The Lycan King's Outcast Omega (by Cara Anderson) novel Chapter 142

Sage

The first wave hits the eastern villages shortly after noon. I arrive with a team of healers to find destruction beyond what we anticipated—houses burning, civilians wounded, warriors engaged in desperate combat with creatures more evolved than any we've yet encountered.

These aren't mindless beasts. They move with frightening intelligence, coordinating attacks, setting ambushes, targeting the most vulnerable with eerie precision.

Without hesitation, I establish a field hospital in the village square, organizing healers to triage the wounded. But as more injured arrive, I realize traditional methods won't be enough and I can’t be everywhere at once. Or maybe I can.

"Keep them stable," I instruct the other healers before stepping into the center of the square.

My powers have evolved beyond what anyone—even I—fully understands. As I close my eyes and extend my senses, I feel every injury within range, every corrupted wound, every life hanging in balance.

Golden light extends from my hands, not focused on a single patient but radiating outward in a wave that touches every wounded wolf in the square. Through our bond, Alaric feels what I'm attempting and sends strength, support, his own power somehow amplifying mine across the distance separating us.

Gasps rise around me as wounds close, corruption burns away, strength returns to those on the brink of death. What would have taken dozens of healers hours to accomplish happens in moments.

An elder wolf, his leg newly healed, drops to his knees before me. "The ancient texts spoke of healing abilities like this. Powers lost generations ago."

Others join him, warriors and civilians alike, their awe palpable as they witness abilities they've been taught to fear their entire lives.

But healing is only the beginning.

At the northern defense line, I find warriors struggling against a particularly organized group of mutants. Their corruption pulses with command signals I can now sense—directed control that gives them tactical advantage.

"They're receiving orders," I tell the field commander. "I can disrupt the signal."

Skepticism flashes across his face, but desperation wins out. "Do what you can. We're losing ground by the minute."

I move to the front lines, focusing my powers not on healing now but on understanding. The corruption controlling these creatures operates on principles similar to what Cassius attempted in the extraction chamber—energy that can be redirected, altered, disrupted.

Power flows from my hands, invisible to others but clearly affecting the mutant wolves. Their coordinated movements falter. Attack formations break apart. The unnatural intelligence guiding them flickers like a flame in wind.

"Now!" I call to the warriors. "While they're disoriented!"

They surge forward, pressing the advantage as mutants that moved with military precision now struggle to coordinate. Through our bond, Alaric's surprise and pride flow as he senses what I've accomplished.

By nightfall, similar reports arrive from across the kingdom—the mysterious control over mutant forces faltering wherever I've taught other healers to disrupt the signals. Not defeating them entirely, but giving our warriors a fighting chance against what once seemed overwhelming odds.

In the western territories, a standoff between our forces and a particularly massive mutant pack threatens to erupt into bloodshed that would devastate both sides. Alaric, coordinating from the central command, sends me to assist.

I arrive to find tensions at breaking point—warriors poised to attack, mutants gathered in unusual formation. But something feels different about these creatures. The corruption controlling them flickers inconsistently, as if the command signal struggles to maintain hold.

"Wait," I tell our warriors, stepping forward despite their protests. "Something's not right."

By the time I return to central command, stories of the "Healer Queen" spread throughout allied territories. Not just tales of miracles or battlefield prowess, but something more profound—a leader who sees value where others see only threat, who offers compassion where others would bring only destruction.

Alaric meets me at the command center entrance, pulling me into arms that tremble slightly with exhaustion and pride. Through our bond, his love flows unchecked, public propriety forgotten in the face of what we've witnessed.

"They're calling you the Bridge," he murmurs against my hair. "Between old powers and new hope. Between what was lost and what might yet be reclaimed."

Around us, Alphas and warriors who once looked at me with suspicion now watch with something like reverence. Helena approaches with Iris beside her, both women's expressions reflecting new respect that goes beyond family loyalty.

"The council members arrive tomorrow," Helena informs us. "To witness what's happened here. To see what they've been fighting against all these generations."

Through our bond, Alaric's strategic mind immediately grasps the opportunity this presents. Not just victory in battle, but victory in the larger war for acceptance. For change that's been resisted for generations.

"Then let's give them something impossible to deny," he says, his hand finding mine. "A queen who doesn't just rule through birthright, but through earning the loyalty of an entire kingdom."

Around us, the war continues, battles fought across territories still under attack. But something fundamental has shifted—not just in how others see me, but in how I see myself.

Not just a healer. Not just a mate. But a queen who might help bridge divides that stretch back generations.

Through our bond, Alaric's certainty matches my own growing conviction. Whatever council members witness tomorrow, whatever judgments they've held fast through centuries of prejudice, they face something they never anticipated:

A kingdom united not against healing abilities, but behind them.