CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO - JACK AND RILEY

Inside the battlefield’s smoky haze, Bonesaw perched atop a crumbling wall, her ever-present grin faltering as she watched the events unfold. For the first time in what felt like forever, unease squirmed in her chest, and her fingers, usually so steady, twitched incessantly against her scalpel. She turned her gaze to Jack, who stood a short distance away, his back straight, his smile sharp as ever.

But his confidence—his infuriating, all-consuming confidence—felt misplaced now. The Siberian was gone. Not retreating, not regrouping, but gone, and the man who had projected her lay on the ground, trembling, powerless under Superman’s gaze.

Bonesaw bit her lip, the metallic taste of blood tangy against her tongue. Invincible. Unstoppable. That was what the Siberian was supposed to be. Yet Superman had unraveled her like she was nothing more than a parlor trick.

“Jack,” she called, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

Jack didn’t turn to look at her. His gaze was locked on Superman, shoulders squared, standing over the crumpled form of William Manton. 

“Yes, Bonesaw?” Jack’s voice was smooth, calm.

She hesitated. That didn’t happen often. “Do you think…” She trailed off, frowning, and started again. “Do you think you can kill him?”

Jack chuckled, the sound grating in her ears. “Of course, my dear,” he replied, as though her question were absurd. “Everyone has a weakness. Superman is no different. We just need to find it.”

But Bonesaw wasn’t convinced. Her eyes flicked back to Superman. He wasn’t like the others; he didn’t flinch, didn’t falter, didn’t break. The others had always fallen apart before the Nine’s might, but Superman wasn’t falling. He wasn’t even bending.

“We’ll need a plan,” she muttered, her mind racing. She hated how uncertain her voice sounded, how small. She was one of the most dangerous of the Nine, their powerful Tinker, but for once, her ingenuity felt inadequate.

Jack finally turned to her, his smile widening as if he sensed her doubt. “Bonesaw,” he said, his tone soothing, almost condescending. “Trust in me. Trust in us. The Nine have faced those lauded as gods before, haven’t we?”

Her gaze shifted to Manton’s crumpled form again, and a sick knot twisted in her stomach. But gods didn’t kill the Siberian. Superman did.

And for the first time, Riley Grace Davis wondered if even Jack Slash might meet his match.

. . . . .

Jack Slash’s smile was as sharp and practiced as ever, the kind that could cut through steel, charm allies, and terrify enemies. To any outsider, he exuded confidence, standing tall despite the ruin of his plans and the Siberian’s defeat. But inside, he was spiraling.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

His mind whispered subtle reassurances, tickling the edges of his instincts, trying to guide him. It always did, nudging him toward survival, whispering when to strike, when to retreat. It made him feel untouchable.

But for once, even that comforting voice of intuition didn’t feel like enough.

Jack’s gaze darted to Bonesaw, then to the shattered remnants of William Manton. He had felt so untouchable moments ago. Yet here he was, powerless against Superman—a man who, by all accounts, shouldn’t exist in this world. Not a parahuman. Not bound by the same rules. That was part of the problem, he felt. Jack was confident against parahumans. But against him? Against this alien?

His mind raced as he weighed his options. What do I have left?

He could feel the eyes of his remaining Nine boring into him, silently asking the same question. Jack was the spine of their collective madness, the director of their art of destruction. If he showed even a flicker of doubt, it might all unravel. 

And so, outwardly, Jack stayed poised, flashing a toothy grin at Superman as though this were nothing more than another game. 

His shard, ever-attuned to his survival, was working in overdrive now. Though Jack didn’t realize it, it was already utilizing the shard network, nudging them to favor him. Had Superman been a parahuman, his own powers might have faltered subtly, misfiring just enough to give Jack the advantage. But, as stated earlier, Superman wasn’t bound by the same rules. Jack’s shard couldn’t undermine something it didn’t fully comprehend.

Instead, it worked in subtler ways. Bonesaw, for instance, hesitated to suggest retreat. Deep down, her shard nudged her to stay close to Jack. For all her brilliance, Riley couldn’t quite bring herself to believe that Jack might lose. Not yet.

Even as Jack’s instincts went into overdrive, even as he began to piece together an escape route, the doubt in his chest grew heavier. He’d always trusted his instincts, the unerring sense that no matter how grim things seemed, he’d find a way to win. It wasn’t until now—when he stood face-to-face with something literally outworldly—that he realized just how much he’d relied on that silent guidance.

Superman took a step closer. Jack’s body tensed, but his smile stayed frozen in place. Why isn’t he striking? His instincts whispered at him to move, to react, to do something. But against this man of steel, even Jack felt small.

“Jack,” Bonesaw murmured again, her voice quieter this time, almost pleading. “What do we do?”

“Everything’s fine, dear,” he said. “It’s just another challenge.”

But as Superman’s shadow fell over him, Jack knew the truth. For the first time in decades, the man who thought himself invincible was afraid. And for once, even his mind couldn’t fully convince him otherwise.