Thirteen years ago.

Jabal ran at the enemy line, his abilities letting him outdistance his compatriots. While he typically stayed in formation, he had a special mission today.

In the past several weeks, the invaders–no, no longer invaders, as they had fallen back to the original border between the two countries.

In the past several weeks, the enemy had used casks of charcoal dust to devastating effect. The enemy would lob these grenades from behind their lines with delayed fuses. The resulting explosions disrupted organized assaults and caused massive casualties.

Mustankar, stationed behind enemy lines with his [Invisibility] ability, alerted them that the enemy expected a resupply of these weapons today.

As the more mobile and resilient member of the team, Command had tasked Jabal with preventing the delivery behind enemy lines. “By any means necessary,” the higher-ups had written in the orders. It meant that their team of “hand-picked volunteers” should destroy the charcoal dust shipment or die trying.

But Lieutenant Murshad, with his tone and gestures while conveying the orders to him, implied he should regard it as ‘by any reasonable means’. He and other men had, by now, gotten used to how the lieutenant re-interpreted their orders.

He wondered if the higher-ups knew what the lieutenant did, but turned a blind eye to it. The lieutenant had accomplished these ‘by any means necessary’ missions that regularly got handed to them with minimal losses.

Steps away from impaling himself against enemy pikes arrayed against him, he teleported far behind them. He landed on a lookout hill, right next to a group of enemy soldiers sneaking a bite to eat. As expected, they yelled in surprise and scrambled away from the hulking form that had appeared among them.

He paid them no mind, continuing his run while scanning the field below. Spotting the train of supply wagons, he blinked to the one carrying barrels. Unfortunately, his target wagon had turned after he teleported, so he did not land next to it as he had planned.

Instead, his left leg and hip, overlapping with the wagon and its wheel, exploded.

There was no other word for it.

He had seen a charcoal dust barrel burst when lit, the ignited dust forcing the wood staves of the barrel out. No, the wagon was so much worse; it did not push against him.

It was more like reality itself said his body did not belong there. That those parts had to move. NOW.

He blacked out instantly.

 

He woke to the worst pain he ever experienced. And he had endured many, as his regeneration power allowed him many once-in-a-lifetime experiences.

He had jerked back into consciousness because the wagon driver, indulging in his morbid curiosity, had poked at him with a sword. An unexpected gift, since his own sword had fallen on the ground when he blacked out. And out of reach, since the pain threatened to take him into unconsciousness when he moved to grab it.

So he stilled and relaxed his body, grabbing the protruding blade in his shoulder with his bare hand. It tore into his palm, causing him to wince. As if this minor cut still mattered, considering that parts of his leg were just gone.

Luckily, the soldier decided he no longer wanted anything to do with him or the blade. The soldier released his grip instead of pulling the sword back. Flipping the captured sword in the air, he caught the hilt in his palm, wincing again. And in a smooth motion, he swung down at the soldier, who had stood there frozen in shock like a training dummy.

Like he had many times before, he angled it around the helmet and into the unprotected neck. The fresh-faced recruit, who had probably never faced a real opponent, gurgled as blood sprayed from his neck.

He tried to activate [Blink] to escape, but blacked out again instead.

 

Movement jolted him, causing him to regain consciousness again. But much slower this time, as blood loss had taken its toll. In a way, this benefited him. The soldiers surrounding him thought he was dead. Jerking awake would have ruined the illusion.

His slow survey of the situation yielded a grim conclusion. His lower left leg was stuck in a wagon wheel while his upper body hung at an angle halfway between upright and crumpled on the ground like his right leg was. His sword and the one he wrested from the earlier soldier also rested on the ground. Beyond his reach until he freed himself.

The grim conclusion gave way to a sickening realization, though. His left leg wasn’t caught in the spokes of the wagon wheel like he had assumed. No, it was much worse. From his hip down, he had fused with the wagon.

The movement that jolted him had been the soldiers trying to get moving again. It hadn’t worked since part of the spokes and rim of the wheel had splintered in the fusion with his flesh and bones.

The soldiers arguing around him confirmed his suspicions that these were new recruits traveling to the front line as part of the resupply. Veterans would have already had a case of ‘not my problem’ and gone back to the wagons they were driving before.

This suspicion prevented him from spiraling into despair, for he had a good Card to use against new recruits.

The rookies stopped arguing as one of them, officer candidate wannabe probably, went to find something.

Jabal tried to calm himself and empty his mind. Despite familiarity with the exercise, it proved difficult to achieve. The pain down his left side was unyielding and persistent.

Yet he kept trying. He could not afford to lose consciousness again. Even dumb recruits such as these would not believe he had “died” if he fainted again.

Officer Wannabe returned, having found a bardiche in a weapon supply wagon. A simple handaxe would have sufficed. But the greenhorn probably picked the biggest two-handed axe blade available. The curved blade itself was almost two feet long, with the shaft attached lengthwise at the middle. So the shaft overlapped the bottom of the blade by one foot and extended beyond for another four feet.

Officer Wannabe could not have brought a more perfect weapon for him in this situation. 

He closed his eyes to sell the illusion of his “dead” state. His [Target] ability gave him enough of a picture. By connecting Officer Wannabe’s shape’s two hands, he could imagine the bardiche’s location.

His would-be executioner indulged in several seconds of grandstanding and posing. Based on the appreciative noises emanating from the two soldiers near him, Jabal named them Asskisser Left and Asskisser Right.

He waited while his target spread his legs to lower his center of gravity. He waited more as his target did some practice swings. He waited yet still as the bardiche came down for real.

When the swing brought the bardiche within arm’s distance, he snapped his eyes open and angled his head up. Officer Wannabe sought his eyes out, by instinct. When their eyes locked, he activated [Fear] while shooting his left hand out. Wannabe froze and went slightly limp.

As he had suspected, beneath the bravado, Officer Wannabe was afraid. The fear that fresh meat had for their first day on a battlefield would be intense. A perfect victim for the [Fear] Card. The shock from a corpse moving probably wasn’t even necessary. But with a giant axe seeking to cut him in two, Jabal wanted to leave nothing to chance.

He grabbed the bardiche from Wannabe’s loose grips and rotated his wrist along with the downward swing of the axe-head. As the butt of the bardiche came up, he added a small burst of [Strength] and [Haste], accelerating it up and into Wannabe’s face. The force dislodged the regal nose and displaced it into the man’s brain.

With assistance from his right hand, he turned the bardiche into a horizontal sped-up swing and took Asskisser Left’s head clean off. Asskisser Right, in his haste to back away, had fallen on his butt and out of reach, even from the bardiche.

But to his right, another soldier had materialized a blade of pure light. It shone brighter than the sun overhead. Jabal could not predict if his stone armor would protect against that. But it hardly mattered.

Lightblade likely had dreams of glory since he was a child, for he charged with the blade held high overhead like a child would. Jabal thrust his longer weapon at the man-child, the upper point of the axe piercing through the lower portion of the sternum and into the heart.

Asskisser Right seemed like a smarter guy though, as he stayed out of reach of the bardiche. The soldier raised his right arm. Having seen that motion many times before, Jabal let go of the bardiche with his own right hand and hid his head behind his arm.

He doubted a regular recruit would have powerful enough abilities to overcome his [Stone Skin]. But experience had taught him never to gamble with Cards.

Shiny metallic projectiles shot out from around Asskisser Right’s palm as Jabal activated his armor. While sharp, the rhombic pieces of magical metal did not hit with enough force to pierce. He lowered his arm and relied on a single layer of [Stone Skin], forming little holes at his pupils for sight.

With his right hand free, he caught a projectile and sent it back to its maker with strength.

“Ow,” Asskisser Right actually said as his own missile hit his midriff. It didn’t seem like a lethal wound. But it helped the guy become a veteran as he had a sudden case of ‘not my problem’ and ran off. Probably to head towards camp and find a healer that will give him a pass for enforced rest.

Smart guy. He’ll probably have a long career as a professional soldier.

The other four guys escorting this delivery looked at him with a shared expression. A combination of ‘please don’t call on me to humiliate, sergent’ common to many new bloods and ‘oh fuck, what did I run into’ common to him.

He ignored them. They huddled in the distance, probably debating whether driving their own wagons into camp counted as doing their jobs or abandoning an enemy. 

While a hit with [Fear] would send them running, he didn’t want them to inform others that the shipment had encountered an obstacle. Of course, a dose of [Fear] combined with him beckoning them over would allow the bardiche to reach them.

However, if he was honest with himself, he possessed many abilities that would let him kill those four soldiers at range. Not his own skills, but the ones the army had allocated him.

He had always tried to avoid those, not liking how they changed him.

And he had completely stopped since a couple of years ago when unexpected enemy resistance had forced him into a fight for his life. He had only fuzzy memories of that time, when he had lost himself to despair and rage. But he had some glimpses of the monstrous murderer he became.

Enough for him to vow to himself that he would never lose control again. Never turn into the monster that the army wanted him to be. To never call upon these Cards that were not him, no matter how tempting.

It would have made this mission so much easier, though. He could have blinked overhead, sent a [Fireball] down under his feet, and blinked his way back to the team. Many other creative applications would have worked too. He had many ways to destroy.

Moreso, if he ignored how many people would die.

But he had had enough of killing, even though it was the only thing he was good at. He was not like Mad Majunda, who took particular pleasure in the process of pain and death. Who, bored between battles, would “accidentally” kill some camp followers while “practicing” with his Cards.

Early on, Lieutenant Murshad had tried to introduce young Jabal to some non-lethal diversions. But he never enjoyed the whoring, drinking, and gambling that the other soldiers indulged in. As a kid, his exposure to the lasting effects of those vices in others had inured him against those hobbies.

So Lieutenant Murshad had started to invite him to his tent at night. And away from eavesdropping ears, the lieutenant would read to him from a well-worn copy of A Gentleman’s Guide to Warfare. The banned book outlined various situations one may find oneself in war. More importantly, it discussed the most humane resolution, among the many possibilities.

Jabal found it a useful guide to live by, even if it seemed too idealistic at times. Perhaps Lieutenant Murshad felt the same way, as it did not stop him from assigning Jabal some very inhumane Cards.

So he had planned to teleport next to the wagon, throw the driver off, head to somewhere isolated, and then set the wagon on fire. With a torch.

Killing nobody and preventing the charcoal dust barrels from killing anyone. A perfectly humane solution for all involved.

Except people had a way of dying around him. Of forcing him to kill them. He looked at the bodies at his feet. At least he tried to be humane.

One hit, one death. Each lethal blow was delivered at such a speed that some probably died before realizing that they had been hit. Been hurt.

But did it matter? They were dead, just the same.

But it mattered to him. It mattered that the only army Card he used was [Fear], and only briefly. It meant something, that he still held the second metallic projectile he had palmed. That he did not throw it into the neck of the retreating Asskisser Right.

He should have, since Asskisser Right was probably getting reinforcements right now. But that was just another situation for the future-him to deal with. Without taking lives, if possible. In any case, he didn’t want to stick around to find out.

He considered his predicament.

Now that he understood the nature of his injury, he suspected the previous attempt at [Blink] failed because there was no clear delineation between him vs not him. With regret, he realized that Officer Wannabe’s idea of cleaving him off with one big stroke of an axe remained the best solution.

Perhaps he could entice one of the remaining soldiers into the role? But he couldn't think of a succinct way to communicate his desires. They would probably get the wrong idea if he shouted at them, alternating between pointing to the long axe and himself.

Well, at least he delayed the charcoal dust barrels, even though this probably exceeded the ‘reasonable means’ category.

This gallows humor was an attempt by his mind to distract him from the incessant pain and growing despair. But he could think of no other alternative. He had grown cocky with the continued success of his missions and had taken unnecessary risks to avoid using his full arsenal.

And now, he had to pay the price.

A group of riders were approaching in the distance. The glints of reflected sunlight from their armors and shields relayed their status as a well-equipped squad.

A real officer showed up. From the angry scowl, he guessed that someone higher up the chain had issued a ‘this is your problem’ type of order.

He had a squad of real veterans with him, too. Jabal could tell from the fanatical hatred they displayed toward him. A hatred borne from lost squad mates.

The officer directed half the squad to the wagon. Those soldiers off-loaded barrels, concentrating on where the bardiche couldn’t reach. The other half peppered him with ranged abilities and weapons.

The worst kind of officer–one with brains. 

The projectiles they shot at him would have killed any other individual. But his fully leveled, rare-grade [Stone Skin] proved too tough to crack.

One soldier walked closer while engulfing his hands in bright red flames. The officer quickly barked at Burning Hands and they all breathed a sigh of relief. Jabal included. While he had not tested the limits of [Regeneration] and [Stone Skin], he surmised that getting blown to bits had a good chance of surpassing the limits.

Another soldier, with a paunch, gave him a brief scare, too. Fat Belly shot a stream of yellow goo at him. Where it lingered, the substance ate away at the stone armor. Worse, in the unarmored areas between his flesh and the wood of the wagon, immense stabs of pain traveled through.

Fortunately, it was a fairly new Card, as Fat Belly ran out of activations after some time. He didn’t know exactly how long, since he had fainted while encased upright in stone.

 

Neither did he know exactly how long he endured these assaults. But it felt like a good while. Long enough that in his [Target] vision now, he stood encircled at a distance by a wide band of red figures.

The assault stopped, while the band of bodies remained unmoving. He understood what they wanted. Deactivating [Stone Skin], he looked upon them. Hundreds of them. While he recognized no one, they all knew him by reputation now.

They regarded him, letting him glance around. To witness all those gathered at his execution. They mostly stayed silent except for random outbursts of cursing, directed at him.

Incidental damage had decimated the wagon beside him. It freed him to move about. But he couldn’t imagine it, as standing upright already took all his focus. And the pain. For how familiar it felt now, the agony had not diminished one bit.

Worse, his hips transitioned to wooden planks, and he stood on an unholy amalgamation of flesh and wagon wheel. He would not attempt to teleport in this state.

But that wasn’t what drew his focus, as he noticed an even bigger potential source of pain.

Arrayed around him were several barrels of charcoal dust. Officer Brains must have caught his sigh of relief when he prevented Burning Hands from accidentally blowing all of them up. He realized he did recognize someone, as Burning Hands raised up his hands, engulfing them in flames.

Jabal’s thoughts fled as those twin flickering of death triggered an instinctive urge to survive. The only thing he ever wanted, but which the world constantly tried to take from him.

He came to again, this time from suppressed consciousness instead of unconsciousness. And this time surrounded at a distance by familiar faces and colors of the army. Equally silent, with mutterings of curses at what they saw. And perhaps giving him an even greater berth than the enemy had.

For between them and him was a chaotic jumble of body parts in a sea of red. Torn, melted, exploded, burned, frozen, and disappeared. More ways to die than the eye could discern.

He wondered how much was because of him and how much was due to the army fighting their way to him. But the joyful glee of challenge in Mad Majunda’s eye confirmed his suspicions. As did the sorrow on Lieutenant Murshad’s face.

Jabal was not a gentleman. He never was.

That day, they called him the Undying Deliverer of Death. For that was all he was ever good for.