Heretical Edge

Previously, in this grouping, Flick, Tabbris, and Miranda showed up in London sometime in the late 1800s and were almost immediately attacked by an assortment of strange creatures that seemed to be patched together from multiple beings. Following that, a group of Boscher Heretics led by Ulysses Katarin (the old physical education/defense teacher from Crossroads who was killed by Isaac) appeared. Flick shifted into her Jacob appearance and made the others invisible, surviving a fight with them long enough to break the object preventing her from teleporting away. Then she escaped with the others. No sooner had they gotten on the same page about what was going on, than they were greeted by another of those strange patched-together creatures, who looks like a small Harpy made up of multiple disparate parts from various species. This creature explained that bits of Flick's (or rather, Jacob's) blood have gone through the various rifts and created Bonded, people granted powers from Flick/Jacob's own blood. And one of those Bonded is the man who created these patchwork creatures: Jack the Ripper.

There was a sharp, almost painful ringing sound running through my ears. Some part of me imagined that it was a result of every other member of the Flique collectively screaming at the same time and sending that echoing right out of our Archive. They certainly would have been justified, given the situation. Hell, I kind of wanted to start doing a little screaming myself. And possibly not stop until I did some serious damage to my own throat. Which would probably take awhile.

Jack the Ripper was one of my Bonded? What the hell did that mean? How could that have happened? Okay, I knew what it meant, but still. What, why, where-- dammit, was that true? Was one of the most notorious serial killers in all of history a product of my own power? Had my blood actually helped create someone that evil? The thought made my stomach twist itself into knots. Me, he had been created from my power. Everything he did, all those people he’d killed, did that mean that… that all of it was--

Hot Type made a scoffing sound in our head, and I felt them give me something of a mental swat to make me stop spiraling out. Their voice was firm. Pull yourself together and keep your head on straight. Of course it's not our fault. And it's not our blood's fault either. If he turned into a monster, it's because he chose to be a monster. Everything he’s done as this ‘Ripper’ was his own decision. It's not like the powers made him do it. That’s not how any of that works, you already know that. Come on, the powers aren't making you do any of that stuff. Whatever he is, and whatever he’s been doing, it's because of his own choices. Don't give him a pass just because you want to feel guilty about it. His decisions are his decisions. Besides, it’s not like any of us chose to give him our blood. Uh, however that actually happened.

While they were saying that and making sure I actually listened, Miranda had already moved to where the harpy thing was, reaching out to grab the creature firmly but carefully by the shoulders. “Okay, just a second here. You can’t just show up and spout off something like that without giving real answers. So who exactly is this Jack the Ripper, and what does he do? I mean, besides kill people. What--” She hesitated, clearly distracted by another thought. “What are you?” That last bit came as she looked the creature up and down with an uncertain, worried expression. I was pretty sure she had come to the same conclusion I had about that. This wasn’t a normal figure. She seemed to be patched together out of several--if not many--different beings. Seriously, she had body parts sewn on that had clearly come from entirely separate species. There was no chance that she had actually been born normally.

The harpy creature bopped her head up and down while cheerfully responding, her voice making it sound like this wasn’t simply completely normal, but actually something to be proud of. “Jacob-Blood Jack created me. The Lord created all of us. Cut up the ladies and pieced us together from what was left. Some of his bodies were left behind. They weren't worthy, weren't special enough. But we were. We were important. He cut up those bodies and put them together into what became us. We are his children, his creations. He makes more of us with every passing week now. Soon, he will have all the practice he has needed, and will create his ultimate lifeform. We are but the mere stepping stones to that, his testing bed children. When he creates his masterpiece, it will be enough to draw the attention of his own creator. The true Jacob will return and see everything our father has made for him. Then he will be proud and bestow such incredible blessings upon the Jacob-Blood Jack!”

Miranda and I were silent after that, reeling from the whole thing. I had absolutely no idea how to respond to that. My brain had basically short-circuited for a moment. It was Tabbris who found her voice first in the end, speaking up hesitantly. “Um, what does he call you?”

Immediately, the creature answered with a simple, “We are his creations. We are called the Batty Fang. That is what we are.”

Miranda frowned. “We? Wait, do you mean Batty Fang is your name?”

That was met with a sound that was mixed laughter and squawking. She sounded equal parts amused and horrified by the very suggestion. And possibly embarrassed. “No, no, Batty Fang is what we are all called. We are the Batty Fang, all of the winged patchwork ones. It is what he makes us into. Each of us answers when he calls for the Batty Fang.”

I exhaled. “Okay, so you're all called the Batty Fang. Like a group name or whatever. But what is your name? I mean, you as a person. What is your individual name? What does he call you alone when he wants to talk to just you, or tell you something by yourself.”

It might have seemed like a fairly unimportant question on the face of it, considering everything else that was going on. But we had to start somewhere, and maybe finding out what this creature was called would help get answers out of her. Answers like how we could find and stop Jack the Ripper from killing even more people than he had (quite famously) already killed.

And yes, I was silently freaking out about the idea that the already notorious murderer apparently had a lot more victims that no one actually knew about, according to this Batty Fang creature. Between the Bystander Effect and the fact that he was stitching his victim’s bodies up into these new forms, each made up from several separate people, who the hell knew how many he had actually killed? Or how many he would continue to kill if we didn't put a stop to it. This… this was bad, so very bad.

Yeah, maybe what he chose to do when he got my power wasn't on me. But I sure as hell was responsible for what I chose to do with that information now. And what I was going to do was make sure that piece of shit didn't kill anyone else. That was definitely my responsibility. One way or another, we had to put an end to this shit. Especially if he was doing it to attract Jacob. How had he even gotten into his head that I would like something like that? It was absurd.

The harpy creature herself blinked those mismatched eyes, both clearly coming from different people, at the question. Then her head shook, sending waves of stringy hair, also from multiple people, swinging back and forth. “Oh no, no, no, no. Don’t be absurd. I am not important enough for a name. The father doesn't name experiments. That would be silly, a complete waste of time and effort. We don't deserve names. We are just the Batty Fang. Only the finished product will deserve a separate name, and we are certainly not finished. We are barely worth giving instructions to. When the creator gives such orders, those of us who are capable carry them out. He tells the Batty Fang to do something, and those of us who can will leave and do it. If he wants to be specific, he will point. A name? What a silly thought. You ask it as though you have a name.” From her tone of voice, she found that equally absurd, cackling a little at the idea. So apparently she didn’t exactly get out in the real world very much, understandably.

My sister made a noise in the back of her throat, head bobbing quickly. “I do have a name! It's Tabbris. Tabbris Moon-Chambers. That's my name! And you should have a name too. Everyone deserves to have a name, not just the one person he thinks is special. Names are important.”

Grimacing, I announced, “Maybe we should talk about what to call her once we get somewhere safe, somewhere that won’t be swarming with Boschers any minute if we’re not careful.” Pausing briefly, I considered the rather limited options we were dealing with right then before focusing on the creature. “Do you think you could take us somewhere private where no one else is, not even Jack?” I was hoping that being another supposed Jacob-Blood would make her listen to me. It might have been useful to tell her that I was actually Jacob himself, but I wasn't ready to reveal that yet. Not before I actually knew how she might react to that. For all I knew, she would immediately insist on dragging me off to her creator. And I definitely wasn't ready to confront this Jack person, no matter how much I wanted to punch him in the face hard enough to collapse his skull. We needed to find out more, and right now, she was our best chance of doing that.

Of course, there was always the chance that she could betray us and lead us into a trap. But we were just going to have to keep our eyes open for that. We would be careful. Or at least as careful as it was possible to be right now. The current circumstances weren't exactly suited to being incredibly cautious. Then again, were they ever?

Thankfully, our new little companion tilted her head one way then the other before giving a soft squawk of agreement. “Yes, the Jacob-Blood is in charge. The Jacob-Blood must lead. If the Jacob-Blood wishes to be shown to a private place away from any interruptions, that is what the Jacob-Blood will get. Come, come, come! I will take you there!”

There were still some doubts swirling around in my head, but now wasn't the time for them. We would just have to take this as it came. If she led us into a trap, we would deal with it then. All we could do right now was keep our eyes open and follow her.

So, that was what we did. She wanted to fly away, but I convinced her to stay down on the ground as we left the roof and walked together. That obviously confused her a bit. It sounded like she was accustomed to flying overhead and warning her creator about any trouble, or simply guiding him to where he wanted to go. It also sounded like she was accustomed to flying in a flock. Walking on the ground was very awkward for her. But I wanted her close by where I could keep an eye on her, and stop her if she started to leave. Besides, we already knew there were Boschers out there, and I didn't want her to draw their attention. We absolutely did not need to have another confrontation with Katarin and his people.

Thankfully, nothing untoward or exciting happened over those few minutes. The four of us simply walked through the city together. A few people gave us some weird looks, either because of how the other two were dressed, or because of how our companion looked. Obviously, the Bystander Effect was making sure they didn't see every horrifying detail about her stitched-together body, including those wings, but I didn't know what exactly it was showing them. Either way, no one confronted us.

The walk itself took about ten minutes before we found ourselves in a narrow alley. I had sent a few ghosts scouting around and watching from the air, and Miranda had a couple duplicates on the rooftops or staying back at the street corners. But between all of us, we hadn't spotted anything untoward. When the Harpy creature pointed at a door in the alley, I sent a ghost through to take a peek. Fortunately, there wasn't an army of monsters waiting for us to blunder through on the other side. Looking through my ghost’s eyes, I saw a very rundown and dust-filled apartment with some books scattered across a desk that looked like they hadn't been moved in months, at least. There were no visible traps or spells or anything. It was just an old hole in the wall apartment or something. Either way, it clearly hadn't been visited in a long time. In one corner of the room was a sink and toilet with a curtain that could be drawn around them. The bed was basically a mattress with old rags on it.

The door was locked. Actually, it had about six different locks on it, but not for long. I simply walked up to it, and the thing opened for me. So that unlocking power was useful now and then. Pushing the door open, I gestured for the others to go on inside, giving Miranda and Tabbris a quick reassuring nod that it was okay. Then I followed after our guide went through, before closing the door behind us with a loud thunk sound that made it clear just how heavy that door was. This might have been a small place, but between the heavy door and all those locks, whoever owned it had wanted to make sure it wouldn't be easy to get in.

All of which meant I was getting a bad feeling in my stomach, and it had nothing to do with worrying about a trap. This definitely wasn't a place where we were about to be ambushed by more creatures.

The three of us looked around this small place for a moment, as I tried to figure out if there was any other possible answer to what this place was beyond what I had already decided had to be the truth. But nothing else came to mind, and the more I saw how abandoned it was, the more certain I became about where we were.

The others understood pretty quickly as well. Miranda looked at me, and I saw the realization in her eyes as she covered her mouth. Then Tabbris looked at our guide and spoke up in a voice that cracked slightly with emotion. “This place, it belongs-- I mean, belonged to one of the people whose bodies he used to make you, didn't it?”

If she could detect the sorrow in the girl's voice, the creature didn't show it. She just gave a rapid, cheerful nod. “Yes, yes, yes! You wanted a safe, private place. One of the former livings what parts made me lived here. She were my… right eye, part of the brain up here, this side of the face, this bit of hair, and these two fingers.” She kept indicating the parts she meant, the parts of the girl who had been killed and cut up to make her. A girl who had lived here in this place, who had read those books on the desk, and had been so paranoid about security she had a heavy door and multiple locks. None of which have done her any good in the end. It was all just such a tragic, sickening waste, and now we were in her place, breaking into her sanctuary. Yes, she didn't need it anymore, but still. Something in that felt wrong. My stomach twisted over on itself.

Silently promising the ghost of that girl that we would make sure that what happened to her wouldn't happen to anyone else from now on, I let out a long breath before focusing on the here and now. “Okay-- wait, first of all, why didn't you attack us like the others? Why did you come to talk to us instead?” Now that I was sure this wasn't a trap, I was even more confused on that point.

She made a soft squawking noise before answering. “They all thinks you're an enemy, arrival, a foil to the creator. But if you are a Jacob-Blood, then you have as much right and authority as the Ripper. He and you are one. We cannot lift our claws against the creator, and cannot lift claws against you. That's the logic, it's the only logic. When everything fails, when you have nothing left, when it's confusing, you must obey logic. You must obey the rules. The rules are important. They're always important. When you don't know what to do, the rules help. And the rules say you can't strike the creator. But if you are the same as the creator, then striking you is wrong. They were wrong. They were very wrong, and the creator was wrong to send them. But the creator can't be wrong. It's impossible for the creator to be wrong. It's against the rules. Creator is always right. But the creator can't be attacked, and you are the same as a creator. Why did the creator tell us to fight you when you are the same as him? The rules say you can't fight the creator, and you are same-as-creator.”

The further on she went with that, the more agitated she seemed to be. Not at us specifically, but the situation. Hearing her try to work through all that in her mind made me wince. This poor creature. I didn't even know what she would be considered. How was she talking? Did she have somebody else's ghost shoved into that body? There was no way he literally created sapience, right? There had to be something else going on. Did he just combine all their minds? She had remembered this place, so she had to be pulling that from the memories of the girl who had lived here. Which meant that girl was in there somewhere. But how much of her was left? And how much of any of the other stitched together victims in that single body were left in there? She kept saying I and Me, so it didn't sound like there were multiple personalities involved. Or maybe there were and they just couldn't communicate that properly. I noticed that her manner of speech changed a little now and then, almost adopting a bit more of an accent at times. But I didn't know how much of that was just because she was messed up, and how much was a result of being literal different people talking. I just had no idea. Nor was I sure how to go about checking on something like that.

Miranda and I were clearly both trying to figure out what to make of all that while Tabbris stepped over closer to the creature again. She looked her mismatched and patched-together body up and down for a moment before speaking in a voice that allowed no argument or disagreement. “You deserve to have a name. You helped us, so we need to call you something. What do you like?”

Her question was met with a blank stare. The silence dragged on noticeably for several long seconds before a slow, confused answer came. “Obeying Jacob-Blood?”

Tabbris shook her head. “No, I mean, what sort of things do you like? What do you like to eat? What do you like to read, or watch, or what games do you play? You've got to do things besides just sit around and wait to follow his orders, right?”

Again, silence followed the question. But finally, the creature spoke even more hesitantly. “I collect the color rectangles.” Very slowly, she reached two fingers, both clearly taken from very different animals, into the patchwork jacket she was wearing and came out with an assortment of playing cards from different sets. “Sometimes I sit on roofs and watch the livings play with them. Especially when they plays the game called Bezique. When theys that, theys gets very excited and talk a lot. When theys drop the color rectangles, I's take for my collection. They are very pretty.” It was a somewhat fearful admission, as though she thought we would take the cards away from her.

Tabbris offered her a little smile and put one hand inside her own pocket. After a moment, she came out with a deck of Magic: The Gathering cards and held them out to her. “You can have these, if you want.”

The Batty Fang hesitated, then quickly took the cards and began to pore through them, making shocked, delighted chirping noises at all the pretty pictures. She couldn't get over them, and kept gushing about the artwork. It had immediately become her most treasured possession. She absolutely loved that simple deck of Magic cards.

“You said you liked watching the people play that one game, what was it?” Tabbris started. “Bezique? What if we call you that, would that be okay?”

Clutching the new brown-backed cards close to her partially-feathered chest, the creature looked almost frantically back-and-forth between us before giving a short, uncertain nod.

I smiled despite myself, pushing away the uncertainties and confusion for a moment to focus on her. “Okay, Bezique, it's very nice to meet you. Thank you for helping us. Now, if you don't mind, we have a lot of questions.

“And I'm pretty sure you're the only one who will answer them.”