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WD - Chapter 259: End of the battle
🕑 Added 2025-06-22 16:40:55 +0000 UTCCharles watched everything with a furrowed brow and a vein pulsing at his temple.
His forehead was covered in sweat. His face, tense. Though the battle had lasted only five minutes, shielding Luke’s mind from a psychic like Aldric had been an exhausting task.
And that was with Luke being a telepath himself.
If he weren’t, Charles thought as he knelt on the ground to catch his breath, this would have been impossible.
Luke, on the other hand, was breathing steadily. No gasps, no tremors. But the sweat on his brow and the latent aura flickering around his body betrayed the considerable energy he’d spent since arriving here.
Even so, he could keep fighting. In past battles, he’d been in far worse situations. This was just some sweat and spent energy from using his abilities and strength.
Charles watched him approach. His steps were slow, steady, as if there were no doubt in him. Eclipse floated behind him, returning to his back, awaiting its master's hand.
"Are you alright?" Luke asked bluntly, seeing Charles on his knees.
Charles looked up at him. He nodded, though it was still hard to speak.
"I’m..." he inhaled deeply, "I’m alright."
His voice sounded a little broken, not out of weakness, but from sheer exhaustion. He still felt the pressure in his temples, the lingering echo of mental assaults, and the walls he’d raised inside his mind throughout the entire fight.
Luke extended a hand. Charles looked at it for a moment, then accepted.
Luke helped him up. Even after engaging in close combat with one of the most dangerous psychics of the century, he still had the strength to lift his professor.
"Thanks," Luke said simply, directly. "If you hadn’t been there… this would’ve been a lot harder."
As Charles stood, he looked at him with a mixture of fear, pride, and relief. Not fear of Luke as a person, but of what he was.
A sixteen-year-old psychic from an ancient bloodline… with four auras.
A soul weapon capable of cutting through any material or defense effortlessly. A clairvoyant mind that could see seconds into the future, with a domain so vast it worked like a 360-degree radar.
Telekinesis that, once matured, would be unstoppable.
He already had an absurd level for his age… although, of course, compared to monsters like Mortimer or Margaret, both over seventy, he was still a step behind in raw telekinetic power. But that was only natural.
Then came the regeneration, one that mocked death itself. And physical strength still developing, yet destined to one day match, with nothing but his body alone, the might of werewolves, vampires, or the strongest outcast beings in terms of strength, speed, and agility.
He also possessed a blue aura. Mental powers: telepathy, illusions, mental defenses, sensory manipulation.
All that… in a sixteen-year-old.
No weaknesses.
Strength. Speed. Foresight. Healing. Mind power. Clairvoyance. A soul weapon and an ancient lineage coursing through his veins.
Without a doubt, Luke was already part of the elite in the outcast world. And not elite because of wealth, politics, or influence, purely because of power.
Still, danger hadn’t disappeared. There were more Spellman demon-elders who hadn’t yet shown themselves.
And the most feared of all: Edward Spellman.
According to records, he died in 1900 at the age of 101. But clearly, that was a lie. Considering he was born in 1799, he was now just a few years shy of turning 250.
It was impossible to know exactly how much power he had accumulated over all this time, but one thing was clear, facing him head-on would be a grave mistake for anyone on the Council’s side. Edward had once been a double-aura prodigy, just like Edgar Allan Poe.
And now, he had likely made pacts with demons to further enhance his strength.
Other elders might be even more powerful than Aldric, Mortimer, or Vespera.
But the living had their own monsters. On Luke’s side stood titans: Gómez Addams, Fester Addams, Stalin Umbrío. Beasts among the outcasts.
Still, Charles knew that Luke was growing, and growing fast.
In ten years… what would his level be?
Who could stop him?
'He’ll be the strongest psychic of all,' Charles thought, watching as Luke calmly wiped the blood from Eclipse.
'No… he’ll be the strongest outcast in the world.'
At that moment, a sound tore through the sky. The air distorted, the pressure shifted… and before Charles could even react, he felt something arrive.
Luke turned his head sharply, but it was already too late.
From nothing, from a cloud of distorted particles, a creature burst forth, vomited out from the very abyss of time and space.
It hadn’t been detected by Luke’s domain because it hadn’t come from anywhere nearby. It had teleported from thousands of kilometers away… or perhaps from another plane entirely.
A massive creature, seemingly made of liquid flesh and solid smoke. A grotesque face with no visible eyes, and a gaping mouth that took up more than half its head.
From its back floated chunks of formless mass, and it descended directly over the spot where Aldric’s corpse lay.
Its mouth opened wider than nature should allow.
'A demon?' Luke thought, startled by the sudden arrival.
In one swift movement, it devoured Aldric’s body whole. The severed head, the arm, the rest, everything.
Luke was already in motion. His hand gripped Eclipse. In a fraction of a second, a telekinetic blast, like a blade of compressed wind, shot forward.
The arc of energy curved through the air, aiming straight for the creature. But the demon with a dry, ripping crack that sliced through the atmosphere like paper… it vanished.
The blast grazed one of the floating chunks of flesh, tearing off a portion.
The demon shrieked, a hideous, bone-chilling sound.
And then… silence.
"What was that? A demon?" Charles asked, not expecting an answer.
"Yeah..." Luke said, frowning, uncertainty flickering across his face for the first time.
Why had it taken the body?
When he killed Mortimer, also a demon elder, nothing like this had happened. No demon appeared. No one came for the remains.
Why now?
Then again… he had turned Mortimer into a sphere of blood rather quickly.
Was this the Spellmans’ doing? Reclaiming their own?
Or was it the demons?
'If it’s the demons… maybe they want them back to feed on, to reclaim what’s theirs or something like that...' Luke thought, a trace of urgency tightening in his chest.
He turned to Charles. “I’m going to the others,” he said, and vanished.
He shot into the night sky, a supersonic flash slicing through the darkness.
Within seconds, he reached the Marlowe estate. There, in the middle of a crater, lay Vespera’s corpse.
Her body was sprawled at the center of the pit, wounds covering her torso and face.
There was no trace left of the beauty she once possessed, what lay there now was a deformed crone over a century old: wrinkled, sunken, drained. Her flesh torn open, her skin lacerated by slashes, bites, and darkness. Her head was severed, resting beside her decrepit form.
Luke descended slowly, scanning the area with his senses.
Wednesday was standing.
Injured, but steady. Dried blood on her arm, a mark on her forehead. She breathed through her mouth, her gaze fixed on Vespera’s body, as if waiting for it to rise again, for the head to reattach somehow. She still held her scythe in one hand.
Reina, the professor, had a deep wound in her thigh and another on her side. Her clothes were in tatters, her body drenched in blood, both hers and someone else’s.
Enid was near her. Her arm was dislocated, her jaw swollen, claw marks tearing down her back.
Even so, her expression was alert, though her legs trembled beneath her.
Nyra lay on the ground a few meters away, resting on the grass with her arms behind her head, using her small hands as a pillow.
She was injured, yes, but her face showed no pain. Just something strange… like the peace that comes after a good fight to the death. She was gazing up at the night sky.
Alecto, the gorgon professor, was sitting against a rock. Her breathing was heavy and uneven.
She had an open wound on her side and another, more serious one, in her right eye, which she kept closed, blood trickling down her cheek.
Her gaze was steady, but drained.
Luke landed softly beside Wednesday.
Without wasting a second, he extended his hand and pulled Vespera’s body toward them, head included. If that demon showed up again, it would have to get closer to him… and it wouldn’t escape so easily this time.
“What are you doing?” Wednesday asked, watching the corpse now lying just a few feet away.
“Aldric is dead, but that wasn’t the end,” Luke replied. “A demon appeared, swallowed him whole, and vanished. I don’t want the same thing happening to Vespera.”
“I wounded it, but it disappeared instantly. Maybe it returned to the demonic plane… or maybe it works with the Spellmans. But that didn’t happen when I killed Mortimer. So it might try the same thing with her,” he added.
Wednesday nodded slowly, surprised, though no emotion showed on her face.
“Then let’s not leave her body here,” Wednesday said coldly, staring at Vespera’s corpse. “Turn her into a blood sphere. Just in case. It’s useless to us now. Better to make sure it’s useless to everyone.”
Luke didn’t argue. He extended his hand, and in less than five seconds, Vespera’s body was reduced to an unshaped sphere of compacted flesh, blood, and bone, about the size of a football.
“Dad!” cried a sweet but slightly hurt voice.
Luke turned just in time to see Nyra spring to her feet with surprising agility.
Despite a cut on her pale leg that made her limp slightly, she ran toward him with disturbingly cheerful energy. Her smile was far too wide, so wide that any normal child would give someone nightmares.
Her red eyes gleamed. Sharp teeth peeked from between lips twisted in brutal joy.
Two horns protruded from her head, and her long, bony fingers with sharp nails clutched tightly onto Luke’s torso as she hugged him.
“I had a great fight!” she said with wild excitement. “I tore a chunk of skin off that old hag! It was awesome! And I even told Mom she was already dead. I smelled it... but she still kept her guard up and didn’t believe me.”
Wednesday’s brow furrowed slightly.
She said nothing.
But that “Mom” stuck in her mind like a thorn.
Luke noticed the expression. His eyes met hers for a brief moment, and then he accepted Nyra’s hug with ease, wrapping one arm around her while his other hand affectionately stroked one of her horns.
“You need to understand something, Nyra,” Luke said, glancing sideways at Wednesday with a faint, mocking smile. “Your mother is paranoid.”
Wednesday clicked her tongue. “Looks like you spoiled her too much during training,” she said in a cold voice. “This is what happens when you think you're a babysitter.”
Luke gave her a soft, almost defiant smile. He didn’t reply.
Instead, he crouched down in front of Nyra and placed his palm over her injured leg. The energy of his green aura flowed like a strand of emerald light, slowly healing the deep gash.
Though Nyra had accelerated regeneration due to her Wendigo nature, that cut must have hurt… even if she didn’t show it. Because she wasn’t normal. Because she was fierce. And her brutality felt like a game to her.
Wednesday watched him.
Luke Poe, kneeling beside Nyra, his hand on her wounded leg, letting the green aura flow calmly, as if it were something as natural as breathing.
She felt a pang of surprise, because she knew Luke better than anyone. Yes, better even than Enid.
Enid knew a lot about Luke: what annoyed him, what he liked, his personality…
But she hadn’t lived beside him the way Wednesday had, at Addams Manor, in Shadyside, and beyond.
She knew how hard it was for Luke to open up, to show affection.
Just like her.
And now she saw him like this with Nyra, someone he’d only known for a few months, someone he’d adopted by chance.
This wasn’t just compassion.
Or a sense of duty.
It was real affection, without irony, without distance.
Nyra… that little girl with wild instincts and sharp teeth, that Wendigo who could tear a man apart with her bare hands, had achieved something few ever could:
She had entered Luke’s heart, without forcing her way in.
And now, watching Luke like this, healing so effortlessly, Wednesday couldn’t help but think of something else.
A flicker of the future. One where the war was over. Where they had won. A future where Luke wasn’t just healing Nyra… but someone else.
Their real children.
Wednesday looked away for a moment.
Then Luke stood up. He walked toward her, calm and steady, “What are you thinking about, commander?” he asked, noticing something strange in her eyes.
As he spoke, he gently brushed away a strand of blood-matted black hair that had fallen across her forehead.
Wednesday looked at him.
“Nothing,” she answered curtly, as always. But this time, her tone lacked its usual edge.
It was just control.
When Luke reached out to heal her, Wednesday stopped him firmly, grabbing his wrist with one hand.
“No. Others are worse off. Alecto has a destroyed eye. Reina is covered in wounds and has lost a lot of blood. The Marlowe girl is still unconscious, and her brother looks pale. Give them first aid, if you still have energy. We need to stay alert.”
Luke stared at her for a second longer, hesitating, but he understood, there were higher priorities.
He nodded and turned away, heading first toward the Marlowe girl, who was clearly in the worst condition.
Meanwhile, Wednesday turned to Nyra.
“You.”
“Yes, Mom?”
Wednesday’s brow twitched slightly, but she didn’t correct her. She knew it was a lost cause.
“Go over there,” Wednesday said, pointing toward the captured Spellman twins and the unconscious hooded figures.
“Keep an eye on them.”
Nyra looked at them, clearly unimpressed with the assignment, "Watch them? Boring.”
Wednesday simply raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, okay, I’m going!” Nyra grumbled, quickly moving toward the prisoners.
After that, Wednesday looked toward Enid, who was still in her werewolf form.
Enid began walking toward the Marlowe house, not looking back.
Wednesday knew why.
If Enid returned to her human form in front of Luke, she would be naked. And she surely didn't want that. Not out of distrust, but probably out of shame.
Even though she was still hopelessly in love with him, even though obsession still flickered in her eyes whenever she watched him… it had been a long time since they were together.
And Luke didn’t know what they had discussed.
That Wednesday had offered her something unthinkable: A polyamorous relationship.
Because Enid was her only friend. And because they both loved him.
Enid had accepted, with surprise, joy, and hope that Luke would say yes.
But they hadn’t spoken to him about it yet. The mission had come right after. The trap. The battle.
Wednesday walked slowly after her, crossing the field.
When she entered the Marlowe house, she saw Enid step out of a room, back in human form, wrapped in a blanket that covered her entire body.
Her blonde hair, messy, with blue and pink streaks matted with sweat and blood. Her body wrapped in a threadbare blanket she had taken from inside, clinging to her like an improvised towel. Several wounds still marked her skin, some not fully closed.
Wednesday watched her in silence for a moment. Then she spoke, direct, but soft.
“You’re hurt. Come with me. Let Luke heal you.”
Enid hesitated. Her gaze dropped for a moment, nervous, but she nodded.
“Thanks…” Enid murmured, following Wednesday.
They walked together back to the group. Both of them knew it wasn’t the right time to tell Luke about the polyamory.
Not yet, but soon.
Very soon.
Comments
Leo Santos
Tftc
Matt Holmes
Thanks for the chapter
