It’s at dinner the next night that everything goes wrong.

  At worst, I’d expected that my outing in the middle of the night might’ve gotten me into some trouble - with Multishot or with whatever I found - but I certainly hadn’t expected someone to turn up dead the very next day.

  “Ellis Greenwood,” Mrs. McGuire tells us over the table, suddenly acting much more serious than I’d ever seen her, “That’s who they think it is. Nobody’s heard from her since last night. The corpse is far from whole - hard to tell who it is by sight alone - but it’s gotta be her. We’d have heard if there were anyone else who’d gone missin’.”

  “Is it possible an animal got to her?” I ask. Multishot shakes his head sadly as McGuire huffs derisively.

  “Ellis was meaner than me, kid, no animal could’ve taken her down. It’s the damn devil, I tell you,” McGuire explains, picking at her food.

  “Unlikey,” Multishot replies, then turns to me, “Don’t worry about it, miss, I’ll look into things and handle the situation myself.”

  “I wasn’t worried,” I shoot back, “I could probably help if you let me.”

  Multishot smiles sadly at me, “Even if it meant you’d have to help me kill a person?”

  I freeze up. The possibility hadn’t even crossed my mind; I’ve just gotten so sick of sitting around here all day. Finding the devil felt so normal, like my old hero work, that I guess I just forgot for a moment what kind of people I’m dealing with here.

  “Get over yourself, girl," McGuire sneers, “It’s this aversion to killin’ that’s kept us hungry and them deer safe and sound. You need to grow up an’ figure out that sometimes somethin’ needs to die for a problem to be solved!”

  “People don’t deserve to die!” I counter.

  “What’s any of this gotta do with people?” McGuire asks, “You ask me, folk who could kill someone's grandmother in cold blood ain’t really ‘people.’”

  “Now, now, Keeper, the young miss is allowed to have a different opinion,” Multishot interjects, “If she doesn’t want to kill, she doesn’t have to. It’s up to her to make that decision.”

  “Do you believe that?” I ask, “Truly?”

  Multishot looks surprised at the question. He ponders it for a moment, then looks me dead in the eyes and begins to speak.

  “Do you know what your father did during the Upheaval?” He asks.

  “Bits and pieces,” I reply, “I know people still call him a hero.”

  “He certainly was,” Multishot agrees, “I never met the man myself - not really - but many men who fought against the Prophet are alive today because of him, myself included.

  “Much like you, he was a pacifist. In fact, he never once hurt another man, even on the battlefield. He simply refused to fight. But he still believed in our cause, believed the Prophet was the one in the wrong, and so he did all he could to help us.

  “You probably know better than I what his ability was, but he was fast. Even now, I’ve never met a SAU faster. So he’d go running around the battlefield, carrying wounded rebels to safety, delivering messages across hellish warscapes, even pushing men out of the path of bullets. And all the while he never once raised a hand against another soul."

  I listen, entranced, as he continues, completely incapable of even looking away. I’d never heard any of this before, people were always so vague when they talked about Dad. I’d known he was respected, especially among SAUs of the Upheaval, but… he was just like me. Or rather, it seems I’m a lot like him.

  “This caused a lot of friction with many of the people he worked with. Jonathan, believe it or not, was one of them. But your father refused to change his role, and he was quite good at what he did. I’ll never forget the day he saved me.

  “I was just starting out as a rebel. I barely knew the limits of my ability, and so all I really did was shoot my rifle like every other soldier, and pray it was enough. Me and five other men were hunkered down in a small ditch on top of a hill, recklessly mowing down the Prophet’s men. We didn’t notice the shell until it was too late, but he did.

  “All I felt was movement, and then it was over. The shell turned our meager fort into dust, but not one of us was still in it. He didn’t even slow down, was already off to save someone else. He never slowed down, not until the fighting stopped. Not until his work was done.

  “Now, you’re not quite the same. I‘m sure you can already tell, you’ve caused your own share of harm, while he never did. But it was always for the greater good, and never too far. I don’t pretend to know who the man was, but I think you could be like that too, if you wanted."

  Multishot finishes, taking a long sip from the glass of water in front of him. I can hear the chirping of crickets outside as a quiet settles upon the room.

  “Thank you,” I tell him, “for telling me that. I’d never known that before.”

  “Truly a travesty, miss,” Multishot replies, “Everyone should have the chance to know their roots.”

  I can’t help but agree.

  —

  It has to be the devil in the woods - this murderer - there’s no other possibility, even McGuire thought so. This must be some kind of twisted revenge for the other night, taken out on someone weaker since he can’t strike back directly. I told him I’d come back for him if he caused any more trouble, and I meant it, so now it’s time to hold to that promise.

  So, as night falls and the others head off to bed, I sneak my way out the window for the second night in a row. Landing quietly on the soft earth outside the house, I sneak my way off into the woods in search of the devil.

  Unfortunately, I really have no idea where to start. The farm might work again, or it might not - there’s a good chance the devil is avoiding me after last night and so would be unlikely to return to the same place we’d encountered each other before. Still, it’s not like I have any other leads, so I head in that direction anyway.

  After searching around for the farm a little bit more, I end up stumbling upon a familiar sight that points me to my next direction: the blood trail I’d used to find the farm in the first place. It’s absurdly difficult to track in the dark, but, once again, Superhuman comes in handy here. I’m able to trace the dried blood trail even two days later, and I start following it away from the farm.

  Eventually, the trail leads me to a small cave - really more of a hole in the ground than anything, but the opening looks large enough for a human to squeeze through and the good ol’ ‘throw a rock’ test reveals that it goes pretty far down. I decide to stake it out for a little while, since I definitely don’t want to end up trapped down there, and sit down behind a nearby tree to wait.

  Except, I don’t have to wait all that long. After a few moments, a human head peeks out of the opening, perhaps investigating the source of the rock I threw down. I recognize it immediately as the untransformed devil, and, after waiting for him to come out just a little further, I pop out from behind the tree.

  “Hello,” I say with a casual simplicity. The devil visibly jumps in surprise, quickly trying to crawl back into the cave, but I rush over and grab his arm, pulling him partway back out into the open.

  “We need to chat,” I say. The devil pales.

  “H-hey, you said you’d spare me, alright? D-don’t go changin’ your mind on me,” The man stammers, looking up at me fearfully.

  “That deal was nullified the moment a woman turned up dead.”

  The devil in disguise flinches.

  “T-that was a woman?…” he murmurs under his breath.

  “Now you expect me to believe you can’t even tell what you killed?” I say angrily, shaking him a little, “How callous can you be?!”

  “I-it wasn’t me, I swear!” He shouts, trying to pry open my fingers with his other hand.

  “Who else could it have been?” I counter, “It’s not like there are two monsters in these woods!”

  “But there are!”

  I stop. The devil looks at me with fear in his eyes.

  “I saw something last night, after we parted. A man with mouths all over his body. I saw him dragging something, I thought it was a deer. He scared me so I ran. You have to believe me!” The devil explains, beginning to weep. I release him in shock, suddenly realizing just how tightly I’d been holding on. He pulls back and starts to cradle his wrist.

  “Mouths?” I ask quietly. The devil nods.

  “Big ones, running down his arms and legs and all over. Big enough to fit a person inside, if there were space enough behind them. Mouths with huge, sharp teeth and long, red tongues. Dangerous, each and every one,” The devil tells me, his voice still quivering.

  A level head slowly returning to me, I begin to realize how much sense that makes. McGuire said the body was mostly missing, which could be explained by it having been eaten. The implication that these ‘mouths’ lead nowhere is meaningless, abilities work in weird ways like that. And I don’t honestly think the devil is behind this - I really don’t know what came over me - he’s too much of a coward to pull a stunt like this.

  I look back down at the scared, frail-looking man.

  “Where?”

  —

  “That is a lot of blood,” I comment, staring down at the dark, red stain on the forest floor. I have to hand it to the devil, I’m still not sure if he was telling the truth about his part in this, but he sure as hell led me to where a murder happened. There’s no mistaking that much.

  The spot he’s led me to isn’t too far from a small gravel road, and clearly marked off with police tape. Luckily, no such police are around - given that I happen to be working outside the law currently, I’d rather not have to deal with them. The devil is in his transformed state: the grotesque goat-wyvern I recognize from last night. He said he didn’t feel comfortable getting this close in human form, so I waited just a little for him to change. Needless to say, it was just as unpleasant to witness as the opposite process.

  “I told you,” he snarkily replies, clearly feeling more comfortable now that he’s pointed me towards a different target. It’s been about an hour - he wasn't as good at navigating in the dark as I’d expected. Even I’m better at memorizing where I’ve been; I’d have gotten lost dozens of times by now otherwise.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I dismiss his attitude, “The question is, where’s the culprit?”

  “Don’t look at me,” The unsettling goat-headed thing replies, “That’s your problem.”

  I glare at him, but he scuttles out of the way as if spooked. I open my mouth to speak but, before I can, he does as well.

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  “Car,” he warns in a hushed tone. As we both quiet, I can make out what he heard: the sound of an approaching vehicle crunching its way down the road. We’re within sight, or we would be during the day. With any luck, the dark will hide us and it’ll pass by.

  Instead, much to my unfortunate lack of surprise, an old, red pickup truck pulls to a stop just up the road from where we are. Out the driver’s side door climbs a young man with wild eyes, wearing jeans and a white tank-top and carrying an unmarked bottle. He smells of pot and alcohol, but doesn’t appear to be drunk other than the strange, unhinged look he wears. Cautiously, I began to slink behind a tree, but - mortifyingly - I break a branch beneath my feet, causing his head to swivel in my direction.

  “Why, hello there, little lady!” he calls out to me, smiling, “Aren’t you a wee bit lost?”

  “I know where I am, thank you,” I reply firmly, hoping naively that he leaves.

  He glances down at the blood in the earth, then his smile falters.

  “Interested in local crime, are we? Or just bad luck?”

  “How about we agree it’s just bad luck and you get going?” I say, hands tightening into fists at my side. I slowly push my left leg back and sink into a more combat-ready stance.

  “Yeah…real bad luck,” he says, then finally drags his gaze away from the floor.

  Then he flips the bottle in his hand so that he holds it like a club and slams it against the truck’s side with a crash, instantly transforming it into a bladed weapon. I raise my fists and adopt a fighting stance, expecting to have to deal with this drunken stranger before I can move on.

  Then something massive slinks up from behind him, crawling on to the top of his truck and screeching a horrible, semihuman screech at the man. The Jersey Devil, finally putting his terror-making skills to good use.

  The man whips around, gaze settling on the horrible form before him. Then, to my utter surprise, he relaxes.

  “Oh, Jesus," he exclaims, “you fucking scared me, ya mangy critter.”

  The devil screams at him again. He does not move.

  “…You…you aren’t just a drunk, are you?” I ask the man quietly.

  “No,” he replies, turning back to me, “Not quite.”

  And that’s when a second mouth opens up along his arm.

  A dozen different things happen in the next instant. With one arm, the man rakes his bottle through the air where the devil just was, as it scurries off in fear. The other arm’s mouth lashes its tongue at me like a whip, scoring the earth as I dodge on instinct. I rush towards the SAU, but as I approach the tongue comes back again and this time it wraps around my leg, ripping me off balance. Just before I crash to the floor, massive, clawed limbs grab me and pull me off towards the trees, freeing me from the tongue’s hold.

  I flail wildly, freeing myself from the devil’s grip.

  “We have to run!” he screams.

  “You go! I have to fight!” I shout back.

  What's left of the glass bottle comes flying at my head, but I bat it aside with contemptuous ease: no ordinary glass will hurt me. It’s that extra mouth I’m worried about.

  Easily a foot long, running down the entire length of the forearm, the thing is lined with pointed, clawlike teeth. It’s black on the inside, like an endless void, and the red, forked tongue lashing out is practically just a whip, with seemingly limitless reach. Even as I observe, it lashes out at me again, an audible crack resounding as it hits nothing but air.

  “You!” I shout accusatorily, “Are you the one who killed Ellis Greenwood?”

  “That hag?” he sneers, “Yeah, I killed the bitch. She kept acting like she was special and I was dirt, just ‘cause I’m not from round here, but, in the end, she tasted just the same as everyone else.” he smiles wildly, “I wonder how you will taste; I’ve never had superhuman flesh before.”

  I blanch, and nearly gag at the thought. Some part of me still hoped he wouldn’t really go so far as to eat people; yes, he has those ability mouths, but abilities work in weird ways. Up until now, it could've been no different than Hecatoncheries crushing someone with his hands: violent and deplorable, but still not cannibalism.

  The man charges me, swinging his arm to whip the tongue once more in my direction as he approaches. I duck under it, then charge as well. My hope is that, in close range, I’ll have the advantage.

  But, just as I ready my fist to punch him right in the face, he raises his other arm to block me, and yet another mouth opens up along its length.

  At the last second, I twist my strike to avoid sending my hand right into the gaping maw, but the movement is awkward, and he grabs my hand before I can pull back. The tongue on his arm whips out and lashes my face, causing me to instinctively rip my arm from his grip as pain flares and hot blood begins to run down my cheek.

  I leap backwards, putting distance between the two of us, but the other tongue lashes my arm as I try to block it, wrapping around and holding on tightly.

  I try to struggle, to pull back against the tongue, but it holds fast, slowly pulling me in. I dig my heels into the earth, entering a desperate tug-of-war with the foul thing I face, but I can only reach a standstill. The man smiles, whipping the second tongue at me to score yet another hit - this time along my other arm.

  And that gives me an idea.

  I grab the tongue wrapped around my arm with my opposite hand and, digging my heels into the ground as much as I can, pull on it. The man is pulled along with it by his arm, practically flying towards me with eyes suddenly going wide. Just before he hits me, I use my ‘free’ hand to grab the wrist of the arm I just pulled in, locking the two arms together with his tongue wrapped around my forearm and my hand around his wrist.

  Teeth sink into the flesh of my arm as he struggles, trying to break free. His other hand reaches for my face, a mouth opening up on the palm of his hand, but I slap it aside. He pulls back, teeth tearing my arm. I wince, biting back a scream. Then, his wrist still in my grasp, I twist his arm to the side.

  It snaps.

  He howls, and finally releases his grip on my arm entirely, letting the tongue on that side whip my face, forcing me back. We stagger apart, him cradling his arm.

  “You bitch!” he cries, “You broke my arm!”

  “You ate a woman alive,” I counter, “and I have had a really shitty month. Forgive me if I don’t intend on letting you push me around, villain.”

  “Fuck you!” This time a mouth opens in the middle of his chest, ripping open his shirt as his torso becomes a gaping void filled with teeth. A tongue as thick as his arm lashes out at me. It wraps around the arm I use to block, and starts pulling me in. I grab it with my other hand.

  Superhuman rages, and I tear the tongue in two.

  Instead of screaming, he gags, like I’d torn apart his actual tongue and he was choking on the blood. He doubles over, hand over his mouth, the mouth in his chest closing up and vanishing. I slowly begin closing the distance between us, confidently striding forward. He removes his hand and glares daggers at me, but seems unable to stand upright. I dimly register him attempting to lash at me with the tongue on his unbroken arm before I leap the remaining distance and slam my elbow into his chin.

  He crumples to the floor, and just like that, it’s over. For the first time since I knew they were real, I defeated a damned all on my own. I’d expected it to feel like a victory, but it just feels as hollow as the times before. Maybe because of what I have to do next.

  “Devil,” I call out into the woods, “are you still here?”

  The massive shape slinks through the trees back to where I stand.

  “Hey, us, don’t get the wrong idea. I was just… getting help. Yeah, that’s what I was doing,” his discordant voice says in excuse.

  “Do you know where I’ve been staying?” I ask, ignoring what he just said.

  “…yeah. The house with that dangerous man,” he slinks closer, “Why?”

  “Carry this guy there. I’ll follow,” I order him. The massive thing complies instantly, grasping the unconscious damned gently within its teeth and turning to leave. I follow.

  The two of us race through the trees until at last we come upon the old colonial-style house at the edge of the forest. Waiting there for us, exactly as I had expected, is Multishot, sitting on the old rocking chair on the front porch, his shotgun laying atop his lap.

  The devil flinches and drops his passenger the moment he notices, but I continue forward with confidence until I reach the house. Multishot looks me up and down, then eyes the devil, then my captive. Then, once again, his eyes turn to me. His gaze is steady, unflinching. He does not so much as twitch.

  “You brought him here,” he says.

  “You expected me to,” I reply. He does not answer; it was not a question.

  Behind me, the man starts to stir. I do not look, only hear as he rises to his feet, grass and leaves crunching beneath his shoes. Multishot calmly raises his gun, pointing it just past me.

  I hear the report of the gun. I see the smoke, and feel the ringing in my ears and the warm, wet splatter of blood against my skin. Something heavy falls to the floor. I do not see it, do not turn my head to look. Before I would have, but now, now it just feels wrong.

  Because of what I’ve done.

  Because of the choice I just made.

  And because of its consequence.

  “I must admit, miss, you working with that thing was unexpected,” Multishot comments. The devil hisses, but I raise a hand and it quiets like an obedient dog.

  “Contacts are an integral part of any investigation,” I say in explanation. Multishot nods.

  “So, I take it you’ve finally made your choice then, is that right, miss?”

  I hesitate.

  Only a few hours ago, I left dinner after hearing Multishot’s words, as well as the hidden question behind them, and suddenly; so much made sense. This place, its purpose, I’d been thinking about it all wrong. I’m not being punished - not just being punished. I’m here to learn a lesson.

  The firewood and deer hunts were supposed to be the start. I doubt they’d intended for things to escalate this quickly, but they did anyway. The firewood was intended to teach me when not to involve myself: I was never asked to help. Multishot’s strange questions make more sense that way.

  Then the hunting. Multishot also tried to lead me somewhere with that: killing is sometimes necessary. Once again, the things he said had deeper meanings. They’d hoped I’d realize in the process, once I finally managed to catch something.

  They’d also wanted me to hear of the devil in town, hoping I would learn not to interfere. Or maybe they had wanted me to find it, but learn in the process the difference between true evil and sustainable evil. I don’t know; I don’t think I ever made it that far.

  The mouths man changed things. They hadn't expected that. Still, they adapted. In Multishot’s speech about my father, the message was twofold. I can learn to do good while not being a reaper, yes, but also that I can learn to hold my own morals without interfering with the reapers’ work. They’d wanted me to learn to let their actions go without compromising my own morals. Like Dad did.

  And, of course, there were other clues. Jonathan implied I was here to learn to behave. McGuire thought I wasn’t being punished. Multishot’s speech on the ride over, designed to distract me, but also to direct my thinking.

  God, they’re good at this.

  “Perhaps,” I finally respond. Multishot raises an eyebrow.

  “I get what message you were trying to send,” I continue, “I think so, at least. The lack of understanding here is with you, not me.”

  “I don’t think I missed anything,” Multishot says hesitantly, “You did inevitably bring the damned back to me to be killed, did you not?”

  “Your mistake,” I reply, “is that you think I’m doing this because I know my place. Because I’ve learned to submit to your ways. That is not true.”

  Multishot’s eyes widen.

  “You taught me something about my father, something you didn’t intend. He never backed down, always stood by his morals - even when they led him to act against his own interests, and even when it made others look down on him. You forget, I may not know much about him, but I know how he died. ‘Defy the Prophet,’ they say. If only they knew.

  “I am my father’s daughter. I refuse to bend to your goals. I refuse to bend to your means. I refuse to bend to you. I am the hero Frontrunner, but, before that, I am and always was Charlie Celera Gardner, sole daughter of Frederick and Veronica Gardner. I will not lie down and let injustice be carried out in my country, that is not the legacy I inherit. And even if Jonathan, or you, or any of the strongest SAUs may stand against me, I will be damned if I stop fighting.”

  I stare the reaper down with fire in my eyes.

  “I will become both a reaper and a hero. Like Jonathan, but a million times better than he ever was. I will become the strongest there ever was of both. I will grow so powerful not a soul in the world can stop me from doing as I please and, once I have, I will tear your system apart, brick by fucking brick, until I can build it again anew to match the world I wish to see. Whether you help me or stand in my way, I will make sure it is done, and, one day, you shall see what it truly means to be a hero.”

  I clench my fists and stand tall.

  “Because I will be one.”

  A moment passes.

  Multishot's eyes grow wild, his mouth begins to curve.

  “Miss Gardner,” he begins, “I think it’s about time to end your exile.”

  And the man who represents everything I stand against smiles.