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WD - Chapter 274: End of the War
🕑 Added 2025-07-27 19:25:37 +0000 UTCLuke raised the sword, its blade coated in ultra-compressed telekinetic waves.
A translucent line traced the air as he swung the first slash diagonally toward the sky.
The impact against the barrier was powerful. A pressure wave shook the atmosphere.
The sky seemed to bleed light through an invisible crack.
Luke pivoted on his heels, adopting a more stable stance. He inhaled, then exhaled, and charged again with a second strike, sharper, more precise, aimed directly at the small fissure caused by the first, hoping to increase the damage.
The blade felt like it wanted to leap from his hand. When the attack struck the barrier, the crack widened.
He repeated the process twice more, and finally, the barrier shattered with a thunderous boom.
Luke didn’t waste time. He launched himself into the air, flying with restrained energy. He needed to conserve what little remained of his reserves.
He was far from being in peak condition. And he still had no idea where the hell he was.
He expanded his domain to the maximum: it showed nothing but sea beyond the island. Dark, deep water stretching beyond the horizon.
“Where the hell am I…?” he muttered in frustration.
His 360-degree vision picked up nothing but foam, waves, and a few low clouds.
With no other option, he flew for several minutes, at a moderate pace, but still fast by any standard.
Until finally, at the far edge of his domain… he saw land.
A coastal village with low houses. He landed quickly and used Shambles to warp into an inhabited house. He didn’t have time to search around and figure out where the hell he was.
In the living room, a family of three turned their heads in shock at his sudden appearance, but before they could react in the slightest, Luke ordered them to sleep.
The father slumped in the armchair, the boy dropped his head onto the table, and the mother collapsed onto the floor.
Luke took the boy’s phone and used his fingerprint to unlock it. Rather than waste energy digging through memories, it was better to use the internet.
One good sign: the language was English.
One bad one: upon opening Google Maps, he realized he was in Northern Ireland.
In Coumeenoole, on the southwest coast of Ireland.
Distance from New York: 5,023 km (about 3,121 miles) in a straight line.
Luke didn’t waste time. He took off following the directions on the phone, leaving the family unconscious, and one phone short.
To reach the town where those damn outcasts had ambushed him and sent him to the demon-infested island, he had to travel 2,000 kilometers, and he did it in thirty minutes.
However, if he increased his speed, he could have done it in fifteen minutes.
Now, considering it's more than double that distance, it would take him an hour to get there.
But if he pushed to maximum speed, he might make it in 30 minutes.
But now his energy had dropped considerably after killing over a thousand demons and fighting non-stop for more than thirty minutes.
Even so, he wasn’t in a critical state, his green aura had passively restored his stamina and healed his fatigue little by little ever since he stopped being under tension while battling the demons.
So he flew at full speed without hesitation. He needed to be within about a thousand kilometers to establish telepathic communication, that was the maximum range of his link.
Finally, after more than fifteen minutes, he got close enough to reactivate the telepathic bond. He sent a message to Wednesday requesting a status report.
He didn’t send it in the shared chat with Enid, he knew she was more sentimental, and right now, time was critical. He needed an update without any delays.
[Wednesday, tell me, what’s the situation there?]
[Luke?] Wednesday’s voice reached his mind, her usual monotone, but there was clear surprise, and a hint of relief.
[What’s the situation?] Luke repeated urgently.
[They attacked Addams Manor. Edward, his wife of more than 200 years, and two other demonic elders…] Wednesday began explaining.
She gave him a concise and efficient summary:
Edward and a white-haired elder were currently fighting Gómez and Fester. Their battle had moved away from the mansion.
Edward’s wife, Stella Spellman, and another demonic woman, accompanied by a non-demonic Spellman from one of the main branches, had attacked Wednesday, Enid, Natasha, Morticia, Eudora, Pugsley, Nyra, and Lurch.
On paper, it looked like an 8 vs. 3 in their favor.
However, Stella Spellman had once been a gifted psychic, and now she was empowered by demonic powers she’d accumulated over the years.
The other demonic woman was also a psychic, less powerful than Stella, but still dangerous.
The regular Spellman served as support, but was lethal in their own right.
It had been around 25 minutes since the battle started.
[Can you win or at least hold out?] Luke asked anxiously. He still had about ten minutes left before reaching them, and by now, a lot of time had passed. At this level, every minute counts.
[Only Stella Spellman is still alive… but… my grandmother is dead. So is Nyra… My mother is out of commission. Lurch lost an arm and is barely holding on. Enid, Natasha, and I are fighting Stella. My brother and Lurch are providing support…]
Luke fell silent.
He stopped flying, processing what he had just heard.
'Wednesday’s grandmother died in battle? And little Nyra too?'
Emotions he hadn’t felt in a long time began to resurface: rage, killing intent, hatred.
[Nyra is dead?] Luke asked.
[Yes…] Wednesday confirmed, and immediately continued, guessing Luke’s thoughts:
[You must help my father and my uncle. We’ll take care of Stella Spellman. I promise you, Luke, we won’t die]
Luke was about to argue, worried for their safety, especially Wednesday’s, Enid’s, and Natasha’s, but he said nothing.
He knew Wednesday must be the one feeling the most hatred over the death of her beloved grandmother and Nyra.
And he also knew the battle where Edward and the other elder Spellman were fighting was critical.
If Luke went to help Wednesday’s group and Gómez and Fester were killed, they’d be screwed when Edward and the elder turned their attention to them.
The absolute priority was to eliminate the mastermind behind all of this: Edward Spellman. If they managed that, victory would be within reach.
But the fact that Wednesday and Enid were in danger still gnawed at Luke.
Yet he had to trust them. They weren’t damsels in distress who needed his protection 24/7.
And he knew Wednesday wasn’t an idiot, if she said they could handle it, it was because she truly believed they could win.
Otherwise, she would’ve asked for his help if she believed the situation was critical and nearly unwinnable.
[Alright, I’ll go fight Edward. Be careful. I love you]
[I will. You be careful too, and don’t do anything reckless. I love you] Wednesday replied.
[My father and uncle must be fighting in the heart of New York… that must already be a war zone, with hundreds of thousands dead from crossfire…] she added.
[Yeah…] Luke muttered as he resumed his flight, his gaze icy, filled with vengeance. [Tell Enid I’m okay…]
He didn’t want to send a telepathic message directly to Enid, she was too emotional when it came to him.
Considering she was currently battling one of the most powerful demonic elders, any distraction could prove fatal.
[I will] said Wednesday, and with that, their connection went silent.
She had so many questions, like where Luke had been sent and whether he was hurt, but she knew there wasn’t time for that now.
Luke flew over the Atlantic at hypersonic speed, a white trail tearing the sky behind him.
The roar of the wind was muffled by his telekinetic shield, protecting him from extreme friction.
Every cell in his body burned from the accumulated tension and energy drain, but his will never wavered.
At last, he could make out the silhouette of New York in the distance.
Smoke rose like black tongues, and fire painted the sky red.
Midtown Manhattan was a war zone.
The skyscrapers, many now reduced to twisted metal skeletons, were covered in rubble, flames, and corpses. Some towers still stood, but others had collapsed under the force of devastating attacks.
Shattered roads, overturned cars, scorched ambulances. On nearby bridges lay the bodies of police officers, soldiers, and civilians alike, victims of crossfire.
Estimated casualties from collateral damage alone, collapsed buildings, high-impact assaults, explosions, were in the hundreds of thousands.
By now, not even the government could cover this up.
This is what happened when some of the most powerful psychics in existence clashed without restraint in a city of millions.
Through his clairvoyance, Luke could sense the lingering psychic auras in the air: the residual energy of unleashed powers.
His enhanced eyes spotted them over ten blocks from Times Square, at a completely demolished intersection, where two battlefields were colliding.
Fester and Gómez were bloodied and bruised, but still standing.
Each was surrounded by his element: Fester by lightning, Gómez by shadows.
Gómez was wielding the Addams Soul Weapon: a black metal scythe shrouded in liquid darkness, with a blade that seemed to devour light.
Each swing carved through the air, leaving trails of pure, absolute darkness in its wake.
Fester moved like a living thunderbolt, vanishing in a blink and reappearing to strike with condensed energy that made the ground tremble.
They were fighting with everything they had—but they were at a disadvantage.
Mainly because of one man: Edward Spellman.
Finally, Luke saw him in person. The man who had murdered his great-great-grandfather Edgar.
The Spellman patriarch who forged the pact with demons centuries ago. He was cloaked in a dual aura: half fire, half ice. He could fly, and possessed monstrous strength.
He looked like a man in his early to mid-thirties, with short platinum blond hair and cold gray eyes.
Beside him stood an older man, with a white mustache even bushier than Gómez’s, a hunched frame that moved with the agility of a beast.
His speed was inhuman, his flexibility unnatural for his age, his attacks lethal.
The Spellmans were clearly in better condition than Gómez and Fester, although not at 100%.
Still, Edward showed no visible signs of moderate or serious injury.
Gómez was bleeding from his side, yet he still smiled, his teeth stained red. He slashed the air with his dark scythe, generating small black holes that absorbed incoming attacks.
He merged with his shadow to dodge like a phantom.
Fester vanished in flashes of electricity, attacking and disappearing like a raging bolt of lightning.
Both of them were at their limit.
Luke didn’t hesitate. He moved at maximum speed, targeting the white-haired elder with Eclipse charged in telekinesis. The slash was aimed at the neck, with killing intent.
But Edward intervened.
In the blink of an eye, he blocked the blow with a reddish spear made of some incredibly durable metal.
A shockwave exploded on impact, hurling debris and making nearby buildings tremble.
The soul weapons recognized each other, and repelled one another.
The Spellman weapon, however, was weaker.
It no longer pulsed with the might of generations before Edward.
The Spellman bloodline had stopped feeding their relic; because they never died due to their demonic pacts, the weapon no longer absorbed the souls of fallen family members.
It was powerful, yes, but less powerful compared to the Poe weapon.
Luke clenched his teeth. His strength surged. His telekinesis compressed further.
He roared, a fierce exhalation, and shoved Edward with such force that he sent him flying more than thirty meters through the air, slamming him into a concrete facade that disintegrated on impact.
But Luke didn’t stop.
He released Eclipse from his hand and, using telekinesis, launched it like a bullet exceeding the speed of sound.
The blade tore through the air, leaving a trail of white fire behind it.
Edward reacted quickly. Though initially surprised by Luke’s sudden arrival, his expression regained composure in an instant. His spear spun through the air and met Eclipse halfway.
The two weapons clashed again, a lightning bolt of energy split the sky.
Even space itself trembled.
But Luke didn’t care about the clash. He launched forward, flying at top speed toward Edward, tackling him mid-air and slamming him through one building, then another, and yet another.
Glass shattered.
Walls crumbled like cardboard.
Offices collapsed.
Like two enraged demigods, they burst out of the last building, blowing apart an entire side.
Luke’s fists were wrapped in 35 tons of telekinetic force, combined with his own 10 tons of physical strength. Each of his punches was like a bomb.
Edward struck back with fists that burned like lava and froze like the Arctic, alternating between searing fireblasts and icy shockwaves that split concrete.
His physical strength was overwhelming, comparable to Vespera and Aldric, possibly even greater by several tons.
And still, Luke endured, thanks to his precognition, Shambles, and superior flight speed.
The two clashed like meteors, leaving destruction in the wake of their blows.
Meanwhile, Gómez and Fester realized the battle had split. The elder Spellman landed in front of them, wielding his silver cane like a weapon.
“Two against one, huh?” the old man said mockingly, “How unfair… for you.”
Gómez spun his scythe and spat blood, “Let’s see how long that old body of yours can last.”
Fester grinned like a madman, crackling with energy from every pore, “Hope you didn’t use all your Viagra this morning, old man.”
But just as they were about to charge, a telepathic message from Luke reached them, short and sharp:
[Eudora is dead]
Wednesday had told him to deliver it. Both were her sons, and she knew that if there was one thing that fueled all Addams… it was revenge.
Fester froze.
Gómez stood motionless, scythe raised.
It took them a second to process it.
Rage came instantly. Grief followed, twisting in their guts like a knot. But it didn’t weaken them. It made them stronger.
Fester slowly lowered his arms, fists wrapped in lightning. His expression changed completely. The humor was gone. The sadistic smile vanished.
Gómez raised his eyes. His black aura expanded like a living storm, his gaze turning into bottomless pits filled with hatred.
“You killed mama…” he muttered.
Fester spoke in a hollow voice, “Your family just signed its death sentence. Every last one of you.”
The elder Spellman narrowed his eyes, intrigued, but not afraid, “And what will you do, you crazy Addams? Cry while I tear you apart?”
Fester vanished in a flash.
Gómez charged forward with a roar choked in fury.
Gómez’s scythe roared with a dark echo, slicing the air as if it were ripping through the world itself.
Fester, invisible in his flickers of lightning, struck with powerful blasts.
The elder Spellman no longer had the advantage, not against both brothers fueled by rage.
Meanwhile, Luke and Edward tore through the sky like warring comets.
Their bodies spun in spirals, locked in a violent dance of punches, elbows, and collisions that broke the sound barrier with every impact.
Luke’s eyes never stopped moving: reading Edward’s micro expressions, predicting every strike, every feint. His clairvoyance-enhanced reflexes let him see the fight before it even happened.
Each punch was an implosion of 35 tons of telekinetic force.
Each dodge, a dance between life and death.
Edward responded with freezing fury and searing heat, his aura split in two, half ice, half fire.
With each impact, his body burst into steam.
With each dodge, trails of frost lingered in the air.
The atmosphere between them warped. With every clash, a shockwave burst outward.
They soared over skyscrapers, sending hurricane-force winds that shattered windows, flipped cars, and panicked the normies of New York.
They suffered small cuts from air friction, but both had healing powers.
Luke's was natural.
Edward's, demonic.
Luke’s was more efficient, but Edward wasn’t far behind.
There was no need for words. No speeches, no dialogue. Only the mutual desire to destroy each other.
Luke clenched his teeth. He teleported Eclipse into his hand mid-flight, rapidly condensed telekinetic waves, and slashed at Edward, who barely managed to sidestep at the last instant.
Though he dodged the lethal blow, a slice of skin on his arm was cut off like a piece of ham.
Edward growled, and his spear materialized in his hand. He struck at Luke, who blocked with a telekinetic shield.
The spear shattered the shield in an instant, but Luke was already there, using Eclipse to defend against the strike.
The metals clashed, sparks flying.
The force of the blow launched Luke backward dozens of meters, but he stabilized mid-air with telekinesis, avoiding a crash.
The two continued locked in aerial combat, drifting northward by sheer inertia, traveling at absurd speeds.
They flew over the Hudson River, leaving trails of steam behind them.
They passed over forests, the trees bending violently as if a hurricane had arrived.
And finally… they reached an uninhabited area: a vast lake surrounded by low mountains, more than 50 kilometers from New York.
Here, nature was wild, and the normies would finally catch a breath.
Luke landed violently, his heels digging into the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust and stone.
Edward descended a few meters away, his spear resting on his shoulder, his torso bleeding from a cut Eclipse had managed to land.
The slash hadn’t cut him in half only because Edward had vanished the moment the blade barely grazed him.
‘Teleportation? No… it’s ultra-fast movement, faster than a blink,’ Luke thought, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
His body was bruised and covered in shallow cuts, but nothing fatal.
Within seconds, his regeneration would erase them. His eyes remained locked on his enemy, focused.
Both were breathing hard, but steady.
They stared at each other in tense silence, about fifteen meters apart.
Not a single word was spoken.
Then, in the blink of an eye, they clashed again.
Luke swung a downward slash with his sword, whistling through the air like a guillotine, missing Edward by a breath.
The blade carved the air, slicing through wind, earth, even the water of the nearby lake, which surged upward, whipped into a wave by the sheer force of pressure.
Luke spun in midair, and with a gesture of his hand, the mass of water rose at his will. He shaped it telekinetically into a towering wall and hurled it like a tsunami toward Edward, who didn’t flinch.
With an outstretched hand, Edward released a blast of icy cold that instantly froze the water.
Luke shattered the frozen mass with his telekinesis, turning it into a storm of jagged shards, which shot toward Edward like crystal bullets.
Edward dodged at top speed, slicing through several with his spear,
while stopping others with a single hand radiating extreme heat.
Thousands of glittering fragments turned into a deadly storm, flying in all directions, tearing through trees, smashing rocks, and embedding like blades in the forest.
The battle grew more brutal by the second.
Every moment mattered.
Each move could be their last.
Luke dodged with surgical precision, thanks to his precognition and ability to read intent.
He evaded a spear that would’ve skewered his chest by less than half a second.
He deflected a wave of magma with a telekinetic shove.
He stopped a blast of black ice just centimeters from his throat.
By now, Luke’s body bled more than it healed. A deep gash tore across his abdomen, burning with every motion.
His thigh was shredded, a rib cracked.
His energy was draining… but he kept going.
His gaze never wavered.
It had been a long time since he’d had such a demanding fight, where a single mistake could cost him his life.
The last time was against Elliot, and even that hadn't been this intense.
And the same was true for Edward. Despite his regeneration, the wounds were growing deeper.
Blood poured from his side, his left leg, his right shoulder…
They kept fighting.
Flattening the forest, leaving behind craters, deep gashes in the earth,
some areas frozen, others burning like hell itself.
The battle reached its climax.
Luke was at peak concentration, attempting to use his blue aura, but Edward’s mental defenses were far stronger than he had anticipated.
The bastard had come prepared.
Still, he kept trying. A single millisecond was all he needed to tip the scales.
Edward lunged with his spear, now engulfed in magma, spinning it like a cyclone, cutting through the air and disintegrating the earth it touched.
Luke dodged with a slight twist of his hips, but Edward didn’t stop. He moved as if his joints defied physics, twisting his body at an impossible angle.
The spear reappeared in range, aimed directly at Luke’s neck.
'I’ve won,' Edward thought, as the burning tip of the spear touched Luke’s throat.
But then he saw it, the body was fake. His eyes widened just a fraction.
He understood, but it was already too late.
Luke had gained the millisecond he needed, managing to break through Edward’s mental defenses for the first time in the entire battle., and planted a precise illusion at the perfect moment.
Edward felt a shift in the atmosphere.
Luke had reappeared above him using Shambles.
In his right hand floated a sphere the size of a soccer ball, a telekinetic orb compressed with 35 tons of contained pressure.
Luke spun in the air and came down with brutal force, slamming the orb into Edward’s chest.
“Got you!”
The impact was devastating. An explosion shook the air. Edward’s chest caved in with a sickening crunch.
The ground beneath them collapsed.
Edward was sent flying like a cannonball into the earth, tearing through meters of dirt, rock, and roots.
The shockwave ripped through the remaining forest. Nearby trees bent in the blast, and a crater over ten meters wide formed on impact.
A cloud of debris and energy engulfed the entire area.
Luke didn’t celebrate. He knew Edward wasn’t dead.
He had to act, in that single moment of real vulnerability.
Without hesitation, he raised his hand and launched Eclipse at full speed.
The sword soared like a black comet, trailing fire and warped waves of energy, flying at Mach speed toward the crater where Edward lay buried in rubble.
“Tsk!” Edward spat, standing with blood pouring from his chest.
He hurled his spear, wrapped in magma and ice, just in time to intercept Eclipse before it pierced his throat.
The clash boomed like thunder. Both soul weapons locked in battle.
Luke had Eclipse entangle himself with the spear and move away. His goal was to make sure Elliot didn't have the weapon to defend himself.
After accomplishing that, he launched himself like a projectile with a brutal, uncontrolled telekinetic current, shattering the sound.
On his right arm, his telekinesis condensed into an invisible blade, a pure pressure saber, just like the old days when he didn’t have Eclipse.
“Die!” roared Luke as he flew past Edward.
There was a flash, and the sound of a clean slice.
Both bodies continued forward, like two warriors exchanging a final blow.
Luke landed with his back to Edward. His foot slipped slightly on the scorched earth. His muscles were tense. His torso quivered. Something was wrong.
And then… the blood came.
A burning hole had opened in his right side, charred flesh, scorched skin, and a thin line of black smoke rising from the wound.
Luke gritted his teeth, stumbled, and dropped to his knees, coughing up blood.
But he didn’t turn around. A faint smile formed on his lips despite his critical condition. He heard the final whisper behind him:
“Damn you… Poe…” said Edward.
And then, the dull thud of something heavy hitting the ground.
His head. It rolled across the dirt, eyes wide open, filled with helplessness.
The cut had been clean and fatal.
Edward Spellman’s neck still gushed blood as his body, lifeless and slack, fell to its knees, and finally, collapsed sideways.
Luke let out a sigh as he stood up, trembling, and walked, barely able to, toward Edward’s body.
He grabbed the demon patriarch’s spear and impaled the severed head on it, driving the spear into the ground like a grim banner.
Then he staggered, dragging himself toward a tree that still stood, and collapsed to the ground, leaning his back against the trunk.
His breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling erratically.
The exhaustion was overwhelming, and his eyelids were heavy.
And of course, there was the pain: fractured ribs, bruises, lacerations, a hole in his abdomen that went straight through.
His stamina had reached its limit. He could no longer heal.
“Damn it… am I going into another damn coma? That’d be the third,” Luke muttered, his eyelids growing heavier and his vision blurring.
Even so, a faint smile remained on his battered face.
Now he could say it: He was the strongest psychic alive.
But more importantly, he had avenged Edgar.
Though there were surely still some demon Spellman elders alive, now attacking outcast members of the Council, with Edward dead, victory was inevitable.
They wouldn’t be able to do anything except vanish and flee.
Luke struggled to breathe. Air whistled in and out of his half-open mouth. Leaning against that tree, blood soaked his torn clothes, and his hands were stained with dirt, sweat, blood… and pain.
He let his head fall back.
The sky felt distant.
The sound of the wind… almost like melodies, meant to soothe or lull him to sleep.
His eyelids lowered, heavy as lead.
Every time he blinked, it felt like minutes passed. Or maybe hours.
Days?
‘Am I sleeping…?’ he wondered vaguely, though he knew he wasn’t.
His body screamed from every nerve ending.
But his mind… his mind was starting to blur the line between consciousness and oblivion.
Fragments of memory danced in the shadows of his thoughts:
Enid’s smile as she watched him train.
Wednesday’s intense gaze when no words were needed to say everything.
Natasha, Pugsley, Fester, Morticia, Gómez, Xavier, Ajax, Nyra…
‘I hope they’re all okay…’ he thought, delirious.
Until suddenly, he heard something.
A cold voice. Calling his name.
“Luke…”
A monotone voice he knew well, now cracked with worry and affection: Wednesday.
And then, another voice, warmer and breathless, “Luke! Are you okay!?”
Enid.
“Be careful. He’s badly injured,” said Wednesday, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Luke’s eyelids fluttered open with effort. His vision was blurry, like looking through water, but there they were.
Both of them, wounded, battered, but alive.
Wednesday had a makeshift bandage, her black dress torn, her face stained with dried blood, but her eyes were fixed on him, a mix of worry, anguish, and love.
Enid had a gash on her forehead, tangled hair, and her left arm in a sling made from her jacket, but her smile was real, if trembling.
Luke smiled upon seeing them, “Looks like you won your battle. I did too…” he said in a hoarse voice, “Suck it, Edward… though I nearly ended up in another damn coma.”
Right after saying that, a bloody cough overtook him.
Wednesday knelt by his side instantly, “Don’t speak,” she said firmly, her voice laced with affection.
She had come prepared. From a small pouch, she pulled out bandages and a glass vial filled with a glowing amber liquid.
She passed it to Enid, who took it and knelt on the other side of Luke.
“This… this will help,” Enid whispered, leaning in, “Just swallow it, okay? Come on, you can do it.”
She helped Luke sit up just enough for him to drink.
Even moving his jaw was a struggle, but he let Enid guide him, feeling the warmth of the potion spread through his throat like liquid fire.
Meanwhile, Wednesday began wrapping him in clean bandages.
“Your green aura is very weak, but at least it’s still working,” she said.
Luke gave a faint smile, eyes half-closed, as the two of them cared for him.
“You’re both beautiful… even covered in blood…” he murmured.
Enid let out a soft laugh, a shaky laugh mixed with restrained tears.
Wednesday only shook her head, “Don’t push yourself,” she said, as her hand rested on his forehead, gently brushing her fingers across it.
After administering first aid and with the potion beginning to take effect, Wednesday and Enid sat beside him, each resting their heads on one of Luke’s shoulders, as he slowly regained his strength.
A few minutes passed before Luke finally spoke.
“What about the battle between your father and uncle?” he asked.
"We don’t know… we came straight to find you," Wednesday replied, resting against Luke’s shoulder with her eyes closed.
She was exhausted, and though a demonic elder might still be alive, she trusted that her father and uncle would win their battle, especially now that they knew about Eudora’s death.
"And how was your battle?" Luke asked.
"That bitch was tough, we had to finish her off three times," Enid grumbled, curled up against Luke.
"Yes, but we did it. No more casualties," Wednesday added in a quieter tone.
Luke only nodded faintly, his brow furrowed. He remembered the deaths of Nyra and Eudora, a pain in his chest, not physical, but the same sorrow he’d felt when saying his final goodbye to Edgar.
"Can we say we won?" Enid asked after a few seconds.
"Technically… no. But considering Edward, their leader and most powerful member, is dead, and we killed Stella and another demonic elder, and assuming my father and uncle killed the other one, that leaves only two demonic elders still alive, probably attacking other important Council members..." Wednesday began explaining.
"So, while they’re not completely wiped out, and there’s still the other Spellman branch with living members and the traitors… no one will want to help them now with their numbers so low. So yes, what comes next is hunting them down and exterminating them while they flee like rats," she concluded.
A few minutes later, footsteps could be heard approaching.
Enid and Wednesday immediately stood and went on guard, but relaxed when they saw Gómez and Fester.
The two brothers stopped as soon as they saw Edward’s severed head impaled on his own soul weapon.
They both nodded in approval, though none of their usual macabre excitement was visible.
Wednesday walked toward them. She stopped and looked at the ground, her lip trembling.
"Father… I’m sorry. I couldn’t protect Grandma," she whispered, guilt heavy in her voice.
Gómez said nothing, he simply pulled his daughter into an embrace, and for the first time in a very long while, she didn’t punish him for such an act.
"It’s not your fault, my little viper. My mother knew what she was doing. She was always ready, for the inevitable, beloved death," Gómez said.
Fester, less skilled at emotional gestures, walked over to Luke.
He looked at him with respect and admiration.
"Thanks, kid. If it weren’t for you, my brother and I would be in the afterlife."
Luke gave a faint smile, "I didn’t do it for you, baldy, but you’re welcome."
Fester chuckled softly, then asked the question that had been on his mind, "Where were you?"
Gómez and Wednesday turned their attention to Luke. Enid did too.
They all had the same question.
After Luke left on that mission over two thousand kilometers away, he hadn’t appeared during the attack, clearly, something had happened. And it hadn’t been a coincidence.
“It was a trap, as I’m sure you already guessed…” Luke replied.
“Five fairly competent outcasts activated some kind of teleportation spell and sent me to an island in Northern Ireland, over five thousand kilometers from here. But with one small detail: the island had over a thousand Morraks and four intermediate demons. There was also a barrier even stronger than the one at Marlowe Estate. I couldn’t use Shambles to escape, so I had to kill them all… and then make my way here.”
Everyone was stunned.
He killed over a thousand demons and still made it here in time to fight Edward to the death?
It was insane.
No one quite knew what to say, until Gómez finally spoke, “Let’s go back to Addams Manor.”
“What’s going to happen with all the destruction in the city, and the dead?” Wednesday asked.
She knew this level of devastation would have serious consequences with the normie government, more than ever before.
“You young people shouldn’t worry about such things. The adults of the Council, those of us still alive, will handle the diplomatic matters,” Gómez said.
He no longer wanted to place so many responsibilities on his daughter, Luke, or Enid.
The group slowly made their way back to Addams Manor.
Luke, now somewhat recovered, was helped by Enid and Wednesday, who, though injured, were in better condition than him.
Fester carried the body of Edward Spellman and the ancestral weapon.
The manor and its surroundings were devastated from the intense battle.
Still, Luke didn’t care about that.
He gave a brief nod to Natasha and the others, who were resting, and went straight to a makeshift tarp laid on the ground.
There, on the tarp, lay Nyra’s lifeless body.
Luke fell to his knees and touched the child’s cheek: cold. No sign of life.
Memories of Nyra flooded his mind: When she first called him and Wednesday “Mom” and “Dad.”
When they trained together.
When they fought over a plate of food…
His eyes shimmered.
“I’m sorry… if I had been faster…” Luke murmured, taking her small hand in his.
Wednesday and Enid knelt beside him, each embracing one of his arms, remaining in silence.
...
The next day, after this final battle, though not fully healed, Luke, Wednesday, Enid, and the others, with their strength mostly restored, resumed the offensive to hunt down and eliminate the last remaining enemies.
Of the six demonic elders, including Edward, four were killed by Luke and his allies.
Only two remained, and during the large-scale assault, they had also attacked key families and vital members of the opposing side, causing death and destruction.
The same was true for the remaining members of the last Spellman branch and their allies.
However, the news of Edward, Stella, and the others' deaths hit the Spellman faction hard.
It was like a blade through the morale of their followers.
Many of their allies began to desert. Some fled, others tried to negotiate surrender, but the Council showed no mercy.
They were eliminated without hesitation or pity.
Only two demonic elders remained alive. One of them was intercepted and killed.
The other, along with a handful of Spellman members, managed to escape and cover their tracks.
And so, the war ended.
There were many funerals. Some intimate, others massive. Other names, fallen students, professors, and Council allies, were added to the central memorial in Nevermore.
A few people from the enemy side survived, but they were just that: fugitives. Shadows of the past. No army, no plan, no support network.
Luke’s legend was burned into the history of the outcast world. Even among foreign outcasts.
The tale of the thousand demons slain on a remote island in Northern Ireland. The devastating battle against Edward Spellman.
And everything that came before.
Many hailed him as the strongest psychic alive.
…
August arrived.
The air was warmer, but the war had left an eerie silence at Addams Manor.
Luke, Enid, and Wednesday continued living there, in that dark and eccentric mansion. A more “normal” teenage life.
Fester had resumed his electrical experiments. Gómez and Morticia were busier than ever with work.
Luke now faced a very mundane problem compared to everything he had lived through in recent years:
He had fallen behind in school.
During his eleventh grade, he had spent months locked away in intense training, missing classes, skipping final exams. Technically, he was an incomplete student.
But he had two overwhelming advantages:
1- His eidetic memory and mind enhanced by his blue aura.
2- His two girlfriends. Wednesday Addams, a genius academically,
and Enid, who wasn’t a genius, but made studying feel far less like torture.
Under Wednesday’s strict guidance and Enid’s loving support, Luke reviewed all the material he had missed in just three weeks.
He studied like it was just another battle.
He took the pending exams under the supervision of Nevermore’s professors, and passed them all with good grades.
And so, in September, the trio returned to Nevermore. Senior Year. The final year.
Luke finally walked the halls of Nevermore again as a student. But it wasn’t the same boarding school as before.
The war had changed it.
Many students had died or had chosen not to return because of everything that had happened.
Others came back bearing scars, both physical and emotional.
Luckily for Luke, his two best friends, Xavier and Ajax, had survived. They’d made it through, although not without wounds.
Eugene, the blue-aura psychic, had also survived. And somehow, he had started dating Nao, it seemed they had grown close since Luke helped him during Ajax’s birthday and shared life-or-death missions together during the war.
Luke, Wednesday, and Enid returned as war heroes.
Especially Luke, who drew more attention than ever in class.
Considering his last few months had been spent either training in isolation or going on extremely dangerous missions, and given that he’d always been grumpy and antisocial, he was not prepared to suddenly be the center of attention.
Even at the door of his room, which he shared with Xavier and Ajax, he started receiving thank-you notes, gifts, and once, a pair of underwear, courtesy of some outcast girl with boundary issues.
He had to calm Wednesday down to stop her from launching an investigation to identify the girl and potentially commit a murder.
He felt like damn Harry Potter arriving at Hogwarts.
Fortunately, Enid was a social expert, and she helped him handle everything, without him or Wednesday scaring half the school away.
The year went by faster than Luke would’ve liked.
It was a peaceful, soothing period.
There was the Poe Cup, where he competed against Wednesday and Enid, who were on the same team.
There were also special days:
-Outreach Day, meant to rekindle relationships with the normies in Jericho.
-Parents’ Weekend, where Luke spent more time with Gómez and Morticia, with whom he now had a strong bond, and, for the first time under normal circumstances, he met Enid’s parents… which, surprisingly, went very well.
They even had a camp for outcasts and a “friendly” sparring tournament with the Academy of Dark Arts.
Although of course, Luke wasn’t allowed to participate, given that he could probably kill his opponents with a sneeze.
Then came final exams, which the three of them passed without much trouble.
And finally, Rave’N arrived, Nevermore’s annual dance. There, Luke gave Enid the dance he owed her.
Though he’d never liked dancing, it didn’t bother him at all, and compared to everything he’d lived through, it felt like a trivial task.
Like an easy side quest in a video game and if it made Enid happy, it was worth it.
What no one expected was for Wednesday to dance as well, and not like that first time with Luke, not as a form of social critique against teenage frivolity.
No.
This time, she danced traditionally, taking his hand, moving with soft yet confident steps, with gothic elegance and surgical precision.
She wasn’t jealous of Enid, Luke could see that. But there was one thing Wednesday didn’t like: being left behind.
…
Boston, Massachusetts.
Some time after classes at Nevermore had ended.
The sky was overcast and gray. A heavy air hung over the district like a constant haze.
The houses on the block looked like relics from another era, some with boarded-up windows, others with doors barely hanging from a single hinge. Crooked trees lined the street. Most of the neighbors had left decades ago.
An atmosphere Wednesday described as: Delightful.
At the end of the street stood the Poe ancestral mansion, a shadowy silhouette rising from the gloom. Two stories tall, built from dark colonial stone, with cracked columns and half-destroyed gargoyles.
The front yard was overgrown with tall grass and twisted weeds. At the gate, an old iron padlock awaited.
Luke parked his new truck, its black paint gleaming. He stepped out and walked toward the rusted iron gate.
There it was again, that old padlock. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen it.
He remembered the day he first came here, back when he didn’t even know what world he was in, when he came looking for something of material value to escape Boston, and instead found the necklace with Edgar.
‘It’s been a while…’ Luke thought, feeling a wave of nostalgia.
From one of his jacket pockets, he pulled out a small antique key.
The house now belonged to him. He slid the key into the lock, and with a click, it opened.
He pushed open the gate, then returned to the driver’s seat.
Wednesday sat in the passenger seat. In the back, glowing with cheerful energy, was Enid.
“Aren’t you excited!? A new chapter of our lives is beginning! We’ll live on our own, and then we’ll start college!” said Enid enthusiastically, her smile radiant.
“Living here excites me,” Wednesday replied in her usual monotone, “College? Another educational institution? No, thanks. I’d rather die.”
“You really do hate schools,” Luke said with a faint smile as he drove the car through the gate and parked near the entrance.
They got out and started unloading their things. They had brought their main belongings, and tomorrow a moving truck would arrive with the rest, which was quite a lot.
As they crossed the double doors of the foyer, the dust greeted them like an old friend. The tall windows let in a dim, pale light. Everything creaked. Everything smelled of history.
Luke left the boxes near the hall and, without saying a word, headed toward the back of the house.
The backyard was as large as he remembered. Wild, overgrown, forgotten. The yellowed grass nearly reached his waist. The air was heavy with humidity, the sky blanketed with gray clouds.
He walked to a particular spot, and there it was. A hole.
The very hole he had dug years ago to sneak into the property.
‘This time I’m not coming here as some kind of thief…’ he thought nostalgically.
Of course, he had never been a thief, he simply hadn’t been old enough back then to legally own what belonged to him.
He lifted his gaze to the cloudy sky. At that moment, the clouds parted briefly, letting a few faint rays of sunlight fall onto the garden, and onto Luke’s face.
Instinctively, he raised a hand to shield his eyes, and in that moment, he saw something in the tall grass. A glimmer. A silhouette. A reflection of someone very familiar.
His heart skipped a beat, “Old man?” he whispered.
But no. When he looked closely… there was no one. Only the tall grass, swaying in the wind.
He shook his head and sighed, ‘I’m seeing ghosts.’
Just then, a familiar voice broke the silence.
“Luke,” called Wednesday from the back door, “Come inside. Enid says we have to organize and clean. And she’s decided that powers are not allowed. Apparently, this is supposed to be a: ‘couples experience we need to live like normal people,’” she added, making air quotes with her fingers and wearing a faintly resigned expression.
“Whoa, that’s so impractical,” Luke said with amusement as he walked toward her.
“I know, but we don’t have a choice,” Wednesday replied.
At that moment, as Luke stepped back inside the house and closed the door behind him without looking back, none of them noticed what was left outside.
There, among the swaying dry leaves and the shadows of the garden, a figure stood tall.
A man of medium height, with dark hair, a thin face, and dark, piercing eyes. He wore a 19th-century suit, black frock coat, cravat, and bore a solemn expression.
Edgar Allan Poe.
He looked toward where Luke had just been, in silence. For a moment, he smiled faintly.
A smile that said: “Well done, kid.”
And then, as if he had never been there, he vanished with the wind.
THE END
...
Author's Note:
Hi everyone, this is the end of the story. I started it over a year ago, whoa! I never thought it would take me this long.
My goal was to finish it before Wednesday season two came out, and I barely made it, since the first part of the new season is premiering in less than two weeks (I’m writing this on July 26, 2025, at 3:13 AM).
This final chapter took me a long time and has over 7,000 words, without a doubt, the longest chapter I’ve ever written since I began writing.
I could’ve split it into multiple parts, but I think it works better as one long chapter.
I hope you enjoyed the ending.
Yes, it had some drama with the deaths of Eudora and Nyra, but I felt it would’ve been odd for Luke to go through the entire war and everything since Nevermore began without suffering any real loss.
I want to thank everyone who supported the story. Compared to my first fanfic, this one received way more support and interaction, which made it much more motivating to continue, and it lasted as long as I had planned, even longer than my HP story, which ran for 208 chapters.
Maybe I should’ve given Edward more personality development or expanded on his ideology during his fight with Luke, but honestly, they started trying to kill each other the moment they met, without even exchanging words.
Still, I felt that wasn’t really necessary.
They were sworn enemies with no chance of resolving anything through dialogue, it would’ve just been a waste of time for both of them.
As for waiting for Wednesday season two to use new content, I never considered it an option.
I’ve already changed so many things, especially the powers and the structure of the world.
Besides, characters like Marilyn or Tyler (the Hyde who appeared in season one and, apparently, will be back in season two) are way too weak in this version.
Once again, thank you to everyone who supported and read this story.
I wish you a wonderful life and hope you’ll keep reading my stories in the future.
See you around :D
Nathe07
Comments
justin kuhn
Honestly one of my favorite things I ever read. I was really hoping for more relationship things between them. Half way I knew it was probably over but I was still hoping this was like the end of an arc and it would lead into some new focus other than the spellmans and especially when it mentioned college. There really isn't enough wednesday stories...
vior
cine
