Eater Blade: Grinding in Apocalypse-Chapter 38: TANKER REMATCH — A NEW SLAVE FOR JOHNQUIS? PART 2.

The words echoed in Johnquis’s head like a gunshot. He staggered back, chain slack in his fist, eyes locked on the beast before him. No, not the Tanker. Her. Dancer.

She pivoted.

FWIP!

Her first rotation was smooth as silk, her free foot sweeping up in a perfect arc. The blade glinting like a crescent moon under the carousel’s strobing lights. The Tanker swung one massive arm, but she slipped right under, the tip of her blade carving a bright line across its armored chest.

Johnquis’s breath hitched. "Holy hell... you can use skills...?"

SWWWIP!

Dancer’s second rotation was faster, a whirlwind of muscle and blade, her entire form a perfect predator’s pirouette. She was art and weapon fused together, the metal tip of her heel slashing again and again across the Tanker’s neck and shoulders. Sparks and gouts of black-violet blood sprayed like confetti across the fake horses and mirrors.

The mall’s broken jingle kept playing its off-key cheer:

"♫ Sunshine Specials and Seaside Savings! ♫"

To Johnquis, it was like the world had slowed down. The carousel spun behind her, painted horses grinning wide as if applauding the slaughter. The light caught every twitch of her muscles, every pivot on that single blade-tipped foot. Her claws were spread wide for balance, her slit-pupiled eyes locked onto her prey with a predator’s calm.

He breathed, awestruck, "Dancer... you’re beautiful..."

The Tanker roared, a wet, gurgling sound now. One hand swiping low in desperation. But she only danced higher. She leapt, pivoted in the air, a final rotation so tight and precise it looked unreal. Her heel-blade came down in a diagonal arc, burying deep into the Tanker’s throat.

SLASH!

The blade didn’t stop. She let her momentum carry her, spinning down its massive chest, ripping through muscle and bone like tissue. She landed in a low crouch behind the beast, foot-blade scraping sparks across tile, blood dripping from her extended leg.

For a split second, the Tanker just stood there, towering and still, its massive bulk twitching.

Then its head slid sideways, half-severed neck pouring black-violet gore. The body crashed to its knees, then slammed face-first into the pristine tile with a final, bone-shaking...

THUD!

The carousel kept turning, splattered horses forever galloping through the neon haze.

The Seaside jingle looped, absurdly sweet...

Dancer rose slowly from her finishing pose, foot-blade tapping a sharp rhythm as she turned her head over her shoulder, those slit eyes locking onto Johnquis.

[Feed Count: +1000]

[Feed Count: 43,200 / 70,000]

Johnquis just stood there for a moment, chain slack in his fist, chest heaving with laughter that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He dropped his head back, the carousel lights spinning across his face. Then he started clapping, slow, deliberate claps echoing off the polished marble and the grinning, gore-spattered horses.

CLAP

CLAP

CLAP!

"Holy shit... Dancer."

His smile split wider, eyes bright with something like worship. "That wasn’t a kill, that was art. You hear me ART!"

He gestured at the ruin, the Tanker’s twitching bulk, the trail of black-violet ichor glistening under the candy-colored bulbs.

"You shredded that ugly bastard to pieces. like he was nothing. When we first crossed paths with one? We were almost wall art .But now... Look at you."

Dancer tilted her head, breath rasping through her teeth, the foot-blade dripping like a fresh brush from a masterpiece. Her eyes gleamed, no shame, no guilt... just raw, beastly pride.

Half-laughing. "Yeah, you’re proud of that, huh?"

He stepped closer, chain rattling as he let it drag. He squatted by the Tanker’s half-severed head, still twitching.

"’Course... would’ve been nice to keep this one. Big bastard like this, can you imagine the power? A Tanker chained to my will... all that raw muscle doing what I say."

His palm hovered over the corpse. The chain coiled tighter around his wrist.

"This big boy took out those squad members who wronged us. I mean, I don’t support that slaughter but... why would an Eater Blade ever turn on its own? Turning on me like that..."

He trailed off. Dancer just stared at him, those golden eyes, so sharp, so understanding it hurt.

Johnquis pushed up to his feet, facing her.

"Anyway... this Tanker’s a waste now. I would’ve loved to—"

Dancer’s pupils shrank to cold slits. She clicked low in her chest, a deep, rumbling sound that stopped him dead.

No.

Johnquis’s voice caught in his throat. He looked at her, then down at his palm, then back again.

"What? You don’t want it? You don’t want me to—"

She took a step forward, foot-blade scraping the tile with a hiss. She bristled, claws flexing, throat rumbling with that strange, half-beast, half-human growl. Her eyes locked on his chain like it was toxic.

He could almost hear it in his head: Mine. Not the Tanker. Him.

Johnquis chuckled, "Oh... oh I see it now. You don’t want him. You don’t want any thing else chained up around me. You think I’d care more about a meat puppet than you, huh?"

He clicked his tongue, that grin creeping back, crooked and sharp.

"Well, lucky for you... I’d rather have you dancing for me anyway."

Dancer let out a softer click, the tension in her shoulders easing just a hair. She stepped closer until the tip of her foot-blade hovered over the Tanker’s cracked skull, a final claim on her kill.

She stared into his eyes, a fierce, animal promise that she’d be the only one tearing through bodies at his side.

The carousel behind them kept spinning, stuttering under flickering lights. A fake horse’s cracked head lay at Johnquis’s feet, its painted smile smeared with blood.

He reached out, knuckles brushing the side of Dancer’s jaw, ignoring the sticky gore on her cheek.

"Next time... I’ll just stand back and watch you paint the walls, yeah? We don’t need a damn slave. I’ve got the best monster right here."

She clicked again, softer, that odd beast-sound vibrating through his bones like a purr. Together, they stood over the ruined Tanker, carousel music wheezing through broken speakers:

"♫ Sunshine Specials... Seaside... Seaside... ♫"

Johnquis laughed, chain slithering back around his arm.

"Come on, Dancer. Let’s find another canvas. This mall’s still got a few nightmares left for us, I can feel it."

And under the sickly neon glow, they stepped away from the twitching corpse. Two predators, shadows mingling in the carousel’s broken parade of lights and hollow, endless jingle.

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