(((Disclaimer: I'm not a historian or intensive researcher so some details about the daily lives of the Spanish lower class in the 17th century may be wrong, and I apologize ahead of time for it. This is mostly just a way for me to explore what might've happened to mutants living during the era of witchcraft hype and the Inquisition.)))

---

Spain, 1634

Amancio strolled across the threshold of his simple stone house. The door had remained open, allowing the quickly cooling evening air to leech the heat of the day out of the home. His home. The Spaniard flashed a bright smile to himself as he thought of that. His home, on his land. It wasn’t much, but it was significantly more than most of the other villagers had.

It wasn’t much to look at, his home. It had four rooms, including rooms suitable for sleeping in. A parlor of sorts with a nicely-sized hearth was the first room of the house. The fourth was a miscellaneous thing. The entire building was a single story: anything else was a luxury neither they nor anyone else in the village could truly afford. Yet it was special to him. Sitting at the end of a lengthy dirt road, well out of sight of the nearest house (about a kilometer away) and surrounded by foliage, it was a private inlet, all owned by him.

He’d built it himself, too. Well, most of it. His newlywed bride’s brother had assisted in some parts of the design and construction process, but most of the labor was worked with only his mind.

The secret of Amancio’s family, and the reason he valued privacy so much, was a high chance of being born with a Gift. Passed down in various forms over the generations, rarely manifesting itself in the same way twice, the Gift enabled he and his ancestors to accomplish great feats. Amancio could recite rhymes and spells and make things move with just his thoughts. His brother, Horacio, could see into a man’s soul and divine many of the individual’s thoughts and plans. Their father’s Gift had been to command stones and earth to conform to his will.

But Amancio and Horacio had always been warned to keep their Gifts secret and hidden from the world, lest it turn on them and rend them limb from limb, for being different.

And so Amancio had picked an out-of-the-way location for his home and had laboriously worked for days to construct his and his wife’s home by using his words alone to bind rocks together into a sturdy foundation and shell of a house. Such a glorious exercise that had been, to freely use his Gift without fear of scorn or persecution! He had no fear of frightening his new bride; she and her brother were richly Gifted as well. Such a convergence of two distinct lineages with the same, rare trait, surely it was a sign from God that they were in his perfect will!

Amancio’s smile did not abate as he crossed the front room to his wife, who was reclining on a wooden bench he’d built, and kissed her in greeting after his lengthy day at the smithy. Marisol returned the kiss, her eyes bright with happiness, just as they were so many months before when they’d made their vows together before God and the their fellow townspeople. She rested her hand on her child-heavy stomach before addressing him.

”Amancio. How was your work today?”

It was the same thing she said nearly every day, but the routine of it, the comforting habit of it relieved some of the tensions of the day. Clasping her free hand between both of his larger, calloused ones, the Spaniard knelt on one knee and, eye-level with her, spoke as sincerely and passionately as possible.

“My day was torture, my love. Every moment, every breath pained me, as I could not be by your side. Thoughts of you plagued me in the midst of every action, tormenting me with dreams I could not achieve then. My heart ached to be apart from you so long, an empty, freezing void in my life. I counted down every second until I could leave, just so I could see you again.”

As routine as Marisol’s question, so was Amancio’s reply, every day. The words differed and varied, but the meaning was always the same. Even after so many months of marriage, their love was just as strong, if not stronger, than ever before, burning brighter with each passing day.

But before either one of the two could continue the same old song-and-dance, Amancio heard his name shouted from outside. Whirling around to focus on the door and witness what was going on, Amancio watched as Marisol’s brother, Bernardo, barged in through the doorway, carrying a limp and bleeding form in his arms. Amancio recognized it immediately.

“Horace!"

Marisol let out a gasp at the sight of her brother and in-law. Amancio immediately bolted up from the floor and rushed to the two stragglers.”What happened?!” he asked quickly, trying to look into Bernardo’s steady gaze instead of his brother’s bloodied body.

”I do not know,” the large, brawny man replied. ”I was just in the market, attempting to buy some blankets when I came across a mob of people attacking Horace. I got him out, without using my Gift, but I fear I was too late.” The massive Spaniard stepped further into the room, immediately heading for Horace’s bedroom. Amancio, after taking a moment to help Marisol up and off the bench, followed in his brother-in-law’s wake.

Without another word, Bernardo carefully set the broken man on a mattress before retreating from the room. That by itself allowed Amancio to know just how bad off his brother was. He knelt down by his brother’s side and took in the injuries. The far arm had been dangling uselessly when carried and now it seemed twisted at an unnatural angle. A leg had been nearly shredded and Amancio could see something that looked like bone partially protruding from the wounds. That by itself caused bile to well up in his mouth.

”What happened? Oh, Horace, what happened to you?” Amancio whispered gently, pushing some of his younger brother’s black curls away from his face, trying to wipe some of the blood away from his eyes. Horace coughed violently and specks of blood flew from his mouth. A spasm wracked his body. ”Can’t....talk....” the injured man wheezed out. ”Must....show.”

Horace held his good hand up, trembling with the effort. Amancio’s eyebrows lifted but grasped his brother’s hand firmly, as if he could channel strength into it. He knew what his brother was trying to do. It was a way of communicating they’d perfected as teenagers, a side effect of his brother’s Gift. Horace’s eyes blazed with a ghostly blue fire and Amancio seemed to fall into them.

---

Horace watched the sky as he strolled into the village. The heat of the day was gone and thus the field-work was over for the day. That meant that Horace had the rest of the evening to do with what he would. And he wanted to go into the village and look around. It was by far his favorite method of entertainment.

After all, when one could perceive the inner working’s of the minds of those around him, how could one not find some of them amusing? For instance, the baker in her shop across the street was fuming to herself over the amount of attention her beautiful daughter had started gaining from the young men of the town. She was jealous of her own offspring, thinking herself much plainer by far. What amused Horace, though, was the multitudes of appreciative looks the baker unknowingly attracted herself, thanks to her unparalleled looks. The irony of humanity was much better than playing with a ball in the dust.

And so he sat down upon a nice-sized rock and allowed his thoughts to wander into others, as content as a fox in a chicken coop, eavesdropping on everyone’s private thoughts.

I wish Elizabet would wear that blue dress again....

....and then Lope said....

....if I break another needle, I’ll need to....

....on the rock looks like a fool. Why can’t he....

Horace frowned as those final thoughts crossed his own. He opened his eyes and glanced around, attempting to locate the source of them. His brow furrowed and he finally tracked down the mental signature of the person. A grungy, filthy peasant leaned up against a shack and just glared across the street at Horace. The man was barefoot and his trousers were covered in mud and grime. His hair was wild and face unshaven. He looked a mess.

Horace focused his Gift onto that man alone.

....looking at me. How’d he do that? One minute he was dreaming like an idiot and now he’s looking right at me. That’s not normal. I’m going to show him a piece of my....

Horace’s eyes widened at those thoughts. Surely he will not do anything in public! There would be many witness around, even if the man decided to act out on a stupid notion that horace was putting on airs or something. But the man was progressing towards him. He was halfway across the street. Twenty meters away. Fifteen. Ten. This was getting out of hand. the man clearly meant to do him justice and the actually plans of the man made Horace gulp in fear. In order to avoid a beating (he himself having never been much good in a fight) he’d have to use his Gift.

As the peasant closed in and swung a punch, intended to knock Horace down or break a facial feature, Horace, having read the intent in the man’s mind, ducked under the blow an then stepped in close to the man. He brought his hands up on both sides of the man’s head and then looked directly into his eyes.

Images of impossible colors, sensations that did not exist, and sounds that could not be created flashed into the man’s mind. At the speed of thought, Horace overwhelmed the man’s mind and the filthy thug dropped wordlessly to the ground, his eyes wide open and his pupils dilated. A single stream of drool began to flow from his mouth.

And then Horace heard the baker scream.

He looked up from the shellshocked man and glanced across the street. The woman had seen him. she watched him defeat the man with only a single touch. He could see the impossibility of his action in her mind. She’d seen him use his Gift. Stunned by the realization of the consequences of his actions (things he did not commonly think about) Horace watched and listened in horror as the woman began screaming, ”Witch! Demon! Wizard!” The rest of the villagers milling around the town stared at the baker for a moment, equally stunned at her screams. But then they looked to where she was pointing and saw Horace standing in the open by a rock, a listless man at his feet.

Then they began snatching up anything they could get their hands on and started chasing after him. That shocked Horace out of his near-trance. He started running.

He listened in on the thoughts of the villagers as they pursued him. He analyzed their plans of attack and proceeded to circumvent them. He dodged projectiles just before they struck, turned down alleys or streets just before other villagers could grab him, and occasionally snuck through the blind spots of the mob when they’d caught up with him.

But, in the end, he was just one man., even with his powerful Gift aiding him.

The mob finally surrounded him. They attacked with vicious fury. They struck with stones, sticks, brooms, their bare hands, even. They pulled and twisted and stepped and stomped. tHey screamed and yelled and insulted and jeered. He fell beneath them, suffering under their abuse and the similar thoughts in their minds. Until Bernardo rescued him by beating everyone back with a stout tree branch, Horace’d thought he was doomed to die.

---

Amancio blinked and his thoughts were his own again. The memory transfer was over. Horace’s eyes close and his arm fell back to his side. He began coughing, even harder than before, making his body almost jump off the bed. He was dying, even after the rescue. Amancio could tell that Horace’s lungs had been damaged. There was nothing they could do.

But before Amancio could say anything soothingly, Horace managed one more thing. “They’re....almost here....” And Amancio could hear the voices of angry villagers approach from the street. Cold fear settled in his stomach as he jumped up and rushed from the room.

Amancio appeared in the main room just in time to see Bernardo take a position in the doorway. ”What is going on out there?” the brawny man asked, listening to the inarticulate shouts and yells of the approaching mob. He was about to step out of the house and meet the villagers, who could just now be seen rounding the bend in the road quite a ways away, when Amancio clapped a hand down on the larger man’s shoulder and tried pulling him back.

”They know!” he cried, pulling his brother-in-law around to face him. ”They know about Horace’s Gift! They’re coming to kill him! And we will all be accused as well!” Horror blazed in Bernardo’s face and a the warning elicited a gasp of fear from Marisol. They all knew the terrible consequences of those found with the Gift: Death. Or worse.

Bernardo looked into the interior of the house, his eyes alighting upon Marisol and her expectancy. ”We must save her,” Amancio solemnly told the massive Spaniard. Bernardo spared a moment to glance at Amancio, his face expressionless, before nodding sharply. A silent plan seemed to pass between them as they stared into each other’s eyes. They both nodded. They knew what had to be done.

Amancio whirled around and marched to the fireplace as Bernardo vanished into Horace’s room. He began grabbing pieces of wood from the adjacent pile and throwing them on the low blaze Marisol had started in order to cook their dinner. He grabbed a poker and stirred up the embers, allowing air to rush in and feed the flames. ”Marisol, my love, we must build the flames! You must escape!”

”No! I will not leave you! I can’t!” his wife cried, grabbing the edges of the bench in refusal.

”You must! Amancio pleaded. ”For our child’s sake!”

Abruptly, the passion in Marisol’s face seemed to evaporate. She dropped her head, staring aimlessly at the unborn child in her womb. Amancio ceased his labor and once more approached her. He cupped her cheek in his palm and gently angled her face to stare into his eyes. All she would see was love. ”I know this will be hard for you,” he said softly. ” But if any of us are to survive, it must be you. You hold our future within you.” He placed his other hand on her stomach, feeling a slight movement there, even through the sturdy fabric of Marisol’s dress. ”And we will live on through you.”

Tears began to roll down Marisol’s face and Amancio had to fight to keep the same from happening to him. For a moment, the world seemed to quiet down and fade away as the newlyweds stared into each others’ eyes. Their thoughts almost flashed between them. The things they’d always wanted to do. The things they’d always said or talked about. The things they were feeling right then....

Bernardo clomped back into the room. ”I hid Horace. As long as he does not make a noise, nobody should find him.” Amancio acknowledged his in-law’s efforts, steeling himself for what was to come. He extended his hand back to Marisol and helped get her to her feet. Once balanced, the two clung to each other for a moment, taking their last chance to do so.

And then, as individual faces of the mob could be seen through the front door, Bernardo activated his Gift.

Standing in the center of the room, the man threw his head back and let out an agonizing roar of anger and outrage. The sound bugled out from his lips and began taking on an unearthly quality, echoing through the house and blasting beyond in a bestial shout of primal rage, seemingly quieting the townsfolk. Then a convulsion racked his body and and arms flew out, as if sprawled spread-eagle on a rack. Hellish red light blazed off of him, obstructing Amancio’s vision momentarily, making Bernardo appear like a fallen star.

Then the man doubled forward, as if undergoing excruciating pain, and curled in upon himself. The sharp sounds of cracking and fracturing bones split the air in a cacophony the grated and scratched at Amancio’s ears and nerves. To join with this new, terrible symphony, a multitude of inhuman screams began welling up alongside Bernardo’s neverending shout. A choir of the damned seemed to be singing their dark praises through his lips. And as these voices appeared, so did the first real sign of Bernardo’s transformation.

His legs stretched and lengthened. His feet burst through his solid boots, splintering the leather. His toes had fused and turned his feet into massive, cloven hooves, each the size of a plate. As his clothing ripped and shredded, shaggy black and grey hair sprouted over his body. His chest expanded to twice his normal size and slabs of rock-hard muscle appeared, growing and molding before Marisol and Amancio’s eyes. Bernardo began to shake as even more changes took place.

With the sound of crunching bones, the man’s fingers joined together and lengthened, forming hands with three massive digits on each. Veins popped out of the leathery flesh, forming black lines all over the blood-red flesh. His back shattered and rivulets of blood began pouring down, even as Benardo began to grow, gaining size and strength with each tormenting breath. Bones began growing back, tougher, stronger than before. His jaw burst forth, elongating into the inhuman snout of a goat, even as the horns of a ram began sprouting from his forehead, curving round and round before ending in sharp, wicked points.

His horns scored deep paths into the ceiling of the house and Bernardo hunched forward as much to preserve the house as to deal with the pain. But at last, the light began fading and the popping of bone and muscle started subsiding. The alien voices began dropping off, followed slowly by Bernardo’s animalistic roar. Gasping in pain and a need to air, the massive goat-man turned an angry eye towards his family. With a shake of his gargantuan head, he nodded once at them before taking a bounding leap and blasting through the doorway, tearing down half the wall with him.

The villagers suddenly began yelling again, but this time there were as many screams of terror as there were of righteous anger.

A ram’s bellow blared from the yard. Amancio heard a scream of pain right after a sickening, crunching sound. Even though he knew the massive powers bestowed upon bernardo in his half-beast forms, Amancio knew that even the brawny man could be overwhelmed or destroyed. And there sounded like enough people to easily do the job. Bernardo would need his help to hold them off.

Amancio and Marisol squeezed each other tighter for a moment before breaking apart, maintaining eye contact for just a breath longer. Then they split to go to their separate tasks.

As he made his way to the gaping opening in the front wall of the house, where the doorway used to reside, Amancio watched his wife, the love of his life, approach the small fire. A meter away, she planted her feet a shoulder-length apart, firmly grounding herself. Her left arm shot out with her fingers splayed before curling them in towards the palm, as if she was grasping something. She jerked her hand back to her chest and Amancio witnessed the fire blaze momentarily, nearly licking his wife with its tongues. It returned to a smaller flame, but significantly larger than before.

Again and again, Marisol pulled on the flames, expanding the blaze with every motion. Finally, though, it threatened to consume the hearth and everything around it.It was a massive bonfire, a voracious force of nature that sucked air into it and expelled smoke and ash. The heat was oppressive, drying Amancio’s skin even from his distance. Marisol, untouched by the flame and heat, even in her close proximity and as her clothing began smouldering, turned back to meet Amancio’s gaze. Her eyes, burning with a white flame that was entirely separate from the bonfire behind her, met Amancio’s brown hues, a look passing between them that carried more than thoughts or words ever could.

And then Marisol turned and stepped into the inferno, vanishing in a small puff of smoke and flame.

Amancio spared a single moment in yearning for his wife before he focused on the task at hand: there were people coming to hurt him and his kin. He was not going to let that happen.

A halo of lightning crackled around Amancio’s head as he activated his own Gift. He turned back to the door and headed for the doorway, searching for his targets. In the chaos outside, Amancio could already see the effects of Bernardo’s beastial wrath. Broken men lay strewn across the ground. Blood covered many surfaces. Snapped and shattered rakes and cobbled-together spears littered the ground like fresh hay in a pen. And even as he watched, Bernardo leaped over a wagon, clearing it’s height by a dozen feet, before coming down amidst a group of peasant with such an impact as to knock them from their feet. He grabbed two by their ankles and swung them in a quick, vicious circle, slamming them into two others before letting them learn how to fly.

But even as he made quick work of them, easily avoiding their pathetic attempts at attacking him, more and more villagers were coming up the lane. Not even Bernardo could handle them all. But that’s why Amancio was there. With his eyes focused upon a leadings quad of perhaps six villagers, Amancio allowed his Gift to well up inside of him, drawing upon it like water from an endless well. Time seemed to slow down for him and it felt like the world was listening to what he was about to say. He began to speak.

”You men have come to do me harm,
To kill, to maim, to slaughter and pillage.
Yet against my power you have no charm,
Nor a single defense in your village.
For mine is the Gift to command the things of God,
His stones and bricks, His staves and sticks,
To raise them up from the earth and sod
And bind them in a flame that licks
So that all you men who’ve come for me,
And those who’ve broken my brother’s form,
Shall face my fury, I promise thee,
And reap my power, a firestorm!”

A rush of energy pulsed from Amancio and his mind turned his words into reality. Behind him, he heard the shattering of the stones in his hearth as they pulled apart from one another and shot forth, carrying along the blaze within. The fire, sucked along in the wake of the passing of the stones, grew in size and strength with the influx of oxygen feeding it.

The materials shot passed his head and exited the house, set on a course for the villagers still approaching. Then the broken tools and weapons of the fallen townsfolk rose up into the air to join the fire and rock, catching the fire and aiding the blaze. As the molten mass rocketed towards the people, it attracted rocks and stones and fallen wood fragments from across the yard before it finally struck the incoming horde.

By that point, it was a wall of fire and rubble. Stones varying in size from fists to wagon wheels bludgeoned into people, cracking bones and shattering bodies. Sticks and branches, all on fire, smashed and stabbed the people. The fire itself crashed into the front of the column, scouring them and burning them. Their clothes began to add to the blaze as it washed all over the ground. The front lines shattered and the villagers began rushing forward, as much in confusion as a frantic desire to flee from the spreading flames and sudden avalanche.

With a ferocious growl, Bernardo wrenched a small tree out of the ground and threw it into the blaze, fueling it and giving it a home of the road. The peasants were forced to divide themselves. And it would do them no good.

On one side, Bernard rushed about as a force of nature himself, a blur of muscle, bone, and anger as he charged, gored, pummeled, and crushed all those in his way. Even when the flames of a simple torched began to consume his goat’s beard, he fought on, foam beginning to form in his mouth. The villagers shrank back from him, even as they shoved forward. Amancio could hear them shout out prayers or shrieks of terror, even as they died.

But Amancio’s side was different. There, the only sounds that could be heard were those of people dying.

Antonio, Francisco, Miguel, and Luis,
Your death now comes from the vengeful sky.
My wagon from above, it will not cease
Its downward plunge from on high!

The empty wagon, formerly resting so calmly in the yard, was suddenly yanked from its spot by Amancio’s Gift, flinging it high into the sky before it began to drop. It plummeted down to the ground at terminal velocity and crashed down upon the aforementioned villagers, pulverizing them in a splintery explosion. Yet more people began flooding the area, despite his attacks. In righteous anger and in protection of his family, Amancio reached deep into himself and drew forth even more power, slinging his Gift again and again.

Necks snapped. A man was crushed into dust. Flaming sticks pinned another to the burning tree. A handful of men were flung straight up into the air. Scraping, scratching, razing dirt and pebbles were thrown into several faces, blinding and suffocating them. Death screams rent the air as Amancio defended his home and family. Yet each effort proved more and more taxing. As each use of his Gift faded, so did his strength. Soon, Amancio could barely stand, yet he still kept speaking and dealing pain and damage.

Until a blow to the back of his head ruptured his focus and sent him sprawling across the ground. As darkness sought to claim his sight, off in the distance, Amancio could see a dozen or so villagers pulling Bernardo down to the ground, like so many ants on a dog. But even the massive goat-man fell.

And blackness overwhelmed Amancio.

Pain pounded in his head. A mighty roar filled his eyes. His body felt confined and restrained. He smelled burning pitch and the fresh fragrance of newly-cut wood. Groggily, Amancio opened his eyes.

He was surrounded by nearly two hundred people. And he was tied to a stake.

One eye would barely open, but from the other Amancio attempted to take in his surroundings as quickly and covertly as possible. He was flanked by two similar stakes, each one bearing the slumped profiles of Bernardo and Horace, neither one appearing to be awake. Thank God for small mercies. As it was, Amancio knew their end was near.

All three stake were planted in the midst of the town square, standing in vulgar display amidst scattered bales of hay. All the better to be made a terrible spectacle of, as well as a symbol. Amancio was not stupid. He knew they were about to die, unless Bernardo and Horace had already passed. He wished they had. He’d seen burning before. The demonic voices that spoke through his wife’s brother during transformations could not compare to the outright agony in the voices of those being burnt alive.

And it was soon to be his turn.

As a man, a seemingly elected spokesperson for the town, began to yell and preach against the sins of witchcraft, began explicitly detailing every single mistake of Amancio’s and his brethren’s lives (including engaging in relations with the Devil and attempting to seduce the wives and daughters of the town away from their families, as well as flying over the fields at night as black bats, spreading poison and hate upon everything green), Amancio closed his eyes and sought to make peace.

He returned to the darkness, where he did not have to see his fate. As the man railed upon the costs of Amancio’s actions upon the souls of all present, Amancio could only remember his wedding night with Marisol. As the crowd roared its agreement and disgust, Amancio listened for the sound of her laughter. As the burning torch moved closer at the ceremony’s crescendo, Amancio imagined he could smell her hair. As flames began to spit and snap, he listened to her singing about the meadows and birds.

The heat spiked drastically. As wild cheers and shouts began to burst forth from the expectant masses, Amancio sought to ignore them all. In his mind, he only cared about one thing. The love of his life, the other half of his soul, his corazón. Yet his mind could not overrule his body. He began choking on the thick, black smoke, the dusky cloud that quickly obscured him from sight. It grew and stretched like a living creature and suddenly a wall of fire surrounded the stakes entirely.

But none of it touched any of the three.

And reaching out from the tongues of his doom, Marisol’s child-laden form appeared, unmarred by the inferno surrounding her. Tears trailed down her cheeks for only seconds before they evaporated in the heat, leaving salt crystallized on her skin. As she reached up to cup his face between her small hands, Amancio could not hold back.

"Marisol! You must flee! Please! They shall burn you too! Take our child and go!” But even then he did not yell. He did not want his last words to be in anger.

"Trust me, my dear, I tried, but I could not go without seeing you one last time.” Marisol’s eyes were glassy and her face paler than normal. Her internal ache emanated through every action. As more tears streamed down her face, she stepped in towards Amancio and wrapped her arms around him, stake and all, burying her face in his chest, despite the wrath of the flames she held at bay. Her husband, tears streaking through the dirt and blood on his face, dropped his head to rest on the top of hers.

For that brief moment, shrouded by the ring of fire, they could be together. For the last time.

Marisol finally stepped away, every motion full of pain and sorrow. Her breathing was labored, as if she’d ploughed the fields all day. She was sweating, although Amancio knew she did not feel the fire’s touch. But he could see the flames slowly creep closer to them. He could the the wall threaten to burst into writhing fields of wind-blown grass. And he could feel the love in her eyes, even though neither one could bear to say it.

Their eyes locked the entire time, Marisol backed into the flames and vanished.

Immediately, the fires surged forward, greddy to devour everything within reach. But Amancio was ready. As the villagers cheered and rejoiced for the soon-be-be death of the witches, Amancio began to call his Gift together. As his power began welling up inside of him, Amancio searched deep within himself, where he felt the pain of separation from Marisol and their unborn child. Where he felt his love for her and his brother and her own. When he felt anger towards the townsfolk, his friends, the people he’d lived with his entire life. Where his faith resided.

His heart.


"By all of these things I feel in my heart,
I wish for the pain to cease.
With my Power rip it apart,
So that we may all rest in peace."

Amancio’s Gift flowed along the path he’d made in his mind, traveling down, emotion by emotion, to the target of his spell. In a moment’s time, before the first of the flames could touch his flesh, his Gift touched his heart and pulled it to pieces, shattering the bonds that held it together.

The atomic flash lit up the countryside with a vast flower of flame.

End.