Thursday, March 12, 2015

Day Eight-Thirty-Two: She should have come along after all

After Eve finished eating her werewolf, she had a nap. Her half-Non biology prevented the lycanthropy in the werewolf’s body from converting her into one of the flock.

After Eve’s nap was finished, she went for a walk. Another werewolf made the mistake of trying to attack her, so she ripped its head off, ate its body, and had another nap.

After Eve’s second nap she went for another walk, which was, now that she’d remembered her brother, more of a series of high-flying bounds across the landscape. The scent of fires on the wind drew her towards Foregone.

When she found Foregone, Eve discovered that it was covered by a thin, green energy barrier, a dome similar to one her other brother had helped create in a town called Pubton. The barrier was in her way, so she ripped through it, crashed through a wall, and entered the city.

The city was filled with roiling black smoke. Eve drew in a deep breath and ignored the smoke, wading through the haze with a drunken-looking stagger. Anything she met along the way she batted aside.

Eve found all of this vaguely annoying. Not as annoying as her inability to truly control herself - coming here had been the greatest act of defiance she’d ever committed against the fat man, and it was not nearly enough to satisfy her - but the combination of barrier, lack of breath, and zero visibility made the young woman irritable.

That and the pain in her side. Her left kidney was beginning to fail. She suspected it would be a withered husk by the end of the month. That didn’t bother Eve overly much - she had two, after all - but anything that impeded her ability to function irritated her.

Eve possessed virtually zero magical power. She’d known from birth that she was a fighter, her physical abilities maximized far beyond that of any normal human, and she further knew that this fact would never change. She would never know the touch of magic. This didn’t bother Eve a bit, as she could easily murder any magic user (besides the fat man) bother they could hope to get off a spell.

Yet her connection to her brother could not be described as anything but magical. She therefore blamed Fynn for somehow forging the connection, and for giving her the ability to know where he was at all times. This connection - now, for some reason, tinged with the smell of spider - led Eve through the smoke and straight to her brother.

Eve also had a connection with her other brother, whom she’d only met once. He was somewhere else. Somewhere high. Somewhere she could never reach on her own. Yet, recently, he’d been so close, despite maintaining his distance…

Eve considered that for a moment. She’d tried to puzzle out the problem several times today, without success. She was not made for such cerebral pursuits, and thinking made her brain sore. Thinking made her lose focus -

- and when she lost focus, she sometimes wandered into mobs of werewolves. It wasn’t the first time she’d done so.

The shield above had dissipated, its grip on Foregone broken by Eve’s tearing hands. The smoke from the extinguished fires was rapidly fleeing into the air, fading away and revealing an enormous crowd of lumpen, furry shapes. Most appeared to still be breathing, and some were even rising out of their stupors, clutching their heads and growling weakly.

Eve let out her breath, held for fifteen minutes, and took another. It was smoky and unpleasant, but Eve decided she wouldn’t mind.

“Oh shit,” a voice said from Eve’s left. She turned to see her former husband-to-be standing at the base of a stone tower, staring at her from within a green bubble that was fitted over his head. He gulped. “Uh. Hi… Eve…”

Eve blinked. Then she turned her head skyward, watching her brother descend shakily from his perch, where, she assumed, he’d created the barrier. He carefully raised a hand to her; she did not return it. Instead, she wondered how the arachnid on his shoulder tasted.

Probably like chicken. Everything Eve could not classify tasted like chicken.

The werewolves were beginning to stir in greater numbers, now, rising to their haunches by the dozens. Logan began to wave Fynn down the stone wall, then, seeming to change his mind, he waved for Fynn to go the opposite direction. They began to argue, panicking.

A huge, hulking werewolf, one that Eve vaguely recalled, got to its feet near Eve. Shaking its head, it loomed over her and growled, coughing several times. Its claws clenched and opened as it struggled to look intimidating.

Eve did not find the beast to be intimidating. She thought it was pathetic. She simply looked back…

… and once Logan was climbing the wall of the tower towards Fynn, Eve seated herself at the bottom, waiting for one of the werewolves to try and get at her.

One did. She smacked it aside. 

Another gave it a shot. She put her fist through its stomach and sent it flying.

The big one tried. Eve calmly smashed it into the wall, then flung it across the street. It landed hard on its back.

Three more werewolves leaped for Eve. All three died. And when other werewolves tried to get at the opposite side of the tower, Eve detected them, spun around to meet them, and spilled their blood out onto the street. It didn’t take long for the werewolves to realize their predicament.

Stalemate. Of a sorts.

Julius eventually had an idea. But it took two days for the idea to form, and another to put it into play. By then, over two hundred werewolves lay dead in the streets of Foregone. Given what would happen to the rest of the werewolves in the days to come, this was, perhaps, a blessing.

Eve ate well.

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