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HP: Bloodraven Chapter 168 - Crossroads of Power (I)
🕑 Added 2025-05-21 11:08:46 +0000 UTCWestchester County sat about thirty miles north of New York City, and tucked within it was a small town called Salem Center. Though it was called a town, the homes here were fairly large and tastefully decorated, hinting that the people who lived here weren’t exactly typical villagers, but quietly well-off.
It was also a peaceful place—or perhaps more accurately, an isolated one—surrounded by thick forests and rolling hills, with only a handful of roads leading in or out.
And on one such road that cut straight through the woods, a lone black SUV moved steadily forward, leaving deep tracks behind. Snow had been falling for hours without stopping, covering everything in a soft, quiet blanket. It was one of those winter mornings when you couldn’t quite tell if it was still night or already day.
On either side of the road, tall trees stood shoulder to shoulder, forming a sort of wall that made it feel like the rest of the world had vanished and only the road ahead remained.
Eventually though, the forest began to thin out. It wasn’t that it had ended, but rather that it opened up. The trees gave way to a wide clearing, and in the middle of it lay a vast stretch of open land, as if carved out by an invisible hand.
At its center stood a mansion-like building, but it looked more like a castle, and it was all surrounded by a tall stone wall.
This was the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters—a school hidden beneath the natural cover of the forest, much like how Hogwarts was concealed by magic. But instead of young witches and wizards, the students here were children with unique abilities. Gifted, in every sense of the word.
There were no signs marking the place or meant to welcome visitors, and not a single security guard stood at the gate. Maybe it was because of the harsh winter weather today. Either way, visitors seemed to be rare here.
The SUV rolled to a quiet stop in front of the large metal gates guarding the entrance. After a moment, the engine gave a soft hum and died. Inside, a young man leaned forward, slipping off a pair of dark sunglasses and resting them on the dashboard.
Wearing a sleek black winter coat over a charcoal suit and a high-collared shirt, Maverick looked every inch the composed visitor. He didn’t move at first and wore a thoughtful expression as he sat there, staring through the fogged window at the gates and the sprawling grounds beyond.
It was now the last week of December—just two days before the new year. He had come here for a single name: Charles Xavier.
It had taken longer than he expected for MI6 to locate him. A few days ago, Maverick had finally received a reply from James—his colleague in the Double-O squad—with the location of the renowned professor.
It can’t be helped. He couldn’t rely on knowledge from beyond the fourth wall this time to find the place because his understanding of the X-Men part of the Marvel universe was very limited. He had only seen a few movies and wasn’t much of a comic book reader in his previous life.
And there wasn’t any trace of Charles Xavier’s location in public records either. You couldn’t really blame him—mutants were highly discriminated against, so it made sense that the place was hidden so well.
He stepped out of the car.
The cold bit at his face, but it didn’t bother him the slightest. The only reason he wore more winter-like clothes was, well, at least it would make him seem like an everyday kind of guy.
The snow clung to his polished shoes as he walked forward, hands tucked into his coat pockets. Looking through the gates, he saw not a soul in sight. It was pouring snow after all, so that made sense.
The massive gates were made of black iron, woven with elegant designs. Beyond them stretched a long stone path that led to the front steps of the mansion.
He looked around for any kind of intercom or keypad—something that might let him contact someone inside. But there was nothing.
How did the X-Men even let visitors in?
He didn’t want to break in or fly over. That would probably be a bad way to start things off.
His eyes narrowed for a moment before finally deciding to push out his magical sense to see inside the school and perhaps get the attention of the person he came to meet inside.
This was the first time he was doing it since arriving here, and there was a high chance that Professor X would likely be able to notice. After all, from what he knew of the Marvel universe, the man was the most powerful natural telepathic human on the planet. Or... he could be wrong.
Besides, who told the man not to put at least a bloody guard at the gate?
Maverick’s overpowered magical sense spread effortlessly in a matter of seconds, and within moments, everything inside and outside the large mansion formed a clear image in his mind.
He sensed nine who were likely children and two adults scattered throughout, each in different rooms. Most of them were still asleep. Then there were three more adults on the top floor, in a large oval-shaped room facing the front of the mansion.
The numbers weren’t as many as he had thought. Most likely, Charles had only recently started the program for the school of mutant children. Or it could very well be that most of them simply weren’t here. He wasn’t sure.
One of them was undoubtedly the person he was looking for, Professor Charles Xavier. For one, the man was completely bald, and for two, he was, well, in a wheelchair.
But… something was strange.
Very interesting. Was it because magical sense wasn’t the same as natural telepathy? Or was it that without magic, even the strongest telepaths couldn’t detect it?
The thought crossed his mind. Just now, he hadn’t tried to hide his magic while scanning the building and its surroundings with Magical-Sense. Yet, from his observation, none of the mutants inside—not even Xavier or the other man he presumed to be Logan, aka Wolverine—had shown the slightest reaction.
He pressed more magical energy into the field, letting his magic radiate more freely—almost recklessly this time.
Still, there was no response.
It appeared that magical sense could not be classified as a form of telepathy, at least not in any natural sense, he figured. Then the corner of his lips couldn't help but curl up slightly. This was a very interesting discovery indeed.
“But then... how do I let them know I am ‘freezing’ out here?”
A thoughtful look crossed his face. He still did not want to break in or fly over the gate. And just as he was about to pull his magic back, he noticed something strange in one of the rooms.
Oh... That's unexpected.
A little girl who had been sound asleep only moments ago suddenly sat upright in her bed. There was no mistaking it. She had reacted to his magic.
“I did not expect to find a little witch in a mutant school,” he thought.
To be sure, he focused more of his magic around her room. As expected, she responded again—getting out of bed and glancing around, as if searching for the source of whatever strange feeling she was picking up.
Maverick let out a quiet chuckle and drew back all of his magic. That could be addressed later. For now—
He turned his attention back to the three individuals upstairs. This time, instead of using magical sense, he focused his dominant spirit and pushed it subtly toward the room.
“Charles. Francis. Xavier!”
---
The inside of Xavier Mansion was as grand as it was serene. Wide hallways lined with polished wooden floors stretched on, doors spaced evenly along the walls. Classic portraits hung between cream-colored panels, and the soft ticking of clocks mounted on nearly every wall gave the place a steady, calming rhythm. It felt more like a historic estate than a place for learning.
At the highest floor stood a spacious room, its walls lined with bookshelves. A few comfortable sofas were arranged in a cozy seating area, and a large oak desk faced the tall windows overlooking the estate grounds. This was the main office of the institution’s founder and the man in charge—Charles Xavier.
Behind the large desk sat the man himself in a sleek, futuristic-looking wheelchair. He appeared to be in his early fifties—and might have passed for even younger if he had any hair—his composed demeanor and calm blue eyes radiating a quiet wisdom that seemed far beyond his years.
Across from him stood a tall, striking woman, seemingly in her twenties, with smooth coffee-colored skin and flowing white hair.
She was dressed in a sharp blazer over a dark top and pants, appearing to be informing something as she skimmed through a thin stack of documents held against her chest—very much like a poised secretary.
Not far from them, slouched across a leather sofa, was a short, broad-shouldered man in a worn leather jacket and boots. His thick sideburns framed a grizzled face, and his arms were folded behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling.
The woman explained as she flipped through the papers in her hand. “Hank should be back this afternoon with the new student...”
Charles glanced up from the desk. “Were there any complications?”
She shook her head. “Not really. The kid’s an orphan. The paperwork was easy to handle, and he didn’t put up any fight about coming here.”
“Good,” Charles replied with a nod. He then turned his head slightly toward Logan. “Aren’t there classes this morning?”
Logan didn’t even glance at him. He just gave a lazy shrug. “Let the little guys sleep in. Weather’s too cozy. Hell, even I feel like crawling back into bed.”
Charles let out a soft chuckle at the nonchalance, but then suddenly his calm expression shifted completely, turning on a dime.
And not only him— all three of them froze as if they had just seen something terrifying.
Charles’s eyes widened. Ororo—aka Storm—her hands trembled involuntarily, and the papers nearly slipped from her grip. At that same moment, Logan leapt to his feet, and with a metallic shnk, three adamantium claws shot out from each of his fists.
A silent tension filled the room, and before that terrifying feeling even passed, they all heard a voice calling a name, echoing clearly inside their minds—as if spoken aloud by a presence neither near nor far.
"Charles Francis Xavier!"
Logan sniffed the air and clenched his jaw. “Is it just me, or did you hear that too?”
Ororo nodded, casting a glance at the man in the wheelchair, silently seeking an explanation. After all, it was his name that had been called.
Charles nodded slowly as well, then—without another word—turned his wheelchair toward the large window overlooking the front lawn, now blanketed in a thick layer of snow.
“Yes,” he said finally. “It seems we have an uninvited visitor.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed. “Charles… that feelin’... it’s familiar. Can’t quite place it, but my gut’s screamin’. Feels like a damn monster just locked onto us.”
"We’ll soon find out, then," said Professor X, before making his signature gesture. He raised two fingers to his temple, closed his eyes, and focused.
