Hi everyone! I hope you guys like my first attempt at a X-Men fanfiction. Thank you all so much for taking the time to ready it and I hope you all have a lovely day/night wherever you are! Warning: Story contains, boyxboy, heavy violence, death, dark themes, mentions of abuse, swearing and ratings may be turned up at a later time.
I have spent years alone.
I spend every dark moment remembering what I am.
I am stained like Ink but even darker.
I have no mercy.
I have no sympathy.
I am a trained warrior who will not flinch if told to kill.
I was taught by my father for only one purpose; to destroy those who would otherwise set our goals apart or oppress us in a name of so called justice. A justice that itself is hard to distinguish between what would identify itself otherwise as dark. That always seemed to be the case with the world, no matter what the war or otherwise what the fight. There was always one side claiming what it was doing was for the 'good' and that they were fighting against the evil 'evil'.
But unlike my father I had something that he lacked.
Power.
The essential key to change, yes?
I have enough power to lay a human army to waste, and myself while I'm at it. There is enough power bubbling in my veins to make most people envious, to make little kids scream out in glee and excitement going, "Oh wow! I want that!" But not to really understand the full extent of what they are saying.
But this is where balance came in.
I had what my father was lacking, but he had what I was.
A future.
Power, be it physical or otherwise, what ever it was in any form, always came with a price. My price had been set, but for the point of arguments sake, I had never even asked for it. It had been thrust upon me without request and without my acceptance. Only now did I find myself coming to understand how useful it was.
But I divert from the point.
Most people like me could often pass of their lives in secret because either they have someone in power looking over them or because they are like me; a shadow in the night. As seen, I spent a lot of my life locked away at my home with my mother.
I could pass for 'normal' because mainly I hid all the time behind my disguise. Though when the mask was ripped away from me... that was when people tended to notice similarities between me and my parents.
I spent my first early years spending my time in shadows in disguise. Trained by father and mother every day. Any weakness or hesitation in my attitude was destroyed. I was one of the darkest children born, the most disgusting piece of trash ever allowed to grace this earth, according to my Dad. Though that was my father's training, to crush out defiance in me. To crush out weakness. To crush out morality except for the 'right' morale road.
Funny how the only right morale road, was always his? Wasn't it?
My mother taught me of freedom. To appreciate a life in a second because for however long that time could stretch, a second could be more filled with happiness and life than an eternity could be.
Ironic that I've not got long left to turn my hope toward that long of an eternity stretch, eh?
I remember the day they came for me on my thirteenth birthday. They stormed to our little house in the village neighborhood where I was hid and they began tearing it apart looking for me. The men who would come and claim their future weapon all stood with guns and guards against their skin. They were toy soldiers.
I came without a fight though. There were individuals who deserved my fight more than anything else and when the time should come, I would be more than happy to release my wrath upon them all. But I was cursed. I was as I had been told, the filth of the world converged into one.
I thought wearily, curling my hand as tightly as I could around the black iron roses of the balcony railing but feeling no blood rush free from a wound. I could only feel the chill of winter and the cold of the air bite into me as I would expect.
It was as you would expect most cities to look in the night, like out of some Hollywood film. A lone house stood on an mountain side, a long winding path extended from the rich black gates and down back to the main road.
I just shook my head at the sight and turned with a flourish, walking back into the large room around me and gazing directly at the place where I knew I would seek my answer.
I gazed over at the mirror. Now that I wasn't focusing on the misty disguise that the human world provided around everyone and everything not in it's claim, my true form was given to me. Frozen, platinum blond hair spiked from my head and a pair of golden eyes gazed at me as a black pupil changed every now and then, stretching out across the colour while the gold blindly burnt like a fire, sometimes grafting itself red and sometimes turning as frozen as silver, like the shade of my hair.
I hated the way I looked.
Like that of a siren. Beauty, taken to the extreme. Everything about my dying body was supposed to radiate almighty beauty. My hair was supposed to reflect my harshness, just like my inhuman eyes which would go back to normal eventually when I stepped back into the human world, the very smell of my body was enchanted with magic, my breath, the air I breathed in around me. It was all supposed to be intoxicating. Everything about me was to enchant those nearest me.
Sorry, I've gotten off subject haven't I?
Let's explain the story, from chapter one eh?
It was a day like any other. Near enough anyway.
It was early morning but still, he woke up covered in sweat from the nightmares. He looked at his phone for the date; the eighteenth of December. The year was two thousand and thirteen. These nightmares were destroying him. It was still the same nightmares which were repeating over and over again.
The room was nothing special though it was a safe place to the heaving boy and as he looked around, the familiarity of it calmed him.
The emerald painted walls with bookshelves shouldered every inch of available wall while a desk was pushed up against the window with sketches and loose pieces of writing which he had been working on. Then shined in the early morning light, pictures of people wondering, caught in time and now forever held there on paper. A form of their lives collected and frozen. The boy was an artist through and through, though he had more of a talent when it came to writing, which was to say something considering the incredible quality of the numerous sketches. He had painted across the various walls to resemble giant trees, or various quotes.
He rolled out of bed and wondered over to the bathroom, staggering on weak and exhausted legs, as he regarded his reflection in the mirror quickly; A small timid figure with even patches of blond and dark golden hair spiked up across a thin face with deep sea blue eyes.
As the hot water ran over him the steam that filled the room began to loosen his tense muscles. "Why are these nightmares not ending." His soft voice whispered. Mother said he could always have been a singer on the stage and while he still did acting, he always spent more time writing and drawing. Those were not just his talents, but also his passion. Each offered an element of escape and with the hell of the life that he was living? Escape was the bare minimum of what he needed.
After the waking shower he wondered over to the wardrobe pulling on the first outfit he could make which was a purple t-shirt and Jacket and some boxers with skinny jeans and sneakers. He looked around before he pulled on a purple beanie which kept his spikes of hair tamed and under control but went with his shirt, while making the dark purple colour pop against the ink black color of his jacket.
"Pegasus?" A soft voice sounded outside the bedroom door. "Can I come in? I heard you moving about in your room."
"Sure." He said though he made no eye contact as the soft footsteps entered the room.
"Pegasus you're still having nightmares aren't you?" He turned around to look at the owner of the voice.
His mother; Katie Smith, the most kind caring person you can think of. She often kept her blond gold hair in a ponytail down her back and had bright emerald eyes. The thing about his mother is that she is an example of why good people tend to come last unfortunately. When she was younger her parents had divorced and then left her out on the streets. When she had met Pegasus' father she said that had been the best thing that had ever happened to her but the fact was she had married a soldier just when they were both twenty and when he had gone to fight she had found she was pregnant with her son.
But as soon as she told him that she was expecting a baby he had walked out on her, only to come back when his family had threatened to disown him for doing such a deed.
Honestly, he would have done both of them a better favour by leaving.
He never provided anything though... well, nothing financial anyway, he provided plenty of abuse, and trips to the hospital. She worked all day around to provide for adored baby boy and herself, but Pegasus guessed he didn't make it any easier with the way he sometimes got into trouble at school. But she never got angry with him about it.
But here he was now, thirteen years old and feeling so much older than anyone at his age should. She often said that he reminded her of how she was when she was at his age, before she had gone to college to become an artist and work in designs, managing to do so on a scholarship, a very lucky scholarship indeed.
"Yeah. They just… they wont stop." He whispered, turning his gaze away but still openly telling the honest truth before she hugged him.
"Its okay. One day, everything is going to make sense baby. I promise." She looked at her watch and he noticed she was already in her suit for a day in the office. It was these rare moments he ever got to spend with her. She was either at the office or when she got home, sleeping because of the ridiculous hours she had to put in to support both of them.
Pegasus guessed she could see the way he was thinking, mother had always been able to read him better than as if he was an open book. "I know you hate that I work the way I do but it will all change one day. I will sell some of my paintings soon and then maybe I can look for a new job." She said gently, her voice soft and her gaze even more so as she sat next to her son on the bed, gently running her hand through his hair.
"But mom, I know how desperate you are to design outfits and paint some of the best portraits since-"
He sighed; hard as he tried, he could never remember any of the names of any artists.
"Vincent van Gough" She smiled, "and maybe one day I will but for now this is how it has to be now come on. I will drop you off at school. For now... I think you better go down stairs. Your father is waiting for you."
The six words that terrified him.
And it was just how it was with every morning in his home.
He gasped as the foot connected with his stomach again and the air rushed out of his lungs. It was hard to do pretty much anything other than think about the taste of blood in his mouth as a small burst of crimson broke between his lips, and splattered across the harsh brickwork of the fireplace in the living room. "You're pathetic!" A voice boomed over him... A voice he was used to now.
Used to hearing abuse shouted at him as he was hurt.
Used to the beatings...
This beating... this was a usual morning or in some cases for him, night.
He was nothing special. He guessed he was like most other kids his age, my life seems focused on the usual things: his education, worrying about being popular (Which is far from what he really could be.) and a love life which was basically... none existent, (in the eyes of his parents at least), and yet also the reason his current predicament.
He slowly gazed back up just in time to catch his Father's gaze.
His father stood over him, with his eyes glinting coldly and his dark hair combed back neatly across his head. He was still wearing his button up suit from work. You see, his dad seems to have a few jobs that dominate his lifestyle: Working as a head of an company in London during the week. (He would catch a train into the big city every Sunday evening and stay there till Saturday morning when he would venture back here to, and come check out how his little nuisance was. Though he made a very 'loving' and very persistence effort to get back here at least a couple of the mornings so that he could come and beat the shit out of his son.
But between fucking his little gold digger girl friend, drinking himself under the bottle of an evening and then coming to beat the shit out of his son of a weekend... Pegasus was surprised his father had much time to do anything.
Luckily however this would be the end of it for a while now. He was lucky that my father decided that when it came to the holidays, he would stay back in London and forget about his little bastard till the new year came around. This would be the last Pegasus would have to see of him for two whole weeks!
This beating was worth surviving through just so Pegasus wouldn't have to see his father's ugly face for a while.
"You make me sick you know?" His dad barked as the man cleaned his son's blood off his knuckles.
Pegasus could feel his split lip dripping, just as his swollen eye probably was as well. He didn't know what to expect, especially since this beating seemed a lot harsher than usual. He definitely would have to check out the damageafterwards to get some help. "I know." Pegasus whispered dryly as his father shouldered his bag and pulled up the handle of his suitcase.
"Try not to die over the winter holiday... I don't have the time to start planning your funeral as well, while having to make sure I play nice with your street garbage mother." He turned and walked out the door not caring to check and look back if he had beaten his son too hard.
All he could do was lay there as he slowly let his lungs recover.
With each rise and fall of his chest, the spinning world which nauseated Pegasus seemed to subside slightly. His fingers curled into the soft fur of the carpet. A shuddering breath escaped him as his chest heaved and slowly his hand trailed down to my pocket where my mobile rested.
He pressed emergency dial one and rolled his head over to it.
It took a minute or two before it started ringing. "Hello?"
"Hey." He whispered quietly. "Do you think... maybe... you could come over? I need your help."
"Sure. I'll be there as soon as possible baby." With that he ended the call but not before spluttering a weak thanks in gratitude.
Pegasus reached up slowly to wipe his face and winced as instantly pain shot through him. "That bastard." He gasped.
He looked down slowly to his hand to see faint traces of blood over the back of it. The droplets had begun to stain the pearl white carpet and splattered over the soft cream colored walls. I don't have enough time to clean it before the he gets here. He thought and sighed as he took in more of the sights of the room as his vision returned to him.
The living room was quite big. The three couches were all turned towards the wall were a plasma T.V was placed under expanding shelves of books. Three large windows revealed out to a humble garden behind the house where trees and rose bushes grew. The sky was dark still and clouds seemed to be clambering desperately over it to try and cover as much light as possible.
He pulled his arm around his torso as he stumbled slowly over to the large fireplace. His father had deliberately left the windows open as a cold breeze had been coursing wildly through the house. His vein attempt to get him ill... Cause he hadn't done enough already? I should go and stay at Percy's house. He thought but shook his head.
Only snapping his gaze around when he heard the throat restricted scream and the shattering of a glass on the ground.
Pegasus didn't look up as he knew his mother would be standing there.
She rushed around, grabbing as much as she could, bandages, first aid boxes, medicine, anything, everything she could to look after her boy. To try and help with what she was seeing right now. She grabbed her make up bag, she grabbed as much as she could. All the while, Pegasus just moved mechanically over to the sofa and slowly took his seat.
Silence remained between them for half an hour, with the exception of a few whimpers when Katie had to clean her son's wounds, or as Pegasus took off his shirt to reveal the violent slashes and the now heavy set bruises along his ribs and his chest. Their was a line of bruises around his throat where his father's hand had gripped him, before lifting him off the ground and throwing him on the harsh brickwork of the fireplace. Katie did as she always did. While the boy's father would beat him to hell and back, she would always make sure that she was there to pick up the pieces of what ever he left and try to put them back together.
She only hated herself for being too scared to go to the police.
She did her best to clear the worst of the wounds, with the best of her effort, she really did. She bandaged her son's torso. She put some skin tone on a brush and went over the bruises around his eyes. She placed a small bit of blush on his cheek to even out the pale shade which had crept across her boy's face. "One day, one day baby." She whispered gently. "I promise you, I swear to you. One day. One day soon, everything will change. You're powerful my baby boy." She rested her hand against his cheek, drawing his pale blue eyes back up to her face as she looked sadly into him. "One day soon, you will start your own story. Your own life. You will shed the chains of this place, you will strike free of everything which would otherwise keep you trapped in this prison. You will be stronger than him, you will be, power." She whispered softly, a smile playing along her features. "Just remember one thing okay? Those who fight monsters, should never become them... you are beautiful my baby boy. You have the voice of an angel and you are always going to be my beautiful baby boy. I couldn't ever be more proud of you."
Pegasus just turned his head away slightly as his mother pulled him close and wrapped her arms around him protectively.
How was he supposed to know the truth of his mother's words would come true, let alone the curse that they would bring with them.