Wednesday: The Strongest Psychic

Chapter 265: Revenge Claimed I

After a few more minutes, the pace of Luke and Natasha’s training began to slow down. They had been going for almost three hours.

Natasha panted lightly. Despite her vast experience, her body didn’t have the kind of regeneration or extended endurance granted by Luke’s green aura. He could train for hours without losing his breath; she, though formidable, was more human in that regard.

“That’s it for me…” Natasha declared, raising a hand. “You should keep going, push yourself to the limit and feel the exhaustion.”

Luke nodded, not nearly as winded as she was. To truly push himself, he’d need to keep training, probably for another two hours. He took a few steps to the side and handed her a towel. “Thanks for the help.”

“Don’t thank me. It helps me too, and I’m glad to be useful,” Natasha said, taking the towel and beginning to wipe off her sweat.

“Just say ’you’re welcome’ like a normal person,” Luke replied, tossing her a cold water bottle.

Natasha caught the bottle with ease and gave a faint smile. “Fine. You’re welcome. Now keep training and breaking your bones to get stronger,” she said as she started walking toward the door.

Less than five minutes after Natasha had left, the door opened again.

“Am I interrupting something?” asked a teenage voice, subdued and with a peculiar cadence, as if unsure whether to speak or remain in the shadows.

Luke turned his head as he dropped the towel onto the bench. It was Pugsley. Disheveled appearance, faint dark circles, and a neutral expression more fitting of a coroner than a teenager, there he was: Wednesday’s younger brother.

He had just finished his ninth grade at Nevermore, his first official year at a outcast academy.

Luke knew, from Wednesday’s words and a few stray conversations, that before attending Nevermore, Pugsley had been bullied at a normie school. The ironic part was that he had enough power to kill his entire class if he wanted to.

But his withdrawn and reserved personality, combined with his Addams upbringing, more inclined to creative sadism than impulsive retaliation, meant he endured more than any average outcast would have.

Overshadowed by Wednesday’s dominant character and the more flamboyant members of his family, Pugsley had always preferred to stay on the sidelines. Still, he was no less of an Addams than the rest: his fascination with the macabre was evident on a daily basis.

When Luke started dating Wednesday, Pugsley didn’t approve. In his mental world, no one was worthy of his sister. He spent an entire summer plotting assassination attempts, ranging from various traps to a final attempt involving a military-grade sniper rifle.

That’s when Luke stopped tolerating his clumsy murder attempts and got fed up. He beat up the two cousins who helped Pugsley in that particular plot, and when he was about to break a few of Pugsley’s bones, Wednesday intervened.

She didn’t stop him by force. She just asked him not to do it, but it was a request, not an order. If Luke had really wanted to go through with it, she wouldn’t have fought him to protect her little brother.

Luke, in one of his rare moments of mercy, chose to forgive Pugsley. That didn’t mean he had forgotten, his vengeance was still on hold.

From that moment on, their relationship changed. Pugsley stopped seeing him as a rival and began to respect him.

He never said it out loud, but he admired Luke, the guy who killed the Spellman patriarch, who took down ancient Spellmans, who awakened four auras, and who was regarded by the Outcast Council as a major figure, not for his lineage or political influence, but for his raw power.

“No, I was just training,” Luke replied. “What do you want?”

Pugsley lowered his head slightly, uncomfortable. Then, he took a deep breath.

“I want to train with you,” he said. “They won’t let me do anything in this war. Not even one mission. At the battle of the Marlowe Estate, when I arrived… there wasn’t a single enemy still alive.”

Luke watched him in silence for a few seconds. “And it wouldn’t have made a difference if you’d gotten there earlier. You would’ve just been a burden.”

The response was dry and direct. Pugsley frowned slightly, wounded in his pride.

“Even Nyra went and fought. She goes on missions with Uncle. Why can’t I? I have two auras,” Pugsley replied, offended.

Luke raised an eyebrow. “Nyra?” he repeated. “Even if she looks your age, or maybe even mentally younger, Nyra has lived for over 50 years. She’s a mythological creature. A noble-blooded Wendigo.”

“Her base physical strength is 20 tons. Her reflexes are those of an elite beast. She has claws that cut through steel and regeneration comparable to that of werewolves,” Luke continued, his tone firm.

“You, even with two auras, are a burden in this kind of battle… If a low-level demon hits you in the chest, you’ll end up in a body bag. Your mother knows this, and that’s why she doesn’t send you on these missions.”

The Morraks are the most common and weakest of the demons in the demonic food chain.

Even so, things shouldn’t be confused. Being the most common and lowest-ranked doesn’t mean they’re weak… During the attack on Petropolus Manor, on Ajax’s birthday, several Nevermore students, Luke’s classmates, had a hard time dealing with them: Nao, Eugene, and others. There were deaths, and even the seasoned servants had difficult moments.

In the past, seeing a Morrak was rare. But now, with the Spellmans orchestrating the war from the shadows, these demons were like bloodhounds: they appeared in dozens, almost like war dogs, obeying the orders of their dark masters.

For Luke, taking down dozens of Morraks is just a warm-up, thanks to his clairvoyance, the physical strength boosted by his green aura, his telekinesis, and of course, his soul weapon Eclipse, which allows him to slice through demon flesh like it’s hot butter.

But not everyone was him.

Before Pugsley could say anything else, Luke cut him off. “Despite controlling electricity and darkness, your speed is slow compared to a Morrak, your reflexes worse, and your shadow shields are too fragile. Your mother knows that, and even if she worships death and all that, she’s not an idiot. Same with your father. He loves danger, not suicide.”

Pugsley clenched his fists, holding back the mix of anger, shame, and frustration. He knew Luke was right.

His black aura, though powerful, was still weak, and he used it more for hiding, ambushing, or disorienting, not for head-on combat. His electricity power was even more recent.

He had only awakened it a few months ago. If he was lucky, he could maybe paralyze a opponent of his own power… but a Morrak, a Spellman, or one of their battle-hardened allies? It would barely tickle them.

Sure, he could fight kids his own age, but not the kinds of outcasts involved in battles like these.

Luke sighed, crossing his arms. “But hey, it’s not like you’ll be a burden for the whole war. You can improve your power through training and pain. If I compare myself to you, back in ninth grade I wouldn’t have been able to do much against Morraks or more experienced outcasts either.”

At the start of ninth grade, Luke only had two auras: yellow and blue. If he had faced a Morrak that they possess a strength of around eight tons and a body as hard as steel, his death would’ve been almost certain, unless he managed to kill it through mental powers, since their brain was their weak point.

Pugsley looked up, confused. “Really?”

“I need a training dummy. You need to get stronger so they’ll let you join real battles. Everybody wins.”

Pugsley narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “You’re not gonna use me as a punching bag, are you?”

“Of course not. I’m not your sister or your uncle,” Luke said with a smirk. “I’ll only use my green aura. I’ve been training for hours nonstop, so I’m already tired. I promise you’ll barely feel the impact…”

“Exhausted psychopath,” Pugsley muttered before stepping forward. “Fine. Just… don’t kill me, okay?”

Luke walked toward him and stopped just over a meter away.

“Alright, let’s start with the basics. What’s your strongest front-facing defense?”

Pugsley didn’t hesitate. “A shadow shield. Wednesday taught me how to make one. It’s the best I’ve got so far.”

“Perfect,” Luke nodded. “Create it. You have three seconds. After that, I’m going to punch it. My current strength is around six tons. An average Morrak has eight. So this’ll help you see how far you are.”

Pugsley swallowed hard, raised both hands, and the darkness quickly condensed into an opaque shield in front of his body. Luke nodded.

Exactly three seconds, and Luke struck. A clean punch, executed with perfect technique.

The shield exploded with a dry snap, offering no resistance. The shadow dissolved like smoke torn apart by a storm. Luke’s fist stopped just inches from Pugsley’s stomach, leaving him frozen in place.

“Do you see now? A Morrak won’t give you three seconds to prepare. And it won’t hit you head-on out of courtesy. It’ll tear through you with its claws before you finish channeling your power,” Luke said.

Pugsley swallowed hard. He didn’t say anything. He just nodded, pride wounded but understanding clear.

“Your shield is useful for fights against kids your age… It’ll take a long time before it can withstand a real impact. If you want to survive before that happens, you’d better perfect another skill.”

“Which one?” Pugsley asked hopefully.

Luke looked at him with something between patience and irritation. ’Don’t your parents train you or what?’ he thought, though he didn’t say it out loud.

It seemed the Addams were more self-taught, with no strict training regime or step-by-step structure.

“Merge into your own shadow. Wednesday uses it all the time. Disappear before they hit you. Dodge instead of block. You’ll need faster reflexes, better reaction time, and you’ll have to master the technique until it becomes instinct.”

“Do you even know the technique?” he added.

“Yes, I was taught it, but… I’m not very good,” said Pugsley. “And my reflexes aren’t great either, I don’t have clairvoyance like you.”

“Stop complaining when we haven’t even started training. Besides, you have electricity. Use it. Channel it into your nervous system like your uncle does. That way you can improve your speed and reflexes.”

“Fine, I get it!” Pugsley said, trying to sound more upbeat so as not to wear down the little patience Luke was offering him.

Training began. For more than an hour, Luke pushed him, forced him to react, to try vanishing into his shadow, to use his electricity to dodge, even if only for a blink.

Again and again, Pugsley failed. Sometimes he dodged in time. Sometimes he didn’t. His movements were decent, but slow. He lacked instinct. He lacked confidence. And, above all, real experience.

Luke wasn’t hitting with the full force of his green aura. He kept his strength in check to avoid breaking a bone. Even so, the physical punishment was evident.

Pugsley ended up on the floor, panting, with a split lip and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He spat. His arms were numb, his ribs aching, and he was sure one of his shoulders would be sporting a rainbow-colored bruise by tomorrow.

Luke approached silently. Pugsley barely looked up as he noticed the green aura beginning to radiate from Luke’s palms. The energy was warm, vibrant. He touched his shoulder, his chest, his jaw.

The pain subsided. Fibers repaired themselves. Skin began to close.

“You’re healing me?” Pugsley murmured, unable to hide his surprise. In his mind, Luke was the ruthless warrior, the living storm, the monster with four auras, and his sister’s boyfriend, who, if it hadn’t been for her, would’ve left him in a wheelchair that summer.

He didn’t picture him like this. Kneeling down, patiently healing him. At least not him.

What he didn’t know was that Luke wasn’t doing it out of kindness. He was doing it to keep training his green aura, to drain his energy, to push closer to the limit.

Once he finished, Luke stood up, stepped back a few paces, and crossed his arms, observing Pugsley with a neutral expression. The boy’s body was healed, but his energy was still depleted. He was panting, muscles trembling, face pale.

“In the future, with an electricity aura and a darkness aura… your power won’t be a joke,” Luke finally said, his tone more relaxed. “Actually… I’m a little jealous.”

Pugsley looked at him, barely lifting his head, incredulous. “Seriously? You have four auras.”

Luke gave the faintest hint of a smile. “Yeah… but still. Yours is a really dangerous combination. Especially if you manage to synchronize them. Darkness and electricity… speed and stealth. Precise strikes no one sees coming. You could become the perfect assassin.”

“Except against you, since you can see the future,” Pugsley replied, and Luke nodded smugly.

Luke had many ways to dodge lethal attacks. He had defeated Elliot, who moved at ridiculous speeds, and that had been months ago. Now he was stronger, faster, everything had improved. He could even dodge Fester’s attacks.

“You should join the Poe family,” Luke said, as if tossing a stone into a lake to see how many times it would skip. “You know… for the reconstruction.”

Pugsley’s face tensed, his cheeks flushed. There was only one way to become part of the Poe family without being adopted… and that was by marrying Tuesday Poe.

Luke said nothing more. He just watched him with one eyebrow raised and a smirk hidden behind his calm expression.

Pugsley still believed Tuesday was a real person. He didn’t know the truth.

He didn’t know that Tuesday Poe was actually Luke himself under the effects of a gender-swapping potion.

The first time Luke used that potion, several months ago, Pugsley had run into him by accident while wandering through the Addams mansion.

And his reaction had been immediate: he was entranced. Tuesday, or rather, the female version of Luke, had a flawless face, a distant princess-like aura, pale porcelain-like skin, and icy eyes framed by a proud, scowling expression.

For Pugsley, it had been love at first sight… or something very close to it.

And Luke, seeing the opportunity, improvised. He made up a backstory in seconds: that Tuesday was his sister. All for one purpose: revenge.

Revenge for Pugsley’s assassination attempts during that first summer. Since he couldn’t give him a physical lesson, he came up with something better: a psychological punishment. Something that would scar him from the inside.

Since then, after Sunnyvale, every appearance of Tuesday had been perfectly calculated. Never too often, just enough to keep the fire alive.

And for some reason, no Addams ever spilled the truth. Not Morticia, not Gomez, not Fester… and certainly not Wednesday. They all respected Luke’s vendetta. In fact, they seemed to enjoy it. A well-woven lesson. An elegant revenge.

“Any news on Tuesday?” Pugsley finally asked, trying to sound casual, though his voice trembled a little.

Luke nodded slowly. “Yeah. She should be back today.”

Pugsley’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

..

Every 450 power stones extra Chapter

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