Chapter 44: Trail of Tears

“Trail of Tears!” Jackson shouted, expanding her muscles further as sweat poured down her face.

Davis’s spirit looked back as her physical form struggled to rise up after receiving Jackson’s sudden attack. She turned to Jackson, her singular eye burning with rage.

“…you damn, lowly, peasant whore!” Davis’s snarled, flying off at Jackson. “I’ll—!”

Jackson sprang forward with her beefy legs, shooting past Davis’s ghost with a single step. She continued sprinting to Davis’s body, throwing out a heavy punch as she approached.

Davis’s arms instinctively rose up into a sturdy block, but the sheer force of Jackson’s blow smashed through her guard, flinging her even farther across the arena. Jackson released a thunderous yell, then continued chasing after the fallen body.

“…now I understand what’s going on,” Davis muttered as her astral form flew at Jackson. “You activated your own EP on yourself, filling your body with strength! But, if your EP affects you the same way it did me…” she spoke, drawing back her fists, “…then your brain will be too filled with adrenaline to even think about dodging my attacks!”

Davis threw a punch, but Jackson deftly stepped to the side, avoiding Davis’s attack without slowing down her charge.

“Oh?” Jackson asked calmly as Davis flew past her. “Were you trying to urge me towards some rash action just now?”

Jackson gave a vile smirk as she jumped forward, aiming her knee straight for Davis’s head.

“This you cannot do!”

Davis’s body rolled to the side, dodging Jackson’s attack before following up with a counter. Jackson ducked under the attack, delivering a quick one-two to Davis’s face before stepping aside as Davis’s ghost flew in to attack.

Polk put up a quiet smirk from the stands.

“You’re half right there, Davis,” she spoke cooly. “When Jackson uses Trail of Tears on someone, their mind fills with a boiling rage directed towards achieving whatever their present goal is regardless of the cost to themselves. The same applies even when Jackson uses her EP on herself…the only difference being…” she remarked, watching as Jackson dodged Davis’s attacks while landing counters of her own, “…is that General Jackson has a complete and total mastery over her rage...”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

A young Andrea Jackson clenched her fists as she knelt on the ground besides her older brother, a gaudy British officer cackling before them.

“We finally managed to catch you traitorous scamps!” the officer hissed with malicious delight. “Now then,” he said, pressing his dirty shoe into Jackson’s face, “clean my boots!”

“Sir,” Jackson spoke sternly but calmly, pushing the officer’s shoe out of the way, “I am a prisoner of war, and I demand to be treated as such."

The officer twisted his face into a scowl.

“You think you’re the boss of me, brat?”

The soldier drew out his sword and swung it at Jackson’s head. Jackson threw up her arm, deflecting the weapon and veering it off course, causing the blade to only nick at the side of her forehead. The officer stared at Jackson, neither of them willing to yield an inch. Finally, the soldier scrunched up his face and spat at the ground.

“Fine!” he shouted, turning to her brother. “You! You’ll be the one to clean them!”

Robbie turned to his younger sister, then put up the bravest expression he could muster.

“Like hell I—”

The soldier struck Robbie’s head, knocking him to the ground.

“Damn Americans,” he muttered, pointing to Jackson as she looked over her brother. “As prisoners of war,” he spoke sarcastically, “I command you to march!”

And so, the siblings went forward, marching on without rest, food, or water; all while the blood from their untreated wounds trickled down their faces. They managed to make it about halfway through before Robbie fell down onto the ground.

“What’s this?” The officer asked, pointing his gun at Robbie. “Disobeying my orders, are we?”

“No sir!” Jackson exclaimed, hoisting her brother onto her back. “We just thought you’d prefer it if I went and carried a heavier burden all by myself.”

“Don’t go making assumptions for me, brat!” he snarled, doing his best to suppress a satisfied grin. “But since you’re so eager about the task…”

He tossed a bag to Jackson, nearly toppling her over as she caught hold of the extra load,

“…why don’t you carry our spare ammo as well?”

Jackson gritted her teeth into a smile.

“With pleasure…Sir…”

Jackson continued forward, never breaking her stride despite the officer’s continuous harassment. Then, after 45 miles of marching, the group reached their destination: a massive prison complex for unruly American soldiers.

Jackson gave a sigh as she stepped into the grounds, thankful to at last be done with her long and treacherous march. But alas, the young Jackson’s suffering had only just begun…

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Trail of Tears. The name of Andrea Jackson’s EP is a reference to the horrific forced displacement of tens of thousands of Native Americans from their ancestral homes, an event which was triggered by President Andrew Jackson signing the Indian Removal Act into law.