Every story seemed to come with its own range of powers, and if Jack had been here longer than he had, Reaper had no doubt that the old soldier had spent considerable time learning everything there was about those powers. In some ways, it might give Jack an edge, but Reaper only considered it evening the odds out between them, if that. Beating that old dog was basically a given these days.

As such, he didn't even turn his head as Jack disappeared from the distance in front of him to be above him. He could hear perfectly well and could guess the next move. Jack had always been a dirty, cheeky fighter, which made him excellent in the nitty gritty of a war, but then the man had been strung up by the noose of a title.

His hand snapped out to catch a cloven hoof, and he jerked his arm to try to rip Jack right off of holding to that branch. At the same time, the temperature around him plummeted until every breath could be visible and ice began to gather along his feathery-looking coat and the branches around them. Wilting leaves. Making breathing a pain.

"How could I forget that underneath all this show, you're just a dirty farm boy throwing dung in people's faces?"