Episode 8 - Hex Marks the Spot

"Turn around slowly with your hands visible and I promise not to shoot you… yet."

 Gallantly, yet somewhat devilish, stood a young man whose stature was not so much different than The Metal's, just slightly more stout. He had long, curly, dirty blonde hair that was practically brunette rolling halfway down his shoulders, as well as gleaming eyes, that were as blue as a calm sea. This same color scheme was prevalent through his attire as well. He wore a royal blue, pirate garb, including the standard bandana, with leather gloves, boots, and belts strapped all over his body. The man was known throughout the world by this time by the eight billion dollar bounty placed on his head for stealing the entire Statue of Liberty a couple of years back; in his defense, he was always curious what she looked like under the dress only to be disappointed upon realizing it was just stairs and girders. He went by Joe the Short, the Pirate King, and he currently had a pistol, similar to Azrael and Uriel differing only with the large sword fixated just beneath the barrel, pointed in the direction of the daring trio.

 "Hey Joe, it's been a while."

 "Indeed. We didn't exactly part on the best terms."

 "Best terms? You stole my fucking airship! The one I built myself!"

 "I prefer the term commandeered."

 "Semantics."

 "Yeah, but civilized semantics."

 "Well, I want it back. Now."

 "I'm sorry to say, but the Chrysanthemum isn't here right now. I came via… alternative methods. You'll just have to settle for some other compensation. Besides, what more use would you have for an airship than a sky pirate?"

 "Not an option."

 The Metal and crew charged at Joe, who planned on it, and unleashed heavy fire upon the group as he made his retreat. Though the pistol spit out what would be many magazines worth for a normal gun, the life force toll seemed to have little to no effect on the pirate at all. Sentri was of little use being zoned off by the concussive blasts, but Buck plowed through them with ease. He had always had a high resistance to pain and constantly being around The Metal has only developed that trait further. With the stout boxer closing in, Joe felt his negotiations needed a swift retreat and threw a capsule to the ground that released a thick cloud of noxious gas. As the putrid smoke cleared, it soon became apparent that Joe had failed to escape. He was standing in the exact same spot with The Metal holding him in a headlock and screwing his fist into the pirate's head like a dental drill.

 "Oh God, stop! I give, I give!"

 The Metal dropped the man on his rump and backed away so they could speak comfortably.

 "Fuck, I forgot you don't wear your weights on plane trips. Fine. You can have your damn ship back -after- you help me, but I still need custody when you aren't using it. I have very important work to attend to."

 "Okay little bro, now that you aren't being a little shit, how can I help you?"

 Both of the men's demeanor changed instantly after that. Sibling quarrels never really die and it had been no less than a year since The Metal had last seen his youngest brother. The Kidd had been actively trying to seek Joe out to haul in the reward and teach his brother a lesson, but for the most part, The Metal was done with his antics until today.

 "I need your help because someone is after me."

 "Well, with a bounty like yours, I'm not surprised. I don't really know anyone who would be too big of a problem for you though. I mean, why waste my time when you could just-"

 "It's the Hexhunter."

 "Oh…"

 "The what?"

 "Let me explain, as this is one of those bits of information that will make you two rather uncomfortable to know. One of the most bizarre events, that even puzzles me, is the story of the man who escaped Hell. Well, not actual Hell. That club isn't operating yet. Until it is though, condemned souls are sentenced to walk the etheric planes, but the worst of them are trapped in a place we call Limbo for lack of a better term. Limbo is supposed to be an impenetrable zone whose gateway only flows one way. For some reason, Jonathan Graves would be the only known exception to that rule, and believe that I of all people would know. Records of his death are vague and sealed tight, but they have police suicide marked all over them. He was a cruel man who killed over a hundred people before being taken out, and all just to die himself. Apparently, death wasn't all it was cracked up to be, so somehow someone from the other side managed to send him back. I've been trying to avoid this guy personally."

 "Why? Fighting something like that seems right up your alley for weekend fun."

 "He only goes for postings marked DOA."

 "So?"

 "And none of them have been turned in alive."

 "Ouch."

 "Come on guys. We'll just get Joe home and stick him in a safe house. He'll be fine until this guy can be safely taken out."

 "Nah."

 "Nah?"

 "Nah. I think I'll just kick his ass."

 "Are you kidding me? You just said you were avoiding this guy. And for a very good reason!"

 "Yeah, but now he is after my family and it is personal. It's like fate is telling me to take him down."

 "I can't believe this. You don't even believe in fate! Fine, I guess he can't be all that tough compared to the other shit we've seen. We'll need to set up a trap right?"

 "Something like that."

 The next night

 "Hey! You can't just leave me chained here! This isn't funny!"

 Joe the Short tugged at the iron links that bound him tightly to a grungy back-alley dumpster. His obnoxious screaming had drawn the sort of attention he had been actively avoiding for the past few weeks. His eyes grew wide in terror and he struggled harder to break free as he saw the pale, seven-foot giant stroll down the alleyway in his direction. Studded in leather and long black hair draped in front of his face, the Hexhunter arrived to claim his bounty.

 "I wasn't expecting that retrieving the most wanted man on the planet would be this easy, but I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth."

 "What does that even mean?"

 "Never cared enough to find out."

 "Well, actually-"

 The Metal plunged down from the roof of a nearby structure with the other two slowly climbing down behind him.

 "Horse gums recede with age, so an efficient way of checking a horse's age would be to check its gum line. Though that would be rude to do as the horse was a gift."

 "Who the hell are you?"

 "Just my jerk brother WHO CHAINED ME TO THIS FILTHY TRASH CAN!"

 "The Metal is the name, fighting punks like you is my game."

 "Hmm… The Metal? Nah, never heard of you. I'm just here for the reward and this guy's soul, so if you stay out of my way no one else has to die."

 "Soul? So that's what you're after."

 "Then you know what it is I do."

 "I for one am totally lost as usual."

 "Isn't it obvious, Buck?"

 "No… none of this shit is ever obvious! What is this, some Saturday morning cartoon where everyone just happens to know whatever they need to know at the right time!?"

 "Buck, do you forget that if he isn't either training or taking on jobs, all The Metal does in his free time is research the most seemingly irrelevant topics for hours on end?"

 "Well, one of us needs to know what we're doing! Now, as I was saying, Mr. Graves here is a relatively small fish compared to what is locked away on the other end of where he came from, no offense."

 "None taken. I've seen things that could level a planet, maybe even a solar system."

 "Of course, there are Renegades and fallen angels in there after all. So my best bet is that whoever managed to squeeze you out wants out themselves and needs a lot more for them than what it took for you. Since raw power comes from the soul, it only makes sense that you hunt the largest bounties you can find. Clearly, these individuals are powerful enough to even have these outrageous rewards placed upon their heads and no one would even miss them if they were gone. Doesn't hurt that you get to set yourself up nice and rich while you do it."

 "Very astute of you, runt. The world probably needs more clever thinkers, so run off now before I decide to kill you. You're starting to remind me of the little brat that put me in this mess in the first place and we wouldn't want me thinking of that."

 Jonathan crept ever closer to Joe the Short, readying his unnecessarily large shotgun for the execution.

 "Um, Metal, your brother is looking pretty bad right now."

 "Aww, come on Hexxy, don't you want to play with the big boys? I guarantee you my soul is at least ten times the worth of his."

 "Scram kid, I ain't buying what you're selling."

 He took another step toward Joe and aimed for the shot.

 Kahthunk! That was the sound a small dumpster made as it crashed into the Hexhunter's temple. The Metal was not fond of being ignored. Without hesitating, The Metal ran over and broke the chains constraining his brother. Before he could accomplish much else, there was an enormous hand clenched around the top of his head. With a jerking motion, he was flung far behind Graves. The Metal ran back to him and delivered a kick to the face that would snap the neck of a normal man, yet Jonathan was unphased. He looked at his brother and friends, mouthed the word "run", and tackled the giant at his center of gravity. Joe didn't even wait to see if they went down and took off running.

 "Yo," Buck said running after the pirate, "we can't just leave him there. That guy is a genuine monster."

 "Hahaha, fuck him."

 "That's messed up Joey. How many times has he covered your ass and you're just going to leave him?"

 "That asshole is more than capable of taking care of himself. If he wants to get away he can at any time. The fact is that he is so full of himself he wants to fight Mr. Trunks-For-Thighs over there. Right now, I'm concerned for myself because that guy could kill me the instant he gets a chance. I'd look after myself if I were you as well."

 "Damn… Sentri, even you're leaving him?"

 "What? No! I'm putting some distance between us before setting up cover fire. I can probably create a sniper post on the roof of one of these buildings."

 Like the sound of a youngster riding their first roller coaster, The Metal flew overhead screaming as he crashed into a storefront.

 "Or we just keep running instead. Running sounds good."

 Twisting and turning through a labyrinth of back roads and alleys, the men found themselves at what appeared to be the site of a crash between an abandoned fish market and a factory strike. Boxes filled with rotting meat lined their sights along chain-link fences and padlocked gates wrapped in Chinese warning tape. As far as anyone could make it out they had landed into a dead end. Joe attempted to climb up the fencing but dropped down immediately after three pounds of cluster shot from the Hexhunter's gun clanged against the top.

 "You know, I have to admit this was rather entertaining. I've never had to work this hard for a mark. It's usually three seconds then boom, I'm on my way back to the HQ."

 "That's what she said."

 "And then the snot-nosed brat ruined it. Oh well, can't expect everything to end as well as it started."

 "That's what-"

 Graves cocked his massive gun and lost all look of enthusiasm before Joe could finish his statement. He was ready to pull the trigger, but he missed as his arm was jerked up by The Metal landing on the ghoul's shoulders like a small monkey. Jonathan struggled in a tantrum to shake the guy off until he was able to grab The Metal by a leg and whirl him into another wall. The Metal sprung back in a dashing leap toward the goliath.

 Bckowh! That was the sound the barrel made as the rounds left it and flew through the daring martial artist's head in point-blank range. His body fell limp as it slid across the ground in the same path he was already heading. The others stood there in a shocked state similar to when a child finds out that Santa Claus is a man in a suit hired for their parents' holiday shindig.

 "Okay, now that I don't have to worry about the rooster anymore, it looks like the hen house will be easy pickin's."

 As The Metal's sensation of this world faded swiftly, he could only make out Graves strutting slowly toward his friends and brother, the sound of them screaming in distress for him, and the cold wet ground of the alley beneath. Then it was black. The only other sensation was an audible voice that couldn't have been coming from the world around him.

 "Are you really going to let him kill brother? I thought much better of you than that. Such a pity."

 They panicked. Jonathan Graves crept ever closer with all three of them boggled with different worries. Buck couldn't comprehend how that asshole he'd known all these years would get shot down on a back road in Hong Kong. Being the first mate he'd always been, Sentri was mostly focused on how he could get himself and the others out of this mess as well as how he was going to explain this to the folks back home. But for Joe, he had a bizarre thought going through his mind. Of course, he was filled with all the anxiety, fear, and dread anyone with a death sentence should have. The strange part was that there was this loud and overlying feeling of disappointment, anger, and resentment in his brother. After all, the oldest brother was always supposed to be there to fish the younger ones out of a jam, and yet now he was just there lying on the ground: useless. Don't think it a selfish thought, that is just the way the world is supposed to be.

 "So punk, any last words?'

 "Yeah," Joe said looking toward his brother's corpse, "Get the fuck up you useless son of a bitch!"

 "You don't quite understand how this all works, do you? Oh well, at least it's not the same final phrase I always get."

 The men shut their eyes and braced for their inevitable reunion with The Metal. Graves pulled the trigger, yet events didn't proceed as expected. The gun backfired on him scarring his hand and arm in the process. Standing there with the barrel bent up in his clutch was The Metal covered in blood leaking from a fair-sized hole in his head.

 "But… I killed you!"

 "Yeah, well I got better."

 "What kind of monster are you!?"

 "Oh, you're one to talk."

 "No matter, I'll just kill you again and then take care of the brat."

 Jonathan drew a hefty revolver filled with bullets large enough to tear apart an engine block from within his jacket, but The Metal's leg flew like lightning and kicked the gun clear over several buildings. Within the same spinning motion, he shifted to his other leg and struck Graves in the chest which sent him flying across the length of the alley. He jumped along after him and began speaking as he threw the fiend back and forth down the back roads.

 "Listen, buddy. This goes to you and anyone else who might have wild ideas in the future. There is a long line of people that want to kill my brother, but it starts behind me."

 After only a minute of beatings, the Hexhunter was sitting against a wall barely conscious with The Metal standing over him. The others caught up, still in shock, and wondered what they were to do with the guy.

 "Hey, Sentri."

 "Yeah, Metal?"

 "I know I promised I wouldn't kill anyone, but does it count if the creep is already dead?"

 "You know," he said tossing Joe's bladed gun to him, "fuck it. This is one story I'd rather not have to tell people anyway."

 The Metal flipped off a restriction plate within the gun and let off a blast of plasma that would melt an armored bus. There were no remains of Jonathan Graves. The Metal plopped on the ground, tore off the legs of his pants, and began bandaging himself up with what he had. Despite clearly being fit to fight, they all stared at the man who they were sure should be far past critical condition.

 "How in God's name are you even alive?"

 "Yeah, you were shot in the face with the biggest shotgun I've ever seen!?"

 "Come on, it couldn't have been that bad if I got back up, right?"

 "Dude, I could see through the back of your skull all the way to that creep's ugly mug for a second."

 "You're exaggerating. I'm fine."

 "At least let me take you to a hospital. We have the funds to get you to the best in the territory."

 "Sorry, Sentri, we've got no time. Our barge leaves in two hours. Come on, Buck!"

 He flipped his stocky cohort onto his shoulder and took off into the sunrise toward the northern coastline of the island.

 "I swear to God, what am I ever going to do with that guy?"

 "You're preaching to the choir, Sentri."