1.1
I had just offed Jack Slah, premier supervillain in the shithole of the Wormverse. Just like Manton, I felt nothing but a vague sense of satisfaction at the death of the killer. I probably should have done a little more planning as a whole before just attacking the Slaughterhouse Nine.
It was a spur of the moment thing when I thought, "what do magical 'teleportation' powers do," paired with never dying. I don't think I ever would have been bold enough to do what I had just done previously. (Wonderful evidence in the form of other-me writing a massive apology letter to Gesellschaft and Empire 88 by the time I returned rather than contacting the proper authorities which in it of itself was absolutely hilarious.)
Evidently my brain, or whatever Schrodinger had that constituted as a brain changed who I was. My sense of self was never the strongest, but now it was the only thing holding me together. I think anyways, I don't plan on testing quantum suicide just to see if it goes through.
It was terrifying to know all this yet not particularly care. Viewing things from a pragmatic point, losing the fear of death and compulsion against killing was quite helpful for the current scenario in which people had needed to die. Well not need but still. I wasn't who I was, the memories more a separate person than whatever I was now.
What led to me regretting offing the fellow who would cause extra-and-current-dimensional genocide via talking up alien was the other members of Jack's merry band of psychopaths.
Jack had clearly felt something at the death of Siberian as he was making his way toward Bonesaw, who had had emerged with a horde of spider-robots, and two thralls trailing behind her from the hallway.
"Are you from Gesellschaft or Empire 88?" the little girl asked.
I had taken off the nazi armband, but everytime I "teleported," the annoying thing would return in perfect condition, just like my uniform. I would probably cover it up later, but the little girl in front of me was a bigger concern at the moment.
"Neizer. Jack ist dead little girl," I said to the walking bioweapon.
I had forgotten entirely about the other members of the Nine, especially Bonesaw's capabilities in the world-ending-plague category. That is what they threatened all the heroes with right? Except Jack would keep her from doing it. Shatterbird could probably also be a massive threat unchecked by Jack. Fuck, what to say...
"Have you ever vanted to be a hero?" I asked in a confident tone that was exactly the opposite of what I felt.
"Not really," Bonesaw responded cheerily.
"Vell, now zat both Jack and zee Siberian are dead, you can do it!" I responded, raising false cheer even further.
Bonesaw looked somewhat amused. Perhaps I was a better orator than I thou--
"I've never had a pet cat…" She mumbled.
Well it was good to see I was making an impact in a direction, though probably not a desirable one.
"Vell Jack's corpse is shtill right here," I said, pointing down the hall. Bonesaw pressed a few buttons, and three spiders scuttled down the hall to the remains of the room. Well, I say hall and room, but after the extreme use of explosives, not much remained house anyways. It was more like collapsed and less collapsed.
I watched the spiders go, turning away from Bonesaw. Four different syringes found their way into my back and I tumbled to the ground. Bonesaw giggled before I vanished and reappeared in exactly the same spot, perfectly fine. I made an exaggerated brushing motion over the Hitler Youth Uniform, when I was interrupted by the same four syringes in my sides.
This time their payload was less nonlethal. My skin erupted in boils within seconds, spreading from my chest to my head and feet. I died, the festering sores exploding in the air showering the surroundings in a multitude of fluids.
After another second I reappeared, all the messy remains of my death vanishing without a trace. The only thing that remained was a sinister orange fluid near where I had been standing.
"Vee can do zis all day," I say to the little murdermachine. "Jack is dead."
"So it's like that Alabaster guy," Bonesaw said, not paying attention to my words. She rapidly keyed another set of commands into her remote control.
A new set of spiders moved in, spraying an orange soda-like liquid around my feet. Bonesaw tossed a single vial into the mess and foam erupted from the mixture. I was utterly encased with the white-orange foam in seconds, porous nature letting me breath.
My limbs felt trapped in super-concentrated molasses, able to move only barely. Some kind of paralytic was laced in there as well I'm pretty sure, but my nature prevented me from figuring out. I woke up again whenever it felt like unconsciousness would reach me.
I reappeared right behind Bonesaw and proceeded to dust off the uniform once more, this time without getting stabbed while doing it. I was stabbed right after I finished dusting of the Hitler Youth uniform.
I was honestly getting used to the sounds organs made when forcibly ejected from the body at this point. My continued deaths were interrupted by the discovery of a Jack's corpse. Apparently the remains had endured the house falling down on them. I guess they were remains of remains now?
"U-uncle Jack," she said looking at the surely familiar modified corpse. I mean, she made the modifications, she probably knew. "It's a trick isn't it," she said, interrupting me fiddling around with the horribly necrotizing portion of my torso. I popped up right behind her and patted her head, even as the spiders automatically spiked me in the back again.
"Jack doesn't lose, he can't lose," she said, poking one particularly large chunk of burnt flesh. "It has to be a trick."
I materialized right behind Bonesaw once more, giving her surprisingly blood-free head another pat while getting impaled again. Probably because all my blood vanished whenever I reappeared.
"Zis is no trick, Riley," I gurgled out, because oh boy does a over-sized syringe full of tinker bullshit do wonders for the throat. "I killed zee Sieberian too. She vas a projection created by a crazy man who followed you around in a van."
"Nope," Riley said, pressing another combination on her remote.
Nothing seemed to change. I continued to be subjected to the spiders cycling through a few dozen poisons. The pain was strange, like I registered it in its entirety, but when it reached my mind it became unimportant, just another sensation not dissimilar to sight or touch. Otherwise I'd probably have gone crazy from all the treatments I was getting.
After a minute in awkward silence while Riley continued to puzzle over Jack's dead bits. She pulled out a few vials and mixed a few together, snipping a few samples of the splattered flesh.
I was somewhat surprised when she stopped, turning towards one of the walls that still stood. After a few seconds, I realized why she had stopped. She literally couldn't mix the vials anymore without risks.
From behind the pockmarked wall, a tall misshapen man stepped out. His eyes were unfocused, and scars as well as stitches covered his entire bulky frame. In his wide dark hands he clasped a bloody hatchet. It was a simple brutal thing, wood brown and red from old and new blood I supposed.
It was Hatchet Face, another person I probably should have been worried about. When I effortlessly materialized in front of Riley again, I laughed.
"Surprised?" I mockingly asked. If there was anything that proved my power was not funky shard based, here was an example. Probably should worry about that whole not-concerned at all about that permanent death and repeated death thing though.
There were some other horribly disfigured thralls but I didn't remember them well enough. The crawling woman was Murder something? Murder Butcher? Nah, Butcher was that one amalgamate in Boston.
"So have you considered heroing? Or, uh murdering less scrupulous individuals because zey deserve it? Or maybe just not unleashing a plague on zee world fur killing your parent figures slash jailers?" I asked, cut off, literally.
Cut off by Hatchet Face's hatchet.
Maybe he was axeing a question.