Spirit Tales (The Millennium Wolves AU)
Chapter Fifty-One

Tempest wondered if she was the only one who’d seen what she saw, but one look at the crowd in the dark meadow showed her she wasn’t the only one. Far from it, even; everyone seemed shocked, enemy and friend as one, from what they’d just seen.

The memories of Maxwell and Ryan England, of Brock Ray aka Evander, and Angela. Tempest looked down at the limp, silent body of Angela Wayne, her hair back to its original length, her wings gone. Tempest sighed. She fought as best as she could.

Now it was Tempest’s turn to finish it all.

She looked down at her own body, which completely separated from Angela’s, and smiled a little. Average height, slim and fit figure, long dirty-blonde hair, stormy blue eyes, and a pair of Wings of Chaos. She was ready.

Don’t worry, Angie, she thought. I’m going to finish what you started.

She turned her back to Angela, standing before Evander, who first looked in horror at the people in the forest, then at Angela’s body, and only then at Tempest. And Tempest couldn’t swallow her grin anymore. “Evander,” she said, her voice resounding in the meadow, drawing everyone’s attention. “Let Donovan out and fight me.”

“N-No!” Evander called, his eyes mad, “why would I-I do something a s-stupid Spirit l-like you says?!”

“Don’t be a fool, boy,” Tempest rolled her eyes. “Just let Donovan have full control over your body so I can fight him. Everyone wants this stupid battle to be over with, so let’s give them that.”

Evander glanced sideways, shaking in fear and terror. Tempest waited patiently, staring down at her body again as she faintly realized she was naked. Not that it changed anything; she was currently in her Spirit form, meaning a soft light engulfed her, hiding her intimates from probing eyes, considering Angela was currently dead.

With an emphasis on the currently part. Tempest wasn’t going to let her host die. With all of her faults - and there were many of them - Tempest didn’t want her dead. Tempest would not have her freedom drenched in blood, even if it meant going back into Angela’s body once she was all right.

She didn’t know if it meant she loved her. Even though she’d told her she did, she wasn’t sure herself. Maybe she did, maybe not. Eventually, it didn’t matter.

Terse silence spread over the meadow while Evander seemed like he was internally fighting himself. Tempest wouldn’t have been surprised if it was the truth - according to the memories, Donovan wasn’t exactly all warm and fuzzy. Which was good, because neither was Tempest.

In the end, Evander took a deep breath, his head fell down, and at once his body grew taller, his hair elongated and blackened into an inky shade, and his eyes, from emerald green, turned into two dark pits. His muscles bulged, and his skin tanned over, and when he raised his head, Tempest couldn’t help but thing he was beautiful.

But Tempest was no fool. He might be good looking, but inside he was empty.

Donovan, who was still wearing Evadner’s clothes, conjured a black wind from thin air. It wasn’t Angela or Evadner’s windy swords; this was a literal one. But Tempest, unlike Angela, didn’t plan on using some kind of weapon against him. She had terrifying powers. She had no need for a weapon, windy or otherwise.

“You want me to make an appearance, so here I am,” Donovan smiled widely. “And you wanted to fight me, so let’s.”

Tempest glanced to Angela’s lifeless body and sighed. Look what I’m doing for you, Angie, she thought a little bitterly, and turned to look back at Donovan before nodding.

Donovan’s smile was twisted, and before Tempest could calculate which step she should take, he rocketed toward her like a loose cannon. Tempest managed to avoid the hit with a hairbreadth, but the blade did land on her face, leaving a scratch. She ignored the light pain and jumped backward. Donovan attacked again in a blurry pace, and this time, she spread her wings and took to the air.

With a sharp hand motion, she sent a blast of wind toward him that was sharp enough to split his body in two - but the motherfucker managed to get away. Tempest frowned, wondering how she could catch him if he was so fast and nimble. But she had to catch him. This wasn’t even a question.

Meanwhile, the battle ensued. She avoided his attacks, and she tried to attack while he was on the defense. The perks of her being a Spirit was that she didn’t get tired easily. Unfortunately, Donovan was a Spirit as well, and he wasn’t growing tired anytime soon as well.

Stop thinking, and start acting, she chided herself angrily, and chose to use her chaos powers, which were no less darker than Donovan’s. She spread her wings again and flew up hastily, putting distance between herself and the ground. Vaguely she heard Donovan calling her a coward, even cursing her, but she ignored it all. Instead, she raised her hands, toward the clouds that still lingered in the sky, closed her eyes, and let powers burn in her veins.

Lightning sparked the sky, thunder booming after it, and the clouds starting mashing together into an incoherent substance. Strong winds blew down, and Tempest couldn’t help a smile. “Come on, sweet clouds,” she murmured, “cause some disasters, please.”

Tempest channeled the powers in a rapid pace and at once, a stormy hurricane landed in the middle of the meadow. She flew back down, toward Donovan, who was evilly grinning himself, and tried to weave some dark wind inside her hurricane. Tempest was angry with that. “You won’t touch my storm, asshole,” she hissed to herself, and with all of amplitude she had, she swiped down, created a windy sword - yeah, she stooped to his level - and directe it at Donovan. But all she cut was the thin air.

The sonovabitch escaped again!

“Coward!” she screamed. She directed the horrible, twisting hurricane toward Donovan, giving it the order to chase the other Spirit. But Donovan didn’t flee for long. Instead, he ran toward her again like a predator spotting a prey. But Tempest was no prey.

Donovan tried grabbing her arms, but Tempest kicked him and sent punches to his face. She wasn’t going to give up and replace herself pinned underneath him, like Angela had been with Evander. Tempest wasn’t one to give up - ever.

“Yield!” Donovan screamed through bear teeth while he sent a punch which, unfortunately, hit her stomach before she could flee. Tempest blurted out a curse while pain sliced through her body. She spread her wings and got away into the air, escaping his hold, and Donovan smiled madly.

“I’m not going to yield to someone like you,” she told him as indifferently as she could.

His smile widened. “I’m not the one using low tricks,” he gestured over to her wings.

“In battle, everything goes,” Tempest responded.

“Now let me kill you so you would be destroyed once and for all, Chaos,” Donovan said and then jumped, and Tempest’s eyes widened in shock when he used the air as latitude to give him a leverage upward - toward her.

How wonderful. Now he could also jump.

He created a black sword with an especially sharp tip and directed it to her. Tempest knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, that if she didn’t stab him first - somehow - she would die. And Angela would die with her.

This was the moment. It was now or never.

She chose now.

“I’m sorry, Angela,” she murmured before she created her own windy sword and let her wings go back into her shoulder blades. Gravity pushed her downward, toward Evander, and she pointed the sword to his heart - the only way to kill a Spirit that she knew of.

She closed her eyes tightly, knowing it was her end or his now. And while the hurricane stormed around them, the earth quaked violently, and it seemed like the apocalypse was coming, she pushed the sword through his heart.

And he penetrated hers with his.

Tempest gasped in pain, but she kept holding on to the sword tightly, while the hurricane around them slowly but surely began dissipating. They fell down on the earth, Donovoan hitting the ground first with her on top of him, both swords stuck in their chest. He gurgled blood, smiled another mad smile, before he said, “Brock’s… dead…”

She didn’t understand what he meant. “You’re dead, Donovan,” she said quietly. “And you know it.”

He blurted a sharp laugh then, and his body began changing, growing short, his hair reclining back into his scalp, his eyes lighting up, and then it was Evander who was looking at her with teary eyes, Donovan’s smile leaving his lips, and his expression becoming one of utter sorrow.

Tempest couldn’t hide her pity. “I’m sorry, Brock Evander Ray,” she said quietly. “But it was either you or Angela, and even though I know Angel would hate me forever for killing you, I’d rather she lived, and not you.”

He gave her a smile full of agony that hit her in the gut. “I u-understand,” he whispered, blood spilling out of his chest to no end. “B-But he’s n-not - “

He stopped, all at once, his smile still on his face, his eyes still wide open but losing the spark of life.

Tempest didn’t stay there a moment longer. Instead she rose to her feet, wincing when her ribs hurt. But she knew she would heal. The most important thing was that Evander - and Donovan - were dead. She made her way limping to Angela, and there she crouched, cupping her face, and kissed her forehead.

“We did it, Angie,” she whispered to her, while light poured from both of them and Tempest was being sucked back. “We did it.”