Author Note:
I had to temporarily take this chapter down to fix some inconsistencies that a few sharp-eyed readers pointed out. It is now rewritten and reposted.
Sorry for the inconvenience and a big thank you to M7TH1C, Kyriam, batman_3_3_, Storm2023, DarkDragon4428, Kaydo_XD and Victor_Adiogo for their suggestions, critiques and opinions that helped make this chapter better.
Still I have never seen an author get bullied by their readers, usually it is the other way around hahaha have fun reading!
************
[Perseus POV]
Later that evening, Morticia found me in one of the sitting rooms, half-watching the flames in the fireplace and lost in thought, staring into the fireplace, trying to figure out what to do next. She sat across from me graceful, unhurried, like she'd done this a hundred times.
"You seem calm," she said.
I shrugged. "I've seen weirder."
Not a lie. Dying and getting reincarnated into a world I only knew from a screen? Definitely qualifies as weirder.
"I assume you have questions."
"More than a few," I said, looking her in the eyes. "But I think I already know some of the answers."
She gave a faint smile. "Try me."
"All right," I said, leaning forward. "Let's start with the obvious. I'm what people here call an Outcast. My ability is tied to drawing—my sketches come alive."
Morticia nodded slowly. "That's a rare gift. You'd fall under the psychic category. Creation-based abilities are deeply connected to the mind, thought, emotion, and will."
"So, I'm guessing this kind of thing is hereditary, right?" I said. "I mean, it doesn't just appear randomly. It's like eye color. Like, you know, being able to wiggle your ears or something."
"Exactly," she said, nodding. "Outcast powers are passed down through bloodlines, which means they ultimately come from a parent or ancestor. Some powers are inherited more directly, but there are rules."
She held up her hand, ticking them off with her fingers.
"First: you can't be two things at once. If someone's mother is a vampire and their father is a werewolf, the child won't be both. One bloodline always dominates."
"Second: even if your parents have powers, there's no guarantee you will. Some kids are born without anything. That chance is higher if one parent is human, or if the family line is weak."
"Third: powers rarely skip generations. If they do not awaken in you, the odds are low they will appear in your children."
"Fourth: the strength of a power can vary. Two powerful parents might produce a child with a weaker version of the gift or bloodline—or something that works in a different way altogether."
I frowned. "So that means at least one of my parents or ancestors is an Outcast? And if there aren't many of us, you probably already have some guesses."
She raised an eyebrow. "I have some ideas."
I leaned back for a second. "Okay, next question. What's the structure? Is there a Council? Laws? Do Outcasts just do whatever they want?"
"Outcast society is older than most modern nations," Morticia began, her tone calm and assured. "Each continent has its own governing system. Here in North America, we have the NAOC—the North American Outcast Council. They oversee registration, law enforcement, education, and keep detailed records of all bloodlines."
I nodded slowly. "So how many of us are there?"
"In the U.S.? Three to five thousand. Globally, estimates say maybe a hundred thousand. But considering how long some Outcasts live and how well some of them hide, it's hard to be certain."
That made sense. A few thousand Outcasts might seem like a drop in the ocean compared to billions of humans. But it's not surprising when you consider that long-lived species often have fewer children, and history hasn't exactly been kind to magical folks. Witch hunts, secret purges, and who knows what else likely kept their numbers low and forced them to stay hidden.
"Is there anything I should be careful about? Like... do I need to hide that I'm an Outcast?"
Morticia tilted her head slightly. "Not really. After several... unpleasant chapters in history, Outcasts decided to blend in. Every race found a place in human society."
She gestured toward the fireplace, like she could see the world through it.
"Vampires control much of the medical industry—hospitals, research labs, pharmaceuticals. It lets them access blood discreetly. Werewolves own vast lands and run most of the food production chain. Others filter into business, entertainment, politics. CEOs. Actors. Singers. We're everywhere. Just... quietly."
That actually made a lot of sense. They're powerful, long-lived, and rich. Of course they'd take control of industries they benefit from. And with only a few thousand Outcasts in a population of hundreds of millions, most humans probably never even meet one. Maybe they think a few people are "gifted" or "weird," but that's it. Perhaps some would invent conspiracies about them, the way people did with the Illuminati in my old life.
"Next question: is there a ranking system?" I asked. "Do some families have more power? Or if I become stronger, do I have to start watching my back?"
Morticia gave me a look that said I'd asked something smart. "You're thinking ahead. Good."
She crossed one leg over the other and continued, "It's hard to rank Outcasts purely by their abilities. Powers are too different—some, like mine, can predict the future or past, while others are more combat-oriented. So instead, we measure something called Mental Strength."
She tilted her head slightly. "It reflects how precisely someone can control their gift or bloodline—how well they can activate it, shape it, suppress it, or push it to the limit without losing control. It's not about how strong your power is, but how well you can use it. Whether you breathe fire, shift shape, or manipulate emotions, Mental Strength is what separates raw potential from real mastery."
Now she had my full attention.
She folded her hands in her lap. "The higher your Mental Strength, the more control you have and the more you can do. Take werewolves, for example. At the beginning, they might only sharpen their claws or heighten their senses. But as their mental strength grows, so does what they can achieve—like fully shifting into their wolf form."
She paused, letting it sink in.
"The vast majority of Outcasts reach a level of mental strength that keeps them stable and functional. Going beyond that requires breaking something inside yourself—your bloodline, your mind, maybe both and then rebuilding it stronger."
"So... stronger mind, stronger powers?" I asked.
"Not exactly," she replied. "Someone with higher mental strength, like me, can still be beaten by someone with a more combat-oriented gift—like my husband. Greater control doesn't always mean greater raw power."
A smirk curled at her lips. "And sometimes, influence matters more than strength. Take the current U.S. president, for example. His mental strength isn't remarkable, yet he's held office for nearly a century."
I blinked. "What?"
"He's a shapeshifter," she said, completely deadpan. "During elections, he transforms into both candidates. When the time comes, he simply takes on the winner's identity."
I stared at her. "That's... ridiculous."
She shrugged. "You asked if we have influence. This also proves that while Mental Strength is important, it's not everything. A flexible and creative mind—that's what sets someone apart."
Touché.
I looked down at my hands again. "So… if someone doesn't awaken, that just means their mental strength never passed a threshold?"
"Exactly. Gifts or bloodlines awaken only when that threshold is met. Anyone below it stays 'normal,' even if they carry the bloodline."
So, I wasn't just lucky. Something in me passed the threshold, maybe thanks to my reincarnation or bloodline. And my drawings were only the beginning.
"Do I have to register somewhere?" I asked.
"Eventually," Morticia said. "But not yet. You're under this roof, and the Addams name gives you breathing room. Once your abilities grow, the Council will want to meet you. That's standard."
I leaned back. "Good to know. I'm not trying to get hunted down for sketching a stick figure that accidentally becomes self-aware."
She actually chuckled. Just a little.
"You're handling this better than most your age. Still not curious about who your parents might be?"
I met her eyes. "Not really. The only thing I care about is learning how to use my power. Everything else? No thanks."
Why such an answer? Am I angry that they left me behind? Not really, probably, they had their reasons for abandoning me.
If I were truly a child, maybe I'd care. Maybe I'd want answers. But with an adult's mind, I just don't.
My grandmother loves me, and honestly, that's enough.
I don't need drama with strangers who share some DNA and nothing else, and if something from their side haunts me? Good luck fighting againt me.
What I do need is access. To information. To knowledge. To the kind of insight only an old, powerful family like this could offer.
That—I want.
I glanced up at her again, hesitated a moment, then asked, "So… could you train me?"
Morticia's smile deepened, eyes glinting with something both elegant and slightly terrifying.
"It won't be easy…for you," she said. "But I'll give it my best."
Then she actually laughed—a graceful, melodic sound that somehow still made my spine twitch.
I stared at her, trying to smile but probably just grimacing.
This is fine. Totally fine…I am not crying, you are crying.
************
Author Note:
Sorry if this chapter felt like a crash course in Outcast Society 101. I needed a moment to lay down the rules and background so the world makes sense later on. Do not worry, the upcoming ones will return to action, drama and whatever passes for romance in this story.
Also, if you spot any loopholes, inconsistencies, or have a better idea (not again please! I am already rewriting all the future chapters for the previous loopholes...Totally fine…I am not crying, you are crying) for how a rule or detail could work, please let me know! I'm always open to tweaking things to make the world and its logic stronger.