A Few Days Later
Elias POV
It had been a week since Wanda and I visited Empire State University. I was still surprised by how easily she had been accepted. She later explained that the program was non-technical — more of a continuing-education track — but with good grades, she could eventually transfer into almost any field she wanted.
It was a good opportunity for anyone, not just Wanda.
She had been actively preparing for a placement test that would allow her to gain a scholarship. I was glad, as I didn't know her financial situation and had been hesitant to broach that topic.We weren't that close yet... though fighting the Hulk together probably counted for something.
I turned the Ford F-150 toward Flushing, resting one elbow on the open window as the morning sun warmed my arm. I carefully drove my new truck through the light traffic. I had been contemplating what I had to do over the past few days. My superhuman body, as amazing as it was, would not be enough to handle the things that would be coming my way, especially since I was sure I was on the radar of powerful people—at least the ones that mattered.
It was something that bothered me. Everything was normal.It wasn't me being arrogant and thinking the world revolved around me, but rather a healthy dose of paranoia, knowing the world as I did. The only thing I could focus on was getting stronger, and to do that, I had two options: continue enhancing my body or try something new.
The dead pigeon on top of the terrace popped into my mind.
My new ability to store mass and sort of use it, and another ability, or more accurately, a possibility, to create something with that biomass. That was what I was going to test today. I had to use live organisms for the Codex to work.
Sausages clearly didn't count.
From what I had figured out, my "sacrifice" had to either be alive or freshly dead to work. I didn't want to contemplate it because I guessed it had something to do with the soul. This was a problem. I couldn't go around killing people; that would get me branded a psychopath and then promptly jailed, not that I wanted to murder people. So here I was, at my next best option.
Flushing, NY.
The street was busy with morning shoppers and delivery trucks. I heard a mix of English, Mandarin, Cantonese, and Korean. I parked the F-150 a couple of blocks away and walked, taking my time. I wasn't in a rush. I needed a place that actually kept fish alive in tanks, not just on ice. After a few minutes of scanning the signs, I found one that looked right: with a faded red awning and a name painted in both English and Chinese:
Golden River Seafood.
The shop smelled strongly of water and fish. I walked past tanks with fish into the shop. Most of the fish were medium-sized — tilapia, smaller bass, the usual options. But further inside were thick, heavy-bodied fish with broad heads and big bodies. Bighead carp, the name tag read. Each one looked like it weighed close to eight or nine pounds.
"That one's gonna be hard to cook, you know."
I turned. A teenage Chinese girl stood a few feet away, maybe sixteen or seventeen, wearing a simple T-shirt and jeans with her dark hair pulled back loosely. She had an amused look on her face as she looked between me and the tank.
"Oh... uh, yeah," I said. "I just want to try it."
There was no good way to explain that I wasn't buying them for dinner.
She shrugged, still smiling. "Sure. Be my guest. I'm Katy, by the way. Katy Chen. This is my uncle's shop." She nodded toward the back. "You can always come back when you mess the fish up."
I gave a small huff of laughter at the girl's confidence in my lack of cooking expertise and nodded. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, Katy. I'll take three of them."
I pointed out three of the larger carp. A worker came over, netted them one by one, and dropped each into a thick plastic bag partially filled with tank water. He blew air into the bags, twisted the tops closed, and secured them with rubber bands. The fish thrashed a few times before settling into the limited space.
I paid in cash, took the three heavy bags by their knotted tops, and headed back out into the busy street. It felt weird to be carrying live fish; I wasn't used to it.I made my way back to the F-150, carefully placed the bags in the passenger footwell, and drove straight home. After locking the truck, I carried everything upstairs. The apartment was empty. Wanda had gone to the ESU library to study for her placement test. That was for the best. Even though she had accepted my powers without much fuss, I still wanted privacy for what I was about to do.
I thought for a moment, then carried the bags into the bathroom. From the kitchen, I grabbed a large plastic trough, set it on the bathroom floor, and filled it with enough water to keep the fish alive for a little while. One by one, I emptied the bags into the trough. The three carp immediately began thrashing, slamming against the sides as they adjusted to the new space.
I knelt on the slightly wet floor, ignoring the water soaking into my jeans. A strange, quiet thrill ran through me at what I was about to try.
I closed my eyes and reached inward, opening the Codex in the back of my mind. With a quick flick of my hand, I reached into the trough and held on to one of the carp. I knew what I wanted to do and prepared a ritual in the Codex based on my intent, just like I always did. I wanted a controllable, semi-autonomous mass I could direct with thought alone. Something like the Blacklight virus, but without it merging with me.
It would be a game-changer, and if I could make enough of it, it would essentially be a pseudo-symbiote.
The moment the ritual activated, the fish in my hand convulsed violently. Pain flooded its nervous system. This was the sacrifice, along with its own life. I could feel the Codex drinking that pain as fuel. Instead of guilt or sympathy, all I felt was an immediate feeling of euphoria. It started at my fingertips and raced up my arm, spreading through my chest until it settled deep in my very being, causing my eyes to roll back.
Unlike the times I had used my own pain as sacrifice, I didn't black out. I stayed fully conscious, fully capable of guiding the ritual. Under my hand, the carp's body began to collapse, losing its shape, melting into a thick, glossy black sludge that pulsed once, then went still in my hand.
I stared at it.
I had succeeded.
My heart thudded hard in my chest at the realization. Slowly, I reached out with my mind the same way I would flex a muscle. The connection settled into place almost immediately; it was like discovering an arm I had never known existed. The sludge responded at once. It spread partially across the back of my hand, thin enough that I could still see patches of my own skin beneath it. With a single focused thought, a portion of the mass stretched outward and hardened.
A black blade, roughly three feet long, formed in front of me. It looked incredibly sharp.
A short, breathless laugh slipped out of me.
"Hah... I should have done something like this sooner," I murmured.
The amount of mass was still limited, but that was easy enough to fix. My hands moved quickly. I grabbed the remaining two carp from the trough and repeated the ritual, this time feeding their biomass directly into the existing construct. The process was smoother the second time. When it finished, I could feel the difference — enough material now to form a five-foot blade, or to cover most of one arm if I wanted.
It was incredible. My construct was basic, and I felt I could improve it with time. There was a lot I could do with this.
Curious, I focused on a new intent. The molecular structure of the sludge shifted in response. Within seconds, the glossy black surface changed, taking on the exact texture and color of my skin. When it settled over my forearm, it blended perfectly.
I nodded once, satisfied with the progress, and stood, feeling mildly hungry. I left the bathroom, ignoring the slight fishy smell. Before I could take more than a few steps, the doorbell rang.
I stopped.
Wanda had a key. There was no reason for her to ring the bell. Frowning slightly, I walked to the door and leaned in to look through the peephole. What I saw made me freeze.
Erik Lehnsherr POV
I climbed the stairwell of the old brick building, one hand resting lightly on the metal railing out of a lifetime of habit. Raven walked beside me in the form of a sharp-featured blonde woman, while Callisto followed a step behind us.
Wanda had left.
I had known it would happen eventually. She was no longer a child, and I knew she felt stifled in the Brotherhood. I had raised her to be strong, to think for herself, to never bow to anyone. It disappointed me that she had chosen to step away from the Brotherhood. It was a shame, but she would come around. And from what Pietro had reported on his sister, she had a boyfriend. She had at least chosen a fellow mutant as a companion; it brought me no small measure of joy in her choice.
I had raised her right.
"Seems to be a rather quaint home, wouldn't you agree, Raven?" I asked as we reached the third-floor landing.
Raven glanced around the narrow hallway with mild distaste. "It's small. And it smells like old carpet." She looked at me sideways. "Did you really have to come in person? We could have just invited him back to the camp."
"Nonsense, my dear," I replied calmly. "It is my duty to meet my daughter's first... boyfriend."
The word felt strange on my tongue.
I glanced back at Callisto. "Is he here?"
"Yes," she answered. Her single visible eye narrowed slightly. "And before you ask — he feels stronger than you."
I chuckled under my breath at the boldness of the statement. I felt pride in my chest. My daughter had always had discerning taste. We stopped in front of a sturdy-looking door. I removed my hat and held it politely in one hand. Manners mattered, something I had learned through my long life.
Raven, never one for patience, reached past me and pressed the doorbell.
I felt the faint signature of metal shift on the other side as someone approached. A moment later, the door opened slowly.
I raised an eyebrow.
The young man standing in the doorway was impressive — nearly six and a half feet tall, broad-shouldered, and an impressive muscular build that promised physical power. And he was certainly handsome. I nodded internally. In spite of what my daughter might say, she was vain in her own way; she only wanted the best.
"Good morning, Eli," I said evenly. "My name is Erik. Do you have some time?"
His eyes moved over the three of us in a fraction of a second as he cataloged us. The smile on my face increased.
How interesting...