Going Ghost! (Young Justice)

Chapter 207 207: Interlude—Jasmine Escapes!

[Third Person Pov]

Jasmine sat with one leg raised on a worn wooden bench, her boot planted firmly against the edge while her arm rested across her knee in a relaxed but grounded posture.

Her build had changed over time, her arms now a bit more filled out with defined muscle, the kind that came from constant training and real fights rather than simple exercise. Scars ran along parts of her forearms and shoulders, some thin and faded, others more jagged and recent. They didn't look out of place on her anymore. Her orange hair, once uniform, now carried a single white streak running through it, a quiet mark of everything she had been through and her power.

She wasn't sitting alone. On either side of her sat two large, burly ghostly figures who had long since become more than just fellow fighters in the barracks. To her left was Borg, a towering cyclops draped in a simple toga, his massive frame hunched slightly as he rested a heavy club against the ground between his feet. To her right sat Thrak, a broad-shouldered viking with a thick patch of beard and a double-sided axe laid carefully across his lap, his grip resting loosely on the handle.

"So today is the day, eh, Lady Jasmine?" Thrak asked, his voice lower than usual, carrying a tired weight to it. His expression was more subdued than she had ever seen it, but the respect in his tone remained clear.

Jasmine let out a small breath before smiling, her fingers tapping lightly against her knee. "Yes, it is. I've learned all I could here, and I can't waste any more time staying. I have to go out there and find my brother. He's still out there thinking we're all dead."

Borg's single eye softened, and without warning, large droplets of tears began to roll down his face. His shoulders shook as he tried to hold it in, but the effort didn't last long. He let out a quiet, rumbling sob. "Although we know we cannot keep you here, we are going to miss you greatly, Lady Jasmine."

Jasmine's smile faltered as she looked over at him, her own eyes beginning to sting. "Aww, come on, big guy, don't cry. If you cry, you're going to make me cry," she said, her voice already starting to crack despite her attempt to keep things light.

That didn't help. Borg only sobbed harder, leaning over and wrapping his large arms around her in a careful but tight embrace. A second later, Thrak shifted closer and joined in, placing one arm around both of them. The three of them sat there in a tight group, both of the large ghosts openly crying, which only made it impossible for Jasmine to hold herself together any longer.

She let out a shaky breath as tears slipped down her face, her hands gripping onto them both as she leaned into the embrace. Between quiet sniffles, she spoke. "It's only thanks to you guys that everything's been even remotely bearable here. I don't know what I would've done without you. Thank you… seriously, thank you for everything."

They stayed like that for a while, none of them in a rush to pull away, letting the moment stretch just a bit longer. Eventually, the stillness was broken by the deep, echoing sound of a horn being blown somewhere beyond the barracks walls.

The call carried through the space, loud and unmistakable.

Jasmine sniffled again and gently patted both of their arms before easing herself out of the hug. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and gave them both a small, steady smile. "I suppose that's my cue. Wish me luck," she said as she stood up from the bench.

Borg straightened up, lifting his club as if in salute, his voice louder now despite the lingering emotion. "There is no need for luck. Lady Jasmine is mighty as an ox and fierce as a dragon."

Thrak let out a soft chuckle as he nodded, wiping the last of his tears away with the back of his hand. "Give them a battle worthy of Valhalla," he added, his tone returning to something more familiar.

Jasmine nodded, her eyes still a bit red, but her expression steadier now. She turned and began walking toward the large iron door at the end of the barracks. As she approached, the heavy gates lifted with a grinding sound, opening the path ahead of her.

On the other side was the arena. The moment she stepped through, the sound hit her all at once. A massive crowd filled the stands, their voices blending into a loud wave of cheers and applause that echoed through the space. The ground beneath her boots felt solid, familiar. This was a place she had fought in many times, but this time felt different.

She walked forward toward the center as another figure approached from the opposite side.

Her opponent was new. Maltraz. He was a large, imposing figure with a heavily muscled build, straps crossing over his chest. Four arms extended from his body, each one gripping a sword with casual ease. Parts of his ghostly skin were missing around the upper portion of his face, exposing the top left of his skull. From within that hollow space, a glowing green eye burned steadily.

He looked her over and sneered when he noticed her wiping the last of her tears away. "Why the tears?" he asked, letting out a rough, mocking laugh as he shifted into a fighting stance. "Mourning your death already?"

Jasmine's voice came out a bit uneven at first. "No…" she said, the word catching slightly before she steadied herself, during her time here she had learned the art of provocation.

A small smile formed on her face as a faint glow gathered in her palm. Her sword slowly materialized in her hand, solidifying as she tightened her grip.

She stepped forward, extending her arm and leveling the blade toward him as she settled into her stance. "I was mourning yours."

Maltraz snarled as he lunged forward, his four swords flashing in wicked arcs. "I'm going to enjoy slashing that pretty throat of yours!"

Jazz met his attacks head-on, her blade clashing against his in a furious storm of steel. Sparks erupted with every impact as she defended herself with expert precision. "You're going to need a lot more skill if you want to do that," she shot back, her voice steady and taunting.

Jasmine expertly maneuvered against the onslaught of four swords, twisting and pivoting with fluid grace. She flipped backward, putting distance between them, then channeled energy into her blade until it glowed bright green. With a sharp cry, she unleashed a powerful slash that sent a crescent of ectoplasmic energy hurtling toward the ghost.

Maltraz parried it effortlessly, deflecting the blast harmlessly into the arena wall. He opened his mouth wide and vomited several large balls of corrosive ectoplasmic goo straight at her.

Jasmine slashed through them mid-air, slicing each one apart. The moment the goo hit the ground, the stone melted and bubbled with a sickening hiss, but her sword remained untouched. Without hesitation, she and the ghost charged at each other once more.

At the last second, Jasmine dropped low and slid between his legs, her blade whipping upward to slash deeply across his thighs and calves. Large splatters of glowing green blood sprayed into the air. Maltraz roared in pain as she flipped gracefully back to her feet, now facing him directly.

She kicked the back of his knee, forcing him to buckle, then brought her sword down in a devastating vertical strike—cutting him cleanly in half from shoulder to waist.

Jasmine stood unfazed, knowing full well he would reform later. As the crowd erupted into thunderous cheers at her victory, she glanced toward a distant wall of the colosseum. Her eyes narrowed with determination.

She charged forward, her sword glowing bright green once more. With a powerful swing, she unleashed a massive slash that sliced straight through the thick stone wall, sending chunks of debris crashing down.

From his elevated post, the colosseum manager's voice boomed out in fury. "Stop her! Capture her at all costs!"

Heavy iron doors swung open with a deafening clang. A squadron of elite guards charged into the arena, their faces shadowed beneath gladiator helmets topped with flickering blue flames styled like hair. They rode war chariots pulled by massive lions whose manes burned with vibrant emerald fire.

The chariots began circling the arena floor, closing in on Jasmine. Instead of fear, a fierce smile spread across her face. These were exactly the opponents she had been waiting for.

One chariot broke formation and charged straight at her, the gladiator raising his spear while the lions roared jets of green fire. Jasmine cut straight through the flames with her glowing blade, then leaped onto the lions' snouts, using them as a springboard to launch herself into the chariot.

She clashed with the gladiator inside, her sword moving in a blur. With a swift series of strikes, she knocked him out of the moving vehicle. Grabbing the reins, she cracked the whip with a sharp "Hyah!"—then immediately softened her voice. "Sorry! I didn't hurt you did I?" she asked softly to the lions.

She guided the chariot toward the fresh opening in the wall, but before she could reach it, the gap was suddenly blocked by another wave of charging gladiators. Jasmine clicked her tongue in annoyance as multiple chariots slammed into hers from the sides, their riders trying to cut her down.

The impact nearly tilted her chariot over. She cried out, fighting to regain control. This scene repeated for many times, to the point she lost count as minutes passed.

For a moment, doubt flooded her mind—she was almost overwhelmed. Would she really lose here? Be captured again? Never see her brother?

Her eyes began to prickle with hot tears.

Suddenly, the barrack wall exploded outward in a shower of stone as a powerful optic blast tore through it. Borg and Thrak burst into the arena, weapons raised.

"Everyone!" Borg bellowed, his single eye blazing. "Make a path for Lady Jasmine! Even if it costs our lives, we'll make sure she escapes and sees her family again!"

The other arena captives poured in behind them, roaring as one: "For Lady Jasmine!"

The fighters charged with a fierce battle cry, weapons clashing and ghostly wails echoing as pandemonium erupted across the entire colosseum. Jasmine's vision blurred with tears at the sight. She whispered a soft, broken "You guys… Thank you…"

"Go!" they shouted over the chaos. "Head for the opening! Leave the rest to us!"

Jasmine hesitated, not wanting to abandon them. She wanted to call out for them to come with her, but before she could speak, one of the fighters holding back a group of guards roared over the din:

"Your kindness and compassion have saved us more than you know! Now let us repay the favor and be the ones to save you!"

He glanced back at her and winked before his body surged with ectoplasmic energy. He unleashed a berserk roar and pushed the guards back as more enemies swarmed him.

Jasmine turned forward again. She bit her lip hard, eyes downcast, then charged ahead at maximum speed. Her orange hair whipped across her face, hiding her expression as tears glistened in the air behind her. When she lifted her head once more, her face was fierce and determined.

But as she neared the opening, two more chariots thundered toward her—gladiators with flaming blue hair, raised shields, and spears, roaring with murderous intent.

She braced for impact.

Before the chariots could clash, two massive lumbering shadows charged past her with heavy, thundering footsteps. Thrak and Borg let out earth-shaking war cries as they tackled the enemy chariots aside with raw power and energy blasts, clearing the path.

They walked solemnly past Jasmine and planted themselves firmly behind her, slamming their weapons into the ground. Both were bleeding from earlier wounds, yet their stances were unyielding.

"Go," one of them said.

"We'll watch your back," the other added. "No one gets past us."

Jasmine's voice cracked with tears. "Please… come with me. We can leave together!"

They both shook their heads.

"No," said Thrak. "Someone has to stay behind and make sure you aren't followed."

"And that someone is us," finished the Borg.

Thrak looked over his shoulder and smirked, motioning with his head. "Go. You have a family to find."

Borg smiled warmly. "And a brother who needs to know how cool his big sister is and that she's still alive."

Jasmine could only cry, whispering a desperate, "Please…"

Thrak spotted soldiers heading their way. He hefted his axe onto his shoulder and grinned. "Once you reunite with your family, throw a huge celebration banquet in our honor."

Borg gave her a thumbs-up, his expression calm and resolute. "Do not be sad. Because we are not. Go. Leave everything to us."

They both turned to face the approaching army, raising their weapons high.

"For Lady Jasmine and her reunion with her family!" they roared.

All the fighters still battling for her echoed the cry, "For Lady Jasmine and her reunion with her family!"

Borg and Thrak charged forward with wide, fearless smiles on their faces.

Jasmine's hand trembled on the reins. She lifted it hesitantly, then brought it down with a soft whisper:

"Giddy up…"

The lions surged forward, charging through the opening. As they reached the edge of the floating colosseum floating within the Ghost Zone, they continued galloping across the open void.

Jasmine raised her sword high and let out a raw battle cry of her own, "Rahhhhhh!!" tears streaming down her face. Her hands trembled as she charged through the vast, glowing expanse of the Ghost Zone.

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