279 To Kill With The Heart
279 To Kill With The Heart
[POV: Old Nick]
I struck Cordelia without hesitation.
My fist snapped forward, aimed directly at her, intent on ending her before she could become a greater complication. The strike never landed.
A foot intercepted my arm mid-motion with a kick, redirecting my attack just enough to disrupt its trajectory. I turned my gaze to the one who had intervened.
Gameboy.
The name surfaced from Nick’s memories. He was no boy. He was a man, his body intact but his face… absent. It wasn’t covered or obscured. It simply wasn’t there, as if reality itself had failed to render it.
He moved again, and this time I met him properly.
Our exchange was immediate and technical, each motion deliberate, each counter built on an understanding of structure and timing. He struck first with a low feint, attempting to draw my guard downward before shifting into a high-angle elbow aimed at my neck. I deflected with minimal movement, rotating my shoulder to absorb the impact while stepping into his space to limit his range.
He adapted instantly.
His knee drove upward, targeting my center of mass, but I pivoted, redirecting the force past me while my hand snapped toward his exposed flank. He twisted mid-motion, his body bending in a way that ignored conventional limits, allowing my strike to pass through empty space where he had been a fraction of a second prior.
We continued like that, an escalating sequence of feints, counters, and redirections. Every strike carried intent to kill or disable, every defense calculated to preserve momentum. He wasn’t just reacting to me.
He was learning.
That was when the realization settled in.
It wasn’t my intangibility he had adapted to.
It was this vessel’s.
Normally, just a graze would’ve killed him or even a glance, but that wasn’t happening.
Nick’s intangibility had patterns, limitations, signatures unique to him. Gameboy had studied those, adjusted to them, and built his responses accordingly.
Which meant he knew this version of me far better than he should have.
Tony and Cordelia vanished behind him, a portal tearing open with abrupt precision. An SRC agent stepped through, her presence fleeting but effective.
Gloryhole.
The name surfaced unbidden as they disappeared into the distortion.
Another figure emerged from that same portal, moving with purpose as it closed behind him.
Patchwork.
I recognized him immediately from the memories I was steadily absorbing. His body was an amalgamation of mismatched parts, each segment carrying a different origin, a different power stitched together into a single entity.
He joined the fight without hesitation.
Two against one.
A disadvantage, though not an insurmountable one.
I pressed forward, forcing Gameboy back with a series of rapid strikes, each one aimed at exploiting the smallest opening. I tried to force my intangibility on him, but he managed to resist it with his reality warping. For a moment, I gained ground, pushing him into a defensive posture that threatened to collapse under sustained pressure.
Patchwork intervened.
His movements were less refined but no less dangerous, his unpredictability compensating for any lack of technical precision. One of his eyes flared with unnatural light, and before I could fully process the shift, my left arm was gone.
There was no pain, only absence.
The limb had been removed cleanly, erased in a way that bypassed conventional damage entirely.
Before I could adjust, another force entered the fray.
Fuhrer.
He appeared without warning, his form smaller than I remembered, steam venting from his body as if he were operating under some technique. Despite the reduction in size, the force behind his strike remained immense.
His fist connected.
The impact sent me flying, my body tearing through layers of debris, smashing into broken machinery, splintered tree constructs, and the jagged surface of Mars itself. I came to a stop only after carving a shallow trench through the terrain.
They were already waiting.
Gameboy and Patchwork emerged from another portal ahead of me, positioning themselves to intercept before I could regain full control of the situation. Up close, I noticed the eye Patchwork had used was gone, the socket empty, confirming it had been a single-use ability.
I adjusted my orientation mid-motion, letting the momentum settle just enough before triggering my warp state.
Space collapsed around me as I accelerated.
I struck both of them simultaneously, the force of the impact sufficient to obliterate most opponents outright. Their forms shattered on contact, but instead of blood or fragments of flesh, they broke apart into stone.
Decoys.
Animakinesis combined with reality warping, creating disposable constructs to absorb damage and misdirect.
Before I could reposition, something massive surged from below.
An enormous tree hand erupted from the ground, closing around me with crushing force. At the same time, Fuhrer’s nullification field locked into place, sealing the space and suppressing my abilities within its radius.
They were fighting like cornered animals, every movement sharp with desperation, every decision made with the understanding that there was no retreat left to take. It might have been admirable under different circumstances.
I understood it too well.
I was just as desperate.
This was not about survival anymore. It was about the dream, the one fragile construct that still justified everything I had done, everything I had become. Without it, there was nothing left to anchor me.
I let the wraiths loose.
They peeled away from me in writhing strands of darkness, black silhouettes screaming without sound as they surged outward. These were the remnants that clung to me after possession, fragments of souls that refused to dissolve cleanly into the Source. They rushed forward in a chaotic swarm, colliding with the massive tree hand that held me in place.
The construct shattered under the onslaught.
Splintered wood and corrupted biomass tore apart as the wraiths ripped through it, their fury unrestrained. For a moment, they turned on me, driven by instinct and vengeance, their forms lunging toward the body I occupied.
It was futile.
The instant they made contact with this vessel, they unraveled, their existence collapsing into nothing as they were forcibly redirected. Sent away. Returned to whatever lay beyond.
A waste.
Every one of them was a clean source of energy, something that could have been refined, repurposed, made useful. Watching them vanish like that was… inefficient.
I didn’t dwell on it.
Huston remained.
This time, I would ensure there was nothing left of him to return.
I phased downward, slipping through the Martian ground as if it were no more than mist. My perception expanded beneath the surface, tracing the spread of his biomass, isolating the core that sustained him. It pulsed faintly, hidden deep within layers of constructed matter.
“Found you.”
I entered warp within the earth itself, moving through solid terrain with precise intent. When I reached the heart, I didn’t hesitate. I dismantled it from within, breaking it apart at a level that left no structure to rebuild from, no pattern to regenerate.
Then I went further.
I didn’t stop at the physical.
I tore into the soul anchored within it, unraveling it piece by piece until there was nothing left to anchor his existence.
When I rose back to the surface, the damage to the vessel became apparent. Nick’s suit hung in tatters, shredded by the strain of everything I had forced it through. His shoes were barely intact, fragments clinging where there should have been structure.
Behind me, a cape formed.
Not fabric, not truly.
It was a dark veil, shifting and unstable, a manifestation of the resentment left behind by the wraiths that had been erased. It flowed unnaturally, as if caught between realities, never fully settling into one.
I inhaled slowly, steadying the motion of this borrowed body.
Then I lashed downward.
I drove myself into the Martian surface with overwhelming force, the impact sending a violent shockwave outward. The ground fractured, tectonic lines splitting under the pressure as an artificial earthquake rippled across the landscape.
For a moment, I considered escalating it further.
Destroying the entire planet.
It was possible, but inefficient. Planetary destruction required time, precision, and sustained effort. Doing it under pressure introduced variables I preferred to avoid.
Perhaps just this landmass would suffice.
Before I could commit, a portal tore open in front of me.
It wasn’t random.
It redirected my trajectory mid-motion, pulling me into a different vector as if it had anticipated my intent.
On the other side stood Abner.
He was barely holding himself upright, his armor fractured, one eye drenched in blood, one arm hanging uselessly at his side. Even so, there was no hesitation in him as he faced me.
“Use my eye well!” he shouted, his voice breaking but unwavering.
Then the attack resumed.
Patchwork and Gameboy emerged through the same distortion, pressing the advantage immediately. The battlefield shifted into close-quarters chaos, each movement layered with overlapping abilities and counters.
Gameboy moved first, attempting to reestablish control through spatial manipulation through reality warping, but I intercepted him mid-transition. My strike came low and fast, bypassing his defensive adjustment. My hand phased through his arm at the molecular level, then solidified.
I pulled.
The limb separated cleanly.
Before the severed piece could collapse into instability, I integrated it. My own structure shifted, intangibility bridging the gap as I attached the arm to myself, forcing compatibility through sheer control. Reality warped around the graft, resisting for a fraction of a second before stabilizing under my influence.
Patchwork retaliated immediately, his mismatched limbs moving in an erratic but effective pattern. He struck with a combination of brute force and borrowed abilities, attempting to overwhelm through unpredictability. I met him directly, deflecting, countering, dismantling each motion with precise intent.
Gameboy tried to intervene again.
He didn’t get the chance.
I closed the distance before he could complete his next transition, my movement compressing space itself. The follow-through was absolute. His body collapsed under the force of warping fist, his existence disrupted beyond recovery this time and removing his upper body so grostequely.
Then something pierced me.
The sensation was abrupt, intrusive.
A tarot card had embedded itself into my chest.
Then another.
And another.
They struck in rapid succession, each one carrying a force that bypassed conventional defenses, embedding deep into this vessel. I looked down as more followed, driven by a telekinetic force that felt… familiar.
Nick.
He was pushing back.
Half of the body resisted me now, his control reasserting itself with violent intent. Muscles locked, energy pathways disrupted, the vessel splitting between two wills fighting for dominance.
“Kill me!” he shouted, his voice overlapping mine, distorted by the conflict. “Don’t hesitate! Kill me now!”
…
..
.
[POV: Griffin]
Understanding came with clarity that felt almost artificial in its precision.
My role was simple.
Kill Nick.
Or.
Save him.
I had prepared for this moment.
I memorized Amelia Caldwell, every recorded detail, every behavioral pattern, every emotional nuance. I created multiple temporary brains, accelerating the process beyond normal comprehension, ensuring there would be no error in recall.
When the time came, I acted.
I pushed myself free from the biomass I had constructed, forcing my way out from within the eye of the massive griffin form I had occupied. The separation was violent, strands of matter tearing as I reformed into something closer to human.
Gloryhole was waiting.
“It’s time to fulfill the promise,” she said, her tone even, as if this had always been inevitable. “Dr. Time and Guesswork sent me. The rest is up to you. Make the right choice.”
I considered that briefly.
I didn’t believe they worked together, not fully. Their methods didn’t align cleanly enough for that. Still, it was difficult to imagine Dr. Time being unaware of Guesswork’s movements.
The thought passed.
It wasn’t relevant to the task.
I was aware of my state. Naked, newly formed, exposed to the cold reality of Mars. It didn’t matter. It had no bearing on what needed to be done.
A portal opened.
I stepped through.
The battlefield greeted me immediately, chaotic and unstable. Tony and Cordelia were concealed nearby, hidden beneath layers of metal debris and reality distortion. Their presence was faint but detectable.
I moved to them.
Patchwork’s body lay nearby, headless, the remains of him still twitching with residual energy. Beyond that, I could see it.
Nick.
Or what was left of him.
I reached out and grabbed Tony’s wrist, grounding him before he could react.
“Please,” I said, my voice steady despite everything unfolding around us. “Help me save Nick.”
“But I’m already saved.”
The voice came from him, steady and grounded, carrying an eerie familiarity that made something in me hesitate. His posture, the way his shoulders settled, the cadence of his speech, all of it mirrored the Nick I knew.
But it wasn’t him.
I reminded myself of that, forcing the distinction to remain clear.
“So many have died, and for what?” he continued, his tone flattening into something distant. “I’ve grown numb to the sensation, but this was how it was supposed to go. Eventually, I would succeed in completing the Source, and once I did, I would cleanse the world of the first sin, the forbidden fruit called time travel.”
There was no hesitation in his words, no doubt.
Only certainty.
I turned away from him slightly, focusing instead on the two beside me. “Tony, you possess implanted memories within you, things that were suppressed for the hurt they have inflicted upon you. I need you to remember them. Cordelia, a little bit of help, here? I know you can rouse his memories. Please, I need you to do this.”
She reacted immediately, resistance evident in both her expression and her voice. “For what? This is not the time—”
I cut her off before she could finish. “You want revenge on him, don’t you? The Entity.”
Her silence confirmed enough.
“Just trust my words as you would trust the words of your father. I know you care for this boy, but this is also for his own good. As long as the Entity lives, we will only continue to suffer. It’s time we rid the many worlds of the threat he represents.”
They weren’t my words.
They were given to me, carefully constructed, placed into my hands by Guesswork with the expectation that I would use them exactly like this. Even so, I understood why they worked.
Cordelia hesitated.
Then she moved.
Her hand came up, resting briefly against Tony’s head. There was a shift, subtle but immediate, as something buried deep within him was forced to the surface. His eyes changed, the distortion in them settling into something clearer, something… younger.
He looked at me, confusion and fear overtaking whatever composure he had before. “Mom? Where are we? What are we doing here?”
The question lingered.
I didn’t have an answer for it.
Not a real one.
I let the uncertainty pass through me without acknowledgment and focused instead on what I needed to do. My power responded as I refined it, narrowing its scope with a precision I rarely bothered to maintain.
Griffin.
Amelia Morose.
I let both identities fall away.
For a brief moment, I became someone else.
Amelia Caldwell.
Tony’s reality warping surged in response, amplifying the illusion, turning it into something that blurred the line between fabrication and truth. The world around us bent, reshaping itself into something softer, something familiar.
Detroit.
Old Earth.
A place that shouldn’t exist here, recreated with unsettling accuracy.
I stepped forward, letting the role settle into me completely, every detail aligned with what I had memorized.
“Nick,” I said, my voice carrying something I had studied but never truly felt. “I missed you. I missed you so much.”