07-30-2018, 01:37 PM
Enough.
With a sound like things tearing, the air around Whirda began to darken. Wisps of shadow coalesced around the kneeling Prime, still bound by the exorcist’s chains but now appearing uninterested, her attention focused inward as the contagion’s energy pulsed and rippled outward.
Show them your majesty, the hungry voice implored. Let them witness the true might of Whirda Windstrom.
This time, Whirda didn’t argue. Her head tilted back, her mouth twisted in a grin wrought of pure, sadistic elation. No longer was she the goodly crusader who had fought to liberate the Moors. Now, in mind and in body, she had become a creature of darkness—indiscriminate evil.
The mouse cast an uneasy gaze at the exorcist, but when he opened his mouth to speak a sudden, howling wind swallowed his voice. Whirda rose to her feet in the center of the ring, her platinum locks whipping around wildly. Her eyes glowed a fierce, incandescent blue, bright like glowing embers affixed in her skull.
“Now,” Whirda rasped, her voice so preternaturally coarse it halted the approaching Mickey in his tracks, “it’s finally time to play.” With a single flex of her taut, black-veined muscles, the exorcist’s chains snapped.
Mickey clenched his jaw and faced the cackling woman, his gloved fists raised defensively. He took a step forward, but found himself moving backward and to the right instead as the gathering maelstrom grew in intensity, quickly outgrowing the arena. The determined mouse bent low, inching forward, losing sight of Whirda as the wisps of shadow clumped together and thickened, obscuring his vision.
“Mickey! Help me!”
The shrill, plaintive scream rose above the gale. Mickey spun on his heel, almost losing his balance, to see Susie clinging desperately to the bottom rope, her tiny body lifted fully off the ground as the winds tugged and clawed at her. His enemy forgotten, Mickey turned, his face locked in a grimace. By all rights, the mighty maelstrom should have lifted the mouse off the ground already, but somehow—impossibly!—sheer tenacity kept him inching closer to his pigtailed admirer.
Whirda, ensconced in the eye of the storm, surveyed the chaos she had wrought. All manner of detritus, from loose flyers and Pepsi Sisters signs to the heavy wooden 2x4s and metal chairs from beneath the ring, were pulled into the umbral maelstrom. She saw Yuuka pop open her parasol, deflecting a fire extinguisher with a gush of white foam. She seemed, with a plaintive look at her maniacal teammate, to recognize the folly of opening an umbrella in a hurricane, and was promptly taken from her feet, the first to succumb to the growing storm.
A hand clamped down on Whirda’s shoulder, and she turned to meet the steely gaze of the mustached referee.
“I fear no man, no beast, no evil, brother,” Hulk Hogan growled, towering over Whirda, his nose a mere inch from hers. “Whatever the hell this is, you better shut it down before I rain fury down on you the likes of which you’ve—” The referee stopped short as a metal trash can clipped the back of his head. His eyes crossed and his mustache twitched, and then he too was airborne.
Whirda Windstrom hadn’t flinched.
Mickey groaned his frustration as he fought to get to Little Susie’s side, every inch akin to scaling a mountain. His gloved hand outstretched, his eyes mere slits to protect from the whipping sawdust and debris, he managed, for an instant, to brush his fingertips against hers. Her expression seemed to soften—a flicker of hope permeating her terror. Her hero had come to save her!
An umbral dagger, as solid as steel, tore through Mickey’s glove and bit deeply into the flesh beneath. He shrieked and drew his hand close to his chest. That single moment of distraction cost him dearly. He watched, his mouth wide in wordless denial, as Little Susie lost her grip on the bottom rope and was claimed by the maelstrom. Then he was claimed as well, ragdolling end over end in the powerful winds.
One after another, they were all taken. Yu Kanda, the Rock, Steve Austin, both of the hapless commentators, even several members of the front row and the still-leaking corpse of Pepsiman—each one succumbed, in time, to the majestic storm. Finally, when she was confident none had escaped, Whirda leapt in as well, stabilizing herself with gust after gust of conjured wind.
Searching for her big-eared foe, Whirda watched with a trace of satisfaction as Kanda and Yuuka hurtled past, twisting and writhing to keep their bearings as sword and parasol jabbed, swept, and parried. Another gridlocked pair, the Rock and Steve Austin, followed closely behind, slugging each other with heavy punches, their muscles bulging. And yet, no Mickey.
Gloved hands closed around Whirda’s throat, squeezing with surprising strength. She twisted, releasing a steady stream of umbral daggers from an outstretched palm, scoring two wicked hits before a huge, yellow boot caught her in the stomach, stealing her breath. The two combatants separated, Mickey snarling as the storm carried him away.
A flash of blonde pigtails caught her eye as Little Susie passed, still screaming for her cartoon hero. Whirda concentrated briefly before lashing out and snatching the girl’s ankle, establishing the tether.
When Mickey came back around, both Whirda and Susie had vanished.
As quickly as it had started, the maelstrom began to wane.
With a sound like things tearing, the air around Whirda began to darken. Wisps of shadow coalesced around the kneeling Prime, still bound by the exorcist’s chains but now appearing uninterested, her attention focused inward as the contagion’s energy pulsed and rippled outward.
Show them your majesty, the hungry voice implored. Let them witness the true might of Whirda Windstrom.
This time, Whirda didn’t argue. Her head tilted back, her mouth twisted in a grin wrought of pure, sadistic elation. No longer was she the goodly crusader who had fought to liberate the Moors. Now, in mind and in body, she had become a creature of darkness—indiscriminate evil.
The mouse cast an uneasy gaze at the exorcist, but when he opened his mouth to speak a sudden, howling wind swallowed his voice. Whirda rose to her feet in the center of the ring, her platinum locks whipping around wildly. Her eyes glowed a fierce, incandescent blue, bright like glowing embers affixed in her skull.
“Now,” Whirda rasped, her voice so preternaturally coarse it halted the approaching Mickey in his tracks, “it’s finally time to play.” With a single flex of her taut, black-veined muscles, the exorcist’s chains snapped.
Mickey clenched his jaw and faced the cackling woman, his gloved fists raised defensively. He took a step forward, but found himself moving backward and to the right instead as the gathering maelstrom grew in intensity, quickly outgrowing the arena. The determined mouse bent low, inching forward, losing sight of Whirda as the wisps of shadow clumped together and thickened, obscuring his vision.
“Mickey! Help me!”
The shrill, plaintive scream rose above the gale. Mickey spun on his heel, almost losing his balance, to see Susie clinging desperately to the bottom rope, her tiny body lifted fully off the ground as the winds tugged and clawed at her. His enemy forgotten, Mickey turned, his face locked in a grimace. By all rights, the mighty maelstrom should have lifted the mouse off the ground already, but somehow—impossibly!—sheer tenacity kept him inching closer to his pigtailed admirer.
Whirda, ensconced in the eye of the storm, surveyed the chaos she had wrought. All manner of detritus, from loose flyers and Pepsi Sisters signs to the heavy wooden 2x4s and metal chairs from beneath the ring, were pulled into the umbral maelstrom. She saw Yuuka pop open her parasol, deflecting a fire extinguisher with a gush of white foam. She seemed, with a plaintive look at her maniacal teammate, to recognize the folly of opening an umbrella in a hurricane, and was promptly taken from her feet, the first to succumb to the growing storm.
A hand clamped down on Whirda’s shoulder, and she turned to meet the steely gaze of the mustached referee.
“I fear no man, no beast, no evil, brother,” Hulk Hogan growled, towering over Whirda, his nose a mere inch from hers. “Whatever the hell this is, you better shut it down before I rain fury down on you the likes of which you’ve—” The referee stopped short as a metal trash can clipped the back of his head. His eyes crossed and his mustache twitched, and then he too was airborne.
Whirda Windstrom hadn’t flinched.
Mickey groaned his frustration as he fought to get to Little Susie’s side, every inch akin to scaling a mountain. His gloved hand outstretched, his eyes mere slits to protect from the whipping sawdust and debris, he managed, for an instant, to brush his fingertips against hers. Her expression seemed to soften—a flicker of hope permeating her terror. Her hero had come to save her!
An umbral dagger, as solid as steel, tore through Mickey’s glove and bit deeply into the flesh beneath. He shrieked and drew his hand close to his chest. That single moment of distraction cost him dearly. He watched, his mouth wide in wordless denial, as Little Susie lost her grip on the bottom rope and was claimed by the maelstrom. Then he was claimed as well, ragdolling end over end in the powerful winds.
One after another, they were all taken. Yu Kanda, the Rock, Steve Austin, both of the hapless commentators, even several members of the front row and the still-leaking corpse of Pepsiman—each one succumbed, in time, to the majestic storm. Finally, when she was confident none had escaped, Whirda leapt in as well, stabilizing herself with gust after gust of conjured wind.
Searching for her big-eared foe, Whirda watched with a trace of satisfaction as Kanda and Yuuka hurtled past, twisting and writhing to keep their bearings as sword and parasol jabbed, swept, and parried. Another gridlocked pair, the Rock and Steve Austin, followed closely behind, slugging each other with heavy punches, their muscles bulging. And yet, no Mickey.
Gloved hands closed around Whirda’s throat, squeezing with surprising strength. She twisted, releasing a steady stream of umbral daggers from an outstretched palm, scoring two wicked hits before a huge, yellow boot caught her in the stomach, stealing her breath. The two combatants separated, Mickey snarling as the storm carried him away.
A flash of blonde pigtails caught her eye as Little Susie passed, still screaming for her cartoon hero. Whirda concentrated briefly before lashing out and snatching the girl’s ankle, establishing the tether.
When Mickey came back around, both Whirda and Susie had vanished.
As quickly as it had started, the maelstrom began to wane.
![[Image: drink-pepsi-cola.jpg]](https://lph5i1b6c053kq7us26bdk75-wpengine.netdna-ssl.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/drink-pepsi-cola.jpg)