He snapped his head toward the hole he’d made as a loud roar echoed around him.
The Wendigo stood in front of the hole. James wasn’t sure if the pain was clouding his mind, but the creature looked even taller than before and was almost twice the size of the hole.
“Don’t you have any bones, fucker?” James growled. “How the hell do you keep squeezing into places? Whatever.” He hissed and raised his arm, despite the pain. “He’s dead. It’s your fucking turn.”
The monster charged him, and James’ clouded mind didn’t register that he still had the healing potion in his hand until the Wendigo slammed into him and sent him flying.
New adaptation in progress, Whispy announced.
Still in his hand, the healing potion crashed against the wall before the rest of James’ body, vial shattering, the liquid splattering the wall.
James grunted and slid down the wall, shaking his head.
The Wendigo roared.
James roared back and pushed himself to his feet. He didn’t care about the pain or the numbness threatening to take him back to his knees. It was time to kill the enemy.
19
Sufficient power for extended advanced mode, Whispy declared. Increasing basal regeneration. Kill the enemy. Achieve primary directive.
The armor spread over all of James’ body, ripping his pants and snapping his tactical vest. Claws and another blade extended from his other hand and arm. The vest fell to the ground, the magazines and other gear clacking together. The helmet closed over his head, and his eyes adjusted to a wider field of vision. The pain and numbness from before hadn’t vanished, but they faded somewhat, and his burning anger pushed them to a distant corner of his mind.
An outside observer might have trouble deciding which was worse: the faceless monster in armor with double blades and claws or the white-furred man-eating giant with glowing blue eyes.
A monster to kill a fucking monster. James’ heart thundered, his anger and hatred stoking an ever-greater fire. The Wendigo needed to be defeated. It needed to die at his hands.
The rage filling him wasn’t mindless, but neither was it easily dismissed. It was an eager hunger for the death of his enemy, as if defeating the Wendigo would plug a wound in his soul.
A faint hint of awareness tried to push into James’ mind, the realization he’d achieved this kind of anger and hatred without a direct threat to Shay or Alison. The obsession with destroying his opponent overwhelmed the slight reflection, and he refocused on how to annihilate the Wendigo, the implications of his earlier thoughts lost.
The Wendigo backed up and circled James slowly as if seeking a weakness in his defenses. He resisted the urge to rush and slash it. The creature might be powerful, but he now had full armor. It would come to him, and he would take his opportunity then. He would end the threat.
Kill the enemy, Whispy sent. Kill the enemy.
James grunted in response. Killing the enemy wouldn’t be enough. He wanted to destroy the enemy; reduce the enemy to dust.
The Wendigo charged and crashed into James again. The force of the blow knocked him against the wall again with a loud thud. The impact stung but did no lasting damage.
The bounty hunter’s responding growl was loud, the helmet amplifying the sound. The Wendigo snarled and raised its claws.
James leapt into the air, the high ceiling of the tank allowing him to reach a good height. As he dropped toward the Wendigo, he aimed at the monster’s chest. The force of the attack shoved the weapons straight through, no resistance and no cracking of bones. Something was unsatisfying about that.
“Die,” James yelled. “Die, die, die.”
The Wendigo backhanded James and the blow sent him spinning through the air before he crashed to the ground. He jumped back to his feet, expecting a stumbling enemy who was fighting off death, but the monster stood there, defiant. The damned creature wasn’t even bleeding.
James let out a deep, long growl. The Wendigo responded in kind.
His opponent rushed at James again, but this time streams of crimson energy flowed over its claws. James’ rage-clouded mind barely took note of the sudden change in the enemy’s primary weapon until the Wendigo’s claws raked his armor, ripping past the silver-green exterior and into the hardened flesh below. Pain exploded from James’ chest as he stumbled back.
The Wendigo roared.
New adaptation in progress, Whispy reported, its joy rippling in James’ mind.
His blood dripped to the bare metal floor of the tank. The new hole in the armor began to close as the Wendigo swiped again in two quick attacks. This time, James met the attack with an upward slice of his blade. He caught the Wendigo in its shoulder. The blade passed through as easily as it had during his jump attack, not meeting any hard obstacles, as if the creature had no bones. He jerked up, cutting with the blade.
The Wendigo’s arm flew off and hit the floor. Smooth and gray, the separated shoulder didn’t show any signs of blood—or muscle or bone.
James paused, the sight dampening his current bloodlust for a few seconds.
His enemy took advantage of the momentary confusion to rake at James with its remaining arm, and the blow caught his side. Although the glowing claws pierced the top layer of armor, they didn’t reach his chest; Whispy’s adaptation was doing its work.
James hissed and stabbed both blades into the chest of the Wendigo. The creature backed up with a roar, the wounds closing without any blood. The separated arm remained on the ground, unmoving. The great cannibal spirit of the North might be able to regenerate, but it wasn’t invulnerable.
The bounty hunter grunted and shook his head, some of the pain from the previous attacks catching up to him. Even in his rage, he understood the monster was too close for him to use his energy cannons because of their charging time, but his blades weren’t accomplishing much besides forcing the enemy back.
Whispy flooded his mind with a familiar demand: Kill enemy. Achieve greater adaptation for primary directive.
The combatants circled each other. The Wendigo might look and roar like a beast, but its tactics revealed a careful creature. It’d run from James, baited him while picking off the Brotherhood cultists. It’d even waited for him to fight and kill the wizard, as if it knew he’d be weakened. Not just intelligence then, but caution born of fear. That could be used.
James’ foot bumped into something soft. His expanded range of vision let him catch a hint of Darian’s corpse at his feet. He’d forgotten about the man he’d killed not all that long ago, a dangerous foe who was now just another obstacle in his latest battle.
He punted the corpse against a wall. It crunched and slid down.
The Wendigo sprang at him, its claws now glowing yellow, the change suggesting another reason for the delay. James threw up an arm to catch the Wendigo’s blow. A blast of spiraling yellow energy discharged from the claws and spread through James. His muscles seized for a second, and pain flared everywhere. His vision swam, and his stomach churned.
The monster swung its claws toward James’ neck, but he slammed an armored foot into its chest. The blow knocked the creature across the tank. Its massive form collided with the metal of the wall hard enough to leave a shallow dent.
Adaptation in progress, Whispy reported. Severe neurological damage sustained. Potential link disruption possible. Continuing regeneration.
Despite the warning, the amulet all but vomited happiness into James’ mind. It twisted and mixed with his own anger, dulling his perception of his pain. If he wasn’t dead, he could still win, and he was far from dead.
I will kill this fucker, he thought.
Yes, Whispy responded. Kill, kill, kill.
The Wendigo roared, and James answered with his own bellow, their noises echoing and overlaying each other in the large hollow metal cylinder.
The residual throbbing pain from the Wendigo’s last attack contrasted with the fading numbness from Darian’s efforts. James’ armor now lacked any signs of
damage. Even if he was hurt, he still had his limbs and was regenerating. The only problem was that his enemy possessed similar resilience.
James let out a low growl and jumped higher than before. He twisted in flight as he passed Darian’s light ball near the roof. When he reached the top, he pushed off hard with his feet, launching himself straight toward the Wendigo, his arms to his sides. He crossed the blades at the last moment, decapitating the creature before his heavy armored body crashed into the headless corpse and pinned it to the ground.
The furry head flew through the air and bounced off a wall. There was still no sign of blood. If it were a spirit, maybe decapitation wouldn’t be enough, but whatever its true nature, the Wendigo had a physical body and made physical attacks, which suggested a physical solution might work.
James slammed his blades into the body again, cutting and piercing it. This time the holes didn’t seal themselves, but there was still no bleeding. A quick cut removed the other arm. He followed up with the legs. He roared as he finished mincing the Wendigo, not a single bone or drop of blood visible during the violent process.
That had to be enough. He’d destroyed the body. The creature couldn’t be immortal. Even He Who Hunts fell after enough damage.
James stumbled back, growling low under his breath, the hatred swirling in his mind not satisfied with the lack of a clear death.
Thin gray lines shot from each Wendigo piece toward the others, including the arm and head that were farther away.
James grunted and rushed over to the body. A few more hacks separated the gray lines, but additional ones shot out from the pieces. Both of his arms rose, and he prepared to fire his energy cannon. If cutting and slicing wouldn’t work, incineration was a good option.
Adaptation and sampling complete, Whispy reported. Nanoresonance determined. Initiate direct contact for disruption of enemy. Further adaptation potential minimum. Kill enemy.
James stood there as the chunks of the Wendigo pulled back together and merged, his every instinct screaming at him to destroy the enemy, but the strange suggestion from Whispy cut through the miasma of hate in his mind. It was almost as if the angrier he became, the more he wanted to listen to the amulet.
He dropped to one knee and slapped both clawed hands into the two largest remaining pieces of the Wendigo. Green sparks flowed around the back of his blades, swirling and building in speed and intensity like they did before an energy cannon shot. A few seconds later, a wave of energy shot from his hands to the walls and roof of the tank.
The Wendigo pieces started smoking. James stood and backed away. The smoking stopped, and the pieces melted into a dull gray pool of viscous liquid.
James waited, his breathing shallow, for the monster to rise from the pool, but the anger fueling him waned with each passing second. The pool rippled at the touch of the Albertan wind blowing through the hole James had made, but the Wendigo who had so stubbornly refused to die now stubbornly refused to return from death.
His helmet retracted and James took another step back, gritting his teeth at the residual pain throughout his body. He stared down at the gray liquid, his mind struggling to comprehend what had just happened. The life-or-death struggle might be finished, but it’d left far too many questions to ignore.
The rest of his armor retracted.
Reverting extended advanced mode transformation for maximum regeneration. External healing unnecessary.
James grunted and staggered. He shook his head, his balance off and pain pulsing through every part of his body. He blinked several times.
What the fuck was that? What did I just fight?
Contact sampling consistent with advanced nanoform, Whispy responded.
And what the fuck is an advanced nanoform?
Adaptive nanite collective. Engagement with enemy resulted in advanced adaptation.
James grunted.
Nanites? Like robots?
Adaptative nanite collective.
James shook his head.
But it’s a magical creature, isn’t it? Cannibal spirit or some shit?
Contact sampling and adaptation are not consistent with previously sampled magical attacks. Extremely low probability of magical nature. Useful adaptations gained, advancing unit toward primary directive.
And what the fuck is your primary directive?
Find new enemies. Engage and kill new enemies. Adapt and achieve primary directive. Entering quiescence for maximum regeneration.
James grunted and looked down. His clothes were shredded, and Whispy had once again failed to explain his primary directive.
Is that fucker actively hiding it from me, or am I just not understanding? I couldn’t understand what he was saying to me for most of my life, so it may just be a communications thing. He’s coming through when it counts.
James scrubbed a hand over his face. Nothing about what had happened made sense, even to a man who had previously fought strange chaos monsters and telepathic Oriceran monsters in Japanese forests. Why would a Wendigo made up of little robots show up in nowhere-fucking-Alberta to attack him in the middle of a fight with a death cultist?
“This shit was about as far from relaxing as you can get,” James muttered. He stomped over to the golden box and opened the lid. A gold and silver urn was inside. “At least I don’t have to hunt for the artifact. Fuck, this was annoying. Hope the Professor appreciates this.”
The pool of nanites hissed, and James grunted and spun toward it. The Wendigo didn’t rise again. A pungent odor rose from the pool as it evaporated.
James frowned and grabbed the box. He backed toward the hole in the wall as the pool shrank, the harsh smell growing more intense.
Self-destruction, or just what happens when nanites die? Don’t know, and damn, I wish I could say I didn’t care.
He shook his head. It was time to get back to Shay.
20
Shay leaned against the wall, staring at the shed door. She’d been warring with herself. The appearance of Little Miss Blurry had left her heart thumping louder than the howling blizzard’s winds.
Whoever that bitch was, this whole thing was a giant trap. Should I go find James? Damn it, with the storm, I’ll just be a liability. If only my fucking AR goggles were working.
But it’s not like I’ve never had to navigate without a toy. If I stick to my AK, it won't hurt him if I fire blindly into the storm.
She groaned. “What the fuck am I thinking?” she muttered. “I need a better plan than to stumble around in a storm and blindly fire, hoping I only hit the enemy.”
Her gaze dipped to her sword. She should have insisted James take it. It’d already helped him several times, and with a strange monster lurking around, it would have been good insurance.
She gritted her teeth. Whispy Doom was good, but the amulet wasn’t a reliable weapon. A reliable weapon didn’t care how you felt. You fired or swung it, and it did its job.
How much is that thing capable of? Energy beams, blades that can cut through magic? If James got pissed enough, could he nuke something?
She rubbed the back of her neck and swallowed, her stomach tightening.
James was raised by good men. What the fuck would have happened if some twisted-ass cultists like the Brotherhood had found him instead of Father McCartney and Father Thomas?
Shay let out a dark chuckle and murmured to herself, “They’d probably make a new level-seven bounty category or have to nuke him. He’s been exposed to all sorts of energy and forces already. A nuke’s just a scaled-up version of a lot of that: radiation, thermal, and shit.” She laughed. “I wonder if he could take a nuke? Doubt he’ll volunteer for the experiment, and now I’m talking to myself. I’ve gone crazy already, and I’ve only been in the blizzard for a few hours. Damn. LA’s made me soft.”
Something thudded against the door, and Shay ripped the AK off her shoulder and pointed the gun at the door.
“Looks like someone’s making the decision for me.” Shay narrowed her eyes and
backed farther away from the door. She set her gun to automatic fire. At this range, it’d be hard to miss, and she needed to force her enemies back so she could escape the shed.
Shay took a slow, deep breath, her eyes locked on the door, her heart thundering.
Don’t worry, James. You do what you need to do, and I’ll do what I need to do. I’m not dying in some fucking shed in Alberta.
The door flew open, harsh wind and snow flowing into the shed. James stood in the doorway, a frown on his face and his clothes a ripped and hole-filled mess. His tactical vest was gone.
Shay activated the safety, lowered her weapon, and let out a sigh of relief. Her man stepped inside with a box under one arm and slammed the door shut.
“Looks like you got in a fight or two,” Shay offered with a smile and slung her rifle over her shoulder. “I hope this is the part where you say, ‘You should see the other guy.’”
“Yeah.” James grunted. “The head of the Brotherhood is dead.” He set the box in front of the door. “The urn’s in there.”
Shay grinned. “Good. Even if the Canadian government tries to fuck with you over the bounties, at least we have this. Did you kill the guy, or was it the Wendigo?”
“It was me. He was an annoying piece of shit. Gave me a big speech.”
“Oh, more dick-measuring contests?” Shay smirked. “I worry about them when I’m not there to end them with a good blade or bullet.”
James shook his head. “Nah. Fucker thought he could convince me to join his dumbass cult. Wendigo showed up right after that. I killed it too, but it…” He grimaced. “It wasn’t a Wendigo.”
Shay blinked. “Wasn’t a Wendigo? Shifter after all? Or some magic-using type with an artifact?”
“Not magical at all.”
“Huh? You saying it’s some other kind of cryptid?” She laughed. “You saying it actually was a Yeti and not a Wendigo?”
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