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Chapter 34 – A Broken Promise
🕑 Added 2025-03-11 09:49:24 +0000 UTCJack's clone stood casually, arms folded, head tilted as he stared down his opponents. "Come on now," the clone said, grinning. "I know you didn't come all this way alone. Bring out your plus one. No need to be shy."
A figure stepped out from the shadows—a woman, hesitant, timid.
Jack's golden eyes shimmered, peering into her soul. Her sins were there, but faint—acts done out of desperation, survival, not malice. Not a bad person. Just... trapped.
Bullseye clicked his tongue. "Come on, let her take over."
The woman flinched, fear flickering across her face. But then—Her expression... changed.
The timidity drained from her eyes, her lips curled into a slow, sultry smile. Her posture shifted, confidence oozing from her very presence.
Jack's golden gaze burned brighter. Her soul changed. Not split. Not suppressed. But a completely different entity.
The sin within her was different from before. Stronger. More indulgent. A separate existence. A lustful and violent one.
Typhoid Mary.
She licked her lips, eyes dancing with delight. "Ohhh, handsome boy, I like you."
Jack's clone narrowed his eyes. Well, this is new. Before he could react further, another presence arrived.
Jack. The real one.
The clone turned to him, bowing slightly before stepping back. Jack spoke to him, voice calm but sharp. "Go patrol the area. Make sure everyone gets inside their homes."
The clone nodded and vanished into the streets, carrying out his order. Now it was just Jack, Bullseye, and Typhoid Mary.
Jack exhaled, rubbing his temple. "I shared my vision with the clone. So… what the fuck is she?"
Typhoid cackled, stepping forward with deliberate sway. "Oh, darling, I can be whoever you want me to be."
Jack ignored her, his golden gaze still locked onto her shifting soul. More people. One body.
He sighed. "Great. You got DLC personalities."
Typhoid giggled, biting her lip. "And you can clone yourself. Now I really want you in my bedroom."
Jack snorted. "Yeah, no thanks. Crazy bitches aren't my type." His eyes flashed with playful malice. "I need a mommy type. Someone who can take care of me. And my clones."
Typhoid pouted dramatically. "Shame. I could be your worst nightmare."
Jack shrugged. "I already have student loans in my past life. Try harder."
Bullseye stepped forward, irritation flickering in his eyes. Enough talking. He threw a knife. A perfect, calculated shot—aimed straight for Jack's forehead.
Jack didn't flinch.
Typhoid snapped her fingers. A telekinetic wave surged forward, hurling the blade off course.
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You two aren't exactly besties, huh?"
Typhoid smirked. "He's not my type, either."
Jack grinned, twirling his staff in his hand. "Well, now I'm interested."
Bullseye clicked his tongue. Jack wasn't taking this seriously. And that pissed him off.
Typhoid wasn't much better—her amusement barely concealed the frustration flickering in her heated gaze.
Wilson Fisk sent them both under the assumption that a combination of long-range precision and telekinetic brutality would be enough to neutralize Jack Hou.
But reality? It was one big, fat, glorious mistake. Because Jack wasn't just dodging them—he was playing with them. Not panicking. Not calculating. Just... having fun. And that made him terrifying.
Bullseye lunged first. A sleight of hand, a flick of his wrist—knives, needles, coins, shattered glass—anything he touched became a bullet, fired at speeds that no normal human could dodge.
Jack tilted his head, golden eyes flashing as he effortlessly leaned out of the way, every movement precise, fluid, teasing.
A razor-thin playing card sliced through the air.
Jack bent backward, watching it pass an inch above his nose.
A bullet from a concealed pistol screamed toward his skull.
Jack simply turned his head, letting it pass harmlessly past his cheek.
"Too slow, Bullseye!" Jack sang, grinning like a maniac. "Try throwing your dignity next, maybe it'll actually land."
Bullseye snarled, pulling out a handful of nails and flinging them like a shotgun blast. But then—
WHAM.
Typhoid Mary seized control of the battlefield. A telekinetic wave erupted, twisting the very air.
Jack felt his footing shift as the invisible force yanked him sideways.
Bullseye's nails curved mid-air, redirected by Mary's power, forming a spiraling deathtrap. Jack clicked his tongue. "Ohhh, working together now? Adorable."
He let the force pull him, rotating midair like a gymnast, then—
FWAP.
His bare foot landed neatly atop the thrown nails, balancing effortlessly as if he were stepping on pebbles instead of flying death.
Jack grinned down at them, hands in his sleeves like a lazy scholar. "Gotta say, you two really know how to make a guy feel special."
Typhoid grinned, voice sultry. "Oh, sugar, you haven't even seen what I can really do."
She gestured, and the entire battlefield shifted. The street cracked as gravity itself twisted.
Jack felt the pull, felt the way she was trying to collapse the area around him—crushing his movements, forcing him into a kill box.
Bullseye took the opportunity. He threw a single needle. Just one. But it carried the force of a bullet.
Jack's golden eyes gleamed. "Now that's a throw."
His staff snapped into his hand, spinning once before—
TINK.
The needle struck the length of the staff and—
FWOOOSH.
Jack redirected it mid-air, sending it flying straight back at Bullseye.
Bullseye barely dodged, the needle slicing his cheek open.
Typhoid Mary scowled. "Tch. You're ruining the mood, sweetheart."
Jack let out a breathy laugh. "Ohhh, was this a date? Damn, I should've brought flowers. My bad."
Then—He twirled his staff, took a single step forward, and—The world exploded into motion.
Jack didn't dodge anymore. He danced. His movements were too fluid, too chaotic, too unpredictable to follow.
He weaved through attacks like he belonged to a different plane of existence entirely.
The air shimmers around him as he moves, his presence turning into a blur of impossible footwork, a flowing shadow, an untouchable specter.
Bullseye threw. Mary crushed. But nothing landed.
Jack laughed, spinning his staff with a playful rhythm. And then—he started singing.
"When marimba rhythms start to play~"
He sidestepped a psychic blast, tilting his head.
"Dance with me, make me sway~"
Bullseye gritted his teeth, launching a hailstorm of deadly projectiles. Jack twisted, flipping mid-air like a leaf in the wind, his feet barely touching the ground.
"Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore~"
Mary snarled, gripping the air, trying to force him still. Jack spun, twisting through the shifting gravity as if he were part of the storm itself.
"Hold me close, sway me more~"
BOOM.
The ground shattered. Dust filled the air. For a moment, silence. Bullseye and Typhoid Mary stood still, panting, scanning the chaos they'd created.
Then—From the dust, a low chuckle. "kekekekeke"
Jack emerged, perfectly unharmed. His staff rested on his shoulders, his clothes somehow completely untouched, golden eyes shimmering with excitement.
He rolled his neck, sighing dramatically. "I'm not gonna lie, that was kinda fun."
His smirk widened, wicked and teasing. "But you two? Man… you two suck at working together."
Typhoid Mary gritted her teeth.
Bullseye scowled.
Jack casually leaned on his staff. "Wanna go again? Or should I start actually fighting back?"
Bullseye was breathing hard.
Jack tilted his head, golden eyes glimmering like a predator who had already won.
This fight? Over.
And Bullseye knew it. His body ached from the repeated dodges, his mind scrambled from the sheer unpredictability of Jack's movements.
But before he could even think about an escape plan—A blur of motion. Jack was already on him.
Bullseye tried to react. His hands moved.
Jack caught them. Both pinkies, pinched between Jack's fingers. "No more of this."
RIP.
Bullseye screamed. The pain shot through his nerves like a white-hot wire being shoved into his skull.
Jack leaped back, twirling the two detached pinky fingers like they were little trinkets. Then he grinned. "Sorry, bud. No more pinky promises for you."
Bullseye clutched his hands, eyes wide with agony. Blood dripped freely, splattering the ground. But before he could even process the pain—A laugh.
Low, twisted, sultry. A third voice. "Oh my… that was… deliciously brutal."
Bullseye snapped his head up. His stomach twisted. No. No, no, no. Not. Her. Not Bloody Mary.
Typhoid Mary was gone. The trembling, unstable mess of a woman had been wiped clean. What stood in her place… Was something far worse. Metal trembled.
The surrounding street signs, shattered car doors, even the manhole cover at their feet— All lifted into the air, forming jagged armor around her body.
Her eyes burned with sadistic glee. Her grin stretched, full of sharp teeth. "That… was manly of you, Monkey Boy."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Well, I am a handsome bastard."
Bloody Mary laughed.
Bullseye staggered backward, still clutching his bleeding hands. He knew this look. This wasn't just another of Mary's personalities. This was the worst of them. Sadistic. Brutal. Violently misandrist.
She wasn't here to fight. She was here to maim.
Jack looked at Bullseye, then at Bloody Mary, then back at Bullseye. "You should probably get going."
Bullseye gritted his teeth. "Fuck this. I'm out."
Bloody Mary licked her lips. "Oh, honey… leaving so soon?"
Bullseye flinched. She had that look. That "I will rip you apart just because I'm bored" look.
Jack watched the interaction with mild amusement, spinning the two severed pinkies in his hand like a magician twirling coins.
Then he plucked one of Bullseye's fallen knives from the ground. Stabbed both fingers onto the blade. And held it up like a fucked-up shish kebab. "Behold."
He turned it slowly, like a piece of fine art. "I call this masterpiece… A Broken Promise."
Then he giggled like a little girl.
Bloody Mary smirked, stepping forward, her metal armor shifting with a creak.
Jack grinned right back. "You're a real piece of work, huh?"
"Oh, Monkey Boy… I'm just getting started." Then her eyes shimmered. A pulse of unseen energy.
Jack felt it. Like a whisper brushing against his mind. Soft. Sly. Slithering. It wasn't Xavier-level. Not even close. Hell, it wasn't even enough to scratch the surface of his thoughts.
Jack sighed. Then he blinked. Literally. One slow blink. The connection snapped.
Bloody Mary stumbled, disoriented, her grip tightening. Her eyes flickered with confusion. "W-What…?"
Jack rolled his shoulders. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Mind games? That's cute."
Then he moved. A blur. Before Bloody Mary could react, Jack was behind her. His hand gripped her throat. And then—
SLAM.
Her back hit a metal street pole, bending it on impact. She gasped, choking, her armored fingers clawing at his wrist.
But Jack's grip didn't loosen. His eyes gleamed golden, his energy curling around her like unseen chains.
For the first time, Bloody Mary felt it. Fear.
Jack leaned in close, whispering against her ear. "I'm a feminist, so I get a pass on killing crazy bitches like you."
Bloody Mary shuddered. That killing intent— It wasn't human. It was raw. Unfiltered. The kind of thing that didn't come from a man playing at war. It came from a man who had already bathed in blood. Who saw murder not as a crime—But as a solution.
For the first time in her fragmented life, Bloody Mary felt powerless. Then—A flicker. A shimmer in her gaze. Her entire body shuddered.
Jack felt the shift immediately.
The murderous aura faded. The sadistic smirk disappeared. Her breathing changed. Gone was the monster.
And in its place—A trembling, terrified woman. Mary. The real one.
Jack paused. His grip loosened.
Mary shook, her body trembling like a child lost in a nightmare. Her eyes darted wildly. Confused. Scared.
Jack exhaled slowly. This wasn't the same person.
Her soul—His Golden Gaze saw it. The one trapped underneath the weight of her own body. A prisoner.
Jack clicked his tongue. He could've killed Bloody Mary. Hell, he could've wiped out Typhoid Mary, too. But if he did… What would happen to her? Jack released his grip.
Mary stumbled backward, gasping. Then, without a word—She turned and ran. Jack watched her disappear into the alley.
His eyes darkened. "Tch… Ain't my style to save broken things." But that girl… She's stuck.
Jack exhaled through his nose. He needed to figure out a way to separate her. She wasn't the monster. But her body belonged to one.
Jack rolled his shoulders, sighing. "Guess I got another fuckin' errand to run."
The city never sleeps. And neither does a man with unfinished business.
