Chapter 65: Dreams and Nightmares

65: Dreams and Nightmares…

It was like being born. Not that anyone really remembers that. But that idea is there. The magnificence of it. The dark and knull void of comfort that disappears as you're pulled into pure light. Into the world. Both literally and figuratively as Bronte fell back through earths atmosphere in a raging ball of fire. The light. It was so bright. It was his whole mind.

Sounds of the earth below attempted to breach his amniotic sack of fiery chaos and failed. It wasn't that they fell on deaf ears. Bronte's ears were better than ever.

He could hear the massive beings cutting through the waves all the way from the clouds. Smell the blood and feel the rain. Feel what was inside each droplet. Something vibrant and familiar. He knew it like he knew his own hand.

And the voices.

"Victor! DONT RUN NOW BITCH!"

It wasn't that he couldn't hear them. It was that he didn't care. He didn't understand. He didn't—

The ground welcomed him like a mattress. The stone and earth crumbled and burned beneath his weight until he kneeled in a crater deep enough to handle the momentum of rebirth.

Steam rose from him. Droplets of rain landed on his skin and suit, burning away like droplets on a hot tea kettle.

There was silence. It was fading. There was also smells, old, permanent in the sense of how long they'd remained.

Rot and decay. Death. His stomach growled.

Brontë hobbled out of his crater and surveyed his surroundings like a being thrust into a new planet.

He stretched. His muscles thanked him with a symphony of pops and cracks. He yawned. His barbed tongue licked his teeth. Now all metal, sabered fangs longer than ever.

Eyes opened, he sniffed and viewed his surroundings, giving him an evermore detailed observation.

The patch of land he stood on felt both desolate and crowded beyond comfort. Ocean water on all sides for miles on miles. A forest from the outside, fit with massive dead trees and sharp branches that placed a crown of thorns over everything.

Beneath the forest, a village spread across the surface for as far as he could see. Homes devoid of life— personality. Red eyes blinked from inside the wooden walls.

Brontë growled and popped his claws, feeling them burst from his knuckles…. Three blades. Along with a singular spike from each elbow. Instinctively he knew how to use them— where to place them to do the most damage.

The eyes didn't move.

He roared. A display of his will to fight and defend the territory he'd fallen into. The only territory he knew.

Still. They didn't move. That was fine. He would for them.

He took a step, feeling the ground give beneath his feet. Hearing the rain splash and slice in half over his blades.

Something coughed to his left. With a snarl he spun on the noise, finding himself peering down into a crater much like his own. Inside it lay nothing much more than remains.

Adamantium skeleton intertwined in exposed nerves and bits of frozen necrotic flesh that looked more like rags than skin.

Two big brown eyes peered at him from inside the skulls eye sockets. Dried out and inspecting deeply.

Familiar.

He hopped into the crater faced the skull, lifting his head to sniff it.

"Haha…. Unfortunate…."

Brontë jumped at the words. Barely formed. Barely above a whisper.

He looked back down at the skeleton, finding his own reflection.

Salt and pepper fur lined the sides of his face. Massive fangs coated in saliva bared wildly. Eyes pure white and devoid of anything human. His ears were sharp, twitching and responding to every sound. He was big— burly and animalistic like never before.

A memory flashed in his mind of a dream.

A storm over the ocean. A beast on a stone path hunting him. He couldn't see it. Only his own reflection. Only his self.

"Another g-gone feral…."

Something moved through the water.

Brontë grabbed the skeleton by the throat and hopped out of the crater. The red eyes were still hidden within the wooden homes.

"You haven't even noticed….. another like you has died here. Another failed successor." The Skeletons eyes turned to the forest full of watchful eyes.

Brontë followed them as he held up the skeleton. Finally noticing the corpse stapled to the largest tree.

Center mass. Blood died the bark. The body was long dead. Almost dust. Three metal claws stuck out much like his own.

He wasn't sure why but the sight bothered him.

Something burst out of the water and moved in a blur, leaping a bounding through the trees.

It stalked along the branches. Slitted eyes glowing. Laughter rising.

"Awe damn. The boy went feral just like his daddy! HAHA….." the voice was familiar. It made his blood boil. Made the lightning fall more frequently.

He looked from the figure back to the skeleton on the tree. So transfixed.

"Don't worry. The body on the trees ain't your pops. That's my brood…. Unfortunately. He wasn't strong enough. I mauled him on his sixteenth. I would've did the same to you but your little boy band got ahead. Luck."

"Jimmy…." Bronte growled on reflex. Memories of a hallway with slashed lockers came in a flash.

"Hehe…. You still got your wits. Good."

More bodies filled into the forested island. Their scents calmed him. Perfumes, spices, chocolate.

"B-Bronte….?"

Brontë turned to face the voice. A young girl. She looked no older than fourteen. Beside her a blue skinned behemoth with spiky red hair and an older version of the young girl stared.

The sight of them was like a mental trigger, sending heavy pains rattling through his skull followed by a heavy influx of barely understood visions. Memories with feelings— emotions. Depth.

Wolfish monsters that looked like the creature he saw in the metal skeletons skull. Cat eyes. Storms. Spider webs. Space. Blonde hair. Hell. Demons. Love. Pain. Running. Fear…. Fear…. F—

"Hermano! I know where you're at….. I been there. So… so I know you're in there. Partially at least. Hang onto it. Remember why you're a billion god damn miles from home. Why we ran and trained for YEARS….We did just so you could have that shriveled bastard just like you have him now. At his end."

"Brother what she's saying is, if you gotta rip us all in half indiscriminately, go for it. But you better smoke that bag of bones right there first HAHA! SMELT HIS ASS! And just because Daken ain't here doesn't mean you can hesitate. Do it now! You earned it."

The instincts died down. Reason came to life. The human mind reborn.

He didn't speak. But he knew they knew as he looked away and lifted Romulus' barely healing skeleton.

Romulus weakly swatted at his face as strands of muscle and weak tendon strapped his left arm. Brontë didn't move as his hand blades ripped through his cheek and nose.

"NO! Sabertooth you cretin! Do what you're supposed to god dammit."

The beast was gone. Like the scum he was. But he wasn't the focus. Merely a symptom of the disease Bronte held in his grasp.

"Don't touch me you waste! Your evolutionary potential is zero! You kill me and everything I built goes up in flames. YOURE NOT— my successor!"

He rambled as Bronte superheated his claws. A comforting warmth washed over him as if the world was serenading him in his triumph. The world faded to the backside as Romulus was his sole focus.

"You don't have the cunning killer instinct our kind needs— YOU SULLY US! Just like your father! Wolverine. Nothing more than a feral animal in the savage lands!"

Whatever. End of story. End of an era. The end of a wicked and foul tyrant that should've died centuries ago.

He lunged.

Romulus fell.

Brontë stood over him. Blood died the dead earth.

His entire right arm lay next to the skeleton tyrant.

His ears rang. He didn't even notice the Wakandan warship triumphant sirens. Or The numbness of his missing arm swelling into white hot pain as he turned around and found his family on the floor.

Laura bled from her stomach. Gabbie lay next to her as if she attempted to fight off their assailant. Raze had a stomach wound as well. None of them were healing….

"A Wolf…. Can be the strongest predator for miles…. And still die by the little old snake in the grass." Romulus cackled.

Daken front kicked him out of the way. Brontë didn't even register the attack until he hit the ground and the pain grew more so, pulling a soundless scream from his lungs.

Daken ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his grip on the blade.

For the first time Bronte could perfectly see it. It wasn't a machete— or a knife. It was a sword. A samurai sword. Deadly. Violent. Spotless. Lacquered with their blood. He swung it at the floor in the direction of the forest.

"Enjoy.."

Suddenly the shadows materialized into people. People with red eyes and fangs…. Pale tribal markings and hide clothing. Starved and inhuman. Vampires.

They did little to change the subject.

Daken.

It was him from the beginning. Sure, the scientist was a "mole"….but even if he wasn't there. Daken was. Daken was always hiding behind him. Watching. Judging. Disapproving. But still. Why?

"I feel like none of you ever got it. Laura got it. But she was so busy playing mommy she went soft. All of us lived like slaves on the run for most of our lives but you, Bronte. I expected every one of them to get it. I expected YOU to get it as we ran. We met people who didn't know or work for Romulus here and they still looked at us like….. like filth. Like mutts. Even in this Mutant oasis of Wakanda, the hate is rife."

Brontë couldn't string together a sentence or properly see beyond the tears.

"Bronte. All of you. You failed to see beyond this. What? We kill Romulus and you all thought that was it. With all your BRILLIANT power, Bronte…. That's all you saw? Freedom at last. We're still Mutants. YOU all are still Mutants. Xavier Mutants. Hell, look at you Bronte, little wolverine just like Laura. You wanna be Heroes so bad you do it during a fucking warzone. And then you end it blowing off centuries of resource build up that we still need in a society that wants us as dead as those Lupines, Wendigos, Shield Agents and everyone else did. What don't you all get it? Nothing ENDS here. Nothing but you all."

Brontë felt like he was going insane. He could feel the phantom shape of his missing arm swinging and swatting at Daken as he ranted while standing over Romulus' skeleton. It gained a sheen of muscle now. His soul sank.

His eyes scattered before settling on Raze. He looked just like that day they found the Symbiotes. Impossibly serious as he lay in the dirt. His arm spinning around his midsection to stop the bleeding. He nodded after looking from Daken to him.

Brontë didn't return the favor. Daken was watching. He didn't need to. He and Raze were locked in. Always had been. Ever since he ate his breakfast from the ceiling all those years ago.

"I watched you all for years. Somehow grow softer. Lack all systemic analysis and comprehension the further we got from New York. The closer we got to this….." He put a foot on Romulus' rib cage, silencing his laugh.

"No. Brontë you're too strong. If I could tie you up and siphon your powers I would. But then I'll have to deal with them. And you. You're a god with the mind of a child. Watching you bend reality just to twist it back to the status quo drove me…..insane." He shook as he spoke, speaking to how much he felt his words. How long he held onto them. "There is no Hero and Villain— StormWolf. There are people. And you underestimate how fucked up they all are."

He looked down. "….. Like you."

Daken ran his sword through Romulus skull, slicing his brain in two. As if that wasn't enough he twisted the blade and rattled it until brain juices spilled and splattered in the rain.

In a flash Raze and Bronte moved.

With his shapeshifting abilities, Raze scooped up Laura and Gabbie and threw them towards Wakanda.

Brontë reached for the skies with his only arm, guiding them safely. As far as he could.

Lightning fell as frequently as the rain. The ground rumbled and shifted oddly in response. His Storm-State awakened with fury and sorrow in a searing electrical heat flash.

"DAKEN!"

The traitor faced off against Raze, severing his shortened arm before running it through his chest.

Brontë moved only to find a hand around his missing arm at the shoulder pulling him into the ocean and away from the fight.

"I won't let you die for me, bro. Not when I can do it and be the badass first… HAHA-"

He heard the blade run through as the waves swallowed him.

For only a moment he was lost in the waves. His fire charged as lightning continued to carpet bomb his every location and blend with his fire. The water evaporated so largely— so fast. The ocean levels sank and hurricanes spun into existence in his wake as he lunged out of the water.

"AGGGGGGH!"

He landed back on land just in time to see Daken being swallowed up by a swarm of Vampire bats his hateful eyes gone with the wind. Just in time to scorch the sheen of green grass beneath his feet that wasn't there before. The island continued to be bombarded with new growth as he flew towards the skies.

Trees and hills of all kinds followed him. He burned through layers upon layers until vines and wood began to snare him— somehow withstanding the heat with an unnatural regeneration.

He snarled and bit the wood in defiance— in lust for his revenge. Woods swallowed him. Jungles swallowed the woods. Rainforest swallowed them. Endlessly burning at his rage— his pain. Endlessly regenerating. A kind soul embracing a harsher other.

Flowers of galactic brilliance with petals like quasars opened all over his dome of greenery, spitting golden dust like snow.

The island spoke, "You removed the Vampiric scourge that drained us near death. You give us life when we had none. You are our savior. Rest here. For this is your home— if only for now. In all your pain. A pain we know well. As Krakoa, all we know is loss. Rest, Bronte. Rest…."

Bronte's fires burned and birthed more flowers until the dust reached him and sleep came.

It wouldn't come again for a long time. But as it was now, so alluring, he remained. Because in sleep, he saw Raze. He saw Gabbie and Laura unharmed. And Daken wasn't a traitor. Daken wasn't his newest object of obsession. Daken wasn't his living nightmare. Daken wasn't dead.

He would be.

***

Brontë Connors, Aka StormWolf. As of the end of this Volume.