Chapter 09

NARRATIVE POV

Get up! The voice nudged in her head, but the darkness and chill enveloping her were too welcoming.

A pack of domestic wolves surrounded the body of the deceased teen. Their fur was stained with her sticky, spilled body that coated the cement floor she lay cold and unmoving on. Each wolf took turns nipping at her bloated, clammy flesh, some breaking skin.

The blood on their snouts added a touch of feral to their already intimidating appearance.

The smallest of the three wolves walked forward and licked the wounds on her lifeless face. Her head was cracked open; there was no healing to be seen taking place on the body they stumbled upon.

It was in their nature to devour the flesh of prey found. Dead or alive, they were hungry but were called to this area for a purpose.

The larger male wolf that flanked the body's left side took another bite into the arm of the deceased teen. The cold blood slowly drips out. There was no life in the body left. A simple reminder that the soul was gone. This body was free to be devoured by hungry predators. Hungry wolves.

The wolf at her head continued to lap up the sticky blood from the open head wound. Her hair was matted in knotted chunks of dirt, debris and dried blood.

Get up! The voice shouted louder.

Again, it was ignored. How can one respond when there is no life left to push?

The shards of glass and metal from the shattered cell phone stuffed in her bra coated inside the bullet wound through her heart—the finale of her attack.

The assault from the baseball bat that crushed her skull, broken ribs that punctured her organs and broken limbs weren't enough to ensure her demise. They finished the job with a bullet to her heart.

They wanted to ensure there was no chance of survival, and now, a small pack of three domestic wild wolves would devour her castaway body.

Only Seventeen. She had such a promising future. Academically, she was an honour roll student. Advanced in her studies. She was offered early acceptance into the university program before final exams last year but was turned down. She wanted one more year to develop before heading out into the world alone, but now—a life snuffed too soon.

GET UP! The voice screamed. The wrath within the voice rattled the hollow walls of limbo.

That was where her soul was. Limbo. Neither living nor dead. Trapped and surrounded by a chilling darkness. She felt no pain, however. She wasn't in paradise with the great Wolf Mother—the Goddess. No, but no pain was all she could ask for now. She didn't need anything else.

Get up! Do you not seek vengeance? The voice hissed bitterly. The disappointment was evident. This wasn't her wolf. No. She felt no wolf within her.

I am no wolf spirit. I am vengeance! Get up! The voice snarled. Anger rattled the hollow space surrounding her.

Where was the Goddess? When a wolf dies, they go to the Goddess. Who was Vengeance?

Duality is within everything! The Goddess has an unseen dark side, and I am she! Now, take my hand and claim what you seek! The voice hissed.

The voice expressed a heaviness of emotions, a darkness, darker than the darkness that surrounded her.

The wolves surrounding her body continued to bite into her cold, bloating flesh. Her stale blood is too lazy to drain now with no life. Rigimortis is beginning to set in. She could feel it taking effect. The window of vengeance was closing.

GET UP! The voice roared with authority.

CC's body lunged up as she gasped back to life. She was cold. So cold. Her body shivered uncontrollably as she looked around, panicking. She was afraid that the danger was still present. She couldn't remember what she was scared of, however.

Her eyes. There was something wrong with her eyes. Everything she saw was in different lighting. It was dull and had low lighting.

There was no movement within the warehouse except the three wild wolves sitting next to her body. They made no other movement; they watched her curiously as she took in everything around her.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words were found. The hole in her chest expelled the air, and she gasped. She wanted to inspect it but couldn't.

Her arms were stuck in unmovable positions, forcing her to roll her shoulders circularly back. They snapped into their sockets with hollowed pops. Swinging her bent arm out, her elbow jerked into alignment.

With a shaky hand, she removed the shattered cell phone from her blood-soaked bra. She looked at the phone with heightened curiosity. Her memory was scattered. Flashes came— a swing baseball bat, closed fists. Nothing more. Faceless attackers. The echoes of her screams and cries for help haunted her mind.

She dropped the phone and clenched her head, filled with the screams. The pain was returning. No. Phantom pains.

She felt no pain.

It was a memory. Memories of an event she couldn't recall.