FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Act 2: The Spreading Darkness

Chapter 7: Seven Days and Nights of Suffering

"That sounds really complicated!" I yell in aggravation as I open my eyes and break from my meditation... or what I was attempting to pass for meditation anyway.

Thwapping me in the back of the head with two fingers, Maylene looms over me and wryly retorts, "That would be because it IS very complicated. Nothing worth having is easily obtained."

"I'm already bad at introspection; don't go asking me to reach enlightenment." I snort sarcastically.

Rolling his eyes, Ed stands from his place on the ground, having long since finished the exercise, and tromps over to me. Glaring down at me with what I can only assume is murderous intent, he growls, "If you're gonna make this take all day, just like you did yesterday, then say so now and let me preempt my boredom by taking a nap."

Staring daggers at the jerk, I reply, "Gee, thanks for your support."

All of this started roughly a week earlier when we'd made the mistake of asking Maylene to take us on as her disciples. Unbeknownst to us, this would soon entail a whole cavalcade of pain and misery. She told us that our days would begin at sunrise and it wasn't as though we were ignoring her at the time or anything, but c'mon, how the Hell were we supposed to know that she was serious? I'm almost 40; it's been years and YEARS since I've woken up at any time earlier than noon. At the most, you're a lucky son-of-a-bitch if you can wake me at those hours without the use of a foghorn or two trashcan lids. Three days ago Ed and I nearly died from overexertion as we trudged up the side of a freaking mountain, the angle of which I can only describe as anything in between 88 and 89 degrees, and all while carrying burlap sacs full of gravel strapped to our backs. Our little, blue instructor did say that physical training and exercise, especially when of the grueling and tortuous variety, had worked wonders for her in the past, but I'm starting to question whether or not she's even a normal mortal like the rest of us and not some kind of invincible superhero. After making it halfway up the hill, I stopped to rest and promptly removed my bag full of burdens, only to watch in silent awe as Maylene bounded up the steep, rocky incline as though it were a straight stretch of asphalt; a tree trunk as wide as my waist thrown across her shoulders, but evidently not anywhere near enough to slow her down. Upon making it to the top, though summit might describe it a bit better, I gleefully tossed my bag of rocks over the side and laughed in the face of my vanquished foe, gravity. Sadly, I would later learn that the second part of the exercise involved controlling your decent down the slope and maintaining a cautious pace while overburdened; carefully manipulating momentum being the key. Seeing as how my burden had been disposed of, I begrudgingly made my way back down the hill so that I could suffer worse on my way back up again; all in the name of one final decent. So, needless to say, I wasn't the happiest camper in the tent.

The next day proved to be just as fun, filled brim with such wonderful activities as marathon running, yoga, weight lifting, and martial arts practice. I made the poor choice of putting a cigarette to my lips sometime before my fifteenth birthday and became a card-carrying chain smoker, so the marathon running went precisely as badly as it possibly could have. To make matters worse, Maylene eventually caught on to my little disappearing act and found me hiding behind a boulder later that evening, a lit cancer stick between my fingers and a tiny stream of smoke dissipating every time I exhaled. Immediately, she pilfered my last remaining pack and destroyed them, commanding that I quit, and then went on to bring down the same wrath upon Ed. The massive turtle responded with the passionate fervor that one might expect from a smoker with more than 30 years under his belt and no intentions of quitting, but her decision was final and we've been fidgeting and floundering ever since. The weight lifting wasn't as difficult as a few other options could have been, so we were thankful for that, but our pride quickly diminished once we were forced to creak like rusty, old battleships while desperately trying to stretch and twist during yoga practice. And martial arts? The last time that I tried anything more sophisticated that a kick to the balls during a fight, I had my face pounded harder than the steering wheel of a driver suffering from a particularly bad case of road rage. I tried my hardest to follow the young girl's instructions, but performing a cartwheel and a karate chop at the same time seems nigh impossible to me.

I doubt I'll ever fully recover from the past few days, bits of gravel probably having permanently embedded themselves into various areas of my weary body, but at least memories fade with time and excessive alcohol abuse. Maybe I'll get lucky in my old age and suffer from a cataclysmic case of amnesia.

I can dream, can't I?

"This is never going to work!" I shout heatedly. My nerves had just about reached their limits and I was a few short seconds away from a nuclear meltdown. The fact that the nicotine patch on my arm wasn't helping in the slightest certainly didn't... well, help in the slightest.

Swatting me in the dome again, Maylene shakes her head and states, "When gathering energy, I've found that a static charge sometimes builds within my body; largely harmless but still a phenomenon worth investigating. Though static electricity and actual electricity are not precisely the same thing, there are certain similarities, are there not?"

"Not sure." Remarks Roger as he flips a pancake in the background and sears it on the pan. After making breakfast, lunch, and dinner for us several times, he'd quickly become my favorite. However, with the way my day was flowing thus far, aggravation and irritation literally jumping up to greet me, anyone and everyone possessed the potential to piss me off, regardless of the number of bacon strips or buttery pancakes in their arsenal of bribery.

"But I don't know how to focus my energy!" I bark. "That's the whole problem to begin with!"

Sighing, Ed drawls, "You're just too impatient. I figured it out, didn't I?"

Yeah, he did. Just yesterday, Ed had some kind of epiphany or revelation and managed to summon his cannons at will. Two massive barrels shot out of his back all of a sudden and gleamed menacingly in the strong sunlight, but unlike the first time I'd seen them, no fireworks followed. They just sat there, at the ready and entirely too intimidating.

"You've had practice even before this." I sneered as I flopped down against the soft grass.

Shrugging, the big turtle returned, "Maybe so, but it's not like I ever really knew what I was doing. Sometimes I could call them out and sometimes I couldn't; it was all really random back then. And even when I did summon them, the things that I shot would always be different; I could never do the same thing twice."

Nodding my head, I question, "Do you think you can control what you fire now?"

"Not yet." He replied swiftly, cupping his chin and scratching it. "It's like I can load the guns whenever I want now, something I couldn't do before, but the ammunition is still a roulette decision."

Scratching the patch on his arm, Ed made certain to turn his head before locking eyes with me. Although he spoke and acted the same as he always had, resisting the maddening urge to light one up and smoke it to dusty ashes was starting to strain his nerves. I could tell and he knew I could, so hence the anti-socialism and avoidance. See, I made no effort whatsoever to pretend that the new smoking prohibition wasn't driving me utterly insane, but Ed had his pride to uphold and as snide and sadistic as I'm prone to be, I wasn't going to make things worse for him. Besides, the patches seemed to be working for him, no barrier of thick fur present to block the nicotine's way as it entered his arm and danced happily in his veins.

Looks like it's going to be gum for me.

Sighing heavily, I take to my feet and stare down at my paws. I've never been much of a fighter, being a small guy with very little weight to throw around, so I never invested much time or energy into physical training. Was I wrong to shirk? Should I have given forth a bit more effort? Clenching my fists in frustration, I stalk over to a tree that Ed had affixed with some sort of punching bag and begin pummeling it as furiously as I can. As small as I am, my punches will never carry with them the same kind of destructive force as the Chief's, but that doesn't in any way mean that there isn't room for improvement. Well, it's also something to do in general and it passes as another form of training, so Maylene can't smack me in the back of the head (AGAIN) for slacking off.

Asking her to take her job seriously was a mistake, I'm telling ya.

"Still working hard?" Inquires Roger as he scampers over to my tree and leans against the other side, a spatula still in one hand and a wrinkled apron rolled up in the other. Since day one, our pint-sized sensei has included her two younger siblings in our training regimen and I'd be one Hell of a liar if I tried to tell you that Roger was a pushover in armed combat. I'd been given a simple stick, wooden and freshly ripped from a nearby tree, and was told to somehow match the kid's fencing skills. At least, that's what Maylene had hoped I would do. The actual results were far less flattering. The tiny Cubone moved through my pathetic defenses faster than a speeding car and disarmed me with one swing of his calcium club. He bobbed and weaved around like a professional boxer, dodging any and all attacks that I sent his way, and even while defending somehow managed to return fire with plenty of attacks of his own. Somewhere around ten rematches later and I was at least lasting a minute or two, scoring a miraculous hit every so often, but winning against the boy still seemed absolutely impossible.

"Yeah, still working hard." I growl as I attempt murder the pad with my fists. "Still working hard and still failing with flying colors."

"Well, breakfast is ready." He says with a smile, attempting to change the subject. "I made sausage, eggs, pancakes, and bacon."

Wiping some sweat from my brow, I feel a headache encroaching and hoarsely reply, "I don't feel like eating right now. I'd rather find out why the fuck I can't do anything right."

Slipping into view, the little guy urges, "Don't worry, you'll get the hang of it soon. It took forever for me to learn how to control my powers and even longer for Mikey, but we eventually did regardless, right? If we can do it, then you definitely can."

"That's reassuring, kid, but you're talking to a guy with a drinking problem, no self-esteem, severe nicotine withdrawals, and several psychological dysfunctions." I snarled as I drove my knuckles into the thick target. "Just because you believe in me doesn't mean that I believe in me."

I hated the road that I was walking down, being a jackass to a little kid and all, but my anger was getting the best of me. It ALWAYS got the best of me. Just ask Kiev, whom I nearly shot in the head when blind ignorance fueled my temper and sent it into overdrive. Sure, I didn't hit him, but that doesn't exactly forgive the action itself.

"I'm sorry." I said after a few seconds and a few more punches. "I know this is something that's supposed to take time, I know, but I'm an impatient man and this is becoming an impatient world. I just shouldn't have taken it out on you."

With the same smile, but eyes that spoke volumes of hurt feelings, Roger responded, "It's alright, I understand. I'll just leave you alone for a little while and let you calm down."

Great, I trounced a little boy's feelings, someone who didn't deserve to deal with my bullshit, and right after he offered me a hot meal too; aren't I a swell guy? From there I just kept punching and punching, trying to vent my frustration, but I might as well have been punching myself and pissing myself off even more, because it wasn't helping in the slightest. Somewhere along the billionth jab, I fell to my knees and just sat there fuming; my arms hurt and my knuckles were bleeding. I looked down at my bloodied paws and felt even weaker than I had before. Why couldn't I be as strong as Ed? Why couldn't I be as wise as Kiev? Why couldn't I be as skilled as Maylene? Enraged, I jumped back up to a standing position and squared off against the foam practice cushion, which had at this point become an illusory copy of myself. Locking on like a guided missile, I shot my fist forward in hopes of knocking the illusion's head right off of his fucking shoulders, all of my anger only further fueling the attack, and that's when the all too familiar craziness ensued.

"What the fuck~

But me and my sailor's mouth were cut off before we could finish as several long, zig-zagging tendrils of white lighting exploded forth from my fist, the sound and fury of a sonicboom rippling through me as the light lanced forward and ripped my padded target and the tree behind it to tiny, splintery pieces. Smoldering bits and chips of wood flew in every direction, raining down like parade confetti along with the ash, dust, and smoke. Staggering a few paces back from the shock and sudden exhaustion of it all, I had just enough coherence left in my dizzy head to manage a sidestepping dodge as the remains of the tree caved in upon itself and toppled over, crashing down right on top of where I'd been previously standing. Promptly falling directly onto my ass, I sat there for four or five seconds until Ed and the others came running over to see if I'd survived the apparent munitions grade explosion. Images of white and blue lightning danced in front of my eyes, along with the multicolored spots and spinning baby chicks, for a long while to come; mental afterimages of the power that I had unknowingly, unwittingly unleashed. My entire body tingled all over and my fur stood defiantly on end; it felt as though I'd been the one to get shocked.

I can only imagine how the tree must have felt.

"Are you alright?" Questioned Ed in a hushed voice as he inspected the damage. His face immediately went pale as his eyes fell upon the cauterized crater burned directly through the tree, or should I say the tree's ashy ruins, and the ground several yards behind it.

With a sudden realization, an epiphany of sorts screaming in my head, I scramble to my feet and howl, "Alright?! I'm great! I'm fantastic! I'm better than ever! I fucking figured it out!" Stumbling over to my former foe, the tree, I look upon it from what feels like miles above and quietly add, "Anger."

Subdued silence followed as the pieces to the puzzle put themselves together in my head. Bit by bit, the picture became clearer. Sure, I might have looked insane at the moment, but the gears were most definitely spinning in the correct direction.

"I don't know why it didn't activate before, back when I went ballistic and helped Ed decimate that crowd of Cursed, but I think that anger is the key." I mumbled, seemingly incoherent but fully aware of my own actions and words. "I wasn't necessarily in danger when I went nuts back at the train yard, but my life damn well depended on a miracle when I was riding that bucking bronco of a Hellion. Maybe preservation of one's own life, survival of the fittest and all that jazz, has something to do with when the powers manifest. Um... any thoughts, Maylene?"

As if on cue, the petite warrior paced over to the tree and touched it with a single padded finger, then replied, "I came into possession of my own abilities while fending off a pack of thieves. They'd made plans to steal what little food we had at the time; they'd made plans to kill the others. I faced them alone and nearly felt death's icy sting~

"Had it not been for a sudden miracle." I said, cutting her off. From her expression, I'd finished her thought regardless.

Nodding his head, Ed grunts, "And I already told you my story. The Beedrill would've spent the rest of the day enjoying the world's largest bowl of turtle soup, but a giant laser apparently had something to say about that."

Turning my head to face Mikey and Roger, I intently, impatiently question, "How about you two?"

Before either could reply, Maylene interjects and states assuredly, "Roger held his ground and protected a weary, homeless traveler from a flock of Skarmory, gaining his powers shortly thereafter. Mikey found himself surrounded by a group of ruffians while out procuring supplies from a particularly dangerous downtown neighborhood. According to the news reports, a mysterious fire erupted in that exact location around that exact time. You may do the math."

"I don't think I need to." I retort, closing my eyes and pondering aloud. "So, the powers really do activate as a result of life threatening danger, sort of like a defense mechanism, but far and away more demonstrative."

"That's a reasonable analysis." Ed states as he stomps out a few glowing embers. "But what about the importance of 'anger'? You mentioned that before, but I still don't see what that has to do with anything. I don't have to be angry or irate when summoning the cannons."

"Nor must I when manipulating my own abilities." Adds Mayene softly.

Shaking my head, I explain, "No, I think we're looking at this from the wrong point of view. We've come to a conclusion, at long last, involving the powers as a whole. They sprout and flower when their user's life is in danger. Alright, but what about each individual using said powers? Now that they have them, how do they command them?" With utter silence following that question, I proceed to answer it myself, "I think that each and every person in control of these strange powers has a different way in which they manipulate them. I'm not sure how any of you do it, but you all do. I, however, do so through the use of emotion; particularly, anger."

Pacing over to another tree, I focus my thoughts and prepare for a demonstration.

"What, you're going to show us?" Inquires Ed with a touch of anxiousness in his voice.

With a nervous smile, I answer back, "Hopefully."

Turning to face my target, I close my eyes and clench my fists. Hefting my mental shovel, I proceed to unearth some of my most hated memories, bits and pieces of my past that have since merited a place in my subconscious vault of no return. My wife's drug addiction surged to mind and along with it came the fire that resulted from her heroine induced hysteria. Three coffins, all sharing my last name, sat beside each other in a row. The next ethereal image was almost identical to the last, but the coffins were now constructed of thousands upon thousands of gin, wine, and whiskey bottles. I watched as an outline of myself, drunken and stupid, turned in his notice of resignation and officially ended his fruitful career. And, of course, I watched as that goddamn Machoke and his dinky, little pistol opened up Will's throat into an erupting spray of gore. The flickering fires inside me coalesced into a roaring flame of rage, taller that any bonfire and hotter than the center of any star. Lifting one fist, I step back once and then rocket my tightly compacted paw forward with every remaining ounce of strength that I have.

"Thunder Punch!" I bellow.

Before my fist ever even touched the bark, raw power lashed out like the hammer of an angry god and smashed against the tree, tearing it in half immediately. Four other nearby trees all sustained extensive damage, one of which caught fire entirely, but did not fall. The ground a few dozen yards behind and around the poor plant felt my wrath as well; lighting pouring from my fingers like water and scorching the soil all around into a solid sheet of fragile, ceramic-like hardened clay. Wooden shrapnel peppered the ground in the direction that I faced, almost as though I'd fired the world's largest shotgun. In the end, this tree suffered a fate nine times as horrible as its predecessor. Clearly, I'd been a tad more enraged this time around. Clearly, that made one Hell of a difference.

"Holy crap." Whispered the Chief as his eyes widened.

"Holy crap." I agreed just moments before every drop of energy and vitality fled my body, my arms and legs suddenly transforming into wet noodles and refusing to hold my weight.

Though crashing into the ground wasn't the most comfortable way to pass out, I'd just solved an incredibly difficult problem and blown the shit out of two trees, so I was content. At the very least, I knew what to do and how to do it. Now all I needed was to learn how to teleport and speak in riddles, then I could steal Kiev's job and watch him run around in confused circles.

If only.