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WD - Chapter 255: Luke and Nyra's Entry
🕑 Added 2025-06-03 18:37:44 +0000 UTCThe wind sliced at perfect angles against Luke’s telekinetic shield.
He was traveling at a relatively low speed for his current level, barely two hundred kilometers per hour. He floated three hundred meters above the ground, with Nyra, the Wendigo, suspended in a gravitational field beside him.
The Wendigo was curled in a fetal position, wrapped in a black cloak that had once belonged to Morticia Addams. Her eyes were tightly shut, as if the outside world was too bright, and every so often, she let out a low, annoyed growl when the air stirred more than expected.
It wasn’t fear.
It was distaste.
Nyra didn’t like flying. Her body was made to hunt through underbrush, to climb trees like a pale shadow, stalking prey through broken branches and mud. The sky, though she tolerated it, was still an environment she didn’t understand.
That’s why Luke had "reduced" the speed. A gesture of consideration. Though he wouldn’t admit it out loud.
His training had finally come to an end. He couldn’t keep himself locked away like a meditating monk. The war had reached a high-tension point, and Luke had already proven himself elite when he killed Mortimer Spellman a few months back. He could no longer afford to extend his training and remain uninvolved. It was time to take part.
Since he hadn’t left Addams Manor in a long time, he traveled calmly, watching the landscape below.
His destination? Nevermore.
Wednesday would finish school tomorrow, and Luke wanted to surprise her with a visit.
Nyra, who had come to see them as her parents, wanted to visit her mother after so long. After all, it had already been three months since they had "adopted" her. Though the word was more symbolic than legal, the creature had taken it with brutal literalness.
At first, Luke hadn’t corrected Nyra because he enjoyed seeing Wednesday’s expression whenever the little one called her “mother.” It was funny, and it gave him something to tease her about.
However, by now it was far too late to correct the little Wendigo, and Luke had ended up paying the price, he was now officially considered “dad.”
“Slow down, dad!” Nyra suddenly shouted, eyes still closed, teeth chattering from the vibrations.
Luke closed his eyes for a second and let out a brief sigh. His right eyebrow twitched.
“We’re already going at grandma speed. If we slow down any more, it’ll take forever to reach Nevermore,” Luke replied.
“Forever? I don’t think so, dad. You’re miscalculating the distance and the speed we’re already traveling,” Nyra shot back, finally opening one eye, which glowed with that eerie red light that would send chills down many an outcast’s spine.
‘Is she correcting me?’ Luke thought, glancing sideways at her.
Nyra had changed.
Since being freed from the normie lab, the little one had been a wild whirlwind, no language, no control, sheer blind brutality. But now… now she spoke very well. She learned fast. She was a bizarre mix between a fierce cub and a brilliant student.
Morticia had taught her good manners.
Fester trained her to track, hunt, and stalk, an experience Nyra loved with every fiber of her being.
Gomez, when he had the time, also tried to train her in fencing, or at least he pretended to. He mostly just had fun, since Nyra couldn’t care less about learning sword techniques.
And Luke… Luke used her for training. Her raw strength was ideal for testing shields, reflexes, and new techniques. He never truly hurt her. But he did push her to the limit more than once. And Nyra adored him for it.
A strange bond. Hard to explain. But real.
Luke, a sixteen-year-old teenager, now had an adoptive daughter who was technically older than him, but mentally, she was around twelve or thirteen. And not even a telekinetic bomb could get rid of her.
“Stop being such a coward,” Luke finally said.
“It’s not fear,” Nyra snapped, clearly offended. “I like the ground. I like feeling the earth under my feet. Smelling trails. Following tracks. Hearing the leaves. The forest.”
“And slashing throats,” Luke added.
The Wendigo girl gave a sideways grin, showing her fangs. She had that mischievous, childlike… and utterly predatory expression. A very Addams-like combination, and Luke couldn’t help but feel she had adapted surprisingly well to the family.
“Well… if I get to see Mom soon, I’ll endure it,” said Nyra, shifting in the gravitational field with reluctant resignation.
Luke couldn’t help but smile slightly, more amused than anything.
He remembered the first time Nyra called her that, Mother. She had done it right in front of Wednesday, totally naturally.
And although Wednesday only raised an eyebrow with her usual gothic indifference, Luke caught the microexpression. That tiny blink. That barely tensed muscle near the corner of her mouth.
It was glorious.
Of course, afterward he had to endure several days of passive-aggressive comments.
Still… even Wednesday had accepted Nyra.
She’d never admit it, of course. But every time Nyra jumped into their calls and started telling her about what she had hunted, the new bones she was cleaning, or how she beat Fester in a hunt (either by cheating or because Fester let her win), Wednesday never cut her off. Never ignored her.
She replied. Never with a smile, obviously. But she replied.
“That’s the spirit, kid,” Luke said mockingly. “The family reunion’s coming up. Everyone’s going to see Wednesday has a daughter. I can’t wait to see their faces…”
He stayed silent for a moment, imagining the scene. The Nevermore courtyard. The faces of Xavier, Ajax, Bianca, the teachers. And Wednesday… Wednesday trying not to kill anyone when Nyra jumped up and shouted “Mom!” in front of everyone.
Beautiful.
“Dad…” Nyra said in a serious voice, without even opening her eyes, “I can smell that you’re planning to mess with Mom.”
Luke turned his head slightly, “Oh yeah?”
“Yes. Your blood temperature just rose by half a degree. It always happens when you get too excited imagining something,” Nyra stated flatly.
Luke sighed, “Damn instinctual precision…”
“And it’s going to cost you,” she added with a sepulchral tone. “Mom’s going to be mad. Really mad.”
Luke remained quiet. He knew she wasn’t exaggerating.
Wednesday had a high tolerance for threats… but a very low one for mockery.
Of course, hardly anyone ever dared to joke with her, only Luke did.
And just at that moment, before Luke could respond, he received a telepathic message: a clean, direct voice without a trace of emotion, one he recognized instantly: Wednesday.
'Marlowe Estate. Vermont. Eastern forest sector. Reinforced barrier. We can’t get out and we’re outnumbered. Nine hostiles. The most dangerous are two elder Spellmans and Margaret Spellman. We’re barely holding on with three teachers, Enid, and two members of the Marlowe family. I need help.'
Luke felt his heartbeat spike. There was no panic in Wednesday’s tone. No drama. Just facts. Data.
What alarmed him most was Wednesday asking for help. If she was doing that… it meant the situation was serious.
'Two elders,' Luke thought, frowning.
'I’ll be there in ten minutes,' he replied.
“Dad?” Nyra asked, noticing his furrowed brow.
“Get ready to speed up and fight,” Luke replied without looking at her.
Nyra straightened slightly. Her eyes lit up with excitement.
Fight? Good.
Speed? Mmm… not so much.
Luke raised one hand and reinforced the field around her, hardening it. Then, he extended his other hand forward, redirecting all the telekinetic force he had been using to float gently into a single burst.
Boom.
The acceleration was brutal.
The air cracked with a sharp sonic boom. The landscape blurred. Luke rose past 1,000 meters in altitude to avoid obstacles and reduce drag. The trees below turned into green smears, the mountains like miniature models.
Nyra let out a muffled growl and yelled, “This is not grandma speed!”
Luke didn’t answer. His mind was already focused on getting there as fast as possible to help Wednesday.
Not excited by the fight, he was anxious to make sure nothing happened to Wednesday.
…
Marlowe Manor.
The garden of the estate was a battlefield.
Torn-up earth, scorched trees, deep cracks running through the lawn like scars. And amidst that chaos, the sounds of energy blasts, stifled screams, and attacks filled the air.
Mrs. Marlowe lay beneath the twisted roots of an old oak tree. Her condition was unknown. Her unmoving body had been forgotten amid the chaos. Her fall had made the defense even more difficult. And only a few minutes had passed since the battle had begun.
Her childrens, the Marlowe boy and girl, did not retreat. They fought with the raw rage of those who have nothing left to lose. Their wounds were numerous: fractured bones, burned flesh, gashes revealing muscle... and yet, they didn’t fall. As if hatred and despair were the only things keeping them upright. Heirs driven mad by the loss of their father, and now their mother as well.
At the center of the battlefield, the three Nevermore professors had formed a defensive triangle.
Charles, bleeding from his nose and one eye, was using his energy to maintain a mental shield around the group. The pressure he was under was colossal. His forehead was soaked in sweat, his thoughts racing, his mind constantly under assault from psychic interference coming from Aldric, the elderly Spellman with a young face and eyes of liquid steel.
Aldric’s presence was overwhelming. His telepathic aura was a black ocean crashing in waves. If it weren’t for Charles, the others, with weaker mental defenses, might have already fallen into illusions or crippling psychic pain.
Worst of all, Aldric wasn’t just a telepath. His body had been enhanced through demonic pacts. While Charles possessed the enhanced physique of a psychic outcast, it was still average by physical standards, easily surpassed by werewolves, vampires, and others who specialized in raw strength.
But Aldric didn’t have that disadvantage. In fact, his strength and speed exceeded even Enid’s in her fully transformed werewolf state. One of his blows had sent her flying back several meters, nearly breaking her transformed arm.
Vespera was a darkness wielder, like Wednesday. Dark, dense orbs spun around her hands and behind her, dancing like silent comets that detonated on contact with lethal pressure. Wednesday barely managed to dodge the attacks. She also wielded darkness, but the power difference was clear.
Vespera commanded her element as if she had been born in the shadows. There was a deadly beauty in her movements, an emotionless elegance. And like her demonic companion, Vespera also had a body enhanced beyond what was normally possible for a psychic without a green aura.
She surpassed Professor Reina, a fully transformed werewolf whose strength reached 30 tons. Though the difference between them wasn’t as brutal as the one between Enid and Aldric.
Margaret was no less dangerous. Unlike the other two, her power, for now, was natural. Her hands burned with bright orange flames, conjuring pure fire from her elemental orange aura. And that wasn’t all. She was a dual-aura user. Her second aura was telekinesis, and far from weak.
She wasn’t on Mortimer Spellman’s level, who could reach 70 tons, but Wednesday had struggled to deflect some of her attacks, and even she was beginning to falter.
The twins, Jane and Anna, could barely keep up. Their power wasn’t negligible, but at this level, they were simply support units.
The three hooded figures, hidden behind masks and betrayal, maintained tactical pressure and offered support. Like Jane and Anna, they couldn’t keep up with the three elder Spellmans, and two of them were already injured.
And finally… the Spellman servant. Two meters tall, pure muscle, a deformed face, grayish skin, and eyes that barely showed emotion. He didn’t speak. He only struck. So far, the only thing he had demonstrated was his raw strength, slightly below Enid’s.
Charles couldn’t hold out much longer. His mind was vibrating, his vision blurring, sweat soaking his collar. Aldric was overpowering him, not just in psychic skill, but in presence, speed, and physical power.
Charles had already sent a telepathic message to Nevermore, requesting urgent backup.
With luck, reinforcements would arrive in a few minutes.
But there was a problem.
An advanced barrier surrounded the estate. Reinforced. Complex. Breaking through it wouldn’t be immediate.
And by the time they managed it they might all be dead.
Even if they managed to break the barrier quickly and all the professors entered, Charles doubted the outcome would change drastically. Yes, the defensive balance would improve. They might gain seconds, maybe minutes.
But it wouldn't be enough to defeat three Spellman elders.
The three damned elders.
They were monsters. Real monsters.
And yet, Charles still had hope. Because he realized Wednesday had sent another telepathic message.
And that could only mean one thing.
Luke Poe.
The boy Charles had once trained. The student with three auras. The killer of Mortimer Spellman.
The heir of the Poe bloodline.
'If anyone can change the outcome of this battle… it’s him,' Charles thought, suppressing a mental spasm as another psychic wave crashed against his shield.
And then, hell intensified.
A torn scream split the air, “LYA!”
It was the Marlowe brother. The girl, Lya, had just fallen.
Margaret, with a sharp gesture, had unleashed a concentrated spiral of fire that struck the young woman’s chest, shattering her defenses. The explosion hurled her several meters backward. She crashed violently into the rose bushes, her body convulsing, wrapped in smoke and blood.
The defensive line broke again. Now they were one fewer. Charles turned pale, but there was nothing more he could do.
That was when Aldric appeared to his right, moving with absurd speed.
A single strike. Aimed directly at his head.
'Shit!' Charles thought. If that hit landed, he’d be half-dead at best.
But Enid got in the way.
Fully transformed into her werewolf form, she used both arms to block the attack, letting out a deep, ferocious roar.
The impact was brutal.
The blow sent her spinning through the air like a rag doll. She bounced off the ground, slammed into a column, and collapsed to the side, gasping.
She barely had time to get back up… before she felt another presence.
The Spellman servant, fist raised like a hammer, coming straight for her head.
At the same time, Alecto, the gorgon, was intercepted by a blazing chain of fire that Margaret summoned with deadly precision and speed.
The professor cursed and was sent flying, her body spinning like a broken mythic figure, crashing into a garden statue and shattering it.
Wednesday was still holding on, but now she was in a critical situation with neither Enid, Alecto, nor Lya at her side.
Vespera’s dark orbs swirled around her, a deadly ballet. Each one demanded precise evasion, perfect defense. But Wednesday wasn’t unbreakable. She was tired. Fighting against a greater force.
Then Margaret looked at her, a faint wrinkled smile on her face. She extended a hand and conjured a massive fireball, burning with immense power.
When Wednesday saw the fireball and the heat radiating from it, she couldn’t help but compare it to Ingrid. Same elemental power.
Totally different scale, like comparing a child to an adult.
Without hesitation, Margaret hurled the fireball at Wednesday. Simultaneously, Vespera launched three orbs, one center, two on the flanks.
A coordinated assault. Perfect execution.
Wednesday raised her left arm to shield herself with a barrier of darkness, but her strength was nearly depleted.
She could block one. Maybe two.
But not four simultaneous, high-powered attacks.
Professor Reina, fully transformed into a werewolf, saw both Enid and Wednesday in critical condition, but the three hooded figures and the twin sisters were attacking her relentlessly to prevent her from giving support.
“Damn trash!” she roared, sending one of the masked attackers flying.
But it was already too late to help her teammates.
The attacks were about to strike Wednesday.
And then… space distorted.
And right in front of Wednesday, a figure appeared, one she recognized instantly.
A broad back. A curved sword in hand, vibrating with psychic energy.
Luke.
He had used Shambles to bypass the barrier without breaking it.
Wednesday barely had time to blink. Her shoulders relaxed instinctively.
Elsewhere in the garden, Enid, still gasping, her body trembling from Aldric’s brutal hit, was struggling to get up.
And in front of her, the massive Spellman servant, his fist raised like a hammer, was about to strike her head with full force, and she wouldn’t be able to defend herself.
But something faster than thought intervened.
An inhuman roar rang out, deep, wild.
And from the sky, Nyra descended.
The Wendigo.
Small. But powerful.
Her eyes glowed with a supernatural hue. Her claws were extended. Her expression… that of a primal predator.
With a brutal leap, she landed between Enid and the servant.
And without giving him time to react, she drove a punch straight into his abdomen.
CRACK!
The servant flew like a projectile, slamming into a stone wall that collapsed in a rain of rubble.
And while that happened, Luke was facing the attacks aimed directly at his girlfriend.
With Eclipse in hand, he raised his sword with absolute fluidity and launched an upward slash toward the fireball.
The energy concentrated in the blade expanded with a deep hum, as if it were slicing through the very air.
A telekinetic blade emerged, crystal-clear, sharp as final judgment.
Margaret’s fireball, burning like a compressed sun, was split in half.
It exploded mid-air in a burst of flames. The telekinetic slash kept going.
Vespera’s three dark orbs arrived a second later, launched in formation. An encircling strike: one down the center, two on the sides, converging like a trap.
But Luke already knew. His foresight had shown him exactly where they would hit.
His feet slid subtly across the ground, left knee dropping half a step. His torso rotated with clockwork precision.
And his right arm, strong enough to lift five tons thanks to the development of his Green Aura, executed three consecutive slashes.
The sword danced in his hands like it had a life of its own. A perfect extension of his body.
The first orb, split straight down the middle.
The second, cleaved diagonally.
The third, pierced with a thrust.
Wednesday, seeing Luke neutralize the attacks, noticed something different in his style.
More refined. Precise. Lethal.
She could see the influence of her father, master of a fencing style that was baroque, classical… and brutal.
The orbs vanished.
The battlefield cleared for an instant.
And Luke lowered his sword slowly, as if everything that had just happened was nothing more than a warm-up.
Comments
Matt Holmes
Thanks for the chapter
Leo Santos
Tftc.
