POV: Adonai
"Like a penguin at a sauna, I knew I was out of my depth," Adonai said out loud to absolutely no one.
He sat cross-legged in a meditative pose in the middle of his room, thankfully a private one, since the mansion wasn't at full student capacity, wearing only a tank top and loose, dark baggy pants. He had, in a moment of reckless enthusiasm and zero long-term planning, promised Rogue that he would find a cure for her mutation. It had sounded noble at the time. Heroic, even. Now, after actually thinking about it, he realized he had basically declared he would solve one of the most dangerous and complex genetic-energy integration defects in existence, with no Nen mastery and no clear plan.
Classic him.
It wasn't that he didn't have ideas. He had plenty. The issue was that all of them relied on one foundational requirement: he had to fully master Nen first. Meaning he needed to determine his aura type, establish his base techniques, and then begin shaping a theoretical framework for energy suppression and controlled output. Which was why he was currently awake in the middle of the night, sitting like a monk who'd been cursed with self-awareness.
Nen, at its core, required total understanding of the Four Major Principles. Everything else, individual skills, personal abilities, advanced applications, sprang from these fundamentals. These four principles were called; Ten, Zetsu, Ren, and Hatsu.
Once a person opened their aura nodes, they had to learn to keep their aura from leaking out. That was Ten. Maintaining a gentle flow of aura around the body, forming a thin protective shroud. It feels like being submerged in lukewarm, viscous fluid. It wasn't flashy, but it was essential. Ten preserved life force, slowed aging, guarded the user against basic aura-based malice, and served as a passive defense. To true practitioners, maintaining Ten became as natural as breathing, even during sleep. Beginners, however, had to constantly focus to avoid leaking their aura like a punctured water tank.
Adonai had grasped Ten almost immediately though not at a true master level. He maintained it with ease, his aura wrapping around him in a steady, controlled layer. That led him to the second principle: Ren, the act of deliberately increasing one's aura output and projecting it outward. If Ten was defense, Ren was raw offense. It amplified physical capabilities and established dominance. Tinted with hostility, Ren became bloodlust, an oppressive force that could paralyze or even kill unprotected individuals. Most non-Nen users couldn't perceive a neutral Ren, but he theorizes that telepaths and energy-based individuals, people like Jean and Xavier, were likely exceptions. That theory is based on the fact that Xaviar and Jean's reaction when he awakened his aura.
He had also taken note of that.
Ren wasn't difficult for him either. He simply gathered more aura and let it surge outward, then refined it into a smooth, controlled output. He managed both Ten and Ren within the first night. It was, in his words, "a testament to prodigious talent and a deeply unhealthy level of focus."
But then came Zetsu, and that was a different beast.
While Ten allowed Aura to circulate without leaking, Zetsu shut everything down. Total closure. Aura nodes sealed. Output cut off completely. To any observer, the user would seem nonexistent. Even sight of aura faded if the eye nodes were closed. In exchange, the user became hypersensitive to other people's aura. It was stealth, perfect stealth, but also left the body extremely vulnerable to attack.
Logically, one might ask why Adonai was bothering with Zetsu in a universe where no one else used Nen. The answer was simple: energy is energy. Whether called Ki, Chi, Psionic Force, Cosmic Radiation, Mutant Gene Output, or Aura, it was all manipulation of internal and external power. Marvel was filled with energy-sensitive entities: psionics, telepaths, mystics, cosmic beings, and people who just sensed weird stuff because it served the plot.
If he could mask his aura completely, he could slip under the radar of energy detectors, mutant trackers, telepaths, and even Rogue's absorption effect… if he understood how to adapt Zetsu's logic into a controlled switch. Which could serve as a template for a cure.
That alone made Zetsu worth mastering.
So he had been at it for nearly two hours, closing aura nodes piece by piece. He had managed to suppress output in his arms, his spine, even his breathing center without much issue. But full-body Zetsu? Total shutdown? That required focus beyond casual discipline.
He inhaled.
Then exhaled slowly.
His mind narrowed to a single point, every thought filtered out except one: shut it all off.
His breathing slowed. His aura nodes, one by one, sealed. His presence thinned, then faded entirely. If anyone had walked into the room in that moment, they would have felt nothing. No breath of energy. No presence. Not even a ripple.
Perfect Zetsu.
He held it.
One second.
Two–
His concentration cracked the moment a stray thought about how dramatically cool this would look from a third-person camera angle slipped in.
The aura nodes flared open again, aura rushing back into circulation. The moment was gone.
He let out a long breath, opening his eyes.
"…Okay," he muttered to himself. "Progress."
And despite everything, he couldn't help the small, satisfied grin tugging at his lips.
He was close.
A soft knock came from the door.
"Come in," said Adonai, his voice calm, still seated cross-legged in deep meditation, eyes closed.
The door creaked open.
"What are you doing up so early?" came the concerned voice of Jean Grey. "Have you been up all night?"
"What time is it?" Adonai asked without opening his eyes.
"Half past four in the morning," Jean replied, her voice heavy with worry.
"Then yes," he said simply, shoulders rising in a small shrug. "I've been up all night."
"Why?" she asked, stifling a yawn. "And why are you sitting like that?"
"Training," Adonai replied curtly, his tone focused, distant.
"Training?" Jean frowned, stepping closer. "What are you training for?"
"I am trying to get a handle of my energy," Adonai said, finally exhaling. "I have pinpointed four major principles that should help me master its flow and form."
Jean rubbed her eyes. "Couldn't you… I don't know, do that after sunrise?"
Adonai sighed and opened his eyes at last. His gaze met Jean's. He took in her navy-blue nightgown, the way it fell just above her thighs, accentuating the gentle curves of her figure.
"It's imperative that I learn to master my power," he said, steadying himself. "Only then can I create a cure for Rogue's mutation."
Jean blinked, startled. "Wait, you were serious about that?"
"Of course," Adonai said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "And I will not rest until I do."
Jean looked at him with wide eyes. Her stern expression softened. She smiled faintly.
"You really are something else," she murmured, half in admiration, half in disbelief. "But you know Rogue wouldn't want you risking your health for her."
"I am not risking my health," he said casually. "Controlling the leaking energy with ten helps with the fatigue so that isn't bad if I don't sleep for a day. I am completely fine"
Jean crossed her arms, unconvinced. "You don't look fine," she said flatly. "You look like you're about to collapse. You need sleep, Adonai. Now."
"I don't need sleep," said Adonai, in a tone that sounded unhinged. "I need answers."
Jean gave him a look that one might to a toddler when he says he doesn't need sleep.
Jean gave him the kind of look reserved for stubborn children.
"You can find your answers after you rest," she said, exasperated. "A clear mind will help you focus. Rogue's been waiting for years, she can wait one more night."
"I suppose so," said Adonai, getting up from the ground. "Why are you up so early anyway?"
"I was having nightmares," said Jean. "I felt that energy of yours again, the same one from when your mutation awakened. Were you using it all night? I could feel it, even from my room."
"Oh right,"said Adonai, as if he remembered something. "You telepaths are sensitive to my aura it seems. Your nightmare was likely due to my Ren."
"Your Ren?" Jean asked, brow furrowing.
"An outward projection of my energy," Adonai explained. "A spiritual pressure of sorts. How did it feel to you, my energy, I mean?"
Jean thought for a moment, her eyes distant. "It felt… overwhelming," she said finally. "Like standing too close to a storm that's both beautiful and terrifying. There was no rhythm to it; wild, alive, almost ecstatic. Like losing one's individuality in drunkness. There was something musical to it. The pulse of something primal. Creation and destruction dancing together. It was intoxicating, and frightening."
"Well, someone's feeling poetic today," teased Adonai, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Jean rolled her eyes. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm just describing what I felt."
"Mm," Adonai murmured, standing up and stretching. "Well, you should probably get back to sleep." He turned toward her, his gaze lingering just a little too long. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to join me in my bed."
Jean blinked, caught off guard. "Excuse me?" she said, half amused, half scandalized.
He smirked. "It's warmer there. And I did interrupt your night's rest. Seems only fair I offer some compensation."
Jean crossed her arms, though the corners of her mouth twitched with a reluctant smile. "You're impossible."
"I've been called worse," Adonai replied easily. "But I take that as a 'no' then?"
"Definitely a no," she shook her head, chuckling softly. " Besides, you need sleep more than I do."
"Perhaps," he said, his tone light but his eyes still fixed on her. "But somehow I doubt I'd rest easily knowing you're down the hall, wide awake and thinking about storms and music."
Jean laughed, a quiet, genuine sound that softened the air between them. "Goodnight, Adonai."
"Goodnight, Jean," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. "And thank you, for worrying."
She hesitated for a moment, as if about to say something more, then simply smiled and slipped out of the room.
—---------------------------------------------
"Where the hell is everyone?" said Adonai, scanning the empty hall. The mansion, usually alive with chatter and footsteps, felt eerily still. He had checked the kitchen, the rec room, even the library, nothing.
"They're in the Danger Room for combat training," came the calm, composed voice of Professor Xavier from the corridor. "Though they should be finishing up about now. You've slept quite a while, my boy."
Adonai turned toward the sound. "What's up, Baldie?" he said with an easy grin.
The professor chuckled softly, used to Adonai's irreverence. "Good afternoon to you too, Adonai. You seem well-rested."
Adonai was about to reply when another figure stepped into view beside Xavier, and for a moment, he paused.
She was breathtaking. Tall and graceful, she moved with an ease that made the space around her feel lighter. Her skin glowed with a warm, rich tone in the afternoon light, and her long, wavy white hair tumbled freely down her back. Her blue eyes,calm and slightly amused, met his own. The flowing white blouse and long purple skirt she wore accentuated her figure without exaggeration, the golden jewelry at her wrists, neck, and ankles catching the light as she shifted.
Adonai's mind went blank for a heartbeat.
Damn. That was all he could say to the perfection in front of his eyes.
"Well," he said, finally recovering, his lips curling into a slow, confident smile."If this is what I get for oversleeping, I should make it a habit."
Ororo's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "Flattery so early in the afternoon? You must be feeling bold."
"I'd call it appreciation," he said lightly. "The professor didn't warn me he was keeping royalty in the mansion."
"Royalty?" Ororo tilted her head, amused. "You must be mistaking me for someone else."
"I don't think I am," Adonai replied, his tone smooth. "There's something… commanding about you. Like the world itself listens when you speak."
Ororo laughed softly, the sound warm and disarming. "Careful with that tongue, young man. It might charm a cloud into striking back."
"Then I'll take my chances," Adonai grinned. "I've always liked living dangerously."
"Hmm," she said, arching an eyebrow. "I can see that already." Her voice carried the patient amusement of someone older, wiser, and slightly entertained by his boldness.
Professor Xavier cleared his throat softly." Adonai, Let me introduce you. This is Ororo Munroe. She is one of the instructors here, and among our most respected teachers."
"Teacher, huh?" Adonai said with a grin, stepping slightly closer. "I always did have a weakness for teachers… I hope you don't mind if I'm a bit distracted."
Ororo raised an eyebrow, her expression calm, professional, though a small smile tugged at her lips. "I trust you'll behave yourself in my class, then?"
"Oh, I behave… mostly," he replied smoothly, eyes glinting. "But I make exceptions for particularly… inspiring educators."
She let out a short, indulgent laugh. "You certainly have confidence," she said, her tone even, measured. "I'll grant you that. But don't mistake charm for entitlement."
Adonai tilted his head, unabashed. "Oh, I wouldn't dare. But perhaps a little boldness in the right company is… educational."
Ororo's lips curved into a faint smile, though her posture remained perfectly composed. "I see. Well, I expect proper decorum in my classroom, regardless of how entertaining you may find me."
"Of course," he said with mock solemnity, though his eyes never left hers. "I'll try my best to behave… though I can't make any promises if the teacher is particularly… inspiring."
"Jean tells me you were quite occupied last night," said the professor, clearing his throat.
"Nothing scandalous i assure you," said adonai grinning. "I was the perfect gentleman with her."
"I didn't mean that," said the professor with an exasperated sigh. "I was able to feel a very potent energy last night. And Jean confirmed today that it was your doing."
"Yeah, I was tinkering a bit," said adonia. "Is that the reason why no one woke me up?"
"Yeah," said the professor. "Jean was quite adamant that you had been pushing yourself all night and needed rest."
"She is quite the darling, eh?" said adonai with a grin. "I gotta thank her."
"What were you trying to achieve?" asked Ororo curiously.
"I was practicing on controlling my powers," said Adonai. "Though it seems I got carried away and disturbed our telepaths here."
"Nonesense," said the professor. "It was no trouble at all. A skilled enough telepath could easily close off his mind from that. Jean is quite young so she was affected quite strongly."
"Makes sense," said Adonai with a shrug.
"Though next time if you wish to practice with your ability," said the professor. "Do it in the danger room to mitigate in case of accidents. And most important of all, don't push yourself too hard. Rest is just as important."
"Sure thing, prof" said Adonai with a non-committal nod. "You don't have to worry about accidents though. My powers are not the explosive sorts."
"Energy manipulation i believe," said Ororo, thoughtfully. "quite the powerful ability."
"Yeah, I am cool like that," said Adonai with a grin.
"In any case," said the professor. "you could also perhaps join the others in the danger room."
"Nah, that won't be necessary," said Adonai.
"Are you sure?," said Ororo. "it could be quite helpful in mastering your abilities."
"I already have a plan on how I can train my energy manipulation," said Adonai with a shrug. "I want to first master that before I can jump into combat training."
"Very well," said the professor.
They arrived at the danger room.
The door slid open and the others stepped out, fully suited in their classic X-Men uniforms straight off a comic panel; bright colors, tight fabric, and enough spandex to start a fetish convention.
"Just so you know," Adonai said quickly, a sly grin tugging at his lips, "I am not wearing spandex. While I have no doubt I would turn every reflective surface in this mansion into a work of art, I prefer to keep my dignity intact."
Bobby grinned. "C'mon, man. It's tradition."
"Yes," Adonai nodded slowly, "and so were plague masks and public executions. We don't bring those back either just because they have… aesthetic value."
Scott adjusted his visor, visibly unamused. "The uniform is standard for team operations. And you can design your own."
Adonai looked at him with a solemn nod as if mourning something. "Scott, I say this with respec but your outfit looks like the rejected concept art for a rejected concept art. I refuse to dress like an Olympic swimmer sponsored by a children's cereal brand."
Kitty snorted.
Jean tried to keep a straight face and failed. "You'd rather what? Fight robots in pajama pants?"
"Yes," Adonai said. "With dignity."
"Oh come on don't be such a party pooper," said Angel amused.
"Absulutely not," said adonia with conviction. "What's next? Code-names?"
They looked at each other amused at that.
"You gotta be kidding me," said Adonai in disbelief. "You really have code names? Tell me so I can laugh harder."
They listed their code names one by one, and Adonai laughed openly, unable to contain his amusement.
—------------------------------------------------
Later that day, they had gathered in the common room, the group spread across the sofas and armchairs in varying degrees of ease. Adonai sat with a guitar resting across his lap, fingers already placed on the strings with an air of ownership rather than performance.
"I have to admit," Kitty said, leaning forward, eyes bright, "I did not expect you to be able to play."
Adonai brushed his fingers along the strings. The sound spread through the room with steady clarity, each note held with deliberate care and released only when he chose to move on. "One picks up a few things here and there," he said, his voice smooth, laced with a faint amusement. "Music is simply… understanding what the heart cannot always say."
Bobby, lounging with his hands behind his head, whistled softly. "Man, that's actually impressive. You play like you've been doing it forever."
"Forever feels like an understatement," Jean said, smiling softly. "There's something… hypnotic about the way you play."
Alison stretched, stood, and without asking, approached him. "Play that progression again."
Adonai raised an eyebrow but shifted his fingers.
Alison closed her eyes, and as she began to sing, light shimmered faintly around her skin, a soft, living aura that pulsed with the music. Her voice was smooth, rising in a way that made the air feel warmer.
Kurt watched, enraptured. "It is… beautiful."
"Show-off," Angel muttered at Alison, but there was a small smile there.
"Your voice… it's perfect," Adonai murmured, not looking at her, but letting his fingers follow the rhythm of her song. "I've always admired people who can make music an extension of themselves."
Alison laughed lightly, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Flattery and guitar playing? Dangerous combination."
When the last note faded, the group exhaled collectively. Angel clapped softly. "Seriously, where did you learn to play like that?"
Jean was smiling genuinely. "That was… I didn't know you two could do that together."
Adonai leaned back, letting his fingers hover idly on the strings. Alison remained standing beside him, arms loosely folded, glowing faintly from the after-effect of her power.
"Neither did I," answered Adonai. "Ali is quite the dazzler, isn't she?"
"You don't listen to other artists much, do you?"Alison said, rolling her eyes, glancing at Adonai with sharp amusement.
Adonai leaned back. "No."
Kitty blinked. "Wait–you don't… listen to music?"
"I don't listen to other music looking for inspiration," he said simply. "I find that relying on others' work often dilutes what I have to express. My thoughts, my passions… they're sufficient."
Rogue tilted her head, skeptical. "So you're saying you never listen to anyone else's music? Doesn't that… I don't know… limit you?"
Adonai's gaze swept the room slowly. "Not at all. To influence oneself by the creations of others is… to borrow a soul that is not yours. True expression comes from one's own fire, untainted by the echo of another's art."
Alison shook her head, frowning slightly. "I have to disagree. Inspiration isn't theft. You can learn, react, and create because of what came before. Claiming it limits you feels… a little arrogant."
"I wouldn't say so." Adonai's eyes flicked toward her, amused. "I am not saying you shouldn't let others inspire you. Just that you have to be careful whether it is an inspiration or imitation."
"Imaitaion is sincerest form of flattery," quipped kitty.
"That mediocrity can pay to greatness," said adonia. "Many leave out the last part."
Jean leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. "But don't you think the great musicians, the great artists, were inspired by others and in turn inspired others? Can you really dismiss that entirely?"
"Of course," Adonai replied smoothly, "they borrowed… but they didn't live another's passions. They didn't drink from another's fire as if it were their own. That is the difference. When you let someone else influence you too much, you're basically giving them your soul. You stop thinking your own thoughts, feeling your own passions, or owning your virtues and mistakes, they become borrowed from someone else. You end up like an actor playing a role that wasn't meant for you."
Colossus, his voice deep and deliberate, spoke for the first time. "So… you believe one should only use what is in oneself? No guidance, no learning from others?"
"Yes," Adonai said, strumming a chord that hung in the air like a question. "The purpose of life is to develop yourself fully and become the person you were meant to be. That's your highest duty, to yourself. Many people are charitable and help others, but they ignore their own inner life. Their souls go hungry while they focus on external appearances."
Kurt, ever playful but curious, tilted his head. "That sounds… harsh. You mean we shouldn't admire or learn from others at all?"
"No, not admire," Adonai clarified, his tone deepening, voice almost musical. "But to let another shape your soul, your thoughts and your desires, without realizing it… that is a danger."
Bobby grinned. "Sounds exhausting. I like borrowing ideas. Saves me a lot of thinking."
"And it's not like you are being unoriginal just because you were inspired by someone else," said Jean.
Adonai's smile was faint, knowing, almost indulgent. "Perhaps. But most people are afraid of themselves. Fear of society and fear of God control us. Because of this, we suppress our desires, and that suppression harms us. Every urge we try to ignore just lingers in our minds, poisoning us. Acting on your impulses cleanses you; resisting them only makes your soul sick with longing for what you've forbidden yourself.
He paused, letting the room fall silent, every eye on him. His fingers strummed one final, delicate chord, the sound lingering.
"And yet," he continued, his low voice melodic, the movement of his hand graceful as if conducting an invisible orchestra, "If someone could live fully, expressing every thought, feeling, and dream, the world would feel renewed, as if it had rediscovered a higher, richer kind of beauty than even the ancient Greeks knew. But courage is rare, and most of us never dare to be ourselves. Even our thoughts can be dangerous. The biggest events, and the greatest sins, often happen in the mind. You, Alison, have had secret desires and fantasies that could make you blush with shame, but that's a normal part of being human."
"But what does not listening to other people's music have to do with it?" asked Bobby in confusion.
"Everything," said Adonai. "Because the moment you live through another's voice, you stop hearing your own."
—-----------------------------------------------
POV: Kurt Wagner
The mansion was quiet at night. To Kurt who had grown up in a circus, it had been hard to get used to the absolute silence when all others go to bed. He misses his friends already. He could never bear to be alone, ironic perhaps, coming from one who was always destined to be alone.
In his room at the far end of the corridor, he moved with quiet care. The moonlight that slipped through his curtains caught the faint sheen of his indigo fur, turning him almost silver in places. He had just returned from the chapel room on the lower floor, a habit he kept even here, among friends who rarely spoke of God but respected his devotion.
He began to undress, folding his uniform neatly before reaching for his nightclothes. The fabric of his blue pyjamas was soft, worn thin from washing, one of Jean's gifts, some time ago. As he unbuttoned his shirt, his gaze caught the reflection in the mirror above the dresser.
For a moment, he hesitated.
The face staring back at him was a stranger, even after all these years. His skin, a deep indigo-blue, shimmered faintly under the light. His eyes, those impossible, sulfurous gold eyes, glowed softly, giving the illusion of life even in shadow. His ears were pointed, sharp, more elfin than human. His hair, thick and dark, fell over his forehead in uneven waves.
But it was not the face alone that set him apart. His hands, three fingers where five should be. His feet, two large, dexterous toes, like a creature built for climbing rather than walking among men. And behind him, the tail, long and prehensile, twitching unconsciously as he stared.
He traced the cross that hung at his neck, his reflection moving with him.
"Fearfully and wonderfully made," he murmured, almost ironically. "That is what You said, ja? Sometimes I think You must have had quite the sense of humor when You made me."
He tried to smile, but it faltered before it could form. The room felt heavier then, filled with the echo of his own breath and the faint tick of the old clock on the wall.
Kurt turned away from the mirror, tugging the pyjama top over his shoulders. "You see, Herr," he said softly, speaking into the stillness, "I do not hate You. Never that. But sometimes…" He paused, searching for words that would not sound like blasphemy. "Sometimes I wonder if You made me like this to test how much faith a soul can carry before it breaks."
He yawned, showing a flash of sharp teeth before covering his mouth sheepishly, though no one was around to see. Then he padded barefoot to the small wooden nightstand beside his bed.
On it sat a small silver crucifix; unadorned, and polished from years of careful handling. A faint smile touched his lips as he picked it up and knelt by the bed, the motion instinctive, familiar.
He crossed himself slowly. "Im Namen des Vaters, und des Sohnes, und des Heiligen Geistes…" His voice was soft, the German syllables flowing like a quiet melody.
He prayed as he always did: first for the souls lost, then for the living. He prayed for Professor Xavier, for Jean, for Ororo, for Logan, for all his friends and teammates. And tonight, his thoughts lingered a little longer on Adonai, the newcomer with the strange, magnetic energy and the unsettling ideas that had stirred something in everyone.
Kurt's brow furrowed faintly. "Lord, grant him peace of spirit," he murmured. "He seeks something… I do not know what. But You see what lies in his heart. Guide him, ja?"
He smiled faintly, the words fading into a small sigh. The mansion had its share of restless souls, and Kurt had learned not to judge. Everyone was fighting a different kind of battle, some with the world, others with themselves.
When he rose, he placed the crucifix gently back on the nightstand, tail swaying idly as he turned down the blanket. The bed creaked softly as he climbed in, pulling the sheets over himself.
His golden eyes lingered on the window. The moon hung large and luminous over the grounds, casting a silvery light across the garden below. Somewhere, a breeze stirred the trees.
"Schlaf gut, meine Freunde," he murmured softly, to no one in particular, perhaps to everyone.
He reached over, switched off the small bedside lamp, and let the darkness settle. His tail curled around his leg as his breathing slowed.
And in the silence, as he drifted toward sleep, his last thought was a simple, steady one, an old comfort against the world's strangeness:
Even in darkness, the light remains.
Just as sleep was about to take him, he heard a knock against his window. The sound grew louder and more persistent until Kurt got up, thinking it might be a bird stuck outside. He turned on the light, walked to the window and opened it.
It was not a bird.
"What are you doing there, Adonai?" Kurt asked, startled by the sight of him climbing up to his window in the middle of the night.
"Help me get in," Adonai said.
Kurt reached out, grabbed his arm and pulled him inside.
"You and I, my monochromatic friend," Adonai said, using that strange nickname again, "are going to have fun tonight."
"What are you talking about?" Kurt asked, confused. "It is very late. We should be asleep, even if we do not have school tomorrow."
"The night is young, my friend," Adonai said casually. "Get dressed. We are going to the city."
"What? You mean…"
"Yes. We are going to sneak out," Adonai said with a grin.
"But the professor…" Kurt began.
"Do not worry about the professor," Adonai said. "When I met you I knew at once that we were kindred spirits. We both seek thrill and fun. That is why I came to you tonight and not the others. So are you in or out?"
"The teacher will be quite angry if they find us," Kurt tried to argue.
In truth, Kurt would never describe himself as a thrill seeker. He liked to joke and prank his friends, but he would not break rules just for excitement. Even if he came across as carefree, he was not. It seemed Adonai had been fooled by his outer persona.
"If," Adonai said simply, as if that settled everything. "I am going either way. With or without you."
He moved toward the window as if ready to leave.
"Wait. I will come with you," Kurt said suddenly. He did not know what made him say that. Curiosity, stupidity, or something else. He simply wanted to see where Adonai would go.
Adonai grinned. "I knew it. I knew you were a fun guy."
"Yeah, yeah," Kurt said without much conviction. "Let me change my clothes. How are we going to the city anyway?"
"We are going to commit a car heist," Adonai said with a deranged smile.
"Wait, what?" Kurt asked.
Adonai just laughed.
"You really are serious about stealing a car," Kurt said later as they entered the garage.
"Of course," Adonai replied casually. "How else are we going to get to the city?"
"I do not know. Maybe by not stealing the professor's car?" Kurt said.
"Shh. Do not worry," Adonai said as he got into a red sports car. "We will be back before they even notice."
Kurt doubted that but got in anyway.
Adonai turned the key and started the engine. The motor sounded deafening to Kurt, likely because they were stealing it from the professor's own house. Adonai seemed unbothered and laughed as he turned on the music.
Then he pressed down on the accelerator and the car shot forward. Kurt was sure you were not supposed to drive like that right from the start, but he was too busy trying to steady himself against the sudden speed.
"Whoooo!" Adonai shouted, laughing. "This is going to be awesome."
Kurt started to regret his decision to join him. Adonai drove at a speed Kurt was certain was illegal. The mansion disappeared behind them.
"It says here you are supposed to drive a hundred," Kurt said as he looked at the speedometer showing one hundred seventy. His certainty that he had made a stupid decision only grew.
"The speed limit is like a diet," Adonai said as if delivering wisdom. "Everyone says they follow it, but we all know they are lying."
"I am not sure that is true," Kurt said skeptically, though he doubted he could convince his friend who seemed to view rules as mere suggestions.
"Oh, loosen up, my monochromatic friend," Adonai said. "What is the point of having a car like this if you are not going to drive it at maximum speed?"
"You can do that when you are alone," Kurt said dryly. "I would prefer to live. Please drive slower."
"Oh, come on," Adonai said, sounding offended. "You are no fun at all."
"There is fun and there is madness," Kurt said, snorting. "And you, mein freund, are the latter."
Adonai laughed. "Well, genius and madness go hand in hand, you know."
"Maybe for you," Kurt said, relieved to see him slow down. "Where exactly are we going anyway?"
"To a place where madness reigns supreme," Adonai answered with a chuckle. "To the other side."
There was something in the way he spoke. So eloquent and so sure of himself that one could not help but be taken in by him, even when what he said was absurd.
"Say adonai, did you mean all that you said earlier today?" asked Kurt, hesitantly.
"I forgot what I said," smiled Adonai. "Was it very bad?"
"Very bad indeed," Kurt replied, his voice soft but firm, careful with his words. "Because… it could be very dangerous. What you said about acting on every impulse, not suppressing desires, thinking that it cleanses the soul…" He swallowed, trying to choose the words carefully. "It isn't true. It could lead someone to… to harm themselves or others. It ignores what is good and what is right."
Adonai's smile softened into something more curious than amused. "Dangerous, you say? For someone like who?"
"For anyone," Kurt said, his gaze dropping to his hands, twisting them nervously. "If a person believes that giving in to every urge is virtuous… they could hurt people, or themselves, and think they are free. But freedom without guidance… without truth… it is not freedom at all."
He paused, taking a quiet breath. "And what worries me more is that you spoke as if it were a kind of law, a universal truth. But… it is not. We are called to master ourselves, to resist the impulses that are contrary to God's will. Otherwise, our souls grow sick, our hearts grow dark. We forget mercy, love, and… obedience to what is greater than ourselves."
"Hmm," Adonai murmured, looking directly at the road. "So, from your point of view, the world isn't improved by unrestrained expression. It's improved by… discipline?"
Kurt nodded slowly. "Yes. By faith. By understanding that not everything we desire is meant to be fulfilled. That suffering… even our limitations… are not punishments, but lessons. And that courage… true courage… is to endure what is difficult without letting sin take root in our hearts."
Adonai's eyes held his, patient but playful. "And yet… you trust that such restraint leads somewhere better?"
"I do," Kurt said quietly, almost to himself. "Because God promises a kingdom to those who suffer, to those who are faithful despite their fear. Our trials are not meaningless. They shape us, purify us. To act without conscience is to reject that promise."
"You see, Kurt… all of this talk about restraint and morality is very… noble," Adonai said smoothly, voice calm, almost casual. "But consider the world we live in. Humans, they fear what they do not understand. Look at you, for example. Your skin, your tail, your eyes… they see you, and they recoil. They brand you a monster before they even know you. They impose their rules, their judgments, their limitations."
Kurt's hands tightened in his lap, but he remained quiet, listening.
"Now," Adonai continued, "tell me: if they are so ready to deny you, to despise you for simply existing… why should you deny yourself? Why should you refuse your impulses, your desires, your nature? You are treated as less than human, so why pretend to conform to a morality crafted by the fearful?"
Kurt swallowed, his tail twitching nervously. "Because… because the measure of a soul is not set by those who hate, nor by those who misunderstand. It is set by God, who sees every heart, every thought. Even if the world rejects me for my appearance… even if humans fail to understand… I must resist what is wrong. That is how I honor Him."
Adonai's green eyes glimmered with faint amusement. "Ah… admirable, truly. But consider this: your faith and restraint, they make you human in a way, yes. But they also bind you. They make you suffer… unnecessarily, I would say. You bend to rules you did not create, rules you cannot enforce. Meanwhile, the world itself is amoral. Your suffering, your self-denial, is evidence of the absurdity of these laws."
"It is not absurd," Kurt said quietly, almost pleading. "It is holy. It is what gives my suffering meaning. The trials, the judgment, the rejection… all of it is not meaningless. It is a crucible. God does not abandon us for our suffering; He promises reward, comfort, and eternal justice. That is why I endure."
Adonai tilted his head, smirking lightly. "Endure… yes. Admirable. But all I see is a soul shackled, terrified of itself, terrified of desire, terrified of being free. You deny yourself the simple joys because the world, because God perhaps, has taught you fear. I would not. I would take every impulse, every urge, and see it through. Why should I starve my soul when I can feast upon it?"
Kurt's jaw tightened, but he did not look away. "Because some things are not meant to be feasted upon. They destroy the soul when indulged. I have seen it, within myself, within others. Freedom without truth is not joy. It is ruin. And no matter how cruel humans may be… or how amoral the world seems… I will not forsake what is right, nor the promise of heaven."
"Interesting," said Adonai. "Faith as a coping mechanism. Admirable, Kurt. Perhaps even… beautiful. But remember this: beauty can be stifling. It can chain a man as much as any law or fear."
Kurt bowed his head slightly, whispering softly, almost to himself, "Then let those chains be holy. Let them guide me. For I know where they lead, and I trust the One who made them."
Adonai laughed at that as if it were the most amusing thing he had heard all night. Kurt did not think Adonai was a bad person, but he saw in him someone ruled entirely by immediate pleasure. A person who, if ever pushed to his absolute limits, could become dangerous because he had no sense of restraint beyond his own desires. To Kurt, it felt as if his new friend was deeply in love with the kingdom of the devil, with everything it represented, and had no interest in questioning it.
Yet that was exactly what made Adonai so fascinating. His values and the way he looked at the world were so alien and self centered that Kurt could not look away. He was captivating and unsettling at the same time. It felt like watching a car crash unfold in real time.
"Have you ever considered believing in God?" Kurt asked, driven by genuine curiosity rather than any attempt at preaching.
"Never really thought about God or religion in general," Adonai replied casually. "Never cared for either."
That explained a lot, Kurt thought. Scott and Bobby were not devout by any means, yet even without strong faith, their moral compass still reflected the Christian values they were raised around. Adonai, on the other hand, seemed untouched by any such framework. His morality did not appear misguided, but constructed entirely around himself.
"We are here," Adonai said after parking the car.
Kurt looked around. They were deep within the city now, far from the clean streets and polished fronts of the Institute. The air was heavy with the smell of cheap alcohol and cigarette smoke, the pavement slick with spilled drinks. People moved in loose, unsteady patterns, laughter breaking out in sudden bursts, loud and unrestrained.
Women stood leaned against the walls in short skirts and glittering tops, exchanging cigarettes, chatting with easy familiarity, their voices rough from smoke and long nights. Some of them kissed without care for who might be watching, their companions just as uninhibited. Music throbbed from somewhere in the distance, a persistent beat that seemed to pulse through the street itself. A group of men stumbled past, arms slung around each other, shouting something Kurt couldn't fully make out over the noise.
He saw money change hands in casual, practiced motions. Doors to dimly lit clubs opened and closed, spilling brief flashes of red and violet light onto the street. Laughter, arguments, and the clatter of glass merged into one continuous noise. Every doorway seemed to promise something illicit or temporary. This place did not pretend to be anything other than what it was; loud, excessive, and absolutely without restraint.
Kurt swallowed, tail flicking once behind him. For a moment, he simply stood there, taking in the sight of people who moved as if consequence did not exist. This, he realized, was not just a street. It was the heart of something, revelry stripped of dignity, desire displayed without shame.
"Come on, let's go," Adonai said, stepping out of the car without waiting for a reply.
Kurt hurried after him, pulling his coat tighter around himself and adjusting the hat to hide as much of his face as possible. Even then, he had the strange feeling that here; with the noise, the laughter, and the smell of alcohol already heavy in the air, nobody would care what he looked like.
He stayed close, nerves prickling at the back of his neck. The street felt alive, loud and unruly, a place that belonged to nothing he was used to. Neon lights flickered overhead as they approached a nightclub with a dim, red-lit entrance. Two men stood at the door, arms crossed, watching the line of people waiting to get in. Adonai stepped forward, spoke to them briefly in a low voice. No questions were asked, no identification demanded. A folded bill passed from his hand to theirs, and just like that, the door opened.
The moment they stepped inside, the music hit them like a physical force, bass vibrating through the floor and up Kurt's legs. Bodies moved in a dense crowd, sweat and perfume heavy in the air, people dancing with a carelessness that looked like surrender rather than celebration.
Kurt hesitated at the edge of the chaos, already overwhelmed. Adonai noticed instantly. Without a word, he reached back, took Kurt by the wrist, and pulled him through the crowd with effortless confidence until they reached the bar.
He signaled the bartender and ordered something Kurt didn't recognize. The bartender nodded, pouring and mixing with quick, practiced motions before sliding two glasses across the counter. Adonai picked his up and gestured for Kurt to do the same.
"Is that even allowed?" Kurt shouted, leaning in so Adonai could hear him over the music.
Adonai glanced at him, amused. "Aren't you German?" he shouted back with a grin. "Why would you care?"
Kurt hesitated, then shrugged. "Well, you know what they say, when in Rome, do as the Romans do."
Adonai burst into laughter, clear and unrestrained. He raised his glass. "Drink up," he said. "Drink up. This night thy soul may be required of thee."
Kurt stared at the glass before finally taking a breath and lifting it. The liquid burned bitterly as it went down, a sharp heat spreading through his chest.
"Why are we here?" he asked, unease slipping into his voice.
Adonai rested his elbow on the bar, turning slightly to look at the crowd instead of Kurt. "Because places like this," he said, voice still raised but steady, "strip away the illusions people cling to. Here, no one pretends. They drink because they want to feel something, they dance because they're tired of thinking, they kiss because impulse demands it. No one asks permission here. They act. They give in. They stop holding the reins for one night and let something else move them."
He lifted his glass again, eyes narrowing with a strange kind of satisfaction.
"Control is overrated. Tonight, you're not a student, not a mutant, not a burden to yourself or anyone else. Tonight, you breathe, you want, you act. That's all."
Kurt swallowed, the sound lost under the music. He wasn't sure if it was reassuring, or a warning.
Adonai ordered another round of drinks, his tone casual, as if the night had no end and their glasses would never be empty. Kurt did not know what possessed him, but he began to drink with him, matching each round despite the burning taste that clung to his tongue. The alcohol did little for him at first, but he kept going, glass after glass, until his body grew warm and his thoughts floated just slightly out of reach. His shoulders loosened and the world felt distant, as if wrapped in a pleasant haze.
"Let us go dance," said Adonai after they had finished what must have been their sixth drink.
"No. Thank you," said Kurt, forcing the words out clearly. "I will wait here."
Even in his light-headed state, he remained painfully aware of his appearance. If he took off his coat and hat, if he stepped into that crowd with his features exposed, he did not know how the people here would react. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention or cause a scene.
Adonai looked at him, perhaps understanding his hesitation. He did not push further. He simply nodded and walked into the sea of bodies, disappearing among the dancers who moved with reckless joy to music that throbbed like a heartbeat through the floor.
Kurt watched them, curiosity pricking at him despite himself. The way they danced without restraint, as if time and shame did not exist, made him wonder what it would feel like to surrender completely and be carried away by it.
After some time, Adonai returned. He had three girls with him, all laughing and flushed from dancing. One was blonde, clinging to his arm and kissing his neck. The other two were brunettes. One was kissing him back while the third walked beside them, smiling with amused patience.
"Sorry I kept you waiting," said Adonai, his voice loose with amusement. "I was looking for the perfect specimen for you. Ladies, this is my monochromatic friend, Kurt."
Kurt froze at the word specimen. The girls looked at him, their eyes curious. Self-consciousness wrapped around him like a cold hand.
"Hello. I am Kurt," he said, lifting his hand in a small wave.
"Minerva," said the brunette who was not currently caught in Adonai's arms. The other two merely gave him a passing glance before Adonai led them away.
"She knows about your mutation," Adonai whispered quickly in his ear before vanishing back into the crowd with the two girls. "Do not worry and have fun. She is cool."
And then he was gone.
What does he mean she knows about my mutation? Kurt thought, uneasy.
"So, are you like... blue with three fingers?" Minerva asked, her tone unsure but not mocking.
He hesitated. Was it even safe to answer that here? Adonai, what have you done? he cursed inwardly.
Slowly, he removed his gloves and revealed his three-fingered hands. Instead of recoiling, Minerva's eyes widened with excitement.
"That is actually cool," she said. "Wanna dance?"
"I... I..." Kurt stammered, unsure how to respond.
Minerva did not wait for an answer. She simply took him by the wrist and pulled him into the crowd until they were swallowed by the bodies in motion. Music pulsed through the air like something alive. The dancers around them moved without any real rhythm, simply letting the energy carry them.
Minerva began to dance immediately, her hips moving in sharp, confident motions. Kurt felt overwhelmed, frozen in place. He could only move his hands awkwardly.
Minerva leaned close and shouted over the music. "Take off your hat and coat. It is too hot to breathe in that."
He hesitated again, heart pounding. But then he made a decision. Slowly, he removed his coat and hat.
Minerva saw his face fully for the first time. Instead of disgust, she let out a cheer and laughed with genuine excitement before dancing even harder, encouraging him to follow.
Kurt felt something shift inside him. The fear did not disappear, but it loosened its grip. He began to move, first cautiously, then with growing confidence. His body remembered old performances, the rhythm of the circus, the way movement could be a kind of freedom.
Minerva's eyes widened in surprise, then delight. She laughed with real delight, and matched his pace. For the first time since stepping into this city of excess, Kurt felt something close to joy.
After dancing for what felt like an eternity, Minerva took him by the arm again and pulled him out of the crowd. The air outside the dance floor felt cooler, thin compared to the heat of so many bodies pressed together. She ordered drinks for both of them without asking, and they drank again. Kurt lost count of how many glasses passed between their hands. It might have been more than he had drunk even with Adonai, yet everything still made perfect sense in his mind. Every decision felt reasonable, every movement purposeful.
They returned to the dance floor and threw themselves back into the chaos with reckless abandon. Kurt was laughing now, spinning Minerva around with practiced grace, even using his tail to guide her like a third arm, looping it around her wrist and twirling her with ease. Minerva cheered each time he did it and demanded he do it again. He had not expected joy to feel like this. They moved together beneath the burning club lights, hips shaking in unison, laughter lost under the relentless beat of the music.
When they stepped out again for another drink, Adonai was waiting with the two girls on either side of him. All three of them looked pleased and breathless. Adonai looked at Kurt and grinned as if deeply satisfied with what he saw.
"So, having fun, my monochromatic friend?" he asked.
"Hell yeah," Kurt shouted back, grinning widely.
Adonai motioned for him and Minerva to come closer. "What do you say we go to a private room and have fun?" His tone left little room for misunderstanding.
"I am down. You, Kurt?" Minerva asked, her voice low and suggestive, eyes shining with heat.
"Ja sicher," Kurt answered without hesitation.
"Perfect. Then let us go," said Adonai. He wrapped his arms around the two girls and led the way, gesturing for Kurt and Minerva to follow.
They moved through a hallway. Kurt could not walk straight anymore. His steps were uneven, the floor shifting beneath him in warm waves. He tripped, and a hand caught him before he hit the wall.
"Careful there, champ. We are almost there," said Adonai, still smiling.
"Thanks, man," Kurt said, laughing without meaning to.
They continued up a flight of stairs. The hallway at the top had several doors. Adonai stopped near the end of it.
"Last room is yours," he said to Kurt and Minerva. "The one before is mine. Have fun." He handed Kurt a key, and before he had even finished turning to his door, the blonde girl was already pulling his jacket off. He disappeared into the room with them, the door closing behind a chorus of laughter and muffled excitement.
Minerva helped Kurt stand properly and guided him to their room. The moment the door closed behind them, she pressed him against it and kissed him without hesitation. Her mouth was warm and eager against his. She kissed along his neck and then his jaw. Kurt froze for a moment, awareness flickering back into his mind. He had never kissed a girl before. His heart thudded in his chest so hard it almost hurt.
Minerva pulled back only to take his hand and lead him to the bed. She pushed him gently onto it and climbed onto his lap, straddling him with a slow, confident movement. She brushed a strand of his hair away and looked at him with a softness he did not expect.
"You are okay with this, right?" she asked quietly.
Kurt swallowed and nodded.
Minerva smiled, relieved. She leaned in again and kissed him, slower this time, more deliberate. Her hands moved to his coat, sliding it off his shoulders, then to the buttons of his shirt. Kurt, still nervous but no longer frozen, reached for the hem of her top and helped her lift it over her head. Piece by piece, clothing was discarded, falling forgotten onto the floor. Their breathing grew heavier as skin met skin for the first time.
Kurt had imagined many things in his life, but nothing like this.
—-----------------------------
"So are you from hell?" asked Minerva as she rested her head on his chest. Their skin was still warm from what they had just done. Kurt ran his three fingers along her shoulder, tracing idle shapes without thinking.
"What? No," Kurt said with a soft laugh. "How did you reach that conclusion?"
"Well, for one thing you are blue," Minerva said with amusement. "And your friend came up to me and said, 'You look like someone with an open mind. Do you want to sleep with a blue man with three fingers?' I assumed you were some kind of devil."
"What? That rascal. Did he really say that right away or after talking for a while?" asked Kurt, more amused than offended.
"No. That was his opening line," Minerva said, laughing. "He explained everything after. He said you were a wonderful person and cool as fuck. And that I looked like someone who would not let appearance stop her from getting to know a person."
"Yeah, he is like that," said Kurt, shaking his head with reluctant fondness.
"He is nice," Minerva said, drawing circles on his chest with her finger. "But I do not think he is all right in the head."
"Hey, he is my friend. Do not insult him," said Kurt quietly but firmly.
Minerva giggled. "Relax. That was not an insult. We are all a little mad. We have to be if we want to survive this ridiculous world. Most people pretend otherwise. Your friend does not. He knows he is mad and he knows the world is absurd and he laughs at it."
"Sounds like you are into him," Kurt said.
"Oh, he is very attractive," Minerva said without hesitation. "Probably the most attractive man I have seen. But he is not my type. I am more into people who feel occult and secretive."
"So like shamans and demons?" asked Kurt.
"Exactly like that," Minerva said. "And you fit the description in appearance if not personality."
"You are strange," Kurt said at last.
Minerva giggled again. "Yes. I hear that often. It does not bother me. As long as I am content, why should I care if others find me strange. How old are you anyway?"
"I am eighteen. You?"
"I am twenty," she said.
They talked for a while about nothing in particular. Kurt found it unexpectedly pleasant, lying there and listening to her speak without shame or restraint.
A knock came after some time and Kurt quickly covered himself before opening the door.
"Had fun?" said Adonai with a melodic tone.
"Of course, dear Adonai," Minerva answered from the bed with an amused smile. "Your blue friend is exquisite."
Adonai chuckled. "We should go. It is late."
"Come in while I get my shoes," Kurt said.
"You are leaving already?" Minerva asked. "Can you not stay a little longer?"
"We are past curfew," Adonai said pleasantly. "Perhaps another time. Give him your contact so you can meet again."
Minerva stood up without hesitation, still nude, and searched through her bag for a piece of paper. She wrote her number and address and handed it to Kurt. "I live in a campus flat with a friend. You can visit any time. No need to worry about parents," she said with a suggestive look. "Adonai, you may come as well. My roommate enjoys adventure."
"We will see," Adonai said, glancing out the window without commitment.
"I am ready. Let us go," Kurt said.
"Let us jump," Adonai said suddenly.
"What? You are not serious?" Minerva asked.
Kurt simply looked toward the window, placed a hand on Adonai's shoulder and gave Minerva a smile. "See you next time," he said, then vanished in a burst of smoke.
They appeared on the street below. People moved in clusters of noise and neon light. The pavement spun beneath Kurt's feet. His stomach lurched.
"Bluugh," Kurt vomited, his body folding forward. His insides felt raw.
Adonai stepped close and held him steady.
"Bluuugh," Kurt continued, unable to stop.
"It is all right," Adonai said softly. "Let it out."
Kurt vomited again, some of it splashing on Adonai's shoes. Shame pierced through the haze.
"I am sorry, Adonai," he said with a wounded look. "Es tut mir so leid."
"It is fine," Adonai said with a light laugh. "Do not worry. Let it all out."
Kurt leaned forward and vomited once more until there was nothing left. When it finally stopped, he felt empty but strangely clear.
"So, my monochromatic friend, how do you feel?" Adonai asked with a grin.
"Horrible," Kurt muttered.
Adonai laughed. "Let us go and dance once more."
"What? I thought we were going home," Kurt said, confused and tired.
"Yes, but not before one last dance," Adonai said, and without waiting he took Kurt by the arm and guided him back toward the lights.
The entrance of the club swallowed them once again. Music pulsed through the walls like a living thing. Bodies pressed together in a mass of movement. Sweat, perfume, smoke, and heat blended into one thick atmosphere. Adonai stepped into the center of it as if returning to a throne.
Kurt watched him move. Adonai did not dance like the others, who thrashed without rhythm. His movements were deliberate and unrestrained at the same time. He did not follow the beat; the crowd followed him. Wherever he stepped the dancers shifted, as if an unseen current pulled them into his orbit. Hands rose, hips swayed, and voices cheered without knowing why. Faces around him were flushed with intoxication and something deeper that went beyond alcohol. People collided and embraced and spun around him in a growing spiral of movement. The air thickened with heat and noise. Every breath tasted like sweat and euphoria. Adonai moved at the center of it all, smiling as if he had been waiting for this moment. His footsteps were light, and his body flowed with the music as if he were both part of it and above it. Kurt stood among them and watched, feeling the rhythm pulse through his bones, watching the swarm move around Adonai as if he were the axis upon which the entire room turned.
The dancers pressed in closer as if the room itself were shrinking. The bass throbbed like a second heartbeat beneath Kurt's ribs. Lights cut through the haze in sharp flashes that made every face look different each time it appeared. Some were laughing. Some were crying. Some just stared at Adonai with a strange devotion that had no name.
Adonai lifted his arms slightly and the nearest dancers mirrored him without being asked. He spun once with casual ease, coat flaring around his frame as if the air parted for him. The crowd responded with a roar that rose above the music for a moment. He smiled and continued to move, his steps smooth and certain. Nothing about his expression revealed effort. He looked as if he had done this a thousand times before.
Kurt stood at the edge of the shifting mass. The room moved with a rhythm that did not match the beat from the speakers anymore. People swayed in uneven patterns that somehow still formed a whole. They lifted their heads and their hands in imperfect unison, not caring how they looked, letting something unseen guide them. Adonai's presence held them in a grip tighter than any rule or command.
A girl stumbled in front of him, hair sticking to her cheeks, eyes unfocused. She laughed for no reason and pushed herself back into the crowd as if driven by an impulse she could not place. Two men collided shoulder to shoulder and instead of anger they embraced and started laughing. The music rose and fell but the dancers no longer moved with it. They moved with him.
Adonai stepped backward into the heart of the crowd. They opened around him in a circle without being told. Arms reached toward him as if asking for something. He did not look at them. He only danced, every shift of his weight carrying an unspoken invitation. People threw back their heads and shouted, not in words but in raw sound. Some laughed without joy. Some cried without sadness. Kurt watched them and felt a pressure build in his chest. The air was heavy. The floor felt too soft beneath his feet, as if it might give way.
Adonai closed his eyes while moving and the room reacted. Bodies leaned inward. The circle tightened. A ripple passed through the dancers like a wave triggered by nothing visible. Minerva would have called it holy. Others would have called it madness. Kurt did not know what to call it. He only saw Adonai standing in the storm of bodies, smiling as if all of this existed for his amusement.
Kurt felt a hand grip his wrist. A stranger pulled him into the circle. He stumbled forward and the crowd swallowed him whole. Shoulders brushed against his. Breath warmed his neck. Hands clapped near his ears. He could not see where Adonai was anymore but he could feel the direction of his movement. The dancers shifted their bodies around that center point. Kurt found himself moving without thinking. His legs followed the pulse of the floor. His tail moved through the air, brushing against skin and fabric. Someone laughed near his ear. Someone cried somewhere behind him.
He caught sight of Adonai again through the bodies. He was moving with greater intensity now. His shirt clung to his skin with sweat. His eyes were bright and distant. He looked at no one and everyone. The dancers reached toward him again and again as if trying to touch something they could not describe. A girl fell to her knees at his feet, laughing as if touched by revelation. He only stepped over her and continued.
Kurt felt his own laughter rise, unbidden. It escaped his throat before he could stop it. It felt wrong and right at once. For a moment the room no longer felt like a place where people danced. It felt like a place where something was being offered, and everyone present had agreed to it without knowing when they had agreed.
The music hit a heavy beat. The lights flared white. Every movement froze for a single breath.
Adonai stood at the center, arms slightly raised, chest heaving.
The breath ended.
The room moved as one.
AN: You guys have any idea on how Adonai can deal with Rogue's Mutation? This chapter is mostly Adonai being a madlad and helping his bro get laid.