AS THE FIGHTING RAGED ON IN THE WEST, JACKIE AND HER SQUAD APPROACHEDFROMTHE 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?