Chapter Twelve

Obligatory Disclaimer : I do not own anything (except maybe OC characters) all characters, places, worlds, universes…etc mentioned here belong to their respective owners and/or companies. 

This is purely a work of fiction. Not meant to offend or incite, but to entertain and (maybe) inspire.

WHO YOUR DADDY IS

Something's wrong. It's something in me. I'm not this given to my emotions, I chose when to go into a berserker rage, I determine when I become the beast. Yet here, with a frown in my heart, the beast is rampaging without my input.

As soon as I laid eyes on Wolverine, my composure evaporated, my restraint melted away. I lashed out at him relentlessly.

This is the most dangerous I've been. Every strike sliced through air, every punch was bone shattering, every kick caused a crater. Yet he fought back, pound for pound.

His bones did not shatter, mine did, his adamantium held. His slices shaved off my claws in sheer agony. His hips ate my kicks, pulverized my shins and sent him sailing. Yet he arose from the snow, a nasty fucking grin shining on his face.

I've killed him five times since we started; I've crushed his heart, I've punctured his brain, I've shredded his liver, I've sliced through his carotid artery. I was soaked in his blood, it was a red raze boiling off my skin, an aura of death. Except he wasn't dying.

Is this what it feels like to fight me?

Even with the super-serum in my veins, I was weakening in exhaustion. This fight has been going on for an entire day, we are back to where we started. The sun high in the sky, the light reflecting off the snow crystals, the endless white expanse around us stained in still warm blood.

"Son, I'm the best." He says, it's not a boast, it's a solid fact earned in blood. "You fight like Ogun, I bested Ogun."

He sniffs the air, "I don't know why you have a scent that reminds me of Rogers, but I can tell it shouldn't be in you."

Growl! I can't even speak as I rush him, chainsword whizzing for his neck.

Wolverine is fast, faster than he seems. He meets the strike with his claws and rends my precious weapon to shards. Shrapnel from the accelerated chain eats into my face, blood colors my vision red. I roar out and kick, something in me pushes past a limit, a claw peeks through my boot and with it I nail Wolverine's side.

I suddenly feel weaker, the strike doesn't send him careering into the white as it'd normally have.

I find out why.

"It's leaving ya." He fucking smirks and hammers me to the ground with a fist. I shoot for his neck, obsidian claws going for the jugular, he leans in and paints my nose with his forehead. My mask crumbles, a body added to the graveyard of my destroyed equipment, spent shells and casings, ribbons of metal that were once expensive guns, nuggets of my utility belt and teleporter, and now my mask, all littering the white expanse.

My heart bled from all the money I've lost so far.

I thrust up, heaving him away from my body. He's right, the serum, I can feel it being drained out of me. Impossible, I wanted to tell myself, but my mind is sharp and even though I am lost in the fight it gives me conjectures. I pick the most viable, my healing factor was burning through the serum and it was using it to advance aspects of my mutation.

My canines were sharper and more pronounced, my vision has never been better, my hearing was unmatched, a mane of lush brown hair flowed down to my shoulders. It was pushing my senses and mutations to maturity and growth. The healing factor was an adaptive ability, healing was just one facet of it, it had the necessary fuel and stimulus to advance my mutation.

The side effect being feralization and a lack of full control. For while my mind creates options, my body keeps moving on its own, responding to external stimuli without my full consent.

Clang! That was the last punch, Wolverine did not even balk, the strike had not the force to even make him step back. The serum burnt out, obsidian claws protruded from my knuckles, wrists and now from the space between my toes, single claws poked from both sides.

Then came the 'teachin', it was a full defeat. I was exhausted and wasted, the lactic acid buildup within me was too much regardless of how efficient my body was, it wasn't perfect. I was still developing.

It wasn't a surprise that the bastard beat me the fuck up, he tore off my armor. "Never use Carbonadium plating, even if it's inert, a radiation source will turn it lethal to ya." He said, punching my face purple.

I was still fighting back, like a toddler arm wrestling a Truck, I gave it my all. Wolverine simply did not relent, this fight was more to him than it seemed.

"Stop." I said, acknowledging my loss., sprawled out naked in the snow.

"Heh, son—"

"You're not my father you fucking piece of dogshit!"

"More teachin for you then." He says, himself exhausted and torn up, shreds of his costume barely covering his shame. Then follows hours of relentless attacks, he makes me stand on spaghetti feet and tells me to square up before rocking my shit. He does this over and over and over and over despite my reminders of defeat, despite my body utterly refusing to follow my command, despite the setting and rising of the sun.

"What do you want from me?!" With a hoarse voice I yell at him. Unimaginably exhausted, my bones were water, my flesh was sand, my muscles were fog, there was no structure to support me, I could only frown at best due to extreme willpower.

"You should show proper respect to your father." He starts, I know where he is heading, but it is so incredulous I want to hear him say it. "Now I know I ain't always been there, but I looked, I looked through hell and back for ya. I don't know what they did to you." He kneels next to me, a show of respect and remorse, he bows. "I'm sorry." That was not what I was expecting. I thought he'd tell me to call him 'dad.'

"I'm sorry for the pain. For the things they put a child through. For the hell they did to you. I am sorry."

Something trails down my face. It's not blood, it's not sweat, I could produce neither from my eyes.

Why the fuck. Why am I crying? No one has ever said that to me. I never needed anyone to. I'm strong! I'm a killer! This world is GTA and I'm here to fucking have fun!...why the fuck was I crying still?

I wasn't offered the opportunity to go mad from trauma. An unbreakable soul means I stay awake and aware of it all. There's a reason I barely blackout. There is no consolation from insanity. There is no division of the mental psyche in an attempt to partition the pain. I faced it all with a sound mind and tried convincing myself to be crazy.

I was brought into agony from rebirth. Treating reality as a game to be played was a way to rationalize it and to keep occupied enough to forget the pain. Yet here with exhaustion and fatigue swallowing me whole, with every breath burning my chest, with my muscles sore red and unresponsive, I was called to face my trauma and received the first and only remorse for it.

Something no one had ever thought to show me, compassion for my suffering.

"Fuck you." I say instead of the thank you on the tip of my tongue. So boohoo, I've gone through shit, who gives a fuck? He does. We live in a world marred with adversity and pain, everyone goes through shit. Well I'll dust myself up and get back on that horse.

He laughs, hoists me on his shoulder and starts walking. "I'm here for you son."

"Where are you taking me?"

"On a journey." He laughs again.

I am back to a starter village.

*.*.*.*

This was fun to finish.

Hmmm ... .a start perhaps.

Till next time, Rain (the best ever) away!

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