Late morning sun shone through the eastern windows of Xavier's School for Gifted Students. Most young students were in their classes, learning the unique lessons that no normal teen would learn from the most extraordinary of teachers.
"Im Namen des Vaters und des Sohnes und des Heiligen Geistes..."
This school was as unique as its staff and students themselves. Few high schools could boast a jet plane stationed beneath their basketball court, or endless metallic corridors below the surface.
"Ich glaube an Gott, den Vater, den Allmächtigen, den Schöpfer des Himmels und der Erde..."
Nor could many schools boast the presence of a gigantic spherical room, which could be used to find any being on the entire planet.
Cerebro was an incredible tool, but in the past it had been manipulated for the worst. Which was just the reason why two people were there this fine morning.
Professor Xavier was the head of the entire organisation that was comprised of the Mutant High and the small faction called the X-men. It was his self-given duty to care for all mutants coming into their powers. Or at least, those he could get his hands on. It was his other duty to oppose those who escaped his gentle but firm grasp.
Doctor Jean Gray, also known as Phoenix, stood beside the wheelchair-bound, balding Professor, peering into the machinations that were the core of Cerebro. She was not short for a woman, and she had long, red hair, as well as intelligent eyes that were now studying Cerebro's make up with the Professor, in hopes of safeguarding it from further misuse.
"und an Jesus Cristus, seinen eingeborenen Sohn, unsern Herrn, empfangen durch den Heiligen Geist, geboren von der Jungfrau Maria, gelitten unter Pontius Pilatus, gekreuzigt, gestorben und begraben..."
In one of the finely furnished, luxurious rooms of the upper divisions of the compound, a solitary figure sat crouched and bent on a bed. The position of this figure would have caused discomfort to most people.
But he was not most people.
This much was obvious from a person's first glance at this man. The first thing that struck a viewer would have been his deep blue skin. That was clearly not natural. Every now and then, the figure's sinuous blue tail flopped over like a fish on land. It was very long, and clearly muscular. This demonic feature was capable of supporting at least the man's weight off a wall or ceiling. The man also had strange hands and feet, which he wore bare unfailingly. Compared to a normal human's ten fingers and ten toes, this blue man had three fingers per hand and a mere two finger-like toes per foot.
"hinabgestiegen in das Reich des Todes, am dritten Tage auferstanden von den Toten, aufgefahren in den Himmel..."
The blue man looked up from his crouched position, turning his golden gaze to the heavens. Kurt Wagner was devoutly Catholic, and took as much time as he could to pray. In his odd hands he clumsily held a string of white rosary beads.
"er sitzt zur Rechten Gottes, des allmächtigen Vaters..."
Though the words he spoke did not reflect his thoughts, Kurt was praying for his past. As usual. The young man rarely gave a prayer for anything else, save for praising his Lord. He knew that to pray for something that was gone was folly, but to him, it was the most fitting thing for which a man like him could pray.
He knew little of his origins, his ursprung. He knew that Margali Szardos raised him, the gypsy woman he would never forget. She was like a mother to him, but when her black magic took her...
Kurt thrust the unwanted memories from his mind. Memories of his foster mother inevitably paved the way for further reminiscence, and unbidden and unwanted, it came.
He remembered Stefan and Jimaine, his brother and sister only through Margali. How he had loved them! How he had cherished the childhood he had shared with them! And yet, even their memories bore a dark taint. Stefan had come to his own sorrowful end, at the hands of Kurt himself. As he prayed, the German traced the three fingers of his right hand along one of the intricate marks marring his skin. The first one he had ever given himself, for murder.
"von dort wird er kommen, zu richten die Lebenden und die Toten..."
He recalled the days of his adolescence, performing for the travelling circus his foster family was part of. His flexible spine was never given to pain, and allowed him to execute incredible acrobatic feats. Crowds had marvelled at him, awe filling their widened eyes as he swung effortlessly on the trapeze. They had assumed that his very body had been a costume. How he had hated that! And yet, he had not hated them, for they had accepted him.
"Ich glaube an den Heiligen Geist, die heilige katolische Kirche, Gemeinschaft der Heiligen..."
He remembered Jimaine, his foster-sister, with special fondness and melancholy. He recalled how, in his growing body, his gift of teleportation had come. With it had come the particular feelings he had felt for his foster-sister, love beyond what would pass as brotherly.
He remembered the grief of separation caused by his bond to her.
"Vergebung der Sünde, Auferstehung der Toten und das ewige Leben. Amen."
Kurt shuffled the rosary beads around in his demoniac hands, and pressed the next pearly white bead between two of his fingers and moved on to the next prayer. With his mind and heart focused on the words he intoned, he began the Lord's Prayer.
"Vater unser im Himmel, geheiligt werde dein Name..."