"Come, Goliath. I'll be the one to finish her off. Now that things are taken care of here, next you should–"
Glass cracked, then shattered behind Fortier before he could finish.
"Huh?"
From the wreckage of the antique shop, Jackie rose.
She grimaced, dragging herself up from the mangled storefront. Shards of glass and broken porcelain had torn up her arms and legs, blood tracing thin lines across her skin. The sleeves of her shirt hung in tatters. A thick shard of glass jutted from her thigh.
Grunting, she gripped the shard, yanked it free, and hissed through clenched teeth. Without pause, she tore a sleeve from her ruined shirt and wrapped it tightly around the wound.
It's a good thing I used my soul weaving in time, she thought, steadying her breath as the bleeding slowed.
Soul Weaving is the ability to harness and manipulate one's own soul. Its form varies from person to person, shaped by the user's nature. For Jackie O'Hara, it manifests in two ways: the physical direction of her soul throughout her body to shield and reinforce it, and the manifestation of her soul as an extension of her body.
Just before the lamppost hit, she had channeled her soul to the point of impact, softening the blow and protecting her bones. Moments before smashing into the antique shop, she shifted it again, shielding her spine and absorbing enough of the crash to keep herself in the fight.
Her soul's manifestation embodies both fortitude and prowess—defensive precision paired with a compelling offense. Not only could she shield herself, but she could also shape her soul into a variety of melee weapons. Combined with her exorcizing ammunition—a fundamental skill for any soul weaver—Ms. O'Hara was a nightmare for most foes and the perfect counter to all Dread Hunters.
"If Goliath can't take me down," she said, leveling her voice with raw defiance, "what makes you think you can?"
She should barely be alive, let alone conscious. Fortier clenched his teeth.
"Change of plans, Goliath," he barked. "She's yours. Tear the entire street apart. The more destruction, the better. Let them see the aftermath and believe it. No one will question the validity of a hero who fought through hell."
"Right!" Goliath roared.
Jackie scoffed. "As if."
Without hesitation, she burst from the storefront in a streak of movement, glass and dust scattering behind her.
"You might've been a problem when your buddies were lighting me up," she shouted mid-leap, "but on your own? You're just a weak, dumb, oversized target."
"Weak?!" The Dread Hunter bellowed, his pride wounded more than his body. "Goliath is the strongest there is!"
"Oh, please." Jackie rolled her eyes, summoning a long blade with a surge of soul energy. The weapon shimmered with a deep blue hue, pulsing as if alive. "You might be big, but I know a teenager who puts up a better fight."
What is that? Fortier's eyes widened as the blade finished forming in her hand.
"A magic sword? Hey! That's cheating!" Goliath protested, his voice high with disbelief.
Jackie grinned. "This isn't a magic sword. This is me."
She moved like lightning, cleaving Goliath's lamppost weapon into fragments with a few clean strikes. Sparks flew as steel shattered. Jackie ducked under a wild punch, spun out of the way of another, and sprang from a bent street sign, flipping through the air.
Landing square on his back, she held fast with one hand like she was riding a bull.
"Get OFF!" Goliath yelled, flailing.
Brandishing her gun, Jackie fired three rounds into the back of Goliath's head. His mask, now riddled with holes, began to fall apart—the stitching unraveling, the glass lenses cracking as it slipped from his face and hit the ground. Blood leaked down his neck, his speech slurred, and his crossed eyes blinked sluggishly.
He stumbled, arms flailing half-heartedly, the fight beginning to drain from his limbs.
"I'm sorry, big fella," Jackie said softly. "I'll end your suffering now."
She pulled the trigger—once, twice, again until the cylinder was empty. Each shot cracked through the air, echoing off the buildings. Goliath staggered, his frame slowing like a machine losing power. He dropped to his knees. Then, with a final groan, collapsed forward.
Jackie remained standing on his back, black blood staining her face. She wiped it away with her sleeve, breathing heavily.
"Six shots, huh? Took that many to make it humane…" Her voice dipped, almost reverent. "Maybe you were the strongest."
Goliath's massive body began to crumble, turning to ash that the wind scattered into the street.
What is she? What kind of power was that?! Fortier's thoughts spiraled, a flood of questions crashing into him. But one idea rose above the noise—stark, unshakable.
"You're evil," he whispered.