1.10 – Snowflake in a Desert

Recap: In a storm-swept showdown of epic proportions, the shamanic sorceress, Mistral, squared off against her dark nemesis, Black Angel! Her gamble? A daring mind dive spell—one taught by the enigmatic Dragonmage—to uncover the mystery of the shadows that shrouded her foe’s soul! But the odds were steep! 

The fate of the mysterious darkness within Black Angel hung in the balance as Mistral defied the warnings of her trusted partner, Garou the heroic Werebeast of the Great North, who urged her to forget her quest for redemption. Is she doomed to lose everything in the name of hope?

A brilliant plan, one that manipulated Black Angel’s own ego, saw Mistral victorious—her foe was blinded by pride, leaving the door open for Garou to strike, sinking his fearsome fangs into their foe! But when Mistral dove too deep into the mindscape of Black Angel, she was met with the full force of the dark energy lurking within. Unprepared for the terror lurking there, Mistral's psyche fractured, and with a brutal jolt, she was knocked unconscious!

Trapped within the very darkness she sought to defeat, Mistral’s mind fought to protect itself from the malevolent force, but the question remains: will she be consumed by the very darkness she tried to save her enemy from? Though she successfully evaded being consumed by the darkness within her, she found herself in the dark clutches of her nemesis! 

The foundation of Mistral’s ice-based shamanic superpowers gifted by the Great Manitou to her had been torn from her as Black Angel used her mystical abilities to siphon out the three beasts imprisoned within Mistral to toy with as she pleases.

The stakes have never been higher! Can Mistral escape Black Angel’s hidden bunker before it's too late, without her power to command the power of cyclone typhoons, blizzards, hurricanes, rainstorms, typhoons, electrical storms and more? Can Mistral win her freedom from Black Angel’s grasp with the very powers that made her vulnerable to her sworn nemesis?

Stay tuned for the next pulse-pounding issue of Mistral: Weather Witch!

Mistral bit her lip hard enough to nearly draw blood. The sting was a desperate tether, keeping a distressed whimper from escaping.

"You haven’t entertained me nearly as long as I’d hoped, luv," Black Angel gloated, her smirk sharp and cruel. She traced a finger over her lips in a teasing, sensual gesture, her eyes glittering with amusement.

“It’s been fun, truly, but playing the same game too long gets tiresome.” Her tone grew languid, almost bored, as she toyed with her thoughts. “I could use a change of scenery, don’t you think? Shake things up, get the juices flowing! Now that I’ve mastered those darling little Beasties of yours, I’m thinking…” She tapped her chin theatrically, her grin spreading. “Aha! Vancouver! Yes, that’ll do nicely. And while we’re at it, let’s throw in Seattle! Those dreary cities already adore their endless drizzle… how do you think they’ll feel about negative eighty-degree temperatures?”

She burst into peals of laughter at her own macabre joke, so intense that tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “Oh my… tears! I haven’t laughed this hard in ages.”

Her gaze fell back to Mistral, still trapped in the cruel grip of the spelled stocks. A thoughtful purr rumbled in her throat as a new idea slithered into her mind. Her tongue flicked over her lips in a gesture of dark delight.

I’ll take her with me. Let the world see her as she is—broken, powerless. How utterly delicious!

A hissing gale of voices erupted inside her mind, like a storm barely contained.

Nooooooo!!! Mistress Angel! If you take her, she’ll find a way to— Howeesha’s frantic voice warned.

Shhhhhhh, Rosshossho’s icy tone interrupted, colder than winter’s heart. Don’t spoil the fun. I, for one, would savor seeing the ‘favored daughter’ forced to watch her own powers wreak havoc.

Speak for yourself, fool! a thunderous voice growled in dissent.

Traitor! Howeesha screeched, his voice piercing like a lightning crack.

Black Angel’s temper snapped, and she struck her own temple hard enough to make her head ring. “SHUT UP, YOU BUMBLING STOOGES!” she bellowed.

As thrilling as it was to manipulate the Earth’s elements at her whim, the ceaseless bickering of these three fools grated on her nerves. Although they were useful, occasionally, their squabbling was insufferable.

Y-yes, Mistress… the trio whimpered in unison, their voices like a storm cowed into submission. Black Angel allowed herself a smug smirk. Yes, that was exactly how it should be.

With a sigh, she rubbed her temples, her gaze returning to Mistral. Yes… a fine idea indeed. The thought of parading her broken nemesis before the world sent a dark thrill through her. Her lips curled into a predatory smile. “A—”

No… Mistress… hissed another voice, soft but insistent, slithering from the depths of her mind.

Her patience shattered. Her eyes blazed with fury as she mentally lashed at the voices. Which of you worms dared to interrupt me this time? Her thoughts crackled like a storm about to break. One more word, and I’ll cast you into the deepest abyss where even chaos cannot find you!

Mistral chuckled softly, the sound bitter and raw in the pitch-black void. Watching Black Angel visibly struggle with the squabbling voices in her head was the only fragment of solace she had left. That petty amusement was her fragile lifeline. Without it, the crushing weight of reality would smother her completely—a reality where the ache between her shoulder blades still burned from the last lash Black Angel had delivered with chilling precision.

How long had it been? Hours, days, weeks? Time dissolved into nothingness here.

The "games" Black Angel played could hardly be called that. They were lifted from the depths of some grotesque S&M hellscape—more torture than play. Mistral had been robbed of nearly everything. Black Angel had stripped her freedom to move, her sense of sight, her power. And, most harrowingly, her right to say no.

But this wasn’t simply about breaking her body—no, that would’ve been far too mundane. Black Angel didn’t just want her physically shattered. Pain was just one tool in her arsenal, one end of a vast and twisted spectrum. What truly drove the villainess was the prospect of breaking Mistral’s will, her spirit, no matter the tool she used. Pleasure was used more often than pain.

And, to Mistral’s deep shame, it was working.

She could feel it—the cracks widening inside her. The realization had sunk in, clawing its way into her psyche, but some small, stubborn part of her refused to let go of the facade, to truly confront it.

“They’re a handful, aren’t they?” Mistral’s voice was hoarse, shaking but defiant.

Black Angel didn’t respond, her focus turned inward, seemingly locked in a heated, silent conversation with the warring voices inside her head.

Mistral’s heart raced. A single, desperate thought pulsed through her: She’s distracted.

Great Manitou, I beg you. Please… deliver me… now.

Your desperation is unbecoming, Favored Daughter, the Great Manitou’s voice resonated, calm and unwavering. We have spoken of this before and we will not again. I cannot help you if you refuse to help yourself.

Mistral’s breath hitched, her tears spilling anew.

“I refuse to help myself”? Mother, I’ve been humiliated in ways too vile to count! She proposes even worse…! I—I can’t hold out any longer!

She has violated your corporeal form and trodden on your pride, the Manitou replied. Leave these things behind. They are but flesh and shadow. Rise beyond them. You cannot do what must be done unless you transcend yourself. Do not pray to me again. Your deliverance lies solely in your own hands.

Mistral’s chest shuddered as silent sobs wracked her immobilized body. Her mind screamed in protest, but outwardly she remained stone still. Her tormentor would not grant her even the dignity of motion.

Mother, please! I beg you!

There is a glimmer of hope, the Manitou intoned, her voice final. A speck of light hidden deep in the void. Find it, and consider well my words, Daughter.

And just like that, the Great Manitou’s presence faded, leaving Mistral alone. Utterly alone.

Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes, unbidden and unstoppable, her shoulders trembling under the weight of hopelessness. Every part of her screamed to shrink away, to fold in on herself, to retreat into the smallest possible space—but Black Angel had robbed her even of that.

She lay still, a prisoner to the cruelty of both her captor and the seemingly indifferent cosmos. And yet, somewhere in the vast abyss of her despair, a single thought flickered: A glimmer of hope.

When Black Angel’s eyes cleared, she exhaled a slow, wry sigh, brushing a stray lock of jet-black hair from her face.

“Very well,” she murmured, her voice tinged with mock resignation. “It’s true that, once freed from the bindings holding her, she may prove less... pliant.” Her gaze lingered on Mistral, studying her like a once-prized artifact now tarnished and forgotten. Her lips curved into a smirk that failed to hide her disappointment. “Perhaps there’s a shred of that backbone left. I should, I suppose, pay my respects to the formidable child she once was.”

The weight of her words hung in the air, cold and cutting, but Black Angel offered no further commentary. With a final, dismissive glance, she turned away from what remained of her ex-rival. The great Weather Witch Mistral, once a force of nature, was reduced to little more than a broken plaything—a toy with scant few secrets left to uncover.

As Black Angel exited the chamber, her heels echoed sharply against the cold, unyielding floor. At the threshold, she reached for the switch and, with a flick, extinguished the dim glow of the cavern. The world fell silent and utterly dark as Mistral was plunged back into the same all-consuming blackness that had become her constant companion.

Unbeknownst to the dark one, however, a pair of sharp, yellow eyes glinted from the shadows. Their gaze was predatory, narrowing as Black Angel’s wings unfurled and carried her northward into the starless night. She soared away from the lonely expanse of desert near the Mexico border in New Mexico, her sanctum now momentarily unguarded.

The figure hidden in the gloom shifted, a silent ripple of intent moving through the oppressive stillness. The time to act was now.

With Black Angel gone, all of Mistral's exhaustion came crashing down on her, dragging her into an unconscious abyss. It was not the peaceful kind of rest that mended wounds; her body may have been still, but her mind was tormented. Even in the depths of sleep, her cheeks were damp with tears, evidence of grief that refused to give her even a moment's reprieve.

This time, her slumber carried her into a churning maelstrom of darkness. It swirled with the elemental forces she had once commanded effortlessly, now corrupted and twisted into something alien and sinister. The energy had Black Angel's mark upon it, that oily wrongness that felt like rot and decay infecting the soul. Her powers were no longer her own but were being turned to monstrous ends, co-opted into something she barely recognized.

Or perhaps it wasn’t her power at all. Perhaps it was simply Black Angel's malice taking form, a parting torment even in her absence.

The Beasts of the storm—those capricious entities of wind, water, and fire—had always been chaotic but not evil. They were forces of nature, unbound by morality, acting only on whims and conditions. But now, their essence felt twisted, wrapped in a darkness that seeped from Black Angel. It wasn’t the malevolence of demons Mistral had faced before—she had battled emissaries of Hell and survived. No, this darkness felt older, a void-like hunger beyond malice or reason. It devoured and assimilated, leaving nothing untouched.

It wasn’t Black Angel’s power alone, Mistral realized. The villain herself was a prisoner of this primordial force, wielding it at a terrible cost. The thought chilled her further, sending a ripple of anxiety through her unconscious form.

Then, from the depths of her torment, a new sensation pierced the dark. Mistral’s awareness flickered; she felt something outside. Something brushed her skin—or was it a trick of her imprisoned mind? Fear jolted her awake for a fleeting second, the phantom sensation lingering even as she sank back into fitful sleep.

Would Black Angel return before she woke? Would her captor dream up new ways to desecrate her body, to wrench her spirit further into despair?

There was no escape, Mistral knew that. She’d tried again and again, only to find herself thwarted by the intricate magic binding her. Her restraints weren’t merely physical but tied deeply to Black Angel's lifeblood, their power impermeable to her own weakened will. Each failed attempt drove her further into despair, further into herself.

How far she had fallen. How utterly broken she had become. These thoughts whispered to her, seductive in their bleakness. What hope was left when she couldn't even find sanctuary within her own mind?

Perhaps it would be better not to wake at all, she thought bitterly. The idea was cruelly tempting—an eternal retreat into darkness, where she wouldn’t have to endure the piercing gaze of her tormentor or the humiliations that followed. Could she pray to the Great Manitou to release her from this life? Even if the act of dying was painful, it had to be kinder than the endless agony she faced.

But the Great Manitou had already denied her that release. She had no choice but to endure, to survive.

And so Mistral sank further. She retreated deeper into herself, seeking not peace but an end. Her thoughts spiraled, mirroring the cyclone of malevolent energy in her dreams. The eye of the storm called to her, beckoning her downward.

Deeper.

And deeper.

And deeper still.

The outside world faded entirely, leaving her suspended in an infinite, oppressive void. She continued to sink, driven by a desperate need to reach the bottom—to reach something. But the further she descended, the more she realized there was no end, no bottom.

Then, as if colliding with an unseen barrier, Mistral stopped. It wasn’t a physical halt; it was something more profound, as though her very essence could go no further. The darkness pressed against her, its weight both suffocating and infinite.

She wasn’t alone.

Something ancient stirred in the void, not seen but felt. It didn’t move or speak, but its presence filled her with a primal dread that froze her in place. Whatever it was, it had been waiting for her.

After what felt like an eternity suspended in the darkness, something shattered the void. A hand slapped Mistral’s face, the sharp sting shocking her from the depths of her inner prison.

Her body flinched involuntarily, but she quickly clamped down on the urge to react further. Screaming would only embolden Black Angel, and Mistral couldn’t endure another round of her tormentor’s cruelty. Swallowing her despair, she slumped deeper into her sleep, feigning submission. Why bother fighting? She didn’t want to live anymore.

Then came another slap, harder this time.

A low rumble followed, rolling through her consciousness like distant thunder. Korakorkomaq. The name sprang unbidden to her mind, the echo of Black Angel’s dominion over lightning and thunder. The sound reverberated, cruel and endless, confirming her assumption. Black Angel must have grown bored again, flaunting her stolen power, using it to taunt and punish.

But the rumbling persisted. It wasn’t the usual sharp crack of lightning, nor the deep, echoing thunderclaps she was used to. This was something else, continuous and guttural, almost like a voice.

Another slap struck her cheek, more insistent than the last.

Mistral clenched her jaw and shut herself off further, refusing to react. If Black Angel wanted a display of anguish, she’d find none here—not this time. Let her waste her effort.

The slaps didn’t stop, nor did the rumbling.

The noise wasn’t a taunt, she realized, but something deeper, resonating at the edges of her awareness. There was a rhythm to it, like a call. And the slaps weren’t painful anymore; they were steady, purposeful, pulling at her, demanding her attention.

Mistral squeezed her eyes shut tighter in defiance, retreating to the one thing Black Angel hadn’t taken—her stubborn resolve. Her captor had stripped away her dignity, her autonomy, her powers—but she still had her refusal. She could deny Black Angel her satisfaction. Even if it meant lying to herself, even if it was a hollow victory, it was hers.

The hand struck her again, not as a blow but as a jolt, like a heart's desperate last beat before surrender.

The rumbling deepened, the vibrations growing stronger, more insistent.

And then came a voice—not Black Angel’s, vaguely familiar, whispering through the void with an authority that rattled her to her core.

“... Wake up.”

Mistral’s resolve wavered. No, it can’t be...

The slap came again, and the voice grew louder.

“... Mistral.”

Her eyes fluttered, the faintest spark of recognition flickering against the crushing darkness. Something—or someone—was reaching for her, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she wasn’t sure she wanted to stay buried. She was destroyed for life.

Garou’s furious howl echoed through the cavern, reverberating off the walls and disappearing into the oppressive darkness. The sound carried the weight of anguish and helplessness, a primal cry torn from the depths of his soul. He fell to his knees beside Mistral, panting heavily, his claws trembling as he gripped the edges of her cruel bindings.

His flashlight beam wavered across her face, and for a moment, her features—sunken, pale, and eerily still—appeared almost unrecognizable. It wasn’t just her body Black Angel had ravaged; her very spirit seemed fractured, like a glass figurine left in the grip of a careless child.

Garou squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the tears that matted his fur. He was no stranger to battles, no stranger to death. But seeing this—seeing her like this—was more than he could bear. She was Mistral, his partner, his mentee, the unshakable force of nature he had always relied upon, admired, even loved in his own way. She was the storm itself, wild and untouchable.

And now she was nothing more than a broken shell.

“Damn it…” he growled again, his voice cracking.

His claws twitched against the enchanted stocks, aching to rip them apart even though his strength and fury had already proven useless. He couldn’t give up, but his mind swirled with frustration. No matter how much effort he poured into this, nothing seemed to work.

Garou let out a long, low snarl, his body trembling as he rose to his feet. His golden eyes, burning with raw emotion, scanned the chamber. It was barren save for the crude stocks that imprisoned Mistral, and the faint, almost imperceptible shimmer of Black Angel’s cursed magic that clung to the air like a heavy fog.

He crouched back down and rested his paw-hand on Mistral’s shoulder, gentler this time.

“Mistral,” he said hoarsely, his voice soft now, pleading. “It’s me. It’s Garou. You have to come back to me. Please. I know you can hear me in there. I know she hasn’t taken everything from you—not yet. Wake up.”

He shook her shoulder lightly, his desperation growing.

“You’ve faced worse than this, haven’t you? You’ve looked gods in the eye and told them to shove it. You’re stronger than her. I know you are, Mistral.”

Her head lolled slightly at his touch, but she gave no other response.

“Damn it, Mistral…” Garou muttered, his claws curling into fists. “Don’t let her win. Don’t let her break you. Not you, not like this. I can’t—”

His voice cracked again, and he bit down hard to silence himself.

Garou’s gaze dropped to her face once more, and his expression softened, the rage giving way to sorrow. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face, his claws surprisingly tender.

“I swear to you, I’ll find a way to break these chains,” he murmured. “If it takes every last ounce of strength in my body, I’ll get you out of here. But you’ve got to fight too, Mistral. Wherever you are, whatever she’s done to you, you have to fight.”

He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“You’re not alone, dammit. You hear me? You’re never alone.”

For a long, agonizing moment, the cavern was silent save for Garou’s labored breaths and the faint hum of Black Angel’s magic. Then, somewhere deep in the stillness, a faint shiver passed through the air.

Garou’s ears perked, and his eyes darted to Mistral’s face.

“Come on,” he whispered. “Come back to me, Stupid.”