Ness lowered his hand. He was trembling, his nose bleeding from the strain of focusing PSI in this alien place. He held the broken remains of his bat like a spear.
Zetterburn stumbled forward, off-balance for a heartbeat. It was all Ness needed. He didn’t think. He acted . A lifetime of batting practice and fighting possessed moles took over. He swung the Louisville Slugger not at Zetterburn’s head, but at his front paws.
Zetterburn.
"You're lost, little boy," Zetterburn growled, his voice the sound of a collapsing forge. He flexed a claw, and a corona of fire licked up his forearm. "This isn't Onett. There are no weak, sentient animals here for you to bully with your mind."
The psychic cryo-blast erupted from his forehead, a needle-thin lance of absolute zero. It wasn't the wide, powerful blizzard he used on Starmen. It was a surgical strike, honed by desperation. rivals of aether ness
Zetterburn lowered his head, a gesture that was not submission, but respect. He spat a single, frozen tooth onto the black mud.
"PK... Freeze."
Ness didn't run. He stepped in . Close. Too close. He could smell the sulfur on the lion's breath, feel the individual points of heat radiating from his mane. He pressed two fingers to his own temple.