The effect was instantaneous. A micro-flicker of hesitation crossed the woman's face, but the warriors behind her actually took a half-step back, their eyes widening. The legends had reached them, a boy who fought like a demon and smiled while he did it.
Jason's face went dead serious, the smile vanishing like a ghost. "I asked you a question?"
The woman's jaw worked, her pride warring with the primal instinct to survive the monster standing in front of her. "You will have to pass the tunnels that lead to the Reapers," she replied, her voice tight.
"And where exactly are those?" Jason asked.
"You are Sky Crew," she said, her voice turning icy as she regained her footing. "You are responsible for the deaths of hundreds of my people. You have no place here, and you have no right to ask for our paths."
Jason didn't flinch. He didn't even reach for a weapon. He simply stood there, radiating a level of threat that made the grounders feel small. "Your people died because they tried to butcher children. I didn't start this war, but I am the one who is going to end it. Your 'place' is wherever I allow you to stand. Now, tell me where the tunnels are, or I'll start making this forest a lot quieter."
Jason tilted his head in a slow, predatory manner and began to stride toward her. Three of the Grounder warriors scrambled to form a defensive line in front of their leader, their spears and sword leveled at his chest. Jason didn't even glance at the steel tips.
His eyes remained locked on the woman. "Tell me where the tunnels are," he demanded.
The dark-skinned woman looked at the weapons he had on him, a sword and a gun and then back at his face. She forced a harsh laughter. "You are outnumbered, boy and you are a long way from your metal home."
Jason's expression didn't change. He didn't attempt to level his gun at them. He just kept walking, closing the distance until he was inches from the spear tips. "Numbers have never been my problem," he said with a low voice, "I'd suggest you don't do anything stupid. My patience is a lot shorter than the distance between us."
"Who do you think you are, child?" the woman spat, her eyes flashing with defiance. "You think a name like 'Butcher' makes you—"
CRACK.
The sound of a single, unsuppressed gunshot tore through the clearing. One of the warriors standing directly in front of her jerked violently, a neat hole appearing in the center of his forehead. He collapsed like a puppet with cut strings, his spear clattering against the rocks.
Jason didn't even look at the body. He stared at the woman, his eyes cold and hollow. "He was blocking my view," he said simply. He tilted his head again, "Mind repeating that again? I missed the end of your sentence."
The woman's face contorted with white-hot rage. "Macker!" she shrieked, drawing her curved blade in a blur of motion.
But Jason was faster. He moved with the terrifying, mechanical fluidity and before she could even process what was happening, before her blade could even clear its sheath, Jason had dropped low, sliding under her guard. He vanished from her line of sight for a heartbeat, reappearing directly in her personal space.
With the precision of a machine, he seized her sword wrist with a grip that threatened to shatter bone and clamped his other hand around her throat, driving her backward against a massive oak tree with a bone-jarring thud.
The other four Grounders lunged. Jason didn't even let go of the woman's neck. In one continuous motion, he disarmed her and changed position and with his now free hand, he rotated the gun Bang. Bang-bang. Bang.
It was a display of impossible marksmanship. The first warrior took a round to the kneecap, folding instantly. The other three were hit in rapid succession shoulders, thighs, non-fatal but incapacitating strikes that dropped them in their tracks before they could close the distance.
Jason stood there, his hand still clamped around the woman's throat, the barrel of his smoking pistol resting casually against her temple. The clearing was silent, save for the groans of the wounded.
"Now," Jason whispered, leaning in until his breath hit her ear. "I'm going to ask you one more time. And if the next thing out of your mouth isn't the location of those tunnels, I'm going to see how many of your people I can drop before you even hit the ground. Where are they?"
Octavia stood frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs. She had seen Jason train back at the dropship, she had seen him move with a speed that made the other boys look like they were standing in water but this was different, this was the mechanical, cold-blooded efficiency of a killer. This was the first time she'd seen him in his element. Yes she had witnessed the ruthlessness that came with him when they fought the battle a few days ago but that was from afar.
Jason didn't immediately move. He stood over the dark-skinned woman, his hand still firm on her throat, before slowly releasing his grip. He turned his head slightly, his gaze falling on Octavia. Even in the dim light, his eyes held a terrifying, hollow stillness. Then he nodded at her.
Octavia snapped out of her trance and stepped toward the woman. "They have my friends!" she snapped, her voice trembling with a mix of adrenaline and fury. "Where are they?"
The woman leaned against the tree, gasping for air and clutching her bruised throat. She glared at them, her eyes darting to her men groaning in agony on the forest floor. Finally, she realized that defiance would only lead to a second, final bullet.
"Follow east," the woman rasped, pointing a shaky hand toward a jagged, dark peak in the distance. "The tunnels run beneath the shadow of the Black Ridge. That is where they take the meat. That is where they will take your scout and possibly your people."
"Lincoln," Octavia whispered, her eyes fixing on the mountain. She turned to Jason, her face set in a desperate mask. "We need to go. Now."
Jason checked the magazine of his pistol with a crisp, metallic click. "What about Bellamy and the others? I was supposed to circle back. If we head into the tunnels now, we're going off-grid."
"There's no time!" Octavia insisted, grabbing his arm. "Who knows what they're doing to them? Every second we wait is a second they're being butchered. We have to hurry."
Jason paused, a sharp curse under his breath. He looked back toward the direction of the Ark, then at the mountain, "Fine," he said, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register again. "Try to keep up."
In an instant, he was moving again in the direction the woman pointed out to him in a low-profile, high-speed glide through the brush that forced Octavia to spring into a dead sprint just to keep him in sight.
The dark-skinned Grounder watched them go, her face twisted in a mixture of pain and disbelief. "It is suicidal!" she called out, her voice echoing through the trees. "To seek the Reapers voluntarily is to seek the end of your life! You go to find the Reapers, but you will only find your deaths!"
Jason didn't stop, and he didn't look back. His dark hair fell forward, shadowing his eyes, but Octavia glanced sideways at him as they crested a small piece of land. Even in the blur of motion, she saw the faint, razor-sharp smirk playing on his lips.
'Oh, there will be death, alright,' Jason thought, 'But I won't be the one receiving it. I'll be the one serving it in full.'