No Dread Hunter there had ever seen one of their own die. Wounded? Sure. Beaten back? Rarely. But death? That had always seemed… impossible. They carried themselves with the certainty of immortality, a quiet pride in being untouchable. It was what made them feared. What made them hunters.
Jackie saw the uncertainty bloom in their eyes.
"Why do you think you believe you're incapable of death?" she continued. "Because none of you are alive. Maybe once—but I'd wager none of you remember anything before a certain point. I know it's forbidden to talk about your pasts, your real lives—whatever scraps might be left. You've been trained to ignore it. Conditioned to forget. Ever wonder why that is?"
Silence. Not one of them moved.
"Because you don't have lives anymore," she said, her voice rising like a war drum. "You're not people. You're vessels. Empty shells. And I know exactly what you are."
She drew her blade slowly, its edge pulsing with soul-light.
"I've been exorcizing your kind for decades now," Jackie said, stepping forward. "So, straight from the mouth of your own creator—'You're all just a bunch of zombies.'"
The word hit like a thunderclap.
A heavy silence followed, thick with disbelief and dawning dread. Deep down, every Dread Hunter had entertained quiet theories—passing thoughts they'd buried deep. The bullets they'd survived. The limbs they'd lost and reattached. The lack of hunger, aging, memory. But seeing their comrades' remains wither in the street, and hearing Jackie's truth spoken aloud—it shattered something in them.
They weren't immortal.
They weren't alive.
They were hollow shells, carrying only the fractured instincts of the people they once were.
One snapped.
Letting out a scream of denial, a Dread Hunter rushed her, brandishing a bent metal pipe. Jackie didn't flinch. In one seamless motion, she stepped into his attack, her soul-weaving sword slicing through his body in a flash of light.
He collapsed, turning to ash.
He was made into an example.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Then, instinct kicked in.
Jackie's head tilted just slightly—seconds before a bullet screamed past where her temple had been. Her soul-forged helmet shimmered into place as her sword retracted, not from fear, but as a precaution guided by honed reflexes.
"So predictable," she muttered.
Her revolver snapped upward. A single round pierced through the air, shattering the rooftop sniper's scope and driving straight into the Dread Hunter's eye. He dropped before he could scream.
Theo stood frozen, eyes locked on her.
Neil turned toward him, voice shaking. "Theo… what is she? How is she doing that? How is she killing us?"
"I don't know, but something ain't right," Theo growled. "Take her down, boys!"
All at once, the Dread Hunters surged forward, firing with no regard for each other. If a fellow Hunter stood in their line of fire, they simply shot through them. A bullet slowed by one body might not kill the next, but it could still break bone or punch through muscle—and none of them cared. They embraced their false immortality, certain nothing could truly end them.
Jackie braced herself, encasing her entire body in a fine, shimmering layer of soul-armor. It was enough to block blades and absorb blunt trauma, but bullets? Not unless they were slowed first.
She didn't have time to think. She had to move.
With explosive speed, she charged into their ranks, weaving through the chaos. Her silhouette vanished into a swarm of bodies. Bullets found her occasionally, but not clean—each impact stung like non-lethal rounds rather than pierced like live fire.
They can't have brought enough ammo to fire this recklessly, she thought, darting low and rolling. They've got to be running dry. As long as I don't take a direct hit… I can bleed them dry.
She struck fast, a blur of steel and fire. One Hunter dropped. Then another. She moved like a ghost, slipping through narrow openings and striking at their heads with precision—each shot and slash aimed to kill.
At full sprint, she brought down another Dread Hunter and didn't hesitate to grab his collapsing body. Even as it began to deteriorate in her arms, she used it for cover, bracing behind it as she gunned down the long-range shooters on the rooftops.
As Jackie tore through the swarm of Dread Hunters, Theo's voice rang out above the chaos—calm, almost amused, despite the gunfire and screams.
"So, what's your grievance with us, lady?" he called. "What's got you fighting so hard against us?"
Jackie's blade sank into a Hunter's neck before she turned to glare his way.
"In order to obtain this power," she said, breath ragged, "I swore to use it to rid the world of monsters like you—if ever you crossed my path."
"Monsters?" Theo laughed, sidestepping a dying grunt. "From where I'm standing, you're the monster. A woman with inhuman abilities, killing without pause. You're more machine than human. If you ask me… we're a hell of a lot more human than you are."
Jackie's voice didn't rise—if anything, it sank, cold and cutting.
"Says the ones without souls."
She stepped forward as another Hunter fell behind her, a lifeless thud against the stone.
"My abilities let me do many things, but chief among them is the ability to sense the living—truly living. You and all your Dread Hunter brothers are as empty as bottomless buckets."
The tide was turning. The endless tide of enemies had thinned to a handful of grunts, plus Theo and Neil. Jackie stood, braced, her body trembling from exhaustion. She was covered in grime and blood, shoulders rising and falling with every breath like they were carrying the weight of the world.
Her muscles screamed for rest. Her soul burned with the effort. But she held her ground.