The God of calamity’s wife: return of the 13th

Aksel was on all fours fighting the pain he was familiar with of keeping the panther beast at bay. His claws had erupted through his skin and he suffered the agony but kept him inside.

He involuntarily gnashed his teeth.

"I was going to mate her you bastard." He hissed at himself. His beast was mad because he had let saoirse win without transforming.

"Do you know how long it's been since I've mated a woman because of you?"

Aksel clenched his teeth. "I control you! That was the deal I am your host. You do as I say!"

"I would have fertilized her next 20 eggs if you would have just let me free!"

"Hey quiet down in there! Quit talking to yourself you nasty wolf." The prison guard said which set off Aksel's beast.

He transformed his claw and grabbed the man through the bars.

"Ahhhh!!!! Help! He cried. And Aksel struggled to let him go but he crushed the man in an instant.

"I would have satisfied myself with that woman and who are you to stop me?"

"Shut up." Aksel yelled "you can mate her when she consents." He said.

"As if she ever will. You have no charm." His beast gnashed his teeth.

Then Aksel began clawing at himself and crashing into the bars and the wall and broke the toilet so it was flooding the room like a fountain.

Ten guards came to intervene and the minute they touched the water they were electrocuted.

"The beast is trying to get out!" One yelled into his radio and then he was zapped dead.

———————-

When Sirius woke up the next morning, he noticed Saoirse had already gotten up and made his bed that she had slept on. The scent of breakfast wafted through the air, so he headed to the kitchen, expecting to find her eating there, but she was gone.

 There was a plate on the table of something she had baked. He picked one up. It was some sort of pastry that smelled of cardamom and was cut in half with some sort of blood jam spread on it. He bit into it and could also taste some cinnamon and brown sugar. 

"Mmmm! Wow, I've never had anything like this before—this is amazing!" he exclaimed, reaching for another as he called out, "Saoirse?" 

He checked the laundry room and saw the bloodied clothes were now washed and were tumbling in the dryer. How early had she gotten up?

A loud bang resounded outside, so he exited through the garage and went around the house to find her training outside. 

He stood in the doorway; she hadn't noticed him come. She was dripping with sweat and the sun shone on her face a bit.

In the brisk morning air, she stood with her feet shoulder-width apart, toes slightly turned in. Ice coated her feet like boots and rooted her feet to the ground. 

Her body was still, yet there was a subtle energy radiating from her, as though she was in perfect harmony with the earth beneath her. 

She was holding an ice sword and made fluid movements, filling it with the energy inside of her, she slowly lifted the sword and moved it in a graceful arc, moving it as if it were gliding through the water. Every motion was deliberate, flowing from one posture to the next. 

Her breath synchronized with the movement—slow, deep inhales through her nose, then frosty breath exhaled gently through her lips. 

As she shifted her weight onto her back foot, her sword extended forward, as if aiming at an invisible force.

 The motion was seamless, the transition from one pose to the next smooth and unhurried. Her focus was entirely inward, eyes soft but aware, following the rhythm of her body.

She lifted her foot as she shifted her weight and the ice moved with her, melting and reforming, alowing her to step down again and ground her foot again. She turned and moved her sword in a practiced motion and continued taking steps, the ice obeying her as if it was an extension of her feet, each step was light, the soles of her feet brushing against the earth as she moved from stance to stance. Her body swayed gently with the movements, as if guided by the wind. 

The courtyard had become a slab of ice and it was as if she were ice skating flowing with every shift of her hips, every rotation of her torso.

Her arms rose and fell, traced delicate circles in the air with her sword and occasionally paused in perfect stillness before flowing again. 

She moved with a quiet grace, each posture linked to the next in a dance of mindfulness. Time seemed to slow, her body moving in harmony with the gentle breeze, her breath deep and calm.

As she completed the final sequence, her hands came to rest gently at her sides. She stood still once more, her body aligned and calm, feeling the lingering energy of the practice flow through her. Her sword disappeared and so did the ice around her. 

She turned towards him and smiled, "hey good morning!" 

He smiled as she caught him watching her and waved sheepishly with the hand that was holding the pastry she made, "hey." 

She looked at the pastry in his hand and smiled, "How did you like the kanelbullar I made?" 

He looked at the twisted bread in his hand and got embarrassed again, "I hope it's ok I took a few. It was delicious! I normally just drink blood for breakfast, I'm not much of a cook." 

Saoirse laughed, "I made it for you, don't worry about it! There's a lady in another pack that I used to spend a lot of time with and she taught me how to make it. I love baking. It's my favorite breakfast."

"It looks complicated." He said. 

"Nah with practice it's not hard," she made an ice strip that resembled a strip of dough and showed him how she twisted it, using her thumbs and forefingers, she gently twisted it until it formed a spiral.

While holding the twisted dough between her thumb and forefinger of one hand, she used her other hand to wrap the dough around the three middle fingers of the hand holding it. 

Then she tucked the end of the dough through the center of the circle she made. 

The finished product looked like one of the pastries she had baked, except it was made of ice. She held the ice pastry out to him and he picked it up.