Chapter 77
Psycher Versus Werewolf
(Misha Tulley)
The stage had been set. By now the fields that hadn't been harvested were already set to be cleared.
Now though, now the flames would help clear the fields faster.
Chills.
Despite the roaring flames crackling nearby, Misha felt a slight chill running down her spine. The reason for the chills was apparent, as it was a crisp autumn night, one that spoke of violence and unclaimed powers.
Overhead the sky was lit with a mostly full moon.
The moon was still in its waxing state, but that would only be possible to tell if one truly looked at the moon and saw the faint sliver of shadow that kept the moon from fully lighting the area.
As it was, with the flames and the moon, vision was rather easy.
Especially as Misha had the cameras from her few drones she had enlisted to help her.
After a particular encounter with a random boy, Misha felt the need to add more layers of protection to her sanctum.
That’s what this was, her inner sanctum, just as she found solace and protection in the hull of her flagship. Misha had begun thinking of this place as her own.
Which was odd, as it was only after the first few centuries on the flagship, when more and more senior crew were replaced, or relieved of their duties that Misha had been given permission to enhance the ship and make it her own.
By contrast, Phil had almost immediately turned over control of this area to Misha. Everything from a shop filled with extra mechanical parts that could be used to seamlessly grab and move barrels of gasoline, to hydraulic lifts that could move on their own cognizance to specified areas. To more complex things like cars that even now hid a frightened Amoni off in the distance.
Despite her wanting to stay and help, Amoni did as was asked and stayed in the vehicle, though her posture showed that she was clearly looking out the back window of the vehicle and not following proper safety procedures at all. The act itself was slightly odd and took Misha a second to realize why she did so, particularly with such elevated vitals.
One would think that being in a vehicle, Misha’s own Mustang GT no less, would have filled Amoni with a sense of hope. As it meant that even if all of Misha’s pyrotechnics and planning went to waste, then Amoni could feel secure in the idea that she herself would survive such an ordeal.
Yet, she just sat there, eyes peeled back, as her adrenaline and other chemicals raced through her body elevating her heart rate and increasing her oxygen consumption. At this rate, Misha postulated that the car would need to be turned on in a matter of minutes, in order to help cycle the air. But that of course would draw the attention of the beast.
Lowering the windows was also out, for right now, Amoni’s scent was contained within the vehicle. A vehicle that very quietly and steadily rolled its way down the gravel driveway without making a sound. Oddly enough, this didn’t seem to bother Amoni, at least not any more than Misha deciding to go toe to toe with a rampaging werewolf.
In her mind, Misha knew this meant something, but couldn’t quite place the emotion. She was still getting used to these emotions, for they all seemed to come out of nowhere and cause erratic responses, even from her.
Yet, now that she had them. Now that she knew what emotions were, she felt that she couldn’t give them up. Which caused other parts of her mind to question her very existence, for could she still be considered a Psycher, that is a true Psycher, if she allowed her actions to be guided by emotions?
“AWOOOO!”
The sharp shrill cry of a rampaging werewolf pulled Misha from her mental musings.
With everything set up, and Misha as prepared as she could be for the scenario she now found herself in, Misha took in a deep breath, closing her eyes for a second as she centered her mind.
Bump-tha-dump.
The rampaging beast surged forward, seeing Misha in her defenseless state, eyes closed and standing with barely her feet shoulder width apart, hands empty.
Seeing a target, any target, standing straight up and visible from nearly a hundred feet away was an open invitation to charge forward.
For Misha, seeing the charging werewolf would be as simple as opening her eyes and seeing the one dark spot amongst a ring of growing flames.
Splash.
Still, the wolf was fast. Fast enough outrun the spreading flames that all but forced it to run directly at Misha.
So engrossed in its relentless pursuit of prey, the wolf seemed to miss the fact that it charged through random wet spots in the field. Spots that had it taken a moment to process, would realize that the pooled pockets were at the top of a slight incline. Yet, its wolf mind only saw a vulnerable target.
Misha didn’t need the sensors of her various drones to tell her that the beast was charging at her and at full speed within three strides. She didn’t need to hear the crunkling of the dead corn stalks that still grew on the property, despite the farm being long dead, to hear the approaching wolf.
For she could feel the wolf.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Deep down, within the consciousness of the wolf’s coding was a Psycher, at least what remained of one. For the mind of this Psycher had been gnarled and frayed. Misha couldn’t quite put her finger on the reason why, maybe it was that the core concept of this Psycher was damaged, or that somewhere along the way she lost the sharp intent required of a Psycher to live through death, but this Psycher was clearly lacking in some fundamental way. A way that was indescribable for Misha to put into words.
Yet, seeing the once impressive mind being eroded away slowly was enough for Misha to know where her opponent was, and where to aim.
Then before the wolf actually landed on the last and final trap, the trap sprung itself.
Fwoosh!
One second, a crazed werewolf was mindlessly charging forward. The next second, a hydraulic lift activated, springing five feet up in less than a second. The machine was not meant to move that quickly, but it could, when coaxed and given the right incentives.
What happened next, was a thing of practice grace.
Like skeet shooting, but with a much larger and easier to locate target, Misha held up her right hand, aimed, and then let out a burst of Electrical Energy.
***
(Amoni Jacobs)
To say that her first real fight as a teenage werewolf would be one of her forced to sit in the car like an adolescent was not what Amoni had in mind.
There had of course been trials, pits where she would scrape and claw her way amongst other pack members, but as a shaman she often considered herself above such minor actions, which was why the idea of fighting a crazed Alpha seemed so odd to her.
In her mind, she knew the number one way for a true Shaman to prove their use to a pack was to enlist the power of the elements to bring to heel any rampaging alpha.
For a moment, Amoni had been close to that goal. Even now she could feel the power and strain of the elements closer than ever to her fingertips, yet, as she looked on, all Amoni could see was just how much further she had to go.
Badump, badump.
Amoni’s heart raced in a slow methodic beet to the ever present call of war.
A battle was brewing, and Amoni knew that she would not have lasted a second against the challenger, an Alpha who seemed to be larger and more roided up than a particularly lost athlete whose body was reeling from the effects of hallucinogens, steroids, and uppers all working in unison to tear the body apart in one last fit of adrenaline fueled mayhem.
Yet, there standing off against the opponent was Misha.
Just seeing her there, her back straight, her gaze focused, it was clear that she was not only prepared for this set of circumstances, but that she was even now orchestrating the field to work to her advantage.
Watching her stand there defiantly while flames erupted out, encircling the wolf and all but forcing them forward caused Amoni’s breath to catch in her throat.
The crisp night autumn air played tricks in the car, as what breath she did release provided an odd fog that seemed to add to the supernatural state of what she was witnessing.
Thump, thump, thump.
Even from this distance, through a vehicle with the windows rolled up and wheels slowly rolling away at a slow measured pace, Amoni could hear the charging wolf. This was an effect of her heightened hearing at play.
Spring.
Then out of nowhere, there was a loud metallic echo that seemed to reverberate in the night air. Before the Alpha even had a chance to react, they had apparently fallen for Misha’s trap.
Rather than falling down, as one might expect to accomplish against a larger and more agile predator, a trap method that is never successful, Amoni got to witness something else entirely.
As always, the warrior, this Misha was one step ahead of even what Amoni had thought, for she saw the violent enraged alpha get thrown up into the air.
Again, such an act would mean nothing.
In all, the height thrown was only a matter of feet, even as the beast was thrown off their feet and forced to regain their balance, they were already correcting their form to land properly on their feet.
There was just one problem, as Misha wasn’t done with her attack.
As soon as the wolf reached its apex, and seemed to pause in mid-air for just a moment, that is when Misha struck.
ZZZAAAPPPP-BOOOM!
In less than a second, Misha had acquired her target, taken aim and then released a blindingly bright bolt of electricity that struck the wolf in mid-air.
That same bolt then continued to follow said wolf, all the way down to the ground, where it’s arcing and flailing body spasmed wildly.
At this point, Misha’s levels of diabolical planning kicked in, for everyone knew that such effects normally wouldn’t be enough to fully incapacitate a werewolf, let alone a rampaging alpha.
That was when the barrels of gasoline that Misha had used her machines to spread about played their part, for it seemed that she truly was a genius at math, for she even calculated the trajectory of a falling and flailing werewolf so that they would then land in a pool of gasoline. At which point they would then have the sparks of electricity, along with bright blue bursts of electrical fire that had already taken hold of the fur of the great predator, all combining to form one amazingly large flaming werewolf marshmallow.
FWABOOSH!
Instantly, the wolf that was still in the process of having their muscles forced into tightened knots due to the surging currents of electricity, arose up and began flailing about wildly.
Yet, despite the wild movements, Misha never moved.
Even the flames that seemed to rise up and began to engulf the dry cornfields that were mostly knocked down due to the actions caught fire. But not Misha.
She just stood there, like a true shaman. Like the shaman that her father spoke so reverently about, ones that would face down opposing pack alphas and protect the pack.
Amoni could only watch on in amazement, as finally the preparations seemed to have been enough. The wolf finally collapsed.
Misha held up her hand, letting out the stream of electricity pulse for a five count longer, until the bright blue sparkling stream of electrical current died out, leaving only a brightly burning wolf that could only now begin to move.
Then with a wave of the same hand, the one that had so casually controlled the lightning, Misha waved her hand and caused the flames around her and covering the wolf to end.
Badump, badump, badump.
Watching her, it was clear that she had been wrong about Misha all this time, she was a Shaman. That or one of the magi, but those people were just myths. Also, she was fairly certain that no magi could control the elements to that level.
Even now, Amoni could only watch.
Climp-grind-pop.
Somewhere along the line, the car that had been slowly rolling out away came to an abrupt stop and put on the emergency break. Amoni’s eyes glanced at the now extended hand break, but only shook her head as she looked back to see Misha.
By now Misha had moved, she slowly moved forward, as she did, more and more of the flames died down. Despite being well over a hundred yards away, the flames that looked like they were about to rampage, all came to an abrupt end.
Amoni watched as Misha walked over to the corpse of the dead Alpha. As she got closer, all Misha did was shake her head, it seemed that she truly hated killing, which was good for a shaman, as it showed she valued her role as a guardian of balance.
As she reached down, Misha touched the werewolf, immediately afterwards the once raging and uncontrollable beast reverted back to her human form.
The woman looked oddly familiar, but her features were too dark and charred to make out accurately.
Yet, the act itself proved beyond all shadow of a doubt of Misha’s true position as a hidden shaman. For who else but a fellow shaman could force an alpha to lose their rage and change back.
Seeing that, Amoni felt something inside herself change, as she realized that with everything that had happened. She needed to step up, to be the new leader. Jacob was gone, Alishia was terrible, and Misha…
Well, with Misha, their pack would have a true Shaman, one far more capable than she could ever be.
It hurt to admit, but at the same time it was liberating, as it meant that she could be the Alpha.
With Misha by her side, she could do almost anything.
These thoughts and more raced through her mind, as she watched Misha give the last rites to a fallen Alpha. One who went crazy from the transition to power.
How Misha made it all look so easy too, going so far as to place her hand over the fallen Alpha’s forehead, at which point Amoni was almost certain that a supernatural glow could be seen.
Before nodding to herself, and removing her hand.
At which point the faintly blue glowing orb over the Alpha’s head rose up, seemed to look at Misha, before bowing once. Then in a streak of blue light, the spirit zipped off into parts unknown.
Seeing the miracle that had happened before her, Amoni was more certain than ever. Misha was a shaman, and if she played her cards right, she would be her shaman.
***
(Andrea Tulley)
Deep breaths.
It had only been a few weeks since she met Frank, but since then everything she knew about herself had changed.
Now, she held up a stick, one that seemed to tell the future. Well her future, as it glowed with a big red ‘+’ sign.
Seeing the notification, Andrea knew it was both a blessing and a curse.
She was a terrible mother.
Yet, despite herself, Misha had turned out fine. Better than fine, actually, and that was by herself.
Now she could do so again, with Frank.
Then pausing for a moment, she wondered if this baby would be like the next. Then thinking to herself, she just shook her head, no Misha was a once in a lifetime trial, surely the next one will be easier.
Flicker.
At that exact moment, the electricity in the hotel room flickered, her eyes barely having time to notice a quick blue blur of light, before the lights came back on.
Tingle.
With that, Andrea felt her stomach and swore that for a moment, she could almost feel the child inside her stomach come to life.
“Everything okay?” Frank asked, his voice mildly concerned, as he spoke through the hotel’s bathroom door.
“Yes,” Andrea responded almost automatically. Then seeing the applicator that still hadn’t changed its original notification, Andrea took in a deep breath and steadied herself. “Actually, there is something I need to tell you…”