"As you know, I lived in Canada in 1869. However, what I never told you is that I come from the Howlett family. I am the third generation born to John Howlett III," Jack Kenner said, his body trembling, his face contorted with anger.
"John Howlett III, also known as Victor Creed. That man is a beast who hunts his own kin, leaving them near death." His voice grew harsher, and his muscles tensed as fur began to sprout across his body.
But with a deep breath, Jack forced himself to calm down.
"From what I know, Victor Creed had a brother—James Howlett. Since Victor enjoys hunting his own blood, his brother was always his primary target. And when James managed to escape, Victor would lash out at his sons and daughters instead, either killing them or leaving them crippled."
Jack then recounted his entire life story to the Ancient One, from his earliest memories to the present.
"I suspect that my son and daughter-in-law were killed because of him. And now, seeing my grandson stronger than I ever was, I know he will come for him next." His voice was steady, but the anger in his tone was unmistakable.
"Fortunately, I have the power to stop him. My mutation has advanced beyond his. If he ever tries to lay a hand on my grandson, I will end him myself."
His rage boiled over, and without thinking, he drove his fist into the wall beside him. The stone caved in under the sheer force of his strike, cracks spreading like veins across its surface.
As the son of Victor Creed, Jack Kenner was fortunate not to have inherited his father's psychotic tendencies or uncontrollable feral instincts. Yet, just thinking about the man ignited a burning rage within him. His claws extended instinctively, ready to tear something apart.
However, a single glance at his peacefully sleeping grandson was enough to quell his anger. Instead, worry settled in his heart.
He knew that when the time came, Victor Creed would inevitably hunt again—for sport, for entertainment. That was why Jack Kenner had resolved to protect the boy with his life.
With his mastery of the mystic arts, restraining and killing Victor Creed would be effortless. But would that be enough? No. A quick death would be too merciful. He needed to mutilate the man first, to make him suffer before finally throwing him into a burning barrel.
"I see," the Ancient One said, her voice calm yet assured. "I didn't expect your family history to be so complicated. But you don't have to worry—you are safe here. As the protector of Earth, I will ensure that no such threat enters this sanctuary."
Jack exhaled slowly. If there was one place Victor Creed wouldn't be able to reach, it was here.
"As for your grandson," the Ancient One continued, "he will remain here until Vorrak returns. He is the only one who can explain what happened to him and how he awakened such a mutation."
Jack Kenner nodded, his gratitude toward Vorrak growing stronger. Not only had Vorrak returned his grandson in one piece, but he had also unlocked his X-gene—something his own son had never had the chance to do before his mysterious death.
That was why Jack suspected his father. If anyone had reason to kill his son and his wife, it was Victor Creed.
Likewise, Jack Kenner could only hope that Vorrak would return as soon as possible to check on the boy.
"That's all for now. You may rest," the Ancient One said. "If the boy wakes up, explain everything to him so he isn't confused. And if the same thing happens again, call me immediately. From what I can tell, he has little control over his power, and thanks to Vorrak, his genes have already mutated into something unknown—even to you."
Jack nodded. He knew full well that Mark Kenner still lacked control over his beastly form and needed proper training. That was precisely why Jack had trained in Kamar Taj—meditation had greatly helped him retain his composure and keep his emotions in check.
When he had first transformed, he too had struggled, lashing out uncontrollably. But through years of trial and error, he had achieved a state of mental discipline.
Now, it was his turn to guide his grandson, ensuring that he would never lose control again.
While Jack was deep in thought, the Ancient One's mind was elsewhere—on Vorrak. She knew he had been transported to an unknown location, far beyond Earth. There was no doubt in her mind that he was no longer anywhere near this world.
Despite her composure, she couldn't help but worry. Over time, she had grown attached to him, almost like a mother. She longed for his return, for things to go back to the way they were—training together, as usual.
---
Somewhere in Boston, Massachusetts, Kaelith, Kirabo's symbiote, immediately sensed something amiss. The connection to his father wavered, sending a wave of unease through him. Without hesitation, he alerted Kirabo, who frowned, his concern growing.
"Can you tell where he is right now, Kaelith? He should be alright. He is my master, after all, right?" Kirabo asked, his voice steady but laced with uncertainty.
Around them, the slaves he controlled worked tirelessly, only permitted to rest during designated breaks for lunch and recovery. Though ruthless, Kirabo was not foolish—he understood that pushing them beyond their limits would be counterproductive.
As he observed the laborers under his command, an urge to expand his business stirred within him once more. He had ambitions far beyond his current standing.
Unfortunately, the timing was not yet right. He lacked both the capital and the necessary connections to bring his larger plans to fruition.
For now, he had to focus on what was already within his grasp. Only when the foundations were set would he begin the next stage of his expansion.
---
In Wakanda, a silverback gorilla swung effortlessly through the trees when, suddenly, a black, slimy head emerged from his side.
"I felt my connection to my father waver. Something must have happened to him. We have to make sure he does not worry about us," Korvathar said.
Korvathar, the symbiote bound to the silverback gorilla, was a being of raw physical strength. Unlike his father, Vorrak, who specialized in corruption and control, Korvathar was a warrior—intelligent yet built for battle. He embodied the nature of the silverback itself, both powerful and smart enough to lead the tribe under his rule.
Since Vorrak's departure, the tribe had advanced significantly. What once was a primitive gathering had now evolved into an early civilization. They had reached the Stone Age and were now stepping into the age of metalworking, experimenting with new ways to forge tools and weapons.
Their dwellings, once made of wood and leaves, had been replaced with sturdy stone structures, offering greater protection and comfort. Slowly, they were developing into something akin to the apes from the Planet of the Apes—but with one key difference.
They had no interest in conquest.
However, when provoked, they would not hesitate to retaliate with overwhelming force. The silverback knew Vorrak despised cowardice, and as his devoted follower, he had instilled that same belief into his tribe.
As a result, his tribesmen were commanded to never back down when challenged, following what they saw as the will of their deity.
To them, Vorrak was more than a leader—he was a divine being who had gifted them the means to thrive.
For that, they were eternally grateful.
For now, they would remain hidden, gathering their strength in silence. Because when the time came and their god called upon them, they would be ready.
---
Back to the present.
Vorrak slept soundly, but his mind remained sharp, ever vigilant for potential intruders. Even though Laussa had assured him that the palace was secure, he couldn't let his guard down. He knew his weaknesses well.
A single high-pitched, continuous sound could incapacitate him completely, and he had yet to find a way to counter it. For now, all he could do was remain cautious and ensure his survival.
While Vorrak rested, Odin and Frigga sat in deep discussion, their thoughts lingering on the recent battle between Thor and Vorrak—a clash of immense intensity, despite Thor holding back his full strength.
"That sword Vorrak wields… it carries a massive, malicious energy capable of consuming any being who holds it," Odin said, recalling the moment Vorrak revealed the weapon to him.
"It feels eerily familiar to Knull's Necrosword," he continued, his expression darkening. "A weapon that corrupts the wielder's mind. Yet, Vorrak seems unaffected by it."
Frigga's eyes narrowed at the mention of Knull. "That being is powerful enough to slay a Celestial. If he ever sets foot in Asgard, it would be the equivalent of Ragnarok. Asgard would be doomed."
Odin's frown deepened. He remained silent, lost in thought.
"I only hope our daughter hasn't brought disaster to our home," Frigga added. "If she has… all Asgardians may be doomed."
It had been a long time since the two had spoken so seriously about a looming threat. The last time was when they decided to seal away Hela, their daughter—the Goddess of Death. A relentless warmonger, she had coveted the throne, only to be rejected and banished by Odin himself.
Thinking of Hela, Odin sighed in resignation. He had not visited her in years. Their relationship was beyond fractured, and even now, the thought of facing her again felt almost meaningless.
Frigga, on the other hand, still held sorrow for her daughter. But she could not allow Hela to do as she pleased. The massacre of the Valkyries—the elite warriors sworn to protect the royal family—was something she could never forgive. They had given their lives for Asgard, only to fall at the hands of their own princess.
Now, they had another daughter, one with the power of fire, and the upcoming coronation loomed closer.
The only matter delaying it was the choice of heir. Among the three candidates, Thor remained the most likely to inherit the throne. He was far more mature than his counterpart in other timelines, making him the ideal ruler in Odin's eyes.
Yet, Loki remained a contender. His mastery of magic and strategic mind made him a strong candidate, but his constant scheming made Odin wary. The mere thought of it gave him a headache.
Despite being adopted from the Frost Giants, Loki bore no resemblance to them. Only Odin and Frigga knew the truth of his origins, a secret they had long kept from him.
As for Laussa… she was spoiled beyond measure. There was no world in which she could become the Queen of Asgard with her current personality.