Psycher Chronicles

Chapter 76

Werewolf Versus Werewolf

(Amoni Jacobs)

Rumble, rumble, pop.

The car flew up the rocky road so quickly that dust and debris were being kicked into the air. The image behind her showed that she only had a few seconds, but she was already prepped for what to do.

There before her was Misha, standing stoically, with everything she needed.

Badump, badump, badump.

Seeing the pale girl standing there, with the pale moonlight shining down and seeming to glow on her lustrous red hair caused a shiver to run down Amoni’s spine.

For a moment their eyes locked and she saw the look of determination.

Seeing her, Amoni began doing everything as commanded.

Click.

The first thing she did was unclasp her seatbelt, something that would be stupid normally, particularly with how quickly they were moving. But despite her fingers being off the wheel, the car steered forward perfectly.

“Yeah, I need to ask her about that,” Amoni thought to herself.

“AWOOO!”

But a sharp piercing howl from no less than three bends away told Amoni that she had other things to do besides ask that question.

Bing, bing, bing.

With her seatbelt off, and her hands already reaching under the hem of her shirt, she almost paused when she heard her car beeping at her.

“Sorry about that,” the voice over the phone rang out.

Then even the binging sound from her seatbelt alert went off, allowing Amoni time to focus on her task. Which consisted of pulling her t-shirt over her head and getting it into a tight ball that she then placed out the window.

Rumble, stop.

The car came to a quick stop, as a drone whirred forward, long thin metallic claws reaching out to grab the balled up shirt, before streaking off past the house, and into the open fields, and eventually to the cornfields.

For a second, Amoni wondered if the tiny drone could force its way through the stalks, but was quickly drawn out of her stupor by Misha’s voice that now spoke with an echo.

“Don’t just sit there, get out and change already,” Misha’s voice said both in person, and through the speaker of her phone that was now clutched tightly within her hand.

Taking a deep breath, Amoni got out of the car with only her sports bra on top, and her sweat pants on, her nice shoes had already been kicked off, as they would not survive the transformation.

Amoni got out of the car, and realized that her clothing was perfect for changing, and began to do just that.

Almost out of habit, she tried to close the door, but was quickly stopped by Misha.

“Wait, leave it, we need to sell that you left in a hurry. Now change and run into those crops, I’ll be right behind you,” Misha’s cold voice echoing in Amoni’s mind.

She dropped her phone, well dropped would be a wrong thing to say, as Misha had already gained possession of the phone somehow and was herself moving to another area.

For a moment, Amoni realized just how dangerous the entire situation was.

She was being chased by a crazed and feral were that was likely blood drunk on the energy of its sire. Now she had to change in front of a non-pack member, a clear violation of the covenant. Assuming Amoni and Misha both survived, just witnessing such a change meant that Misha would either have to become pack, or die. There were very few exceptions to this case.

Her father would know.

Painful pause.

Then at the thought of her father, the man who just died, a pang of pain echoed in her body, before she shook her head. The last thing her father would have wanted was for her to show any sign of weakness. Also, Misha was technically not looking, which meant she didn’t actually see the transformation.

These were the rational arguments her mind made, as she began changing.

Crunch, crackle, pop.

With each step, Amoni forced her body to grow and mutate with the curse. Before this had been very painful, as she felt that her two sides were at war with each other. But recently the change had been easy, well easier.

While she did feel the stretch and strain of her bones and muscles, it wasn’t as pronounced as it once was. Now it was more of a good ache one could expect after stretching after a long exhausting workout.

This was why Amoni found herself switching to her wolf form half way through the open field that ran past the basketball courts.

It was also why she was able to get to full speed before reaching the corn field. As she entered, she found the scent of her own clothing and instinctively followed it.

Poof.

Before she was hit with a bag of dirt that seemed to have come out of nowhere.

Only after looking up did she see that there was a second larger drone that had apparently timed its approach perfectly to drop a bag of dirt one would find laying around a farm, right on her.

Anger.

For a moment Amoni felt anger, but soon calmed herself as she realized this was the chance she needed.

Rather than shaking the dirt free, as was her first instinct, she instead rubbed the dirt deeper, having it meld with her own overgrown fur on her arms, and head.

She would so need a bath after this, but she always needed one after a change.

Now, all she had to do was remember the rest of Misha’s plan.

Remember the plan and execute.

***

(Ursala Jarnic AKA Ms. Clayton)

Ursala found herself stalking her prey.

Sniff, sniff.

With each step, she felt the distance that her prey could travel away shorten. Her ears, now powerful and sensitive enough to hear the rustling of deer trying to get one last midnight feast in before they were forced to go into winter preservation mode.

For a moment, she just paused and basked in her senses. Feeling the world come alive and talk to her in ways she never thought possible.

In this moment, she felt like she was finally a true part of something greater than herself.

She had always known that she was part of something greater, as a Psycher, but now that her baseline thoughts were freed of their former corruption, she felt free in a way that was hard to describe.

Before, it was as if she had always been bound. Her mind always grabbed and altered by the overwhelming will of the Matriarch and her leaders.

Now though, now she was free.

Ursala had the power of the earth flowing freely through her, giving her power and bonding her to the world in ways she could only imagine.

Her mind, once her sharpest tool, was only made sharper by the impulses she was now able to receive and comprehend.

For this moment she was free.

While she could feel the responsible part of her mind melting away into the background, she let it happen. She had of course read of similar situations, moments when people take drugs or substances to release their inhibitions. Of course, such substances had little to no effect on a true Psycher, as their mind could always burn through even the toughest of stimulants, to help get the mind back to a perceived stable point of comprehension.

Yet, that was so limiting, so tedious.

Now Ursala found herself free. Her mind able to grow, expand, and adapt to the world in ways she never thought possible.

Her mind was cranked up and put to an eleven, forcing her to either let her brain melt down due to all the new stimuli given to her by her overpowered senses, or to relax, and let her mind focus on what was the most important thing.

In this moment, the most important thing was the hunt, the thrill.

She was hunting werewolves, it was her mission, and at least this part of her mind was able to acquiesce to her new state of consciousness. By her mind tethering itself to hunting down the hated enemies of her kind, those that forced her into this situation, she was able to relax. Or the final vestiges of her full Psycher doctrine were able to relax just enough, as it mentally associated this with a training mission. A new training mission where she would use her heightened senses of the enemy, to better kill the enemy.

It had been so easy.

Crunkle.

Even now she could feel the last remnants of the drying blood flake out from beneath her large fingernails. Fingernails that could scratch the bark off a redwood.

Her body was mutating and releasing endorphins that only helped her mind speed up in its interpretation of the stimuli happening around her.

Mentally, a part of her knew that her full cognitive processes were being diminished, but she didn’t think it was enough to cause any permanent harm. Not while she felt so free, and alive.

Yes, alive.

For the first time in all of her lifetimes, she felt alive in a way that only those who lived once could truly experience and enjoy.

Perhaps that finality, that ability to teeter on the verge of life and death was what made these moments so magical, what caused these monsters, of which Ursala now found herself apart of to be so magical.

Rustle.

Then, just like that, the impulses that had been guiding Ursala’s feet forward, continued their magnetic pull.

By now she saw no more shortcuts, her sense picked up no great divides that could be jumped to gain distance on her target.

Especially as the biggest outlier, the large rumbling engine that sounded far too smooth to be on the roads had finally sputtered to a stop.

There was something odd about that, her logical mind, her old Psycher mind told her to be careful. Perhaps that was why she paused so long on that deserted road.

But why her Psycher mind told her to be cautious was not able to be identified. Eventually, Ursala found herself scoffing at the latent fear of the Psycher mind, finding the hesitation and impulses for self-preservation to be wholly anathema to what her newer, more powerful, and more durable body told her she could withstand.

With a newfound confidence, she followed the road, smelling the scent of rubber dislodged dirt in the air, filling her nostrils and almost covering the scent of her target. Almost, but the amount of sweat and fear that had come from that weaker predator were almost palpable to Ursala. It so thick and pungent that Ursala could almost swear she could stick out her tongue and taste the acrid stench of fear. The stench that only a fleeing animal could exude, while being chased by a superior predator.

Smelling that intoxicating aroma, Ursala found herself stomping forward.

For a moment she almost thought there were two scents, that of the timid and frightened girl, then that of the wolf.

Sniff, sniff.

The two scents overlapped for a moment.

Again, the nagging Psycher mind of Ursala’s consciousness begged for caution. Yet, every instinct told her that the creature she was chasing was frightened. Even the wolf side, if it was around would cower in fear at the sight of her, this much Ursala knew as fact.

Then almost as if to confirm this feeling of dominance, Ursala felt the moment the girl she was chasing failed. Even her wolf failed to form, a sign that her mind was too weak to be a true predator, that she couldn’t even manifest the wolf to defend her when she needed the wolf the most.

Truly pathetic, the bestial side Ursala thought to herself as she while moving cautiously at first, soon found herself chasing after the scent of her prey in the fields.

This would be a chase that Ursala could not resist, as her still blood-stained lips peeled back, revealing rows of serrated bloody incisors that could rip apart an elephant’s thick hide.

Turning left, she followed the trail.

Wide arcing paths, over and around and through the cornfield.

With each step Ursala trampled over rows of cornstalks.

Again, her mind told her something was amiss, but her senses told her that the prey was just ahead. As such, she ignored the warning, and continued pushing forward.

Oblivious to the fact that eventually she had found herself right back where she started.

The prey doubled back?

Ursala’s mind raced as she tried to understand what happened, she had been so meticulous with her pursuit. Yet, for some reason, she found herself back to a part that smelled remarkably like her. Though there was one difference, a thick acrid smell filled the air.

At this point her rational mind all but screamed at her to get away, but for the life of her, other than the thick sweet pungent smell somehow reminded Ursala of the calm before the storm.

Squish, splash.

As Ursala stepped forward, she felt her oversized hairy feet step down into the bent over stalks of dead and dry corn. Yet, despite having clearly gone through once, this time the terrain had slightly changed, as there was a damp cold liquid on the ground. Instantly, her mind knew that the sweet and over powering smell she had been sensing was what she stepped into, but it wasn’t water. Despite looking down and seeing that the liquid was clear, like water should be.

Her mind paused as for a moment her savagery almost gave way to her rational mind that was desperately trying to once again reassert its dominance, only for fear to rise up.

Fwoosh.

In less than a second, a roaring fire appeared from seemingly nowhere and roared to life, burning both stalk and the sweet-smelling water.

For a second, Ursala’s rational mind managed to break through and warn of the smells, being that of gasoline. With that, her rational mind spoke of fear and how to escape, if she but did one thing that seemed counterintuitive. That of diving through the flames and towards the clearly visible open fields that were just beyond the flames.

Of course, there was only a second of rational thought that Ursala felt, before her animal instincts took over at the sight of a roaring flame that spung to life, and all but chased after her.

Panic.

And like that, the once proud hunter, found her instincts and fear of flame take over as she desperately tried to flee away from the flame. All rational thought gone, as she let her instincts take over, as they were clearly more suited for survival.