Chapter 10: Bloodline Activated

Blackness...

Even in the unconscious state spurred on by the awakening of Bronte's Mutant Gene, he knew very little of it. Blackness. It wasn't a state of being he remained in for long.

Instead, he dreamt. So impossibly vivid and full of chaos. Turbulent storms rumbling his brain as an infinite black ocean swirled and churned around him like the world itself was ending beneath the sharp bubbling waves. He stayed afloat on a cliff. A stone that jutted from the liquid vortex and ran as a walkway for miles, disappearing behind the shadows cast by the massive storm clouds above.

At the end of that stone path-- into the storm, a beast walked. Unfazed as the violent natural world splashed, crushed and swirled around it's muscular frame. He watched it walk-- time bent and unnatural. It felt like each thunderous step it made lasted both several years and several seconds. Each illuminating blast of lightning hit the waters behind it like an explosion that shed light on it's everchanging form.

Sometimes it looked like a wolf-- eyes ablaze and fur as black as the thunderclouds above. Other times it moved with deadly grace on giant paws and hulking muscle-- striped like a tiger. And then there were times where it looked like both.... walking on two legs and wielding a bolt of lightning as if it were a sword.....

When the monstrous being born from the storms finally reached him, he didn't understand what he was looking at, and his fear of storms was multiplied until he was screaming in terror with his hands braced over his face as the being stabbed him with the bolt of lightning.

And then, blackness was his once again.

And as always, it failed to remain for anything longer than a few seconds...

***

"--uy's... He just moved. I think he's waking up!" A familiar child-like voice invaded his mind as it slowly rose to a state of consciousness.

Whoever the little girl was talking to was seemingly more engaged in the conversation they were having further away. Bronte focused his senses and listened in on it.

"Well what's the problem? You were able to get the exact results you desired from Raze's bloodwork and he's not even fully human. How is Tay's harder to understand?!" Another familiar feminine voice said in an angered tone.

He knew that one. Laura.

The man who responded to her he knew nothing of. His voice was big-- booming from a large body. Even so, he spoke with intelligence and professionalism. It was.... jarring.

"Yes-- yes, I know it must be frustrating. I'm sure everything is for you, Laura-- and I apologize for that. But you need to understand, this.... uhhhh, Tay Astra? Yes, Tay Astra. His blood isn't like anything I've seen, we need more testing. Most mutant's have a distinct alteration to their blood and DNA when their Gene is awakened. Like the awakening of the Feral Gene and how it's given those like us inhuman reflexes, claws, night vision and even the ability to commune with predators. But his bloodwork is still similar to the way it was before-- but there's also portions.... aspects that are violently different... and still changing."

"Speak english, Hank." Laura demanded.

"He's evolving still-- even after awakening his Mutant Gene. Something sped up the process for a moment based on the sudden change. It's slowed significantly-- this metamorphosis, but I don't know if it'll slow to a stop or simply continue."

It took Bronte longer than it should've for him to realize they were talking about him. But upon the realization, his pulse quickened and the headache at the back of his mind rushed to the forefront.

"Feral Gene....? Awakening?... Metamorphosis?"

Bronte's eyes burst open with a start.

"He's awake!" The young girl seated next to him yelled in an excited tone.

Suddenly the conversation Laura was having with a man named Hank faded.

He found himself in a room. Larger than any room he'd ever been in with an ornately designed cream-colored ceiling bordered by thick light brown polished wood that panned down to the walls lightly designed with scenic pictures and reinforced windows. The light that spilled in warmed his skin. He could feel it so intensely-- life, felt intense. The smells, the sounds, the taste of the air.

He turned to face the window's warmth-- still to jarred to consider where he was or what happened. Only, no window met him. Something blocked his path.

A face. A man with pale white skin and rough spiky red hair-- even his sideburns were spiky. As he snored, his deadly sharp canines sat inches from Bronte's face and his tongue hung out of his mouth and laid across Bronte's chest, dripping a disgusting green slime.

"Oh.... shit." The little girl opposite him said.

Bronte stood frozen by fear and the rushing return of recent memories. As his eyes panned down to the sharp prehensile tongue laying across his chest, he found the man's arms slung over the bed like ropes. Unnaturally long and ended with clawed fingers. The claws immediately reminded him of one very horrifying thing.

The Monsters at the high school. The Highschool. It was real.

"SHIT!" He snapped as he exploded from the bed, tripping and fumbling about on the clean wooden floor while he tried to untangle himself from the arms and wipe the slime from his chest.

Once he was free, he searched the room for an exit. The room was full of people, all beginning to slowly awaken. A man sat at a nearby windowsill, his face hard and resembling both European and Asian features hidden beneath the shadows of his black hair. At Bronte's right, a girl no older than eight held her hands up with a wary smile. The nightmarish man that was once asleep on the bed had disappeared. And at the door, across the room, a woman stood talking to a blue furred werewolf wearing glasses and a poorly fit button-up.

The headache hammered as his pulse rose.

Right when he thought he was about to faint--

"[Bronte....]"

A voice. Old, calm, infectiously stoic and relaxing.

"[That is your name is it not? Bronte Connors. Hm. Connors. A Gaelic last name belonging to the last true Irish Monarchy. Connors, the last king. Also meaning the descendant of the Hound. Oddly fitting-- if the rumors are true.]"

Bronte stayed silent. As the people in the room with him attempted to speak to him without moving. For some reason their eyes kept panning from his face to his hands.

His eyes moved to find what they were so urgently watching.

"[Bronte. I need you to focus on my voice. Don't think about your surroundings, don't think about any sounds. Just my voice for now. Let's take one step at a time and move from there, ok?]"

"...What is this?" Bronte thought.

"[This is me, Charles Xavier. Speaking to you, through your mind.]"

"..."

"[No need to consider the implications of said process. That isn't what matters at the current moment. What matters right now, is you. Bronte.]"

The continued use of his name was grounding in the most bizarre way. After spending what felt like years being chased by animalistic monsters and Mutants referring to him as a random online handle, life had felt nightmarish and comical. Detached from reality in a way. Charles' words seemed to be having a weird reversal effect.

It was slightly unnerving.

"[I understand, you have so many questions its hard to know where to start. So let me start for you. As I speak, remember to breathe....]"

The others around him had taken seats and calmed as if given a message by the same voice.

"[Bronte Connors. You are in Salem, New York-- in my school. The Xavier Institute. It's a place for gifted children like yourself. Gifts that you awakened less than a week prior to this moment. Gifts that will change how the world views you, and how you view the world for one simple fact. You are no longer an average high school boy. Bronte, you are awakened. People will call you all manner of things. Freak, sicko, monster.....and Mutant. That doesn't matter. What matters is how you take in these facts from this point onward and what you do with these abilities you have.]"

"Abilities I have?"

"[Yes. They are rare-- and sought after. As you'll learn from the people who I'm sure are staring bullets through you right at this moment. Learn to trust in them. It's important. But then again, if you're anything like the man you're all joined by in that room, I'm sure you won't. Not fully at least for a while. Even so, you must take the help you can get. You'll need it, Bronte. Now, eat something, and speak with them. I'm sure you have a lot to cover. When it's all said in done, come find me. And welcome to the Xavier Institute.]"

And just like that, the voice-- the presence, was gone. The world was once again fully enveloping and real. He found himself focusing on the sights, smells and sounds once again.

"Tay--"

"My name is Bronte. Bronte Connors. Why have you been calling me Tay Astra? How do you even know that?" Bronte corrected Laura.

"Daken sweettalked a clairvoyant Mutant and that's the name she gave him. How that worked I'll never know." The little girl named Gabbie said from beside him before fake gagging.

"Clairvoyant Mutant..." Bronte whispered.

"Listen, Bronte. I'm sure you have questions-- and I'm sure you're hungry. So, let's talk over some food." Laura explained as someone wheeled in a cart full of steaming food.

Bronte's stomach growled like a feral beast.

"Same." Gabbie replied to the sound.

"Now, why don't you put those away and have a seat." Laura said, looking down at his hands again.

"What are you ta--....." Bronte's voice trailed off as he looked down at his hands.

Metal claws emerged from his knuckles. They were long, and so sharp he cringed at the sight of them. Between them, an even longer claw extended from his wrist, thicker and rigid like twisted bone.

"Open your hands."

He looked up to the source of the voice. Daken. He faced away from everyone, looking out of a nearby window. Bronte hadn't even heard him get up from his slumber.

"It opens the joints and allows the claws to slide back into place." Daken explained.

Bronte followed the direction hesitantly and opened his hands. In an instant, the thick claws sunk back into his skin with a metallic slicing sound. He could feel them faintly. An added weight. And even more surprising was that it barely hurt.

"So, Bronte. Let's talk." Laura said as she dragged the cart of food to the bed he hesitantly sat on.

As he sat, the others in the room slowly closed in. Gabbie took her seat at the side of his bed again. Hank behind her. Laura stood with her arms crossed at the foot of his bed, Daken hung in the distance behind her like a shadow.

Even as the wonderful smelling food made it's way to his lap, he couldn't help but remember something one of them said as he fainted in the alleyway all those days ago. A simple sentence that shook his spine and suddenly felt undeniable.

"Son of Wolverine..."