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Episode III: The Battle of Wolf 359 (part one)
by Justin Lindsey Allman
The wind was screaming defiantly across the frozen tundra; an alien sky hidden by the blinding white storm. Horrific currents of air carried scatter shot ice and snow that battered against the blue female figure that walked in the blizzard. Tufts of stinging ice collected on her cobalt blue skin and her white braided hair whipped around like dying serpents.

Her eyes were deep emerald with flecks of gold spattered in a halo of spectral fire, circling a hollow blackness. Her magic eyes darted back and forth in the blinding curtain of rage. She swept the icy planes hunting for something in the heavily packed ice.

She breathed in deep to try and catch the scent of the prey, but the wind was wrong. As she inhaled the cold air drank down her throat like ice water. She savored it, longed for it. Here she was once again in her element; the ice and snow bringing her heat dulled senses back from their slumber. This place was life, this moment, this action. She was the hunter here, and she was alive. The other place was hot and filled with confusion. It was not pure.

She flickered in the violent raging ocean of static, a readied blue bolt, edging to strike. Her muscles flexed and she stood on the balls of her bare feet. Her fingers were like claws and her body was hunched in a feral stature. She was the predator hunting in the storm, and the thoughts of the warm place faded.

Her five senses were blinded by the blizzard, but she knew her prey was there. Again she swept the icy fields looking for it.

Then she sensed the quarry and tensed. Somewhere inside, an acid fire spread from her gut and filled her blood and limbs. It ate away at what little sentience she had, and she became one with her instincts, consumed only by the lust for her pray.

Her knobbed antennae that sat high on her head, focused onto a spot deep in the ice. Then with a lightning snap she launched. The blue girl slashed into the icepack like a hungry tiger. She tore into the icy body and ripped from it the burning little life form that she had been seeking. A small mammal screamed and shrieked in her hands, struggling in her iron grip. As quickly as she had pulled it out she bit down onto its body and a burst of blue blood shot out, warm and steaming in the cold summer storm.

Eviscerated tendrils hung from the young girls’ lips as she screamed out in a primal euphoric song to the gods, the storm and the joy of the hunt.

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