Author's Rant: Ever feel like your computer hates you? I know my 10-year-old Frankenstein computer seems to. It threw a hissy fit, jumped into the car, and crashed several times since I last tried writing a complete chapter for a story I'm doing! After having to replace the hard drive and motherboard, it's finally working again.

With that said, Grimm lives! Hopefully this'll mean I can finally get my stories written, and for those who read my DMC3 novelization, I have not abandoned it; my game has decided to suddenly not work anymore, so I have to hunt down a copy of the game again so I can make sure that my details are accurate. Just be patient please!

That being said, here is a story of mine that I have been dying to write for some time now. Recently, thanks to my Sci-fi/Fantasy English class, I've gotten a renewed interest in Marvel comics. Particularly, my fangirl crush Nightcrawler (sue me, but I have a thing for characters like him). As such, the fanfiction section here has been raided by me to quench my thirst for good reading, and I finally decided to write my own story on everyone's favorite 'Fuzzy One'! Be warned though, I got a lotta angst and moments of blood and gore planned. I'm just evil like that.

After reading this one piece by a writer here known as Tera Hunter, I was inspired to do an X-men retelling of The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Bear with me, though, if anything here sounds too bitter; I have a hard time writing anything that is heavily religious since I prefer not to touch on that subject if I can help it. And to all you Kurtty fans out there, don't kill me please; I love the pairing, but Amanda fits in better for what I have in mind.

Notes: Mutants and the humans who live with them = Gypsies

I know extremely little German, and almost nothing about stringing words together in it. If someone knows a reliable online translator (not sure if I trust Google Translate), or is willing to give some of their time to translate English into German, then please let me know via a Review. All translations will be after the story.

Let's end the rant, and get on with the story!

Disclaimer:I do not own X-Men: Evolution or any other mentioned copyrighted material. You all know who does, now shut up and stop looking for a lawsuit before I boot you to the head

PrologueLearning to Fly

The city of Paris was oddly calm and peaceful that morning as the townspeople woke from their beds, as if the usually heavy and oppressive atmosphere of the summer heat had been lifted. Golden sunlight began to creep up and around the spires of the tallest structure visible, a magnificent church whose stained glass windows bore the colors of thousands of jewels. So majestic was the sight that the people below claimed the structure was built by angels in the disguise of men, gracing the humans below with the beauty that could only be found in heaven. A fitting blessing to remind them of the beauty of their deity, for it was not only a place for them to pray, but a sanctuary for those who had nowhere else to go.

High in the tower, long before the sunlight even touched them, the bells began to ring.

Such was the song that everyone in the city felt the joy of the bells; the deep voiced ones humming as the high-voiced ones laughed and sang a joyful tune. It was as if the very soul of the city was resounding, as cheerful as the citizens were as the realizations of this day dawned upon them. Today was the day of a festival where all were equal, where all could celebrate life and rejoice in the simple pleasures of a world otherwise darkened by fear and control. Even the gypsies, the creatures so hated and feared by many people, were given a day when they were normal and treated like the others.

Naïve children in the streets below, caught up in the games and whimsies only children would know, stared in wonder as the tune of the bells became more complicated and cheerful, as if showing their own mounting joy at the arrival of the caravans that would decorate the square before the church into a magical place where the impossible happened. How often they had asked the priests who rang the bells, and the priests never could give them a straight answer. "An angel whose face cannot be seen," they would always reply, smiling gently but showing a bit of regret within their eyes. Only they knew the true nature of the bell ringer, and their hearts would break in pity for him as they gazed up at the tower so merrily ringing out its joy.

They knew that he was likely never to show his face to the humans below.

Within the walls of the stone structure, a complex system of ropes, beams, and columns supported the vast number of bells within Notre Dame, all of them moving as they sang to the soul of the festival being put together below. No mere human could even begin to hope to navigate the confusing path without perfect balance, yet that seemed to be the very perfection held by the bell ringer as he leapt to and fro, pulling on ropes and scampering across the beams with catlike grace. Decidedly inhuman feet gripped rope as he pulled the final few bell ropes, finishing up the cheerful songs and allowing the bells to sleep until the noon tolling. Full of a zest for life, the figure darted up the columns and ropes once more, heading for one of the higher balconies that graced the side of the church facing the courtyard.

Taking a moment in the shadows to adjust his eyes to the bright sunlight, the boy stepped out, his posture slightly bent. In the revealing light of day, the bell ringer was most definitely not an angel as the humans liked to believe; if anything, he looked more like a demon. Dark blue fur covered his lean frame, ruffling a bit in the wind as he placed his three-digit hands on the stone railing, hoisting himself up. A tale, tipped with a soft edged spade, wagged about behind him, showing the same excitement that shone in his golden colored eyes. His feet, bearing only two toes eerily similar to a split hoof, held the stone more solidly as he leaned forward, peering into the mouth of the stone guardian.

A mess of straw was inside, arranged skillfully to resemble a nest in the sheltered hollow of the gargoyle's maw. Peeping gently at him, the tiny pigeon, just barely the age for flying, looked up at him, blinking owlishly at the familiar face. Even with dark indigo hair that reached his shoulder, and fangs in place of canine teeth, the young man didn't threaten him at all as he smiled, reaching a hand in gently. "Guten morgen, mein Kleiner," he said, feeling the bird's weight upon his fingers before moving his hand to his shoulder. The chick peeped once more, tugging gently at the tip of one pointed ear as he chuckled at the tickling feeling. "Alright, mein friend," he said, accent heavily German as the bird settled on his shoulder, "I am happy to see you too." Keeping his balance superbly, he moved from the railing back to the stone floor without knocking his companion from his perch, walking slowly back into the comfortable shadows of the tower.

Furred feet barely making a sound on the wood, the bell ringer made his way up to a small platform in the center of the tower, the beams overhead giving him a sense of security as he reached a vast table that had been set up. Wood shavings and the like were strewn about, as well as pieces of parchment that had charcoal sketches and scribbles on them. The boy smiled as he placed his friend on the wooden table, painted to resemble cobblestones save for a ribbon of blue. The tiny creature peeped at him once more, hopping a bit around as it pecked a bit at the delicately carved buildings.

This was his masterpiece. A model of the city as he saw it from the cathedral, painfully made from years of boredom between his duty of ringing the bells every morning, evening, night, and at special occasions. Over time, he had transformed it to suit what he saw, and the figures were the people he saw most often and felt a strange sort of connection to.

A baker, his belly round and his beard a rich shade of brown, his cart of baked goods at his usual stand.

The fisherman, with his string and bucket full of little silver fish, his white hair tamed under a hat as he sat on the bridge.

The loud but friendly woman and her child that would often walk around, selling flowers and the like.

Many more effigies of the citizens had been carved into wood and put on display here, but the object of his pride was the model of the church. This one had taken him the better part of three months to carve, painstakingly whittling and painting until he had an almost scale, albeit much simpler, replica of his home. Even the stained glass had been reproduced in bright paint, glittering like the pieces of stained glass he had made into a sun catcher above it all.

Sitting in one of the towers was even a little him. Like everything else, this figure was simple, but it showed the same creature that had carved it. This little him wasn't anywhere near as odd looking as the original, and he sighed, running the tip of his tail next to it. He had never moved it since placing it there, the dust nearby obvious, but it was sitting in the same place he loved to sit and watch the people below.

Another round of cheeping greeted his ears, and he chuckled at the little bird as it snapped him away from a potentially depressing train of thought.

"Alright, I hear you," he said, heading towards a smaller table where a plate rested. Upon it was some bread, a tiny jar of honey, and a few pieces of fruit, a meager but delicious breakfast for one who enjoyed simple good food. Picking off a few pieces of the sweetened loaf, he sat in a chair and began to feed the little bird, chatting with it like it was another person.

"Today's zhe day, ja? Vhat a better day zhan zhis to fly!" He rubbed the bird's head and examined its wings. They were fully feathered, only waiting for the little chick to finally spread and test them, but the pigeon began to twitter, almost sadly. Cocking his head to one side, he asked, "Vhy not? It's not so high up. And it vould be fun to fly."

Once they were done eating, he lifted the bird back onto his shoulder, feeling the claws through his simple gray tunic as he made his way back to the balcony. The sunlight shone off of his fur brightly as he once more crouched upon the railing, smiling as he watched the preparations below. "See?" he said to the bird, a broad smile on his face, "Zhe Festival is today. Vhat a day to choose to fly!" His tail whipped around a bit in excitement, the pale yellow orbs following every person as they moved.

Chirping, his companion spread its wings tentatively, but the sheer height seemed dizzying to the tiny bird as it held them tight to it body. "Come now," said the demon-like boy, chuckling as he cupped it in his hands, "Try it. I'll catch you if you fall."

Bolder, the chick finally began to flap its wings hard, and after a few moments, felt itself floating. Looking at the blue-furred boy, he chuckled, showing his hands as the bird realized it was finally flying. Excitedly, it chirped at him and managed to make it to his shoulder, fidgety and happy. Laughing softly, he saw a flock of pigeons taking off for the day, their gray wings flashing in the sunlight.

"Go on," said the boy, once more cupping the bird in his hands, "No vone vants to be cooped up forever." There was excitement in his tone, but there was a glint in his yellow eyes that betrayed the longing he felt, the longing to also fly and be free.

The bird only chirped to its dear friend. Spreading its wings again, it took off erratically after its kin, barely even sparing a backwards glance to the blue-furred creature it left behind.

Watching the bird, the wide smile began to shrink. How he too longed to leave the church, the only home he'd ever know, his sanctuary in a world that was often unkind to creatures like himself. But he wasn't naïve; he knew what the humans would see if he decided to show himself. They'd see a demon, and they'd probably do whatever was in their power to exorcise or kill him. At least inside he was guaranteed a home and food, and the priests didn't care much for his appearance. They only saw him as a person, one dealt a cruel hand that was most likely a test from above. Yet he couldn't help but grimace whenever he saw his own reflection, or reflect back upon the nearly inhuman grace in which he navigated the bell tower and the church.

Crouched on the railing, resembling a gargoyle to those below, he merely watched, unseen by the people below as they went about their lives, oblivious to the silent guardian that dwelled in the dark corridors of the church.

Translations:

Guten morgen, mein Kleiner = Good morning, little one

There we have it! Reviews are much appreciated!