Dirt, the smell of damp earth and moist cold air mixed together, a poison concocted by nature herself. It numbs the nose, prickles the lungs of those that dare. Wednesday's breath seems to ring in the forest, echoing with her footsteps as she ran with all her might.
It has only been a few seconds, 30, perhaps, but it seemed as if the universe is stretching that half-a-minute to an eternity. Every step she took was steeled, her ankles tensed with strength, the strength of determination. If she falls, if she trips — she will die. All this would be for naught.
Amidst the sounds of her flee were heavy thuds, a guttural snarling sound of a monster chasing after prey. A beast hungry, a predator starved. Once again, Wednesday found herself on the other side of the barrel.
It doesn't feel good as usual. Tormenting others had always been a passion of hers. Being tormented, not so much. Regret, however, always comes late.
Questions that would freeze others, she put in the back of her mind. Still, some found their way creeping into the surface — "Why didn't you just leave?" "Why did you stay?" "Why did you jeopardize everything?" Thoughts she didn't entertain at the moment felt like tight ropes cradling her throat with the gentleness of a noose.
Wednesday is sure she's bleeding somewhere in her body, her elbows maybe, or somewhere in her arm. The coat makes it hard to see where. The fall she took gracefully is taking its toll, it felt like Karma, if that's real.
No time to stop and check, she has to find him. To find Adam. This… this is a gamble she has to take. If he could inflict that much damage with an unprepared punch, what more if he is?
She doubts her pocket mace could do so much as a damage in that monster, or her taser.
So, she followed the only clue she has. The gunshot and that… roar. Her instincts told her to run away, but her guts told her that's the only way she'd survive.
Branches snapped under Wednesday's boots as she pushed forward, every muscle in her legs screaming in protest. The trees felt like eyes, and the ground felt like a stage for a play where every character dies. She'll persist, she will not follow any script.
"Roaagh!" The daemon, that monster, roared.
The forest shuddered with its voice, birds that didn't run away from the first fled in panic. Tyler's monster form, gone was the dorky face, that awkward smile, left only was a bloodthirsty monster crawling like a demon from hell.
Wednesday didn't turn around, but enough encounters with that thing fueled her imagination to visualize what it looked like chasing her. Any second now she'd find him, any second now.
But how? The forest rustled like a laugh, and the trees seemed to move, forming a maze. She was in a maze, in a labyrinth. Wednesday felt like Theseus, and the minotaur, Tyler. Except he wasn't half-man, but a whole monster.
But, that is only her imagination. Daydreaming in this situation, Wednesday felt as if she's losing her touch.
"…fuck!"
A voice, faint, yelled. A break in the cacophony, a sound to her left. Wednesday slowed, lungs burning with every breath as she listened.
"Come out! I know you're out there, motherfucker! Don't make me catch you! I can and will kill yo-"
'The sheriff!' She knew it, the voice. That gruff and angry tone. Wednesday turned with the swiftness of a triathlete, her form heading towards the voice.
As she ran, a question plagued Wednesday's mind — Did the sheriff know?
She pressed her lips, contemplating on the question with every inch close. The snarls were only some distance now, deeper, vibrating through the ground. A cruel reminder that she's not alone.
Another question, more important, formed — If he didn't… would Tyler kill his own father?
Then, like God's thunderous judgement, a gunshot rang loud. A flicker of light burst from between the trees in front of her. A pyre of powder and indifferent bullets striking wood.
Then a shout, a broken record yelling profanities, "Fuck! Fuck!" and the cocking of a shotgun, followed only by a roar, a shriek, except this time, it's Tyler.
Wednesday ran between the trees, jumping over bushes like obstacles on her way. She could feel Tyler's steps from the ground, she could hear his breath in the air, he's close — but not close enough.
The sheriff turned, hearing the sound of the heavy steps and the roar, his gun readied in front of him. 1… 2… — "A girl?" He muttered, the girl froze, but the heavy thuds didn't stop.
Wednesday jumped to the side, and the sheriff was face-to-face with the monster that was once his son. "What the fu—!" He yelled in panic. Shoot, he commanded himself. His fingers, however, did not obey. And so the air was pulled out of his body with one, cruel strike.
It seems the universe was enjoying itself watching this badly written play, if not, how else would the sheriff's trigger-finger freeze at the very last, most important second? So God laughed, and Tyler swiped the man off his feet like a toy.
"Aaagh!" He yelled in pain, landing on his back like a ragdoll in the air, unconscious, now bleeding lightly from his head. The monster followed, crawling beast-like towards the sheriff. To finish the job, to go for the kill. Then, with claws raised high, he—
froze.
The monster, Tyler — simply stood there, a living statue. For a brief moment, in those monstrous bulging eyes, Wednesday was sure she saw clarity, humanity as it hesitated to bring its claws down.
Tyler trembled, those sharp, razor-edged claws vibrating in uncertainty of what he's about to do. The blood-thirst for his father is gone, but not for Wednesday.
His elongated, contorted torso turned, eyes to her figure slouched on the ground. His gaze blazed once more, fury returned as if it had never left.
Wednesday, amidst the burning exhaustion heating up her legs, tried to stand. She masked the coming groan of pain with a confident look, her unbothered, flat expression gracing her face again.
She stared at Tyler's eyes as if challenging him, daring him to do what he intended — to kill her, right here and now.
Wednesday's lips quivered slightly, the edge turned upward slowly, forming a smirk of defiance towards this death.
"You did that," she said, her voice laced with a mocking tone, "you could've killed your own father."
Tyler answered with a fierce growl, taking his time slowly in approaching her.
"You can't speak, can't you?" Wednesday asked with a feigned chuckle, "You really are a beast. A murderer on a killing spree, hiding behind the mask of a small-town bartender. And they say I'm the psychopath?"
Wednesday leaned towards the tree beside her, supporting her aching and bruised knee. She raised a brow towards Tyler. "What's with the suspense?" She asked again, "Do you think you scare me? You're straight out of a badly written fairy tale, a parody of the boogeyman himself."
With every step Tyler took, the inevitability seemed to make itself ever more present. Death, 'o death. Wednesday has lost count of the times how many times she's brushed with death, how many times she's danced with him.
Now, however, it loomed so close. The reaper's scythe is placed straight in her throat. One pull is all it would take. One. Simple. Pull.
She… has lost the gamble. Tyler knocked his father out and the shotgun was too far, too far to get to. Her other bet, Adam, seemed to have disappeared in the abyss of the forest. Gone.
'He must've run.' Wednesday sighed internally with the thought. What did she expect? What did she even gamble with? Of course he'd run, she told him to.
"Don't play the hero. If I get caught… run."
The words she said signed her own death sentence. It rang like the verdict of a judge in her own head. She tied her own noose, sharpened her own guillotine. How utterly, despicably ironic.
Is she afraid? Of course not. Wednesday Addams has not known fear since the day Nero died… since Tyler proved himself the monster.
She exhaled, the cold, damp air dancing like ice ballerinas in her throat. It's cold, so much so. A good day to die. Still, her hand instinctively gripped the taser in her pocket even as her mind screamed its futility. If she will die here regardless, why not try?
Tyler stopped his slow crawl, nostrils flaring, his monstrous chest rising and falling with every guttural breath. He stood in front of Wednesday, head looking down at her like a meteor mocking the dinosaurs right before impact.
"Get on with it." Wednesday said with a snarl.
Tyler raised his hand slowly, claws edging slightly beside Wednesday's figure. He measured as if he's playing a game of buzz wire. It was… mocking, demeaning — a declaration that her life is at the palm of his hand.
She watched it all happen, watched as the saliva dripped from his mouth like a rabid dog, as his bulging red eyes looked at her obsessively. Even now, he's tipping with the lingering humanity inside him.
In her pocket, Wednesday tinkered with her taser, raising it to the maximum voltage. She will not be toyed with. As soon as Tyler removed his hand, the crackle of electricity filled the air. He flinched back, but Wednesday followed. Thus, ensuing a final stand.
Tyler raised his claws like he did with his father, and Wednesday aimed for his heart. The faintest hope of giving him a cardiac arrest pushed Wednesday to move despite the ache.
Alas, a dream. His torso seems to get farther and farther away, yet his claws stayed. The same path, the same way — to her neck.
They say your life flashes before your eyes as death approaches. That's what many say, what many remember. That doesn't seem to be the case for Wednesday.
All she saw was a blur.
Then, a gust of wind, and Tyler disappeared from her view. A heavy thud rang to her left, of branches breaking and flesh dragging to the ground. Wednesday's vision cleared and a tall figure came to view.
A man with long black hair coupled with white strands, a mask, a tattered coat ridden with bullet holes — peeking through was a skin pale unlike any other, unlike her. Adam's back was smoking, stitch by stitch, bone by bone. His body healed in the form of burning flesh, burning the wounds out of existence.
The crackle of the taser slowly faded, Wednesday's grip towards the trigger slowly loosen. "Adam…" she whispered.
The man slightly turned his head to her, their eyes meeting for a brief second before he turned back. "Apologies," he said, "I died."
His sombre tone and tattered clothes explained everything Wednesday needed to know. Her gaze landed on Tyler, slowly standing up with his right arm limped to the side. As soon as he did, he let out a guttural roar, primal, of pain.
But he did not rush, did not attack like a cornered beast. He eyed them, watched. Then his arm, once limped, cracked and contorted — reverting itself back to normal, as if it never have been injured.
The girl's eyes widened. It looked unnatural, unholy, and most probably a work of sorcery. But Tyler left them no time to think, the beast leaped with vengeance, tackling Adam to the ground.
Wednesday watched as the two brawled, fist and claw striking at one another. Adam's strength did little to render the weight difference futile as Tyler pinned him to the ground.
Blood sprayed everywhere, the smell of burning and rust permeating in the air as the two clashed with Tyler exuding more ferocity than before.
She stood still in dazed, one hand holding the taser she once placed all her hope on. Her trance, however, ended when a splash of blood hit her feet. Whose is this, she asked. That seems to wake her up, a flicker of realization crossed her.
'The gun!'
The shotgun, that's right. Wednesday's eyes darted across the ground — to the sheriff's unconscious body, to where Tyler attacked him. There, a few meters to the sheriff's right, a glimmer of the barrel's metal peeks out through a bush.
Wednesday pushed herself, ignoring the aching pain of her body. She could already feel the bruises and the forming soreness she'd feel tomorrow; if they live to see it.
She kept her eyes on the two's clash, taking note of Tyler's strange regenerative abilities. Every punch from Adam shooks the monster's core, the sound of bones breaking rang in the air when fist hits monstrous flesh. But, that's all.
After every punch, Tyler comes back even more ferocious, wilder. Bones healing, claws regrowing despite being snapped like twigs. It's strange, if he could heal from damages such as that — what was so different from their first encounter? His jaw?
Strange, but something to think of later on. Wednesday grabbed the barrel, her pale and corpse-like fingers cradling the trigger.
Slowly, she approached the two, her steps making no noise. Amidst their brawl, Adam's eyes found themselves making contact with hers. They needed no words, the boy understood what she wanted to do.
So deliberately, Adam slowed his offense, focusing on fending critical attacks that may send him dying. The monster, however, perhaps feeling the imminent danger, snapped its head towards the coming threat.
Wednesday clicked her tongue as Tyler looked at her direction. 'No matter, this will do.'
Without hesitation, Wednesday pulled the trigger and the spark of the gun illuminated the darkness of the forest. If there's one thing about her that's always true, it's that she never misses a shot.
"Eeeek!" The monster shrieked in pain as the bullets hits its flesh. Blood poured from its head, its shoulder mangled — mauled by the indifferent pellets of the shotgun's fury.
Wednesday and Adam watched as Tyler backed down, bits of flesh falling from his wound along with a grotesque amount of blood. His shoulder hangs by a tendon, his skin peeling from holes, and his clavicle peeks out ever so slightly.
Monster or not, it was a disgusting sight — for Adam, at least. Wednesday looked unimpressed. She cocked the shotgun again, pointing the barrel at Tyler's figure once more.
Looking at his sorry state, you'd think he wasn't trying to kill the two of them just seconds ago. All that's left is a wounded fawn ready for the taking. Wednesday went past Adam, standing before Tyler.
With every step she took, Tyler crawled twice more back. 'He's healing, slow, but healing.' Wednesday noted again, his muscles were knitting itself, bones carving anew. From her estimate, he'd heal fully after 3 hours or so.
Fast for many, too slow for now. Even more so compared to her companion.
Wednesday steeled herself, she has to finish him here. She raised the gun to his head, and that made the monster in him flee. 'He's…'
Gone was the monster, sitting in front of them is Tyler Galpin, shrank in his wounds like a dying man. He raised his remaining hand, a look of panic and fear adorning that face once bearing a murderous look.
"W-wait!" He shouted, his voice broken, a lesser man. "Don't kill me, Wednesday! P-please!" He begged. Like any other, faced with the cold reality of their coming death, he begged.
Wednesday paused for a moment, looking at those trembling eyes. Executing a helpless man leaves a bad taste. Executing a monster serial killer — not so much, even if said serial killer was once her…
The words never even formed, and another left Wednesday's mouth. "Good-bye, Tyler." Then, she pulled the trigger.
—-
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
But it never went off. From her hand, the gun was… gone. Along with it, the entire forest — Tyler, Adam, both gone. Wednesday found herself somewhere, nowhere, in a deep darkness.
"Huh?"
Her head snapped to her surroundings, she could feel nothing, hear nothing, smell nothing — except for herself. As if her senses were taken, forcefully so.
What was not taken away, however, was her ability to think. A strange chill seeped into Wednesday's bones, not from the cold, but from the eerie void stretching in every direction.
The only sound was the echo of her own breath, growing louder with every exhale until it felt almost deafening in the silence.
"Adam?" Her voice cut through the darkness, steady, but it fell flat. No reply. No movement.
Darkness does not have a voice. Silence replied to Wednesday and she understood that no matter how many times, no response would return.
"Great. Hexed at the most crucial moment." The realization came fast, none could inflict something like this so silently like sorcery. She was hexed, or as some may call it, "cursed."
One thing about curses is that they often don't last long unless done with a ritual. Wednesday doubts anyone it is. The only thing she could do now is wait.
She let out an exasperated sigh. This night seems to stretch itself endlessly, trouble happening one after the other. A tiring long night.
Then, as she was thinking, a faint whisper made itself present.
"…Wednesday…"
It was not Adam. It was softer, distorted, stretching and bending like someone speaking underwater. She turned, scanning the void, her usual steel composure cracking slightly with focus.
She narrowed her eyes, from a direction she already checked, there was… a flicker of light—so faint it could have been a trick of the mind—blinking in the distance. She stepped toward it, her boots making no sound, as if the ground itself was swallowing her steps.
"Who's there?"
No answer. Only the light, pulsing like a heartbeat. She moved closer, her instincts screaming that this was wrong, that she had left the forest only to step into a different kind of trap. Yet she persisted.
When she reached the source, she found a mirror. Tall, cracked, and freestanding in the infinite darkness, its surface rippled like black water. Her reflection stared back: pale, sharp, unbothered. But it wasn't quite her—it smiled.
"I know you," the reflection said, its voice hers, layered with something else. "I know the games you play."
Wednesday's expression didn't change. "So what's this? Purgatory? Or did I hit my head harder than I thought?"
The reflection's grin widened, splitting unnaturally. "You are not dead. Not yet. But you are… close."
The surface of the mirror began to bubble like boiling tar, and from it, a hand emerged—slender, tipped with long, familiar claws. Tyler's. It gripped the frame of the mirror, and a guttural growl rolled out, vibrating the void.
Wednesday took a step back, but the void gave no ground. The mirror began to bleed darkness, spilling tendrils that snaked toward her boots.
"Hmm," she hummed dryly, "so this is the part where I die horribly or wake up. Either way, don't get your hopes up."
The tendrils wrapped around her ankles, cold as ice. She didn't flinch, only tightened her grip on air where the shotgun should have been. Her reflection vanished, replaced by someone else familiar — Goody.
"Wake up… or sink,"
And then, the void trembled.
The first thing Wednesday noticed was the change of temperature, it was hot, burning hot — it shouldn't be. They were in Vermont, and it's almost autumn. Slowly, she opened her eyes.
The hotness became eminent, what greeted her proved it so. Adam's face, half-burning as his mask melts into his skin. Wednesday blinked, then realization seeped in.
"What happened?!" She shouted, but Adam answered only in a painful groan. Now that she's noticed, it was not just his face, half of his torso was burnt to crisp. Pain followed as he breath, his immortality seemingly delayed by the cauterization. It was… a collision of death and persisting life.
As Wednesday ponder on what could've possibly happened in the brief moment she was gone, a sadistic, high-pitched laugh rang in the forest to her right, to exactly where Adam was burnt.
The laugh was loud, mocking and mad. She could already guess who and why based on one thing — Tyler is missing, leaving only a pool of blood where he once was. The laugh faded slowly, consumed by the wind, and Adam groaned so painfully Wednesday herself could feel it.
He stood up, his ribs, his skull, his spine — she made note of every bone charred to black. In this battle, life won, and he began rebuilding. That, however, seems to heighten the pain exponentially more. He looked up to the sky, the pale moon casting a glow on his terrible body.
Then, he roared.
—-
Note:
I'll be honest, I was consumed by 18+ manwha for a whole week. I binge-read everything I saw that had a 4 plus stars rating.
Why, you may ask? I find it more entertaining than generic action ones. Except for a notable few: Martial King guy, Lazy Labyrinth monster guy, Dungeon Odyssey, Machinations of mercenary blah blah, and Pick Me Up.
Also started school again, so that's that. Anyways, nice to see you all again!