Chapter 31. Fear

  They’d stopped at a bar in the slums for the first round, but now the group of clamoring Stonefists made their way towards the heart of the city, where Jeremiah had stayed in those early weeks. The subs gleefully ordered Jeremiah to do things as they walked that ranged from silly to criminal, though nothing more serious than stealing small items from the shops they passed. Nobody dared protest with the dozens of Stonefists cavorting about, and guards turned a blind eye to a problem that was far more trouble than it was worth.

  Yet, as they walked, Jeremiah found himself growing more and more anxious. He kept glancing over his shoulder, expecting to see Cutter’s maniacal grin, Cutter’s flashing blade. The Stonefists would watch while Cutter tore into Jeremiah, laugh and wonder why he was too weak to defend himself.

  “What’s got into you?” asked Sweet Melissa after Jeremiah performed his best attempt at a tap dance without cracking a smile.

  Jeremiah was surprised to see genuine concern on her face. It was nearly enough to make him spill right there and then. “Nothing,” he said instead.

  “Hold!” The group stopped at Sweet Melissa’s command. With a flick of her wrist, she lassoed his neck and pulled him to his knees. It was a very aggressive way to get him on her eye level. “Jay, I order you to tell me what’s wrong.”

  Jeremiah’s breath caught in his chest, he didn’t know he was going to say it until he said it, “There was…this guy. Cutter. I might owe him money? He nearly killed me. He might…nevermind. It’s not the your problem.”

  “Jay, you’re a Stonefist now. Your problems are our problems,” said Dronkal. “Where can we find him?”

  “Yeah. I know, like, four different Cutters,” said Shugga.

  “By Prim’s Laundry,” said Jeremiah, “but really, you don’t need to do anything.” It was fear talking. Part of Jeremiah wanted, on an instinctual level, to stay as far from Cutter as possible.

  “Don’t be dumb,” said Dronkal. “No slip of mine going to be scared of some shitless bully too pathetic to join a real gang.”

  “War party, roll up!” shouted Shugga. The subs scrambled to attention, whooping and hollering.

  “What’s going on?” came Monty’s voice. He'd been lagging behind the hoard of Stonefists, settling bar debts and keeping a watchful eye over his gang.

  “We’re gonna rough up some topsider who gave Jay a bad time,” said Sweet Melissa. “You coming, boss?”

  The subs quieted to hear his response. “Well…” said Monty.

  “Oh he's thinking about it! He's thinking about it!”

  “C'mon boss when's the last time you ran the road with us?”

  The subs excitement grew and grew as Monty weighed the invitation.

  “Oh, what the heck.”

  The subs cheered. “C’mon, Jay,” said Sweet Melissa, “Let's go do violence.”

  The initiation-turned-war party followed Cell Four through the streets. Even the dusk-time insufferable crowds of workers hurrying home afforded the group a respectable berth.

  As they turned towards Prim’s, Sweet Melissa spoke. “Everyone know the plan?”

  “What? No, what plan?” asked Jeremiah. His heart was racing, and only partially from excitement. Even surrounded by Stonefists, a deep terror within his mind begged him to flee.

  “For the last time, you have to tell us out loud if you think of a plan,” said Shugga.

  “Oh! Right, sorry. The plan isn’t special—we run in and beat the hell out of everyone.”

  “Works for me,” said Shugga.

  “Boss, we going lethal?” Dronkal asked.

  Monty considered, then shook his head. “I’ve never heard of them, and they’re topsiders—they’ll piss themselves as soon as look at us. Don’t kill them unless you have to.”

  Sweet Melissa kicked a stone in frustration.

  “Form up!” Dronkal shouted so the subbies could hear. “If they’ve got a guard in that alley, I want him overrun with no hesitation. Go hard, don’t stop til they know what’s up!”

  Real and improvised weapons began to appear in the subs’ hands. They jostled each other, riling each other up. Some seemed excited, some nervous, but none seemed as nervous as Jeremiah.

  “You’re leading the charge,” Dronkal said to Jeremiah.

  “I-I am? Why?” asked Jeremiah. The instinctive fear suddenly spiked. He felt sick.

  “Because this is your fight. I want you to earn this. Need a weapon?”

  “Got a wrist wrap?” Jeremiah managed to choke out. He didn’t trust himself not to fumble a knife.

  “Fuck yeah, I do,” said Dronkal. He wrapped Jeremiah’s hands in two strips of brown scrap leather, cracked and worn. They made Jeremiah’s hands throb, but his fists felt like two heavy rocks at the end of his arms. They made him feel stronger.

  They approached the final corner before Cutter’s lot. Jeremiah’s heart was pounding wildly, adrenaline supercharging the admixture of terror, bloodthirst, and exhilaration swirling through him.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Jeremiah shouted, and broke into a sprint before his legs could decide otherwise.

  Blood pumped in his ears. The lot came into view, and Jeremiah saw his first targets near the entrance. One sat, fiddling with a carving knife, the other leaned against a wall. They didn’t notice Jeremiah until it was too late.

  “Rail him,” said Allison.

  Jeremiah swung recklessly at the leaning man. The blow connected right at the tip of the chin, exactly as Allison had taught him. The man’s head wrenched sideways, but Jeremiah was already onto the next, and kicked the seated guard in the head before he could stand. Both were out.

  Jeremiah charged into the lot. Cutter’s gang were in their repose, drunk and lounging, like they had been frozen in time until this moment.

  Noises to his left and right told Jeremiah the Stonefists had arrived, charging into combat all around him, but Jeremiah could see only Cutter, rising to his feet from where he had been crouching, throwing dice.

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  Cutter, the demon from Jeremiah’s nightmares. Cutter, the face of Elminia’s cruelty.

  Jeremiah collided with him at a dead sprint, driving the Cutter into the ground. His fists swung, not with trained precision but with primal fury. He felt the impact in his hands as though from a hundred yards away, something out of a dream.

  More. Harder. It would never be enough.

  Cutter was barely taller than Jeremiah, but he was stronger and had a lifetime more brutal experience. Even as Jeremiah’s blows rained down on him, he planted his feet and shoved, flipping their positions and pinning Jeremiah.

  Only then did Cutter seem to notice the chaos in the lot. Dozens of fights surrounded them, Stonefists crashing into Cutter’s hapless men with gleeful violence.

  Cutter’s eyes darted back and forth like a cornered animal, searching for an escape route. Finding none, they fell upon Jeremiah. He let out a guttural scream.

  Cutter began raining blows down on Jeremiah, dropping elbow strikes as well as punches. Jeremiah tried to swing back, but his position robbed his attacks of any strength. Jeremiah suffered blow after blow that rattled his senses, until Cutter was suddenly yanked off of him.

  Jeremiah struggled to his feet, and was grabbed from behind and steadied by Shugga. He tried to shove the half-orc off, but Shugga’s arms enclosed Jeremiah in a bear hug, restraining him.

  “Let me go! ” screamed Jeremiah, he wanted to keep fighting. Even if Cutter was going to win, he wanted to hurt him just one more time.

  “Nah, slip,” said Shugga, “man just drew the short straw.”

  Monty stood in front of Cutter, relaxed and waiting patiently. He was unarmed, but for those massive hands. Cutter growled, raising his fists, and Monty nodded toward Cutter’s short sword, reminding him.

  Cutter pulled the sword and lunged towards Monty. Monty caught the blade with one mighty forearm, letting it slice flesh without even flinching. In the same motion, he reached towards Cutter and slapped him with an open hand so hard it sounded like a whip crack. Cutter spun on toes like a dancer and flopped down in the dirt.

  Monty knelt alongside Cutter, who struggled to crawl away. He gripped Cutter’s face with one hand, flipped him onto his back, and held him there, covering his mouth and nose.

  Cutter stiffened. He clawed at Monty’s hand, beat frantically at it. His eyes bulged, and all of his limbs flailed in a desperate attempt to hurt Monty. Then his struggle weakened, and a sickening quiver ran through his body.

  Monty let go.

  Cutter gasped for breath, coughing and sputtering. Monty returned the hand. Cutter fight was weaker and shorter this time. He spasmed, quivered, and Monty let go.

  Jeremiah watched in awe as Monty dispassionately brought Cutter near death again and again, letting him glimpse oblivion for tiny moments, before pulling him back. Cutter’s strength grew less and less with each journey, Monty always giving him back enough to fight just a little, just enough so it didn’t matter.

  “S-stop,” Cutter gasped.

  “You’re asking me?” Monty looked to his left and right, as though looking for someone else.

  “You b-bitch, stop,” Cutter said.

  The hand returned.

  “Not sure why you’re asking me,” said Monty. The hand released.

  “I’m done,” said Cutter. “Stop.”

  The hand returned.

  “Problem is, I dont think he's done.” Monty pointed to Jeremiah. “See, he's the one calling the shots now. So you let him know you want to stop.”

  Monty was handing Jeremiah power. He'd kill Cutter, if Jeremiah told him too. There was no question. Would that be so bad? Would the world really suffer Cutter's loss?

  The hand released. Cutter gasped again. “Stop.” Still directed at Monty.

  The hand returned. “Why isn't there a building here? This is good real estate,” said Monty, taking in the open lot.

  The hand released.

  “Fu-”

  The hand returned.

  Shugga let Jeremiah go. He approached Monty and cutter.

  The hand released.

  “Stop,” Cutter wheezed at Jeremiah. Bruises were forming over his face where Monty gripped him.

  “No,” said Jeremiah.

  The hand returned.

  “You didn't stop. Why should I?” asked Jeremiah.

  The hand released.

  “I'll…I'll kill you.” Cutter glared at Jeremiah.

  “That so?” said Jeremiah. He nodded at Monty

  The hand returned. His hand returned.

  His hand released.

  “Doesn’t give me much incentive to keep you alive, really,” said Jeremiah.

  Cutter coughed and a spurt of blood came up. “Please stop, you piece of shit.”

  His hand returned.

  “Is that all?” Jeremiah was furious. He wanted whimpering, he wanted terror, he wanted Cutter to beg and plead and see the error of his ways. Instead he was getting idiotic defiance in the face of imminent, and entirely avoidable, death.

  Jeremiah wondered why he didn’t feel pity. Perhaps a better man would have. All he saw was a problem to be solved.

  “What do I do with you, Cutter?” He picked up Cutter’s shortsword, lying forgotten in the dirt.

  His hand released.

  “Weak…” Foamy blood ran down Cutter’s cheek.

  Jeremiah laughed. “Weak? Yeah, maybe. I suppose a weak man would just stick you deep in the neck and be done with this problem.”

  “You're a problem. You're a problem I can solve right now,” Jeremiah thought. “I wouldn't have to be afraid of you anymore. It’d be so easy. I’d open you right up and watch you deflate. I’d sit here until every last drop of life left you and I’d savor every moment.” Jeremiah pressed the tip of the knife against Cutter’s neck, right at the pulse. “It would feel so good. All the world would thank me, if they only knew you.”

  Jeremiah used two hands to grip the handle of the dagger. Just one little push, and he could let nature take its course. Or why bother? Why not let Monty do it? Jeremiah could keep his own hands clean and not lose a moment of sleep over it.

  “Don't do it,” said the voice of everyone he had ever known and cared about, said his own voice, a young boy who wanted to be special when he was too naive to know what that meant.

  “But I'm a strong man,” said Jeremiah. “And a strong man knows when to forgive.” He patted Cutter on the cheek and stood. “Sweet Melissa?”

  Sweet Mellissa appeared at Jeremiah's side, practically vibrating with excitement, “Yeah, Jay?”

  “I’m not going to tell you how to do your job,” said Jeremiah, “but I don't want him to ever be able to make a fist again.”

  Melissa squealed in delight, prancing from foot to foot. “I knew you were such a good idea!”

  “B-but you said…” gagged, looking back and forth between Jeremiah and Melissa.

  “Nobody's perfect, Cutter.”