POV: Adonai
"Like a blind man at an orgy, I was gonna have to feel things out," said Adonai with a thoughtful look.
"Can you please stop with your strange analogies for five minutes? Just speak like a normal person," said Jean with exasperation, though there was a faint smile on her lips.
"Being normal is overrated,"he said with a shrug.
His sudden outburst of anguished screams moments earlier had, of course, sent Jean and the others into full crisis mode. They had looked genuinely alarmed, probably thinking his mutation was tearing through his nervous system or that he was about to explode and take the mansion with him. Instead, they were met with the sight of Adonai clutching his head and declaring, with the tone of a man who had just received a terminal diagnosis, that he was now a potential man and would have to gamble his entire aura. Should he fail, he said, he would be cast into aura debt for generations.
They stared at him in pure incomprehension, a collective what etched across their faces. They didn't understand a single term he was using or what the fuck he was on about. And that ignorance, truly, was a mercy. For if they had grasped the gravity of what it meant to be branded a potential man, if they understood that aura debt was real and eternal, they would have wept with him. Aura loss is a serious matter. Some people never recovered.
The professor, god bless his soul, had eventually stepped in with the calm of a man who had seen too much already. He simply suggested that Jean show him around the school and help him adjust. Jean, being the darling she was, took the task seriously and guided him across the sprawling halls, answering any questions he had with patience that deserved sainthood.
As they walked, and with both his conversation with Jean and the memories absorbed from the original Adonai Ezra, he began assembling a rough sketch of the timeline. Captain America existed as an actual war hero who had once punched Hitler in the face on live propaganda. That alone confirmed this wasn't an X-Men-isolated universe like the Fox films. And the existence of companies like Stark Industries, Oscorp, Roxxon Corporation, Alchemax, Rand Corporation, Frost Enterprises, all ruled or influenced by very real prodigies and madmen, cemented that this world mirrored the comics far more than any singular film franchise.
The year was 2000, the dawn of a new millennium. That meant, assuming the movie timeline was even remotely accurate, he had roughly eight years before Tony Stark crawled out of a cave and kickstarted the modern superhero era. Although, considering the many discrepancies already present, that estimate was, at best, a suggestion rather than a guarantee. But that mattered little. He would simply gather information, observe carefully, and adjust his plans accordingly, if plans there be.
Jean walked ahead, animated. "I still can't believe Martin actually killed Ned Stark. I thought he was going to be the protagonist."
"He was," Adonai said. "Briefly."
During the tour, Jean and Adonai drifted into a surprisingly animated discussion about literature. At some point, she mentioned, almost shyly, that she was a devoted fan of A Song of Ice and Fire, which immediately shifted the entire dynamic of their conversation. The moment she realized he not only knew of the series but had actually read it, her composure slipped, replaced by a rare spark of unguarded enthusiasm. It seemed that finding someone else in this school who willingly read dense fantasy tomes was a novelty she had not expected.
Only the first two books had been released so far, with the third rumored to arrive by the end of the year according to the latest fan speculation. Jean spoke passionately about her theories: who would win the Iron Throne, which characters were secretly destined for greatness, and how she believed the story would ultimately favor honor and nobility. Adonai, meanwhile, having knowledge of everything up to the fifth book, found the entire exchange deeply entertaining. The contrast between Jean's hopeful predictions and the brutal reality of Westeros as he knew it made each of her earnest speculations feel like a private joke only he understood.
She nodded, serious. "But it was a bold move. It means the story is unpredictable. I think Robb is clearly stepping up to take the main role. He's young, he's honorable, he's leading a rebellion, he's got all the markings of a hero. He will probably help jon fight the enemies beyond the wall"
"Yes," Adonai said in a tone one might use to confirm the structural integrity of a sandcastle. "A very promising… temporary arrangement."
Jean didn't catch it. "And Jon Snow! He has that narrative weight, you know? The classic hidden heir vibe. He's definitely going to be the big hero later."
"Oh, I'm sure he'll stab his way to greatness," Adonai said mildly. "Or be stabbed on the way. Hard to tell with these things. If the next books come out at all"
She laughed. "Don't say that! He's already working on the third book. It's supposed to come out this year."
"Yes," Adonai said. "And I'm sure the rest will follow in a… timely manner." He said it with the exact tone one would use to talk about a relative who said they would quit smoking "tomorrow."
Jean hugged a book she was carrying. "I just want the Starks to get justice. They've suffered enough. I don't think Martin will keep brutalizing them forever."
"Oh, he'll pace himself," Adonai said. "You wouldn't want him to run out of Starks too quickly."
Jean stopped walking. "…What does that mean?"
He smiled pleasantly. "Just literary analysis."
"I hope that Robb Stark wins the war and gets to reunite with his family," said Jean with excitement.
"Yeah, of course," answered Adonai with a perfectly straight face. "Robb will probably kick the Lannisters' ass in the next book and win the war and rescue his sisters."
"Yeah, right?" said Jean, barely containing her enthusiasm. "And Daenerys will probably either marry Robb or Jon and they will defeat the Others together."
She spoke with such genuine optimism, the kind only possible for someone blissfully unaware of the show's ending.
The tour continued as Jean eagerly shared more of her theories, rambling about plotlines and character arcs with unrestrained passion.
"Moin Jean, who is zat?" asked a cheerful voice with a distinct German accent.
Both Jean and Adonai turned toward the source of the voice. Adonai recognized him instantly. The boy approaching them was covered in blue fur, with two-toed feet, three-fingered hands, yellowish-white eyes, pointed ears, sharp canines, and a long prehensile tail that swayed with casual ease.
Nightcrawler. One of his favorite X-Men, standing right in front of him.
Adonai raised an eyebrow, giving him a once-over. "Ah. Another furball with a tail. I suppose it's part of the orientation process."
Jean raised an eyebrow.
"Yes," he said, still expressionless. "I remember meeting a similar specimen earlier. I can only assume the staff has a preferred template for blue, pointy-eared humanoids."
Jean blinked, trying not to laugh.
Nightcrawler waved cheerfully, completely oblivious. "Guten Tag! I am Kurt. You must be new."
"Adonai Ezra," he replied smoothly, inclining his head. "And I must say, Beast might start feeling insecure about his hairstyle after this one walks in."
Jean groaned softly, hiding her amusement behind a hand.
"Yeah, I've always said I have better hair than the doctor," said Kurt, laughing. "So how are you finding the school so far?"
"No clue, I just got here," answered Adonai with a shrug, then pointed at Jean. "Though if you have more baddies like her around, I'm sure I'll love it."
Jean rolled her eyes.
"Baddies?" repeated Kurt, confused by the modern lingo.
"So, Kurt, what's your ability besides looking like you came straight from hell?" asked Adonai, ignoring Kurt's look of mild offense.
Jean shot him a warning glance, but Kurt merely grinned and disappeared with a BAMF, leaving behind a puff of sulfur-scented smoke.
"Tada!" Kurt reappeared behind Adonai, grinning widely.
"You and I, my monochromatic friend," said Adonai with a matching grin, "are going to get along splendidly."
"Freut mich auch dich kennenzulernen, mein Freund," said Kurt.
"Was that German? What did you say?" Adonai asked, genuinely curious.
"Ja, I'm from Germany," Kurt said with a smile. "It means 'nice to meet you too.'"
"Cool, so how does your power work anyway?" asked Adonai casually, as though in conversation.
Jean watched them with a smile, seeing how quickly they hit it off.
"Well, the doctor says my teleportation is not direct," Kurt began, recalling his lessons. "I pass through an interdimensional space nearly instantaneously. Normally, I can only jump to places I can see. But theoretically, the longer I stay in the interdimensional space, the farther I could jump. Although there are probably negative biological effects from prolonged exposure to this non-Euclidean dimension."
"That's awesome," said Adonai, genuinely interested. "Though I can't imagine your appearance won you many friends."
"Unfortunately not," admitted Kurt with a smile. "People always fear what they do not understand and hate what they cannot control."
"That is true," Jean said, quietly. "But that is the professor's dream and what we are working towards as X-Men, to show people that we are just like them and that we can coexist."
"Yeah, good luck with that," said Adonai with a snort. "People already discriminate irrationally based on physical appearance. Actual abilities that could threaten them? Forget it."
"Yes, that is true," admitted Jean. "But things have gotten better over time. I firmly believe mutants will eventually be accepted."
"I guess," said Adonai, not giving the matter much thought.
A group of six teenagers approached them.
"Hi Jean," said an energetic voice with a valley-girl lilt. "Showing the new guy around?"
"Hi Kitty," Jean replied with a soft smile. "This is Adonai Ezra, a new member."
"Adonai," Jean said, gesturing to each in turn. "This is Kitty Pryde, Piotr Rasputin, Scott Summers, Bobby Drake, Angel Salvador, and Alison Blaire."
"What's up?" said Kitty, excitedly.
"Me and my friends used to feed LSD to this little retarded girl in our neighborhood," said Adonai with a completely straight face. "Then we'd lock arms around her and chant: 'Nightmare, nightmare, nightmare, nightmare.'"
He moved his arms in a wave-like motion as he intoned the words. The group stared at him, stunned.
"That… is illegal?" Kitty asked, unsure whether he was joking.
"It actually cured her retardation," Adonai declared, as though revealing a revolutionary scientific breakthrough.
There was a long, awkward silence as everyone processed that. Undeterred, Adonai clapped his hands in self-congratulation. Kurt, ever the bro, clapped alongside him enthusiastically.
"Don't worry about it," Jean finally said, regaining her composure. "He says weird things sometimes, but he's nice."
Kitty smiled brightly. "You'll fit right in. I can already tell."
"As long as he doesn't feed anyone LSD," Peter said, crossing his arms with a faint grin.
Scott chuckled softly, his gaze cool and appraising. "Nice to meet you."
Alison nodded politely, her smile dazzling. "Glad to have you here."
"A pleasure. So, what are your abilities besides being ridiculously hot?" Adonai asked, eyeing the girls with a knowing grin.
"So you're a playboy, huh?" Kitty said, amused. She reached toward him, but her hand phased right through his chest. "I can phase through solid objects."
"Damn," said Adonai, smirking knowingly. "Let's hope that doesn't happen during… certain activities. That would be inconvenient."
Kitty understood immediately, laughed, and blushed. "You're bold. But don't worry, I can control it."
"You never miss a second to flirt, do you?" Jean said, half-exasperated, half-amused.
The others quickly explained their powers, and Adonai matched each to what he remembered from his previous life. Only Alison Blaire and Angel Salvador were unfamiliar. He recognized Angel from X-Men: First Class, though younger than the movie version. Alison, however, he had only a vague knowledge of from the comics, her mutation allowed her to generate and manipulate light.
"So, what do you guys do for fun around here?" asked Adonai, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.
—-------------------------------------------------------
The recreation room had been commandeered.
A battered ping-pong table stood at the center like a war altar, paddles scattered around it, and a crowd gathered with the slow-burn enthusiasm of people sensing that something gratuitously stupid was about to happen.
Adonai spun a paddle between his fingers. "Teams are simple," he declared, like a general dividing territories. "Me, Bobby, kitty and Alison; team Apex Predators." He looked at the others. "You peasants may form your little resistance."
Scott adjusted his glasses. "Right. Then it's me, Jean, Angel, Kurt and Piotr. Team–"
"Team Beta," Adonai supplied before he could finish. "Or, if you want something more ambitious, Team Participation Trophy."
Kitty snickered behind her hand.
Bobby saluted dramatically. "Apex Predators, reporting for duty."
Jean pinched the bridge of her nose. "This was supposed to be a friendly match."
"There is no such thing," Adonai said. "There is victory, and there is shame."
They took positions. First round Adonai served, fast and precise. Piotr, careful and focused, returned it with surprising grace for a man built like a cathedral. Angel flicked it back with a smirk. Bobby lunged, missed entirely, and fell on his face.
"Good contribution," Adonai said flatly.
"Morale support," Bobby muttered from the floor.
The rally escalated, volleys speeding up as competitive energy crackled in the air. Scott played with intense discipline, Angel with swagger, Piotr with grim duty like he was defending his homeland from invading armies. Jean, calm and collected, sent the ball slicing across the table.
It was fast. Too fast.
Adonai barely caught it, swatting it back with a grin. "You're fighting well, peasants. Spirited. Futile, but spirited."
Jean smirked. "You talk big for someone who's one Bobby away from a disaster."
"Bobby is an investment," Adonai said. "One day he will shock us all. And on that day I will take full credit."
"We're losing," Alison said under her breath.
"Temporarily," Adonai corrected. Then, leaning just a bit toward her, he murmured, "Blind Jean on my serve."
Alison raised a brow. "That's cheating."
"Strategy, sweetheart" he countered. "In war, you use every weapon."
She hesitated. Then, with a wicked little grin, "Fine. Let's wage war."
The serve came.
The ball flew.
And in that exact moment, Alison flicked her fingers, a flare of light bursting like a camera flash directly into Jean's eyes.
Jean flinched back with a yelp. "HEY–!"
The ball hit the table untouched.
Bobby whooped. "POINT FOR APEX PREDATORS!"
Jean blinked furiously, rubbing her eyes. "You can't just–Alison! You can't use your powers!"
Adonai raised a hand, dignified. "Objection. Nowhere in the sacred codex of table tennis is it stated that light-based ocular disruption is forbidden."
Scott looked at him like he was witnessing a war crime. "Because no one assumed someone would weaponize their mutation over a ping-pong match."
"You assumed wrong," Adonai said simply.
"That's foul play," Jean said, stepping forward, brows drawn.
"And yet," Adonai replied, flicking the ball up and catching it effortlessly, "the point is on the board. History favors the innovators."
Angel crossed her arms. "You want to use powers? Fine. Let's use powers."
Scott's lips curled into a slow grin. "Jean?"
Jean inhaled, focus sharpening. "You're on."
They reset.
Adonai served again, confident, but just as he hit the ball, it stopped midair. Frozen. Suspended by an invisible force.
Then, with serene precision, Jean guided it across the table like a blessed missile. It kissed the corner perfectly. Point.
Adonai stared at the ball, then at Jean.
"That," he said slowly, "is blatant psychic interference. Illegal. Dishonorable. Disgusting."
Jean folded her arms, sweet smile on her face. "You said use everything in your arsenal."
"That was before psychic kung-fu was introduced to the match," Adonai snapped. "There are rules. There is honor."
"You BLINDED me!"
"A tactical flashbang at best," he said. "What you did was like paying the ref to give you a penalty in soccer. Absolute woke nonsense. Goes against the very spirit of this great game."
"Oh my god," Kitty wheezed from the sidelines, nearly crying with laughter.
Scott looked entirely too pleased. "Score: one to one."
Adonai pointed accusingly. "Fine. Powers are legal. But when I start using mine, I don't want to hear a single complaint."
"You don't even know how yours work yet," Jean shot back.
Adonai scoffed. "Details."
Piotr, solemn as ever, lifted his paddle. "Are we continuing? Or is this… parliamentary debate?"
Adonai twirled his paddle and pointed it like a sword. "Round two. And know this, I will destroy you all. With or without psychic war crimes."
Jean smirked, eyes glowing faintly. "Bring it, Apex Predator."
Bobby leaned toward Adonai. "Should I actually try this time?"
"No," Adonai said, eyes locked on Jean. "Just stand there and look supportive. This is personal now."
Later, after the game they sat there and bantered with each other.
"Maybe declaring that powers were allowed when the opposing team included a telekinetic, a teleporter, and a man built like a refrigerator wasn't the wisest tactical decision," said Bobby dryly as he drank a soda.
Adonai took a bite of his sandwich, unbothered. "What makes you say that?"
"The fact that we lost," said Bob with a deadpan. "And you don't actually know how to use your abilities. At all. You just shouted 'Nen mode' and hit the ball slightly harder."
"Right,"said Adonai, scratching his head as if he hadn't considered it at all. "But it's not like we lost badly. Those clowns only won by two points even though they all could use their abilities."
"And," Alison said, leaning forward, "we wouldn't have lost those two points if you hadn't suddenly decided to, and I quote, 'aura farm mid-match.'"
Angel nodded. "Yeah. What the hell even is aura farming?"
"Sweetheart, aura farming is a way of life,"said Adonai in a serious tone. "It is an essential skill to possess. Lack of aura is a serious matter and may, in some cases, be quite critical to one's health. Thus, one must never skip an opportunity to farm it."
Kitty pointed at him, laughing. "Is that why you're sitting like that?"
All eyes turned.
Adonai sat cross-legged on top of the ping-pong table, back straight, shoulders squared, chin lifted. His palms rested on his knees, fingers forming an overly dramatic meditative pose. He had even pulled Bobby's jacket over his shoulders like some sort of ascetic warlord.
He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. "This is the optimal aura farming posture. The Elders called it – Maximum Drip Enlightenment."
Jean, who had just walked by with a bottle of water, stopped in her tracks. "You look like a raccoon pretending to be a monk."
Adonai didn't break his stance. "Greatness is seldom understood in its own time."
Kurt clapped solemnly. "I respect the confidence."
"So this is where y'all been hidin'," said a new voice with a distinct Southern accent
Adonai turned toward the doorway, and for a moment, forgot how to breathe. A girl stood in the doorway, pale as moonlight, her build slender and graceful. Her light gray eyes held a quiet intensity, and her auburn hair framed her face, marked by a striking white streak that fell down the front like a lightning bolt. Thick, purple eyeshadow circled both eyes, perfectly matching the shade of her lipstick.
"Hey, Rogue!" Kitty called cheerfully. "We were just playin' ping-pong! Oh, right, this is Adonai Ezra, the new guy I was tellin' you about."
"Hello, Ah'm Rogue. Nice t' meet ya," said Rogue in that slow, honeyed Southern accent of hers.
"Hello there, darling,"said Adonai with a knowing grin. "So is being hot requirement to be accepted at this school, or what?"
"Excuse me?" said Rogue, visibly shocked.
"You, darling, have nothing to apologize for," said Adonai with a lazy grin, leaning slightly against the ping-pong table. "Ah just meant, if they're lettin' folks like you in here, I might've found heaven by mistake."
Rogue blinked, her gray eyes widening just a fraction. The faintest hint of color rose in her pale cheeks.
"Well, uh… that's mighty flatterin' of ya, sugah," she said, her drawl thicker than usual. "But Ah reckon this ain't exactly Heaven. More like… a school for chaotic weirdos."
Adonai chuckled. "Then I guess I'll fit right in. Chaos is kind of my specialty."
He took a step closer, his grin widening. "Though I gotta say, if all chaos looks like you, I might start causin' a little more of it on purpose."
Rogue blinked again, clearly unsure what to do with that line. Her gloved hands fidgeted at her sides. "Now hold on there, mister smooth-talk. Ah don't think Professor Xavier teaches that kinda class around here."
Kitty giggled behind them, whispering, "Oh my God, he's so flirting with you, Rogue."
Rogue shot her a look that could've melted steel, then turned back to Adonai, her lips twitching in a half-smile she tried to hide. "You sure you ain't got somewhere else to be, Adonai? Like, Ah dunno, flirtin' with the Danger Room instead?"
Adonai laughed softly. "Nope. Right now, the only danger I'm interested in is the kind that comes with a southern accent and eyes that could make a man forget what he was about to say."
Rogue froze, mouth slightly open. "Lord have mercy…" she muttered under her breath, shaking her head as if trying to brush it off. "You're trouble, you know that?"
Adonai smirked. "Oh Darlin', you have no idea."
"Oh God, you are so cheesy," Kitty said through laughter, nearly snorting.
"Is someone perhaps a bit jealous?" Adonai asked, his tone smooth as honey.
"You're not as smooth as you think you are," Kitty said, rolling her eyes but grinning anyway.
"Oh, please," Adonai replied, feigning offense. "I'm sure you'll be dreaming about me tonight. But–" he turned his gaze back to Rogue, voice softening just a touch. "it's truly a pleasure to meet you, Rogue."
He extended his hand toward her, palm open in a gentleman's gesture. Rogue hesitated before taking it with her gloved fingers, the faintest tension in her shoulders betraying her caution.
"Not a fan of skin contact?" Adonai asked, half-teasing but curious.
"N–no… it's just, my mutation kinda…" Rogue stammered, lowering her gaze.
Scott, who had been watching quietly, stepped in with his usual matter-of-fact tone. "Rogue's mutation is the absorption of life force, memories, personality, abilities, everything, through skin contact. She can't control it, so it's safer if she avoids direct touch."
Adonai turned his head sharply toward Scott, eyes widening slightly. Then, as though struck by revelation, he looked back at Rogue, his expression a mix of awe and sorrow. "What travesty is this?" he said, his voice deepening with theatrical weight. "A woman as radiant as you, blessed with beauty enough to make angels jealous, condemned never to feel another's touch?"
Rogue blinked, clearly flustered. "Ah…well…Ah wouldn't put it quite like–"
But Adonai pressed on, passion rising in his words. "No, no! This is no mere misfortune, it's a curse worthy of Job himself! To walk this earth unable to hold or be held?" He placed a hand dramatically over his heart. "By Heaven, that is a burden no soul should bear."
Kitty snorted behind him. "Oh my God, he's monologuing."
Adonai ignored her completely, his gaze still locked on Rogue. "I swear to you, Rogue" his tone softened, conviction burning in his eyes. "I will not accept this. If I must master my powers, if I must wrestle with the Almighty Himself like Jacob in the night, then so be it. I will find a way to change this… to set you free from that lonely curse."
Rogue stared at him, utterly speechless. A faint, involuntary laugh escaped her. "You sure are somethin', sugah," she murmured, shaking her head. "Ah don't know whether to thank ya or get you a therapist."
Scott sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Welcome to the X-Men, Adonai."
Adonai grinned. "Glad to be here, commander. Now, where does one start saving angels around here?"