Chapter Thirty Two

The sound of a sonic boom was one Jacques had grown used to, and strangely, even fond of.

 He heard it often these days.

His coat snapped behind him, the fabric fluttering like a flag in the wind, as he reached the peak of his jump. The world below blurred into a chaotic mess of concrete, smoke, and flashes of color. He didn't bother looking down. Not anymore. A fall didn't scare him.

Jacques was strong, the thought lit a fire in him.

Hell, he wasn't just strong.

Jacques was the strongest.

A grin tugged at his lips. That feeling of power and of control was enough to make him burst with excitement.

The ground was still miles away, but for a brief moment, he felt weightless, suspended in midair like he could defy anything. Time seemed to slow as he looked out over the city, spotting the lights in the distance. Northeast, he thought. There. A patch of activity of bullheads, police lights, and makeshift camps sealed it; he'd found his destination.

With a grunt, gravity finally yanked him back to earth, pulling him into a sharp descent. He crashed onto a rooftop with a bone-rattling thud. Immediately, his knees bent again and his thighs bulged under the pressure as his aura flared to life, circulating through his muscles.

A small mental calculation to guesstimate the distance and power needed to make it.

The air around him cracked and snapped as Jacques moved, the shockwave echoing long after he'd left the roof like a bloody comet ripping through the night sky.

Ah shit. 

He overshot.

That much became clear as his destination loomed closer and he realized, too late, he wasn't slowing down.

He shot right over the camp, slamming into a nearby building. The crash sent debris flying, and he could already hear the screams and shouts of panic outside. Groaning, Jacques brushed the dust off his coat as he pushed himself out of the rubble.

Within a second, he was back on his feet, standing smack in the middle of a group of soldiers who were all aiming their guns at the building he'd just turned into a modern art piece.

"Ah, a bit too much power," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. He stepped forward casually, slapping one soldier on the back like an old mate at the pub. The poor sod nearly jumped out of his skin.

The rest of them whirled around, guns now trained on him. Jacques didn't even flinch.

"Easy there, lads," he said, strolling past them with a grin. Recognizing who he was, they hesitated, then lowered their weapons as he moved further into the camp.

Smirk on his face, he walked through the camp like he owned the place—hell, like the world itself owed him. And just as it bloody well should, all attention shifted to him.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Soldiers, medics, and whoever else had nothing better to do stopped what they were doing to gawk. The whispers started, low at first, then picking up steam as he strode by.

"Holy shit, it's him."

"No way. I thought that was just—"

"—ler than I expected."

"Is it true h—"

Jacques didn't acknowledge the chatter, of course. He had no time for that. Instead, he kept walking, his smirk firmly in place, giving off the vibe of a man who had far better things to do than bask in their awe—but who definitely noticed it anyway.

Every now and then, someone would step back, clearing a path for him as if the very air around him demanded respect. It wasn't often you saw living legends casually strolling through makeshift camps, after all.

A living legend who was far too occupied tried to find his family to actually put on a full effort in styling on the peasants around him. Damn it, he had no idea where he'd find them, so after a moment of contemplation, he decided to do the opposite.

He'd let them find him, or at least, have someone come and take him to them.

As he walked, he raised a fist high into the air, stopping everyone in their tracks. Then, with all the gravitas of a man who proved himself to be invincible to these fuckers, he let loose a thunderous victory roar.

"ATLAS STANDS VICTORIOUS!!!!" A bit of Aura to his vocal chords and his voice boomed across the camp like a war cry, causing more than a few startled yelps and dropped tools.

For a heartbeat, it was just that—a beat of confusion. A couple of cheers hesitantly bubbled up, uncertain cries looking for assurance.

Then he turned, locked eyes with a nearby civilian with his hand up hesitantly, and Jacques smacked his palm against his in a clap so loud it practically echoed. The guy blinked in shock, staring at his stinging hand before a grin split his face.

That was all it took.

The floodgates opened.

Nothing like a good dose of ultra Nationalism to get the ball rolling.

Jacques, ever the maestro of good hypefest, laughed and joined in. He clapped a few more hands, patted a shoulder here, and tipped a nod there, feeding the growing fervor like a pyromaniac with a can of gasoline.

Cheers erupted and spread through the camp as people whooped, hollered, and threw their arms in the air. Soldiers started pounding on anything they could find—shields, crates, hell, even their thighs—as a rhythm picked up.

Caveman DNA started pumping and they've gotten even louder.

Soon enough, the noise spread like wildfire through the camp, alerting everyone—and hopefully his family—that Jacques Schnee was alive, kicking, and breathing. Not that there was ever any doubt, of course, but he'd come to realize most people didn't have nearly as much faith in him as they should. Their mistake.

But instead of his family, it was a swarm of journalists and reporters who rushed to him first, cameras flashing like strobe lights at a rave. What started as a few clicks quickly turned into a blinding sea of light coming at him from all directions.

The soldiers, police, and civilians around him—most of whom weren't from Atlas' upper crust, but more like your average, relatable Joes—wasted no time going absolutely ape over the hype. The second they spotted the cameras, they turned up their energy to eleven. After all, the chance to scream "Look, Ma, I'm on TV!" wasn't one to pass up.

"JACQUES! JACQUES! JACQUES!" one voice bellowed, and like a bad case of STD, everyone caught it.

"JACQUES! JACQUES! JACQUES!"

The cheering of his name grew deafening. People jostled each other to get in the shot, fists pumping in the air, faces lit with wild excitement. Jacques, grinning ear to ear, soaked it all in like the attention-starved, glorious bastard he was.

Suddenly, Jacques felt someone duck behind him. Before he could react, a pair of sturdy shoulders slipped under his knees, hoisting him up like a damn war hero. The crowd roared even louder.

The cameras continued their unending flashes, capturing every moment for the rest of the world to gawk at. The journos—slimy bastards with their mics and notebooks—swarmed like flies on a corpse. Some lingered at the edges talkingto their studios, their lenses trained on him, while others braved the core of the crowd, shouting half-formed questions over the din.

"Mr. Schnee—!"

"Is it true that—?"

"Can you confirm—?"

Jacques ignored them all. He didn't have time to confirm shit! He threw his head back, arms stretched wide like a bloody king addressing his court. "That's it! Let it out!" he bellowed, his voice slicing through the chaos like a blade.

The crowd responded in kind.

"JACQUES! JACQUES! JACQUES!"

He leaned forward, cupping a hand to his ear with a devilish grin. "What's that? I can't hear you!"

The chant grew louder, a deafening roar.

"JACQUES! JACQUES! JACQUES!"

He basked in the glory, soaking it all in—until a single voice cut through the cacophony.

It shouting his name in a slightly different tone of voice.

Jacques stiffened, his grin faltering for the briefest moment. He turned, scanning the crowd. Amid the sea of adoring faces, one stood out like a sore thumb.

The voice hadn't been hyped. It wasn't accompanied by clapping or chanting. In fact, it sounded downright unimpressed by the scene around them.

That could only be one person who would have a stick up his ass so large he'd hate this loud crowd, and force himself to talk to Jacques.

"... Jacques!" the voice called again, sharper this time and much more annoyed

Jacques squinted, his grin returning as he focused on the source. His eyes widened in recognition, and he raised a hand in greeting. "James!" Jacques shouted, waving enthusiastically as a familiar face finally emerged.

Ironwood cut through the crowd with an annoyed expression, a couple of his men clearing a path for him. Poor schmuck probably wasn't used to not being the most important person in a room—or, in this case, a camp.

Jacques mentally shook his head. Poor Tin Man and his lack of festival etiquette. That wasn't how you made your way to the main event. Ever the generous one, Jacques decided to throw him a bone.

"A cheer for the great General!" Jacques bellowed, pointing directly at Ironwood.

The crowd faltered for a moment, confusion rippling through their ranks before they recovered. Cheers erupted anew as they turned their attention to Ironwood. Somewhere in the chaos, Jacques caught a few muttered curses—probably from some of Ironwood's soldiers who got a little too caught up in the hype and forgot their professionalism.

"IRONWOOD! IRONWOOD! IRONWOOD!"

James froze mid-step, his jaw tightening as the chant grew louder. He didn't look thrilled. He looked even less thrilled when someone hoisted him onto their shoulders.

Jacques leaned forward, absolutely basking in the moment. "Don't be shy, James! Take a bow!"

Ironwood's glare could've melted steel, but he was nothing if not a fast learner. With a forced smile, he raised an arm and offered a couple of half-hearted cheers. The crowd ate it up, and his haapy mule carried him closer to Jacques.

"Jacq—" Whatever stern words James had prepared were cut off when Jacques yanked him by the shoulder into a bear hug. The crowd erupted in delight, while James looked as though he'd rather be anywhere else.

"What are you doing?!" James hissed, clearly annoyed. Jacques figured it was probably because his dad had never hugged him. No time for that now.

"Winter!" Jacques bellowed into James' ear, seeing as shouting was the only way to communicate in a crowd this loud. "How is Winter?!"

James' irritation was clear as he tried to wiggle free from the bear hug, but Jacques wasn't having it. He tightened his grip, pulling James in even closer, still shouting into his ear.

"Winter! Tell me how she is! Is she—?"

"She's fine, Jacques!" Ironwood grunted, pushing against Jacques' chest with surprising force, trying to break free. But Jacques simply kept his grin plastered on his face, easily holding him in place. "So is your family!" He said pointing to where they probably were.

Poor bastard thought he could win a power struggle with Jacques.

How cute.

After a few moments, Ironwood gave up with a defeated sigh, taking a deep breath as he resigned himself to the situation. "Specialist Schnee is being treated," he finally said, his voice a little less annoyed but still edged with frustration. "She's already received the antidote, and her life is in no danger." He told him. "Lady Schnee has been kind enough in assisting in organizing the nobles and removing rubble, but she is hale. As is your son."

Jacques let out a long sigh of relief. "Good to hear," he muttered, a weight lifting off his shoulders. He'd left instructions for Nachri to contact him if things took a turn for the worse, but hearing it firsthand was infinitely more comforting.

Still, the moment passed, and the world around him didn't stop. Jacques pulled James even closer, still thoroughly enjoying the man's discomfort even if it wasn't all just for fun. He was actually half-deaf at the moment due to the noise from the crowd, The Mole Grimm's explosion fucking up his eardrums, and the poison from Tyrian making him a bit dizzy. He was also fucking concussed.

"So what do you want?!" Jacques barked, pulling James in even tighter, trying to hear over the chaos.

"For starters, you can unhand me!" James snapped.

Jacques flashed him a grin, unphased. "I'm listening, James. What's on your mind?" He could already guess, but he liked fucking with people.

James looked bemusedly at Jacques for making him have this conversation on the shoulders of two hyperactive strangers in the middle of a loud crowd, but eventually, he relented. Leaning in closer, he spoke in a whisper. "The attack on the Gala was a distraction," he said tensely. "Their aim was somewhere else. The Headquarters was attacked while we were busy dealing with the White Fang here."

Jacques didn't need to think twice. "Fria," he muttered, trying not to let the disgust show on his face. It would be improper for him to have a rant in the middle of a hype-fest. "They were aiming for the Maiden." He'd figured that out the moment he saw Tyrian.

For his credit, Ironwood didn't try to choke him or have a fit over Jacques knowing her name. He simply nodded.

"Exactly. Fortunately, the attempt failed. I've sent her to your position to assist and detain the scorpion and the Grimm. Has she succeeded?!" At Jacques's annoyed nod, James confirmed with a deep sigh of relief. But there was still a hint of reluctance in his voice. He looked at Jacques with a look that Jacques was all too familiar with—the look of a man who'd just traveled across Europe to see his team get battered five-nil.

He doubted that was what worried James though.

"Jacques... when this is all over, there are some things I need to discuss with you. Some things you need to be made aware of."

Jacques raised an eyebrow. Huh. Does this mean he was being invited into the super-duper cool club of Ozma and his pack of misfits? Oh my god, that was so… fucking expected. He'd seen it coming a mile away.

No need to be a dickhead about it, though.

Jacques grinned and slapped James on the back. "Sure thing, bestest best friend. Would that be all?"

"No, actually," James responded, and was that a hint of embarrassment in his voice? "There is another matter."

Jacques pulled back slightly, raising an eyebrow, curious to see what was coming next.

"Jacques," Ironwood said, his tone retaining its usual robotic efficiency but carrying an uncharacteristic warmth. "What you did today wasn't just impressive—it was critical. Your actions saved countless lives and turned the tide when we needed it most. For that, you have my and Atlas' genuine gratitude. Good work."

Jacques' smirk turned cheeky as he offered a mock salute. "Just doing my duty as a law-abiding citizen, your military-ness!"

Ironwood scoffed, a faint trace of amusement flickering across his face, though it quickly turned to bemusement when Jacques grabbed him again. "What are you—?!"

Jacques raised both of Ironwood's arms high into the air, turning to the roaring crowd, and he declared, "Another glorious hooray to our brave General!"

The crowd, all too eager to follow Jacques' lead, erupted into a deafening cheer. "IRONWOOD! IRONWOOD! IRONWOOD!"

Using James as a scapegoat for their attention, Jacques swiftly dropped from his impromptu perch, feet touching the ground before sinking into shadow until he was fully submerged in the darkness. A quick latching of his shadows to the shadows of those around to make a path. Moments later, he reappeared on the outskirts, far from the crowd and the blinding cameras.

Straightening his coat, he muttered, "All yours, Tin Man," before breaking into a jog toward where Ironwood had pointed.

The camp was a mess of makeshift structures and frantic activity, but the path was easy enough to follow. Medics rushed back and forth while soldiers barked orders. A few waved or called out his name, and Jacques glanced their way, offering a few nods and rushed greetings.

Jacques reached the medical tent and paused just outside. He ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and stepped in—only to be slammed back outside as something hit him with full force.

"Father!" Whitley exclaimed excitedly as his arms wrapped tightly around Jacques. Jacques staggered but caught his footing before they could both hit the ground.

"You're alive!" With the same momentum, he lifted Whitley into the air in a playful twirl. Whitley clung to him, words spilling out so fast Jacques could barely keep up. "I knew you'd be okay—I mean, I didn't doubt it for a second, but it was still so scary, and Mother wouldn't let me come find you! Winter said I should stay put too, and we saw that colossal lightning dragon, and I knew it was—"

"Slow down, lad!" Jacques said, chuckling as he set Whitley back on his feet. "One thing at a time."

Whitley took a deep breath to calm himself. A moment later, he opened his eyes and smiled. "You won."

 "I won," Jacques said with the same smirk, eyes trailing Whitley's form, looking for any injury, and fortunately finding none.

His son did the same but was, unfortunately, not reassured. "Father! You're injured!" His brows furrowed as his gaze moved from the gash on Jacques' face to the long wound running from his shoulder to his hip, and then to an old stab wound in his stomach, blood staining his clothes. "And you're losing blood!"

Jacques tried to wave it off. "It's just a couple of scratches."

His son wasn't buying it. He snatched Jacques' dismissive hand and began dragging him into the tent. "Now's not the time for carelessness, Father. Leaving wounds untreated is a sure way to make things worse. All sorts of complications could happen."

'Kid, I'm seriously—"

"Now is not the time to 'thug it out', Father!" Whitley wasn't having any of it. "You always say that, but this is different. You're not invincible, you know."

Jacques sighed.

The smell of disinfectant hit him as soon as they stepped inside. The place was crowded with injured soldiers and civilians, and the sound of groaning and hurried footsteps filled the space. The more they walked, new hushed sounds and pointed fingers in his direction followed them, but Jacques stopped his inner hype-man from sperging out. He'd rather not get stabbed by an angry nurse for disturbing the patients.

His eyes quickly scanned the room, searching for a familiar face.

It didn't take him long to spot Winter. She was sitting on a cot, her vest undone, a bandage wrapped tight around her middle. An IV was hooked up to her arm. She looked pale but calm like none of this was a big deal to her.

His little breeze was cool like that.

As expected, his wife was nowhere to be seen. Goddamn it Willow, now is not the time to be a good samaritan. You should tearfully be expecting your husband, so he could show how injured and brave he was!

"Winter!" Whitley called her as soon as she was within hearing range

She turned, and a small smile tugged at Winter's lips as she spotted them. She gave Jacques a look, somewhere between relief and mild amusement, and straightened up to face them better. "You look horrible," she said.

Jacques smirked, leaning into the playful banter. "Should've seen the other guy. How about you? Are you doing alright?

Winter's smile faded slightly as she leaned back against the cot, her hand brushing over the edge of the IV line hooked into her arm. "It's nothing I've never been through before. I'll recover, but it'll take some time," she admitted, patting her bandaged stomach.

"And mentally?" Jacques asked, though he had a good idea of the answer.

"Fuming," Winter admitted, her hand gripping the fabric of her pants tightly. "At my own weakness, my pathetic display. I couldn't even protect my own mother and brother after you entrusted—"

"That's not true!"Whitley said with a frown, cutting her off. "You were amazing. If it weren't for you, Mother and I wouldn't have made it. And if that scorpion hadn't been a coward..." His words trailed off, but his meaning was clear. "Even Mother was cool, and Father... well, Father was just... Father. So if anyone here was pathetic—"

Jacques' palm landed gently on Whitley's head, ruffling his hair. "Don't think like that, lad," he said with a faint smile. "If you had been forced to fight, that would mean we failed our jobs. Let the grown-ups handle the heavy lifting. Your time will come soon enough. You understand?"

Whitley nodded with a determined expression. "I won't disappoint you."

"I know you will not." Jacques turned to a still-angry-at-herself Winter. "You heard your brother. You've got nothing to be ashamed of. You did everything you could, and it was more than enough." He gestured to his wounds with a faint smile. "Look at me. Even after you gave him hell, the bastard still had to scrape together enough strength to get a hit in on me. And you know what?" His voice softened further as he reached out, his hand landing gently on her head.

Time for Daddy dearest to go full throttle. Can't have his little cute breeze have a self-pity party now, can we?

"I'm proud of you, Winter. More than I can ever put into words. Watching you out there, standing tall, protecting our family—you're everything I could've hoped for and more." He ruffled her hair lightly.

Winter let out a squawk of indignation, her cheeks turning pink as she swatted his hand away. "Father!" she protested.

Jacques chuckled, clearly enjoying her reaction. "That's the spirit. If you've got the energy to be annoyed, you're doing just fine."

"Father is right, Winter." Whitley reassured her seriously before turning to look at him with a mock scowl."And Father should also cease from downplaying his injuries."

"Fine, I get it," Jacques relented with a smile, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I should have recovered enough Aura to summon it now, anyway."

His two children exchanged glances, both skeptical but staying quiet.

Jacques turned away, his gaze sweeping across the bustling medical tent in search of someone who looked important. His eyes landed on a familiar figure, and he raised his hand, calling out. "Ace Ops!" he shouted, startling several nearby people and earning more than a few glares from the nurses.

A large, tanned, brown-haired woman with a hammer slung over her shoulder turned toward him. He recognized the stupid looking uniform, and the way she carried herself screamed authority. Jacques squinted, trying to recall her name. Nope, not a clue. But he did remember one thing—the Ace Ops were super important.

He gestured for her to come over.

She threw Jacques a clearly unimpressed look but came over nonetheless. Spotting Winter standing beside him softened her mood slightly, and she schooled her features into something more neutral.

"Ma'am," she greeted Winter first with a nod, her tone respectful.

"Operative Ederne," Winter replied with equal professionalism, her posture straightening as she inclined her head in return.

"Mister Schnee," Elm said, her tone measured as she gave him an expectant look.

"I need you to bring the patients outside, if possible, and make space for them," Jacques said without preamble. "Start by organizing them according to the severity of their injuries—rank them from the most grievous and in immediate need of attention to the lightest cases or separate them based on the nature of their injuries; I'm not sure how, but I trust the doctors here know how best to categorize them."

Elm's brow furrowed deeper as she assessed the situation, her gaze lingering on Jacques before she glanced around the crowded tent."That's asking a lot, Mr. Schnee. These people aren't exactly in any condition to be shuffled around just because you think you've got a solution. They need medical care, not fresh air."

Jacques crossed his arms, unfazed. "I'm not suggesting a stroll through the woods, Girlie," he said, his tone tinged with impatience. "What I have to offer might be their best chance—unless you've got a fully stocked hospital hiding somewhere nearby. Have the other tents do the same."

Elm sighed rubbing her temples. "Look,...we appreciate what you've done, but you can't expect people to drop everything and follow orders just because you asked. This is a lot to demand, and it's not a light order. Even I can't just do that. This kind of stuff is above me."

Winter stepped in before Jacques could retort. "Do as he says, Operative," she said firmly, her gaze meeting Elm's unflinchingly. "I'll take full responsibility."

Elm looked between the two of them, clearly weighing her options. Before she raised her arms and shrugged. At least it wasn't on her head, she supposed."You better hope this works," she muttered before turning on her heel and barking orders to her team.

Jacques raised an eyebrow at Winter, a touch of surprise in his expression. "Didn't expect you to have my back on this one."

Winter glanced at him, her demeanor softening just slightly. "Don't make me regret it."

He wasn't going to.

Soon, the groans and muttered complaints of patients being shuffled outside filled the camp, mingling with the grumbles of disgruntled soldiers and nurses.

Less-than-amused doctors hovered near their precious machines, which had been a nightmare to relocate. A decent clearing had been made, and Jacques stood in the center of the large circle under the scrutinizing eyes of medics and the curious stares of soldiers and civilians.

The cameras had finally returned to him, capturing his every move. Perfect. The world was watching, and those vultures in the media were probably making a fortune broadcasting his every gesture tonight. Jacques Schnee, hero of the moment.

Taking a deep breath, he clasped the backs of his hands together, pushing his Aura down into his growing shadow. His fingers curled subtly, right thumb and index finger forming a curve, the rest outlining the horns of his summon. The back of his right hand settled on the back of the left.

"Tranquil Deer," he intoned with calm.

The shadow at his feet shifted and writhed, and its edges rippled outward.

Slowly, they began to rise. the forms of the shadows started taking shape as they bubbled.

First came the imposing musculature for such a graceful creature. Next were the large antlers that seemed to curve in the shape of a crown. Soft and thick brown and golden fur soon followed. The shikigami stood proud, and opened its five eyes that shone with a faint, soothing light. Tranquill Deer's neck arched as it surveyed the scene, and the Golden chain around his massive neck moved lightly.

The reaction was immediate. Cameras flashed wildly, and murmurs of awe rippled through the crowd. The Tranquil Deer moved with an otherworldly elegance, lifting one massive hoof to tap the ground gently. A soft green light spread across the clearing, making his antlers and fur gleam like polished gold.

Even Jacques had to admit the creature looked ridiculously majestic.

"Damn narcissist," Jacques muttered, rubbing the familiar's jaw as it lowered its head in acknowledgment.

Turning back to the frozen peanut gallery, Jacques motioned them to start. "Bring the first patient."

For a moment, there was nothing but hesitation, the crowd apparently too awestruck to act. Jacques's brow twitched. "Now!" he barked, snapping them out of their stupor.

Finally, a doctor and a nurse followed by two soldiers awkwardly wheeled a stretcher forward, and....Ah, that explained the hesitation. Laid knocked the fuck out on the stretcher was a middle-aged man with a stump for a leg and massive burns across his body and face. His face was fucked, and if he wasn't unconscious, the pain would probably have him sing a symphony.

He also had cat ears.

Did these fuckers think he'd refuse to heal Faunus?

Why the fuck would they thing ...oh right, he was Jacques Schnee.

Fair enough.

Jacques sighed, shaking his head, before looking over at his summon. He tilted his head slightly, a silent command. Tranquil Deer, ever the obedient slave, took a step forward, and Jacques rolled his eye when the soldiers' fingers twitched to their guns. "Relax," he muttered, gesturing for them to come closer. "It's not going to eat you. Probably."

Tranquil Deer lowered its massive head, and its eyes glowed as it extended its snout and touched the comatose man's mangled body lightly. At the contact, a soft, green light began to pulse from the shikigami.

The cat-man twitched in response, his body suddenly jerking as the light enveloped him. Jacques stepped forward, his hand resting on the man's chest to keep him from falling off the stretcher.

It started slow. Scratches disappearing, and cuts being sealed shut before the light moved to the more grave injuries. Burned flesh was restored and new skin began to cover it.

"His vitals...Check his vitals!" the doctor stammered to the nurse as he saw it all happen in front of his eyes while the rest of clearing was dead silent. Even the camera flashes stopped.

All that remained were the leg and the face.

With his other hand, Jacques raised the stump of the man's missing leg, making sure that the whole world saw what was about to happen. The man started to thrash even harder.

Sizzling steam started to release from the stump with the smell of scorched muscles. Bone began to reform, hallowed at first, then the marrow filled it.

"My goodness..." The old doctor muttered with eyes wide and face so close, one of the soldiers actually had to pull him back.

Jacques' grip tightened as he could almost sense the new nerves and blood vessels taking shape. Soon after, muscle and skin gradually filled the gaps. Soon enough, all that remained was the slowly stretching skin over it.

"Holy fucking shit," The other guard who fell on his ass muttered a bit more crudely bringing their attention to the face where new teeth were being made and a whole new eye was regenerating.

He could hear the murmurs and hushed conversations spreading through the crowd, low and colorful exclamations of what was basically just variations of 'what the actual fuck' from the stunned onlookers.

Jacques kept a neutral expression on his face.

A few more moments passed, and Tranquil Deer finally pulled its head back, the last of the glowing green light dissipating. Jacques released the man's leg, letting it drop gently back to the stretcher.

"It's finished." He said pulling his best Ol Moustache impression.

Immediately, several doctors rushed forward to inspect the man. They checked the newly restored flesh, muttering medical jargon and throwing around terms that made Jacques' eyes glaze over.

"The muscle structure—perfect alignment. This is... this is impossible!" The doctor muttered, tapping his fancy-looking wrist device. "No signs of trauma, no scar tissue at all."

Another woman stepped forward, using a handheld scanner that emitted a soft, blue light. "Bone growth is solid. It's... like it was never lost. The tissue—no cell damage, no rejection—"

"What about the vitals?! Any irregularities? Heart Beats? blood pressure? "

"Vitals are clear," the first nurse confirmed "Stable. No shock, no distress, not even a fever." She leaned closer, scanning the patient's pulse again with shaky hands.

"Is this—" The third doctor hesitated, his voice barely above a whisper. "—regeneration? No way. It's like the injury never happened. It's been regrown a new."

They all turned to look at Jacques who quite literally performed an act of God.

Jacques did not dignify them with an answer, mostly because he had no idea.

So, he simply turned to the waiting line of injured people.

"Next,"

At that moment, Jacques was almost thankful that his passive healing hadn't finished healing his ears.

The cheers would've turned him deaf for good.