The moment that followed was... unexpected.
When Wednesday's and Noah's gazes met across the silent foyer, there were no words. Instead, a silent argument ensued, a duel of wills fought in the universal language of posture and gaze. After all, Wednesday had not yet awakened her formal psychic powers; her weapon, at that instant, was her icy, unshakable presence. Their gazes, however, collided laden with mutual, intense, and primitive feelings.
Dominance.
It was the invisible battlefield. Both were dominant souls by nature, each in their own way. Wednesday dominated through fear, through the aura of imminent danger and a coldness that made even the shadows hesitate. Her dominance was a cold blade pressed against the world's throat.
Noah, on the other hand, dominated through pure and uncontested power, a brute and primordial force that emanated from his being like heat from a furnace. His dominance was a weight, a gravitational law he imposed on the reality around him.
Wednesday stared at him with absolute coldness, her dark eyes piercing him without blinking for a single second, challenging him to be the first to yield, to look away. Yet, Noah changed nothing in his impassive expression. He was a mountain before her particular storm.
Until that moment.
It was then that something yielded—not in his posture, but in the very fabric of perception. From his eyes erupted a supernatural glow: an intense, deep red in the right eye, like live embers, and an icy, crystalline blue in the left, the color of absolute clarity. The colors did not mix but coexisted in a vibrant, unnatural contrast.
And the environment responded. The space seemed to grow heavy, as if gravity had been suddenly multiplied. The air became dense and heavy to breathe. Then, a familiar gray Mist emerged from nowhere, enveloping Noah in a translucent veil that danced with particles of static energy.
And Wednesday, who had been looking down from the top of the staircase, suddenly found herself lower. It wasn't an illusion of perspective. No, it was something much deeper.
Noah seemed not to exist. His physical figure simply vanished, dissolving into the mist. In its place rose a gigantic shadow. It was a vast and imposing silhouette projected through the mist and against a ghostly light that seemed to come from nowhere, a presence that transcended human form and spoke of an abyssal power.
In comparison, Wednesday's own shadow, once so defined and threatening, was now so small it had become insignificant, a grain of sand lost before that mountain of animated darkness. It couldn't even be seen, overshadowed and swallowed by the terrifying magnitude of that presence now dominating the foyer.
'What is this...'
Wednesday's thought wasn't a whisper, but a silent, paralyzing scream trapped inside her skull. The facade of coldness imploded, reduced to dust by the terrifying magnitude of that presence. She, who had always seen herself as a predator at the top of her own dark food chain, suddenly felt paralyzed, so small she could be crushed like a mere ant under the indifferent boot of a giant.
The vast, impersonal shadow seemed to look at her, and with that "gaze" came a crushing pressure that increased exponentially, compressing her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. Wednesday felt her breath catch, her fingers tingling from lack of oxygen, the world began to darken at its edges. And then—
"What an incredible display, Mr. Noah Edgar."
Morticia Addams' voice cut through the oppressive atmosphere like a silver scalpel. She didn't raise her voice, but a wave of serene and immensely powerful Spirituality emanated from her, not to attack, but to counter. It was like a levee of elegance and ancestral strength rising against Noah's primordial tide. The intervention was as subtle as it was effective, breaking the spell of terror holding Wednesday.
The daughter then blinked, gasping, as if emerging from a deep dive. The vision of the shadow and the mist dissipated, and she noticed she was in her home, in the familiar foyer. The comforting, predictable reality of her mansion enveloped her, but the memory of what happened was a fresh scar on her soul. And the state of her body was the proof: she was kneeling on the cold floor, something so rare for her it bordered on the impossible. A cold sweat trickled down her temple, a sign of humiliation and vulnerability she never imagined she would experience.
"Darling," Morticia continued, her voice mellifluous and absolutely in control, "could you take the children to play? I will speak with my new student."
Gomez, who had been watching the scene with a mixture of concern and macabre fascination, was swift in his response. "Yes, Cara Mia!" With a lightness that contrasted with the tension, he approached Wednesday, wrapped a protective arm around her, and helped her stand, gently guiding her away from the foyer, probably in search of Pugsley for some "reconstitutive" fun.
Noah, watching the scene unfold, smiled slightly. It was then that his bicolored eyes landed on Morticia again, and he noticed the details she was trying to hide. A subtle sweat was beginning to show on her immaculate forehead, and her breathing, once perfectly calm, was now a bit heavy, almost imperceptibly labored.
Understanding struck Noah. His display of power, his "test," had a greater cost than he had anticipated.
"I'm sorry," he apologized genuinely, his smile vanishing, replaced by a serious expression. He looked directly at Morticia, his tone laden with newly acquired respect. "It seems I made you use a lot of Spirituality to free your daughter from my release." He paused, assessing his own excess. "I went too far in this test, I apologize."
The young man bowed his head in a formal gesture of remorse, an admission that his actions, though not intentionally malicious, were disproportionate.
Morticia took a deep breath, a nearly imperceptible movement to recompose her center. Within seconds, her posture was impeccable again, the sweat vanished, and her breathing calmed.
"It's alright," she said, her voice regaining all its mellifluous composure, though a glint of genuine admiration remained in her dark eyes. "I'm impressed, to be honest. It's extraordinary that someone your age can generate such a dense and real Zone of Influence, a near portal to the Spiritual World, so spontaneously. It's... frighteningly magnificent."
The Spiritual World.
The term sounded like something out of a fairy tale, a mystical and fanciful idea. As vast as his grandfather's library was, he had never come across a single concrete mention of such a dimension.
'Does this exist in this world?' The question echoed in his thoughts, deep skepticism mixing with an irresistible curiosity. The books, his primary sources of truth, had failed to record this fundamental aspect of reality.
Seeing Noah's thoughtful and slightly skeptical expression—a slight furrow of his brow, his bicolored eyes lost in a distant point—Morticia acted as if she could read his mind. A knowing and serene smile spread across her lips. Without a word, she began a graceful walk towards the mansion's inner chambers, a silent invitation for him to follow. Noah, driven by a thirst for answers, followed her.
"The Spiritual World," she began, her voice echoing softly through the dark corridors, "is a very ancient discovery, dear Noah. It is said, in fact, to be responsible for the emergence of Pariahs' powers." She paused dramatically, allowing the information to settle. "Imagine an alternative dimension, a reality overlaid onto ours. Its very existence is, in itself, quite magical. It completely overlaps the real world, so that, at a certain time, everyone, to some degree, could obtain revelations and glimpses of the Spiritual World at any moment."
She turned slightly towards him as they walked, her dark eyes gleaming with ancestral knowledge. "It is believed that every person is connected to this realm, because their Astral Self—the purest core of their consciousness and spirit—is located there. The speculation, which many consider a fact, is that Pariahs have their souls particularly connected to this dimension, and it is through this intensified bond that they can access their unique abilities, as well as channel the Spirituality you yourself feel flowing within you, young Noah."
They entered the living room, an environment as richly decorated and shadowy as the rest of the house. Morticia sat elegantly on a dark velvet sofa, gesturing for Noah to sit opposite her. He did so, his body still holding an attentive posture, his mind absorbing the information voraciously, processing it against everything he already knew.
"You said that, 'at a certain time,' everyone could obtain revelations," Noah observed, his sharp perception catching the temporal nuance in the story. "What changed? What made this wall between the worlds become... thicker?"
"An excellent question," Morticia praised, a glint of approval in her gaze. "Yes. Due to the abundant decrease in the number of Pariahs over the centuries—persecutions, wars, assimilation—the wall between Reality and the Spiritual World has grown thicker. It's like a muscle that atrophies from lack of use. This more resistant barrier makes it harder for Pariahs to extract their abilities correctly and powerfully."
She raised a slender hand, enumerating examples with her fingers. "For instance, nowadays there are no longer as many Alphas—werewolves of pure lineage and overwhelming power—as there once were. Psychics or Seers can no longer change Reality widely and voluntarily as ancient legends suggest. A Da Vinci, like your grandfather, no matter how powerful, would find a tree too large to be moved by his telekinesis alone; the spiritual cost would be prohibitive."
Noah followed every word, the puzzle beginning to make sense. The world he had inherited was a diluted version of a more glorious and terrible past.
"However," Morticia continued, her voice lowering to a more conspiratorial and meaningful tone, "there exist... Anomalies. Beings who, against all odds, are born with Spirituality so vast and dense that they seem to defy the very rule of decline. These are rare, precious, and dangerous. They carry the potential to reach power levels equal to those of their most powerful ancestors..." She paused, and her penetrating gaze fixed on Noah with overwhelming intensity. "...or even to surpass them."
The message couldn't be clearer. She wasn't just talking about an abstract phenomenon. She was talking about him.
(Author: Another clear example of an Anomaly in this universe is Enid Sinclair, who is an Alpha, demonstrating abilities uncommon among Werewolves, such as her regeneration and strength far beyond the norm, where even after her first transformation and fighting Tyler as a Hyde, she was stronger than Tyler, despite almost dying due to her lack of experience, and in the second season, she showed no injuries from the fight. In other words, any unusual ability, or rather, Mutation within the species is a sign of an Anomaly.)
Noah considered it deeply. Did this explain his strange powers? Yes, and very much so. However, there was still something he was missing... The Gray Mist.