Magical Mutations (Ch. 2)

( Every character in this story is a legal adult over the age of 18 )

Magical Mutations

Chapter 2

Harry landed in the middle of a field. One second, he was in the parking lot, surrounded by sirens, screams, and blood, and the next, there was nothing but cold, damp earth and silence.

For a heartbeat, Harry stood absolutely still, unsure if the world around him was real or not. The night air was thick and clammy, and dew soaked the hem of his jeans. Everything felt very raw, as if all his nerves had been scrubbed clean. He blinked several times, trying to steady himself.

He took a slow, careful step forward, and his foot squelched in the grass. The sudden quiet was almost worse than the chaos he had left behind. Far in the distance, he saw a faint glow and flashes of blue and red. It was the truck stop, Harry realized. It was still there, less than a mile away.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered, his voice raspy and dry.

There was no one around, and the field stretched out in all directions. There was a thin, dark line of trees, maybe a football field away. He twisted around, half-expecting someone to be right behind him, but there was nothing.

Harry shivered as he remembered the fire and the burst of yellow and orange. Then there was the complete absence of pain and the weird, soothing floatiness. Now he was here, wherever "here" was. His thoughts were all over the place, unable to settle. Had he really just … disappeared? Harry shook his head to try to clear it. He needed a plan.

First, he needed to get the hell away from the truck stop. If those cops or anyone else had seen what happened, they’d be looking for him. Maybe he had been caught on camera, or maybe he was already on the news. He didn’t want to be anywhere near the scene when the search started.

He set off at a jog, using the cover of the waist-high grass. His shoes sucked up cold water with every step. He could hear his own heartbeat thumping loudly in his chest. It wasn’t fear exactly, more like his survival instinct kicking in. He kept his head low as a car passed through the nearby highway. Every hundred feet or so, he looked over his shoulder.

As he ran, his mind sorted through a litany of questions. What was that thing in the parking lot? Why had it happened to him? Was he hallucinating? Was this a dream? If so, why did everything feel so real? And why, above all else, couldn’t he remember anything about his past?

He slowed as he reached the tree line. A narrow, muddy ditch separated the field from the woods. He leapt over it and landed hard, his hands sinking into the soft earth to keep his balance. He wiped his hands on his jeans and slipped through the first row of saplings.

The woods were thicker than they looked from a distance. The canopy filtered out most of the moonlight, and the sudden darkness hit Harry like a wall. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust, and the musky smell of rotting vegetation filled his nose. Branches reached down and raked his face as he walked. He tried to pick his way through quietly, but every twig and dry leaf underfoot sounded ten times louder in the silence.

After a few minutes, the trees thinned out, and Harry emerged onto a lumpy patch of overgrown yard. At the far edge stood a house … or what was left of one. The roof sagged badly in the middle, and the porch looked ready to collapse. The siding was faded and weather-damaged, and all but one window was either broken or missing entirely. A "For Sale" sign lay face down in the weeds.

Harry hesitated, staring at the house. It wasn’t a place that normal people would willingly enter, especially not at night … and definitely not alone. However, he didn’t have a lot of options, and right now, hiding out sounded better than being in the open. Besides, it was probably only a few hours until sunrise.

He crossed the yard at a steady pace. The house didn’t look like it had seen a living soul in years. The porch groaned under his weight, but held firmly. He climbed the three crooked steps and tried the door. It stuck, so he pushed harder, and the wood splintered near the knob. The hinges squealed as it swung inward.

The inside of the abandoned house was even darker. Harry stepped over the threshold, and for a moment, he listened carefully. There was no sound and no signs of movement. There was just the unpleasant scent of rot and dust. He moved slowly through the front hall, feeling his way. His eyes adjusted, and he could make out the outlines of some old furniture. There was a sofa with springs poking through, a coffee table with one broken leg, and an old, boxy TV with a smashed screen in the corner. It was better than nothing. At least it was dry, Harry told himself.

He dropped onto the sofa, which creaked in protest but held. Harry leaned forward and put his head in his hands. He sat like that for a few seconds, letting his mind wander. He needed answers, and he needed them soon. But for now, he was alive, and he was safe … at least for the moment.

Harry didn’t have anything to do other than think. His mind replayed the flash of fire, the panicked gunfight, and the utter absurdity of a bullet wound healing in seconds. He had no clue how long he’d been sitting on the sofa. His eyes were closed, but he was still alert. The house creaked around him, sometimes in the walls and sometimes overhead. It could have been an animal or possibly the wind.

It was completely dark inside the house, and he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, which, in a weird way, made him feel safer … at least until he heard the sound.

There was a shuffle and the scratch of something heavy moving across wood. Harry’s skin prickled, and he held his breath. The sound stopped, but now he was certain he wasn’t alone. He kept perfectly still, his hands clenched between his knees. There was a sudden flare of light in the next room. A match had been struck against a surface with a loud hiss, and the flare was bright enough to cut through the gloom. It was held up to the end of a thick cigar, which glowingly pulsated with every puff.

The light illuminated a face. It was square-jawed and big, with a yellow mane of hair and long, thick mutton chops. The eyes were narrow and glinting, with an unmistakable animalistic quality. The man exhaled smoke and grinned, showing off rows of large, uneven teeth that were punctuated with two long canines.

“Kid,” the man rumbled. “You picked the wrong house.”

Harry tried to respond, but he didn’t get the chance. The man … the thing … moved faster than anything that size should be able to. He closed the ten-foot gap in a heartbeat, his heavy boots slamming against the floor. Harry managed to get to his feet, but the man’s fist was already at his chest.

There was a brutal impact and a sudden, loud crash. For a half-second, Harry thought he’d been shot again, but it was worse. The punch lifted him off the ground, sent him through the air, through a plaster wall, and into what might have once been a kitchen. He hit the far side hard, knocking the breath from his lungs.

He didn’t stay down. Instinct more than anything else made him roll to his knees, gasping for air. His ribs felt like broken glass. Each inhale was like a hot knife in his side. He hunched over, expecting the pain to get worse, but almost instantly, the raw agony faded. Harry ran his hand across his ribs. They were fine.

He heard a grunt, followed by footsteps crunching through the debris. The man’s boots broke through what was left of the wall. He stepped over the shattered frame, still smoking his cigar. “Not bad,” he growled. “You got some meat on you.”

Harry pushed himself upright, every muscle tense. “What do you want?”

The man flicked ash on the floor. “Nothing personal. You just got unlucky.” He smiled wider. “I can’t have you runnin’ to the law.”

Harry looked for a weapon … or anything useful. His hands closed around a piece of broken wood. He hefted it, not sure if it would do any good, but it felt right. The man watched with amusement.

“Go on, then,” he said, spreading his arms. “Show me what you got.”

Harry lunged, swinging the board at the man’s head. The man let it hit him. The board splintered and bounced off, like hitting a concrete pillar. The man barely flinched. He backhanded Harry with enough force to send him spinning. Harry crashed into a rotted counter, sending moldy linoleum flying.

“Not bad,” the man said again, sounding honestly impressed. “Most people would’ve run by now.”

Harry spat blood onto the floor and tried to think of anything that would help him. He remembered the ball of light and how natural it had felt. He forced his hand out, palm up, and tried to picture the light. It flared instantly into a blinding white ball that hovered above his palm. The man blinked and laughed. “Now that’s more like it!” he roared, charging Harry with wild abandon.

Harry hurled the light at the man’s face. The ball hit and exploded into a thousand sparks. The man roared, rubbing at his eyes, but didn’t slow down. Harry barely dodged the next punch, ducking under. His body still hit Harry, sending him crashing through the rotting back door. The man’s fist plowed into the wall, punching a hole straight through to the outside.

Harry landed on the porch, sucking in air while adrenaline flooded his system. The man followed, still grinning, his face flecked with sparks. He drew in a deep breath, held it, then exhaled a cloud of acrid smoke. “You got tricks,” he said. “I like that.”

“What are you?” Harry asked.

The man shrugged. “Some people call me Sabertooth. I got other names, too, but that’s the one they put on the wanted posters.”

“Okay, Sabertooth …,” Harry spat. “... why don’t you fuck off?”

Sabertooth laughed so hard the porch rattled. “You got balls, kid, but they ain’t gonna save you.” He reached out with long, dirty claws.

Harry saw red. He didn’t just want to run. He wanted to hurt this guy. There was a rage bubbling in him that Harry had never felt before. There was a flash of memory. Harry remembered a wand in his hand, a surge of energy, and strange things that almost appeared to be magic. His vision doubled for just a moment, and then everything snapped into crystal clarity.

Harry reached out with his mind. The broken board at his feet shot up into the air and elongated. The splinters drew together, reshaping and hardening into a javelin about six feet long. Without even thinking, it rocketed at Sabertooth.

The javelin struck dead center, punching straight through the man’s stomach. The force of it carried him backward, pinning him to the doorframe. Sabertooth let out a roar of pain and rage that shook the whole house.

Harry staggered to his feet, feeling a surge of energy. He expected the man to go down or to die as any normal human would, but instead, Sabertooth looked at the shaft in his gut, laughed, and ripped it out, causing blood to spray across the porch in hot, red arcs. The wound was already closing, even as Harry watched.

Sabertooth spat a glob of blood at Harry’s feet. “You’re gonna pay for that, kid,” he said, his voice gruff and giddy. “I haven’t had this much fun in years.”

Harry, already enraged, smiled wickedly, and his eyes began burning with fire. “I’m starting to have fun myself.”

Magical Mutations

Storm and Wolverine didn’t so much drive through Avon as burn rubber straight through the heart of it. Ororo insisted on driving, and Logan grumbled about it until she reminded him she didn’t trust his lead foot and murderous instincts. She used both hands, kept her eyes forward, and politely ignored the fact that the needle on the dash hovered around ninety-five the entire way. The highway blurred past them under the car’s headlights.

Wolverine cracked the window to let the wind whip his hair. The first thing he said in twenty miles was, “You heard anything from the Professor?”

Storm shook her head and then flinched when her phone buzzed loudly against the console. “Now I have.” She answered without looking away from the road. “Go ahead, Professor.”

Xavier’s voice was thin and tinny through the phone’s speaker. “You’re very close. The boy’s mind is flickering. I believe most of his memories are being suppressed. You’ll want to approach carefully.”

Storm side-eyed Wolverine. “We’re almost at the truck stop. Police have it cordoned off.”

“I see them,” Xavier said. “But the boy is not with them. He’s in the woods … one mile due east. You’ll have to hurry.”

Storm hung up and yanked the wheel. The car shot across two lanes and skidded onto a cracked shoulder. She brought it to a bone-rattling halt, and Wolverine had jumped out before she even killed the engine. “I can smell him,” he said. “And I smell blood.”

Storm opened the door and stood. The night was full of distant sirens and a growing tension that made the fine hairs on her arms stand up. She turned back to Wolverine. “Do you want to scout ahead?”

He snorted. “I’ll go through the trees. You take the sky.”

She didn’t argue. As Logan disappeared into the underbrush, Storm drew a deep breath. She shut her eyes and called the wind. It answered instantly, lifting her up and away from the car with an effortless vertical rush. As she rose above the treeline, she spotted the truck stop, the blue and red lights, and the police moving like ants. However, the real disturbance was off in the woods. There was a flickering pulse of white light that beat like a heart through the trees.

She angled toward it, following the line of light as it flashed again, and then died away. There was a smell of ozone in the air. It was a scent she knew well. She felt the storm rage inside herself as she dipped lower and circled above the battered house. The roof was half-caved in, and the yard was a tangle of weeds and torn-up earth … but that wasn’t the interesting part.

The interesting part was the booming, animalistic scream that shook the ground below. Storm landed silently, her boots pressing the damp grass flat. She walked toward the house, and even before she reached the broken porch, she saw a shadow moving on all fours through the weeds. It was huge, heavy, and moved with the uncoiling grace of a predator.

“Sabertooth,” Storm hissed, and she didn’t bother to whisper.

He was circling a dark-haired boy who stood at the far side of the porch. The kid’s clothes hung in tatters and were covered in blood, but he wasn’t cowering. His eyes were burning with a strange fire that unnerved her, and the air shimmered around his fists.

Sabertooth feinted and then pounced. The boy moved a split second before impact, rolling to one side and letting the creature smash through the rotten boards. The impact sent the porch collapsing in a spray of splinters. Sabertooth landed hard but bounced right up, laughing. He wiped blood from his mouth and looked at Storm as if inviting her into the game.

“Hey, Stormy,” Sabertooth called out. “Nice night for a hunt.”

Wolverine burst out of the woods, his claws extended, and his teeth bared. “The only thing getting hunted tonight is your ugly mug.”

Sabertooth growled and turned to face his old rival, but the boy did something neither expected. He raised his hand, palm out, and the ground trembled. A ripple tore through the dirt under Sabertooth’s feet, and in an instant, a hundred stone spikes exploded upward, impaling the brute from thigh to ribcage. Sabertooth’s shriek of agony cracked through the sky, and he thrashed and ripped himself free, spraying blood and shards everywhere. He looked at Harry with a wild, manic smile. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

Harry’s second hand lit up, a ball of fire coalescing from nowhere. He launched it forward, and it hit Sabertooth square in the chest, detonating into a plume of searing flame. The smell of burning hair and flesh filled the air, and for a second, Sabertooth staggered, all his bravado gone. Then, incredibly, the wounds started knitting back together. The horrifically charred skin smoothed out and lightened into undamaged flesh, and he stood straight, still smoking but very much alive.

Wolverine jumped onto his back and immediately began sinking his claws into the flesh, digging for vital organs. Sabertooth spun and hurled him off, but Wolverine landed on his feet, crouched and ready. “You wanna go, runt?” Sabertooth growled. “Let’s go.”

Storm judged the situation in a split second. Sabertooth would kill the kid if he got the chance. Wolverine would keep Sabertooth busy, but he couldn’t finish him alone. The boy’s powers were wild and untrained, but he wasn’t attacking her. She had to end this fast.

She called down a sliver of lightning. It forked in the sky, then hammered Sabertooth dead center. Sabertooth’s skin began to sizzle, and he convulsed and howled before crumpling to the ground. Wolverine wasted no time. He pounced again, claws ready to end the fight for good. However, Sabertooth had other ideas. As soon as Wolverine’s claws sank in, Sabertooth jammed the razor-sharp claw of his thumb right into his eye socket. Wolverine howled in pain as Sabertooth laughed joyously while twisting his thumb around.

But the boy intervened and shouted, “STOP!” and a shockwave blasted outward from him, shoving both mutants back. Wolverine hit the porch rail and snapped it in half. Sabertooth tumbled across the yard, rolled, and kept rolling until he slammed into a tree a hundred feet away. Only a few seconds later, Sabertooth was already getting up. He spat blood, glared at the three of them, and weighed his odds. He gave Wolverine the finger and melted into the woods. He didn’t even bother with a threat. He was hurt, and he didn’t want to play anymore.

Storm stepped forward, arms at her side. “It’s alright,” she said, her voice soft and soothing. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

Harry’s whole body trembled with adrenaline. The blood on his arms, neck, and face was half-dried, and his clothes were almost falling off his body. His eyes darted from Storm to Wolverine and back again. “Who are you?”

Wolverine climbed to his feet with a grunt, brushing off splinters. “Call me Logan,” he said, as if that explained anything. “The big blonde asshole is Sabertooth. He’s always causing me trouble. You got a name, bub?”

The kid looked lost. “Harry,” he managed. “Harry … Potter.” He seemed confused by the words even as he said them.

Storm let out a breath, feeling the charge leave her muscles. She turned her attention to Harry. “Harry, you’re safe now. We’re not your enemies. We want to help.”

Harry sagged, suddenly exhausted, and the fire in his eyes died out. Storm discovered that their normal color was a brilliant emerald-green. “What the hell is happening to me?” he muttered, and for a second, he looked like any normal young man.

Storm moved fast, ready to catch him incase he fell. He had obviously lost a lot of blood. She had to admire his resilience, though. He’d taken a beating, thrown it right back, and was still firmly on his feet. “Let’s get you out of here. We’ll explain everything once you’re safe.” She looked over at Wolverine, who was already dialing Xavier.

Harry stared at the ground, breathing hard. “I don’t understand. I don’t remember anything.”

Storm tilted her head to get a better look at him, and her silvery white hair spilled backward. “We’ll help you figure it out. You’re with us now.” She meant it, and Harry must have believed her, because he didn’t fight when she wrapped an arm around his back.

The three of them walked out of the yard and away from the wrecked house behind them. Logan looked back once, just to make sure Sabertooth wasn’t circling. He wasn’t, but still, he sniffed the air just to make sure. Sabertooth’s stink was already beginning to fade, which told him that he was probably miles away by then. At the edge of the woods, Storm paused and looked at Harry. “We’re going to take you back to our home and get you cleaned up. Is that alright?”

He looked at her and Logan. He nodded once, feeling tired and stressed. “Okay,” Harry agreed.

Logan led the way, muttering about all the things he was going to do to Sabertooth when he finally got his hands on him. Storm smiled softly and walked Harry toward the road. Behind them, the damaged house finally collapsed in on itself, and in the far-off woods, a wounded predator plotted revenge.