I watched, assessing as the first of the Teeth entered the room. They wore plainclothes, but even without the memories forced upon me, I would have recognized them all the same. That they moved with confidence through the back rooms of the Jaw was enough, but that they sized me up with such bloodlust made their allegiance unmistakable.

[Butcher: This idiocy and cowardice will not go unchallenged, Eleven.] [Rotlimb: Geez, get a load of Cavity, huh? She looks tasty in that.]

It is neither idiocy nor cowardice, and I shall answer any who challenge me.

My rejoinder neither dissuaded Butcher from his derision nor kept Toro from joining him. I could attempt to ignore them like an unwelcome earworm, but my experience thus far had proved how fruitless that was. How then to avoid the path to madness? The memories passed down from Edict had shown her power could grant relief, but it was exceedingly temporary and provoked the worst of the Chorus. Useful in some instances, perhaps, but that was not the path forward.

Appeasement, however... The Butchers who reigned longest had found ways to satisfy the Chorus. Eight years for Belial. Three for Toro and two for Rotlimb. Those three had lived lives soaked with blood, sating the thirst of those haunting them. Klaus had managed a surprising five years, despite causing far less harm. His reclamation of the Teeth and rebellion against systems of order like the PRT and government leadership bought him a degree of clemency from Belial and generally mollified Butcher and Rotlimb.

So then my current course. Time would reveal whether I would succeed.

I turned my focus as best I could away from Butcher’s and Toro’s heckling, grateful that the rest of the Chorus were holding their tongues for the moment, and left Heavensword at the head of the room to inspect my inheritance. More continued to steadily trickle into the room, and though few met my gaze as I moved through their ranks, there were those who did.

Cavity, who could generate her namesake in inorganic substances. Worgen, whose shaggy, sinewy frame belied his short range teleportation power if not his feral tendencies. Seraph, an ‘angel of death’ who never shied away from killing blows and had claimed the lives of more victims than members of the Teeth who actually had powers. Swatchbucket, who was far more inventive with their control over paint than they were with thinking up names. All bore scars, and many had injuries that were still healing. I knew their faces, their histories… and now that I had seen them with my own eyes, they were part of my history.

“Teeth.” All eyes in the room, including my own, fell upon Heavensword. If the weight of the attention affected her, it was not apparent. “Your timeliness this evening is appreciated. We have much to discuss.” [Klaus: Elena…]

She did not raise her voice. She did not need to in the absolute silence she effortlessly commanded. Her authority over the assembled band of murderers was unquestioned and for good reason. The average cape unaffiliated with the Protectorate survived five years after triggering. Heavensword had been active over three times as long, two-thirds of which had been as the Butcher’s second-in-command. She was lucky, undoubtedly, but luck alone could not carry one so far.

“A new Butcher has been crowned.” [Belial: You do well, assessing her so.] [Toro: Tch, bitch has some skill, but she isn’t all that.] [Alchemist: You’ve the right of it, Caterpillar.]

The weight of attention shifted to me, the outsider and therefore the obvious suspect. Most made no effort to hide their assessment of me, but I was unperturbed by their unabashed leers and cutting smirks. I was intimately familiar with being underestimated; had relied on it more than once. [Butcher: You’ve been warned, Eleven.]

“If you are good at something, do not do it for free.” [Toro: Hm… I wonder which of ‘em will be the one…] My words sparked confusion among the ranks, many looking to one another as if to confirm they had heard correctly. I continued, having expected as much. “You are known for your disruption of order. For your brutality and the fear it inspires in your victims. You are good. Why is it, then, that you strike at others for free?” [Alchemist: Well spoken, I’ll grant you that.] [Rotlimb: Sure is a fancy way of saying we take what we want and fuck anyone who tries to stop us.] [Butcher: Fucking pointless. Watch.] [Toro: Probably—]

“No longer. I have instructed Heavensword to spread the word. The Teeth work for the highest—”

“Ya got a screw loose or something, big guy?” [Toro: Heh. Figures it’d be him.] [Footloose: OoOooOoOOOooooo!]

An emaciated figure my inherited memories identified as Wither stepped forward out of the ranks. Dark eyes set in yet darker, sunken sockets met mine in challenge. His thin lips twisted in a parody of concern. “I get it, y’know? I get it. First day on the job, and ya got some big shoes to fill. Lemme give ya some free advice, huh? Forget that horseshit you practiced in the mirror, ‘cause here’s all ya need to know.” [Butcher: You see?] [Footloose: Youse guys gonna fight?]

Wither turned to the group and thrust his fist in the air. With each movement, the shadows hanging over the dimly lit room almost seemed to writhe and wriggle over his skin, pulled taut over his protruding bones. “We ain’t no mercs! We’re the Teeth!” [Butcher: You can’t change who we are.]

Wither’s proclamation was met with cheers, hoots, and raucous laughter. I had lost face, potentially irreparably if I did not act decisively.

“If we want something, we fucking tak—” [Footloose: Aww, I thought—]

I needed to make an example out of him. “Your challenge is accepted,” [DZ: Ugh, here we go…] [Toro: Ha?] [Footloose: Le gasp!]

Where Heavensword had silenced the room through authority, I accomplished the same with audacity. Caught flat-footed by my pronouncement, Wither seemed to almost trip over my words, disbelief rearing up like a startled horse. The same was true of the most vocal in the Chorus. For one of the Teeth to challenge the Butcher—or as was the case, for the Butcher to recognize such from one of the Teeth—was one of the few ‘rules’ the gang gave any value. It was more than just a challenge for leadership; it was a challenge ended only by surrender… or death. [Rotlimb: Wa-hey-hey-ait a sec—!] [Footloose: Fiiiiiiight!] [Butcher: What…?]

I stepped forward. No rush. No hurry. I had no need of swiftness, and to invoke it without need would have meant undermining my power. Less so than it would have been without Six’s strength, born from being in motion, but it remained true that I was at my strongest when I took my time. Wither did not know how my power functioned and would have let me into his personal space besides—he could hardly hope to kill me otherwise. [Belial: Caterpillar did quite clearly express he would answer any challenge.]

As I moved to take another step, I reached for Wither and felt his power begin to seep into my hand. My skin shriveled, wrinkles and age spots flaring into being as my dark skin faded into dull, ashen tones. Aches and pains I had never known took hold but did not stop my hand’s advance, nearly upon his neck. My fingers flexed, and Wither reared back, either finally noticing the danger or else reacting on pure instinct.

Too late.

My foot touched the hardwood floor. The board under it was built to accommodate weight and undoubtedly sturdy, but it nevertheless buckled beneath the oppressive force I brought to bear. The middle of the length of wood arced up, presenting an obstacle Wither in all likelihood would have tripped over had the nail securing the far end not given way. The length of flooring snapped up with a whipcrack that smashed the back of my insubordinate underling’s head with enough force to shear the wood in twain, reversing his momentum straight back into my grasp. His power began to slither beneath my skin once more, but I effortlessly lifted him by his throat all the same. Dazed by the blow to his head, Wither could only groan and ineffectively flail.

The creeping waste of his power began to autonomously sink its fingers into me once more, but I ignored it and ordered, “Yield.” [Butcher: Hn.] [Belial: A minimum of fuss. I approve.] [Rotlimb: Well damn. Alright then.]

My demand was met with defiance. Wither grit his teeth, his neck tensing beneath my grasp. That much I could have allowed—it did not matter whether his submission was begrudging—but I couldn’t quite manage to stifle the gasp of pain that escaped me when the previously sluggish decay abruptly accelerated. Agony lanced through my hand as it rapidly shriveled away, and for a moment, my grip slackened.

I squeezed, crushing his neck and spine.

Life fled him with a death rattle caught between the sound of an emptying drain and wail. His corpse fell to the floor with a wet snap and thump, leaving only his head and its empty eyes in my hand. [Footloose: Siiiiick!] [Butcher: A failure. He deserved to die.] [Belial: Hm.] [Toro: You cunt-licking asswipe! I liked Wither!] [Klaus: Oh god.] [Rotlimb: Just like Edict. Irony!] [Edict: Hrk— I’m gonna be sick…] [DZ: Ugh…] [Alchemist: I suppose it was him or you…]

Wither’s death literally filled me with life anew, but it had killed me all the same. My first murder, Edict, was forced upon me. My second, Wither, was in self defense in a situation I caused. I committed many more with my Teeth as mercenaries comfortable well outside the law, and I never quite escaped that slippery slope.

Its bottom found me two years later.