever as much as they wanted if he could be given means to redemption.

But he couldn’t express these wishes. He couldn’t even move. He was trapped again, but things were different somehow.

Then he felt weirdly distant from everything. Unfeeling, in fact. It didn’t even bother him when his world view flipped around and he started falling. Then he saw four things that culminated with the greatest amount of horror he’d ever felt:

His own headless body.

Jhara’s smiling face hovering high in the sky as she mouthed the words “we could’ve had fun together.”

And a final illustrative image of John rising out of bed in a Greek-like room, an open window view of a radiant purple sea and beautiful emerald-like suns outside the balcony, a nearby platter of well-seasoned breakfast with a pitcher of deliciously cold rum punch, and Jhara in the nude and ready to be of service to him–and this all seemed fine for a split second until John was suddenly reminded by a pushy and invasive mental force that Jhara was only into younger men, tearing his imagination apart at the very last moment.

The illustrative stories and Jhara’s sincerity were all lies, leaving John to die feeling horribly tricked and hurt by the Luckrun witch.

***

“Why?” Frank asked with a burning rumble. “Why would you grant him mercy?”

Jay let out a shuddering breath, feeling the tension and the Chance-heavy target on his back ease out of him. He didn’t have to check to know his Chance Status was rising back up to where it belonged. He passed another test, even though it was probably the hardest test he’d ever faced.

“I didn’t grant mercy to him,” Jay said. “I granted mercy for myself.”

If he had committed to Kleo’s punishment, it would’ve done something permanent to Jay. Maybe it wouldn’t seem like a big deal now, but Jay could tell the culmination of this entire day was leading to this one moment. Would he remain as a comedic hero, or would he become darkened and more tragic? Why was the System and the Admins pushing for this angle, Jay wasn’t sure. But there were too many reasons to make Commander Steele suffer his last moments, and it was super tempting to give in and let Kleo have her fun.

But Jay had cut the man’s head off and left it at that. Quick, to the point, and final. When Jay turned around, he could see different reactions from the Champions.

Dennis was sickened and scared and uncertain.

Mike, Brit, Rick, Casey, and Macy approved.

Frank, Lilith, Tim, Hailey, and Emily disapproved.

The [Faerie] wasn’t happy, but she didn’t contradict her master. She was a good familiar, and Jay was lucky to have her.

“He should’ve suffered,” Frank muttered, spitting embers and smoke. He was all healed up thanks to Brit. His arm was still gone, but at least he hadn’t lost anymore of himself after surviving a full-on helicopter crash.

Frank moved stiffly like he was still hurt though. Under Jay’s other gravitational sense, he noticed Frank’s emotional weight was bigger than ever before. Spook loomed over his former commander’s corpse as rage roiled through him.

“Everything is his fault,” Frank said. “The program. The shit I’ve been through to get here. The kids who were sent to die against me. He used and abused us all, and you’re telling me you can’t stomach giving him the justice he deserves?”

“I am,” Jay said, “a comedic hero.”

“Then keep the comedy to yourself next time,” Frank said. “I won’t hesitate to see a bastard punished.”

“I know you won’t,” Jay said.

Frank kicked Commander Steele’s head before he wandered off, angry and lost. Brit went to his side and didn’t say a thing. Her presence seemed to help Frank a little.

Jay wished he could do more on that front, but Frank was a subject that needed a time and place outside of the aftermath of a huge fight against assassins. Besides, there were other matters to attend to.

“Mom,” Jay called. “Why do you have a profile?”

All the Champions froze. Then they slowly turned to Jhara Luckrun.

“Long story short,” she said, “I got it from a piece of fancy rock YoAnna left for me.”

She explained shortly that after Jay left for the junkyard, there was a box and note left for Jhara on her writing desk. YoAnna had been very impressed with Jay’s mom and how she was willing to stand up to a deity for her son. But more importantly, she’d wanted to give Jay’s mom a better Chance at surviving what was to come.

Her profile was unlike a Champion. She didn’t have Skills or Levels. But she had Talents and Titles, and could acquire Attribute Points through personal effort. She’d pumped Free AP into Conviction and Discovery.

“I figured my best bet was on Chance seeing me alive,” Jhara said.

“Hm, I wonder if Agent Cabana has the same,” Mike interjected.

Everyone, especially Frank, wanted him to explain further.

Jay was very curious himself about what Mike had to say.

“Well, it was yesterday when Agent Cabana saw us out of the blacksite zone that she asked about YoAnna’s ability to shield or manipulate noise. It’s probably something YoAnna utilizes often to block out key information she discusses with us or others. When Agent Cabana asked, I saw her twist her fingers around against her chest, hiding the gesture from the other agents. She wanted me to lie.”

“So, wait,” Dennis said. “Commander Steele was a double agent. But so is Agent Cabana?”

“A double agent with a profile, perhaps,” Mike added.

Jay struggled to believe it since he hadn’t seen a profile on Cabana. Unless the woman had a stronger Talent or Title than [Obfuscation]. Then again, Jay hadn’t really tried to check Agent Cabana while she was at the Potluck.

He had checked his mom here because of the culmination of coincidences that led to tonight. He might’ve overlooked his mom otherwise since she wasn’t a Champion.

“I think I get it,” Lilith said. “How cunning of YoAnna. She’s playing a deeper game than I’ve assumed. Truly a Fourth Nerd.”

“This is going to mess with me all of tonight and during school tomorrow,” Emily said. “The Queen’s been outplaying everyone this whole time.”

“What?” Dennis asked.

“Basically,” Hailey started to explain. “Whatever fate befalls the agency is going to leave it ripe for the picking. The Multiverse Protectorate Pantheon could swoop in and take it over for our power bloc. Because there’s an unknown number of agents who turned to YoAnna’s side most likely. And she’s probably been doing this for years. Giving people pre-system profiles to serve her purposes.”

“Oh,” Dennis said. “So, why didn’t she tell us?”

“Need to know information is valuable when less people know,” Frank muttered. “So, you can be steps ahead of the enemy.”

He jerked his head at Commander Steele’s corpse.

“I don’t know about you guys, but we should talk about this more at school,” Jay interjected, feeling tired. “Mom and I gotta look for a place to stay tonight. Then somehow get me to school without looking like a hobo.”

“What’s with you guys and school?” Frank sneered. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, man, why not?” Jay asked. “We’re due for a school arc to slow things down. Maybe workout a bunch of kinks and trade info between teams. And all the other silly fun stuff that comes with being super magical high schoolers.”

Frank snorted. “No thanks. I’m good.”

Jhara leaned over to Kleo on her son’s shoulder. “He jinxed it.”

“I love it when Frank does that and plays his bit unironically,” Kleo piped up.

Jay was happy to hear his familiar wouldn’t stay mad all night.

“Thanks for protecting my mom, by the way,” Jay said with a smile. “And see you in school, spooky boi.”

“No thanks needed, and not happening, Luckrun,” Frank muttered as he made his exit.

Jay turned to the others who were starting to make plans to head home. Cutie, George, and her gangsters hung around the O’Kelly’s as they made plans for all the military grade guns and gear strewn about. They were going to become wealthy with the stuff thanks to the World’s Knife defeat.

Jay’s focus landed on his mom and swept her into a loving hug. She was looking great thanks to Brit. At least on the outside.

“Thanks for not being my Aunt May or Uncle Ben or any dead family,” Jay said.

“I got you, man,” she said, combing her fingers through his dreadlocks. “I’m just glad I get to play a part. Even a small one.”

Jay took a peek at his mom’s profile again and saw the Talent [Voice of Bardic Madness] and the Title [Runner of Chance].

He doubted his mom’s part in all of this was that small. But whatever. He was just glad to have her and Kleo. The familiar got squished into a hug between him and Mom no matter how much the [Faerie] squirmed in annoyance.

Godly forces tried to set Jay to fall, but he remained himself, unwilling to play by their rules or be brought down. He had the power of gravity, anime tropes, and his family and friends to see him through. Maybe all of that and the new system gains from this encounter would be enough for whatever else was to come.

You’ve ended a serious encounter with a global assassin threat.

New Title acquired! [Slayer of Assassins].

J: Moonwalker leveled from 11 to 15!

J: Dance Floor Relativity leveled from 12 to 16!

J: Grav Kick leveled from 11 to 14!

J: One Heavy Step leveled from 11 to 15!

J: Horizondancer leveled from 10 to 13!

J: Sling Assist leveled from 6 to 9!

J: Cloak of Freakish Relativity leveled from 4 to 7!

K: Gravity Grasp leveled from 5 to 7!

K: Graviton Wall leveled from 2 to 7!

K: Faerie Voice leveled from 1 to 3!

Congrats! Lesser Freak leveled up to 20! +8 Free AP delivered.

Congrats! Lesser Freak leveled up to 21! +8 Free AP delivered.

New Skill acquired! [Weighted Touch, Level 1].

Congrats! Teeny Faerie leveled up to 10! +1 Poise, +1 Agility

Congrats! Teeny Faerie reached a milestone for its growth! It’s on the verge of evolving and requires your acceptance. Are you prepared to evolve Creepy Kleo to Rank 2? Yes or no?